Hazil
Hey Y'all,
Excited to welcome my second guest blogger to the stage, the unpredictable, the lovable Mr Harry Sinclair-Waugh...
A photo was here; it wasn’t in the backup.
Hello to all my fellow Mazil followers. I'm very excited to be contributing to the blog that I've kept a keen eye on since its inception a year ago. The aim of the first weekend of our trip was for me to experience how what Marco's life out in Brazil was like, and by the end of it I'd come to the conclusion that he set up a pretty enviable life up for himself out here. The whole time I've been here I've just been overwhelmed with pride for how happy he made himself here.
We've laughed a lot at how until he was with me Marco never really got the full gringo experience of Rio. His Italian complexion has managed to disguise him as a native so it's only really been this weekend in my company where he's gotten to understand the concept of the 'gringo tax'. I've also really enjoyed just standing and smiling while he chats away. I don't feel like too much of an ignorant brit abroad for not understanding what's being said, my overwhelming feeling is one of pride. I see how Marco is valued here in Rio just as much as he is down the Malt Shovel in Bubbenhall. Whether its customs he's learnt through spending time getting to know the city and the people, or his natural appetite for mischief, scheming and cutting humour, the main thing this weekend has taught me is that Marco fits in in Rio.
So in a way it was sad to be with him as he leaves, but also lovely to share his last weekend with him, celebrate his life in Brazil, and get giddy with excitement for the rest of our trip together. I'm also incredibly excited to return to Rio in 2 weeks time where I'll meet Hannah my girlfriend. I've already warned her that my 3 days in Rio will almost certainly mean I'm guiding her round and acting like I've lived here for years.
I arrived on Friday feeling rather strange. This may sound doom and gloom but I have really struggled with the guilt of flying here and these feelings were obviously at their most pronounced after being on a plane for 13 hours. It's something I have to deal with, I've made the decision to fly here and I'm almost certainly gonna have to fly back unless I decide to abandon my life back home which I actually happen to like quite a lot. My guilt achieves nothing for the planet though and the only way I'm making myself feel a bit better is by holding myself to an agreement never to fly again after this trip (I've already looked into how long it takes to get back to South America by boat as I'm certain that one 6 week trip is not going to be enough, answer: a nice leisurely 14 days.
I maneuvered my way past a gang of mini cab drivers who spotted me for what I am: a suggestible, gullible Brit who's never traveled this far on his own, and found myself en route to Marco's friend Jose's house (where Marco also used to live). Seeing him for the first time was obviously fantastic and after quickly freshening up we were on the way back out to Lapa. I felt pretty brain dead and couldn't really contribute any meaningful conversation but luckily was able to follow as Marco and his friend Mark gave me some very basic Portuguese lessons and spoke about Carioca shenanigans that they've engaged in since living here. My ability to chat was enhanced by a few caipirinha's (the drink of choice on most street corners) and they took me to Lapa steps which is the setting of the video for Beautiful by Snoop Dogg and Pharell
This was when I really saw just how well versed Marco is in the Carioca (I can't get enough of this word as it makes me feel like I'm in the know) way of life. We danced to some Brasilian funk and laughed with increasing volume and persistence. Before we knew it it was 6 in the morning. Realising I'd been up for 28 hours was enough to put the night to an end and we both slept very well once we were back.
On Saturday we walked to Ipanema beach, seeing Rio by daylight gave me a strong second wave of excitement and by the time we got to the beach I was fizzed up and ready to blow, especially when I got my first glimpse of dois irmaos, two of the magnificent mountains that loom over the city. I had a dip in the sea and wasn't met with the warm calming hug I was expecting but rather some pretty gnarly waves and a temperature not too dissimilar from what I'm used to in Brighton. It's the middle winter here and just from one weekend I can almost guarantee that I won't be coming back in the summer as it's hot enough for me at the moment. We then got a motorbike taxi up to the top of Vidigal, a favela with a fantastic view over the whole city, and enjoyed one cerveja before realising that we just about had enough cash for the journey back down.
