went for breakfast in the back of a supermarket where you pay for your food by its weight. I like this idea. They should put a twist on it and charge people by their body weight. If you’re heavy you get charged slightly more, thus helping you to cut down on your food intake. I had some toast and a bit of papaya. This was the first time I’d ever eaten papaya. It was okay, but if someone told me I’d never eat papaya ever again, I wouldn’t be bothered. I feel like this about most fruit. There is too much fruit in the world, and I don’t like buying a lot of it, as it goes off so quickly. Maybe that’s why we’re told to eat five portions a day, just to get through the stuff before it turns mouldy.
First things first, I went to see if I could find a cheap hotel ’cos I didn’t want to stay another night in Fredericko’s hostel. But everywhere was booked up, due to it being carnival season, or at least that’s what they told me. It could have been because I looked such an unwashed scruff in my shorts and slept-in T-shirt, and they just didn’t want me in their hotel. Madonna and Beyoncé were in town. If Madonna got a glimpse of me in such a state she would probably take pity and adopt me to go with the rest of her collection.
Finally, Christian and Krish said I could stay with the rest of the crew at their house on Rua Saint Roman. That cheered me up.
Christian then told me I was off to meet a local man who would show me around Rio de Janeiro. His name was Celso. He was 47 years old and walked with a stick. This was quite good, as he shuffled along at a slow pace which was perfect in this heat. Within seconds of meeting him he gave me a gift. It was a condom on a string. I opened it to see a series of diagrams of two blokes putting a condom on each other. There was no need for so many drawings of men’s knobs. You only need one to demonstrate how to pop it on. I asked Celso if he was gay, but he didn’t answer.
Instead he took me to a health spa where he wanted to get his body waxed. Celso invited me into the small cubicle to watch. He told me a lot of men have this done in Rio to get rid of unwanted body hair, so they look better and tan better on the beach. He told me I was too hairy and should have it done too. I said no. Celso told me he has his body done every four months. I read the price list. To have hair removed from the anus would cost approximately eight English pounds. I don’t know why anyone would need this doing. Who needs to get such a thorough, all-over body tan? Celso told me how he had his testicles done once and how much it hurt. Maybe this is why he walks with a stick.
After watching for a bit I decided to just get my lower back done. This is my only body hair that does seem rather long. The fact that I have to tuck it into my underpants made me realise that it was probably time to get rid of it.
It hurt – a lot more than I imagined it would. I said, ‘No more . . . that’s enough,’ and went to get up, when Celso told me that the lady had only removed half of it.
With the waxing complete, Celso decided to celebrate by buying some new swimming trunks. He said he wanted to buy me a pair too. I said I didn’t want them as I wouldn’t wear them. He bought them for me anyway.
The place the crew is staying at is okay. Nothing fancy. It is quite a rough area and police are guarding the street due to a drug raid that happened a few weeks ago, so it feels pretty safe. I have a mattress with no bed and no light in the bathroom, but it’s fine compared to Fredericko’s hostel.
We have a cook who made some nice chicken and beans for tea.
Celso took me to the beach today. He asked me if I had brought my new swimming trunks. I hadn’t. I did try them on last night, but the truth was I didn’t like them. I didn’t know how to break the news to him.
We had a long walk along the beach whilst chatting about various things – from life in Brazil to how kids these days get away with doing whatever they want. I asked about his leg problem. It was something to do with diabetes. We must have been walking for 50 minutes or so, when he suddenly announced his legs were starting to ache and he wanted to sit down. As I turned to look for a deck chair and umbrella, Celso told me how much he liked this part of the beach. It’s known as the gay beach. I said, why don’t we walk another five minutes or so to another part of the beach, but he insisted on staying. Everyone seemed to know him. I asked him again if he was gay. He didn’t give me a straight answer.
I was feeling pretty uncomfortable and a little bit annoyed that Celso had brought me to this bit of the beach, so I decided to sit in silence as he wriggled about in the deck chair loosening his shirt. A camp friend of his then came over to say hello. He was the gayest man I had ever met in my life. Every word out of his mouth was gayed up. Imagine if Kenneth Williams had a gayer brother – that was this man. He told me I should loosen up and strip off some of my clothing. I refused. Even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t now. Celso took this as his cue to remove his shorts and show off his new purchase. I wanted to leave. Celso’s gay friend said I had great legs and that gay men would love me here in Brazil. He said I had ‘great novelty value’ but then told me I wasn’t his type, as he was into black men. I had nothing to say in reply. He wouldn’t give up though. He commented on my hairy legs and said I would be classed as ‘a bear’ in the gay community. Again, I had little to say.
I remember Ricky telling me once that if a lion could speak English we wouldn’t be able to understand anything it said because the lion would have lived such a different life to us. I never understood what he meant until today.
Celso had a massage by a local man called Nelson Mandela. Celso looked like he was loving it.
I asked Celso’s friend if Celso was gay. He said it was up to Celso to tell me. I turned to Celso, who now had his legs wrapped round his neck and his head wedged between Nelson Mandela’s thighs, but decided that I would ask him some other time.
I left him to it and went back to the apartment.
We had chicken and beans again for tea.
We were up early today. 5 a.m. We were going to the Christ Redeemer. Forget body waxing and sunbathing on gay-only beaches, this is the whole reason I am here.
We set off in a van we had hired while we stayed in Rio. It came with a driver who said his name was Bin Laden. He was a miserable fella. He didn’t like anyone touching the air conditioning or having too many bags on board.
We got to the Big Jesus just as the sun was coming up. Christ the Redeemer isn’t as big as I’d thought it would be, but being there on our own so early in the day felt quite special. It’s so high up you can look down through the clouds over the whole of Rio. God knows how they got him up here. The bloke who delivered my washer/dryer from Comet moaned about getting up to my flat on the third floor. I suppose that’s why it could be a Wonder of the World.
I think the other reason that makes Christ the Redeemer one of the Wonders is the setting. I’m pretty sure if it was plonked on a roundabout in Stretford, next to the Arndale Centre, it wouldn’t get a look-in.
As the sun came up so did the flying ants. Hundreds of the bloody things. Big ones too. There is no need for ants to have the ability to fly. They are useless when it comes to walking. I’ve watched them. They tend to cover the same piece of ground time and time again and they are even worse at flying.
We went back down to meet a woman called Dolores who loves the Big Jesus. I had a coconut on the way,
