It hasn't been the best year for my mother at all. She was diagnosed with breast cancer and that sucks a metric fuckton. Yes, we all lucked out and she has the best case scenario breast cancer but it's still breast cancer.
And I hate it.
I was given the chance to go out to Calgary for 10 days and you're damn right I took it.
I went at the tail end of Stampede because #pancakes. And #beans.
The essential parts of a Stampede breakfast are pancakes, beans, sausages or bacon, and bad coffee. I haven't had a Stampede breakfast in 10 years and this was exactly perfect.
The following day, we (Mom, Ernie and I) went to Waterton Lakes National Park.
Along the way we stopped in Nanton and saw a Lancaster Canadian T-33.
"The T-33 on display at the Bomber
Command Museum is on long term loan by Orville Rowland of Okotoks. One
of the Canadian built aircraft, it's fuselage bears serial #21272
although the tail is from another aircraft. It was taken on strength by the RCAF
in 1954 and assigned to #2 Advanced Flying School at CFB Portage la
Prairie, Manitoba where in remained until it was struck off strength in
1967. Mr. Rowland acquired the aircraft and placed it on display at the
Okotoks Airport. It was acquired by the museum in 1998." Source
We visited the candy store as well where I learned they no longer made Nanton Root Beer, which is easily the best root beer on the planet. I don't know how to put into words what I feel about this.
We carried on down the road to Lundbreck Falls where we stopped for lunch.
Lundbreck Falls sits on the Crowsnest River.
Now, here in Newfoundland, people are losing their damn minds over a 30-acre canola field. Seriously. Canola. They're flocking to this field to take pictures of it.
The next 24 hours of my trip were almost personally uneventful.
I almost got arrested in New York City. That's a thing that happened.
When you take the bus from New York City airports, you're apparently supposed to pay before you get on the bus, not as you get on the bus. This is not clearly indicated anywhere and when I asked the nice lady at the Port Authority for help, she told me you pay as you board. Cool. I've got a MetroCard, no big deal. Awesome.
I got on the bus. I looked for a place to swipe my MetroCard but the driver told me not to and to go to the back. I took this to mean that the swipe was at the back door.
I was wrong.
I sat down and thought maybe I paid when I got off?
About half way through the journey, NYPD Transit Cops board the bus and ask to see everyone's proof of payment. Great! I'll show them my MetroCard - this is like the C-Train back home, I get it!
Nope.
I showed them my MetroCard and they asked for the receipt as proof of payment. I explained that I had tried to pay three times and was turned away each time and I'm sorry, could I pay them now? I'm from Canada and I'm normally really good on transit and I'm sorry, I don't know how this works. The nice cop half rolled his eyes at me and asked for proof. As I was searching my purse for my passport (explaining each step so he didn't think I was searching for a weapon, even offering for him to look himself if he would like and once again apologising), he smiled and said, "I know you're Canadian, you've apologised four times in about thirty seconds."
Glad to know our reputation precedes us.
I show him my passport and once again offer to pay. He handed me an official warning and said that next time, there will me a machine at the bus terminal that I swipe my card at and keep the receipt. I thanked him profusely and carried on.
I spent the day geocaching in Manhattan. I found a couple but missed one by about half an hour. There were a few others looking for it at Bryant Park and by the time we banded together we realized that the last two logs were a found and a Did Not Find an hour apart - it had been muggled.
James met some Rockettes.
I went back to La Guardia airport because it was getting late.
In my infinite wisdom I had decided that I could just sleep in the airport, no big deal.
What a fucking hole.
I wasn't the only one with this idea and we were all idiots. I was at least smart in that I had my scarf.
We were kept on the land side of baggage claim, barricaded away from the actual carousels by metal fences. They weren't even turned on - it's not like we could have done anything with them like go for a ride!
I found a TV and I wish I hadn't.
This was 13 November, the day of the attacks in Paris.
A few of us were sitting around and watching in shock.
