"You just won the Superbowl what're you going to do next? - I'm going to Steakland!"

We arrived in the land of the rising sun just as dawn was creeping over the horizon.  After a quick stop through the Narita Airport customs (Tokyo's international airport) at 6am, we hopped on a shinkansen train bound for the formed imperial capital of Japan, Kyoto.  

The shinkansen trains were an experience in and of themselves, traveling at speeds around 180 mph and looking like they came out of the year 2080.  The Japan Rail Pass we purchased would become very handy, as it allowed us unlimited train use for the four days that we were in Japan.  

The ride was incredible smooth and the staff was very friendly making the Shinkansen trains a mode of transportation we would highly recommend.

Getting off the train in Kyoto was the first major culture shock of the trip.  With hundreds of people speeding past us, nearly every sign being in Japanese, and having only an English phonetic version of our hostel name and address written on a piece of paper, we were lost.  By some stroke of luck, our taxi driver turned out to be quite possibly the nicest man in all of Kyoto.  Through his broken English, he explained to us that it was easy to get around Kyoto.  We just had to think of it in the shape of a human body (which was the first thing that came to my mind when I saw a map of Kyoto...).  Apparently it didn't work very well for him either, because after 10 minutes it was clear he could not locate the hostel.  But, he did go above and beyond his call of duty as a taxi driver by sprinting out of the car in the pouring rain to chase down pedestrians in order to ask them for directions, as well as making several phone calls to his supervisor.  Eventually, someone had heard of BakPak Gion Hostel and the search was over.  Tired from our long travel day, we took a stroll through the former Imperial Palace and then called it a night.

Early the next morning we headed to the Kinkaju-Ji (The Temple of the Golden Pavillion).  

 We successfully navigated the Kyoto bus system and arrived at the temple.  The pavilion was built in 1397 and the two top stories are covered with pure gold leaf.  Set within a quintessential Japanese garden, the Kinkaju-Ji was quite the site to see.  Perhaps a little sun would have enhanced our viewing, but even in the rain we could feel the power of Buddha emanating from the structure’s bones.  After seeing the Imperial Palace, the Kinkaju-Ji, and few other shrines/castles along with way, we felt that our cultural duties had been fulfilled and began to focus on our real reason for going to Japan.

People flock to Japan for its rich culture and history.  They want to become engulfed in the ancient temples and shrines, the Tsujiki fish market, the cherry blossoms, Hello Kitty, and Pokemon.  But, if we are going to be brutally honest, what excited us most about Japan was Kobe Beef.  After spending no money on our travel day to Japan, and only about $10 each on our first day in Kyoto, our bankroll was finally on the same page as our stomachs and we were ready to indulge in the finest meat this world has to offer.   

Using our nifty JR passes, we hopped on the train and made the 50-minute ride from Kyoto to Kobe.  Our arrival in Kobe was quite similar to our arrival in Kyoto.  We had researched a few names of Kobe Beef restaurants, but had no idea where they were or how to get there.  This time there was no rain, so we took to the streets in search of the sacred beef.

After stumbling upon a few seemingly reputable Kobe Beef establishments, we saw a sign for “Steakland” with an arrow pointing down a long alleyway. 

As we wandered down this seedy stretch of road, prostitutes were just beginning to work their turf and there were several shady characters that surely would have mugged us had they been afforded the cover of darkness.  Lucky for us, we were crossing this territory at 4pm because of how excited we were to try Kobe’s most prized possession.  With no intention of actually eating at Steakland, we were more curious to see what could be behind its doors.  As the rickety elevator doors opened on the 6^th floor, we were utterly shocked.  Staring us in the face was neither a crack den, nor some sort of steak themed amusement park.  But rather, a shelf chocked full of awards, followed by a mahogany palace of beef, fit for the Emperor of Japan himself.

Steakland was everything we didn’t think it would be, and more.  With the giant eyes of the marble Kobe Cow statue at the center of the restaurant overseeing us, we sat down at the hibatchi table and began our journey to gastronomic nirvana.  Our own personal chef came out and cooked up a feast right in front of us.  There were no volcanoes made of onions or gimmicky knife tricks here.  This guy was a complete professional and meant strictly business.  At first, I was slightly hesitant after seeing the steak.   

