…

… …

… … … how to start, after almost 3 months?

Hi!

How are you?

I’m fine, thanks. And a few people have asked me if I’m “ever coming back”… so to them I say, “thanks for asking!” and, “I guess so!”

For awhile, it didn’t seem like it. I never did my final post from Brazil.

I never posted anything when I came home.

And the reason for both of these things is that it just felt wrong—blogging, for one thing, but just *being*, for another.

I picked up a hitchhiker in Peru. Blastocystis hominis, to be exact. That was part of it—and the other part of it was burn-out. Burn-out is the BIGGEST BITCH I know.

It’s hard to imagine that 3 months hanging out in South America wouldn’t take the edge off—how many people said almost exactly that to me, I can’t even guess—but it didn’t. Instead, it’s like it set up great, big floodlamps to HIGHLIGHT the edge, and yet the edge was still there when I came home. Pointier, sharper, crueler than ever.

I hit Vancouver EXHAUSTED.

DEPRESSED.

DEMORALISED.

And man, was my stomach off. I couldn’t understand why (for about 3 weeks, until I finally had blood work done), and I couldn’t really face the idea of “healthy living”—not my own (hence why I stopped blogging, so as not to be a hypocrite), but nor could I handle others’. Honestly, I stopped reading YOUR BLOGS because I felt SO BAD that I couldn’t even watch other people do well.

It sounds petty to say it out loud. To see it in print. But there you have it. Honesty, in all its ugliness.

A lot has changed since 20 September, when I came back to Canada… a real rollercoaster that I’m still riding, in some ways. But I’m cycling high these days, and it seemed like the right time to come back.

… but with a new purpose, I think.

So I’m jumping in…

Feet first.

I missed you guys! (Even though, if you’re reading this, you’re likely someone I talk to or know in the FB world…).

If you want to share an ugly truth about yourself with me below (it need not be current nor permanent), please feel free. No judgment here!

Truth: I *love* to give gifts… but only the RIGHT gifts. Christmas and birthdays stress me out because I don’t *want* to just give for the sake of giving, I want it to be something that SCREAMS someone’s name, not something that they say “thanks!” to, and then forget about for a couple of months.

This is a tricky business when it comes to souvenirs. To me, the whole concept of a souvenir is that, the word means “remember”. HOW is someone who WASN’T THERE going to remember?! Or, is it a way of saying that you were remembering the person when you travelled, so please have this over-priced, mass-produced, stereotypical part of Country X’s cultural mosaic? Heh.

It’s a pickle, I know.

So I approach it like I would Christmas/Birthday shopping—if something jumps out and grabs me, I grab *it*. And from that, for myself, I picked up a scarf in Lima.

Chocolate—good Brazilian stuff (holy expensive) and “I-just-need-to-use-my-Soles-in-Duty-Free” Peruvian stuff.

SensorExcel razors—unavailable in Canada for at least 3 years, I *had* been using my razor from so many years ago I can’t even tell you… and now, I have four new ones.

Thanks to Peruvian duty free, I’m coming home with some Pisco to make Pisco Sours (still wrapped in its duty-free goodness—SO unphotogenic!), and a super-cheap bit of Bobbi Brown make-up, bought on the plane—what a coup! A bit of eyeliner and freshly brushed teeth are my “I’m going out” go-to’s, and this was really a bargain. Also: the short travel brush applicator is really necessary for short-sighted kids NOT to poke their own eyes out. Tried, tested, and true.

And then there are the gifts…

Brasilía has this thing about its architecture; one of the most renowned architects, Athos Bulcão, whose work is in all major cities of Brazil and some other South American locales, sells some paraphernalia with his designs. I’ve been drinking espresso out of Marcella’s Athos Bulcão cups every day, so I got myself a few… and some mugs to give away:

I also bought some “hers and hers” Havaíanas, because, well, OBVIOUSLY! (“Havaíanas” is Portuguese for “Hawaiians”, didja know? Makes it amusing that the footwear is so iconically Brazilian, eh?) I like my shoes with a lot of sole: flip flop wedges are JUST right.

And then I’m also going shopping on Friday to pick up some last gifts that I’ve had in mind for awhile… and I’ve omitted the gifts intended for the couple of people I know who *actually* read my blog.

What’s been really unexpected is that people have given ME gifts!

From Marcella, some coasters of black-and-white, vintage Rio photos, and also a Quechuan bracelet, bought in Cusco—on the same night that we were altitude drunk, and she was buying her own. I said, “we’re bracelet buddies!” and more laughter ensued…

But maybe the most AMAZING thing of all started last weekend and has continued into this week. Last Saturday, through the fog of my cold, I was invited to a barbecue at Carol’s place, with some of the gym community… in my honour! How fun! I was really not that well and failed to take a single photo (WHAT is my PROBLEM?!?), but it was lovely to be there. At the end of the evening, Carol’s father gave me a nice bottle of cachaça from the northeast, where he’s from. He had made me a caipirinha earlier, and now told me “this is NOT for caipirinhas. It’s for sipping.” Why did I deserve such a thing? Because THAT is Brazilian hospitality—once he knew I liked scotch and would drink cachaça straight, I was clearly the right recipient: I would appreciate it.