Then the alarms went off in the airport. National Guardsmen formed up from out of nowhere and ran to barricade exits and keep large groups of people in areas together while other National Guardsman ran around and did things. This was very uneasy but I knew that the situation was under control. The alarms were called off about half an hour later and the Guardsmen dispersed like they were never there.
A couple of hours later, they went off again.
And again, two hours after that.
I appreciate the quick and careful response of the US National Guard and the Port Authority. Each time turned out to be nothing but the waiting was tense, especially given what was happening in Paris at the exact same time.
I managed to get a nap. I defied the odds and got a couple of hours of sleep.
I was finally able to enter La Guardia airside and really, I don't know what is wrong with people.
Since the dawn of commercial air travel as we know it, you have needed photo ID to get on an airplane. Period. This is especially true of international travel.
If you fly WestJet, they are kind enough to remind you many, many times with plenty of time to find it and have it ready. In fact, it shouldn't be that far away because you have to show it and your ticket in order to get past security.
Apparently in the 200 metres and half an hour wait since security, one woman forgot this. She didn't think her kids would need photo ID - namely, passports - for an international flight. Yes, USA to Canada is international. Her kids didn't have passports. They were 9, 11 and 15. She didn't think they needed them because they were under 18. WestJet, I'd like to point out, has repeatedly announced that all passengers need a passport to board the international flight. WestJet has said more than once that if you don't have a passport, you can't board. Everyone - everyone - needs a passport, even children under 18.
They apparently got passed security with state ID. They had no passports to board the flight. Well, the mother did because she knew she needed it. WestJet rightfully denied them boarding. This was an outrage because how was the mother supposed to know they needed passports!? They were only going to Canada! She demanded a refund and proceeded to have a fit. No refund for human stupidity.
Most of the time I spent in Rio I spent walking. Nothing out of the ordinary, as I walk all the time, everywhere.
What was out of the ordinary was that in Rio, I could end up at the beach.
And I did.
I walked up and down the lengths of Ipanema and Copacabana beaches countless times. I walked in the sand. I walked in the water. I paused for a while and rested in the sand.
The sidewalks along the beaches are made of limestone. This is a Portuguese tradition called calçada. Above is the calçada along Copacabana.
Ipanema has a different pattern. These patterns carry on through the residential areas in both Copacabana and Ipanema. There were people working on them too, so it isn't like they're replaced with concrete when they break down. The weather was about 30-35 degrees in the day. People of all shapes and sizes were wearing whatever kept them cool. It's a refreshing change from here where everyone is hung up about their bodies and would rather cover up than be comfortable.
Stop here. Appreciate life for one minute and smile.
Rio is a construction site. Everything is being built or repaired. Everything. Roads, sidewalks, buildings, interchanges, all of it. Nobody is working. People are literally sleeping on the job. There are workers taking naps on the construction sites. I have no idea how they're going to be ready for the Olympics. It doesn't even look like they're hosting one, from what I saw. There is not a lot of Olympic merchandise or signage around. I didn't take a lot of pictures of the beaches because they're all the same. They're a beach. Sand. Ocean. People. Not a lot of interesting things outside of the tiles as far as visuals go. Don't get me wrong, the people watching was great but you can't take pictures of people at a beach without looking like a creep. Overall, I felt very safe in Rio. I went out after dark, I ate in restaurants, I went in to store and grocery stores. I talked to people, I got around. There is a lot of discussion about how unsafe the Copacabana area is in terms of petty crime, but if you take proper precaution and aren't an idiot flaunting diamond bangles, you'll be fine.
Reading the online reviews, GIG airport is a hellhole on par with a POW camp. I didn't find this at all. I've been in worse airports. I've been in better airports too.
I was glad for this trip. It was very satisfying. An excellent birthday trip all around!
Escadaria Selarón is a beautiful, functional piece of art that broaches two neighbourhoods, Santa Teresa and Lapa. There are a lot more stairs than you think there are.
There are thousands of tiles here from all over the world for many different reasons. Of course, we all search for our own country first.