Kobe beef is known for its intense marbling, and I will be the first to tell you I hate fat on my steak.  But the fat on Kobe Beef is not like that on other steaks.  It is not chewy, or rubbery, but rather it adds an explosion of flavor and then simply melts in your mouth.  The steak was prepared to perfection and was like nothing Alex or I had ever tasted.  Two or three chews is all that is necessary because the beef is so tender and soft.  Our Kobe Beef experience lived up to the hype, and feeling fully satisfied, we were back on a train to Kyoto.

The next morning we were back on the Shinkansin to spend the next day and a half in Tokyo.  All of our research had told us that the main attraction we had to see was the Tuna auctions at the Tsukiji Fish Market.  Only 120 people are allowed to witness these each day, and the tours start at 5:25am.  Naturally, we decided that the best course of action would be to stay up all night because the market operated on such an early schedule.  We had a quick lunch, 

where a lot of guesswork was used in terms of what we were ordering (as seen by the menu on the left), paid a visit to the Electric City, as well as a few other shrines in Tokyo, and then rested until we headed to Roppongi Hills for a late dinner.

                                                  

Roppongi Hills is the hip, up and coming, metropolitan area in Tokyo.  An Izakaya restaurant called Teyandei was our destination of choice.  Izakayas formed from sake shops that allowed their visitors to stay and drink.  They are known as being local places that have very good cheap eats, and a great atmosphere. 

Teyandei hit this to a T, and was the exact type of restaurant we had been searching for.  We had to take off our shoes upon entry, and make our way through the packed and vibrant bar area to our seats, which in very traditional manner consisted of a pillow on the floor.  Skewers of chicken heart, beef neck, beef skirt, chicken meatballs, and cheese filled our appetite and we washed them down with some good Japanese beer.  It was a great experience that truly made us feel like locals.

With public transportation shutting down at around 12:30AM, we had to quickly hustle to the subway in order to make it to Tsukiji.  Upon our arrival, there was nothing open except “Jonathan’s Restaurant.”  It was here that we made camp until the fish market opened.  Two hours of sleep, face down on a wooden table was just what the doctor prescribed, and when we awoke at 3:30am; it was time to get out of Jonathan’s.  Thinking we would wander down to the fish market to see if there was any activity, we were surprised to see that there was already a substantial line forming.  Had we went back to our hostel and then tried to make it to the fish market before opening, we surely would have been shut out of the Tuna auction like the hundreds of people that showed up after 4am. 

Once admitted at around 3:50am, we felt a bit like tuna ourselves, being contained in a small waiting room until 5:25 rolled around.  Making your way to the auction warehouse was a challenge itself, dodging the whizzing trucks and carts with absolutely no set traffic patterns.  Hundreds of gigantic iced tuna line the floors of this warehouse, and after inspections are complete the bells start ringing and the yells of auctioneers fill the warehouse, bouncing off every wall. 

 Following the auction and brief walk through the market we made our way to a side street three blocks away.  The local sushi joints had just received their morning shipments of fish from down the road and we indulged in the freshest sushi breakfast money could buy.

Japan was quite the cultural experience, and we enjoyed the time we spent there.  The weather was a bit cold, so we are excited to get back to the beach and head to Boracay in the Philippines tomorrow.  Peace Japan!

 

We take Visa, Mastercard, Cash, or Coconuts

Fiji was our first stop where we had absolutely no plans going in. And so, after clearing customs, we walked out into the arrivals area, raised our hands, and waited for someone to save us from having to spend the next 5 days in the airport. The person that helped us was not an angelic savior like we imagined, but rather she was a 5 foot tall, round Fijian woman with poofy hair who could only open her eyes to a half squint. Her name was Margaret and she carried the honorific title of “Auntie” meaning that she was either an old crazy woman who knew the ropes or Fijian royalty. We soon found that she was both. 

Auntie Margaret walked us up to her office and immediately whipped out the books to plan our trip. Brian and I we skeptical when she started describing the package deals which were described in terms of coconuts. A 1 Coconut Pass let you do certain things, a 2 Coconut Pass let you do more, and so on and so forth. She then started to talk about Bula Passes (“Bula” being the Fijian greeting word) and this was an entirely different animal. All coconuts aside, eventually we got down to business and determined that we would visit two islands: Beachcomber and Mana. Auntie Margaret then started to do the math for our cost and this is when her half squint closed shut and she was typing on the calculator blindly. Then, coconuts made their way back into the deal and the calculator had a melt down. Once we finally got the coconuts and all other tropical fruits out of the arithmetic, we had a great trip planned and Auntie Margaret made the necessary calls to get it rolling.

