Finger Laking Good!

I am embarrassed to say that I had never been to the Finger Lakes until recently even though I only live about 6 hours away from them by car.  And for those of you who may not know, the Finger Lakes are in upstate New York, a few hundred miles south of Lake Ontario and were carved out by glacier streams millions of years ago.  There are actually 11 lakes, in an area that was once the heart of the Iroquois nation.  The largest three are Keuka, Seneca, and Cayuga, which are also home to hundreds of vineyards.  In fact, you might be surprised to learn that New York is the third largest wine producing state in the country after California and Washington.

Which brings me to the point of this post, Finger Lakes wine.  And my what wine.  The area really is a gem, even a national treasure for high-quality wines from grapes grown on estates of many of the vineyards along the lakes. I had the good fortune of visiting some of those vineyards with my wife this past week and sampling some of the delicious new releases.  Actually, we visited 7 vineyards, sampling wines at 6; buying several bottles at each, while wining and dining at another.  Nearly all of the vineyards/wineries were located on top of a hill overlooking a lake and the vineyards below. One of the reasons for the impressive wines can be found in the microclimates the lakes create which extend the growing seasons by moderating the temperatures – cooler in the summer; warmer in the fall.  The generally cooler climate of upstate NY makes the Finger Lakes perfect for grapes like Chardonnay, Riesling, Gewurztraminer, Pinot Noir and a range of hybrid and native grapes perfect for blending.

Bully Hill Vineyards, Hammondsport, NY

We stayed in the quaint town of Penn Yan, between Keuka and Seneca Lakes. If you plan on hitting the wine trails, Penn Yan is a good place to stay.  You’ll be within 20 minutes of dozens of wineries that are generally open for tastings year round. While we only visited a half dozen or so wineries, we did go to some of the better known ones including, Dr. Frank, Ravines, Bully Hill, Herron Hill, Anthony Road, Keuka Spring and Fox Run.  For recommendations on which wines to buy, I would urge you to sample wines in a wine flight first.  Most of the wineries offer 5 selections for 5 dollars.  Buy what you like.  If you don’t want to spend the money on tastings or prefer just to buy wine, definitely look for the many outstanding examples of dry Rieslings some of the best on the planet, and what the Finger Lakes are increasingly known for, but don’t discount the drier reds as well – you can find delightful Cabernet Francs, Merlots, Pinot Noirs and Lembergers at nearly every winery you visit. The late harvest Rieslings and Vignoles and Ice Wines, if not sold out, might also be good values if you like sweet wines. Fox Run has a tremendous Tawny Port for the fortified wine lover. The cheaper table wines, what the Finger Lakes were once known for in the early days of the industry, are mostly sweeter and from hybrid grapes or native grapes that while quaffable, may not be as complex as the vinifera variety you may be accustomed to drinking.

When In New Orleans

I finally made it to New Orleans. I only wish I could have stayed a little longer; a week was not long enough to do all the things I wanted to do.  If you are considering traveling to New Orleans, I have some suggestions for you based on my recent experience there.

Don’t consider – just go.  There’s no reason not to.  It’s plenty affordable.  It’s never cold.  Sure it rains some and can be steaming hot, but there’s plenty of indoor AC and cold drinks to be had everywhere you go.  There are tons of things to do and you don’t need a car to get around.  You can even take a bus from the airport for 2 dollars.

Go because New Orleans is one of the most culturally unique and interesting cities in the U.S. It is thought to be the birthplace of jazz which can be traced back to the influence of African slaves from different countries whose religious practices and community rituals prominently featured music on Sundays in the form of drumming, strumming, dancing, and singing.  It is a city that was colonized by the French and Spanish, apparent in the street names and architecture, and finally annexed by the Americans after President Jefferson acquired it from Napoleon as part of the Louisiana Purchase.  It is a city that initially showed promise but yielded little for the French and Spanish by way of riches.  New Orleans had no gold, silver or even decent pearls.  It did have a lot of flammable cypress trees that helped burn the city down twice and it had terrible outbreaks of yellow fever.  It only became economically valuable when they realized the area could produce sugar and cotton. What can be seen in today’s New Orleans are the remnants of its complicated society – the taverns frequented by drunken sailors, a “red light” district for pleasure seekers, fine and distinctive dining, hotels once frequented by the southern leisure class, and of course, the music clubs which cultivated original American music. And it is a town still recovering from the Katrina disaster, and may never fully.  It is a town with no hills or elevation of measure that is sadly sinking and may break apart from the mainland.  Support it as much as you can while it is still habitable.  New Orleans is a national treasure.