Within the same group of tiles are a bunch of Haida art tiles. I've done my best to search the artist but have come up blank.
There were several more on the stairs, but I didn't take pictures of them all.
It would be very easy to spend a lot of hours searching these stairs and examining every tile. It is really a remarkable place.
There are very few opportunities in life to be James Bond.
I had one.
Pão de Açúcar.
(movies were so bad)
While my venture up this mountain was not anywhere near as exciting, it was still beautiful.
Giant Jesus!
James, but not Bond.
Ipanema and Leblon.
SDU, the domestic airport.
We took the cable cars to the top of the mountain and had a long while to take pictures and buy water for 5 Real, which is ridiculous, but you're a captive consumer so you have no choice.
Yes, I could have gone with the obvious song but it isn't even about this place.
This place is Rio de Janeiro.
This is a place that is beyond words.
The city is magnificent; it is a mix of art deco, Brutalism and modern architecture. The white stone buildings from the 1930s don't seem out of place beside the updated ones from last year. The beaches stretch on forever. They are never crowded and always welcoming. The people are kind and friendly. Nobody seems to have the body hang ups we do; men and women of all ages, all shapes and sizes walk around the beach areas wearing whatever they feel.
Copacabana at night.
There are favelas here, very poor areas. They are colourful as anything and densely packed. The houses are generally unfinished and made of scraps. The common understanding is that living in a favela isn't permanent; it is a place to live while you're moving up, so you don't need a proper roof. A proper roof shows that you've resigned to this fate and are done living.
The favelas are numerous and scattered all around Rio. They are serviced by the city including public transportation. I did not go on a favela tour because it really felt like exploiting poverty to me. I was uncomfortable with this idea and instead went on a city tour. More on that in a bit.
On our first half day in Rio, I tried to catch up on some sleep. This plan was foiled, however, when there was construction right outside my hotel window. I should mention that Rio is a construction site. All of it is under construction. It is 30 degrees so people are literally sleeping on the sites instead of working - except on the site right outside of my window which seems to be the only active site in the entire city. Ugh. So instead, I did some updating on here.
The second day in Rio, I wandered the city with one of the people on my tour. As with all of my adventures, I had a how is this my life? moment.
We were sitting on Copacabana beach, drinking coconut water out of a coconut.
James enjoyed it too.
We had to say goodbye to Santi, our fantastic tour guide.
Santi tells us that Santiago (his full name) means James.
Santi and James have a moment.
As a last group thing, we go on a city tour. First stop: Cristo Redentor, aka Giant Jesus (thanks, Steve).
It is impossible to take a bad picture of Giant Jesus Christ the Redeemer.
Seriously impossible.
Fun fact: Giant JesusCristo Redentor has escalators that go up and down the side of the mountain.
We were looking forward to taking the tram that runs along a track, but it wasn't available for reasons that weren't explained. Oh well.
Along with Giant Jesus Christ the Redeemer, there are gobs and gobs of tourists. Each of them is doing the Jesus Pose. When asked by a coworker if James too would be doing the Jesus Pose, my answer was "Why do you think I'm going to Rio de Janeiro?"
Pretty much what the whole trip was for.
The views from Corcovado are stunning. There was some low lying cloud, which made the pictures even better, I think.
Are you ready for some futboll?
After Giant Jesus Christ the Redeemer, we visited the Metropolitan Cathedral of Saint Sebastian.
I am quite fond of churches, as regular readers (Mom and Nana) know. I'm not very religious but I appreciate beautiful things and history, two things churches of various denominations are chock full of.
The Catholic church is unlike any I've seen.
It is modern, for one. On the inside it is entirely circular. There is seating for 5,000 people.
There are three doors to the church, all of equal width and importance. Our guide told us that initially it was intended as one door for Catholics, one door for Protestants and one for "voodoo", as he called it. They all empty in to the main cathedral, intending for everyone to feel welcome.
There are four magnificent stained glass windows that meet above the nave. The nave is fairly simple, given the scale of the church.
On our first day in Ilha Grande, it pissed rain. Pissed. Non-stop pissing.
