BRAZIL

Rio de Janeiro
Karen’s found another bargain **** hotel/apart for US$100. The only drawback is that we’re soon the only ones left on our floor that is having its first refurb. for 30 years. I catch a snippet of the Champions League Final in between the hammering. You have to feel for poor old John Terry. Oh well it’s only a sport – please hold my beer Karen while I go and jump off the balcony. Man U as well and Ronaldo had just missed – maybe next year…..

We are perfectly positioned here for some serious tanning with Copacabana 100 metres one way and Ipanema 200 metres in the other direction. I invest in some black ‘Daniel Craig as James Bond’ swimmers and rush to check out the bevy of topless beauties. I soon discover that not everyone on the beach is a supermodel by any means. This is slightly galling from a lecherous lad’s point of view, but actually quite pleasing from a 40- year-old-plus-with-growing-gut perspective. There are plenty of interesting thongs being worn to show off many buttocks of various shapes and sizes. The ‘postage stamp’ bikini tops that barely cover the nipples also intrigue me. It seems the mainly Catholic Brazilians don’t approve of nudity but are perfectly happy for three 2 inch equilateral triangles joined by string to pass itself off as a bikini.

The kids are soon playing well in the sand and sea. Although we need to keep a constant lookout due to the dangerous rips, Harley and Ruby are well aware of the dangers from Vietnam and Australia. We can relax with our ‘ dos Caipiroscas con Smirnoff e hielo, poco azucar por favor’. The bloody language has changed from Spanish to Portuguese, just as I felt I was getting somewhere, but at least I’ve mastered one sentence. The only problem with getting a phrase off pat is that the bloody waiter thinks you can speak a bit of the lingo. He then starts chattering away for a few minutes, while I smile inanely punctuating his diatribe with the odd ‘si’ or ‘no’ and hoping not to be found out. By the second or third drink the game’s up, but at least I can then wait for my drink in peace and quiet.

Ipanema is more beautiful with misty isles out to sea and giant swallow-like birds wheeling gracefully overhead. There is a younger crowd too – crowd being the operative word. For the first few days the beaches are packed and it later transpires that this is due to a festival. The feeling of busyness is accentuated by the constant stream of hawkers chanting their way down the beach selling anything from corn on the cob to toe-rings. The good news is that you can come to the beach empty handed apart from a few Reals and your every need is catered to. Ice –creams are a bit of a rip-off at 6 Reals of £2 but who cares if they keep the kids quiet for a few more minutes. Body surfing is fun but the waves here are even bigger than at Copacabana. After getting ‘dumped’ from a ‘monster’ 3-metre wave and spending the next 30 seconds swirling around under water I’m a bit more circumspect. Karen is too after the waves cheekily pop out her left breast a couple of times.

After a few sunny days on the beach we take advantage of a more overcast morning to visit Păo Asucar (Sugar Loaf). We get a good view of Rio from the midway cable car stop, but the summit is above the level of the cloud and we see little apart from circling hawks that Karen reckons are crows. Back at the foot of the ‘loaf’ we enjoy an excellent buffet lunch. On the recommendation of the English-speaking waiter (he learnt the language picking strawberries in Herefordshire in 2000) I order a meat feast and some decent Argy Malbec (Norton 2004). The waiter even points out the holy Catholic relics on the way to the toilet, not realising that when a 3-year-old says he needs the loo, he needs it quickly.

Our Cultural appetite is whetted but not sated, so the next day we book the English-speaking driver Elias for a trip to Corcovado (Christ the Redeemer). He drives us via the Tijuca National Park, a huge rainforest, to the bus that takes us to the statue itself. We stop to admire a 3-toed sloth crossing the road. By the time this fascinating beast has made it across, stopping briefly to blink cutely at Karen, who always did attract the lazy, hairy type, there’s a 3-bus tailback behind us. I’m feeling rough but luckily there’s an elevator and escalators to take us to the top. The scale of Corcovado is impressive as are the 360-degree views of Rio far below from the Maracuna football stadium past the dwarfed Sugar Loaf round to Copacabana and Ipanema. It’s a shame Mr Whinge comes back from vacation to ruin the moment. For a moment I’m envious of a glamorous couple without a care (or kids), sipping champagne – I then realise it’s only ‘Méthode Champenoise’ and don’t feel so bad. I’m further cheered when a guide is convinced I’m a Hollywood actor who one an Oscar in 2000 (George Clooney ?!). It must be the orange floral shirt – or maybe it’s just my dashing good looks…

We have lunch in the pretty hillside suburb of Santa Teresa. The place is 300 years old with attractive buildings and quaint trams and we stay for lunch. The ½ duck in plum sauce is 75 Real, which is more expensive than in Ladbroke Grove but it is worth it and the local award winning beer is equally good. On the way back we drive past a couple of ‘favellas’ or shanty towns which look much less primitive than in Asia being mainly brick not wood. Elias tells us that they are too dangerous to visit. I’m not surprised as I’ve read that 99% of the wealth in Brazil is held by 1% of the people. Clearly those living in the ‘favellas’ are the poorest section of the 99% and they presume that strangers coming onto their turf are part of the 1% and keen to disencumber themselves of their wealth.

We move swiftly on to the last part of our tour – Downtown Rio. The first stop is a weird 1960’s cathedral - a concrete monstrosity with 4 massive stained glass windows. Still it’s original and somehow appealing despite it’s ugliness. We pass the ‘Rubik’s Cube’ Petrobras building and the former Royal Palace en route to Nossa Senhora du Candelaria church. There’s no time to stop as we whizz round Praca 15 de Novembro with its old well and Aqueduct that is now a pretty cobbled street with restaurants and shops. That evening is our last in Rio (for a while anyway) and we celebrate with dinner in the excellent tapas restaurant Jobi. The fish cakes are to die for as are the spicy jumbo prawns and by the time the beers and caipiroscas have stopped flowing we’ve notched up a 300 Real bill (£100). To make matters worse they don’t take Visa, we have no cash and the kids are ready for bed. I’m trying to work out how to sort out this impasse when a friendly local metals trader called Carlos agrees to ‘cover’ my bill. I take the family back to the hotel; go to the cashpoint and return to pay the bill in cash. I try to find Carlos to buy him a beer by way of thanks, but he’s gone. The manager is happy to see me though; I’ve never seen such a huge smile so I order a Courvoisier VSOP thinking it’ll be on the house. No such luck and the bill is now 328 Reals – still I do get presented with a Jobi keying for my troubles.