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Borneo Post
3 days ago
- Borneo Post
Rio: Where joy rises, and the hills rejoice
'You shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace; the mountains and the hills will break forth before you…' — Isaiah 55:12 High above Rio, Christ the Redeemer 'watches' in silence. RIO de Janeiro is a city where joy is not merely found in its people, colours or its music, but it arises from the land itself. From the sunrise over Guanabara Bay, the seabirds soaring over the Atlantic and the stretched wide arms of Christ the Redeemer atop Corcovado Mountains – there is beauty and joy unlimited. After writing about the colours of Rio – the bohemian flair of Santa Teresa, the vibrant steps of Selarón, and the carnival of sights and sounds at the Hippie Market – I turned my gaze upward and outward. The nature of Rio calls just as loudly and boldly as its culture and people. Its mountains and seas offer a different kind of beauty, one that is steady, grounding, and quietly transcendent. And as I stood before these wonders, the words of an old hymn came to mind: 'You shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace; the mountains and the hills will break forth before you… and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.' High above Rio, on the 710-metre Corcovado peak, stands the Christ the Redeemer statue, 'Cristo Redentor'. I have seen countless photos of this wonder and read about its symbolism and stature before I came, but nothing prepares me for seeing it in person. The journey up began at 7.20am through the Tijuca Forest, where a lush green corridor came alive with birdsong and mist. As the narrow road brought me upward, excitement and anticipation built up with every turn. Reaching the summit, the statue emerged – not just as a monument of reinforced concrete and soapstone, but it is a presence. The wide open arms was a gesture that did not domineer, but one that was embracing, forgiving, sheltering and most of all, unafraid. There and then, I felt the gentleness of that open and welcoming arms – perhaps that was one of the reasons Christ the Redeemer was named one of the 'New Seven Wonders of the World'. It is not just the sheer size – 30 metres high, with arms stretching 28 metres wide – but the way it commands the landscape. The magnificent stature does not give a feeling that it is looking down in judgement, but, for a while, I feel it is gazing over the city with quiet compassion. My tour guide, in his wisdom, suggested that we start early so that there would not be many tourists and that I could feel and think the message 'Christ the Redeemer' bringing in its personal way to me. I found myself simply still. There was surely something about the wind up there and the proximity to the sky, which made the noise inside fall silent. Perhaps it was peace, or awe – or both. In the distance, the hills did seem to break forth. The song felt real. From one marvel to another: Sugarloaf Mountain, or 'Pão de Açúcar', stands as a watchful monument at the entrance of Guanabara Bay. If Christ the Redeemer is Rio's spiritual crown, then the Sugarloaf is its 'lighthouse' – watching over the coast. Bernard said the Portuguese colonisers named the mountain 'Sugarloaf' because its granite peak resembled the conical sugar moulds used for sugar refinement during the 16th century. The summit of Sugarloaf Mountain provides a complete view of Rio de Janeiro. The cable car ride up Sugarloaf is in itself an adventure. Suspended in a glass capsule, standing inside, you feel that you are floating between the sea and the sky with the city below shrinking into a mosaic of red roofs, green parks, and sapphire water. The city exists between mountain ranges and ocean-fronts as a natural masterpiece that connects through its grand landscapes. The air at this height carries a distinct salty flavour while birds glide effortlessly through the sky as if happiness had a physical form. According to Bernard, many tourists are making a trip up to Sugarloaf for the sunset view. He described that as the sun began to set, the entire landscape turned gold. The bay shimmered like liquid brass. Even though it was not a sunset when I visited, the line from Isaiah returned: 'All the trees of the field shall clap their hands.' It is not hard to believe that creation itself is celebrating. There's something poetic, even divine, about Rio de Janeiro's topography. It is a city defined by extremes – high peaks and low bays, sacred silence and samba rhythms, solitude and celebration. These contrasts do not compete, but they complement. The mountains remind us to look up. The seas remind us to let go. Together, they offer a geography of grace. It's easy to be overwhelmed by Rio's man-made marvels – its music, its food, its football – but nature always has the last word. The mountains and seas were here long before colonists arrived, or concrete was poured – and they will remain long after we're gone. For me, Rio wasn't just a city to tick off a travel list. It became a place of personal reflection. As someone used to the quiet hills of Borneo, I felt an unexpected kinship with Rio's rugged terrain. It felt familiar yet foreign, distant, yet deeply intimate. Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf may be landmarks, but they are also metaphors – for hope, for faith, for resilience. I left Rio with many photographs, but the image that stayed in my heart was not a perfect sunset or a bustling street. It was the silhouette of the Christ statue, arms open to the wind, framed by clouds that seemed to clap in joy. In a world that moves at fast pace and stressful, Rio's mountains and seas offer a kind of healing. Not the loud kind, but the quiet and enduring kind. So yes, I did go out with joy. I was led forth in peace. The mountains broke forth before me – not in grand explosions, but in quiet reminders of wonder. And the trees? I swear I heard them clap. brazil Christ the Redeemer Corcovado Mountains Guanabara Bay Rio de Janeiro
