Beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires & Beyond

-Day 2-

Those of you who know Cass and I will understand we like a plan. Being the ‘reliable couple’, as we have been referred, you’ll probably be surprised to hear we only booked accommodation for Rio, and left our other destination hotel beds “flexible”. What we hadn’t accounted for was the festival of Saint Sebastian. Like a great British bank holiday weekend, this Rio de Janeiro state only break leads Cariocas (Rio’s residents) to head to the islands, and importantly for us, Ilha Grande.

Admittedly, I should have studied my Brazilian Portuguese more thoroughly in London. Though ordering a beer and getting away with pointing at the menu carried us yesterday, deciphering the accent over the phone is a completely different matter. As with learning all new languages, picking your question in your phrase book, complete with phonetic guide, is simple enough. The machine gun response however leaves you stumped. The overriding repeated phrase though from the twenty posadas (guest houses) on Ilha Grande was ‘Não há vagas’ - no room at the inn! With the mounting irritation Mary must face felt with Josef for not booking ahead, Cass and I persisted until finally Hélio and Norma at the ‘Portal dos Borbas’ said they had an available, if somewhat pricey room - we just hoped it wasn’t the stable…

Feeling relieved but intent not to repeat this mistake and spend more hours locked in a hotel room while the sun blazed outside, we quickly organised our buses for the next nine days and shot emails to hotels in Paraty, our next destination in 4 days. To say Ipanema was packed is an understatement. Almost every square inch up to the crashing water’s edge was occupied with a family celebrating/sheltering under a red parasol. The holiday had brought everyone who couldn’t escape the heat of the city to the beach. With seconds to spare, Cass spotted a prime clear patch by the sea and swooped in with our sarongs. Brazilian’s are not worried by personal space and despite our close proximity, others soon clustered around us to enjoy the lapping waves and cloudless sky. From here, we had a perfect view for more people watching of every shake and size; bootlicious thongs to ‘back burrito’ bulges.

Though I’m not religious, I’m always astounded by the incredible fears of design and engineering it inspires. And so we headed to ‘Cristo Redentor’ (Christ the redeemer) who towers with open arms, surveying the staggeringly beautiful Rio landscape atop the 710m Corcavado peak. Via a relay of public bus, shared taxi and tourist bus we reached the summit in the mid afternoon. Although pleasingly cool, the overcast sky made for dull photographs, save for the spectacle of tourists lying on their backs to frame their standing partners echoing the Christ’s outstretched arms looming above. What we did realise though, was that the twin peaks at the end of Ipanema we had taken for the famous sugar loaf mountain, we’re infant another range, and the loaf itself stood prominently to the north closer to Copacabana.

With some recommendations in hand from Brazilian friends, in the evening we headed for the trendy area if Leblon. Cass put on her heels and so was a little self conscious when we arrived at ‘Bracarense’. What we had took to be a cool cocktail bar was actually closer to a New York style alfresco diner. However we soon settled in at the bar stools and sank some ice cold tumblers of choppee, delivered in rapid succession by our eager barman who served up a range of delicious appetisers : prawn balls with cream cheese, squid and crab patties, followed by a hearty pork sandwich carved from the bone in front of us. Again in fragmented Portuguese, we chatted with a Brazilian family who took to us enjoying their local before we headed to the ‘Academia Cachaça’. For those unacquainted, Cachaça is Brazil’s national spirit, a ‘put Hayes on your chest’ sugar cane liqueur usually unadulterated with any mixer except sugar and fresh lime. Thinking I was choosing a “healthy” option, I opted for a combination with Coconut juice but on arrival bore a strong resemblance to a lethal ‘Bushwhacker’ Cass’ brother Sebastian bought me in Nashville. Cass meanwhile was served an innocuous looking fruity number but on tasting could strip point and killed a small part of her liver. When asked to suggest a mixer to soften it, the sheepish waiter suggested more ice! After a boozy season extending since early December, we’re astounded we need more drinking practice.

- By Ian

-Day 1-

Our first day began with cake. For breakfast.

