Rio de Dezembro

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
26 December 2008

Crime.

I’d been hearing more and more about it since I landed in Argentina more than three weeks ago. Almost every tourist I met in Buenos Aires had a crime story. Phil the kayaker on board the Prof. Molchanov told me how he threw his camera bag in the back of a taxi and when he got to his destination, the bag was gone. Bill told me that he had his camera and laptop stolen from his hostel, and that three out of eight students in his B.A. language course were eventually burglarized. When strangers on the street noticed that my purse or suitcase was open they scolded me. And everyone warned me about Brazil and especially Rio de Janeiro.

Getting off the plane at the international airport, I am little fearful. Reunited with my big awkward bag o’ polar gear, I am no longer light on my feet. It’s after midnight, and I am beat. I decide to go with the most secure, but most expensive way to my hotel: a “radio taxi”, priced at 80 reias, or about US$40.

It’s a cool and rainy night. I just cannot predict the weather on this continent, and have been continually surprised. Our taxi hydroplanes through the expressways of Rio. I cannot really make out the outlines of the city. It’s as grey and foggy as San Francisco. At stoplights, I see the occasional lone figure on street corners, rain slickers covering their faces. We park directly in front of my hotel, the Acapulco Copacabana, located in, yes, Copacabana.

The lights have been dimmed in the lobby. I check in, twisting my Spanish to make it Portuguese-y. Do Not Lose The Key To The Lockbox In Your Room. This message from the clerk gets across the language barrier.

Bouncing to a stop in the elevator, I roll out into the hall. It’s even darker here. The lights are off. I find my room in the half-light.

The ceilings are high, the room wider than any I’ve stayed in so far. A big bathroom, separate storage closet and large wardrobe. The lockbox fits my laptop + electronics, and the door seems secure.. Rain taps on the window to the airshaft. I don’t let it in.

I relax, realizing that this place will be safe enough and that I can manage the crime danger here. I can explore Copacabana and Rio tomorrow with confidence, rested and my gear safe.

Tired and punchy from a full day of travel from Bariloche to Buenos Aires to Rio, I slide between the rough sheets, making a comfortable me sandwich.