What a day- Did anyone mention it was “The rainy season?”

 We awoke early this morning. We were required to have our luggage packed and outside our door last night by 10 pm, so the ritual this day was simplified. Arise, freshen and dress with the clothes we wore yesterday, then go to breakfast. While there, we met several of the couples with whom we had broken bread, and bid our fond fairwells. Returning to our stateroom, we grabbed our I.D.s and carryon bags and headed to level 5. It was there that we met face-to-face with the image outside our window. We had been told several times that March 21st marked the beginning of the rainy season (mentioned as if any rain prior to that date was illegal). This morning we walked head first into the rain portion of the new season.

We returned to terra firma about 7:30, not knowing how long it would take to make it through customs and waiting behind hundreds of others who were doing likewise. Our arrangements were to have a driver pick us up at “the terminal” at 12pm, but when we were told that Oceania wanted everyone who was leaving the ship to do so by 8 am I was able to reschedule for an 8:45 am rendezvous. This ended up being quite fortuitous as we quickly found our suitcases, then found that, because we were not riding to the airport on an Oceania arranged bus transfer, we did not have to stand at the back of the long lines that had formed. We quickly breezed through customs/security with 45 minutes to spare, not 4 hours as originally scheduled. We thought this was a very good thing because there was, after customs, nowhere to sit (except on your suitcase). So we stood just inside the large door, looking outside through a torrential rain and blustery wind storm… until…

The Customs personnel told us that we were not allowed to stand inside, insisting that we move outdoors. We stood in disbelief, defiantly refusing to follow their orders. So Customs called security and they repeated the demands that we (a group of about a dozen seniors) move outside.

The group leader of the Oceania bus riders saw what was happening and came, armed with dual linguistic capabilities, to our rescue. She began to argue vociferously with the security guards, but to no avail, other than consuming time on the play clock. When she was finally ordered to move her group out to their now-waiting bus, her hands were tied. They moved slowly past us, ultimately leaving us to face our foe. But, with the passage of but those few minutes, the wind died down, the rain ceased, and we strolled through the doorway, only to find that there were two small awnings out by the street for us to huddle under.

We gathered under tent/awnings and managed to stay dry.

As our 8:45 appointment neared I began to wonder how we would locate our driver. When we were relocated to the tents there were only a few taxi and Uber drivers at the gate. But when they saw people being forced out into the weather they came in droves to see if they could secure a fare. They began to squabble amongst themselves as to who should be first to get a passenger, their position along the curb across the street apparently no longer a valid marker of the order of arrival. Mixed in with them were a few private drivers, holding a wet piece of paper with the name of their passenger(s) written, semi-legibly in some cases, on it. I tried to text-message them through What’s-App only to receive an error message that the number I was given was a land line. I tried to call their customer service line but was told I needed my 9 digit reference number in order to proceed (and it was deep in the dry pocket of my rain coat.) Eventually I tried an old-school phone call to the “driver”, instead of their preferred What’s App. As It rang, I looked around the large group gathered near the gate and saw a man answer his cell phone. It was Anderson, our contact! Emergency averted!

He walked over, greeted us, and indicated he would take one of the suitcases. So I grabbed the other bag in one hand, my wife in the other hand and we started to walk, following Anderson down the sidewalk. But he was off to the races, never once looking back to see if we were following him. I hollered at him but to no avail. He was on his phone and seemingly could not care less that we lagged a half-block behind. He crossed the street and finally stopped, allowing us to catch up. But no sooner had we arrived than he indicated “this way” and raced back in the direction from which we had come (only now on the opposite side of the street.) Again he raced ahead, never looking back once. He turned right and, by the time we arrived at the corner, we saw him crossing the street again. I hollered again, but with the same non-result. He turned another corner, walked about 100 feet then stopped, looking all around. When we caught up he pointed across the street, saying, “There is your ride.” He pointed to a small, by American standards, Toyota, sitting in the middle of a huge puddle, water nearly up to the bottom of the doors. I told him we were not walking in water, that the car must come to us, so he waved the driver over.