There was chocolate bundt cake, coconut cake (very moist!), syrupy caramel flan, ectoplasmic custard cake… any cake you can think of, I think we’ve seen it here, and probably tasted it too (I keep trying to convince Ian it’s one of the many ways we can ‘immerse ourselves’ in the Brazillian culture, but he’s not biting.)

I’m beginning to understand the reason why Rio has some serious booty!

We had our work cut out for us as we offset the ‘o bolo’ breakfast with a long morning stroll up and down iPanema and Leblon beaches. SPF50 and fresh coconut in hand, we absorbed the most breathtaking scenery I have ever seen in my life. Through the morning mist, clusters of high rise city buildings & hillside favelas emerged, sandwiched in-between epic rainforest covered mountains in the background, & white sand beaches and shore breaking waves in the foreground.

Our lighter shade of pale forced us to take shade under an umbrella for most of the day on the beach, and I couldn’t help but notice the women (Ian enjoyed an eyeful too ;P ) Well, two things about them, the first less obvious- in Rio, they don’t seem to carry handbags? Where do they put their purse, lipgloss, keys…? I’m not sure whether this is a safety thing, but I took note and did as the locals did… and Ian had to carry all my stuff in his pockets!

Next, I have never seen so many thong bikinis in my life! Size 8 or 18, age 8 or 88, EVERYONE is in a thong! The confidence of women here is inspiring; we prudish Brits could learn a thing or two about embracing the love handles and treating them as voluptuous, after all it’s not your size, it’s about how you carry it.
My white bottom however, sticks out like a sore thumb and is definitely singing “mug me” rather than “the thong song”!

As the end of the day drew, we climbed the Arproador rocks to photograph what ended up being not-quite a sunset. As we tried to look inconspicuous with a tripod and Ian’s brand new £1500 camera kit, Ian captured the fishermen perching in perilous positions and pulling in fresh squid by the bucket load.

We braved an electrical storm and went out for supper at an upscale place in iPanema called Market. Whenever I see fillet steak cost the same as penne pasta, I’ll be having the steak. And whenever a can of beer is less than a coke, it’s pretty obvious that I’ll also be having the beer…. Looking back at the ‘photo’ I made for our leaving drinks invitation, I can’t help but wonder, am I about to fulfill my own prophecy?

But then again, it would be rude not to try the freshly baked banana cake at breakfast tomorrow…

- By Cass

We were lucky. London’s shift into winter only hit us in the final week, making an escape into Brazil’s glorious golden sunshine even sweeter. Crisp blue skies and dry frosty air saved us from the capital’s usual grey dankness, which seeps into your bones and reddens a dripping nose.

Having packed everything we own including our winter clothes - with our combined OCD exactitude - and moved them to Manchester, we were left with: assorted summer layers, a rain mac for me, a borrowed ‘Arthur Daily’ jacket for Cass, plus a pair of Uggs. I succumbed to buying a new beanie after shaving my hair in readiness for the tropics, only to feel my ears turn blue!

Leaving friends and family for me has only become easier with the years and my repeated exits from ‘normal’ life. Cass though is trusting in my belief in her; that she can succeed anywhere and spread her wings from London’s sometimes insular metropolis. Her friend’s concern and joy at our adventure is testament to her character and their close bond - I am under strict instruction not to hurt her, which I am happy to obey.

There is something particularly delicious about sitting in Terminal 5, looking out at British drizzle and knowing you are soon to soar above it and be evacuated to soul enhancing climes. BA flight 289 passed it’s 10 hours uneventfully from London to Rio over the mighty Atlantic, save Cass, who, a little smugly, pipped me at Scrabble.

Those familiar with the opening sequence of the film ‘Collateral’, where Jamie Fox drives his taxi through LA’s nighttime urban sprawl whilst Motown plays, will get a feel for our ride into Rio. Only replace the Ray Charles with Bosa Nova and make the driving slightly more erratic; the driver seeking out impossible gaps between speeding trucks accompanied by the ‘Girl from Ipanema’.

Softly lapping waves and the floodlit view of daring night surfers at the Arpoador rocks is how we were greeted on our arrival. The last hotel bar on the point between Ipanema and Copacabana beaches, with a ‘choppee’ (Brazilian beer) in hand, we toasted the start of a journey to find the most beautiful beaches from Brazil to Buenos Aires and Beyond…