On a lighter note, when you go to NOLA, don’t try to stay right in the French Quarter.  You can stay a few blocks outside the quarter, say on Iberville St. which would probably also be cheaper.  We stayed at the reasonably priced Courtyard Marriott, a few blocks from the madness and noise of Bourbon St.

When you go to NO, walk around the French Quarter during the day, but avoid it at night unless you like to be among drunken tourists walking around with punch bowls and bong-like devices filled with what looks like transmission fluid and anti-freeze.  The bars all serve pretty much the same expensive and watered down drinks and typical bar food.  There are some notable exceptions which include the Napolean House Cafe and Bar on Chartres St.  Try the classic Pimm’s Cup cocktail with a muffuletta sandwich.  Also, try a cocktail at the Hotel Monteleone at the rotating carousel bar.  If you dare to try an Absinthe based drink, the Absinthe House is the place to go, though be prepared to shell out 20 bucks for the privilege.

When you go, check out Preservation Hall at 726 St. Peter St. for live jazz by the house band.  It’s 15 bucks a pop with shows at 8, 9 and 10.  Get there by 7 pm to stand in line if you want a seat. You can buy a ticket on-line for a guaranteed seat, but it’ll cost you double.  Be aware that there’s no bathroom there and no drinks or food are sold or allowed in so eat, drink, and pee beforehand.   Preservation Hall is a hole in the wall, with no AC, but the music is fantastic and the experience is about as intimate and satisfying as it gets.

When you go, also go to Frenchmen St. for Jazz or Blues.  It’s a bit of a walk from the heart of the French Quarter, and I wouldn’t recommend that you try, but you could take a bus, cab or trolley to get closer.  Or if you are a Millenial, you could take an Uber or Lyft.  We took a bus. We went to a place called Bamboulas.  No cover. Tremendous music.  Spacious.  Airy.  Good appetizers.  Try the fried okra.  Seriously.  Jazz and Okra.  You can’t beat it.

When you go, eat at the Ruby Slipper on Canal St. for breakfast, but be prepared to wait. The Old Coffee Pot Restaurant on St. Peter St. near Preservation Hall also has a good breakfast.  For coffee and beignets,  go to Cafe Du Monde if you must but to be honest, our beignets were not as fresh as we would have liked.  We each got a batch of three – and in each of the batches, one beignet was fresh and doughy, and the others were crunchy and seemed old like they had been sitting out all morning under a heat lamp.  We ordered a third batch and had the same result; consistent, but disappointing.  The coffee was good and we bought a couple of cans of it to bring home. For lunch, try Domiciles for po-boys.  It’s a bit of a hike Uptown to Annunciation St. but you can make it out there by bus or trolley.  Worth the hike.  Try the hot sausage or the roast beef versions.  Also for lunch, eat at Coops on Decatur St.   Great gumbo, and jambalaya at ridiculously cheap prices.  Try the Coop’s Taste plate with an Abita beer.  For dinner, well, we only went out for dinner once because our lunches filled us up for the day but when we did, we tried Deanies Seafood on or near Iberville St.  I had the crawfish etouffee and it was to die for.  Finally, for dessert, head to Southern Candymakers at 334 Decatur St. for pralines. We sampled quite a few from different places and found the ones from Southern Candymakers to be superior.

When you go, go to the WWII museum on Magazine St.  It’s intense and the exhibits are well-designed and configured and cover both theaters of the war.  It’s pricey – 24 and 34 if you opt for the Tom Hanks 40 minute introductory movie.  We didn’t do the movie, but many people recommend it. If you don’t mind spending the extra dough and the extra time, go for it.  Don’t miss the Boeing exhibit to see a Flying Fortress, and  a P-51 up close hanging from the ceiling.

