So, today my plan is to hit the Botanic Gardens, the record store Tracks with my fingers firmly crossed for Bossa Nova treasures to fill my empty record-sized duffle bag, Sugar Loaf, and perhaps the Copacabana boardwalk.
Yesterday afternoon I spend on Ipanema beach, thong-clad like a real Carioca. In the shop “Secret Woman” - love that name, I crack up at the teeny bikini. The shopgirl has braces and laughs at my laughter. But I also cracked up at the name Secret Woman. As in, everyone thinks I’m a dude, but Secretly I’m a Woman. Must be a foreign appropriation of Victoria’s Secret.
Perhaps it’s my buttcheeks a-hanging out on display, but several people ask me to translate for them to the beach sellers. Mistaken for a local! Sweet. I tell myself, it’s because I’m rocking the Fio Dental - aka Dental Floss. Unable to communicate but at least my butt makes it look like I could. They move on to get real Brazilans to help translate.
I walk up and down the beach, chatting with a new Turkish pal - it’s nice to speak English. I can see why travelers bond when they’re away from home. We pass the gay beach, and then hit the Posto 11 where soccer balls are bopping into the air and off peoples’ heads. God, they are all so freaking good at football. “Even the women,” the Turk says.
The air here is permeated by the odor of deep fried food, and wafts of garlic. Smells better than it tastes.
Tonight we head to Cabo Frio. Supposed to be the more chill version of Buzios, which is the Saint-Tropez of South America and has a creepster statue of Brigitte Bardot. Pretty sure everyone touches that statue’s boobs.
So yeah, Cabo Frio is the anti Saint-Tropez. As in, where Beyonce and Jay Z go to chill on their boat and not walk on the land (I’m guessing). I’ll finally have some unlimited Brazilian steak action at a Churrascaria. OMG I CAN’T WAAAAAAAIT. Getting ready for some Meat Madness.
