Sixth day in Rio, part 3–Botanical Gardens
King John’s glorious gift to Rio
The Botanical Gardens was another place I was hot to see, and we had been unable to see it before now, due to its being closed for Carnaval (or so Marcelo said. He was probably playing the grand puppetmaster to all of us by using closings and bad weather like pawns in his own diabolical game of manipulation.)
Sylvia had informed Robo and Pettus that the hang gliding was still off for the day, so there was no other place to go but the Gardens.
We pulled off of a busy downtown street onto a sandy path that led to one of the parking areas for the Gardens. I’m sure it was one Marcelo knew about, since he routinely brings tours of school kids. Not knowing this at the time, I was rather taken aback at the place we parked: lined up next to a few other cars in front of a ledge of grass.
It was very strange to suddenly be dwarfed by huge trees of such exotic variety. The instant shift from the open claustrophobia of the city directly to the secluded canopy of nature was fun. We got out of the car to discover extremely muggy air rife with mosquitoes. Jean instantly dove into the Mawmaw bag and pulled out the SUPERDEET that we were taking to the Amazon. It was smelly, oily, and if you happened to get it on your hands and into your mouth, it was gross as hell. But nothing was going to touch any of us that used it.
A couple of the trees right in front of the car had the most incredible shiny bark.
There was an old house to our left. I’m sure it was part of the Gardens. Looks kind of like the bayou of Louisiana, eh? Note the subtle Japanese influence on the woodwork. Very unusual. This house could have been the home of any well-heeled country Southerner.
Marcelo led us up the path to the admission place. On the way, we passed this large installation of what appeared to be Matisse’s dancing women. At any rate, the motif was very familiar, and gave off a vibe of unshaved legs and armpits.
The policewoman at the gate doubled as money taker and shit giver, playfully harassing Marcelo and Robo on the way in. Robo made some flip comment about her gun which made me cringe, recalling the near-debacle of the “I’ve seen better” from Carnaval. No repercussions. Just a large, friendly black Brazilian using her authority without swagger.
There was a neat fountain on one of the paths right inside. Daniel first washed his hands in it, then drank from it once Marcelo told him it was safe. Daniel tried to lure me in, but I held firm in my refusal. I saw the face of Iemanjá in that fountain just as Scrooge had seen Marley’s ghost on his doorknocker. Nu-nu-nu-nu-nooo.
After he got through drinking it, he made a face at Marcelo and said, “That didn’t taste so good.”
Marcelo replied in his deadpan, “I said it was safe. I didn’t say it was good.”
I piled it on with Nelson Muntz’ mocking ha-ha. One of my favorites, and the perfect punctuation mark to anything harmfully funny.
It was after 2:00, and we were hungry. Like, really hungry. So before we went and looked at anything else, we veered into a nice courtyard with a walk-up-and-order eating dispensary. And as befitting botanical gardens everywhere, the food was perfect for ladies who lunch: a lotta quiches, salads and such. I have nothing against quiche at all, I just want it served in larger quantities than it usually is. This was no exception. But as I began to order the maximum I could without having the counter ladies call the Gardens Society (probably founded by Count d’Eu) and have me escorted out, a tall, friendly waitress popped her head around the corner and told us to go sit down.
We found a table under a huge tree and were soon joined by the woman who had insisted on taking our orders. And not in a mean way. She wanted to serve us! I’m sure it was Marcelo she had her moony eyes on. It translated into a pleasant experience all the way around. Pettus took this shot of Jean and me with her camera.
I introduced Daniel to the “even look” while we were waiting on the food. Even look? What?? The even look is an invention of mine that is so perfectly neutral that it conveys nothing. It’s the very best expression to give in just about any situation if you don’t know what to convey with your face. It’s very hard to do, because it is usually colored with other nuances, as you can see by the illustration below. Daniel was pretty good at it for being such a novice. Like he did with the Jon Voight. I think with a little work he could be really good.
I’ve really let my technique slip, I can tell by looking at the pictures. The one day growth of beard doesn’t look hip like it does on TV. It makes me look like somebody standing in line at a soup kitchen. I would have taken some soup at that moment, I was so hungry. Well, maybe not hot soup; possibly a nice vichyssoise.
