Obrigada!

Rio de Janeiro: a metropolis overflowing with passion, from the artistic fortresses concocted out of sand on the beaches of Copacabana and Ipanama, to the funky Feira Hipe held every Sunday, showcasing unique handmade crafts from the region's finest artisans, this sprawling city has it all.

Copacabana Esplanade

Nearly every aspect of Brazilian life seems to have been sprinkled with a pinch of zest. Whether it be found in the sweet cases of Amendocrem that we sold the local grocery store out of on account of our newfound obsession, or the tangy Caipirinhas served at all hours on both beach esplanades, I had quickly fallen in love with the essence of Cariocan culture surrounding me.

Sand Castles

Crystal and I at the end of Copacabana

Given that we had rented out an apartment in Arpoador, the small accessible region at the intersection of Copacabana and Ipanema, we had been able to explore the city via walking for the first few days. Now in all honesty, trekking through Rio de Janeiro by foot can almost be described as self-inflicted suicide. Think of it as a free-for-all where everyone is expected to get out of the road when cars are coming. There is no sympathy given to slow walkers, at all. Even the sidewalk felt threatening, given the endless cars that would skim the curbs at demonic speeds. Crossing the street was quite a feat in itself, and I often found myself shrieking at my parents to watch out for the wall of cars barreling toward us, not showing any signs of acknowledgment that there were humans in the road. I would begin walking briskly across the first few lanes, nervously eyeing the approaching cars as if it were a test of wills.....who would flinch first......they wouldn't dare hit me......and it always ended in me skittering helplessly onto the curb....defeated.... as they snarled and nipped at my heels, anxious to bully their next gringa off the road. But you know, I didn't mind these little games. It's what made Rio unique to me, among other things, such as riding the local buses.

The day had finally come for us to explore Corcovado. Travel from our local Zona Sul required public transportation to reach Cristo Redondo, so we unassumingly hopped on a city bus to complete a leg of the journey. Shortly after taking our seats and rubbing elbows (literally) with the locals, I felt as though my life had shortened by 20 years. Not only was this bus traveling at ungodly speeds down a frightfully narrow and crowded street, but the driver felt it the most natural thing in the world to allow about an inch between us and all of the surrounding autos and pedestrians. Without even batting an eye, he would lurch the vehicle full of young and innocent lives forward, then slam on the brakes, then surge forward again, and screech to a halt less than a foot away from the sidewalk stop. Having been in a car accident before, I felt my hair turning white within the first few minutes, and I closed my eyes to try and block out the reality I was trapped in, all the while envisioning us slamming into one of the other buses at high speed, no seatbelts...no airbags.....just large sheets of glass windows to cushion our impact.

Bondinhos

I couldn't help but notice the casual air of the other passengers around me.....some absentmindedly gazing out the window, others flipping through pages of Lance!, numb to the fact that we were only narrowly escaping death every 10 seconds. As the bus zoomed through Botafogo, I was pleasantly distracted by the sight of the tiny bondinhos dangling over 350 meters high, connecting the peaks of Pao de Açucar and Cara de Cao. The afternoon sun reflected brightly over the Baia de Guanabara as we had finally turned inland to begin ascending into the Parque Nacional da Tijuca. After being on the bus for nearly half an hour, I had finally collected myself a little and realized that although the Brazilians may seem like crazy drivers compared to what I'm used to, they don't seem to crash......ever. So while discovering Rio by public transportation may raise the blood pressure monumentally, I came to learn that it's just the way they do things down here....and I like it.

Triumphant atop Corvocado

A Day In Paris

An Eye For An Eye

Once upon a time, I rolled into the Salzburg Hauptbahnhof for the first time ever, anxious to experience the magic behind this Disney-esque city that inspired my beloved musical, The Sound of Music (the hills really are alive folks...this wasn't a lie.) Being confronted by everything Mozart from the moment we stepped off the ÖBB (namely the ubiquitous Mozartkugeln), I tingled with excitement thinking about the musical brilliance pulsating from this unique town.

