Sunday, July 18

"Hey you went to Brazil! What all did you do?" they will ask. I will respond meekly: "Um, well, Thursday through Sunday from 10 a.m. until 3 p.m. we watched The British Open." Yes, I traveled thousands of miles to watch a golf tournament. We didn't go to the beach, we watched professional golfers hack around a windy and hellish course in Scotland. Oh, well, it was quite a tournament, so no regrets. Of course, Jenn was getting a bit irked, but she understood (maybe) that the guys can't miss a Major!

	Here's Copacabana Beach. We stayed at the far end on the peninsula.

It was worth it, though, being the most unusual ending to a Major golf tournament in history. Frenchman Jean Van de Velde had a three-stroke advantage entering the 18th hole, and after a couple of piss-poor decisions such as hitting a driver off the tee, going for the green instead of pitching into the fairway and thus plopping his ball into the creek, he blew the lead. After a four-hole playoff Paul Lawrie of Scotland defeated Van de Velde and Justin Leonard of the U.S. for the title.

We sat stunned in the hotel room; amused when watching then bewilderment after thinking about what we just saw. I can compare it only to the '95 British Open when Constantino Rocca chili-dipped a chip, then putted in from 90 feet off the green to tie John Daly, the eventual champion in a playoff.

A few of Danielle's thoughts: Let's see, what is my feedback? What are my memories of your visit? First of all, you have to write about the record time your dad and I got to the airport after finding out that y'all were going to come in early. I swear to God that your dad has never sped through the city like that. Second, your sights, smells, opinions, of your first look at Sao Paulo. *Going to the market, the ball and its use of English...Remember, you can always name your price and barter with them... *Your father speaking Portuguese... It is always a good chuckle for me... *Taking your sisters' advice.. Stick with me... I think they were referring to incidences like the Taxi driver..Ha,ha.. (Jeff's note: she's referring to when we were looking for a cab home Sunday night one cab driver was too lazy to take us and went back to sleep. Dad yelled some very fine obscenities at him, which of course were all lost on the guy since he didn't speak English. But Dad felt a little better.) *Good food, and lots of it... *Actually buying a bong!?! *Going up to heaven, or the view that was not ours to be had *Up to Christos, and everyone getting in our way of taking pictures, like we were the only ones there for that purpose... As if !?! *Caviar, need I say more? *70 degrees in the middle of winter *stepping in some "thing" and stinking up the car (Jeff's note: Yes, I stepped in really smelly doo-doo) *the very bad pina colada..

Getting back to Brazil, you really cannot understand the immense poverty of the country until you visit or live here. I know it's not a "Third World" nation, but in many ways it might as well be. The amount of slums, a.k.a. shanty-towns, or favelas, is either sad or fascinating, depending on how sympathetic you are. Danielle protested, but me and Dad were hoping for pictures of these dirty and poor areas (We didn't cause it and what can we do about it?). 70% of Rio's population lives in poverty, and as many as 300,000 people live in just one of these favelas, with their own governments and even running water and electricity. I asked, "Really? Then how poor could they be?" But they are, very much so. It reminded me of high school, when my Humanities class sponsored a family for Thanksgiving, and the family had Nintendo and a decent house and the kids wore fashionable clothes. Not quite so poor, I thought. That family would be upper middle-class in Brazil.

Every night we took a stroll through the market that sets up on the road that runs along the beach. It's full of dozens, if not well over a hundred individual stands where people sell their crafts. Many are the same things, but all have some distinction. There are clothes, touristy t-shirts, wooden carvings, soapstone carvings, sculptures, paintings, many versions of the Cristos statue in miniature, etc. Danielle continued to prove that she was uber-important to be with, since she communicated in Portuguese very well. Dad also speaks some, but doesn't quite have the accent down. That's all I say about that, to prevent pissing him off :) Love ya Dad!

In the tradition of other visitors to Rio in our family I bought one of the wooden-carved bongs. Yes, Jeff bought drug paraphernalia. I'm not going to use it, and you probably wouldn't know unless I told you what it was, it's just very cool. Additionally I bought a mini-soccer ball (that misspelled 'went') and flag of the Brazilian team, Scott bought the national soccer jersey he came for and Jenn found a nice topaz gem (She diligently searched for jewelry all three nights to make the right choice. Good for her). Jenn also found the blowgun (fires the darts when you blow) she'd promised to buy for a friend, and I bought one as well. It was too cool to pass up.

I found it interesting what music some Brazilians think we listen to. Every night in the market we would pass a guy trying to sell zithers, and when we approached he would play "Oh, Susanna" and the theme from "Chariots of Fire." Oh, well, that's better than listening to Britney Spears from a vendors radio on the beach.

