Her Name Is Rio And She Dances On The Sand

So I went to Rio.

Arriving in Rio De Janiero (or as the locals say. "Hee-oh Jeejeaierjhoiewreo"), your first thought is "Now THIS is what Brazil is supposed to look like." Palm trees. Beaches. Big Ol' Jesus. Malaria. Everything.

Rio is, without question, a very gorgeous city. Long stretches of beautiful beaches are framed by humongous granite mountains and jungles straight out of Jurassic Park. Atheistically, I would say that the only downsides are the man-made structures (excluding Big Jesus), as every building looks like the United Nations Headquarters or the Contemporary Resort in Disney World. Well, that and the large fat men in speedos (more on that later).

Regardless, on the cab ride to the hotel, it’s difficult not to have "The Girl From Ipanema" playing on a continuous loop in your head. It’s also the perfect way to prepare you for your stay at the hotel, where the "The Girl From Ipanema" will playing on a continuous loop in the elevator.

Fashion

To say that the bathing suits in Rio are small would be like saying that Wesley Snipes is tan. These “things” (as I don’t believe they can be categorized as clothing) are nearly non-existent and leave very little to the imagination. They are also worn by everyone in Rio, which can be both good and bad.

This juxtaposition was most evident while I was lounging by the hotel pool. To my left was a vivacious woman with what can only be described as a lovely tushy (pardon my language). Amazing. To my right was a grossly-overweight middle-aged man doing everything and anything to show me his undercarriage in as many creative ways as possible. Not quite as amazing.

However, I actually found it refreshing that no one in Rio had any shame or body issues. So ladies, even though it may look like you’ve sat on a gravel driveway for a week and a half, just know that there’s a place on this planet where you can gallivant about with the bottoms of your ass-cheeks flapping in the breeze.

And in case you were wondering (and I know you were) - no, I did not wear (nor did I bring) any speedos during my trip. Although – it is true I was forced to wear them during my days on the Swim Team. Sigh.

Cristo Redentor

Watching your every move from atop the steep granite peak of Corcovado hill sits our pal, JC. Cristo Redentor (otherwise known as “Christ the Redeemer” to those less fancy than myself) is the famous 130 ft Art Deco statue of Jesus Christ synonymous with Rio itself. Normally I’m not a fan of such religious art, but looking up and being able to see the statue from wherever I was in the city, I was just in awe of how omnipresent it seemed. Especially at night when the statue was illuminated, it appeared as though Cristo was floating high above the city, watching over actions that He probably would not approve of. Seeing the statue for the first time was an astounding experience.

I just wish I could say the same about seeing it up close.

The morning of Saturday August 20, 2011 was warm and sunny – or so I was told. I, on the other hand, awoke around noon with a delightful hangover just to let me know that the night before was worth it. My travel companions and I had made plans to wake up early (whoops) and climb Corcovado hill to see Cristo Redentor in all His glory. It was one of the Seven Wonders of the World, after all. Or I should say, one of the Seven Wonders of the World: The New Class. Also, the views of the city from Corcovado hill were supposed to be orgasm-inducing (or something like that).

We were told that there were several paths we could take to see Cristo, but the cheapest and most scenic way was to take the small train that wove up the side of the mountain. Cheap and scenic? Like women and kitchens, it was a perfect combination.

On the taxi ride to the train station, I looked up at Cristo and noticed that the sun, which was shining bright when we had left the hotel, was slowly losing a battle.

Clouds.

I thought to myself, and then out loud, “Do you think it’s going to be okay up there?”

“Nah – we’ll be fine,” said my friend, who will now be named Jynxie McJynxerson.

Arriving at the train station, we saw that the line for tickets was about 50 people deep, spilling from the nicely organized queue into the middle of the road.

“Anyone joining the line now won’t be able to get on a train until 5PM,” said one of the employees. (Or at least that’s what I think she said - she was talking in Portuguese – but we understood the 5PM part. Alright listen - it’s close enough, okay? It’s not like I need to quote everyone word-for-word. Otherwise it would have been written in Portuguese. And why we’re on the subject - let’s be honest, at least half of this story is embellished to make it more entertaining.)

(Where was I? Oh yeah…)

“5PM? What should we do?” I said while rubbing my six-pack abs.

“Don’t worry. It’s perfect,” said Jynxie, “It’ll be just in time to watch the sun set.”

Grabbing food and beer from a local restaurant, we sat and waited (and waited) until 5PM finally arrived. At last we boarded the train and began our slow ascent.

(I bet you have no idea what’s coming next)

As the train scaled the mountain, we noticed that, like a god-sized fart from Cristo himself, a thick fog had surrounded the peak of Corcovado hill.

Cristo?

Well – the bottom of his shawl seemed pretty neat.

One of the Seven Blunders of the World

The orgasm-inducing views?

I would say that, unless you have disappointing and awful orgasms – then the views we saw were not, in fact, orgasm-inducing.

Just like the picture!

 “Listen,” said Jynxie, “at least we’ll have fun tonight…”

(We did.)

What a douche-bag.