He opened the back door for Alicia and she attempted to get in but the car sat so low, and the roof was so short, that she could not bend her legs far enough to get in. She walked around to the other side and, opening her own door, squeezed into the back seat, while the driver and Anderson puzzled Tetris-style, to get both suitcases and a carry-on bag into the tiny trunk.

Once the trunk was closed and I was folded into the opening that Alicia could not fit through, the driver took off into town, but without Anderson, our contact and translator.

When our driver pulled up in front of the hotel, Alicia was left wondering if she wanted to even get out. We had just driven past a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk, garbage flowing over the side of a full dumpster, and numerous graffiti-stricken walls.

Once inside the front door the site improved, regardless of the construction going on in the entryway.

Once we were checked in we were directed to the beautiful 9 story building on the backside of the courtyard/pool area. It was looking pretty good now until…

You look out your seventh floor window and are reminded of the less than desirable view afforded you by neighboring buildings.

Once we were in the room we began to settle in. I tried to program a password/number into the safe and it would not work, returning an error message each time. The TV remote would not work (completely unresponsive; could not even turn it off!) The Wi-Fi would not connect. When, eventually, we did manage to get one devise configured, we thought we’d order something from room service. But the menu was only available on-line, with a QR code directing you to the menu, which was only available in seven languages, none of which were English. I checked with the front desk which confirmed that they did not have a hard copy menu and the Portugese menu had no pictures, so each item needed to be individually translated.

We had one hour at this point, before a tour guide would be coming to pick us up at 1:30 for a visit to the largest urban rain forest in the world, the Tijuca National Park, covering 3958 ha (metric acres). We did manage to contact room service and place an order but, by the time we were to meet our tour guide, the food had not yet arrived. But everything worked out because by this time Alicia had found that her knee had given up and would not allow her, once again, to go on the trip. So she stayed and ate, while I ventured forth.

So hunger be damned, I went by myself. It worked out okay because the tour was by means of an open Jeep, in a now-resurgent rainstorm. In addition to being wet, it was cold and the step into the jeep would not have allowed her to get in anyway.

My tour guide was a young lady named Palmyra (my spelling, not necessarily correct). I explained that, because of her bad knee, Alicia would not be joining us. Then she explained that, because of the rain, another couple that was scheduled to join us, would not be joining us. 

With the aide of her driver, she took me on a solo tour that amazed even her. There was some question, initially, whether or not we would be allowed in the park. The rain had flooded certain areas and the wind had knocked down several trees.

Palmyra was a hoot. When she was excited her voice would go up about an octave, like my daughter-in-law, Victoria. She shared the same sense of amazement as Victoria also. The pictures are pretty much self explanatory and her English was, at times difficult to follow, so many of the explanations would be in accurate anyway. So, I will do only brief descriptors.

Because the park is a National Park the military acts as park rangers. They were on hand in case the park had to be closed and/or for search and rescue if conditions worsened.

Palymira was in disbelief at the amount of water here. It normally is a trickle.

A small creek is no longer small.

We drove under this.

An abbey sits high atop the neighborhood at the top of the park and among expensive homes.

I’ve never heard of this one before. It is Jaca, or Jackfruit. The people of Rio are not allowed to pick the fruit, they must find it on the ground. And they are not allowed to sell it in grocery stores locally.

View from the top, looking down at the beach area just to the west of Ipanema.

This flat topped mountain is popular with Para and Hang Gliders.

Below we see a large golf course.

The Brazilian Pepper Tree can be found everywhere. It drops suckers (or root sprouts) to the ground, resprouting new branches. These have been tied up to avoid being hit and torn by vehicles.

A slug of some sort crawls from its shell after having been flushed out of a rain-swelled creek.

The surf was quite high at Ipanema Beach today.

Fresh coconut anyone?

Tomorrow afternoon we are being taken to one of the two airports in this large city to fly first to São Paulo, then on to Atlanta on a red-eye flight, eventually connecting to Boise, for a scheduled arrival about noon on Monday. This may be the last entry of this blog, unless something crazy happens, and crazy things seem to follow me around.