Every night after shopping at the market, on the walk back to the hotel we passed the same prostitutes. By the third night we recognized them pretty well: the smart one (had glasses and a more classy dress), the one in see-through fishnet, the one with the boob job, the one that appeared to be eight months pregnant and the one with long blonde hair who had more outfits than the rest. Prostitution isn't legal in Brazil, just tolerated. And these gals were right on the street, pressing their almost-exposed buttocks against cars (we wondered what the car owners must think to have butt prints every morning on their trunks). I thought about taking a picture, but was afraid they wouldn't appreciate it too much, and didn't feel like being yelled at by Brazilian hookers.

Scott and I got to talking on the balcony of the hotel room and decided that on our next big vacation we would chose a decidedly Anglo-Saxon destination, such as the U.S. or Europe or Australia. It's a great experience to visit Brazil and Latin America, don't get me wrong, but now that we've done it I'd like to see something with personal historical significance, such as London or Waterloo. So if the chance to go to the British Open next year at St. Andrew's pans out, that is like a dream come true!

That evening when having drinks on the beach and dinner we saw firsthand how much the country slows down when Brazil's national soccer team has a match. This night the team was playing Uruguay in the championship of Copa America. Brazil won easily, and every time they scored we'd hear cheers echo from the residences and firecrackers going off. Dad says there is ten times the celebration when Brazil wins a major tournament, especially the World Cup. These people love their futbol, and since I love the sport as well then it was fascinating to experience.

After dinner at Caneco 70 (named after the Brazilians won the World Cup for the third time) along the beach, we relaxed on the balcony of the hotel's piano bar. This was to be relaxing, enjoying the breeze while sipping on a nice drink. I wanted to say how I sipped a Pina Colada in Rio on the beach. Well, little did I know that somehow I'm allergic to said drink! After a few sips of the disgusting beverage (I'll stick to virgin daiquiris from now on) I began to feel flushed. Danielle thought I was drunk as the color escaped from my face. However, this was followed by a scratchy raw itch in the back of my throat, then my nose started to run, then my eyes were puffy and watery, then my asthma began to act up as I wheezed.

	Sugarloaf from Corcavado.

I went up to the room and called it a night, trying not to die. I vomited a few times during the night to make me feel better, and it helped a bit. I didn't tell my travel partners this, but actually I vomited a couple of times over the balcony. It's actually quite a sight, seeing a stream of stuff fall nine stories in a breeze. Don't worry, it didn't hit the street or sidewalk, because there was an overhang on the second floor.

After watching the Mets vs. Orioles on ESPN I fell asleep around 4 a.m. and woke up at 11 feeling much better.

Monday, July 19

Brazil is the world's largest Catholic nation, and you see a lot of bumper stickers that simply say JESUS or have a religious theme, but other than that I couldn't really tell that the citizens were strict in their faith. Of course, Brazilians don't have the same moral standards as we do (hence the naked people on free television), and you can't tell a Christian American from an atheist just walking in the mall, so maybe I should just shut up.

Speaking of religion, today we would venture out to Corcovado Mountain and see the Cristos (Christ) statue, the largest tourist attraction in Rio and the most recognizable site in tourist magazines. When you think of Rio, you think of Cristos overlooking the city and the coast. Maybe that's what Oral Roberts was seeing in his dream, the 90-foot Jesus here.

Before coming here, I always thought the statue was on a mountain that is on the ocean, but in reality it's a few miles inland. No big deal. Sugarloaf Mountain, where we would visit later today, actually sits off the coast and offers just as glamorous a view.

The drive is on a skinny cobblestone and poorly paved road up and up and up the mountain. When we arrived it was very busy, so we walked up and up to the statue where hundreds of Brazilians were vying for the same great pictures. After an hour, though, the clouds rolled in and as we ate lunch the rest of the people skidaddled. Thus it was an easy walk and drive down the mountain. It's cloudy so much on Corcovado, I imagine the Rio residents sit on their front steps and just wait for the clouds to lift for an hour, then it's a mad dash to see the statue and view before more clouds arrive.

While using the restroom facilities on Corcovado, I took the liberty of writing down the words on the bathroom stall to see if it was any different than men's stalls in the U.S. Actually it is fairly even, and maybe even tips the scale at the Brazilians for most creative (PROFANITY ALERT!):

BATHROOM STALL TRANSLATION
Portuguese	English
SE VOCE QUER TER SUN PICA CHUPADA POR UNA BOCA MARAVILHOA, LIGUE PARA MIMHA ESPOSA O NOME	If you want to have your penis sucked by an extraordinary mouth, call my wife with your name
SOU BICHA, DUER ME COMER LIGUE 91337377 ADRIANO	I am a fag, you want to eat me call....
SE VOCE QUER VER SUMA ESPOSA SENDO POSSUIDAY POR UM IEHO DOVERDADO LIGUE PARA MIM	If you want your religious wife to be possessed by a gilded object, call me.
QUERA RIO CHUPA PAU TOURTO CHICO 91814295	If you want to suck a bull's dick, call chico...
IN GAYS, DEVERIAM SER EXTERMINADOS	All fags should be exterminated.
(In response to an American from Baltimore) COMO SEMPRE CAGANDO NO BRASIL!!!	Always shitting on Brasil

Thank you, Dad, for that translation of Brazilian sickos.

