September 05, 2003
Maracanã Soccer Stadium
Sorry it's been so long everybody. The page continues to receive hits and some might have wondered where I had gone. Well, I'm home. I'm so home that I just finished mowing the lawn and blowing the leaves off of the deck. I'm unpacked, I'm rested, and I'm getting ready to go to the beach. What's that, you say? The beach? Didn't you just get back from Rio de Janeiro? Well, yeah, I did, but I didn't spend more than an hour at the beach. I'll tell you all about it.
Homage to Rio de Janeiro
More pictures from Rio here.
I left Brasília very soon and without incident after my last entry on this page. I arrived right on time to be received by the wonderful Patricia Naupari, a woman who I first met around 5 years ago while serving a Mormon mission in eastern Venezuela. Her husband works for Halliburton and their family recently moved to Rio de Janeiro from Saudi Arabia, where they had been living for the past three years.
We were driven from the airport to the hotel apartment that their family was staying while they looked for a new home. They had already found a great penthouse apartment in beautiful Leblon, but the contract hadn't been signed, so they made room for me in the hotel. I've never felt so welcomed in my life. It was raining fairly hard when I arrived in Rio, but Patricia and her family were so obliging that not even a blizzard could dampen my spirits upon my arrival.
The view from my room on a cloudy night.
The rain kept us inside for a lot of the time. Patricia's husband, Carlos, was out of town so she, Carlitos, Jorge (her two sons), and I spent our days talking and spending remarkably little time catching up. It's amazing how I hadn't seen any of these people for five years but we immediately picked up our friendship like no time had passed at all.
Carlitos is entering his senior year in high school and is interested in pursuing a career in international business. He's a remarkably smart guy, much more articulate than any other 17 year old that I've recently met. Jorge is the cleverest 12 year old I've ever come across. I first met him when he was a very quiet and shy 7 year old, but now he's a hilarious guy who became an instant friend. One word to describe Jorge: sassy!
We went to the planetarium on Wednesday night to see Mars, but the clouds blocked our view. We went bowling on Friday afternoon (I scored 101, Carlitos got 121) and the rain stopped enough on Saturday to let us visit Rio's botanical garden and we saw Pirates of the Caribbean that night.
Sounds pretty banal doesn't it? Well, it was a very relaxed little vacation, but anybody who has ever been to Rio de Janeiro knows that just being in the city is exciting. Every city is unique, but Rio is bizarre. In some ways the rain brought out its charm. Imagine a gorgeous tropical coast marked by jutting rounded out mountains, it's the kind of landscape you'd expect to preserved as a national park. Well, that's Rio's landscape only with urbanity crammed into every nook where a building's foundations can take route. The clouds clung to the mountains and rain cascaded down their rock faces while all of the commerce and traffic of the amazing city buzzed down below.
Rio half marathon
So I'm training for the marine corps marathon in October. It turns out that Rio had a half marathon scheduled for last Sunday morning. I had been misinformed and re-misinformed that I had missed the registration for the race, but that I would be able to register the morning of. Well, I could have registered up until the day before the race, but no registration was available the day of. Shucks. I ran it anyway. I figured that my daily bike commute to the embassy in Brasília, coupled with my hours of deep water running would have prepared me for the race. Whoops! My lungs and heart are in excellent shape, but I'm afraid that my feet and legs might never forgive me for forcing them to run those 21 kilometers.
I felt fine for the first 5k or so, but my thighs started to burn and feel very heavy soon after that. I had planned on taking walk breaks every 3-5 kilometers, but it soon became apparent that I'd have to chill for a minute or so every 2k. The other thing was that (as pictured above) the sun finally showed its face that morning and it was hot. Somewhere around kilometer 13 I saw a guy in a wheelchair. I tried to motivate myself with those clichéd inspirational thoughts about how "he can't use his legs, run this for him." My legs and feet promptly told the chicken soup for the soul-spoiled section of my brain to "shut it" and that they were "on [their] way to being about as useful as that guys legs." I decided to walk again. I ended with one last bust of energy left at around 2:08. I was sunburnt and sore, but it felt good.
I love races. I'm always intimidated by the other runners who seem like they fit in so much more, but it always ends up being a nice bonding session. 99% of the people who participate in a long run like a half marathon are there to be challenged. Everyone is worn out when it's over, and everyone is happy to congratulate everyone else. I'm glad I did it even though I didn't get an official time, T-shirt or medal. Dang.
Patricia was generous enough to take me to Porcão for lunch that afternoon. It was my final trip to a Brazilian churrasacria (all you can eat grilled meat-athon) and it was the best. All of the running had worked up an appetite and the food was the greatest. I ate a frightening amount of beef and it was wonderful. Thanks to the massive Japanese population in Brazil, sushi is an essential part of any churrascaria. I downed a lot of sushi too. Oh man, it was a beautiful moment, the best meal I had all summer.
I managed to hobble to a soccer game with the boys that afternoon (see picture at top). Nothing too special. The stadium wasn't even 1/4 full, but the home team scored a goal and the visitors had a good turn out too so there was enough yelling, drums, swearing and flag waving to make the experience worthwhile.
Why being forced by your bladder to get up at 6am can be a good thing.
I hobbled around with Patricia on my sore legs and feet for the next two days. The clouds would break for a few seconds throughout the day and tease me, but it never got sunny and it never got really warm. I finally gave in when the sun came out for more than a few minutes on Tuesday afternoon. Jorge went down to the beach with me and we didn't take long to get used to the water. We played in the waves for a good 45 minutes before it started to get dark. My plane left that night.
Final self portrait in Brazil
We said goodbye and I took a cab to the airport. What a great family. Man! Great! The Varig people at the check-in counter informed me that my flight had been cancelled. Wha!? They put me on a plane to São Paulo. I was stopped by security on the way to the gate and was asked to open my guitar case. I pulled out the guitar and jokingly asked if they wanted to hear a song. They said yes. I said I didn't have time. They told me that I did and insisted that I play. They got to hear the first verse and chorus of my acoustic version of Cry Me a River. Ha!
They put me in a really nice hotel in São Paulo, but I only got to spend about 6 hours there. My flight to JFK left early the next morning. The flight lasted forever. I read the latest Economist cover-to-cover. I took a series of naps. The food was no good. The movies were made for TV movies. Boo! Oh well. I arrived in a rainy New York at 6:30 or so. My Mom was en route to MD from Maine so she picked me up (bless her heart). That's the end, but I've got some final words to put down. This blog isn't dead yet. I'm just ending it now because the beach calls, and I've got to heed.