Ren vs Wild: Mean Streets of Rio de Janeiro

This is a story like no other of mine, set on a very mean street in Rio de Janeiro. 🙈

What started out as a fine day for travel, ended on a different route than planned!

At the time, I was staying in Rio in a beautiful, up-and-coming, reinvigorated favela called Vidigal.

Nestled between lush hills and Rio’s vibrant cityscape, Vidigal offers a unique blend of urban energy and natural beauty. My hostel, Varandas do Vidigal, sat quite high up the hill. And it was only on the day I was leaving that every taxi I called flat-out refused to come up and collect me.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll walk down with my suitcase. It’s not too far, and it’s all downhill,” I told reception. With thanks and kind parting words, I set off — backpack on, suitcase trailing behind me.

Vidigal didn’t offer much in the way of sidewalks. It was either multiple staircases between houses or a narrow strip of road beside passing cars. Rather than thump, thump, thump my way down endless steps, I chose the road, keeping as close to the edge as possible and pausing whenever traffic passed.

It was going well. I was just past halfway down the hill when I stepped onto what I thought was a solid metal grate.

…until it wasn’t.

It gave way beneath me, trapping my ankle.

An awful sinking feeling hit, and a split second later I was catapulted forward.

And my poor face slammed hard onto the concrete street. OUCH to say the least!

The next thing I registered was a throbbing nose and my newest pair of sunglasses shattered on the road — the second pair I’d broken that week. Apparently, Rio was not in a forgiving mood.

I must have looked like quite the spectacle. A few locals rushed over to help, freeing my leg from the grate while I tried to collect myself, completely shell-shocked and unable to move it myself. There may have even been cars waiting for me to get out of the way, but I honestly don’t remember.

They led me across the street to a small superette, insisting on ice and repeatedly gesturing that I should go to hospital — all in rapid Portuguese, which I didn’t speak!

I declined the hospital but accepted the ice, assuming it was for my scraped, aching knee. They kept pointing at my face though, and they gave me a mirror.

That’s when I saw it.

Impressive welts. Deepening bruises. A face that had clearly lost a fight with concrete!

I insisted that I was ok, and politely cued to leave, as I desperately needed to get to the city bus station to meet up with some travel friends to go to Búzios. Somehow, they managed to flag down a taxi willing to pick me up from that point.

I gratefully climbed in and promptly laugh-cried the entire way.

Annoyed, shaken, sore, and very aware that this was not how the day was meant to go.

When I met up with the girls, they were horrified that I hadn’t gone to hospital. But with all my gear already packed and bus tickets booked, it made more sense to me to be checked out in Búzios, only a couple of hours away.

That hospital visit was an experience in itself. Búzios is far smaller than Rio, and that local hospital probably didn’t see many short, pale, blonde women wandering in battered and bruised. I got more than a few double-takes — although that could also have been the face damage.

Communicating with the doctor via Google Translate was a whole new adventure!

X-rays confirmed a fractured nose and a likely pulled ligament in my left knee.

My friends strongly suggested I fly home to Australia. But I had a flight to Ecuador in a few days and plans to meet a close friend in New York later on. My nose wasn’t crooked, didn’t hurt too badly, and I convinced myself that athletes broke noses all the time and carried on. In my head, I was already cancelling the Galápagos and planning two quiet weeks resting in Quito instead.

My face, however, told a very different story. I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge. I’ve definitely had better days — although I did resemble a slightly cute raccoon, which helped my morale.

It was the pulled knee ligament that pained me the most. Walking was an issue, it felt like it was jarring constantly. Sometimes sharp pains would shoot up, forcing me to stop mid-street more than once.

After a few slow days resting in Búzios, I farewelled the girls and boarded the bus west to São Paulo to catch my flight to Quito.

Rest & Elevate

I arrived safely and did exactly what I planned.
I rested, got a knee brace, elevated my leg, joined Netflix & started Billions, rested, assured family/friends I was ok, elevated my leg, went across the street to Dominos most days, and yes, rested more.

Towards the end of my stay, I caught up with a girl I’d walked the Inca Trail with months earlier, which felt like a gift. She showed me a few nearby spots, including the beautiful Mindo, so I did still manage to see something beyond my hostel walls.

All in all, it did take me a while longer to recover fully. And against all odds, I went on to complete every remaining travel plan for the next three months.

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REN VS WILD SCOREBOARD:

It’s clear. The road won.

REN: 0 WILD: 1

Has anyone else collected truly impressive bruises while travelling? Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s face-planted this brutally! 😂