Julia.Goes.to.Rio

The Journey

So yesterday finally the long awaited day had arrived and I was heading to Heathrow’s swish Terminal 5 with mum and dad. I must admit I slept like an absolute rock after (never usually the case before a big trip…the worrier that I am) a very merry and delicious Thai Farewell dinner, which I though was definitely a good omen. Bags had been packed and re-packed at least 10 times before, but I found myself doing the same routine checks first thing in the morning and to my dismay my bags were hideously heavy toand I wondered how I would be able to hurl them off the conveyer belt when I got to the other end. But here I was the planner that I am just winging it, I had planned meticulously most things up until then but I decided to kick back and chill after that. What’s the worst that could happen – I do have the most shocking sense of direction and don’t always trust my own judgement even on the best of days, but everything was going to be fine!  In fact I was almost fairly alarmed subconciously of just how laid back I was feeling, proper rastafari territory which was certainly not the norm. After checking my self in and proudly seeing that my two collosal suitcases were under the weight limit of 23kg I relaxed a bit and certainly felt less of a princess! I must admit my suitcases weren’t just chock-ablock full of suncream as I tried to convince myself! But in my defense I was going away for a year, I had to be prepared, an unashamed “just-in-case-packer” that would leave me with no moments of severe panic when I realized I had left something vital behind! So off the suitcases went and with time to spare mum, dad and I took our pick out of the many fine restaurants of Heathrow terminal 5 and went to have a cappuccino and Danish Pastry at Carluccio’s. This was possibly in some sense prolonging the ill-faited moment at which I would have to cut the umbilical chord, fly the nest and say goodbye to my incredible parents. I had done this time and again before, yet it  somehow never ceases to be just as hard to stoically hug your parents goodbye without a wimper or a tear. But that’s exactly how it went, or so I thought – at least right up until the moment that my mum spontaneously decided to throw some sparkling water on the floor; and she can be quite individual sometimes but this definitely took things to new heights. My dad and I laughing away in complete disbelief at the spectacle my mum was making just in front of the security gates raised more than a few eyebrows and in fact had one small but punchy security lady come storming up to us in complete fury at the potential danger we had created with the now wet floor. My mum claimed that this was a Jewish tradition and brought good luck to the traveller on his or her upcoming journey. Now although not Jewish, we can be fairly superstitious as a famly, and Jewish mother’s aren’t exactly far away from their Italian mamma counterparts in that respect! Mortified by the unorthodoxy of such a farewell gesture I gave my parents both one last huge kiss and hug and headed for the dreaded security checks, turning briefly to see that I was finally all on my own from here on out!

Of course security check was anything but a breeze and my hand luggage along with half a dozen others, had to be: checked, raided and swabbed only for them to then tell you to re-pack it all – with wires, passports and boarding cards spewing everywhere. I mean grateful for the secureness of it all, but slightly irritating I’ll admit. I refused to get flustered however, up until here I had been totally fine so I wasn’t going to fall at the final hurdle. Equipped with many a book and aware of the entourage of luggage that I had looming at the other end I wasn’t so interested in hobnobbing around duty free and headed straight for gate number B44. I had to take a little train there in fact and soon found myself in a carriage full of Brazilians, all coming back from their “winter breaks” fashioning big puffa jackets and multiple layers -  even given that London had, in previous days, been a concrete jungle of sweltering heat that was plain unbearable. Luckily today was the perfect grim archetypal London day with clouds and drizzle which was, I thought, a blessing (at least to travel in). After about a half hour I was on the plane remembering again how close the Italians are to the Brazilians in the way that they can’t or they simply don’t queue, or obey when they are asked to wait – which is quite entertaining. The flight was altogether hassle free apart from the odd bit of turbulence as we approached Rio, which unfortunately reminded me, how a recent flight (Paris to Rio) had mysteriously crashed just off the Brazilian coast only to be found months after in the sea. This was my somewhat fatalistic mind playing tricks yet I remained calm and contented; even as I observed the many knuckles firmly gripping the arm-rests around me, slowly turn white! I couldn’t help but think how set-apart I was from all these Brazilians returning home to the mother-land after their respective holidays. Soonwe would touch down and they would be reuniting with their families whilst I couldn't help but think how far I was venturing  from mine, that is until my return in December. This thought was dispelled quickly as a couple of minutes later "Touch-down" and I had finally arrived in Rio!! I was lucky enough to be met by the a trusted driver of my family friends the Slemecks who I was due to be living with for the first two weeks . This was extremely reassuring given my bad sense of direction to be met by Vini or Vinicius a nicely rounded and friendly looking guy who took me over to the Slemecks whose in Gloria. Hailing from Rio himself he was proud to show me the city by night and clearly took a detoured root so that I could experience Rio’s city Lights, which were truly captivating! I had arrived and it was simply breathtaking!