Beach Culture

As you probably know, the most important part of Rio is the beach.  It spreads miles and miles along the stretch of the marvelous city, and it's really what makes Rio such a special place.  The sand is the softest you've ever dug your toes into, and the water is so clear that you can see the school of fish as they swim past your legs.  As you float in the warm water, you look around and see that you're surrounded by lush greenery and amazing mountains.  There truly is nothing like it...

But what intrigues me the most about Rio's beaches is the unique culture that comes with them.  First let's look at the type of people on the beach.  Who surrounds you on the sand depends on which beach you're at.  The beach Fred and I live on, Leme, is a laid back beach that is mostly comprised of our neighbors.  Sometimes there will be people from other parts of the country, but most of the time, it's a locals' spot.  Next to us is Copacabana, which is the tourist hot spot and gringo central.  There is also an elderly population on this beach, as Copa tends to be where the Old Money is.  Swing around Arpador and you'll get to Rio's most glamorous beach, Ipanema.  This is where the hottest of the hot take in the sun.  The women that make Rio famous (heck, the girl in the song WAS from Ipanema, right??) and the men that spend hours on their chiseled bodies frolick in Ipanema.  And then there is Leblon, which is a family beach. Sure there are beautiful people here too, but many have their little ones in tow.

When we go to the beach in the United States, we simply find a spot we like in the sand, throw down our towels, slap on the sunscreen, and lie there.  Women are careful to remove the straps of their bikinis so as to avoid tan lines, and will go as far as untying their tops while they are face down.  I have seen a few women forget about this when they stand up...quite funny.  We spend the day periodically rotating like rotisserie chicken to ensure that all spots get tanned  equally, and when we're bored, we take out a football and start a pick up game. 

In Rio, going to the beach has rules and regulations.  Over the course of the 7 months I have spent here in Rio, I have learned "how" to go to the beach.  So read on to see what a typical carioca does while sunning in the sand...

It's about 10am, so it's time to "schlep" the one block to our local beach :)  I put on my tiny bikini and a little flowered skirt that I bought on the beach.  I also put on large earrings and some chunky bracelets, as jewelry is quite fashionable on the beach.  I check my beach bag to make sure it has all of its contents: I have my canga, which is a large cotton sheet that resembles a magic carpet. I would NEVER bring a towel to the beach...only gringos lie on towels.  I have my frescoball racquets (the Brazilian version of Kadima), and my SPF 30 sunscreen.  I take 5 Reais (about $2) to pay for the beach chair and umbrella that I'll rent for the day, and another few Reais for the Matte Leao (cold sweet tea) and Globo biscoitos that I'll buy for a snack.

My Havaianas don't do much in the way of protecting my feet from the burning hot sand as I make my way to Posto 1.  We always sit in the same spot...a little to the left of the lifeguard tower.  This way our friends can find us when they come to meet us on the beach.  I spread my canga on my beach chair under the umbrella, and head for the water.  After a few minutes, I come out and immediately go for the hair brush to get the sand and tangles out of my hair.  Then, it's back to the beach chair under the umbrella until the sun weakens a bit.  Around 2pm,  I can spread my canga out and lie on the sand.  Tan lines are VERY desirable here, so I certainly don't untie my bikini top.  Of course, I reapply sunscreen, because sunburns are very UNdesirable!  After about an hour and some Matte,  Fred and I will play frescoball.  By "play," I mean I attempt to hit the ball to him and miss completely and he runs after it.  

Because I am now a Cariyorker (half Carioca, half New Yorker), I am much more comfortable in my little bikini.  I look around the beach and see that women of all shapes and sizes are donning the tiniest of bathing suits.  Here, women are proud of their curves.  And on the beach, there is NO flirting or advances by the opposite sex.  That happens later at the night club...but here, everyone is comfortable and friendly.  Sure, a guy can talk to a girl to see what she's up to later, but it's very uncarioca to hit on someone while at the beach. 

As the sun begins to set, we pack up our things and head back home.  It's been another beautiful Rio day and I look forward to my next beach trip...which will more than likely be the very next day :)

Inca Trail - Day 4: 12/12/08

Ok, so I am going to pick up where I left off...arriving at the Inca Trail.  I wrote it in my journal when I reached Machu Picchu, so it's wrought with emotion :)

3:45am wake up call.  10 minute breakfast of toast and tea.  All picked up and ready to roll at 4am.  Our goal:  to be first at the gate that opened onto the trail to the Inca mecca.  

