It's Tuesday in Rio. I start the day with a one-hour walk along the beach.
Tonight my team will arrive. Four people are coming, and they will have a lot of luggage with them - suitcases, guitar, amplifier and drums. I arrange for a hotel car to collect them. A driver holding a placard will be waiting for them at the airport.
Then I book myself on a bus tour to Corcovado, the imposing mountain from which the huge statue of Christ the Redeemer surveys the city.
The bus collects me from the hotel, and we pick up several more people from other hotels. It's a bus load of Spanish-speaking people, and I'm the only English speaker. So when the tour guide translates, she is doing so especially for me. I can't ignore her commentary or just stare out of the window - I must pay attention and smile and nod to her appreciatively.
We pass some sports stadiums and stop at one of them. My fellow travellers are enraptured and I am mystified. It's a concrete building; not very attractive at all.
When they've finished taking selfies, we all get bak on the bus and the journey continues. The guide points out several favelas - these are the famous "slums" of Rio which I've been warned not to enter. The up-market residential hilltop suburb of Santa Teresa looks right out over one of these favelas. It's a pretty view of pastel-patchwork and makes a nice photo, if you ignore the reality of poverty, drugs and violence for which these neighbourhoods are renowned.
We arrive at Corcovado, get out of the bus and climb into vans for the short trip to the information centre and access to the site of Christ the Redeemer.
After climbing several flights of steps, I arrive at the base of the statue. I look up and see...nothing. The whole statue is engulfed in mist. I can discern that there is something up there, but its shape is a mystery.
There is no view from the mountain, and there's on point walking around in the fog and the light rain. I go to the cafe and order a late lunch, and a coffee which turns out to be surprisingly good.
The bus drops me back at the hotel.
I'm still coughing, but inhaling hot steam infused with with Vicks menthol helps to clear my chest. Most of the time I can breathe freely, but sometimes it "catches" me and I splutter unattractively. Sometimes it feels as if I have swallowed a prickle. But there are still two days to go before the show, so I'm sure I'll be fine.
Late in afternoon I go down to the beach front. I have to right a wrong. Last night I took a photo of an elaborate sandcastle. I didn't know that you are supposed to pay the artist. As I walked away I heard voices, but didn't realise they were probably swearing at me. So now I return to the sandcastle. I motion to its custodian to remove his earplugs. Then in my best Portuguese I confess my sin, and place some money in the jar. My guilt is now absolved.
In the evening my team arrives. I'm waiting for them in the foyer when the big black car draws up at the hotel entrance. They're here! First I see Mara step out of the car, then the others appear. Various items of luggage are hefted inside, and we all greet each other warmly.
My team comprises Enéias (guitarist), Marlí (his girlfriend), Mara (our Producer) and Junior (percussionist), who is the only one I'm meeting for the first time.
I suggest they all settle into their rooms and we can then have dinner in the hotel, as it's very windy outside. Over dinner we start singing. Enéias brings out his guitar, and Junior magically produces a pandeiro (it's like a tambourine, but with a hide surface), apparently from his pocket. Now the hotel staff know who we are, and they are interested to know about our show.
The plan is coming together.
I'm so relieved that my team is finally here.
Tonight my team will arrive. Four people are coming, and they will have a lot of luggage with them - suitcases, guitar, amplifier and drums. I arrange for a hotel car to collect them. A driver holding a placard will be waiting for them at the airport.
Then I book myself on a bus tour to Corcovado, the imposing mountain from which the huge statue of Christ the Redeemer surveys the city.
The bus collects me from the hotel, and we pick up several more people from other hotels. It's a bus load of Spanish-speaking people, and I'm the only English speaker. So when the tour guide translates, she is doing so especially for me. I can't ignore her commentary or just stare out of the window - I must pay attention and smile and nod to her appreciatively.
We pass some sports stadiums and stop at one of them. My fellow travellers are enraptured and I am mystified. It's a concrete building; not very attractive at all.
When they've finished taking selfies, we all get bak on the bus and the journey continues. The guide points out several favelas - these are the famous "slums" of Rio which I've been warned not to enter. The up-market residential hilltop suburb of Santa Teresa looks right out over one of these favelas. It's a pretty view of pastel-patchwork and makes a nice photo, if you ignore the reality of poverty, drugs and violence for which these neighbourhoods are renowned.
We arrive at Corcovado, get out of the bus and climb into vans for the short trip to the information centre and access to the site of Christ the Redeemer.
After climbing several flights of steps, I arrive at the base of the statue. I look up and see...nothing. The whole statue is engulfed in mist. I can discern that there is something up there, but its shape is a mystery.
There is no view from the mountain, and there's on point walking around in the fog and the light rain. I go to the cafe and order a late lunch, and a coffee which turns out to be surprisingly good.
The bus drops me back at the hotel.
I'm still coughing, but inhaling hot steam infused with with Vicks menthol helps to clear my chest. Most of the time I can breathe freely, but sometimes it "catches" me and I splutter unattractively. Sometimes it feels as if I have swallowed a prickle. But there are still two days to go before the show, so I'm sure I'll be fine.
Late in afternoon I go down to the beach front. I have to right a wrong. Last night I took a photo of an elaborate sandcastle. I didn't know that you are supposed to pay the artist. As I walked away I heard voices, but didn't realise they were probably swearing at me. So now I return to the sandcastle. I motion to its custodian to remove his earplugs. Then in my best Portuguese I confess my sin, and place some money in the jar. My guilt is now absolved.
In the evening my team arrives. I'm waiting for them in the foyer when the big black car draws up at the hotel entrance. They're here! First I see Mara step out of the car, then the others appear. Various items of luggage are hefted inside, and we all greet each other warmly.
My team comprises Enéias (guitarist), Marlí (his girlfriend), Mara (our Producer) and Junior (percussionist), who is the only one I'm meeting for the first time.
I suggest they all settle into their rooms and we can then have dinner in the hotel, as it's very windy outside. Over dinner we start singing. Enéias brings out his guitar, and Junior magically produces a pandeiro (it's like a tambourine, but with a hide surface), apparently from his pocket. Now the hotel staff know who we are, and they are interested to know about our show.
The plan is coming together.
I'm so relieved that my team is finally here.
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