In a city that’s such a stunner–rich in so many different ways, poor in so many others–why do I keep remembering that odd little man standing outside the tram station at the foot of Corcovado Mountain?
I mean the man with the bloody knife sticking clear through his head. The man who blew incessantly on a shrill bird-call whistle hidden in his mouth. The man who jiggled his arms and legs like a puppet on tangled strings.
I guess I remember because he was so animated, so unselfconscious. He was frenetic in his efforts to sell us visitors his fool-the-eye rubber knives and those annoying whistles. He was noisy and flamboyant and relentlessly cheerful.
Clearly, Rio is his kind of town.
We were piling onto the train for the ride up Corcovado to the gigantic feet of Cristo Redentor, Rio’s Christ the Redeemer statue, 100 feet tall and 2,100 feet above sea level. Those feet are immense, but our guide chose to impress us with another dimension, the statue’s outstretched arms.
“The arms measure 28 meters, hand to hand–about 90 feet,” said the guide. The arms, of course, are extended in a gesture of welcome, maybe the beginning of an embrace. The left points to the north side and the right to the south. Those arms are big, to be sure, and some cynics contend they should be folded in an imperious gesture meaning “get lost.” But I had no time for that sort of controversy. I was too distracted by the view from Cristo’s feet.
At the top of Corcovado, the panorama shows a city cleverly squeezed between hills, mountains and shoreline with a large lake in the middle, the Atlantic Ocean in its lap and a bright smile of white beachside apartment buildings. The mountains and hills include the enormous Tijuca National Park, a verdant jungle backdrop that nicely sets off all the urban concrete. That urban concrete, in turn, forms a solid wall of metropolitan splendor behind wide, white beaches that on hot days sport a colorful patchwork of Speedos, thong bikinis and suntans.
Back at sea level, the man with shrill whistle and knife through his head (thanks to a hidden hoop) was still hard at work, probably making some tourists wonder, “What sort of people are we dealing with?”
In an unfamiliar country, I’m always curious about the lives lived out in houses and apartments. I imagine that in the condos along the beach, residents might enjoy luxury similar to that offered by my hotel, the Rio Palace. Copacabana Beach lies just beyond the lobby in a district of high-rise residences with cafes at sidewalk level.
Hotel guests share with the apartment dwellers a wide promenade of curving black and white mosaic reminiscent of the Meeting of the Waters, where the black Rio Negro and the tan Rio Solimoes flow side by side near the port of Manaus before mixing with the Amazon.
There wouldn’t be time to see inside the homes that surrounded us, but they looked as if they had the same amenities as the Rio Palace Hotel: big TV, marble in the bath, thick carpeting and probably a basket of fruit atop the coffee table. And, of course, our windows and theirs all frame those glorious green lumps of mountain that wade delightfully just offshore.
Between the luxury buildings, we could observe more housing of a different type crammed along the slopes of Serra da Carioca, the mountains that separate north Rio from south. On the sort of lofty real estate that sells for millions in Monaco, Rio’s poor and slightly better-off occupy communities called favelas in structures that range from rain-soaked cardboard to solid brick. They have the best view of all.
A few of those residences are open to visitors, thanks to Rejane Reis. Through her business, Exotic Tours, Reis has trained neighborhood young people to escort curious outsiders through the biggest Rio favelas, including the one called Rocinha.
Reis’ tourism workshop brings some money into the community, allows teenagers to practice languages other than their native Portuguese and fosters in the young people a little pride of place. After all, citizens of Rocinha enjoy the same beautiful vistas of Guanabara Bay as the people living in the hillside estates that adjoin their favela borders. In their crowded compounds, streets bustle with the same energy as the streets downtown. But they are narrow and steep, dirtier than the streets below and filled with cars mostly of earlier vintage.
“We are a city of 12 million, and 40 percent of the people live inside a favela,” Reis told me. Tall and slender with light brown hair, she speaks rapidly and her eyes dance.