We reached the gate at 4:15am and were behind one group.  Percy informed us that the trail to the last "holding pen" before Machu Picchu was narrow and each man was for himself.  As he put it, "it's anyone's game!"  And when the gate opened at 5:30, it was all about hauling ass to reach the top first.

As we were a rather competitive and athletic bunch, we of course decided to take all necessary measures to dominate those in front of us.  The wooden gate opened (and I swear I almost heard an announcer shout, "AND THEY'RE OFF!!!!").  Naturally, our Type A personalities were not well received by the leading team.  A large redheaded boy lumbered along in front of me, and as I warned him, "passing on the right," he stuck his hiking pole out to try and trip me!

Of course, in hindsight, there really was no reason for us to 1) wake up so damn early, 2) be 1st, 2nd, or even 10th in line, or 3) haul ass for 50 min to be the first at the top.  As exhilarating as it was to be the first ones at the top looking down into the valley of Machu Picchu, we all had to sit and wait until 6:30 to proceed down. 

As we began our descent from the top of the mountain into the misty valley, Percy pointed out where MP was situated...beneath a thick cloud cover rendering it invisible.  But then an amazing thing happened.  The clouds parted slightly, forming a perfectly circular opening over MP.  We all stood gaping in wonder...even Percy was amazed!  We were the first group down there and the ONLY ones there, which means that no other group had this miraculous experience we did.  And as quickly as they opened, the clouds merged again and covered the Lost City once more. 

We continued to descend into the valley where we got our first close up view of Machu Picchu.  You may have seen pictures in books, watched documentaries, or seen other people's photos.   But nothing can replicate the true beauty that is this Incan city.  But I must admit...while it was truly amazing to finally reach our goal, for me Machu Picchu was only a small sliver of an incredible experience.  The friends I made, the physical challenges I went through, and the exposure to a beautiful culture made this trip one of the most fantastic things I have ever done.

 

I've been a bad blogger :(

So I've kept this journal since I've been in Rio.  It's basically a compilation of ideas I have had for the blog...only half of which I have actually gotten around to writing about.  I wish I could say it was because I was SOOOOO busy that I couldn't find time to blog. But really, as a (mostly) unemployed, beach bumming New Yorker spending 7 months in A Cidade Maravilhosa, I have no good excuse. 

Now that I am leaving in less than a week, I have developed Blogger's Guilt.  I've done some great things, taken some beautiful pictures, and created memories to last a lifetime...and I've deprived my devoted readers of these experiences.  

In my defense, I must say that it is a ROYAL pain in the ass to upload pictures to this blog.  I mean, you'd think on a Mac it would take 2 minutes instead of, like, 2o.  

But, alas, I know that I will want to have this blog and these memories while they are fresh in my mind.  There is so much that Rio has shown me and I want to share it with you.  So, I am going to write up these posts now and be a good blogger again.  

ENJOY!

The FROBIN story

When I was 6 years old, I developed this fascination with Brazil. I don't know why it happened, as I had never been to the country, knew nothing about its culture, and had no Brazilian friends. My mother had taken me to a toy store to buy a doll from an International Doll collection. I immediately told her that I had to have the doll from Brazil. Of course, as a Jewish mother, she tried to convince me to the get the doll from Israel, but I held steadfast. I just HAD to have the Brazilian girl.

A few years later, I was given an assignment in school to do a research project on any country in the world. Of course, I chose Brazil. I can still remember drawing the outline of the country on the green construction paper and hoping that someday I could visit the Amazon. "What is it about Brazil?" she would ask me. And I had no answer except, "Mom, I don't know but I think it must be amazing there." I would trace the mountain ridges on my 3D globe, wondering what the beaches of Rio must be like, and how many animals were in the rainforest.

So when I told her I was going to visit Rio in October 2007, she told me, "well it's ABOUT TIME!" I laughed at her when she told me that she was sure I would come home with a love interest. But then I met Fred...

