Wondering What’s Next
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
September 13, 2001
I usually sleep well, and rarely awaken between switching off the light and turning off the alarm. That has not been the case the last two nights. While I know they are well, Rita and Alexander are ever in my mind.
We try to keep busy and keep moving, so our minds don’t dwell on the horror at home. Outside the hotel, that is relatively easy to do. Few news outlets are available, and few people seem aware. In spare moments, we try to digest what has happened, and anticipate what is to come. While not overly obvious in Rio, the world has clearly changed.
We hear of US cities under guard, military personnel roaming the streets, and people looking over their shoulder for the next attack. I fear that this type environment will remain long after we land in Atlanta. And I am concerned that many in power, seeing and seizing opportunity, will advocate for continuing enhanced security measures, and that a substantial number of people will agree.
We returned to the office this morning, and learned that flights would resume today. The plane from Rio will depart tonight. But with a couple days’ passenger backlog, our seats are far from assured. Being optimistic, we wore our business attire and checked out of the hotel.
Christophe had arranged a driving tour, and allowed us to stash our luggage as we enjoyed the day. As we piled into the car, Amy sat next to the driver in case we needed the Portuguese that came in so handy last night. We rode fifteen minutes, to the Bondinho cable car that would lift us up Sugarloaf Mountain.
The ride is relatively quick, but incredibly stunning. The first leg brought us to Urca Mountain, offering a panorama incorporating Christ the Redeemer and Copacabana Beach.
Human necks are not built for the leg connecting Urca to Pao de Açúcar. Without a swivel for our heads, the magnificence of the 360 degree view cannot be appreciated. The ascending terrain over which we traversed, and by which we were surrounded, separated sea, bay, and lakes into an arrangement that seemed choreographed on the peak of Olympus or the slopes of Parnassus.
We drove thru several beautiful and colorful neighborhoods, including Ipanema, where plenty of local girls could have inspired the famous song; Lagoa, with its eponymous Lake and expansive parks; and Gávea, with glimpses of the Botanical Gardens and Tijuca Forest…and views of Pedra de Gávea and Corcovado, where we went next.
On the narrow, winding road up the mountain, I felt like Michael Corleone trying to get out of Havana. Cars were single file bumper-to-bumper. As we approached the peak, a horde of pedestrians pressed against us like passengers on the Tokyo Metro. We soon cleared them, and reached the parking lot.
After disembarking and approaching the Redeemer, He offered a panorama worthy of His Kingdom. Below us spread a spectacular amalgam of bay and beach, mountain and butte, city and sky.
For intrinsic, physical beauty, I imagine few urban settings rival the cosmopolitan composition lying at the feet of Cristo Redentor. Bierstadt would be humbled by the sublime magnificence of the scene.
But like a stately lion across the Serengeti, or the intense glow of a forest fire over a majestic mountain range, Rio can be more appealing from a distance. Impossibly unsanitary favelas, grinding urban poverty, and rampant violent crime lurk beneath the surface like cockroaches under an ornate rug.
I recall Jerry once telling me about a friend who muggers flipped upside down on Copacabana Beach so his pockets could be more easily and thoroughly emptied. Which is why, before we went there, I got out of my suit, ditched my watch, and stored my wallet in my room.
After a quick bite, we returned to the office to retrieve our luggage before heading to the airport. We also did another check of the flight, and of our likelihood of getting on it. The news is mixed. The plane is of course oversold with bookings and overflowing with stand-bys.
Before leaving the office, we called John Wickson one more time to assess our odds. He said they were 50-50, but we should do all we can to get on this flight. If we don’t, he doesn’t know when we might get out.
With so many people stranded in so many places, planes are a hot commodity, and Rio is not among the more pressing points of exodus. If this plane didn’t happen to be here, there wouldn’t be another coming.
Our best bet is BusinessElite, where we were originally booked from Sao Paulo on Tuesday. So if we go, we will likely go in style. But as employees, our seats will be sacrificed to paying passengers.
For now, we wait. We are in the crowded BusinessElite Lounge, hoping to return home, and not sure what to expect when we do.
JD