After the museum, walk over to the Cochon Butcher for lunch at 930 Tchoupitoulas St.  A little pricey, but good meat and a big selection of wine and whiskey.  Good desserts too.

Another nice museum is NOMA, easily accessible on the Trolley which you pick up on Canal St. It’s not a huge museum but had tasteful exhibits.  The outdoor sculptures on the side of the museum are interesting and the stroll around the garden is pleasant.

All the locals we met were friendly, helpful, and quite open to talking.  Maybe that’s southern hospitality, or maybe it’s that I am not used to friendliness in the Northeast where I live. NOLA, I’m going to miss you.  Hope to be back soon.

Why Boston should not host the Summer Olympics

Dear Reader,

Boston was selected to compete to host the 2024 Summer Olympics, which I think is a really horrible idea for the following 5 reasons:

1. Friendliness. Not that Boston couldn’t be a good host city.  It could and most likely would be, if people were on their best behavior.  However, Bostonians are not generally known for their friendliness, but neither are they, or I should say, we, as I live here, neither are we hostile.  At best we are indifferent to tourists, and sometimes, maybe quite frequently, mildly annoyed at them but otherwise reasonably tolerant.  International tourists will not find the sort of southern hospitality they might have encountered elsewhere, say in Atlanta during the 96 Olympics – you know, “how ya’ll doin?”, ya’ll doin aight?”, nor will you find the curiosity factor, “where ya’ll from?”. To Bostonians, unless you live in the neighborhood where you were born, you are an outsider and will be given the cold treatment, which is a survival mechanism, so don’t take offense. The best you can hope for is to get honked at to get the hell out of the way, or to receive a “you all set?” from your waiter.
2. Food.  Boston has some good food, but does not compare to other major cities in the U.S. like NYC or Chicago and doesn’t really have a very attractive local culinary staple, unless you count Clam Chowder, and in my book soup doesn’t count.  And lobster, well, that’s Maine’s claim, not Boston’s.  Try finding a good barbecue, a brisket, a cheesesteak, or even a decent pizza – and sandwiches in the city, forget about it.  Make your own.
3. Parking.  There is none. Period. And traffic is bad enough as it is, the Big Dig notwithstanding. Bostonians are notoriously bad and rude drivers and the roads here are little more than cow paths.  There’s no grid pattern for navigation purposes which renders even GPS useless.
4. Accommodations.  I think most tourists would have to stay outside of Boston – way outside, like Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire and Connecticut because there just aren’t enough beds.
5. Venues.  They’d have to be built, because there’s not much here besides the Reggie Lewis Track Center at Roxbury Community College, the basketball gym at the Garden, the Football stadium in Foxboro, out in the sticks – over an hour from Boston and the soccer field at Pagil Playground. Boston would have to build something like 4 stadiums costing upwards of a billion dollars, not to mention the added expense of all the security needed. Ultimately this will mean higher taxes for Bostonians. Look, Boston is so congested with buildings and narrow alleys that they’d have to tear old stuff down to build the new.  If Boston were selected, they should just build out on the Boston Harbor Islands,which, by the way, has good views of the shipping lanes, Logan Airport and the occasional whale.

I’d just be happy to host another World Series and leave the Summer Olympics to the Romans.

Respectfully,

Ribbie,

Boston, MA

Uruguay and the U.S.