Salzkammergut

Having noticed the outlandish prices of the hotels surrounding the historic Altstadt, we decided it was a financially prudent decision to take a bus toward the outskirts of the city and enjoy a little solitude in the quaint town of Eugendorf, which lies about 10 short km outside of Salzburg. The thought of spending a mellow week in rural Austria delighted all of us, and really brought me closer to the essence of the Von Trapp family.... I could almost hear Sixteen Going On Seventeen echoing across the lush hills, as I became lost in images of Rolfe serenading me in the renowned gazebo.

Eugendorf

After being dropped off at a plank surrounded by little other than overgrown grass, we began walking into the village in search of an inn to rest our heads for a few nights. Thankfully, we found a tiny bed and breakfast located on what seemed to also be an authentic Austrian farm. "How charming!", I remember naïvely thinking...little did I know that I would soon suffer from the worst mutant bite known to humankind the following night.

It all started innocently enough.....after a good nights sleep, my brother and I (who were sharing a room adjacent to my parents bedroom) were awakened by the prototypical sound of a rooster crowing to let the Eugendorfers know that it was time to prepare frühstück and get the day going. Although it was pleasantly amusing to hear an actual rooster waking me to consciousness, the appreciation lasted for about five minutes before I longed to hurl my leftover Nusbrot out our second story window and quiet the little hooligan. Just as I rolled over onto my back and opened my eyes to appease the stubborn brute, I felt a dire itch emanating from my forearm. I gasped in horror as I perceived the swollen lump encasing my elbow, shocked at how this dramatic mutation had occurred just overnight. My brother, upon just waking up, had also been inflicted by the tenacious pests. Still in disbelief, I dressed and went downstairs for a comforting bowl of müsli....the urge to itch growing more intense every second.

The morning of...

Now in all fairness, I will admit that my body generally reacts a little severely to mosquito bites. I have been known to swell to abnormal sizes, but I am convinced that there must have been something strangely potent in these Austrian farm mosquitoes...perhaps it was the cow blood that produced these menacing imps. In any case, by lunch time, my forearm had grown to roughly the size of a mandarin orange....the hard lump of poison throbbing with pain as I attempted to enjoy the farmers market we were strolling through. As the sun fell below the Alps and we retired back to our rooms for the night, my brother and I, having suffered through an entire day suppressing violent irritations, vowed to declare war tonight on these insects... if they dared to come lurking...

My brother, being the always-prepared for battle, warrior-minded male he was, had taken all necessary steps to seal off the room during the day...hoping to keep any newcomers out, and intentionally plotting the unfortunate fate of those trapped inside. As we clicked the lamp off and watched the luminous moonlight overtake our zimmer, I began transcending reality and slipping into a dreamy slumber, only to be convulsed back to life by a piercing buzzing noise coming from my left ear. My body violently jolted upward as I slapped my face instinctually and then.........silence........... adrenaline pumping, I could feel my quick, shallow breathing and my heart racing... I knew this was it. It was now or never. Doing a quick ninja tuck across my bed and onto the floor to wake my brother, who was also already awake, we turned the lamp on to surprise the bloodsucking gremlin. In silence, each of us slowly covered our part of the room, meticulously scanning the plaster walls in search of the black insect indulging in the aftermath of its latest meal...my neck. Suddenly, I caught sight of it......plump with my blood.....satisfied.....baiting me with its spiny rostrum. For the sake of revenge, I quickly snapped a hand towel at the creature and *CRACK!*...an eruption of blood exploded into the towel, leaving remnants of gangly legs and guts stuck helplessly to the wall. Feeling quite pleased with myself, I turned around to notice my brother standing on top of the toilet in the bathroom, carefully eyeing the wall of the shower. "Here we go..." he proudly chuckled, intensely focused on the insolent vampire resting on the wall. "Gimme the towel", he asked...eyes fixed....*POP!*...as intestines spattered out in all directions. I couldn't help letting out a giggle thinking about the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere, on a farm at 2AM, skillfully towel-snapping these blood bombs all over the wall one after another. It was almost like the Fourth of July...only a slightly grotesque version. After repeating this process a few more times, hoping to weed out any last stragglers, we finally decided we had sterilized the room and lied our heads down to rest for the night. Needless to say, that was the last time they pushed their luck with these auslanders.