“Favela is just a word that means `the whole area.’ The favela we are visiting today has 200,000 people–the largest in Latin America. Its name is Rocinha. `Roc’ means a place where people plant vegetables, and `inha’ is a nice way to say some words: `Rocinha.’ People used to say, `Let’s go to Rocinha to buy vegetables,’ and the name stayed like that after the vegetables were gone.”
She turned my wife, Juju, and me over to Bruno David, a slim and enthusiastic 16-year-old wearing a floppy rain hat and the tour company’s yellow T-shirt.
We moved rapidly through narrow alleyways and up and down stairways. At a wall adorned with skillfully rendered cartoons, David said, “This is the house of an artist. I would show you his place inside, but I don’t think he is home now.”
We peeked into a nearby doorway and saw a closet-sized emporium lined with tools and paint cans. “Here,” David said, “we have a store with things for the house.” He explained that some 1,200 businesses operate in Rocinha–some of them out on the major streets, but most tucked away like the hardware store.
In the maze of buildings, loud Latin rhythms bombarded us constantly. We passed tiny saloons just big enough to hold a pool table. We waved to people sitting at lunch counters, chapel pews and beauty salon hair dryers. At one noisy bar, a man put a long, twisted wooden horn to his lips and let out a deep blast that drowned out all the music in the alleys of Rocinha.
“If you like, we can stop for a soft drink, OK?” David offered. We did stop–at his neat little home, where his mother fed his newborn sister and watched television. We toured the house–orange walls, a handsome bathroom, a tidy kitchen. Out the window of his impressively neat bedroom, David pointed into the fog.
“When the day is clear, we can see the Cristo from here,” he told us. Juju and I remarked that the house was quite handsome and prosperous-looking, hoping that we didn’t sound surprised.
“We don’t have bad conditions,” David said, referring to his family’s little segment of the favela. “I would like to be a lawyer some day. We are middle class, but middle class here is very very rare. We have in Rio poor people and rich people and not many in-between.”
Back in the precincts of the relatively rich, traffic streams up Avenida Atlantica next to Copacabana Beach. Later, during the evening rush hour, it will stream down. All lanes go in only one direction during the peak periods. Judging by the reckless way a lot of Brazilians drive, that system probably would have happened naturally, even if authorities hadn’t devised it.
At any time, the black and white pedestrian thoroughfare and the beach bear unnerving congestion of their own: joggers, walkers, beach goers with their special little chairs, erratic rollerbladers. They skirt past ranks of refreshment stands festooned with green coconuts, each stand painted a different bold color. On an island separating two of the many Atlantica lanes, brilliant green gas stations provide fuel for the maddening traffic–too fast, too erratic, too much like . . . Rio.
We did a few of the conventional visitor things, because we had not budgeted nearly enough time. Two other couples–one from Chile and one from elsewhere in Brazil–joined us in signing up for a nightlife tour.
First, we ate in a big restaurant that we had to access from the parking garage of a shopping mall. We dined in the Brazilian fashion. Waiters keep the meat coming–pounds and pounds–slicing roast beef, lamb and pork from long skewers and letting the pieces drop slowly to the plate.
After that, we boarded our underutilized motor coach and made our way to Plataforma, the theater/nightclub/folklore showplace that provides hurried visitors with a soupcon of traditional revelry during non-Carnaval months.
In song, dance and incredible acrobatics, the cast tried to depict Brazil’s turbulent past: The tranquility of pre-history, the invasion of the Portuguese, the four centuries of Indian and African slavery serving the sugar, coffee and rubber barons. Plus–with added emphasis–the music and dance that resulted from so many different cultural influences.
But all historical narrative was lost in the storm of loud, brassy renditions of “Brazil” and the blur of half-naked male tumblers, hip-swinging chorines with enormous headdresses, and the ladies wearing impossibly complex feathered and sequined costumes who snaked their way up and down the runway.