You may have never considered the connection between Uruguay and the U.S. before or maybe I’m wrong and it’s all you think about.  The smartypants would say, “I know, both countries start with a U.” True, and a good connection, I’ll give you that.  Anything else?  Another wiseguy might say, “they speak Spanish and so do people in the U.S.”  And that would be true, although the brand of Spanish you hear in the States is nothing at all like what you hear on the streets of Montevideo.  As to other connections, if you’ve been following the news a little bit, you’d know that President Obama negotiated a deal with President Mujica of Uruguay to resettle 6 prisoners released from Guantanamo Bay.  And do you know why the Uruguayans agreed to resettle them?  One of the reasons is that President Mujica was once a political prisoner and felt an obligation to provide humanitarian assistance to the men.  Granting the prisoners refugee status, they are free in Uruguay to do what they please, even leave the country if they so wish. And though they seem grateful to be there, there are very few immigrants from Arabic speaking countries living in Uruguay – one estimate put the number at 300 –  and the country has no mosques.  The cultural transition may be difficult for the men, but the people of Uruguay on the balance seem to welcome their presence.

Now we don’t know the terms of the deal.  It is not known if the Uruguayans received anything in return for accepting the detainees or whether they would agree to resettle some of the other prisoners still left at Guantanamo Bay in the future. But if I were on the negotiating team for Uruguay, I would ask for two things, no three in exchange for cooperation.  1) Clean buses.  Buses spewing dirty diesel are everywhere.  The boulevards of the downtown area are caked in soot and the air is anything but bueno despite the fact that Buenos Aires is a short distance from Montevideo.  2) Better Internet for the people.  Did you know that Uruguayans have free Internet?  Sounds good, right? But there’s a catch.  It’s just 2GB of data a month.  That’s like a few google searches, browsing a couple of websites, 2 YouTube videos, 1 minute on Facebook, 10 photos uploaded and 5 minutes of a Netflix movie.  I know, I’ve been there.  3) Most Favored Wine Nation status.  Did you know that Uruguay produces some of the most interesting wines in the world grown from the tannant grape, indigenous to the country? The stuff is absolutely sublimely delicious and not easily found in the States.  Do try a bottle if you have the chance.

One last connection.  I didn’t know this until recently, but one of America’s greatest composers, Louis Moreau Gottschalk, who I would venture that most Americans have never heard of, grew up in New Orleans, moved to Paris, came back to the U.S., traveled extensively abroad, relocated to South America under very strange circumstances, and died in Rio. His Symphony #2 is dedicated to the great city of Montevideo.

Air Bags on Board your Flight?

Who knew airlines had air bags?  I didn’t.  I guess it makes sense.  A bag for the air, to accompany your travel bag and the omnipresent barf bag.  Did you know that on Frontier flights long ago, a barf bag had the word Occupied printed on it so that when you left to go to the restroom, you would put it in on your seat so nobody would take it? This was back in the day of festival seating.  But where was I?  Oh, air bags.  I was actually surprised to know that planes had them.  And maybe they don’t all yet, but Boeing has been working on them and not without complications. At a Boeing plant, there has been at least one fatality and several accidents to technicians working with the air bag systems.  In the Reuters article published just a few hours ago, the bags are called seat-belt bags and it referenced a seat air bag inflator.  Work was being done on a 777, a plane widely flown the world over.

I’m all for increased air safety, but I don’t see what purpose an in-flight air bag would serve.  Imagine the things activating when a plane hits a pocket of turbulence. What if a kid full of sugar kicks the seat back too hard and one goes off? There’d be screaming and widespread panic.  Or what if the things are actually in the seats and one goes off and sends an unsuspecting, unseat-belted passenger through the cabin roof. On the other hand, I suppose an air bag would protect passengers from rough landings, but would do very little to cushion the blow of a crash.  Not to make light of the practical aspects of an air bag, whatever they may be, but I do seem to remember back from my days as a high school debater that the airbag propellent, sodium azide, is a known carcinogen.  If you add this potentially toxic gas to the mix of cabin air which is not exactly rocky mountain fresh, you may find the need to reach for the barf bag, and then the oxygen bag and finally a gas mask.

Don’t get me wrong.  I like my car air bag, I think, unless it’s one of those suspect ones that Takata made that spews shards of metal once deployed, and it may very well be one as I own a Honda.  Wouldn’t it be awful to be saved by an airbag from the impact of a crash only to be killed by the bag’s shrapnel or toxic gas?

Air travel is pretty safe so I say we leave things the way they are.  Let’s stick with seat belts and barf bags.

