“What do you want to do now?” Marcelo asked us.

“Uhhh,” we all replied. “Is the Botanical Gardens open?” Jean asked.

“I don’t think so,” Marcelo replied. “It is still Carnaval.”

“What about Sugarloaf?” I asked. I had seen the cars going up there, so figured it was open. And surely it had a bathroom.

“Ees very close,” Marcelo replied, sealing the deal.

When we pulled up in the parking lot, there was a line that stretched down the steps to the ticket booths and around the perimeter. It looked long at first, but seemed to be moving fairly rapidly. What else were we gonna do? Ride around looking for something that had a shorter line? I don’t think so. We decided to gut it out.

I remember one trip Jean and I took with the boys to Magic Mountain in California. Roller coaster heaven! I was about to hyperventilate with expectation until I saw all the lines. So what did we do? Stand in each line for about 10 minutes, get antsy, then go try to find a shorter line. Which we never did. And we wasted a couple of good hours on this ridiculous maneuver. We finally settled down and stood in a few lines, and actually got to ride four big coasters that day. I hate crowds and lines. I also love theme parks. It’s like crushing the shell into the pecan meat. You have to pick it all apart gradually, separating out the shell, to get any meat. Or a plate of boiled crabs. It’s all a lot of work for a little pleasure.

We asked Marcelo if he wanted to come with us, but he said no, he’d stay in the car and read or go get something to eat. “Okay, we’ll meet you out here when we’re through, okay?” Jean was asking, as I hauled ass up the stairs to find the sanitário.

“I’ll meet y’all at the end of the line,” I hollered at them, noticing that Robo was coming up behind me. Inside the building I was met with various wall displays and a diorama of Rio, the bay and the various mountains that rise from it. There was a tiny little cable car mounting a tiny little Sugarloaf. Neat. There was also a gift shop, but it became a blur as I dashed past and up the stairs as fast as one like me can dash. Robo must have ridden my draft, because we appeared at the door to the sanitário simultaneously, and almost did a Three Stooges trying to get through it together.

Once we got back to the others, we saw that the line wrapped around by a memorial statue of a WWI or II Brazilian soldier. Maybe Marcelo can tell me who he is. While we were standing in the line, there was a vendor selling these little plastic bikini clad girls that you would clip on the edge of a beer can to make a handle. They were the perfect thing to bring back! I must say, though, it is a rather tacky juxtaposition with the statue.

And of course I began my photo onslaught on Daniel and Patricia with this pic in front of the stricken soldier.

We marveled at the people scaling the mountain behind the ticket booth. They were at least 100 feet in the air, clinging onto the face of the rock, looking like flies on a dark wall: hard to find at first. Watching them up there caused every orifice on my body to slam shut in fear. But I could hardly look away.

The line was indeed fast, and before we knew it, were up at the booth. Robo’s grant had included entertainment expenses for D & P, and this somehow translated into some clusterfuck at the ticket booth that took Patricia’s expertise (read “Portuguese”) to sort out for us. Of course we’d also be the very ones to hold up the line after we had worked that Yoruba curse on the people in front of us. Irony is so funny!

I was a tad fluttery about the whole thing of course, with the curse going awry, and my being so terrified of unsecured heights. In a machine or building I’m usually fine, but I have a special subsection in my book of fears for this. An air gondola is neither fish nor fowl. It’s a machine, but it’s on a stupid two inch cable. And there are 75 people in this thing supported by this long-ass wire that runs up to one huge mountain, stops, then goes up another slacky wire to Sugarloaf, 1299 feet above sea level.

So what do I do? As the car begins to magically, impossibly, lurch up to the first mountain, I say casually to Jean, “Look honey, we’re over all those trees. If the cable snaps they’ll be there to break our fall.”

“Stop that!” she hissed at me. Then we both started laughing nervously.

At this point, I had to ponder Robo and Pettus’ desire to hang glide while we were in Rio. Neither had ever done it or anything like it, and it sounded like fun to them. They had even asked Sylvia to look into it for them. Unfortunately, with the foggy weather we were still having, it was out of the question at the time. But there went my orifices again anyway, from just thinking about it.

We got to stage one quickly, disembarked easily, and began to gawk at the view. Though cloud-studded, it was still beautiful. I seemed to take a ton of pictures of The Christ through the haze, and some of them are pretty spiffy.

On the first level, there were benches everywhere, and people were lounging around like it was a park or something. I took a shot of the group, then Robo took one of Jean and me.

It’s totally amazing how much Jean looks like her mother.

