Because what happens when you travel with a group of Type A organized individuals is when things get planned they get planned bright and early. So, once again, we met our tour bus at 8 and headed over to Corcovado, or Cristo Redentor or Christ the Redeemer. You know that big famous thing in Brazil that honors some big religious figure or something. Idk I’ve personally never heard of him.
We took the tram through the rain forest, and when we reached the top of the mountain the views were once again absolutely stunning. The statue if possible, is larger than I imagined and the whole mountain is equally as beautiful. I could pretty much see the whole of Rio from the vantage point and despite being packed with tourists there was still a sense of tranquility up there overlooking the city. Ideal situation would be spending the day up there by myself catching up on writing, taking in the cool breeze and overlooking the city. And when I wasn’t feeling the calming effects I could also just laugh at the hundreds of people standing with their arms out while their friends crawled between their legs to get the right angle of them imitating the pose.
After waking up early and spending a few hours at Corcovado, everyone was exhausted so we figured we’d all eat a huge lunch together and then call it nap time in the house. Lunch was feijoada, the Brazilian national dish which is basically a heavy bean stew with a ton of different cuts of meat served with sides consisting of manioc, lettuce, chicharon, potato, rice, farfoa and some other shit. If eating a big bowl or 3 of that doesn’t immediately put you out, you must be a fat American.
That night, the plan was for Jess and I to do it up in our regular manner and go check out Erick Morillo for the closing night of the Rio Music Conference, and the final night of Carnival. The last time we saw him together it ended with her getting a shit ton of stitches. Clearly this was a good idea. When we got to the packed venue at Marina da Gloria we paid the asinine cover and went in to buy a few drink tickets. Unfortunately my Portuguese is about as accurate as a North Korean rocket and instead of ordering Paul 4 drink tickets he somehow ended up with 8.
Which brings me to a weird part of the night. Between the 3 of us we didn’t even come close to finishing the drink tickets and we took home 3 cans of $10 Redbull at the end of the night. By far the most sober time I’ve ever spent with Jess – the world must be ending soon. Regardless, we did enjoy the music, and venue was gorgeous although a bit too hot. I mean who puts a concert venue on the marina and then hermetically seals the whole thing so there’s no breeze.
Anywho, music was good. Light show was good. People were nice – and apparently there’s no such thing as too short of a dress in Brazil. While the attendees sported quite the array of wardrobe selections, the Brazilian girls pretty much all wore dresses so tight and short you could see their butt cheeks. Which really wasn’t that terrible because at least Brazilians have hot asses. In America there’d be saggy cellulited shit drooping all over the place if we dressed like that. Oh wait, some people do. :::shudder::: Aside from their asses you could also tell the real Brazilians because they were the ones “glistening” instead of sweating profusely while they danced in the sweat hut. Whether that’s due to an acclimation to the weather or botox – only the Cariocas know for sure.