April 24, 2008...6:49 am
Going to Rio
I‘m going to Rio. I’ll meet you in Rio. These phrases connote a picture. One pictures a fancy private jet. A classy woman wearing large diamond earrings, a royal blue brilliant cocktail dress sitting cross-legged, fingering a glass of Champaign. A gentleman in a three piece suit stands nearby pouring a glass of scotch gazing at his newly won prize for the weekend. Rio de Janeiro—city of lust, city of passion, city of beauty.
The snapshots from my weekend getaways to Rio are a much different picture. We haul our backpacks stuffed with hairdryer, boots, tan heels, white heels, black heels, and a number of possible different outfits. I rest my head on the crowded bus gazing out the window sometimes listening to music and sometimes thinking about my life and the next paths I will take. Sometimes I think of the approaching adventures awaiting me in Rio this weekend. I begin to feel the excitement for my favorite city in the world as we cross the big bridge. I gaze out across the water to view my favorite city skyline. The one with the unmistakable ghostly statue hovering over the nightlights like a guardian. The Christo welcomes visitors with open arms, the same way the people of Rio, or Cariocas, will when you meet them. What handsome boy will I fall into the arms of this weekend?
The woman and man continue their passion in a penthouse suite overlooking Copacabana, or nowadays more appropriately Ipanema, the two most famous beaches in Rio or perhaps in the world.
My love story ends up walking down the back-streets of central Rio holding the hand of my Brazilian boyfriend of the month, searching for a love motel in bohemian Lapa. The kind that comes fully equipped with a circular bed and a one-station music player beside it playing soft rock.
One city, two stories; I like to think mine is more original though.
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