Six months ago my friend Ludde told me he was moving to Rio De Janeiro for a semester abroad. He joked I should come to stay with him for a month. Neither of us thought I was actually gonna go. Two months later I booked my flight. Because why not.
Some near-death experiences in Texas, Ibiza, and Grenada later, it’s September and I’m suddenly sitting on a plane to Brazil. It’s only when I’m about halfway to Bogota that I realize: I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. My Spanish is bad, my Portuguese non-existent, and apparently, I stick out like a sore thumb because as I’m walking through the airport, people are shamelessly staring at my blue eyes and pale skin. I have never actually felt like a fish out of water, until now. I don’t know a lot about the country. The only thing friends kept telling me was: ”You’ll probably get robbed as soon as you step out of the airport”, very reassuring. Ludde also hasn’t actually found an apartment, so all I have is an address to his Airbnb and the hope that Uber works.
But all apprehension disappears when the plane starts descending over the white bridge that stretches across Guanabara bay and a swarm of birds flies past the small rounded windows that are giving me the first taste of this incredible country. It also helps that there is literally a fucking rainbow in the sky. I have landed in paradise. I get to meet an incredible group of people, play games such as Beercricket, Footvolley, and Coconut Boule, and get coerced into going out 5 days a week. The relaxing holiday I had envisioned when I came here now seems like a naive fantasy. But I’m not complaining.
One of the more reckless adventures I go on involves a mustached lifeguard and his motorcycle. The beaches in Rio are divided into sections with big lifeguard towers called ‘Postos’, that have restrooms at the bottom. It’s my third week here and after playing a game that was essentially the boys trying to throw coconuts at me, I need to pee. So I walk up to Posto 10 and when I get there I remember, I need to pay to use the restrooms. I turn around, ready to grab my wallet, when I hear a voice shout down: “Do you need anything?”, in a thick Portuguese accent. It’s the lifeguard: perfect dark tan, red uniform with swimming shorts that are crossing over into speedo territory, and an impeccably groomed mustache. He is like the Brazilian equivalent of ‘Scuba Claude’ from ‘Along Came Polly’, if Ben Stiller’s greatest insecurity was not being able to grow a beard. He looks like he could be the antagonist in some poor husband’s divorce story. ”Just going to get some cash for the bathroom.” “You can use the toilet up here”. Before I can even respond, he comes down, unlocks the tower gate and I walk up the stairs to a beautiful view of the entire Ipanema beach, and a small space with a bathroom. After I make use of the latter we start chatting. Besides Portuguese, he speaks a bit of English and Spanish. I speak a bit of Spanish and English so we manage to communicate. Not unlike Claude, his job seems to be his favorite topic. He proudly shows me videos of him fearlessly ‘Baywatching’ into the ocean to save lives and in detail describes the challenges of his work. After about 15 minutes of me ‘ahhing’ and nodding to be polite, I tell him I need to get back to my friends, so he walks me down. As I’m about to leave, I spot the motorbike parked underneath the stairs. At this point, I have been missing my motorcycle and I’ve even been considering renting one for a day to do a little tour. So, I have to ask about this baby. The excitement at the thought of riding a bike again leads me to agree to let ‘The Lifeguard’ show me around Rio. We exchange numbers.
A few days later I start my morning by jumping off a cliff to go hang-gliding over the city. The initial shock of having no ground beneath your feet wears off pretty quickly and I’m left feeling weightless and at ease. After I slowly descend upon the stunning views, I return home feeling adventurous and ready to seize the day. But Ludde and the boys had to do some uni work. So I message ‘The Lifeguard’. I send him a meeting spot near mine and 30 minutes later he’s there to pick me up. He hands me a helmet and says he wants to show me his favorite beach just outside the city. Great. I jump on the back of his bike. Now, I love riding motorcycles, I love the speed and the adrenaline. But holy fuck this is one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done. We are bolting past every car, in between the tiniest gaps. At one point there is a bus closing in on the right side and a car on the left and this guy speeds up more trying to squeeze through the tiny space in between them. All this is happening at a constant 60-80 mph, which is fucking fast. I forget how to breathe and my muscles are so tensed up, that I’m sure I’ll be sore for the next few days. My eyes are squeezed shut and I’m mentally apologizing to my mother for dying such a stupid death. As a biker, to die on the back of someone else’s motorcycle must be the most pathetic way to go. Also, can we all agree that there is nothing calming about the words “just relax”? Especially when they’re being said as the lifeguard begins holding my hand, which is wrapped around him purely for survival; ‘So help me god, if you don’t put your second hand back onto the fucking steering wheel as we’re flying down the highway, I will chop it off as soon as we arrive’, were my thoughts. But I don’t say a thing and just begin mentally writing out my will and then realize, I can’t tell anyone my last wishes if I’m dead.
Somehow we make it to the beach. I learn how to breathe again and the adrenaline is pumping through me. Now, the beach turns out to be a rocky cliff. “Let’s go down to the water”. I stare down a steep, slippery slab of stone, with certain death waiting at its bottom. And yet I follow this man, slowly clambering down to the beautiful deep-blue water. Down here I can see the thick, fluffy foam crowns that are created by the waves violently hitting the rocks and I have to admit: It’s a sight to see. We sit down and talk, as much as two people who each speak one-half of the other’s language, can. Now don’t ask me how, but within the next 10-minute conversation he somehow convinces me to let him take me to another spot: a waterfall in the National Park. So, same horror ride back into Rio, which did not get any more pleasant the second time around. This time up winding roads right into the rainforest. We stop at this gorgeous big waterfall and coming off the bike I feel a sense of relief: ‘We’re basically done with this adventure’. But after about 2 minutes of looking at the roaring water, he says “Now I’ll take you to the hidden one!”. THE HIDDEN ONE? We drive up further into the middle of nowhere, tall Kapok trees surrounding us so thickly you see nothing but green. We get off by the side of the small road and begin to hike off-path into the trees. All I’m thinking is: ‘If I scream no one will hear me. If I die no one will find my body for weeks.” After what felt like 30 minutes of getting lost and was probably just 10, we reach a very pretty, small, hidden fleck with fresh water oozing out of a rock. Under any other circumstances, this would have been a magical place, but I was a little tense from imagining all the ways I could get murdered here. The Lifeguard then tries to convince me to swim with him in the freezing cold water and it takes some serious negotiation to get out of that one. Instead, I get him to agree to take me back home because it’s getting dark. So, we hike back to the bike and as I’m about to put on the helmet, I can sense his energy change and I know exactly what's coming. I manage to dodge that kiss like a fucking ninja. This man really thought that near-death experiences and wanting to give me hypothermia would make me want to feel the tickle of his mustache. And now instead of accepting the rejection and quietly moving on, he asks ‘Why?’. As if asking that question would magically get me to change my mind. As if I have a reason that he could argue with. Swallowing my annoyance at him making me justify myself, I make up some bullshit about European girls not kissing on the first date, cause, after all, I still wanted to be brought home in one piece. Slightly defeated he takes me back and after an awkward hug goodbye I go inside. For the rest of my stay I made sure to avoid Posto 10. All in all, happy to be alive. Might make smarter decisions in the future. I did get to see some gorgeous spots that you can’t find in any Brazilian tourist guide, so no promises.