Well, as if that weren’t the sweetest thing ever… a barbecue, a parting gift… it became TWO parting gifts! Yesterday, at the gym, Carol told me, “my dad got you something.” Because man cannot survive on straight cachaça alone, he bought me a caipirinha mortar and pestle. Not in a breakable material (had he HEARD about my swathe of destruction in Marcella’s kitchen?!?), but something that would travel and wear well:

I’m a lucky kid. I’m a lucky kid who now has to pack…

Tell me: what’s your gift-giving philosophy?

Because this *had* to be here… after all—what else do you think of when you think of Rio, but this?

This is just any given Sunday, at Ipanema. And if you were wondering, I was wearing sensible clothes, a sunhat, sitting in a chair directly under one of those umbrellas. Because I am “muito brancinha”—a whole lotta gringa—and I had every intention of staying that way.

I only snapped one pic because it seemed intrusive to me to photograph randomly at the beach, so let me just tell you this: EVERYONE, and I do mean EVERYONE (except me), from grannies to quite large-ish people, wear bikinis at the beach. So if you ever go to Rio and hit Copacabana, Ipanema or Leblon, A) don’t go in their summer or you will die of the heat (says Marcella), and B) no matter who you are, what your shape, and what your body issues, this IS the place to let it all hang out. No one cares. No one judges. And virtually everyone is just a REAL PERSON. I thought that was really awesome. In fact, you’re more an object of funny looks if you’re NOT in a bikini just like everyone—but I still guard my general paleness fiercely.

Rio is the opposite of São Paulo in all the ways that mattered to me: it didn’t feel oppressively large, it has a walking culture, it’s bus-friendly, and it’s got green spaces (not just for homeless people to sleep in…). On that last point, our visit to the Botanical Gardens was a high point. If I lived in Rio, I would try very, very hard to live directly IN the Botanical Gardens. Let me show you why, starting with my future house:

from my future house, you can see this AWESOME sculpture in honour of Matisse, which basically sums up how I feel about Rio:

and from my future home, you can also see the Christ… if you peek between the trees and squint a little:

So. The Gardens are perfect!

For the History buffs among us, there used to be a gunpowder factory on the site, and some of the old wheels used to grind the powder are still there:

but the highlight, and for me, the symbol of Rio, were the orchids. In Rio, people bind orchids to tree trunks, so there are these random orchids *everywhere*. It’s so lovely! And they thrive!! But I’ve never seen species like those in the Botanical Gardens… so prepare yourselves for the onslaught, which I’ll thumbnail so we don’t all lose our minds.

Phew. Bummer about my tendency to over-expose, eh? I have to tell you—I had no idea that orchids could look SO different! So pretty—I heart the orchideario!

And closing off our weekend in Rio, we went out to Urca—home of our future inn, don’t you know? Sure, it doesn’t have the immediate beach access like Ipanema or Leblon, but what it does have is a view!

And a picturesque, non-crazy-busy waterfront!

And at the end of the road, there’s Bar Urca, which has waiters running pails of beer out to all the people sitting on the sea wall outside—for a 40 metre stretch! The bar itself is small with a cosy resto upstairs, but the real thrill comes from just sitting outside, enjoying the vibe, and, if you’re lucky like we were, an impromptu gathering of samba musicians.

I’ve been to some pretty amazing cities the world over, and Rio is right up there with the best.

I guess I can just sit back and be amazed it didn’t happen sooner… I’m writing this post on day 5 of an epic cold. Only from a place of recovering burnout does one get sick when it’s been 20+ degrees C here for weeks. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Brazilians suck at keeping their germs to themselves, but this shouldn’t have happened!

I am intensely peeved at the fact that this has now curttailed my socialising in the dying days of Brazil, to say nothing of the fact that I’ve been sitting out on the gym now, too. And I’ve just learned that my gracious hostess is going to New York on Saturday this week. My fate, days 90, 91 and 92 of my trip—aka, THE END—are uncertain. I wish I could change my ticket… but I can’t. Hm.

So now, let’s accentuate the positive for awhile… and for that, I want to tell you something I know to be true, under my second heading for this post:

Rio de Janeiro, Part I: no river, no January

When people die and say they want to go to Heaven, what they really mean is, “I want to go to Rio”.

Rio de Janeiro is what you imagine Brazil is all about. The beaches, the mountains, the bikinis… it’s all there! Marcella calls Rio “her happy place”. Now that I’ve been there, I know why.