Borneo Post
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Borneo Post
A riot of colours in Rio
Every step tells a story – the world leaves its colours on Jorge Selarón's dream staircase in Rio de Janeiro. RIO was never in my bucket list of places I must visit. But when I was invited by Xinhua News Agency (China news agency) to attend 'BRICS Media and Think Tank Summit', I readily accepted amidst the many voices from well- meaning friends – it's a long, tiring journey of 30 hours! So, my first impression of Rio was not of monuments or history books, but of the long-haul flights to reach there. There is no regret. Who will, when Rio impresses you with colours which are bold, unashamed that spill into every street corner, like a samba line that refuses to end? From the moment I stepped into Ipanema's famous Hippie Market on a Sunday afternoon, I realised that here, even doing business was a celebration. So, that's why Bernard, my tour guide insisted that I should make a visit there! Colour fabrics flutter in the cool breezes like carnival flags. Afro-Brazillian beadwork glitters under the sun. There were artists making their sketches with colours and oil. Tourists and locals joined in as part of the performances. Each stall is a curated personality – a man selling colourful hammocks weaves stories with each swing of fabric; a woman with arms full of bangles plays matchmaker between her necklaces and my indecisiveness. Nearby, children clap and adults cheer. I stand awed – no this is not a market, this is not a market; this is the colours, the sight, the smell, the sense and the touch of Rio. I am glad I am here. It reminds me of our weekend 'tamu' in Sarawak and Sabah. But where our markets speak in whispers of dried shrimps and jungle herbs, Rio's sings in colours, rhythm and flamboyance. Everything here is tuned up a notch – or two, or 10. Earlier, Bernard took me to Santa Teresa. Trams operate in this beautiful neighbourhood carrying tourists and locals uphill. It is a place with its history in layers of peeling paint and graffiti. In its slow pace, it allows passengers time to admire the scenes: old mansions with rusted gates, walls tattooed with art, bougainvillea vines plotting a quiet rebellion. Santa Teresa is Rio's thoughtful sigh. After the drumbeat of Ipanema, this hilltop district feels like a long exhale. A place where poets might drink black coffee, while cats nap under a painter's easel. There are bookstores with dusty charm, small galleries with giant ambitions. In a busy cafe, I enjoyed the heart and soul of Brazilian comfort food, 'Feijoada'. It came with slow-cooked black beans, smoky sausages and tender pork, which had a whole lot of flavour. This national treasure, in its local way, came with rice, farofa, and orange slices. I took my time… but Feijoada took my heart; the waiter became my friend before the bill arrived. Here, the city slows – not because it's tired, but because it is in deep thoughts. From Santa Teresa, it's a short walk downhill to the famous Escadaria Selarón – the Lapa Steps. If the market was Rio's voice and Santa Teresa its soul, then the Lapa Steps are its dreamscape. Imagine 215 steps, tiled in every colour you can think of, each one a fragment of someone's memory or offering. Chilean-born artist Jorge Selarón spent over two decades transforming this staircase into a global mosaic. Red dominates, but look closer and you'll spot tiles from over 60 countries. I did not find one from Malaysia, which Bernard said there was. It's just too colourful that one would not care if those were from Malaysia, China or Japan. This is not just a Brazilian landmark – it is the world's staircase, and we are all just passing through. So, it does not really matter whether you spot one from your own country. However, Selarón included portraits of a pregnant African woman throughout the steps. It was not fully explained, saying only that it was part of his personal obsession. In one of the tiles, he wrote in Portuguese, which is translated as: 'Ms. Elena, my lady. 'I want to apologise that in these past years, since I have been decorating the staircase, I have not been able to keep up with my rent. 'Thank you for your understanding. 'Selarón, 2000.' I guess Elena has forgiven Selarón. Tourists posed. Children danced. Musicians strummed. And I stood quietly, thinking about Selarón, who once said this was his 'tribute to the Brazilian people'. What a gift! What a mad, wonderful dream to leave behind! You don't just see Rio. You feel it, in your feet after walking its hills; in your heart after hearing its music; in your memory, long after the plane takes off and sends you home. On the long journey home, I thought about how our own cities might feel if we celebrated life as openly as Rio does. What if our Sunday markets were also Sunday festivals? What if we allowed a little more music, a little more madness, into the grey routines of urban life? When Portuguese explorers arrived at the Guanabara Bay on Jan 1, 1502, they mistakenly thought it was the mouth of a large river. So they named the place 'Rio' (river) 'de Janeiro' (of January). In reality, it's a bay, not a river. But the name stuck – and so we now have Rio de Janeiro! Rio de Janeiro isn't perfect. But it is alive. And that's something we could all use a little more of.