According to the program, this spectacle depicted national heroes and the folks they led. Included were Zumbi, the African who fought for liberation of the slaves; Dom Pedro I, the breakaway Portuguese prince who declared Brazilian independence in 1822; Princess Isabel, who outlawed slavery in 1888; Chiquinha Gonzaga, the pop-music composer; and Carmen Miranda, the Brazilian bombshell of movie fame.
The show went on and on with plenty of action but no knives through the heads, no shrill bird calls. Just rivers of color, waves of shaking bodies, wailing trumpets, clattering bongo drums and joyful song–all of which could serve as a symbol of Rio itself and its tempestuous partnership with the wild beauty of South America.
RIO DE JANEIRO
Population: Approximately 12 million in the metropolitan area.
Shapely city: It curves around the Bay of Guanabara, circles around a large lake and a much larger national park and smacks up against rocky escarpments. What a setting!
Right month, wrong body of water: Portuguese explorer Gaspar de Lemos discovered the site in January of 1502. He thought–wrongly, of course–that the bay was a river. And that’s how Rio de Janeiro got its name.
Samba fiercely, escola!: During Carnaval, Rio’s pre-Lent revels, 16 samba schools (clubs, really)–or escolas–compete before judges to determine which has the wildest dancers, liveliest band, cleverest theme, most outrageous costumes, and most flirtatious men and women.
Not your average church basement: The major bingo parlors are more like casinos–big and posh with fast action. Conventional casinos have been banned for decades, so gambling on sports, the lotto, illegal numbers racket and bingo must fill the void.
RIO DE JANEIRO
Q&A
Q. Is Rio a straight shot south from Chicago?
A. No, it’s four hours later there than it is here. The city is not only south but quite a bit east of the U.S.
Q. How long is the flight?
A. Counting a three-hour hop to Miami, Rio is 11 1/2 hours away from Chicago. Left town at 5:40 p.m., had a two-hour layover in Miami and arrived in Rio the next day at 8:53 a.m.
Q. Bet you were dazzled by sunshine when you got there.
A. So you would think. But it can rain and fog up in Rio, just as it can rain and fog up in a lot of places with sunny reputations. Even on a clear day, the ride from the airport involves passing miles of gray apartment blocks and sooty factories–all the more unpleasant under gray skies.
Q. So when do we get to the Man and Nature’s Greatest Hits aspect of your report?
A. OK. It was still dismal when I arrived at our hotel on Copacabana Beach, but I could see enough to understand why the city ranks a spot in our series. There, to the left of us, was a white, gleaming crescent of apartment buildings and hotels, precisely following the curve of shoreline. Off in the distance, I could make out Sugar Loaf, the lump of rock that neatly anchors the long stretch of sand. When the weather got better, Rio’s credentials as a Greatest Hit, became ever more apparent (see story).
Q. Did you witness Carnaval?
A. Only on the E! Channel, back home. Carnaval events peak near Lent, and I was there in the fall. All year, however, visitors can look in on some of the neighborhood samba clubs as they make their preparations for the big event, this year Feb. 9 through 12.
Q. You had to miss all that color and excitement?
A. Not at all. Tour buses make regular stops at the Sambodromo, a stadium-like stretch of grandstands where delirious Cariocas (Rio inhabitants) strut their stuff during Carnaval. Use your imagination to conjure the festive atmosphere. Or take in the show at Plataforma nightclub (another favorite tour-bus stop), where dancers, bands, jugglers and lavishly costumed entertainers provide a Carnaval sampler. It’s pure corn–plus feathers, sequins, noise, sweat and lots of fun.
Q. Is Rio safe?
A. The city can be a Valhalla for crimes of opportunity. Avoid lavish jewelry, dress down, carry no more money than you can afford to lose and hide that expensive camera in a plastic shopping bag, rather than a fanny pack that screams TOURIST! Stay in busy, well-lit areas, where the main dangers are cars and buses that careen around corners with no regard for pedestrians.