After the delicious food (and it WAS delicious), we began the trek into the gardens. Marcelo obviously knew the place like the back of his hand, and though everything was marked, he told us what it was. We first encountered one of the royal palms. They were originally brought by King John when he began the gardens, and were at one time forbidden fruit for anyone but royalty in Brazil. The cuttings and treelings were hot property. Marcelo showed us one tree that is an actual descendant of an original palm. Cool. Even the trees here were touched with personification. One could imagine this palm making its debut in society to the accolades of thousands.
This place was fantastic. Laid out in a grid-like pattern, it was the most orderly, but least contrived space I could imagine. There were large areas shaded by huge trees of all kinds.
A large bust of King John was centered in one of the rows. The royal palms were everywhere, with the grand row behind him. You could feel the appreciation Marcelo showed as he told us about the king’s part in what we were seeing there.
A waterfall that cooled off the whole scene was visible through the wall of foliage. The canopy of green was different everywhere you went, and appeared intermittently and randomly enough to show that nature had been given her head in the landscape, but been gently guided by talented gardeners.
Look at this giant split-leaf philodendron. At least that’s what I’d call it here. If I could find one this big here. Marcelo called it something else.
Naturally, The Christ was visible from many place in the gardens, and was nothing short of spectacular. Once again, the royals figured in the entire vista. A powerful force.
We next saw a section that featured the famous Pantanol lily pads. They look like big serving platters. Perfect. Perfectly incredible.
I couldn’t pass up this butterfly, either.
Marcelo took our picture with The Christ in the background. Pretty. Then Pettus turned around and took a great picture of him with her camera.
This fountain opening onto the row of royal palms was rather picturesque. It reminded me of Florida down by Silver Springs during my childhood.
Look at the classic row of royal palms!
During our wanderings down one of the aisles, we came upon this hollowish tree trunk that caused me to begin channeling Jon Voight. Daniel was there with my camera. I don’t know how these things happen. I was suddenly wound up. Patricia was mightily entertained. Jean looked at the whole event as if she were looking through glass. Robo felt better enough to enjoy the spectacle with Pettus. Marcelo told me I had better get off the grass.
We continued on down the path, noticing how so many of the trees had bromeliads living on them. Then we saw this tree with his tiny little pink guy. I pointed it out, telling Daniel and Patricia how all the other trees laughed at this tree when they were in the locker room. Patricia nearly split her sides. It was pretty good. Even Marcelo laughed.
“This is just so weird,” Patricia said. “We NEVER talk like this at home! I mean, not that Mom and Dad don’t know or say stuff, but NOT LIKE THIS. We don’t just sit around the table talking about things like that.”
“Well, you don’t have to tell them,” I said, not realizing that I would rat my own self out in this blog.
We had reached an arch that was quite beautiful and camera-ready. Being as it led out of the gardens, we turned left.
This path ran along a stream, heavy with trees on the right. There were toucans flying from tall trees in the center of the park and landing on the other bank, suddenly hidden by the mass of green. Marcelo pointed them out to us at first, and seemed rather pleased that we had seen them.
We came upon another beautiful arch that led into a smaller garden. On the ground everywhere were these giant pods that were hard as wood. I picked one up. It was curved like a girl’s headband, but you could see the indentations where the seeds had been. I showed it to Marcelo.
“You had better put that down. You can be arrested for picking anything up in the gardens.”
I stared at him. What I saw was the quintessential even look. The fact that he had beat me at my own face made me say, “Well too bad. I’m taking it home,” and put it in my pocket. It looked like a rigid implant.
“Do you think I can get it past customs?” I asked him.
“If you’re careful, maybe,” he replied.
This batch of bamboo was nice. The carvings were actually kind of cool on there. I don’t know why. We saw Daniel’s name (and had seen the day before at the Jetson’s house) amongst all the others. Some were unfamiliar to me, but common in Brazil. Like Faelo e Dorico or Priscila e Celia. ?
