Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
(part 2)
August 18th, 2015
Was there any doubt which side would win in the battle for my brain cells… staying in and getting sleep or going to a club? No, there was no doubt. Of course, I got dragged out by Thiago, the hilarious hostel bartender, and two Scots whose names I forget because they got tossed from the bar pretty early on for ripping their shirts off on the dance floor. We went to a club called Arpex on the roof of the Ipanema staple Barzin. It was a tequila-fueled hurricane. All I remember is them playing a lot of top 40 hits, and this guy walking around the crowd with a saxophone playing along to the tunes. That, and there were 50 wasted Argentinian losers who were ruining the night for everyone. Harassing every girl, falling over drunk on the dance floor, spilling drinks, and just being total turds. I realized at around 3 or 4 am that it was in my best interest to cab home because I had an excursion the next morning.
When I awoke, I was fairly terrified at how hungover I was. The last time I was this blasted on three hours of sleep with an 8 am excursion booked, I tore my MCL canyoning in Switzerland. But I pulled it together and headed out the hostel door…. Today was the day that I would explore a favela.
I imagine that for most of you, hanging out in one of the world’s poorest slums would not be very high on your itinerary. However, I felt that to truly experience Brazil, I must learn about and understand favela life. It is an integral aspect of this country, and I really wanted to see it. I did not visit Dachau in Germany or the Soviet Terror Museum in Hungary because they were fun; I went because I believe we shouldn’t be ignorant to aspects of history or society that may be horrifying or unpleasant.
The favelas were first created in the late 1880’s when the Brazilian slaves were freed. They had nowhere to live, so they built shanty towns in the forests. Today, Rio has nine million inhabitants, and half of them live in the 400 or so favelas. Most of them are uneducated or even illiterate, so they don’t have many opportunities to better themselves. They work the most unwanted jobs throughout the city, and make about 700 reais a month. To put that into perspective, I am blowing about 400 reais a day on this trip.
If I had wandered into a favela a few years ago, I almost certainly would have been murdered by one of the drug dealers that were on every corner of the slum. But in 2007, Brazil hosted the Pan-American games and decided to clean up the worst favelas. The country did not do this for altruistic reasons to help the poor citizens, but to put forth a better appearance to the world so they could make more money off tourism. So, they went about the process of “pacification”… basically the army showed up with assault rifles, tanks, and RPGs and fucked shit up. It was a full out civil war with the narco armies, and a lot of civilians died in the process as well. Today, a large majority of the favelas are pacified, but several are still completely lawless, governed by the rule of the drug dealers. For instance, if someone steals from you in an unpacified favela, you have zero support from the police. You must enlist the help of the drug lords to find the thief, kill them, and return your goods. Or if you have a young daughter (some as young as 10 or 11) that a favela boss likes, he will just take her for his harem. Insane….
I arrived at the Rocinha favela with a local Carioca who knew the area well. This is Rio´s largest favela with around 200,000 inhabitants, and is strangely situated between the two richest neighborhoods of the city. I started out on top of the mountain at the peak of the favela and stared down upon utter madness. You look at it, and cannot comprehend what you are viewing. The sheer size and density is mind-blowing. Apparently, when one of their kids starts their own family, they just build a new addition on the roof of their favela, and so in this way, they continue to grow and grow vertically.
From there, I walked through the labyrinth of streets and alleys in amazement. This is undoubtedly the strangest place I have ever been. Just look at my pictures, because I can’t really explain it. I think most people, especially foreigners, believe that the favela is just a massive ghetto full of drug dealers, thieves, murderers, and prostitutes. But what I saw was a thriving community of survivors. I saw people doing every job imaginable, kids coming and going from school, men dancing in the street to “favela funk” having a blast, women selling organic produce that was grown high up in the hills of the jungle, old ladies meticulously sweeping their steps and patios, and store owners happily stocking the shelves of their establishments with cheap, Chinese-made products. The word “favela” has a pejorative connotation associated with it, but what I experienced was just another neighborhood with its own rich culture and ideologies.
Surprisingly I found out that many of the inhabitants actually make enough money to live in a better area outside of Rio; however, the commute to their jobs in the city would be two hours in each direction. Therefore, they stay because they are now only 15 minutes by bus to the tourist areas where most of them work. They also pay zero taxes to the city or state, and almost all of them “acquire” (steal) their electricity from the grid. I was blown away by the telephone poles, covered in hundreds of wires and jimmy-rigged connections.
Another fascinating aspect was that none of them have real addresses. They all have their mail sent to the closest business with an official address. We passed a barber shop with a mailbox completely overflowing with correspondence belonging to the residents who live above it. They have to sort through thousands of letters each day to see if they have mail.
After I returned to my hostel, I did not know how to feel. The whole time I walked the streets of Rocinha, people stared at me, laughed, pointed and muttered “gringo!” But at no point did I ever feel unsafe or unwelcomed. I think most of the people were just curious as to why I was there. I like to think that maybe they appreciated my attempt to visit them and better understand them. But a part of me also feels that they fucking hate some “rich” white American strolling through their hood taking pictures of shit like it’s an amusement park. It was an amazing experience, but as you will see in my pictures, I am not smiling. It didn’t feel right.