As it was late in the day, the managers of the hostel on Beachcomber Island did not want to send a boat to get us, but rather wanted us to spend the night on the main land and go out to Beachcomber in the morning. 

We weren’t having that and neither was Auntie Margaret. They sent us a small boat that arrived just as the sun went down. The boat was manned by two Fijian guys who spoke no English and they were to guide us to Beachcomber in the pitch black. Waves were crashing over the bow of the pathetic boat and there were times when all seemed lost. Despite the near drowning, all four of us were laughing the entire time and drinking the free beer given to us at port. This was perhaps the best part of the trip thus far.  

As we got closer to Beachcomber we heard the music coming from the bar and knew that we had made the right choice for accommodations. Beachcomber was small, maybe only a quarter mile in diameter, but they packed a lot into this small space including a dinning area, private rooms, a bar, 70 bed dorms that were to be our home, and of course one of the most beautiful beaches we have ever seen.  

As soon as we checked in and got our designated bunk beds, Brian and I immediately assessed the crowd on the island.  We decided that the best way to make new friends was to post up at the bar and make friends with the staff. That was when I first saw her. Her name was Louisa. They said we would meet women on Beachcomber, but this had to be destiny. She was funny, charismatic, friendly, and she looked like a younger version of Auntie Margaret. She was the bartender. We’re not sure if she was high all the time or if she was just crazy, but she was the gateway to the awesome time we had on Beachcomber.

As the night rolled on and Louisa took care of us, we made friends with some Swiss guys who invited us to their table. This turned into an all night affair and as the beach bar died down we were all still standing on our table attracting the stragglers to our party. Brian and I awoke early the next morning and made our way to the beach. 

 Around 3pm we realized we hadn’t seen our Swiss friends yet. It turns out our night with them hit them pretty hard and they slept through their ferry ride to the mainland, forcing them to stay an extra night. 

These Swiss guys turned out to be great friends. We even formed a team for a beer-drinking contest the next night which we unjustly lost because the winning team had attractive girls on it. It was over before it started. We spent our nights this way - meeting new people from all over the world, having a few beers, and getting down and dirty with Louisa on the dance floor every time she came to our table.

 By day, we rolled out of bed and right onto the beach. It was the most exhausting laziness we’ve ever experienced: applying sunscreen, going in the water, laying on the beach, lifting our heads to seen if attractive women came in on the ferry. Just exhausting. Beachcomber also offered free daily snorkeling trips. 

 

To our surprise, Louisa was on the boat one day. She had on fins and maybe 5 life jackets and clearly had no intention of snorkeling. While in the water, we heard someone screaming and looked under water to see Louisa standing on the reef, stomping off pieces of coral. Above the surface, she was screaming, “Come to Mama!” at the waves breaking on the reef which pummeled her in the face one after the other. She decided to swim all the way back to the island and miraculously made it in time to serve us happy hour drinks. Actually, it really wasn’t a miracle because Louisa declared Happy Hour about 5 times per day. We’re not sure if the drinks were actually cheaper or if this was just a time of the day she suggested you be happy. What a woman.

We left Beachcomber after three days and went to Ratu Kini’s Backpacker Hostel on Mana for one night. Mana was not the party island that Beachcomber was but it was just as beautiful.

 The hostel was in a beach village with stray dogs everywhere. On one walk we took two dogs followed Brian right at his heals for almost a mile. 

We weren’t sure whether they liked Brian or whether they were stalking him, waiting to ambush him for a meal. They did turn out to be friendly and even took naps with us on the beach. When we returned one of the staff members had hacked open some coconuts for us to drink, but more importantly we also accomplished a life long goal of drinking Fiji water in Fiji.  

 

On our boat ride back to the mainland, we stopped to watch a fisherman battle what turned out to be an enormous Jackfish. We pulled up to the side of his boat and noticed that he was with men from the hostel who said they would cook the fish for dinner for everyone. 

The fisherman then threw down the monster fish and the hostess on our boat handed him checks to sign. As he sat there signing away with fish guts all over him, we realized that this was THE Ratu Kini – the owner of the hostel. 

We are off now heading for Japan, but, despite our best efforts, Louisa did not fit into our carry-on luggage so we had to leave her behind in Fiji.  

"Wai" the "Heke" did we go to Rotorua?