“Get your camera ready. You will love this. Ees very good,” Marcelo intoned. “The bromeliads.”
“Ooh YEAH BABY!” I shouted. “I love me some bromeliads!” For good reason. They’re tough. Some of them live in harmony with other plants without living off of them. They are totally beautiful and unusual in every way.
I love these things. They’re related to Spanish moss. Well, duh, it all is.
I got Marcelo to pose with D&P in the center of the bromeliad house. They obliged. The pictures were hilarious to begin with, but I concocted a great scenario to go with them, did my best to translate it via Babelfish, and sent them to Marcelo. I was always giving him shit about how we were gonna wrap the kids in a rug and throw them in the back of his car to see how much we could get for them. Fun!
Well, that’s the gist of these pictures. What I was intending to say was: ”
“See how easy it is to make friends with the kids, Ben? They won’t suspect a thing until they’re wrapped up in a rug and stuffed in my trunk!”
Is the picture hilarious or what? The next one says: “See how they trust me, Ben? This will be so easy!”
He emailed me back: “You’re so funny! That is like something from Stephen King!” How flattering. He cracks me up.
More bromeliads are in order! Beginning with Little Dick’s little brother.
We went into another room with a small pond in the center and these lovely things surrounding it.
This fern was particularly fantastic. Looks so Japanese in its design. Hmm.
This tangle of plant life was very prevalent in the Amazon.
And look! A tree with jackfruit on it! A little baby jackfruit! At the base of the tree was the smashed, rotted jackfruit covered with ants that I mentioned in an earlier Bahian post. This was a fresh, spiny, virginal jackfruit.
Look at this cool texture.
Fan-tastic! Meanwhile, my arthritic right knee was beginning to stab me, and I heard the first drift of “getting stuck in Rio if you don’t make it through the tunnel by 5:00.” WHAT? I didn’t want to get stuck there! I wanted to go back to Niterói and eat at Porcão.
We decided to step it up. An exhibit and excavation of an old gunpowder factory that was interesting and atmospheric diverted us. It had little working models of what the factory was like. Fun! Let’s go. We don’t want to be stuck here. Of course none of us were going anywhere without stopping at the sanitário adjacent to the gunpowder factory. (Odd placement if you considered methane gas flammable).
As we were bookin’ it down the last aisle before the turn to our car, this cool massive rock grotto appeared on the right. Marcelo told us about it, but I wasn’t paying enough attention. I was listening to my knee and to the sound of cars building up in front of the Niterói bridge. I think he said it was built by one of the Doms, either I or II. But I’m making it all up. I DID hear him say that just beyond this thing was the beginning of the Tijuca National Forest, a rare thing in that it abuts the city. Umpteen thousand species of plants and animals living RIGHT THERE. I would hope there was some kind of fence.
Neat, huh? Kind of Indiana Jonesy. Marcelo also told us that people make out in there. Sure. Gettin’ it on wit’ yo’ LAY-deh, and looking up to see a giant snake of some kind that IGNORED THE FENCE around the Tijuca National Forest! Oh YEAH, I’m there.
We were kind of hauling ass by this time, me looking like an angry pirate walking the ship with a peg leg. When we got in the car, I looked at Marcelo and asked anxiously, “Did we make it? Did we make it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking he head. “Ees very late. The traffic could be terrible. We could be in it for two hours.”
“SHIT!” I hollered. “Speak up back there, y’all. What do you want to do?”
“Well,” Pettus and Jean said simultaneously, both looking at the Rio book, “There’s this shopping festival thing that closes in blah blah and you can get all this local blahblahblahblah. But I’m not sure if we’ll make it to that, so if we don’t, there’s always the shopping blah blahblahblah and we could find somewhere to eat there blahblah blah.”
“Well, I don’t want to go shopping,” I pouted. “I wanna go home.” My knee was throbbing in agreement.
“Yes, having something to do here may be a good idea if the traffic is bad,” Marcelo said, giving his rearview mirror glance to the girls.
SURELY he was trifling with me!
I shot him another patented look: the one I inherited from my mother that says “This ain’t gonna happen.” It’s even heavier than the pissed off coloration of the standard even look (shown).
