MEMORIES OF RIO
Never take a tour that doesn’t seem to fit your interests and temperament. Just because everyone says “You can’t miss “x”...”. you can, and you should. Actually there is a way to handle these dilemmas. My mother suggested that it’s easier to send people a postcard of a place that you should have visited, but don’t want to, than to go there. It’s also a lot cheaper.
Against my better judgement (why didn’t I listen to my mother?) I took a full day tour of the big sights of Rio which include Sugarloaf and Christ the Redeemer. I have heard about bringing the mountain to Moses when Moses can’t come to the mountain and now I see that I should have let someone, anyone, transport Christ the Redeemer to me at any cost, because getting my sweaty, dehydrated, exhausted self to him was a task that almost brought on my final breath.
I have lived in Ghana, and once made the mistake of visiting Ephesis in Turkey during August, but these experiences are cool child’s play when compared to the sizzling waiting lines for Christ the Redeemer. The weak at heart fled for their lives. They were the smart ones. Five women from Argentina ( who know about hot weather) feared that they might be at risk for stroke so were evacuated by taxi. Not me! I was a pilgrim here for a purpose, and isn’t suffering part of the whole process?
After about two hours of waiting in annihilating heat ( is this penance?) we who remained began our slow pilgrimage to the top, eager for a glimpse of the monolithic icon. Slowly, small views of him appeared. First an arm. Huh? Then the other arm. Then more.. the back of the torso. N’ah ah!!! What a way to greet guests who have come on such a quest!
Getting to the top was the biggest disappointment of all. Yes we could finally see him head on ( you can’t see his eyes because they are too elevated) but more overwhelming than the presence of the Redeemer were the bodies of the hundreds of people who swarmed the area, some photographing themselves in front of Christ with their arms extended ,others retaining this pose in groups of threes or fours pressed together like mashed mini-crucifixes clicking a selfie with you know who.
The light was was blinding, but not in a spiritual way, and there was barely an inch of space to move through. I retreated into the tiny one room church with its minimal fan and sat trying to pull myself together. My fear was that I would faint, smash my head on the concrete and that would be my end.
I looked for fellow tour mates. Wasn’t it time to descend? But the faces in the crowd were not familiar and so I decided to mount my courage and begin my descent alone. Not easy, with the teeming crowds . Reaching the bottom of the staircases, a choice was to be made. The right turn lead to the descending tram and the left turn led to a hundred or so buses waiting for their returning parties. How would I ever find my group again and return home ? Christ, send me a message... which way ?
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