So now, 15 months later, I finally understand why I fell in love with the country: it's called "beshert." This is a word that every Jewish mother and grandmother knows, and it literally translates to "destiny." In modern day Jewish Grandma Talk, it speaks of your soulmate and the person that you were meant to be with. Falling in love with your childhood friend after reuniting 20 years later is beshert. Missing the plane and meeting your future wife while getting loaded at the airport bar is beshert. And developing a premature obsession with a country for no apparent reason and then finding your husband there is beshert.

If you've read my earlier posts, you know how Fred and I met and how we were brought closer by his near death experience. So when I moved out here, we knew we already had a strong bond that withstood the test of trauma and seemingly endless separation. But were we ready to not only live in the same country, but in the same house??

It wasn't always easy, as we were really getting to know one another VERY well VERY quickly. He hates that I forget to turn the lights off when I leave the room. It drives me crazy when his dirty socks are RIGHT NEXT to the hamper instead of in it. But over time, we have learned how to live together, how to deal with each others' moods, and when to leave the other one alone!

Before I moved to Rio, Fred asked me (over video camera on skype) if I would marry him. I laughed and said, "honey, I think you need to see if you can live with me first!" But when we decided to file the paperwork in November for our fiance visa, we thought, "well, I guess this means we're really engaged now!"

But for me, the official engagement only really happened when Fred asked my father for permission for my hand. My parents were visiting and I decided to cook a quiche (yes, I actually cook now...sort of). They came over for dinner and while we were raising our glasses for a wine toast, Fred turned to my father and said, "I really love Robin and I want to ask your permission to marry her." We had discussed previously that this was a nice tradition that some chivalrous men partake in in the US, but I didn't expect him to do it with me sitting in the room. Dad said yes, and of course, my mother and me cried!!

So now we wait...the Visa Waiting Game. There are many steps that one has to go through to finally bring his or her fiance to the US, and I'm sure you can imagine that nobody lights a fire under the government workers' asses to move quickly. We are hopeful that the first (and longest) step of the process will be completed by mid May, and then Fred can finally join me in NYC in early to mid summer. And once he is with me there, THEN the real celebrating can begin and we can toast our engagement properly!

So that's how it goes...not a "down on one knee with a huge rock and a big surprise proposal," but one that has been known between 2 people for many months and had the most important components. There's no giant rock on my finger, no big celebration at a bar with a huge group, and no talks of wedding locations and bridesmaid dresses yet. That will come later...right now, it's just 2 people very happy to have found one another and eager to begin a life together. It's beshert.

Inca Trail Day 3: 12/11/08

I awoke bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to conquer the world on Day 3...until the stomach cramps hit. I was a bit sick the night before but thought I would be better after a good night's sleep. WRONG. Day 3 was the longest and I knew I had a LOT of walking a head of me. Simply put, the morning was atrocious. It was steep uphill for the first hour, and with every step, I felt the shock of contact fully through my stomach. Thankfully, as the day went on and I drank a lot of water (and took a lot of Pepto), the cramps subsided and day.

The best part of Day 3 was the ever-changing scenery and the gentle sloping of the terrain. One minute we were in the highlands overlooking snow capped mountains, then we were in the valley's forest watching a wild turkey in a tree. The less challenging terrain also allowed for a lot of individuals to bond. Because we were not huffing and puffing up steep inclines and not focusing on difficult descents, were were able to learn a lot about one another as we took in the Andean beauty. I learned all about Kevin's Polish grandparents and Charlie's Korean ancestry. Luke and Jonathan told me all about medical school in Australia, and Mark and Lindsey kept everyone laughing all day!

That night, I learned to play Asshole (the card game) and joined the crew at the campsite bar. After an intense, somewhat drunken discussion about relationships, disgusting habits, and other things new friends confide in one another, we all went to sleep and prepared for the Big Day. Day 4 was Machu Picchu...

Inca Trail - Day 2: 12/10/08

Today I added a new experience to the small group of accomplishments I consider "exhilirating."  Jumping out of an airplane and parachuting to the ground was exhilirating.  Learning how to really attack the powder in Jackson Hole was exhilirating.  And hiking a very steep trail to Dead Woman's pass (the highest point on the Inca Trail at 4201m) was exhilirating.  

