Reforestation 1: Speechless in Rio

Before my actual trip, in 2022, to Paraguay, where I bought 10 hectares of land from Miller Forest for reforestation over 12 years ago, I will make a stopover in Brazil. I have to change here anyway before I go to Paraguay via Foz do Iguacu. Three or four other investors join them in Foz do Iguacu. A few days in the metropolis of Rio can't hurt. And I can also acclimatize. However, I save myself the stress with the Sugarloaf Mountain. I don't feel like queuing. The Othon Hotel is located directly on Copacabana. Check in quickly, check emails. Everything is calm, everything is fine.

It doesn't even taste that good.

The breakfast hall of the 5-star hotel on Copacabana is reminiscent of a train station hall. The loud chatter of the guests echoes through the hall, squeaking, sometimes screaming, but often too fat children and grumpy staff who have to balance loads of plates, cups, pots, sausage and cheese platters past the tables that are far too close together are not really inviting for a relaxing day. There are queues in front of the buffet, coffee cups are missing, the juice glasses are tiny and you have to drink them on site, directly at the tap of the juice containers, which doesn't really improve the mood of the other guests. Buffets have two major disadvantages:

1. Guests always feel like they have to eat more. After all, they paid for it. Reinhard Mey sings about this very amusingly in his Battle at the cold buffet. The buffet leads to a distorted perception of one's own body.

2. Ladles, tongs, sausage and cheese forks have already passed through countless hands before it's your turn and now stick noticeably unpleasantly to your fingers. Some guests also press the rolls or breads to test whether they are fresh. So you have to partially hide your hygiene standards.

After my backpack has marked a free table (by the window!!!) as reserved for all other guests, we can get started. I trip patiently to the first stop, to the fruit juices, wait in mock relaxation until the lady in front of me has filled up the last plastic bottle for the beach, take two glasses, fill them and return to my table through the obstacle course. When I put the glasses down I notice that it is wobbling and I already have the first puddle of juice on the table top. I meander back and organize everything I need for breakfast: some sausage and cheese, fruit, rolls, a few local specialties that look like little puffs but are supposedly filled with cheese and scrambled eggs.

Finally, I get the coffee and balance back to the table when a pensioner with a walker takes my right of way in a daring and daring maneuver and makes me stop abruptly. Luckily, coffee only spills onto the saucer. Traffic jam. I go back to the table at a snail's pace and graceful steps; the bypass routes are blocked, so they don't make any sense. As I crawl back, I fall into a kind of meditation, breathing in and out slowly but deeply, relaxing, slowing down. It is very important to put on a friendly face in such situations. In general, this is immensely important abroad. This balancing act is not easy, especially since there are only marginal differences that can at best be measured homeopathically between a friendly face and a stupid-looking one like mine. My grandfather in front of me suddenly stops again and for a brief moment I wonder whether he is still alive. Five seconds later he moves again and continues walking. A short time later I put all the plates properly on the table, including a coffee cup with a foot bath.

Songs of light

Only now do I discover the magnificent view of Copacabana. Here it is again! This light! There is something relaxing, almost therapeutic, about the sunlight by the sea. No matter whether on Capri, Crete or any coast anywhere else in the world: the light is particularly intense and beautiful. I love it! This magnificent view of Copacabana alone makes me forget the Battle at the cold buffet. Even the background noise falls silent; If necessary, I could take my high-tech hearing aids out of my ears, but that's unnecessary.

World famous, the Copacabana.

I work on my breakfast without any major incidents. The cream puffs filled with cheese taste like nothing. The inside is gelatinous. Two scenes from films come to mind. I don't remember the title of the first one. I saw him as a teenager. Some science fiction about the fate of humans on an increasingly hostile planet without forests, flowers, animals and gardens. The old people there can let themselves be put to sleep and, as a bonus, so to speak, watch a film about the world as it once was: sunsets by the sea, forests, rivers, meadows. With these images they slumber from this world to the afterlife.

The situation is similar with the second film: Cloud Atlas. It takes place in different times and tells I think five storylines. Brilliantly acted and directed. In a distant, hyper-modern future, in Neo Seoul, women are cloned and have to perform their duties every day as servants, disenfranchised. At night they sleep in extendable chambers that are reminiscent of forensic science coolers. These people are promised a kind of paradise that will free them from slavery if they win a kind of lottery. In reality, they are killed.

Now to the interface from both films: what no one knows, people are processed into food after their death and fed to the underprivileged population. That's exactly what I'm thinking about as I eat these balls of tasteless gelatinous cheese. Is it possible that the many people from the slums are being made into cheeseballs and fed to tourists?

Fear of flying can't stop me

Can you spot the helicopter?

As I write my travel diary, my gaze wanders over the coast from the 25th floor of the Othon Hotel. A panoramic window gives me an overwhelming view of Copacabana beach and the Atlantic, which is making big waves today. Only those who are tired of life swim that day. A rescue helicopter flies in circles outside my window. He is ridiculously small considering the seemingly endless sea.

I don't know whether he's just doing his rounds out of routine or whether there was an emergency call. My suitcase isn't packed yet, but I'm still feeling nervous. Like always before a flight. All the countless flights have never given me anything like routine composure. Even if everyone repeats the eternal mantra that airplanes are the safest means of transport there is. I hate the loss of control at the top, at 10,000 meters. Flights over water of any kind are extreme for me. In addition to my fear of flying, I also battle my fear of depth. The older I get, the scarier the depths of the sea become to me. In these situations I like to drink two glasses of wine or beer. That calms you down. Something at least.

Spanish is spoken in Paraguay. Hopefully it's the end of my speechlessness because I can speak and understand at least a few words of Spanish. Even at Brazilian domestic airports, almost no English is spoken. The flight from Rio Domestic Airport is scheduled to take off from Gate 1 with the airline LATAM, but will be moved to Gate 6 at short notice. Announcement? Forget it: I'm constantly running from scoreboard to scoreboard and I feel paranoid. Yes, there it is: Departure from Gate 6. I quickly rush to the nearest toilet, empty my bladder, hurry back to Gate 6. A look at the scoreboard: Shock, give up and don't come back! Now it says Gate 11. Where is Gate 11?

After an hour-long flight, we land in Sao Paulo, collect our luggage, check in, eat something quickly, go back to the toilet, then go to the gate. Boarding goes smoothly this time. For the second time today, I am delighted by a performance of the airline ballet that is being performed on these domestic flights: to the audio announcement from the tape, the on-board staff presents the safety guidelines in almost synchronous movements: seat belts click into place, oxygen masks fall from the airplane sky as if by magic and become moved gracefully over the mouth and nose. This is followed by elegant hand movements pointing to the security exits. This is reminiscent of Thai temple dances. The highlight is the life jacket under the seats, pull it over your head, fasten the belt, please pull it here, but only when you are outside. When it comes into contact with water, meditative lights light up and help rescuers find you in the endless ocean. At least that's the theory. Unfortunately, I don't fly business class. Otherwise I would have already downed my fourth beer. Instead, the stewards handed us a bag of tasteless, unseasoned chips and some still water. I suppress a manic laugh.

Songs of light