Another thing about Brazilian public bathrooms; half of them I couldn't figure out how to flush the dang urinals! There are random knobs on the walls, and somebody said something about a string to pull, but I never saw anything of the sort. I'm just pushing metal objects around the room, to no avail.

Staying on the bathroom theme, as in most foreign hotels ours has a bidet, the sink-looking object next to the toilet. Having seen the "butt-cleaner", as I affectionately call it, in Venezuela in '94, I knew what it was. For Scott and Jenn, however, it was a new thing. While learning how it operates, Jenn turned the knob and when the water didn't spout out soon enough she peered into it and received a facial bath that is normally reserved for our posterior regions. NOW she knows how it works ;) Love ya Jenn!

	The sunset at Sugarloaf. What we would've seen if not the for THE cloud.

After seeing Cristos, we headed back to the hotel for a brief nap then drove to Sugarloaf Mountain for a great view of Rio at sunset. This was assuming that the sky was clear. But, alas, no. There was one cloud that just sat on top of Sugarloaf the entire time we drove out there, rode the tram up, had a drink on the mountain and as we rode the tram back down. An hour later as we walked the beach the cloud was gone. Bummer.

If you see the James Bond flick "Moonraker," then the part of the movie where Bond and the guy with the metal jaws are fighting on the tram, then that is Sugarloaf. I haven't seen it in a while, being it is generally regarded as the worst Bond vehicle, so I look forward to seeing the movie again just for that scene. Apparently the clouds lift for movie filming, but not us. Go figure.

Getting to the top involves a two-tier tram ride, with a stop at what I affectionately refer to as Meat Loaf Mountain, where the view is just fine on its own, but then another jaunt to Sugar Loaf, which is supposed to offer an additional view of Copacabana Beach.

Scott's Top 11 Memories Off the Top of his Head about the Trip to Brazil: 1) Don't forget to include the dinner where I mistook chateaubriand sauce for potatoe salad. 2) How about watching the British Open and seeing van de velde choke? Or JFK Jr. on cnn intl 24/7? 3) Did we go up to heaven? Oops, that was Sugar Loaf! 4) Jenn got the biggest kick out of the flight attendant bringing her 2 bottles of wine when he saw her sitting between us on the plane. 5) Wow, the river in Sao Paulo is environmentally sound! 6) I guess I found out that it is bad manners to split soushi in half at Japanese restaurants. 7) Vicki's "affinity" for Pooh. 8) Do ya wanna mention Dad's driving through Rio the day we arrived? 9) I still want a leather map from the market. 10) i'm sure you will mention the first dinner in rio at the outdoor restaurant on the beach. we have some pics from that evening. 11) Two words: Multi-show!

We can say that we had a drink in the clouds, I suppose, because it's so thick you can't see 100 feet away. When for one minute the sun started to break through the cloud it was a mad dash for pictures, but the moment quickly subsided. Looking straight up, though, offered a clear view of the half-moon. We left when we thought storm clouds were rolling in, as it turned darker and windier. Like I mentioned before, though, an hour later all was clear. Either way we missed the beautiful sunset. For another time, I suppose. We did have the interesting opportunity to hear a group of Brazilian teenage girls sing the tune from "Teletubbies" on the tram back to Meat Loaf Mountain. That was very peculiar indeed.

It didn't help my mood, also, that my film broke inside my camera! I was worried for a good while, but when I returned home to Atlanta almost every picture turned out alright.

One of the funnier moments occurred in the elevator of the hotel this afternoon, as we got on with two older gents (Either Dad or Danielle say they were gay, but I'm not sure). As me and Dad banter with our comedic conversation, he calls me a smart alleck. One of the gents says, in a Hispanic accent, "Better to be smart alleck than dumb guy." As we laugh he asks "English good, no?" We say sure, not bad. His response was then delivered in a pure American accent: "It better be, I'm from Florida." Ha ha, he he. We have good laugh. Were they really gay?

Dinner was a trip to the hotel's restaurant for the buffet. Of course, now there is none for dinner, unlike when Dad and Danielle last visited. Except for a very bewildering pasta bar where they make it for you. Why can't we just do it ourselves? Why, because we're Ugly Americans! Meanwhile, Dad chides me for wearing a hat to dinner. This from the man wearing a t-shirt and shorts. At least I had on a button-down shirt and slacks!

This is called the "Bickering of the tired people" in sociological circles. A long time ago Homo erectis would pick on little things like this after hunting mastedons and knocking women over the head with a club and dragging them back to the cave. "Your fire no hot!" one caveman would yell. "Oh, yeah, then go get bit by a sabertooth tiger if you no like my way!" the other would respond.