Travelogues

Grey Skies Over Ipanema, Rio De Janeiro

Living and traveling far from home can gently tinge with nostalgia any chance reminders of one´s own culture. For this reason, I have a special place in my heart for the beautiful and bizarre experience of witnessing a Maya youth orchestra in Guatemala perform a selection of songs including Down By The Sally Gardens and The Irish Washerwoman.

However, some reminders of home are less heart-warming. For the last four days of this (my third) visit to Rio De Janeiro, I cannot escape the lilting stalkers of Cork, Dublin and Louth accents. My prison of proximity to momentos of home is partly due to my having chosen short stays in hostels - the Ipanema Beach House (friendly, with a pool and WiFi access) and Casas 6 & 16 (other decent Ipanema options, save for non-functioning WiFi) - instead of my usual favorite of renting an apartment for a week.

Some of the Irish patter that - along with ever present Damien Rice music - seems the anointed soundtrack of the hostel district was welcome. In particular, it was a cool diversion to meet two very impressive Louth brothers called Laurence and Patrick who are just finishing a Latin American adventure of genuine discovery.

However, other reminders of Ireland I have mentally filed under reasons not to rush home. The Fields of Athenry reverberated along Ipanema´s Barao Da Torre in much the same manner as on many an O´Connell Street. A melifulous voice leads the tune, while 8 drunken fans join in - vandalising the melody with ecentric approaches to pitch, time and volume. The hostel owners predictably inform the revelers that the neighbours have complained and a solemn promise is good-humouredly made to enjoy the night at low volume. Two minutes later The Raitlin Bog is bellowed loud enough to be heard in Copacabana.

Another reminder of home is the weather - grey and overcast at the moment. I had Ipanema beach almost entirely to myself on a Sunday afternoon walk - the mist and washed-out sky imbuing the waves crashing onshore with a haunting menace. To my Irish eyes, the beach looked even more beautiful this way than when kissed by warmest sunlight. Yet 16 degrees and grey skies render this most perfect of beaches an un-tempting prospect for most Cariocas.