When we travel, Marcella and I play two games. The first one is, “create the backstory”. We like to meet people (or observe them), and decide what they’re all about, how they fit together, who they are… that’s a fun one. We *also* play, “where will our inn go?” because we’ve decided we’re going to have a series of inns one day in places we love. The first one will be in Freiburg, where we met, and then one in Cusco, and now: one in Rio…

Because you can’t NOT love Rio.

Even if you arrive and Marcella says “I’ve never been to Rio when it was this cold.”

Now: first rule of Brazilians is that there are two temperatures: hot and cold. They don’t know about “chilly” or “warmish”. So if the mercury drops below 20°C, it’s “cold”.

So my first view of Ipanema,  by Brailian logic, should have made me miserable and chilled to the bone… but I actually *loved* it. The beach was empty because there was no sun, but that just kicked the surf up into a lot more awesome. See? (Plus: please note the sidewalk pattern—that’s how you know this girl was in Ipanema).

See?!?!?

I like the look of the buildings along the boardwalk—narrow fronts, some pretty tall, each one going for thousands to tens of thousands per square footage.

I could have, would have, stayed sitting there all day, watching the waves… but we were hungry. Marcella bought beach food from a vendor, but that doesn’t really count. Have I told you about biscoitos de polvilho?:

More specifically, they’re like a puffed air snack. Actually, made with corn starch, tapioca flour and eggs, but still—the taste is pure, crunchy air. Shaped like a doughnut.

We adjourned to a bar on the beach and it began to rain… so my pictures for Friday end here… Rio was a trip of relaxation… but also not really a tourist trip. I took a fraction of the photos I had in Peru because there, we were experiencing new things as visitors. In Rio, we ended up doing a bunch of non-touristy things, and being in non-touristy places, many of which made it feel weird to take out my camera. Huh.

So now, we take up Saturday, when we went for a walk down the beach from Arpoador to Leblon; unbeknownst to me, we were going to meet up with Marcella’s cousin whom she calls her brother because he lived with her for a few years when they were young… and when Gabriel and his girlfriend showed up—both Carioca—it became even more absurd for me to take out my camera. But it was still a lovely day!

If you go to Rio, eat at Chico e Alaíde in Leblon. Little, local, very popular, and very, very good.

(source)

After lunch, Gabriel, who plays in a band, had a gig up at the ruins in Santa Teresa… so we took a bus to his house, picked up his gear, and took a cab up to the ruins. I spotted this on the bus:

Being obese gets you special seating on the bus. Huh. I thought that was interesting also because just *getting* on the bus involves going through a turnstyle that’s SO tight that I couldn’t go through it with my bag on my shoulder. So I guess if you can somehow get *on* the bus, you deserve a little preferential treatment…

My sunhat of joy and happiness and I, riding the bus (man, I need a haircut):

and then as we reached Casas das Ruinas in Santa Teresa… (pretty! No clue what it’s about!)…

… and we realised we were there, but the band was not. What the what? Here, Gabriel is phoning to find out where everyone is, and Marcella is sleeping. But the story could also so easily be, “Marcella passed out, and Gabriel phoned for help”, eh?

Turns out, the band decided not to play. No one told Gabriel. A very Brazilian trait… So I contented myself with taking pics of the fabulous view—like the iconic Pão de Açucar (the Sugarloaf), which is probably the most distinctive sign of Rio besides the Christ:

tall and skinny = Sugarloaf. Short and greenish = Urca. I want our future inn to be at Urca. Marcella wants it at Copacabana, Ipanema or Leblon. We shall see…

And in the other direction from the Pão de Açucar was downtown Rio:

Santa Teresa was pretty… and as we walked the streets in search of another cab, I just took some photos of… Carioca life:

(FAVELA:)

(heh):

… and then we found our cab. And took a ride up to the top of the Corcovado mountain to see the statue of Christ the Redeemer.

We got there just as the sun was setting…

(lagoon!)

the largest Art Deco statue in the world, apparently…

and on his left:

It was impressive, and I’m not even religious. Which is maybe a good thing, because I might have been slightly offended by the touristy claptrap, but since, as of 2007, the Christ is one of the Seven New Wonders of the World… it’s also to be expected.

When we left the Christ we nearly got stranded (we should have paid the cab to wait—though no one told *us* that!), but ultimately made it to Gabriel’s girlfriend’s place for a drink. She lives with her artist grandmother and architect grandfather in a penthouse flat that has a view of the lagoon, the Christ, the Pão de Açucar… but since it was 17 degrees, the Brazilians all clustered inside to get out of the ‘cold’. I joined them so as not to be rude, but not before a little midnight Jesus:

It’s the best I could do, sans tripod, and I kind of like that it looks like there’s some kind of celestial event going on. In actual fact, it’s just LEDs.

See?

That’s Rio, Part I… le sigh!

I’m really happy about the US Open today.

Are you happy?