New Zealand was a journey of big ups and downs.  Not since my Dartmouth Football career have I seen something experience such a brilliant meteoric rise abruptly followed by a complete and utter demise.  But before we get into our New Zealand trip, we must discuss how we got there. 

Being one of the longest legs of our 60 day trip, the journey from Cusco to Auckland involved three separate flights and 30 straight hours of flying and layovers.  On this grueling trip we managed to survive 2 crying babies, 5 hours at the Santiago Ruby Tuesdays Airport Bar, and one crazed Peruvian man who only spoke Ketchwa (the ancient Incan language) and violently shook me awake to try and inform me that the whole plane was going down if I did not turn off my iPod.  One would think that arriving in Auckland at 430am after such an ordeal would be the low point of our trip, but in fact this was the beginning of one of our favorite days thus far.

Check in at our hostel was not until 2pm, and since we had over 9 hours till then, we decided to drop off our bags and seize the day.  After receiving a great recommendation from our friend Duncan Hall, as well as our Fijian cab driver who drove us from the airport,

we hopped on the 7:20 ferry to Waiheke (pronounced why-heekee) Island.  After 30 hours in airplanes and airports, it was an incredible feeling to sit on the top deck, breathing in the fresh sea air while watching a beautiful sunrise on our 45 minute ferry ride to Waiheke.

Upon arrival, we walked to the small town of Oneroa and stumbled into the quaint Delight Café, which was perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean.  We were welcomed with warm greetings from the owners (we would find out that Kiwis might be the friendliest people in the world) and got two orders of eggs benedict.   

The combination of the beautiful views, warm local atmosphere, the best eggs benedict Alex has ever had (which I second), as well as the James Blunt cd playing in the background gave us the best start to a day we could have asked for.

After this fulfilling meal, we were feeling ambitious and decided to rent bikes in order to see the island and make our way to Onetangi Beach.  The woman at the bike rental store told us it was a fairly easy ride with only two hills.  She either used to dope with Lance Armstrong and ride in the Tour de France, or she just really wanted to rent us those two bikes because five minutes into the ride we found ourselves dripping in sweat and walking our bikes up what felt like Mount Everest.  We didn’t expect this ride to be round two fo the Prouty, but atleast we were getting good exercise.  Although as Alex put it, “just because it’s good for me doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  Despite its difficulty, it was a rewarding ride that gaves us wonderful views of many little inlets and coves before we collapsed on Onetangi Beach and let the sun and surf was away our pain.

 We stayed at Onetangi for about 4 hours and struck up a conversation with Ian, a local painter who has his summer house right on the beach.  When we asked for suggestions of what to do after the beach, he told us about his old friend Nick Jones.  Back when they were in their twenties, all Nick wanted to do was “drink booze and smoke drugs” so he moved out to Waiheke which was much less developed back then.  Today Nick Jones is a multi millionaire and owns Mudbrick Vineyards, arguably the best winery on Waiheke.  Trusting Ian’s opinion, we hopped on our bikes and rode back across the Himalayas to Mudbrick for a wine tasting.

We certainly looked a little out of placed showing up on bikes in a cloud of sweat and dirt while the civilized people were peacefully enjoying the views of the bay from the terrace while sipping on Sauvignon Blanc.  But that didn’t matter as we quickly fell into the good graces of Bobby, the man running the wine tastings.   

There was an option of either a $10 tasting, or a $15 premium tasting, and given the arduous journey to Mudbrick, we obviously had to do both.  We spent the next hour taking in the Waiheke scenery and enjoying the different wines we sampled.  Following the tasting we took the ferry back to Auckland and put a great first day in New Zealand in the books.

Our trip quickly took a turn for the worst when we caught the 730am bus to Rotorua the next morning.  We were very happy to get the last two seats on the bus, according to the travel desk at our hostel.  We wondered why this bus was $50 more than the return bus, but didn’t question it because we felt so “lucky” to be able to get transportation to Rotorua.  The reason for this extra cost quickly became apparent as we pulled out of the bus station to find that this was a guided tour that included a 3 hour detour to the Waitomo glow worm caves.  This guided tour was just what we needed at 730 in the morning.  Kenny the bus driver made sleep an impossibility by talking for the entire 3 hours, spewing out useless facts about the commercial forestry industry, the lengths farmers are allowed to grow corn, and the percentage breakdown of where the money from a traffic ticket goes. 

