May 5, 2005
Michiyo and I have reached the halfway point of our backpacking honeymoon adventure, and tomorrow we will walk across a bridge that will take us from Argentina to Bolivia, where we hope a train will take us to a city called Uyuni. While the places have been spectacular, the people we have met along the way, just as the saying goes, have provided some of the best times. I have pages and pages of notes, stories, and memories of the first few weeks in South America, and here is a taste.
About a month ago, we finalized our plans, finished our packing, and shaved our heads (well, Michiyo shaved mine), then said goodbye to Mom and Papa Joe (now nearly 100% recovered!) at the airport. We landed in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and soon scored a sweet apartment with a kitchen that was our home for a week. Rio is New York on a beach, or more specifically, 50 miles of beaches, and although we did not get to experience Carnaval as planned, this vast metropolis of 10 million was crazy enough even in the low season to keep us constantly amazed. Bustling at every hour of the day, there always seemed to be a new area to explore, another bus to take, train to ride, or boat to float.
We joined a one-day tour of Rio in a van with several other people, including Leticia and Francisco, a nice couple from Buenos Aires, Argentina. Cable cars took us to the top of Rio's signature natural overlook, a rock formation shaped like Portuguese bread named Sugar Loaf. Then, escalators took us to the top of Rio’s signature man-made overlook, a mountaintop capped with a towering, three-story statue of Christ with his arms spread, looking toward the city. This concrete monument, called the Corcovado, rests so high above the city that passing clouds make photo opportunities impossible from one minute to the next, even when you are standing right next to it. Over lunch, a Brazilian-style buffet with everything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, we bonded with our new friends, and at the end of the day, Leticia and Francisco said to look them up when we got to Buenos Aires.
One Sunday afternoon, a championship soccer (FUTBOL) match was played at the Macarana, a gigantic stadium holding over 90,000 screaming, hopping, Brazilians. Baraket, an Israeli woman in the fifth month of a year-long journey around the continent, joined us as we relaxed in the seats of the subdued tourist section and watched Fluminense, a popular local club, lose 4-3 in an exciting game to an out-of-town team.
Perhaps the most meaningful experience of the trip came on a tour through some of Brazil’s slums called favelas. Hundreds of hastily-built concrete shacks piled on top of each other were homes to tens of thousands of the city's poor, most of which lie in plain view, and in some cases, next door, to some of Rio’s richest citizens. The people, who make in one month what we were spending in two or three days, served as staff at the hotels and restaurants that tourists like us were frequenting. Spliced electricity lines and redirected water sources help expenses stay low, and like so many poor areas I have seen, one antenna on nearly every roof ensured that television could distract folks from the perils of poverty. While safety was a concern for us, our energetic tour guide, Christina, assured us that the drug lords who run these areas would never stand for anything to happen during the daytime, and we were probably safer here than in the sprawl of the city.
After one busy week in Rio, we took a bus to Sao Paolo, a city of 16 million people and loads of skyscrapers, which unfortunately, barely merits one sentence. It's really big, and the largest colony of Japanese outside of Japan ensure a good Asian meal. We stayed one night there, and looked forward to the next city, Florianopolis, a popular beach resort town that thrives in the summer, but provides the perfect low-key setting now, in the autumn of South America. We stayed in an expansive apartment for an inexpensive rate, made smoothies every day with the blender provided, walked the beaches and sand dunes, and basked in the warm hospitality of the locals, who were appreciative of our business in the low season.
From Florianopolis, we began an eventful bus ride—not one, but two buses broke down in the middle of the night--that delivered us to Foz de Iguacu, a city that exists to host visitors to one of the world's most incredible natural settings. Iguacu National Park forms the border between Brazil and Argentina. A few waterfalls, visible from both countries, form the actual border. Most people recommended going to the Brazil side first, and then heading to the Argentina side, which was supposed to be better. While living in Japan, I developed a serious addiction to waterfalls. My brother Mark, who shares this fascination, and I would devote entire afternoons to exploring the countryside in search of a bigger, better, more beautiful occurrence of water rushing over a cliff and into a river below. We found many, and jumped off as often as we could and live to tell about it. Nothing, however, probably not even a visit to Niagara Falls in New York, could have prepared me for Iguacu.
Along the catwalks and trails built into the sides of the cliffs leading down to the river, not 10, not 100, not even 200, but more than 250 waterfalls pleasured our senses. The roar was deafening, the sight dizzying, and we could walk close enough to feel the spray in several places. In the two weeks since we visited Iguacu, I am still trying to come up with an analogy to relate what the setting was like. I can tell you that we both felt like a couple of school kids on a field trip--every few steps, Michiyo and I would turn to each other with giddy smiles and hop around as if we had just discovered that a bolt of lightning contains 1.21 jiggowatts (ONE! POINT! TWENTY-ONE! JIGGOWATTS!).
Along the catwalks and trails built into the sides of the cliffs leading down to the river, not 10, not 100, not even 200, but more than 250 waterfalls pleasured our senses. The roar was deafening, the sight dizzying, and we could walk close enough to feel the spray in several places. In the two weeks since we visited Iguacu, I am still trying to come up with an analogy to relate what the setting was like. I can tell you that we both felt like a couple of school kids on a field trip--every few steps, Michiyo and I would turn to each other with giddy smiles and hop around as if we had just discovered that a bolt of lightning contains 1.21 jiggowatts (ONE! POINT! TWENTY-ONE! JIGGOWATTS!).
I will not say too much more, because I still have to talk about the Argentina side of the falls. Was it better? I will write about that soon, plus tell you about Toshi, only the most interesting Japanese person I have ever met, and also our wonderful week-plus in Buenos Aires, featuring Leticia and Francisco, studying Spanish, playing soccer, and a one-day trip to Uruguay. Everything is going great. I appreciate hearing from you and being in touch. Stay tuned. . .
Joe
Joe
No comments:
Post a Comment