Copacabana and Ipanema
Are they really the world's best beaches and other questions I must ask myself.
Hi….my name is Merryl and I’m a mother and grandmother who wants everyone to know the energetic wonder of eating living foods.
Day three in Brazil and I looked out of the window of the hotel to see the Christ Redeemer statue high on a towering mountain overlooking the city!
We were on the nineth floor and I was so amazed that I had reached the 500m platform just 2 kilometres below the statue, on my own two feet. From this spot where I stood to that statues way up there!
I had pushed my bike a good few kilometres. My rhomboids had ached at the time. Yet I awoke with not a single aching muscle in lower limbs or shoulders.
I felt proud of myself and good to face the day and the 56 kilometre planned route out of Rio to Mesquita.
Happily, I gathered my plates of fruit for breakfast. However, my smile faded as I faced a lecture from Patrick outlining some important rules:
Never to let my emotions rise above 70% or below 30%
Never to announce the planned route to anyone as I may not make it and then there would be an air of negativity
Never to get off my bike and walk up a hill or I would never make it over the Andes.
Never to waste time riding on the pavements because I was afraid of the traffic.
I was then left alone to battle my loaded bike to ground floor in a too small lift. By the time I reached the reception hall of the hotel I was shaking with shattered emotions and close to tears. First rule broken!
I suddenly felt very alone and unsupported in this massive adventure. One kilometre at a time, I told myself. I will do this.
Before heading to Mesquita, we back-tracked to Copacabana and Ipanema beaches. I had longed to set foot on Copacabana to see if it was really the world’s best beach. (Convinced I was a mermaid in a previous life) To be fair Copacabana is fantastic. Four kilometres of white sands and clear rolling waves. The water is a delicious temperature. The spirit in the air is pure Brazilian soul. It is bordered by high rise hotels and apartments, cafes and restaurants and the vibrant life of the city. It comes very close to perfect.
However, in my humble opinion, Sardinia Bay beach back in Gqeberha is the world’s best. With its wild natural minimalism — just its sea, sand and sky. My choice will always be the beach sans civilisation.
It was Sunday morning on a glorious summer day. G20 summit was on in Rio. The streets we cycled through for the next 10 kilometres were heaving with cars. I was filled with determination to feel the fear and face the ferocious traffic head on.
I learned to scream “WAIT” as loud as my lungs would allow as I squeezed between two front bumpers to keep up with Patrick.
I learned to hold up my hand and just cycle through a crazy intersection.
I learned to take a deep breath and follow the man through a dark tunnel with no dedicated cycle lane.
I learned to cycle the wrong way up a double lane road with no shoulder
And this was all before lunch.
We stopped to eat as soon as we had cleared the congested roads and found a quiet tree-lined street with a roadside cafe. There was no fresh salad or fruit - or even juice - and the only vegetarian item on the menu was batata frita (potato chips or french fries). I ate them because I needed the energy and salt. I sweated so much all day in the heat and humidity that I never needed the bathroom. Even when we stopped at night - no urine save for a few drops.
Looking at the route we had cycled, I was horrified to see that, although we had done 16 kilometres, we were only a few blocks from where we had started in the morning. Forty kilometres to go.
We started off after the break heading up a heavy incline on a winding road. I channelled my determination to keep cycling right behind Patrick all the way to the top. Already I was more steady in granny gear than the day before.
I was so glad that I had bought a white linen shirt just before I left the UK. It was my sunscreen and visibility cover. A cap under my helmet kept the sun off my face and my granddaughter’s gloves for Reynaud’s syndrome protected my hands from the sun. They also had rubber ridges on the palm side and kept my hands from slipping on the handlebars, they got that sweaty! My neon visibility vest was soon discarded as it was just too warm to wear.
The next twenty kilometres were along a busy road that had a beautiful smooth cycle path on a broad pavement alongside the road in many sections.
As evening approached, we reached Mesquita but finding no hotels, Patrick booked one in the next town, Nova Iguacu. Could I carry on, he asked me. Yes. There was no other option. However, we first had to cross a pedestrian walk over railway lines. I said I would need to walk my bicycle up the concrete rise. And he benevolently allowed that.
I almost couldn’t manage to even push my bike, as the paniers had gained weight as the day progressed :-). Suddenly, though, I was walking easily as if the paniers had been lifted off. A kind gentleman coming along behind me saw my struggle and had added his hand to the back of my bike to help me along. “Muita obrigada” became my mantra.
We cycled through the back streets of Mesquita and it seemed there was a party on every corner, with the beat of loud music helping those legs to keep pumping.
Then onto a long straight double lane road to Nova Iguacu as night fell. It seemed the cars were never-ending, on their way home after a day at the beach. Patrick stopped up ahead and as I reached him he told me it was just 300m more to the hotel. Bad news was that we must turn left across this traffic. I stood transfixed for a few minutes staring over my shoulder at the constant stream of cars, knowing there would not be a gap big enough for my tired legs to get me over fast enough.
Afraid that Patrick might dodge across leaving me stranded, there was nothing for it but to hold up my white clad arm with the black glove in an attempt to stop the flow. Immediately the raging river stopped and we cycled across safely. I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea.
One more challenge for the day was to dismount and walk through an open air restaurant. I couldn’t lift my short leg high enough to clear the paniers and as I started to topple over a big strong lad grabbed hold of my bike and helped me save my dignity. Head bowed to hide my red perspiring face, I pushed through the throng of glamour clad diners.
Finally, I collapsed onto my bed and Patrick went in search of supper. I ordered salad and water. He returned with a pizza for us to share. It was vegetarian, at least. And he had his usual two litre coke a cola but instead of water for me he had bought iced tea. It was too sweet to drink and after a few bites of pizza I stood in the shower, with my back to the plea for environmentally conscious water usage, for a long while trying to rehydrate through my pores.
Live well and find the happy,
Merryl @ GreenSmoothie.com
P.S. Just a reminder that this 10 episode docu-series is on now!
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wow this is so wild Merryl. I wish a gazillion readers could see your cycle trip through Brazil. I laughed at the "feeling like Moses parting the sea!" in that sea of traffic. Everywhere we go, on every continent, people are so kind and helpful. All creatures are created in Love and are so naturally Loving, including humans!