He responded with mock surprise topped with glee and said, “I don’t think Ben wants to go shopping.”
I turned to the back seat and said to Robo, “Help me here!”
“You seem to be doing fine all by yourself,” he said.
I changed tone. “Y’all, please. I don’t want to go shopping. My knee hurts. Let’s make a break for it, okay?”
In our wonderful vascillating, willow-tree-like decision making fashion (done in a rolling car), we passed this beautiful church, or whatever it was.
Marcelo then said, “Ees the last chance to stay in Rio. After this, we are on the bridge.”
“Go! Go!” I hollered. I knew I was gonna feel like the goat if we got stuck. But I still felt like Marcelo was pulling my leg. Surely he didn’t want to get stuck in Rio either, being a Niteróian.
As we pulled up the ramp of no return, I shot these pictures of some more cool public art. I can’t call it graffiti, especially in this case.
“How’s the traffic?” I asked Marcelo.
He gave me a noncommittal “Enh.”
I took some neat pictures in the tunnel. “Well, I think you’re woofin’ me,” I said. “This doesn’t look bad at all.”
“We’ll see,” said Marcelo, grasping at the last thread of his little jest.
HA! We made it through the toll bridge in record time. I brought up the taking of Marcelo’s “fast pass” by the “authorities” just to “freshen up” the conversation. “So you said you’d never buy one of those again, eh?” I asked him.
We went through some new streets in Niterói, and I snapped a picture of this public art.
“What are you doing?” Marcelo asked, almost alarmed.
“Taking a picture of this sculpture,” I said.
“That is terrible. Don’t take pictures of bad art,” he scolded, shaking his head. But it was too late. And he was right–it was bad, but it was still interesting.
Jean got on the cell phone to have Sylvia get us reservations at Porcão for the evening. “You will enjoy it very much,” Marcelo enthused.
“Do you want to go with us?” we asked.
“No thank you. I have someone else to pick up.”
“Well what would you have done if we had gotten stuck in Rio,” I asked, rather petulantly.
Marcelo just gave me his version of the even look while Jean interrupted, “I guess we’re all alone again tomorrow, eh?”
“You will be fine,” he replied.
“You WILL take us to the airport, right?” Pettus asked him.
“Yes, of course.”
We got the gate code on the first try all the while signaling hello to our guard. Experience makes for efficiency. We got inside and began our routine: computer, TV, cocktails, showers, call Sylvia to get us a tax. Which she did.
Porcão! “When you go there it is a party!”–Marcelo
It was a party! We were at a round table in the middle of a room surrounded by celebratory people and mass quantities of fantastic food — and that was just the side selections to go with the meat, meat, meat and MORE MEAT!
I didn’t bring my camera, but Jean took these with her disposable.
They seemed to anticipate our every need in the meat and sides department, discovering Pettus’ affinity for chocolate on her fried banana slices. Before anyone could say anything, a waiter brought her a small white pot filled with pourable goodness. This of course got all over the tablecloth, and added to the Pollock-like nature of the whole event.
Look at the tiny little bucket of ice! So “individual” and “pampering.” TAM could take a tip from these people!
So let’s blame Patricia for the mess. And also for the special attention from the waiters. Then let’s ask Ben the question: “Did you get enough to eat?”
Good LOOK-IN! Nice shirt, though. Got it at the Jimmie Hale Mission: Possible store for 4 bucks. XXL Land’s End, 100% cotton, flat bottom for “capri wear,” beautiful blue color that sets off my eyes.
The bill here was about double that of La Verdanna. It was a lot of fun and the food was fantastic, but not double the fun or flavor. Nevertheless, it was a fabulous treat, and once again, it was right on our own personal restaurant row!
The cabs got us home quickly, and we lapsed into bloated evening wind-down mode. The next day we were going to Copacabana for sure, with Pettus and Robo hoping for a hang-gliding experience. The girls had looked at the Metro stuff, and determined that we could get a cab to the ferry, then take the Metro to the beach. They seemed confident, and with Pettus’ interior compass, it seemed like a plan.