Should I Be A Twit?
A workmate recently suggested that I should join Twitter as I always have a huge amount of opinions to express. He extolled how Twitter is perfectly suited for me. My own personal perception of Twitter is as a form of micro-blogging. And it’s no coincidence Facebook redesigned its status update as a reflection of Twitter. Even xanga jumped on the bandwagon with its useless Pulse.
A couple of workmates follow a number of famous Twitters and gave me the low-down on how it all works. It might be interesting to follow certain celebrities renown for their stirring wit such as Jon Favreau and Stephen Fry.
What do you think? Should I join Twitter?
Brazil Trip May-June 2009
Day 7 – Puerto Iguazú To Curitiba
The previous day Marcel and I checked prices for flights from Puerto Iguazú to Buenos Aires and discovering the cost were pretty reasonable. However, flights between Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro were quite expensive thus scuttling that plan. So Marcel suggested visiting the city of Curitiba before flying from there to Rio. Thunderstorms pounded Puerto Iguazú in the morning sparking an upsurge in business for the taxi service and leaving us waiting an hour for a cab to the bus terminal in Foz do Iguaçu.
The scheduled bus journey to Curitiba was 10 hours. After enduring a 8-9 hour bus journey in the Philippines four years ago, I’d vowed never to travel by bus again for long distances. Considering there is no nationwide rail service in Brazil there wasn’t any choice but to travel by bus.
Pic taken with mobile phone
Soon after the sun had set, the bus was stopped by a police car, one cop boarded and sat at the back as it was escorted to a police station on the highway. The bus had passed numerous highway police stations on its journey without being stopped until now. I’d noticed the young local guy seated next to me pulled something out of his bag, hid it inside the small rubbish bag planted in front of us and tied it up. My perturbed state of mind hoped that the rubbish bag will be spared the search by the police otherwise the two of us would likely be detained.
Not everyone were searched but sure enough, the guy next to me was body searched, his bag was rifled, a few questions were asked and then it was my turn. The cop fished out my camera from my rucksack and muttered something to me in Portuguese which naturally I didn’t understand. His words were repeated as he slowly rubbed his thumb against his index and middle fingers. That I understood. I understood completely and inexplicably.
Pic taken with mobile phone
Prior to embarking on the trip, I took the precaution of applying duct tape to my Sony Alpha A100 DSLR to make it look tattered and unattractive to potential and opportunistic thieves. I had also done my research on scams prevalent in Brazil. One notorious scam run by the corrupt police is finding expensive electronics on tourists such as a DSLR camera and laptop, then informing them they have to pay an “import tax” which naturally the pigs cops pocket for themselves.
Ignoring the not so dilapidated condition of my camera, the cop continued to pursue his bribe so I’d just played dumb: continuously shaking my head, shrugging my shoulders, flailing my hands. After five more minutes of failing to communicate with me the cop finally gave up. But not before finding the ticket for my luggage stowed below in the hold and requesting that I step off the bus. Alighting the vehicle, my eyes immediately trained on to four other police officers calmly rummaging through the luggage in the hold. A huge wave of relief cascaded over me upon the realisation my travel bag was padlocked. It was my firm belief that corrupt cops would happily pocket anything they find of value among the luggage. Once I’d retrieved my travel bag the senior officer approached me and drawing upon my blank face after he spoke some Portuguese, uttered the only English words he knew, “Open your bag.”
Because my bag was padlocked and required my presence to unlock it, I was able to observe the cop search through the bag with meticulous precision. Another cop approached me and asked if I could speak Spanish which I didn’t. Even if I could it would not be in my interest to admit it. The reason being the cops could not be bothered trying to communicate with me as none of them spoke English so thus let me go. Returning to my seat I’d noticed the rubbish bag lying on the floor, untied. It was obvious the guy sitting next to me had retrieved his illegal possession, whatever it was.
Looking out the window I’d watched a passenger being accompanied back to the station by two cops carrying his huge bag of probable counterfeit football jerseys. Ten minutes later the passenger returned with his merchandise intact, probably after having paid a bribe to secure its release. The bus finally resumed its journey over an hour later. Arriving in Curitiba just after 11pm, Marcel and I then had to contend with a complaining taxi driver as he took us to the Mercure Hotel. The staff at the reception were extremely friendly and pointed us to a nearby place that opened late for food. We had hoped to check out the 24 Hours Street which was close to our hotel but unfortunately it was under renovation.
Day 8 – Curitiba
The weather was dreary with pockets of rain. But that didn’t prevent Marcel and I exploring the city centre after a late breakfast.
Bendy buses are not popular in London. They are a dangerous hazard for cyclists and a magnet for fare dodgers as payment can easily be evaded by boarding near the rear of the bus (take note budget conscious tourists). In Curitiba that problem has been eradicated by these novel tubes.
Each tube has an assistant at the turnstile to collect payment before admission is granted. It almost operates like a train service.
Building Blocks
Marcel getting in the way of my shot 
Federal University of Paraná 
For dinner we decided to opt for junk food and dined at Pizza Hut. Although it cost slightly cheaper than in Europe, my observation of the local clientele concluded the cost prohibited those below the middle-class from ever dining at such an establishment.