Q. Is it all beaches and concrete?
A. No. Rio is a Wonder because it has been squeezed between two natural resources–the crescent beaches and the mountains of Parque Nacional da Tijuca, the trace of jungle that still remains as backdrop to the skyscrapers. Atop the mountain called Corcovado (Hunchback) is the famous statue of Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer), arms spread wide as if embracing the city. Such statues are common throughout South America. This is the most dramatic because of its superb location.
Q. The view from there must be the best in town.
A. One of them. But don’t miss the cable car ride up to the summit of Sugar Loaf, where–at sunset–the lights of Rio de Janeiro, the mountains, the beaches and harbors challenge you to name a city more beautiful than this.
Q. Are the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanema all they’re cracked up to be?
A. Oh, yes. You’ll find miles of white sand, the most colorful and skimpiest of beachwear, vivid umbrellas, vendors everywhere, volleyball games and blue ocean. The girl from Ipanema? Not just one. Legions.
Q. But how can I meet the people when they all speak Portuguese?
A. A surprising number of residents are fluent in English–particularly in tourist areas. Many of the rest communicate with smiles, winks, gestures and infinite patience.
Q. Where might I learn more?
A. Consulate offices can get you started with some general information on tourism and Brazilian visa procedures. In Chicago, that’s at 401 N. Michigan Ave., Suite 3050, Chicago, IL 60611-4207, open weekdays from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. 312-464-0245; fax: 312-464-0299.
The official government travel Web site is www.embratur.gov.br/.
On the beaches–and elsewhere
Lots of people come to Rio de Janeiro, gape at its magnificent ocean setting and refuse to get up from their beach towels until it’s time to go home. That shoreline and the neighborhoods attached to them shouldn’t be missed, but a bit farther inland, Rio still sparkles.
1. 2. Leblon and Ipanema
The glamorous beaches start here, where the strands are but a few steps away from the luxury high-rise apartments. Nearby are clusters of Rio’s fanciest bars and restaurants.
3. Copacabana
A good many Rio vacations begin and end where the beach curves, hotels abound and nightclubs jump. At Copacabana, anything goes, and usually does.
4. Museu Carmen Miranda
Born in Portugal, Miranda came to symbolize the abandon of Rio in 1940s Hollywood musicals. Men and women in several samba clubs still don the sort of fruit-filled headgear that became her trademark. The real costumes are on display in this Parque do Flamengo museum.
5. Centro
Proving its credentials as more than a toy city, Rio boasts a high-tech, frenzied core, where business gets done and cultural attractions reward sightseers looking for relief from the flamboyant seaside:
Museu Nacional de Belas Artes contains fine examples of Brazilian art and a few gems from other parts of the world.
The ornate Teatro Municipal resembles the old Paris Opera, and its lavish interior competes for attention with the operas and symphony concerts onstage.
Sambodromo. At Carnaval Central, in the days and nights leading up to Lent, a drab stretch of concrete grandstand (capacity 60,000) blossoms with bright costumes and non-stop frenetic celebration from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. as the samba clubs parade.
6. Sugar Loaf
The little cable cars (capacity 75 persons each) really do seem as if they reach halfway to the stars, and at twilight, the city views gleam. Other times, the granite lump serves all of Rio as a scenic point of reference.
7. Corcovado
With the help of cable cars, visitors mount this “hunchback” rise in the landscape to stand at the feet of Rio’s Christ the Redeemer statue (900 feet tall) for another fine view of the city, 2,100 feet below.
8. Tijuca National Park
All that jungle greenery on the way to the top of Corcovado is a tiny slice of what may be the largest urban park in the world, 13 square miles of peaks, waterfalls, thick vegetation and colorful wildlife–including iguanas, monkeys and exotic birds.
9. Botanical Garden
Not far from the wilds of Parque Nacional da Tijuca, nature has been tamed into acres of flower beds and rows of palm trees dating back to the early 1800s, when the garden first came into being.
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E-mail Robert Cross: bcross@tribune.com