By the time we reached the glow worm caves we were so excited to get off the bus, escape the clutches of Kenny, and hopefully see something of interest.  At the start of our tour, we were told that photography was not allowed inside the caves.  Given our already sour moods, we took this as a direct challenge to take as many pictures as we could inside the caves without getting caught.

While we were able to snap numerous photos, none of them were of value.  The caves were an enormous let down.  I think that I could have started my own glow worm caves in 1^st grade by turning off the lights in my bedroom and giving people tours of the glow in the dark starts that covered my ceiling.  Following the tour, we got back on the bus and had to endure two more hours of Kenny’s annoying banter before reaching Rotorua.

Determined not to let this six hour trip from hell impact our time in Rotorua, we decided to live a little and headed to the Rotorua bungy.   

The 143 foot bungy was just what we needed, and we had a great time hanging out with BJ and George, the two guys running the bungy.  

 They even threw us a free “swoop” ride after our bungys were over.  As you can tell from the following video, Alex talks a lot when he's nervous so I tried to have a little fun with him just before pulling the ripcord:

With our adrenaline still pumping we headed to the mountain luge, which turned out to be a lot more fun than we anticipated.  Although we clearly belonged on the advanced track, we almost had more fun flying down the scenic route weaving through and cutting off other riders that got in our way.  The bungy and luge was an oasis from the giant disappointment that was Rotorua.  Alex felt so strongly about Rotorua that he asked for a few sentences to express his dislike for the town:

“Rotorua is set upon a suppurating sore in the Earth’s crust, causing it to be shrouded in a steaming cloud of putrefaction from the sulfuric shit that spews from the center o the Earth up through its geothermal mud pools.  The smell of eggs benedict on Waiheke was inversely proportional to the roteen egg odor that assualuts one’s nostrils in Rotorua.”

While some of the geothermal pools did look somewhat cool, this feeling evaporated quickly due to the aforementioned smell. 

Rotorua was not the lakeside paradise we had envisioned.  To add insult to injury, we found that because it was good Friday, alcohol could only be consumed or purchased while eating a meal.  Any night time plans of salvaging Rotorua went out the window, so we went back to our hostel defeated.

At 6am we were awoken by the feeling that Iran had started World War III by engaging in chemical warfare with New Zealand.  Sulfuric gas was pouring through the sky light in our room, and we both decided it was time to leave this godforsaken town.  Our bus wasn’t scheduled to elave until 3:30pm, but we headed to the bus station anyway and gladly paid the $16 to switch to an 8am bus and try and enjoy the rest of our time in New Zealand with a full day in Auckland.

Feeling the full effects of our jet lag, we spent the extra time in Auckland relaxing and recovering.  We went to the Blue Stone Room for happy hour and had a nice dinner while enjoying a few Monteith's Original Ales.  Being the day before Easter, every bar we went to after was closing at around 11:30pm, so we had a fairly early night and headed back to our hostel.

On this beautiful Easter morning we look forward to a hearty brunch in the Auckland Airport.  Who could think of a better way to spend Easter than being on a plane!  Hopefully we make up for it with a nice Easter dinner in Fiji.  With absolutely no plans upon our arrival, hopefully our next spontaneous decision turns out to be a better choice than going to Rotorua.

All Aboard the Orient Express

When we first heard that we 

would be staying at Orient Express hotels in Peru and taking an Orient Express train to Machu Picchu, naturally we thought that all of these places were part of a chain of Chinese take-out places. Not the case. In the place of scorpion bowls and smelly General Tso’s chicken we were greeted with bathrobes, pisco sours, and the smell of rich mahogany. The company that manages all of these places originated from the famed Orient Express train from Venice to Istanbul – a luxurious black tie affair with multiple course meals and live music. So, basically, Brian and I were very out of place arriving to our first hotel in smelly shirts with unshaven faces. We know what you’re thinking. How did we afford such nice accommodations? Answer – we didn’t. we can barely afford to eat at McDonald’s. Thank you to Bernard, Anne and other family friends who were kind enough to let us join them on this Peruvian adventure to the lost city of Machu Picchu.

We joined Bernard and the rest of the party in Lima just before our flight to Cusco. Cusco is a staggering 11,000 feet in elevation and when we got off the plane I felt as though someone punched me in the lungs. Brian, of course, was fine because unlike me he has gone for runs during this trip and does curls with his luggage in the room while I watch Silver Linnings Playbook and talk about Jennifer Lawrence. The elevation does make it difficult to breath in Cusco but there are several methods of coping with this change. You can suck on sour candy, drink water, or chew on coca leaves.

