6th March 2013

Today’s mission: Christ the Redeemer. You can see him from almost anywhere in Rio, arms outstretched like he’s trying to hug the entire city, so it felt only polite to pop up and say hello in person.

We bravely boarded another Rio bus, which turned out to be more theme-park ride than public transport. Packed to the rafters, it swung through traffic with all the subtlety of a dodgem car on steroids. Clinging on for dear life, I quickly realised bruises were part of the fare. Thankfully, after a few kilometres, the seats freed up and we could enjoy the scenery instead of each other’s elbows.

At the base of Mount Corcovado, we overheard the familiar tourist trap: “One and a half hours wait for the train!” A crafty ploy to push you towards taxis and guides. Not falling for it, we marched to the ticket office and, surprise, surprise, found a train leaving in 40 minutes. A result.

To kill time, we wandered into a modern Catholic church across the road. Minimalist in design but redeemed (pardon the pun) by some striking stained glass. After a quick look round, we returned to the station, queued briefly, and boarded the funicular. By sheer luck, we nabbed the front seats beside the driver, perfect for videoing the steep climb (yes, of course I filmed it).

We chatted with a lady from a cruise ship as the train zig-zagged up through lush greenery. Then, at the summit, we joined the heaving crowds. Getting a decent photo of Christ the Redeemer is like a military exercise: duck, dodge, step forward, snap, apologise. I accidentally trod on a lady’s foot during one manoeuvre; her sharp words were lost in translation, though the tone was universal.

I’d half expected the statue to be underwhelming, maybe chipped, weathered, or a bit tacky. Not a chance. It’s immaculate, majestic, serene, and absolutely deserving of its world wonder status. And the views across Rio? Just staggering. If you’re not awestruck up there, check your pulse.

After countless photos, we collapsed gratefully at the café, sipping cold drinks beneath an umbrella and drinking in the panorama. The return trip down was delayed slightly by my doomed attempt at haggling for a painting. Despite my best efforts and Sue’s tag-team bargaining, the seller wouldn’t drop a penny. I caved in, bought it anyway, and cheekily snapped a photo of him “for Interpol files.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The train ride down was smooth; the bus back to Copacabana was less so, back to rally driving at full tilt. After a quick shower and cash stop, we strolled to Fort Copacabana. To enter, we passed through a small military camp, which made us feel as though we’d wandered onto a film set. Up at the fort, we were rewarded with brilliant views and a slice of history: restored barracks, heavy cannons, and just enough English on the info boards to piece it all together. At 5 p.m. sharp, a siren sounded, telling us to clear off, which we dutifully did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way back, we paused at an elevated beach bar, binoculars in hand, and indulged in some genteel people-watching as the sun dipped behind Christ the Redeemer. Further along the beach, we stopped to enjoy a match of volleyball followed by a fast-paced game of football. The sheer energy of Copacabana never fails to impress.

 

 

 

 

 

Back at the hotel, after cooling off, we scrapped our plan to head up Sugar Loaf Mountain, the sky was already flickering with lightning. Good decision. Later, while tucked safely in a restaurant, the heavens erupted in a spectacular storm: lightning, thunder, fireworks (because Rio never does anything by halves), and rain that turned the streets into instant rivers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We waited it out with another round of drinks, strictly for survival, of course, before dashing back to the hotel. Thanks to good timing and a quick sprint, we arrived only mildly damp. A fittingly dramatic end to a day spent in the company of one of the world’s most iconic statues.