The House of Pablo Neruda at Isla Negra

Isla Negra

It’s not an island exactly, but rather a seaside town, and a rather small and famous one at that, for it was where the poet and ambassador Pablo Neruda lived. The Nobel Prize winning poet’s home is now a museum and attracts visitors from all over the world. So popular are the tours of the inside of the house and the grounds that we had to wait an hour and a half. Rather than wait, we ate at a nearby cafe. I had a Churrasco Italiano with cafe con leche. It was essentially a roast beef sandwich dressed with avocado, mayonnaise and tomato and quite good though the meat had chewy veins of gristle. Coffee in Chile is generally not brewed and served instant. At this cafe, the waitress, who may also have made the food, brought out a glass jar of Nescafe, a coffee mug and a small spoon. About ten minutes later, she brought out a pewter pitcher of boiling milk that she poured into the mug over the spoonful and a half of instant coffee that I had put into my coffee mug. For instant coffee, it was surprisingly good, though I still prefer a Dunkin Donut medium with milk. My wife ordered the same sandwich and a bottle of Pap which is a very sweet “pineapple” flavored soda that has a golden peach chemical glow like Pine Sol.

Pablo Neruda’s House

The toured commenced at 4:30. The tour guide gave us all telephone devices that had the tour recorded in at least three languages, Spanish, Portuguese and English. Each exhibit or room in the house corresponded to a number that we pressed on the recorder that gave all the details.  Below are my observations and the bits of information I remembered from the automated tour:

Neruda bought the house in the 30’s from a friend and over the years had additions built.  From the outside, it is a long and modest stone structure that looks a bit like a castle.  On the inside, most of the rooms are made of beautifully finished wood, logs and stones with rustic furniture that give one a feeling of being in a cabin. And most of the rooms have windows with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean.

Inside the rooms, Neruda had countless objects carefully displayed, some he acquired as a collector, but many, perhaps even most, were gifts from friends over the years including figurines, masks, wooden carvings, colored glass bottles, jugs, ships in a bottle, and seashells among other things.

He entertained quite frequently and was said to give press interviews inside the house in a room with a glass table built from a wagon wheel and giant stone mural that an artist friend built for him.  It was in this room that he received former President Salvador Allende and other friends and dignitaries. He was fond of and influenced by other writers and had framed photographs of some of them including Whitman, Doestoevsky, and Poe.

Neruda was said to have been attracted to Isla Negra because aspects of it reminded him of his childhood in the south of Chile and of his visits to the sea which play a prominent role in his poetry. Other inspirations for his poems include food and his wives (three in all) to whom he was quite devoted, particularly Matilde, his last wife with whom he is buried on the grounds.

 

The Earth Ends Here

If you really want to go down south for a beach vacation, try the seacoast towns of Chile between Mirasol and El Quisco including Isla Negra, where Pablo Neruda once lived, that form a stretch of the Pacific Coast about as far south as it gets. Far out kind of far south too. So far out that I am convinced the earth ends here. I don’t mean the end of the earth in a derogatory way necessarily, although there are aspects of the landscape and climate that are harsh such that the locals indubitably lead a hardscrabble life. And I don’t mean end of the earth literally as if our fair planet were flat and something like only 200 years old. I am not a science denier but of course don’t deny that there are many who do. And as proper as these beaches are in their own right, they are somewhat otherworldly. One beach at Punta Altraca has capital ocean waves with sharp rocks and a beach, but one without sand, or so it seemed – rocky, but finely ground rocks, not quite sand, granulated – the texture of instant Nescafe.
We saw the sunset on Canelillo Beach which sits below a steep hill near Algarobbo where we are staying. The roaring ocean waves slap razor sharp black rocks.  The impressive breakers create violent splashes.  Hardscrabble cactus patches grow on the side of the hill going down to the beach. Groves of barbed wire protected cactus flourish and rot in the same lot. Precious pine trees and other species stripped of bark stand tall. This is where the earth ends.

The End of the Earth

Dank Montevideo and Pink Freud

Back in Montevideo

Cool Bleak Dank Dark.

