The past few days in Zurich have been wonderful. My fifth time to the city, which means I both know the place well and know my friends well. New experiences are great, but returning to familiar grounds abroad is a different kind of special.

The Rio airport is pretty dinky. First impression is not of a global city that's hosting the Olympics in a few years.

Exiting the baggage area there's a booth where you can secure a pre-paid, government authorized taxi. As we approached the desk, three different ladies from three different tables screamed at us and tried to get our attention. I stopped and asked them, "What's the difference between you guys?" "No difference, just different companies" they said, and then kept on waving us to their desk. Of course, I thought, there had to be a difference -- why else would there be competition stationed right next to each other?

In fact there was no difference. Three official companies, offering the exact same taxi service, for the exact same price, to the exact same locations -- and each vigorously competing for your business. It was rather unnerving to encounter the sales theatrics. They would do better to at the least alternate / take turns in securing customers. Or, better, do as Chile does: have just one official taxi company or have multiple companies that offer different services.

After buying the pre-paid voucher, we left the secure area and entered the main airport terminal. Zero taxi touts. It was calm and quiet. A man came up to us and politely pointed us in the direction of the taxi. Far less chaotic than the Santiago international arrivals section.

The first Saturday morning the hotel breakfast was packed with Brazilians and other foreigners but noticeably few gringos. This set the tone -- throughout our time in Rio we've seen only a few Americans / English speakers. Where are the Americans? Perhaps they come during the U.S. winter...

Our first days walking around Rio were spectacular. This is a beautiful city. We're staying on Copacabana beach. It's huge, stunningly beautiful, and behind the beach are jagged mountains which makes it seem all the more tropical. Unlike in Costa Rica, the big, bustling city of Rio bumps right up against the beaches -- it's truly an urban beach city, and the city is substantial.

An iconic mosaic tile promenade continues all along the beaches. Free of cars, it's a lovely multi-hour stroll. At one point in the promenade there's a "Muscle Beach" weight lifting area, Venice Beach style.

On Sunday J. ran The Rio half-marathon with some blog readers and then we all met up for a massive all-you-can-eat BBQ buffet. Delicious.

Safety -- no problem. Even though everyone I know seems to have been robbed in Rio, the Leme and Ipnemna neighborhoods seemed safer than B.A.

Dogs -- no stray dogs in Brazil. Beats Chile on this front.

Beauty stereotypes -- about women are true.

I've been abroad the last four July 4ths.

2007: Italy

2008: Costa Rica

2009: Argentina

2010: Chile

There's a nice theater around the corner from where I live. A Russian ballet company was coming to town to do "Don Quixote." Why not go?

We arrived with tickets in hand, gained entry, and hurried to the upper level to find our seats before the performance started in 2 minutes. Almost everyone else was seated. We showed our tickets to the person manning the aisle. He pointed us to aisle 10. We looked down the row at seats 7 and 9. People were sitting in them. In fact, the whole row's seats were taken. The culprit was a 40-something mother with her two young children. We squeezed down the aisle and then showed our tickets to the women sitting in our seats.

Chaos ensued. Rapid Spanish. People checking their tickets. Usher comes over and looks at our tickets, looks at hers, says random shit. People are moving around but people still in our tickets. The clock is ticking. We discover that the woman in our seats is not in her assigned seat -- she was trying to sit in between her kids.

She denied the truth. We held firm. Everyone was looking at us. She then tried to grab our tickets to get a closer look. I said loudly to J., "Be careful of a bait and switch." Oldest fucking trick in the book. I took the tickets and held them arm's length from the short woman even as she grabbed for them.

We exited the row. The usher then said some stern words and the family left. We got our seats. Gringos: 1, Chileans: 0.

5 minutes into the performance, the woman behind me puts her hand on my shoulder and asks in a firm tone, in Spanish, "Can you move down a bit in your chair? I can't see anything." "Lo siento," I replied, "Soy alto." (Y fuerte.)

For Part 2 we sat in the way back in the farthest side aisle, where there were two empty seats, to be away from everyone else and so I could stretch my legs.

By the end of Part 2 my water bottle was expired and I needed more water, so I went home, while J. stayed for Part 3.

Just another day of ballet.

At the British Ambassador's residence in Santiago. Quite a crew came out, including local TV cameras. Here's the US Ambassador with British Ambassador:

Singing the national anthem: