{BRAZIL 2015} RIO DE JANEIRO: CRISTO REDENTOR

I’m sick. But I’m always sick, so it doesn’t impact anything other than that I am thrilled to be here in the “winter” where 70s and 80s is norm (21 and 27 – if you’ve a penchant for Celsius) and my fever bumps me up to a respectable 100 degrees.

While I may be sick, Rio is sicker. With its striking coast line, beautiful people, lyrical language and casual disregard for driving regulations. It feels like the entire city has a base color of white with splashes of ocean blue, roof red and flower pink. They use color the way they drive, enthusiastically and without caution.

I feel small here, even though I’m large. Because the mountains crowd above my head and even higher than they, is he - Cristo Redentor.  Just standing there, wide armed and solemn eyed, welcoming any and all yet still slightly removed because of his impressive height.

The Corcovado Rack Railway (cog train) feels steep chugging along to the top of Corcovado Mountain. I heard Pope John Paul II took this train and Princess Diana. It’s surprisingly glamourous, even as it slowly creeps up the mountain, with stops for locals to peddle water and coca-colas. I sit next to some vacationing Brazilians and unintentionally photo-bomb their family picture. I wonder if I’ll reside on a shelf in a frame somewhere in Brazil for a number of years. Or if they’ll crop out that fever-eyed American girl.

And then we climb. A few hundred steps, packed with tourists and selfie-sticks and excitement. I like approaching from the back. Seeing the slight bend in his shoulders, as if he’s a moment away from hugging the entire city. Quietly murmuring: “I’m here. I’m watching. And everything will be ok.” When you turn the corner and see his face, it’s humbling. But from the back? It’s beautifully reassuring.

My camera can’t capture the magnitude of the view. The ocean moves too fast to sit quietly in my frame. The crisp whiteness of the buildings appear dull and gray. I set the camera aside for a minute to try and save these views in my mind. So I’ll remember to tell my mom how white and pristine it all looked from so high above, and tell my dad how amazingly fast and coarse the waves are, breaking just along the shore.

I hope I remember how small I feel but how comforted. I hope I remember the clean white and the abundance of happy colors. I hope one day I’m old and tell my grandchildren that I stood, wide-eyed on top of the world at the feet of the Redeemer.