Day 9 – Curitiba To Rio de Janeiro
View from our hotel balcony
Our flight to Rio de Janeiro was scheduled for the afternoon although my preference was for the morning flight as it would have meant avoiding the rush hour upon arrival. Marcel didn’t want to wake up at 6am and possibly missing breakfast. Sure enough in Rio, the bus journey from the airport to Ipanema took an extra 40 minutes than scheduled. As soon as the bus reached Copacabana the unmistakeably boisterous vibe hits the senses absorbing one into the puissant atmosphere.
After checking in our hotel, we explored part of Copacabana Beach and walked the felicitous length of Ipanema Beach. The distinctive sight of bodies jogging, rollerblading, skateboarding and cycling along the designated lanes adjacent to the beaches dominate the view.
Marcel and I headed out to a bar/club at 10pm in Copacabana where I met a couple of guys from London and another from Chicago. Ever since I’d landed in São Paulo, I was mistaken for a Brazilian Japanese and it was no different here. What I found infuriating were a couple of locals making a slant-eye gesture upon meeting me. I wasn’t amused and unequivocally vexed this point.
To cut a long story short, said local had attended English school in East London for two years; took me (Marcel had long departed) to an all local bar at the other end of Copacabana with live music; felt like slapping the ignorant singer for making slant-eye gesture; partied and chilled at the locals’ apartment until 6am; declined their invitation to sleepover; headed back to hotel only to discover I had spent all my cash so no taxi; cannot even ride the public buses due to some reason the two way traffic all became one way in the opposite direction; so staggered 40 minutes along the entire stretch of Copacabana Beach; encountered two flirtatious transvestites; watched the beautiful sun rise; finally reached Ipanema and back to hotel; ate breakfast while watching the waves crashing and the early morning fitness joggers and swimmers; hit the sack at 8am having been up for 25 hours.
Got woken up at 10am by Marcel. Thanks buddy.
Day 10 – Rio de Janeiro
I’d managed to crawl out of bed at around 1pm as my stomach was wailing for food (the breakfast wasn’t great). I wanted to see the beaches during the day and feel the hot baking sun. The temperature averaged 28-30ºC during the day for the duration of my stay in Rio and this is their Autumn.
Beautiful people are plentiful in Brazil but Rio has an abundance of the most gorgeous and fittest women in the world. Being a straight and single guy I cannot really vouch about the men but reliable sources inform me that is also the case. That’s not to say Rio isn’t a place for couples to visit. Rio is also romantic. But ladies, and fellahs, if your partner possesses an ascetic roving eye which you are not happy about then give Rio a miss.
Ipanema Beach
Copacabana Beach
Copacabana Beach
Kids from the favelas playing football on Copacabana Beach
Kid from the favelas napping
A billboard that blows cold air at a press of a button
Pic taken with mobile phone
A local eatery, Lopes in Copacabana, that does sumptuous roast chicken
Pic taken with mobile phone
Marcel and I attended a football match at the Maracanã Stadium between Rio club Vasco and São Paulo team Corinthians where former World Player of the Year Ronaldo (the Brazilian not the Portuguese ponce) now plies his trade. The Maracanã will be hosting the World Cup Final in 2014, the second most globally watched sporting event after the Olympics.
Pic taken with mobile phone
We were seated right underneath the rival Corinthians supporters
Pic taken with mobile phone
And the taunting begins
Pic taken with mobile phone
The Maracanã makes for a rambunctious atmosphere. Everyone stood on their seats to watch the game which kicked off at 9.15pm.
Pic taken with mobile phone
Flares lighting up
Pic taken with mobile phone
The match ended 2-2. Not as exciting as the English Premier League.
Day 11 – Rio de Janeiro
With Marcel sleeping in, I’d headed to Corcovado (hunchback) where the statue of Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) is located.
Sign at the ticket office
Waiting for the cog train
Cog train to the top of Corcovado
Christ the Redeemer
A chapel sits beneath the statue
View from Corcovado
Passengers posing
Next up was Pão de Açúcar otherwise known as Sugar Loaf. Two buses were required to reach this spot. I’d much preferred to catch the bus than the taxi as it allowed me to see more of the city and experience how the locals commute. To reach the summit of Sugar Loaf two cable cars are required.
The first ascends 215m to Morro da Urca.
I’d waited until the sun began to set…
Then boarded the second cable car ferrying passengers to Pão de Açúcar
View from Pão de Açúcar
Rio at night
Healing Touch
An elderly couple was watching TV when a TV evangelist came on air to pray for the sick. The evangelist said, “For those of you who are sick, I want to pray with you so that you can be cured of your sickness. Place your right hand on the part of your body that is suffering from disorder, and raise your left hand.”
The husband placed his right hand on his privates, raised his left hand, and closed his eyes.
His wife saw what he did, and slowly whispered, “Honey, this prayer is to heal the sick, not to raise the dead!”
Nice Neigbour
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