Smoking smokers and the strangely pleasant smell of diesel fumes.

Snarling dogs growling the night away.

Sassy birds and prancing donkies;

No need for alarm or alarms except whatever you doo watch out for dog poo.

Cars.

Small ones. Mostly

Of European persuasion – Peugeot, Renault, Citroen, VW and Fiat –

All shapes and sizes from micro cars and tiny toy pickups to vans and trucks.

An occasional Chevy Spark and some strange unknown models to the U.S. and perhaps unwanted too. And over there – on the other side of 1961 Fiat 500 sits the confident and nimble Nissan March.

Manual transmission and automatic internet for the people.

Fiat 500

 
Onward to Barra 7 for some veggies as Jimi plays Monterey on the big screen. Pink Freud on the wall staring us down, frowning upon the Patricia beer never to be ordered to sound like Pilsen. For Particia is not Pilsen nor is it soap in a bottle of Coke. A cistern and a stern warning. Student patrons with a gift of art hanging freely as the fruit juices blend and the pizzas mend the soul.

The Walls of Barra 7

Last and Final stop:  La Inglessa.

The High Down on Rio

Ipanema Beach

When one thinks of Rio, the first thing that might come to mind is the iconic and welcoming art deco statue of Christ the Redeemer a top Corcovado mountain. Or maybe you think of beautiful stretches of exotic beaches on the open Atlantic.  If you had asked me what I knew of Rio before I came, I would have said beaches, the Christ statue and music.  Now that I am here I realize that Rio has much more to offer and in my view, and view is key here, it can’t be fully appreciated until you visit.  But….

 

Samba night at Club Bip Bip

Brazilian music is not just any music.  It is THE music in my book.  Bossa nova, samba, chorinho and all those great musicians from Luiz Gonzaga, Chico Buarque and Jobim to Elise Regina,Gail Costa, and Gilberto Gil and the list could go on.  Even turning on the radio and listening to Brazilian pop music is a pleasure.  It sounds uniquely Brasilian and catchy and NOTHING like that  sanitized auto-tuned corporate crap you hear on most commercial stations in the States. And then there is live music.  If I did nothing here but go to the beach in the day and catch live music at night, I’d be happy. We have already checked out Samba night at a tiny storefront club called Bip Bip that opens up to a sidewalk on a obscure street in Copacabana where the locals sit around a table (Roda de Samba) and jam as patrons take beers from the refrigerator inside the club, pay the owner who is seated at a small table outside the club, and then gather peacefully on the sidewalk, to watch/listen, dance (a little) in place and sing along if the words are known, as they are to all the Brazilians in the crowd.  The scene is all protocol driven. The owner does not like the musicians to be disrespected in any way.  At the gathering on the night I attended in which German tourists and younger hip-type Brazilians represented the majority, the owner (Fernandinho) stopped the music and lectured us in a hoarse, barely audible voice in Portuguese explaining that the club existed solely to preserve and maintain Brasil’s rich musical culture and that it was not a place to socialize or party- which meant no talking, laughing or clapping after the music either, but we were allowed to snap our fingers to show appreciation.  It wasn’t clear whether we were allowed to take photos, but I did and even took a little video too as did my daughter.

Fernandinho gave us a suspicious look and I was afraid he was going to stop the musicians and call us out and say “no music for you” and banish us from the club, so we bought some beers to appease him.  Wednesday is bossa nova night and we plan to go back.

But the point I am trying to make is that Rio is MORE than music, beaches and a stylish Christ.  Rio is a place of hills, rocks and mountains that give it that characteristic exotic and ancient look as if it were located on Pluto or someplace. Now the terms hills (morros), mountains and rocks are used interchangeably in descriptions of Rio de Janeiro. Around the beach areas, the smaller ones are called morros in Portuguese, as far as I can tell.  The larger, more touristy rocks would qualify as mountains in my book,  although geologist may beg to differ.  Sometimes the rocks, hills, mounds, morros or whatever they are are just referred to by their names, for example – Corcovado (where Christ welcomes), and Sugarloaf (Pao de Azucar) the one that has a face and a bunch of cable cars running to the top.