When we arrived Bernard bought several packages of coca leaves from what seemed to be a reputable dealer of the plant leaves who patronized the back alley of the airport. Yes, these are the plants used to make the illegal narcotic made famous in the 80’s, but no, it is not illegal and it does not have a drug-like effect.  The nutrients in the leaves make it easier for oxygen to get into your blood and are used by many local farmers during the work-day. What do they taste like? Answer – shit. The taste is like putting leaves in your mouth and chewing on them, because that’s what you’re doing. We don’t believe these leaves have any effect, but it is possible that the “dealer” (an old woman selling hats and key chains) simply plucked the leaves from a nearby tree.

We arrived to the Hotel Monasterio in Cusco where we would spend one night and then travel to Machu Picchu. This hotel literally used to be a monastery and so they were not joking when they played ambient music that consisted of religious hymns. The hotel was built in a breath-taking baroque style and featured a courtyard, excellent food, and most importantly, fresh towels.

Brian and I used our sheets to dry ourselves off in Rio because they refused to bring us towels. Needless to say, this hotel was like heaven for us. We will remember how soft the beds were for the rest of the trip because it won’t be like that again.

While in Cusco, we took a tour with a very passionate tour guide named Romulo. We saw many of the local Catholic churches and some Incan ruins at a place called Saqsaywaman. Romulo told us this would be easiest to remember by sounding it out as “Sexy woman.”

The real highlight, however, was the man outside our hotel selling paintings who went by the name of George Washington (shown to the left). He and his female associate (who went by Martha Washington) sold excellent works of art and although we did not buy any it was an honor to meet the first President and the first First Lady.

The next day we boarded the Orient Express train (called the Hiram Bingham) from Cusco to Machu Picchu. 

Entering the train was like traveling back in time to the Belle Epoch. The train had a beautiful wood interior and between all seats facing one another were dinning tables set with crystal-ware. It was at these tables that a multiple course lunch was served; and if you got tired of sitting at the table, no worries, there were two bar cars in the back of the train along with a viewing car to take in the scenery.

It was, to say the least, the best train I have ever been on. Brian and I, along with Bernard and friends, drank beers in the bar car before lunch and took in the breath-taking landscape of the Andes. Three hours later, we were in Machu Picchu.

Machu Picchu was the most impressive display of civil engineering I have ever seen.

We went in the morning when there was still fog so we entertained ourselves by taking action shots.   

Upon our return in the afternoon, the clear skies illuminated these beautiful ruins. 

We trekked all around the mountain village with a guide and got an appreciation for just how sophisticated the construction of the city was and just how difficult it was to build. The city was built over 500 years ago on an impossible mountain and contains both astrological and geological alignments. The city is high, and when I say high I mean there are certain parts that if you slip it’s 8,000 feet to the next patch of level ground. Despite this we still found ourselves creeping towards the edge.

 Family friend Lou Brown, who has a fear of heights, also peered over the edge a few times. We determined that his new sense of bravery was due to an increased dosage of coca leaves.

By day we trekked Machu Picchu and by night we stayed at the Sanctuary Lodge Hotel just next door and enjoyed the comforts of good food and wine. In terms of food, Rio has iguana, but Peru has Alpaca and Guinea Pig. The Alpaca I was fine with, but people in the US have guinea pigs as pets. Of course we ate the guinea pig anyway and I’m nervous that this is a slippery slope that could have us eating cats and dogs in China.

Today we took the train back to Cusco and now we are enjoying our last pisco sours (the national Peruvian drink) before we head out in the morning for our long trip to Auckland, New Zealand. 

“Where’s the Giant Jesus Statue?”

When we first titled the blog “Chasing the Sun,” we did not think that we would be on a literal search for the sun.  After our nine and a half hour flight to Sao Paulo, we were very excited to hit the famed beaches of Rio de Janeiro. 

Much to our dismay, our landing in Rio was greeted with nothing but clouds and rain.  Upon arrival at our humble abode in Copacabana, and determined not to let the weather dictate our visit (but more likely due to the fact that it was 10am and we couldn’t check in until 2pm), we set out to the beach.  March is historically the second driest month in Rio, and naturally the second we set foot on the beach the skies opened up and the gods of the Amazon rained down upon us.  After a four-hour self guided walking tour of Rio in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the elusive Cristo el Redentor, we returned to our hostel in order to put on some dry clothes and re-group for the night.