Our day started at 530am with a wakeup call and hot coco tea.  Actually, my and Emma's began at 317am with dueling dogs barking and then a rooster who was 2 hours too early.  After breakfast, we began our trek at approximately 650am.  It was, for me, tough from the start; however, I kept Fred's principles in the back of my mind:  positive attitude, a focus on breathing, and setting my own pace.  And so it went for 7 hours. We stopped for a brief rest every 25 to 30 minutes to wait for the group stragglers to catch up (which, to my happy surprise, was never me).  I have to say that as much as I appreciated the breaks, I did feel that they were often too long and broke my rhythm a bit.  But, it went like this a s a "family" trekking to the 14,000 foot summit.

As we rose in altitude, my body began to feel the effects even more.  My breathing became more labored, my feet began to tingle, and the muscles in my neck tightened up.  But I kept on.

At last we could see our destination, and though it looked so close, at the same time it seemed like infinite steps separated me from the top.  The last 600 feet were particularly brutal.  The size of the stone stairs got higher; at times I was climbing steps that were as high as my knees.  My lungs burned from trying to suck in as much oxygen from the thin air as I could.  But as I got closer, I began to hear cheers.  Fellow hikers who were already at the top and had reached their goal called out encouragements to their teammates.  Every time someone reached the summit, cheers erupted.  

And so, inspired by the shouts from my "family members" who were already there, I persevered.  I literally bounded up the last 5 steps with a burst of adrenaline and was immediately overcome with...exhiliration.  Of course, I joined in the cheers as my fellow Yellow Llamas each made it to the top, and I think the smiles on our faces say it all in the group photo!  And to think...this wasn't even Machu Picchu yet!  

But alas, with every high comes a low (literally) and we spent the next 90 minutes going down steep rock stairs to our campsite below.  It was totally exhausting and I got hit with my first bout of altitude sickness, which made the last 30 minutes particularly unenjoyable.  But alas, here I am at camp and tomorrow we will set out for Day 3.  It's the longest at 20km, but not nearly as steep and rigorous.  I feel ready and...exhilirated!

Inca Trail - Day 1: 12/9/08

We began our journey at 9am at Km 82 - a town called Piskakuchu.  From the start, the view were amazing.  Hiking along the Sacred River, we were surrounded by mountains, endless fields of corn, and the little local towns.  Throughout the hike, we shared the sacred pathe with Incan descendants still living in the area (and their many mules).  Periodically the porters, each carrying 50-60kg of our belongings, zipped past us with their ripped calves flexing as they rapidly trekked up the path.  

This first day was the "easy one."  With little incline and varied terrain, it was cake compared to what was to come.  We stopped frequently and our guide Percy explained to us the incredible history of his ancestors.  It seemed that around every turn there were more ruins, expertly crafted by the Incas in the 1500's.  We stopped for our first meal, which was cooked for us by the chef that traveled with our group.  After lunch, we hiked for another 90 minutes and reached our campsite for night 1, which was nestled in a valley surrounded by green mountains (some still snowcapped, even in the summer).  Our tents were set up, and the group quickly hiked over to the adjacent soccer field, where the boys proceeded to play 4 games against the village locals.  Despite the altitude and obvious disadvantage of being gringoes, our team (Inca Kola) had an impressive showing and although they ultimately lost the majority of their games, they still kicked ass.  

Emma and I sat on the sides to be team cheerleaders.  The prospect of tomorrow's hike (which will be grueling) combined with my lack of soccer skills made sitting this one out an obvious choice.  As I sat and looked around me, I tried to fully take in the beauty of my surroundings.  I feel bad because the pictures will not do this place justice.  The only way to truly experience the Peruvian Andes is to be encompassed by them, breathe in the fresh air, and feel the sun warm you.  A simple photo only captures a few degrees of 360 degree panoramic amazement.

Now It's about dinner time and while I hiked in shorts and a T-shirt, I am now clad in a wool hat, gloves, scarf, and 3 layers of clothes.  I can see my breath in the glow of my headlight and it is FRIGGIN' COLD OUT HERE!  I pray that tomorrow will be ok for me and that I can maintain the positive attitude that Fred has taught me.  Good Karma...and OFF I GO!