Here’s another good shot of The Christ from this level

It was time to try to beat the rush to the tram up to Sugarloaf. Due to construction we had to follow a convoluted course over boards on scaffolding (fun) until we finally turned the corner to the next station. Here are a couple of cool shots of the convex mirror, the people in it, and the big mountain right behind.

In this closeup, it looks like Robo is pissed off about something. This could be the point in the trip where his sinuses began to revolt against him. The altitude may have been punching him in the forehead.

Once we had alighted the car, we were instantly hit with the unobstructed panorama that Sugarloaf affords. These shots of the harbor were very cool. Notice how the orange roofs of the chi-chi enclave below echo the favelas. Both ends of the money spectrum with similar visual impact. EYE ROW KNEE!

By this time, Daniel was hungry again. The grant included snacks, too! Robo handed him a bunch of Reais, and we walked up to the booth to order. I got a couple of agua com gaís (sparkling water), and then discovered that they had those cheese roll things! Daniel ordered that and a Coke. We all sat around, Daniel politely sharing his food, the rest of us like a bunch of dive bombers into the little paper tray. I chugged that agua com gaís pretty fast, then decided to go take another picture of The Christ ruling over Rio.

I also spent time taking pictures of other people with their cameras. There were a bunch of Australians there, and I did shots of 3 different Aussie couples.

The others were ready to go, and sent Daniel looking for me. “We’re ready to go,” he said “Are you?”

“Sure. I don’t think the view is gonna change.”

We saw a bunch of people heading for the tram station, so we hustled as fast as we could to beat them there without looking like we were trying to beat them there. That’s called “manners.”

Once inside, I took this shot of the group despite their protests. They all warned me that if we missed that tram they would kill me. Amazing they can look so pleasant and yet be so threatening.

We made the car without any trouble. But there was a counter that told how many could get on, and it was ticking madly toward the limit. And a few extra I noted, to my chagrin.

In order to divert herself, Jean began listening in on other conversations. There were enough English speakers there to have a little field day, and get her internal radio working again. She noticed a young American guy wearing an Ole Miss hat. He was with an Australian guy. Once we had gotten to the first station, she knew enough about him to say to him on the way out, “Are you from Mississippi?”

“Yes ma’am!” he said politely and enthusiastically. “How did you know?”

“Well first, your accent. And you have “Rebels” on the back of your hat. It was kind of a no-brainer.”

This brought on an advanced session of the “Do You Know? Game”. I believe he did know one of the Lee twins from Ole Miss, and had a bunch of friends that live in Mountain Brook that would know Frank’s friends from there. Ahh. Satisfying. That’s one of the beauties of being from the South. You can play “the game” for less than five minutes and have three connections. But to play it on level one of the Sugarloaf Experience was just pretty bizarre.

While they worked on the Rebel connections tapestry, I shot a couple of pictures of the gears and a beautiful hybiscus.

It turns out that the guy was here in Brazil on kind of an exploration trip. He had been to Argentina looking to buy property to set up a winery/fine restaurant/lodge and hunting deal for executives and jet setters. Being from the South, he was completely familiar with the hunting part. Having money, which he obviously did, would give him an edge with clientele.

He was with an Australian guy he had met at one of the hostels he had stayed in. So he was possibly short on money. But he was used to it, you could tell. Maybe just had a pedigree and not so much money now. I don’t know, but I kind of doubt it. He wielded the mantle of breeding easily, being pleasant, expansive, attentive to the girls and Patricia in particular, and willing to spend a little time with some fellow Southerners. His Aussie companion was also pleasant, but seemed completely disconnected with the conversation, especially when the young guy began to lapse into a definitive Mississippi drawl right before his eyes.

And don’t think for a minute that Mama Jean wasn’t trying to hook him up with Patricia. He had to promise that he would contact her if he came through Salvador on his travels before she would let him go. The thing is, I believed him when he said that he would.

None of us passed up the bathroom when we landed, and I got a chance to see a little more of what was in the gift shop. I’ll be switched if there weren’t several statues of Iemanjá on the shelf! I could tell because she was admiring herself in the mirror, and there were shells all around her. But only one who had felt her hot breath on his neck would recognize her with such clarity.

I rushed outside, only glancing at the diorama as I zoomed past. Fortunately, there was Marcelo waiting on us, to break the spell. I jumped in and took off my Crocs immediately, stuffing another water bottle into the side pockets on the door. I had quite a collection of half-drunk bottles going.

“Did you go eat?” I asked him.

“No. I read in the car,” he replied.

“Well I know for sure that I’m hungry, and I’m sure the rest of them will be by the time we get back home, so let’s go eat, okay? Surely y’all want to eat soon, don’t you?” I asked them.