Sure, it was warm but it was pissing rain.
We were all getting a little bummed at this point because it had been raining or drizzling for about three days and we hadn't been dry in almost as long. A lot of people had really damp backpacks.
It's not fun.
The boat ride there was less than ideal, especially given the weather. It is raining and we're on a speed boat for 45 minutes. The only safety consideration seems to be pool noodles.
I was getting a little bummed in a really childish way.
There was a mess up at the fancy hostel hotel and I was put in a four share room. Which is good enough, whatever. It's a bed. I don't care.
The four share has two double beds in the main room and a bunk bed in a side room.
Take a guess where I was.
In the pissing rain.
On the day before my birthday.
With no internet access.
Oh yes, this was shaping up to be a great birthday.
I took a deep breath or 12 and made a promise to myself: regardless of rain, I was going to a beach tomorrow. Period.
We went out for lunch and joy of joys, there was a TV showing soccer football in the restaurant. We haven't properly seen TV for many days at this point and had no internet at the hotel. We were alll riveted by the sport, even if we don't watch.
And then the power went down.
On the whole island.
Generators soon kicked in and stayed on for well over 24 hours and all I can think is, I survived #darkNL. This is nothing.
At breakfast the next morning, the sun is peaking through. Yay!
There is no rain for the first time in three days. Yay!
It is about 21 degrees at 1000! Yay!
And people are bitching already about the weather.
And I lost my cool.
"Today is my birthday," I said. "And my birthday wish is to not hear a single person complain about the weather for24 hours. If I wanted to hear people complain about the weather, I would have saved myself a fuck ton of money and stayed home."
That worked.
I don't go to places to visit the weather. One, that's a waste of time and money. Two, weather is unpredictable especially that Brazil is right in the bulls eye for one of the largest El Ninos in history. Three, rain forest.
We started out on Preta Praia, a black stand beach. This was wonderful but it wasn't exactly a "go in the ocean" kind of beach. It was lovely to look at. We even found the ruins of a leper colony/high security prison.
Along the way back to town, I spotted the friendliest ashtray I think I've ever seen.
We took our time heading back because it was a nice day out. The trail signs mentioned acueducto, and of course we were going to go there.
It was quite different than the aqueduct I'm used to.
This aqueduct was built in the late 1800s using sand and whale fat as mortar.
We decided to find a taxi boat to take us to Lopes Mendes because the two hour hike was going to be treacherous on account of the rain.
The water taxi took us to Praia das Palmas, about a half hour hike to Lopes Mendes. There is a trail and it is basically all mud. Solid and walkable, sure. Uphill and downhill. A good trail through the rain forest.
The trail was busy. There were many people headed to Lopes Mendes, including the Crying Lady.
Many of us had lost our footing on the slippery trail. It was to be expected. We regained our footing and carried on. We were all getting dirty with the orange-ish mud but it didn't matter. It did matter to the Crying Lady.
She was about 40 and had enough of all of this mud and slipping. She lost her footing on a downhill portion - did not fall - and clasped on to her boyfriend. For the remainder of the hike, she bawled like a toddler. Crocodile tears too!
We dubbed that section "The Crying Zone."
I changed into my swimsuit and we spent a couple of hours jumping in the bathwater warm waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
This was both exhausting and exhilarating. Best birthday adventure so far.
We headed back in to town for dinner.
People apparently wanted to make a big deal of my birthday.
For me, the trip is a big deal, and it is big deal enough. Nothing more needs to be done.
Caipirinha
We went out to dinner at this really fantastic place. It was casual enough but a bit dressy too. Perfect.
I'm not one to take pictures of my food, but that's a filet mignon. It was less than $20.
Santi, our wonderful guide, got me a cake!
We couldn't get all of the sparklers lit at once.
I knew this restaurant was fantastic because it had load bearing flags.
Not exactly a Red Ensign.
Afterwards, a couple of us went to a nightclub on the end of the beach because that's apparently the right thing to do when you're 35.
