I loved that the Lagoa didn't make sense.
That the street art ranged from colorful abstract to pointed social commentary. That bars, cabanas, sushi restaurants, and casual birthday parties stood sentry as locals and tourists lapped the water. That men balanced on leashes, children dressed in costume, and weird animals ate grass next to their wooden statue counterparts.
I loved that tree trunks looked as if they'd been sprayed with silly string, and men whacked coconuts with machetes for tourists to sip down the sweet nectar. It made me smile when the male and female walkers boasted hearts in their chests and in their eyes. And that the Christ statue looked so small, yet imposing, on his perch above the city.
We made it a fair way around the lagoon before we hailed a taxi to Lapa. Trading colorful serenity for dingy anxiety. We never did find that little restaurant Dr. George suggested - but later, Aryn would spot the subway and restore our faith in both Dr. George and her navigating skills.
It's nice to get older. To spend more time exploring cities during the day, instead of just flocking to the night life. Who knew there was so much vibrancy in daylight?
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