“Duh!” was the response.

“Of course, then,” Marcelo said. “There are many good places.”

“Well, I want one that will give me some food,” I told him. “But it can’t be too fancy if we’re not going home to change.”

“I know a place,” he assured me.

I relaxed, knowing that my newly interested belly was gonna get some attention.

As we headed over the bridge to Niterói and passed one of the impotent cranes, I had a sudden revival of my earlier laughing fit. But only enough to wake me up a little. Not a full blown attack.

The way home (and yes, Mirante de São Francisco felt like home, especially now that D&P were there with us) had become familiar, and there were several ways to get there ultimately, but they were all scenic. Once you had crossed under the toll booths, the roads began to feel narrower and more random than in Rio proper. Sometimes we’d go by the Niedermeyer-designed art museum, other times not. I guess it depended on whatever mood Marcelo was in.

We drove along restaurant row, passing Paludo, and Porcão, which prompted Marcelo to remark, “There you can eat when you have time and want it to be very nice. When you eat there, it is a party.” We all took note that Porcão was at the top of the food chain.

“La Verdanna,” Marcelo said, as he pulled into the portico. “Ees very good. Meats brought to your table.”

That was all any of us wanted to hear as we began to pile out. “You’re going to eat with us, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Marcelo replied.

Jean loves having that ole picture made, doesn’t she?

La Verdanna was one of those places where the servers come by with skewers of all kinds of different meat. You are given a little card that has a green side reading “Sim” and a red side reading “Não”. If the green side is up, the guys keep coming by.

I think Marcelo knew some people there, because they seemed to buzz around us extra. Right out of the chute they came up with sausage on a skewer, filet, filet with garlic, roasted bananas, manioc flour, lobster puffs, French fries (Daniel got some), and three or four other things. I was saying “Sim” to everything, and before long, had a plateful of stuff.

They also brought out chicken hearts stacked neatly on a skewer. They really did look like little hearts. Daniel ate half the ones in the restaurant in addition to everything else they brought by. He was a marvelous, magical eating machine!  Oddly enough, I was already starting to get a little full from the rapid onslaught of skewer-to-plate-to-mouth that hits you the second you sit down, and the thought of the coraçãoes da frango kind of reminded me of stomach surfing in Salvador. So I politely flashed a “Não.”

Marcelo said “Don’t forget to try the food over there,” pointing to an elaborate buffet like the one at Paludo.

“Whaa??” I asked. “Is that included?”

“Yes,” he said. “Ees very good.”

I took his picture as a reward for this information.

Look at that noble face! A native Niteróian, just like Sergio Mendes! What’s not to love? Right in the middle of my waxing philosophic about Marcelo and his importance, he interrupted with “What about my image rights for the picture? Are you going to pay me image rights?” I responded with a big laugh, and then another picture. This time Daniel sniffed out the camera, joining the exclusive club that Robo and I are members of.

Looks like one of them gol-durned Jonas Brothers, doesn’t he? If he didn’t have that zit, he could be a star.

This next shot is funny, especially if you know Pettus. Every now and then she gets this look, especially if Robo is hammering her with some kind of information. I never have been able to tell if she is actually taking anything in, or is just mentally going, “La la la la la la la la.”

Despite the mass of food, we all decided to share a dessert. And managed to eat it all.

We headed out, all about to bust. I obrigado’ed the shit out of everybody, and so did Jean. “It’s obrigadA,” I told her on the way out. “You said obrigadO.”

“Yeah?” she answered.

“Well, I’m so much cooler than you.”

“Yeah?” she answered.

I responded by making them line up for a picture.

And then, just to make sure I wasn’t a total idiot about my hatred of flash, one with the flash.
I am right to hate it. And so is Pettus.

The valet pulled up with Marcelo’s car, and we all wedged ourselves in and headed home, which was by now a familiar thing.

When we were getting out of the car, Jean asked Marcelo, “Can you take us out tomorrow?” expecting an answer of “Yes, but you must call Sylvia.”

“No, I can’t,” Marcelo said. “I have someone else I have to pick up.” Inside my head, I heard the sound of screeching brakes.

“WHAT?” I blurted out? “What do you mean ‘have someone else to pick up’?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Marcelo said.

“Well what will we do?” I pleaded.

“There are a lot of cabs, and the ferry is good to get to Rio,” he said.

“We’ll try that,” the others said.

“Okay then,” I pouted. “I hope you have a great time with your new little friends.”

Marcelo laughed and said, “You will be fine. I will see you the next day.”

“You better,” we all said, getting the gate code right the first time and trudging in to watch Brazilian TV and plan the next day without The Man.