A photo was here; it wasn’t in the backup.
We arrived back at Jose's and then went for a night out in Botafogo. Marco informs me that due to it being the place to be for arty types and bohemians it's nicknamed Botasoho, after entering one very trendy Berlin-esque bar that had an irritating and seemingly pointless payment scheme I told him it would be much more apt to name it Botapeckham but he wasn't having it. Again my excitement was uncontrollable and I had bags of fun talking to Marco's friends and dancing (I think I'll need quite a few lessons before I can fit in on the dancing front).
On Sunday morning we woke and got the bus to Parque Lage, a sprawling park full of beautiful trees that seemed to just have just sprouted out of the middle of the city. I knew of it from speaking to him as the place Marco came to on a Saturday to celebrate or commiserate depending on the results of his Saturday afternoon bets. As we wondered up the hill Marco casually informed me that we might see monkeys. My response to this was far from casual and sure enough when I saw them I turned into an excitable child (my baseline for most of this trip to be fair) and couldn't control myself. There were so many of them and the way they moved between the trees was so graceful. I also saw a guinea pig that looked about 4 feet long but Marco missed it as it scuttled past his feet. He informs me that it was actually a capybara. This whole experience left me losing my mind about the prospect of going to the amazon later on in the trip.
In the evening we played football with a group of friends that Marco met quite early on in his time here. This was also something that made my childlike excitement bubble over into uncontrollable levels. Part of my fascination with Brazil has always been its relationship with Football and just walking around Rio you can tell how football mad everyone is. After much deliberation I decided to adopt Flamengo as my Brazilian team. Botofogo seemed more apt as it was where Marco lived and where I'll be staying when I come back, but their one game I watched left me far from impressed. (Also Flamengo have far nicer shirts).
Playing football with Marco and his friends underneath one of Rio's many mountains was wonderful but quite early on I fell on my knee while attempting a Ronaldinio-esque step over and realised that if I injured myself badly I could really fuck myself up for the rest of the trip. From then on I stopped playing at full pelt and backed out of a few tackles. This wasn't met with sympathy from Marco's friends however and I found myself on the ground a couple more times.
On Monday we both said goodbye to Rio, Marco's goodbye was obviously more significant than mine but I was also very emotional about how wonderful the our weekend in the city had been. Our journey to Buenos Aires included a brief one night stop in Sao Paolo of which I will pass back to Marco
It was very brief and almost never happened. With 20 minutes to go until our flight we decided to check where we were actually flying to as the board had been saying Campinas despite the check in lady confirming Sao Paolo. It was about 80km or an hour and a half drive or about 4 hours via public transport. We laughed, we boarded, we arrived and from there discussed whether to stay in Campinas, or continue on as we had to be back in the airport in 18 hours.
After fairly careful deliberation and more due to the discovery of the free shuttle service we headed to our hostel where Harry would become a legend.
We were roped into playing cachaca pong with one of the hostesses and some Australian douchebag giving it the biggun, and for those of you who have seen Harry can probably guess he's no Steph Curry on the table. His juttery throw was the target of many banterous advances from our opponents and all in good fun Harry was providing the entertainment as we 3 traded shots.
As they hit their last shot we were given a shot at redemption, holding my nerve I sank it and kept us alive. After a few more attempts I hit the first of their 2 cups. This was his moment. One Shot. We'd called it from the start. Harry for the win. He begins his motion. He shakes with his motion. Releases the ball and it glides straight into the cup securing the win and proving all his haters wrong. Storybook stuff.
I run out into the street screaming, I can't believe it. As I come back I find out our opponent is lifting him into the air, which I wasn't pleased about, he should be crying into his cachaca. After he bought H a celebratory Jager-bomb, we left for the nearby bars to celebrate with some food and drink before a good nights sleep and a flight to Buenos Aires.
Tchau Brazil. ja com saudades. (I miss you already).