Just about everyone I had met throughout the week in Lemon Spirit had checked out and headed off to other spots in South America. The hostel was organizing a booze cruise around the bay, but I wanted no part of it. I didn’t really feel like making a whole new group of friends. I was so worn out. Instead, I met up with Vivian again and we headed down Ipanema to check out Arpoador, an awesome rock formation that is situated right between Ipanema and Copacabana beaches where all the locals gather to watch sunset.
Of course, I missed it again, so we dipped out to grab dinner at a really pleasant and earthy restaurant called Boteco Belmonte. I ordered us a huge beef stroganoff served in a bread bowl and four-cheese gnocchi with a bottle of mouthwatering Argentinian Syrah.
Around the corner was the Delirium bar, the Rio version of the world-famous Delirium in Brussels, Belgium. This one doesn’t have 2,000 beers, but we still drank our way through a ton of my favorite Belgian ales: Delirium, Kwak, Framboise, Karmeliet, Babar and others. It was perfect.
Today I slept in for the first time of this trip. I wanted to hike the Tijuca jungle mountains, but didn’t wake up in time. Nevertheless, I caught the bus to Corcovado to see Cristo! It always seems to be the case that I fully grasp the bus and metro system of a city on my last day. The buses here are so confusing because they don’t announce what stop you are at, and it’s impossible to read the stops as you whiz by. I’ve resorted to following the route on my burner phone GPS until I arrive in the area I’m travelling to, and then I hop off! Brilliant!
I arrived at the base of Corcovado, and rode the little train that carries you through the dense jungle to the top of the mountain.
While riding it up, I met a really sweet girl named Kelly from NYC who is studying neurology at Columbia. She told me she is from Honk Kong, so I informed her I am planning to start my Asian backpacking trip there. She told me she would give me some great advice, which I am hoping for! We ran up together and started snapping pictures away furiously.
I am so glad I left this attraction for last… it was unreal. I thought the views from Sugarloaf were the best, but this blew it away. It was so awesome having a perfect 360-degree view of the city in its entirety, and being able to now pinpoint all the places I had visited through the week. Centro, Lapa, Santa Theresa to the east. The bridge over the bay where Samuel and I chatted while holding onto the bus railing for dear life. Niteroi beach and the MAC museum with Dani. Sugarloaf looming high in the south where Vivian and I dangled in its cable cars swinging in the wind, and the glittering beaches along the coast. The donut shaped Maracana to the north where I attended the Flu game with a group of Brits, and the Rocinha favela sprawling off into the west.
At that moment, I felt a pit form in my stomach… a feeling of penetrating sadness. It was in that instant that I realized I had completely fallen in love with Rio, and I really, REALLY did not want to leave in the morning. I am enamored with everything about this place; the culture, the people, all of the variation among the different neighborhoods, the language, the perfect weather, how I am still so clueless about so many things I am experiencing here, and how I want to stay for months to learn about them. In six short days, Rio has skyrocketed up my travel list, and has become the best place I have ever visited.
I tried not to dwell on my departure anymore, so I took some selfies with Jesus and headed off back to Zona Sul. The ride back was awful. Horrible traffic lead to almost two hours looking out the window of a crowded bus. I take it back… maybe there is one thing about this town that sucks.
I tried to find a highly recommended Japanese restaurant called Maki, but failed horribly. I decided to stroll down Leblon beach one last time to see if I could score some more cheap souvenirs. Unfortunately, none of the vendors were out tonight, so I jumped the sea wall and walked through the surf. There was an eerie fog rolling in off the ocean, and it was strangely peaceful among the cacophony of buses rumbling down the beach avenue behind me. I decided to grab dinner at the restaurant next door to my hostel, Le Coin Deux Leblon. I walked in and was literally the only customer. I thought to myself that this meal was likely going to be awful, judging by the lack of business. I took a gamble on a 100 reais dish of roasted goat with mint sauce and broccoli rice, and was floored by what they presented me… a mountain of incredibly delicious food! I guess I got lucky!
I’m now back at the hostel packing up my shit (which never fits as well as the first time you pack it… so strange). The girls from Sao Paulo are desperately trying to convince me to join a bar crawl from 11–5 am tonight, however my bus leaves at 6 am. This sounds like suicide, so I may just stay in tonight and read my Thailand guidebook. But I’ve been known to do really idiotic shit the night before a departure, so I would not rule out the possibility. I have no idea what to expect for the rest of this trip. I have one day tomorrow to explore Sao Paulo and party, but then I am officially a participant of the IUBMB conference on Thursday. This event could go one of two ways: really laid back and lax with everyone just having fun and hanging every night after the presentations, or uptight and stuffy with them expecting us to contribute a shit ton of work. I’m not opposed to the work; they did send me here for free. But I’m really hoping the fun times can continue to rage on for two more weeks. One thing is for sure… Rio de Janeiro has stolen my heart. This week was one for the record books, and I need to find a way to get back here ASAP. It exceeded every expectation I could have possibly had for it. So for all of you contemplating a trip to South America, stop listening to the fear mongering and get your ass down here. You too will fall in love!
Sao Paulo… let’s see what you got!
-Batty
