An Idiot Abroad. Karl Pilkington

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, which was another first for me. A drink and food all in one. It didn’t look like the normal coconuts you win at fairgrounds. There was no hair on it. I don’t know if that’s how they grow here or if it’s that Brazilians hate hair on anything and they’ve waxed them.

      Dolores turned up in a beach buggy and took me back up to the Jesus, pointing out various landmarks as we drove, including the house where Ronnie Biggs used to live.

      It was busy at Christ the Redeemer now. It wasn’t half as relaxing as it had been earlier this morning. There were hundreds of tourists crammed around the bottom shouting and pushing about. Groups of 20 people being led by a guide who was trying to shout above the other guides who were leading bigger groups. Even the flying ants had sodded off because it had become so crowded. Dolores gave me some facts. It stands at 130 feet and has a chapel in the base. I told her that I like the setting but wasn’t really blown away by the statue. As I was saying this, a couple from England passed by. I asked them what they thought. They weren’t fans either and said they preferred the statue in Lisbon. Dolores was not happy with this comment and said they didn’t know what they were talking about.

      She told me that to get a really amazing view I should take a helicopter ride around the statue.

      Chicken and beans was served for tea again tonight.

      I was woken at 5.10 this morning by Christian. He said we needed to leave by 5.30 for our helicopter ride. I was really struggling. I didn’t have much sleep last night. I was woken around 3 a.m. by something outside. I could hear movement in the long weeds. I got up and could see a shadow moving in the crack of the front door. I thought it might have been someone trying to break in. I couldn’t ignore it so I decided to just open it and see who it was. It was a chicken. At three in the morning! What is a chicken doing awake at this hour? I don’t know if having a chicken walk across your path is some sort of bad omen in Brazil. I took it as bad news anyway, as it looks like we’ll be having chicken for tea again.

      I grabbed a banana for breakfast and joined Bin Laden and the crew in the van. Forty minutes later I was getting onboard a helicopter. I’ve never been on one before. I was pretty nervous, as these things don’t glide if the engines fail. I sat in the back and was given headphones to wear, and off we went. There was no safety briefing, none of the usual info you get given before take-off. There was nothing to hold on to either. Even in the back of a Ford Fiesta there is a handle on the ceiling to hold on to, but there was nothing here.

      We skimmed about 20 feet above the sea along Ipanema and Copacabana beach, which worried me as it meant that even if I survived a crash I would then have to try and swim in the roughest waves I’ve ever seen. But once I’d got used to the sensation I started to enjoy it. It’s one of the best ways to get around. We went round Christ the Redeemer four times, and it looked amazing. Dolores was right. I was getting a great view. I looked down at all the tourists crammed round the bottom like ants (mind you, they could have been ants, knowing what it’s like down there). It definitely looked more impressive from this angle. It looked taller than 130 feet. I felt I had to say how good Jesus looked. Let’s face it, while I’m whizzing round his head in a helicopter at high speed, he’s the last person I want to slag off. The only thing that didn’t look in proportion was his chin. He looked like Jimmy Hill. I put the dodgy chin down to the fact that the sculptor may have rushed it due to all the flying ants, but once back on ground and we could all hear each other clearly enough to hold a proper conversation, Christian told me he hasn’t got a big chin, it was meant to be a beard.

      I really enjoyed my ride in the helicopter. Probably the best part of the trip so far.

      Back at the house and my happy mood disappeared when Steve called and told me that Celso had invited me round to his place so I could find out more about Brazilian life. I said I thought it was a waste of time. I’d spent quite a lot of time with Celso over the last few days and I hadn’t learnt that much from him. I still didn’t even know if he was gay or not. Steve told me to stop whingeing and to go.

      ‘Hello, mate. What’s going on? How’s it going at the hostel?’

      Stephen

      ‘Oh, I left that in the end. It did my head in.’

      Karl

      ‘Well, how long did you last in there?’

      Stephen

      ‘Just did a night.’

      Karl

      ‘Lightweight.’

      Stephen