Travel
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Changing the Metrics
In February of last year, on the last day of my trip to Rio de Janeiro, I had the entire day to myself. I spent the morning riding skycars up to the Sugar Loaf Mountain and traipsing around a series of fetching wooded paths populated by tiny monkeys the size of squirrels. In the afternoon, I paid up at my hotel, stored my bags behind the desk, and took my book, my towel, and my self out to Copacabana Beach for an afternoon of reading and snoozing. I had several hours before my departure for my late evening red-eye flight, and I had a big old Stieg Larssen novel that…
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Just a Few More Pictures
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The End of my Rio Trip
My two days off in Rio – bullet point and run-on sentence style: A hungover taxi ride up a mountainside to Santa Teresa – my tender stomach will not recover from this for hours. We go shopping for souvenirs and generally wander. It is the most delightful little quiet hilltop neighborhood. Beautiful murals, weathered and peeling, painted on buildings and along the concrete retaining walls that hold back the encroaching mountain from the winding streets. Sweeping views of Rio below – myriad repeats of the “tiny tucked-away cove” variety: taffy-colored blue-green water, a strip of glittering sand, huddled high rise buildings, white sailboats anchored just offshore, occasionally a bird’s eye…
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More on Rio
Rio seems a million miles away, but here are my collected memories from the trip. I just ate half a block of Velveeta and drank a glass of white wine, so I’m ready to write this thing before it flies out of my brain. Here’s hoping I’ve only retained the best ones, and only lost the worst! I arrived in Rio early in the morning on Wednesday. I learned very quickly that nobody in Rio speaks a word of English. I even had trouble asking the airport Tourist Information people a question. After an all night (very turbulent) flight, during which I slept very little, I was not feeling up…
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Snippets of Rio
A few snippets, and a few pictures, until I have time for a more proper update. I toddle and trip over a mile of mosaic cobblestone sidewalks to my metro stop, then climb aboard the women-only car, which is painted pink. On the other side I end up exiting the metro from a different exit from the one I know. As I fumble my way through an unfamiliar city, searching for the Praia de Botafogo, I hear a rooster crow from somewhere in the forest of high-rises. A second rooster answers it. One day we see a little black Scottie dog, running back and forth, back and forth across his…