Acclimatisation

Day 2-4: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I won't try and sugar coat it; the last couple of days in Rio have been difficult. But it's not Rio, it's us.

Air travel is a wonderful thing; it can transport you from one continent to another, from one culture to another and from one set of agreed norms to another in the relative blink of an eye. And whilst that is fabulous for a business or a holiday trip, it can be kind of unnerving when you're travelling. Travelling enjoyably and safely requires you to tune that 6^th sense that we all posses for making split second judgements on whether something feels right or wrong into the culture and psyche of the people that you meet. On our previous travels this was quite easy; slow, overland travel meant that we could easily assess subtle changes of culture day by day giving us time to hone our “cultural radar” so that, on the whole, we could make the right value judgements. But this time, transported almost instantaneously into a hot, humid, vibrant and relatively volatile environment our 6^th sense was taking some time to engage.

We knew we needed to be careful in Rio; all of our pre-reading had told us so. But to tell the truth, I was under the impression that it was the usual guide-book 'molly-codling'. I was convinced that when we got here the locals would tell us, “Just be careful and enjoy yourself”. But this wasn't to be. Indeed it was the locals that fuelled our paranoia to bursting point. They insisted on doing a full clothes inspection before we left the safety of our hostel: No branded clothing (Karen take of your North Face sandals), no backpacks (David), no cameras (David), no hippy-beads (David) no water bottles (both)... the list went on and on.

And so with a great deal of trepidation our adventure began. We found ourselves travelling by taxi rather than walking or getting the local bus; we found ourselves mistrusting the kids on the corner, just because they looked different to us; we found ourselves hanging out in the tourist areas and dismissing the people of Rio – all of the things that were so very contrary to what we wanted from our travelling experience. But slowly, day be day, our cultural radar has been getting stronger.

Whilst we appreciate all of the advice we have been given since we arrived, our 6^th sense is stating to refocus itself to the South American culture; we are now starting to make our own assessments about the situations we encounter and the people we meet. Karen has her sandals back on, and I have my beads and my backpack. Today, we left the comfort blanket of the taxi behind and retuned to public transport, navigating the city from affluent suburbs to run down favelas. Today, we left the restaurants inhabited by gringos and retuned to the local side-walk bars where nobody can speak a word of English; the locals put the world to right and the old man in the corner entertains a small crowd of people with with a couple of samba numbers plucked from a guitar that looks older than he is, whilst the omnipresent TV replays the goals of this afternoon's Santos game and a few people remain fixated on the Brazilian equivalent of Who Wants to be a Millionaire (which, in my opinion, is a much better show: Firstly, it is to the exclusion of Chris Tarrant and secondly all of the female contestants seem to be clad in only the tiniest of bikinis!). Small steps maybe, but we are getting ourselves back into that zone again!

And don't get me wrong, it hasn’t been a horrible experience. Rio de Janeiro is a truly amazing city and, between the bursts of paranoia, we have managed to get out there: Mixing with the beautiful bronzed Cariocas on Ipanema beach (Karen and I fitted in well there with our pasty British complexions and hob nailed walking boots!), partying in the Samba bars of Lapa, and admiring the breathtaking cityscape from the top of Pão de Açúcar (Sugarloaf) and Corcovado Mountains; the later being home to Cristo Redentor, the massive statue of Christ the Redeemer that keeps his watchful eye over the partying city below (and believe me, whilst this is probably the most iconic symbol of Rio for everyone, nothing actually prepares you for how big this amazing monument really is).

We've also had our share of fun and excitement along the way too. Like our cable car excursion to the top of Sugarloaf Mountain. We decided to make the trip late afternoon on the first day so that the light would be better for the photographs. Naively though, I forgot that one of the inevitable consequences of being in the tropics in the wet season is that every day, late afternoon we get treated to a thunderstorm of gargantuan proportion. Boarding the first cable car to take us to the intermediate station at Morra da Urca we left the city in beautiful sunshine with searing 35 degree temperatures. But by the time we had reached the 1,300ft summit, we were in the middle of a ferocious tropical storm with strong winds and driving rain battering our little cabin as we transversed the void between the two mountains. Lighting flashed and thunder crashed all around us and then, we watched in amazement as with a deafening crack, a lightning bolt made a direct hit on the very same cables that we were about to cross. From our last travelling adventure, some of you may remember that shortly into the trip I lost a pair of underpants. On this trip, believe me, after the same period of time I needed a clean pair!