With our spirits low, the only cure was an endless buffet of meat on a skewer.  Such a remedy was served up at Caretão.  For 52 Reais, (about $25), a parade of various meats is continuously carried out to your table via skewer, and carved directly on to your plate until you wave the white flag and can eat no more.  With no one

speaking any English, we found ourselves saying “yes” to every hunk of meat brought out to our table.  The various cuts of steak, along with chicken and pork were some of the finest we have had the pleasure of tasting.  One of the particular pieces of meat that we could not identify but enjoyed nonetheless turned out to be iguana.  Perhaps this could give Dave Jenk’s some inspiration for the upcoming mystery meat at the Green Key pigroast.

Feeling fully satisfied, and mainly just looking for a spot to sit down and loosen our belts, we wandered to a small open-air shack on Copacabana beach.  Here we relaxed and had a few Chopps (one of the local beers) while listening to a live band play an array of authentic Brazilian music.  The atmosphere was incredibly warm and friendly, as people spontaneously broke out in song and rose from their chairs to dance whenever their favorite numbers were played.  We enjoyed singing and dancing the night away at this small beachside paradise.

The next morning, we were relieved to find a literal silver lining in the grey clouds that covered the sky.  While it was not 85 and sunny, there was no rain and visibility was fairly good.  We decided to head to Corcovado.  Here we were greeted by surprisingly only the 4^th largest statue of Jesus in the world: Cristo el Redentor, or Christ the Redeemer. 

 Situated roughly 1,800 feet above Rio, this giant 120 foot tall statue of Jesus was built to safeguard the harbor.  We reached the summit via train, and after emerging from the jungle we were rewarded with incredible views of “The Marvelous City.”  

After doing our best Jesus impressions and feeling as though our sins had been washed away, we headed back to Copacabana for some lunch.

While walking along the beach, one particular spot caught our eye, Pizza in a Cone.  Intrigued, and thinking that something must have been lost in translation, we ordered two pizzas in a cone along with some iced cold Capirinhas (a lime, sugar cane liquor concoction that is the official drink of Brazil) to wash it down.  There was nothing lost in translation.  We literally received two blends of cheese and sauce in an ice cream-esque cone.   

They were so good we had to order two more for our walk to Ipanema beach where we sat and watched a group of surfers catch some waves until dusk.

Ipanema Beach

That night we caught wind of a “hostel” party at one of the major clubs in the Laplam district of Rio.  Shuttle was afforded from our hostel and 25 of us were crammed into a van and taken to Club “00”.  The group was comprised of Australians, Germans, Brits, Italians, a few French people, and us.  The lively and care-free atmosphere of the van was matched with the care-free travel plans of many of these people.  As we learned from our new friends, travelling South America for a year, with no firm plans on where you have to be when is quite common.  We also found that almost all of them had stayed longer than anticipated in Rio, and did not know when they would be leaving.

After arriving at “00”, and having yet to speak with, or even to see anyone we saw as “American”, the first person to come up to us was a player on the Harvard Rugby Team.  Unlike the Dartmouth Rugby Team who is currently in Ireland on their training trip, Harvard chose to go to Rio because, as one player put it, “if we went to Ireland we would get our asses kicked.”  

Although they were fellow Americans, they were very Harvard and so we moved on to befriend two Irishmen who had also just arrived in Rio.  After talking with them for a while, and bouncing around the club for a bit, it was getting late and we headed back to our hostel. 

Being fairly exhausted from the night before, we spent the day relaxing at the beach under at best poor weather conditions and re-energizing our minds and bodies.    


Our final morning in Rio we were greeted by something we had not seen since the Untied States, the Sun.  We spent the final two hours before our flight at Copacabana beach, taking in the much-anticipated sun.   

The sheer excitement of seeing the heavenly rays shining down as if they came from Cristo el Redentor himself (or perhaps his Brazilian reincarnate seen on the right) blinded me from seeing the need to apply sunscreen.  As a result, I will be taking a little bit of Rio with me to Peru on my neck, shoulders, and chest. 

Rio was an amazing first stop, and as Alex must have said 30 times in our short visit “I could really see myself here.”  We just arrived at our hotel in Lima and are headed to Cusco and then Machu Picchu tomorrow!