Sugarloaf

You see, to REALLY see Rio, you have to get high (and quite a number of people are already that judging by the pungent odor on nearly ever street corner) and most of the larger “mountains” offer a supreme view.  Unfortunately, my acrophobia prevents me from summiting them all, but I did climb to the top of Morro de Leme (a smaller but formidable hill) and managed to make it up the third highest rock (from the sun) called Pedra Bonita inside Tijuca National Park.  I hiked the trail to the summit with my oldest daughter.  The hike is just that – a hike –  and unlike what the tourist guides say, it is not an easy, leisurely stroll.

The Trail (not as easy as it looks, trust me)

If you look it up on Trip Adviser, folks say the thing is an easy trail for the family.  But don’t believe what you read.  The reviewers must be fitness freaks and triathletes, who think all people run 5ks before breakfast everyday.  I do not.  I don’t run at all and on most days of my somewhat sedentary life, I’ll manage 5,000 steps if I’m lucky.  I am by no means a slouch and am reasonably fit and can on a good day walk 10 miles, as I have done repeatedly on this trip.  Believe me, this trail is not for beginners.  It was rocky, steep, and slippery, with nothing to hold onto except some sketch vines, bamboo poles and a few thick low hanging tree branches that lovers had initialized.  The red clay surface was wet and muddy in spots and treacherous roots presented extreme obstacles to footing, something I lost several times.  And if the grueling trail alone wasn’t troublesome enough, and it was, there were mosquitoes darting about that bit with bloody abandon and perhaps injected us with a little dengue fever.  I may be exaggerating with the dengue fever, but who knows and it does sound dramatic.  Fortunately, I was not eaten alive thanks to my B vitamin regimen – mosquitoes don’t much like B6 and find B12 repulsive, I’m told anyway.  I suffered only 4 minor bites, but my wife, daughter and our Brasilian friend and host were mercilessly attacked by the parasitic marauders.  I did miraculously make it to the top but not without a great deal of effort.  To keep me going, I fantasized that I was about to be one of the few to summit Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. When we did finally summit, I got so dizzy and paralyzed by fear that I had to crawl around as dozens of people around us were already taking in the view, frolicking about, taking selfies left and right, some even getting right to the edge and pretending to jump or fall off the mountain. My daughter recorded my pitiful crawling performance but I won’t be sharing that, or any of the pictures of me precariously standing with a look of absolute dread on my face.  I did manage to snap some nice shots of the mountains and Rio far below.

From the summit of Pedra Bonita

Rio is a city of remarkable beauty but to really see it, you’ve got to get high.

 

Forte Do Leme – What a View!

If you ever find yourself in Rio (actually it’s a big enough place where you could lose yourself quite easily) not that I expect anyone to randomly go, but anyone who might be thinking about going to the 2016 Summer Olympics, plan to do this:

Walk to the end of Copacabana Beech toward Leme.  Veer off to the left.  Go to the kiosk.  Buy a ticket to Sitio Historico do Forte Duque de Caxias for R$4 or about $1.80 U.S. and head up the hill. You have to enter a military base to access it, so don’t be alarmed to see an armed guard staring at you as you pass through. Just smile.

Rio is known for its hills called morros.  Leme is one of the larger beach side hills and is the site of an 18th century Fort built to protect the city.  It is the third largest hill in Rio next to Sugarloaf and Corcovado where Christ the Redeemer welcomes with outstretched arms.  Morro do Leme has a nice stone paved twisting trail that you can take to the top to visit the Fort and get a magnificent view of Rio.  As you enter the trail, look straight up at the rock face and you’ll find cactus growing. It reminded me of a Dali painting.  Wear your walking shoes because it’s a bit of hike, but a pleasant one, as if going through a rain forest, with an abundance of fauna and flora, colorful birds and tiny squirrel-like monkeys called micos. And what a glorious view!

The walk from the middle of Copacabana Beach to the top of the Hill and back is about 9 miles, 17,000 steps according to my pedometer, and is well worth your time and effort; highly recommended!