Rio, Day 1
After a relatively painless overnight flight and no hassle at all through passport control, we happened upon Mary and Glenn as we hit the exits and glommed onto their taxi for the trip to our hotel. Call it the un-scenic route into Rio, but our amiable driver pointed out a good bar for later that night (the last of the official Carnivale party nights) and we got a good first impression of Rio and the very old neighborhood of Santa Teresa where we were staying.
Our hotel -- Mama Shelter -- was funky and hip: free glitter gel at the front desk, a big open air dining room with ceiling fans suspended from the beams, a dark wood deck with outdoor tables, and a bar that managed to look colorful and appealing (if a wee bit sewer scented) even at 11 a.m. We managed a quick wash up and changed clothes in the slightly dodgy bar bathroom and got a bit of friendly advice on where to go for lunch from the hipster hippy front desk staff.
A whisper of sidewalk along the steep cobblestone streets wound past a beautiful mosaic of colorful streetcars, lovely old houses with spectacular greenery and flowers overflowing their gates, freaky/funny/urgent/disturbing/gorgeous graffiti and a number of intriguing little shops and bars. There is art literally everywhere you set your eyes. Definitely our kind of neighborhood.
The hippysters (my new word) proved reliable and Restaurante Nordestino was perfect -- a bar/diner with colorful mismatched tables and chairs, lots of local art on the walls and a low key, friendly vibe. There was a bit of a wait for a table for 5 which we passed by chatting with Patrick, an ex-pat with boundless affection for Rio and good advice on how to avoid getting killed. (A thing about traveling to Rio -- every American you talk to about it will tell you how to avoid getting killed. I’m almost disappointed to report that at no time did we have even a vague uneasiness that we were about to get killed. Except that time the Uber started rolling backwards down a hill, but that’s another story and not really the point.)
Now at a solid 30 hours since any of us had a proper meal, we were extravagantly delighted with Brazilian diner food. An appetizer of delicious local beers (served in their typical big bottles for sharing) set the stage for cod croquettes, rice croquettes, weird egg dishes, spicy beans, interesting rice dishes and what I hear was pretty good coffee. (Travel tip: bring your own tea bags. They do not know from tea in Brazil.)
We attempted a little more neighborhood strolling, but everyone was pretty pooped and our rooms were theoretically ready so we tramped back to the hotel with only minimal poking around. A couple of hours were spent chilling, unpacking and showering (yay!) and then we slowly gathered on the deck of Mama Shelter and began what became the almost nightly ritual of downing slightly too many caipirinhas. After a couple of these delicious, highly nutritious scurvy preventatives, we had built up enough second wind to toddle to the bar our driver had pointed out on the way to the hotel. A few NOLA-esque blocks away, it filled the corner of a wide street and a scantily clad party was slowly accreting outside. We opted for a table inside with a good view and spent a very happy couple of hours downing absurd amounts of cheap, cold beer and an array of appallingly awful/wonderful bar snacks (grilled Calabrian sausage, onion rings topped with crumbly cheese, crunchy chicken wings). We watched lithe young people (and some not so lithe, not so young people) adjust thongs, re-apply eye liner and glitter, and nab handfuls of free condoms from the campy dispensers set up along the street. Thank you, Rio.
