I woke up surprisingly early this morning, and decided it was time to trade in my saggy Australian bikini for something more fitting with the Rio scene. Having made friends with a local, after getting lost on my second day, I was advised that there were a few reasonable priced shops in a shopping centre nearby. So I made my way down Rua Santa Clara (I am showing off now with the name-dropping!) to number 75 and was faced with 13 floors of choice.
I took my way up to the top, as the hostel receptionist suggested, and got out to see the curious layout. Taking up half a building, there were about 5 or 6 boutiques on each level, with the stairs being the definite winner over a decrepit lift. Most of them were empty, unleased, and the others were filled with a strange collection of hideously bright and tight jersey material - thankfully its even tighter cousin spandex only appears in the sports stores – Carnival costumes and wholesale denim purveyors.
After some seriously scandalous trying on, I finally settle on a ‘tame’ leopard print piece that covers most of my bunta (arse). Tight enough to stop my breakfast from digesting, I make my way down to the beach and bravely apply the half sun cream, half oil mix I picked up yesterday. After about 4 hours though, it seems I have had enough, with my skin starting to resemble sashimi, not a deep honey glaze.
I decide to make a pit-stop for a shower and grab a bike from the hostel to make the 5km down to Leblon. Positioned just past Ipanema Beach, Leblon is the well-to-do end of town, and there are much more of the emaciated women I am used to on the beaches in Perth. I cycle on what I can only describe as a limping bike – a front wheel so wobbly that every second or third turn sends it crashing into the brake, and thus stunts my pace.
Consulting my Wallpaper guide, I trundle up and down a few blocks until I find one of Rio’s only microbreweries, Devassa, run by the local don of festivities, Marcelo do Rio. I order a pricey pale ale – ruiva – and am a little annoyed that my glass appears with a third of head. I politely ask if this is normal, and the waiter smiles and says “yes”. A little confused, I take my first sip and am blown away. I inhale the rest of the silky cream, and take with it the rest of the crisp brew. I am definitely in love with Rio.
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