Following the Mexico incident briefly described below I was eagerly anticipating the second sector of my trip. Brazil.
Yes, I have found it difficult to drag myself away from the beaches and the beer, the sights and the sounds. The last thing I want this journal to be is a chore. It is a joy for me, and I wish it to remain that. Today I got excited to share.
I had been to Brazil just over a year ago with my mate Dave. Sure, I had expectations. Sure they were high.
Arriving, I relived a key sensual memory. Even before passing through customs the almost visible smell of urine clouded me. There is piss everywhere. They (whoever the fuck they are) say that you can become accustomed to any smell after seven minutes, so now, after two weeks in Brazil I smell nothing. I to tend to step in it a fair bit though, sometimes my own. When I leave I know will miss being able to relieve myself on a wall whenever and wherever, so for now I am embracing it.
I spent my first week or so waiting Rio for my replacement bankcard . Not the worst place to be trapped. Whilst I waited I walked around the City of God observing Brazilian life with an open eye and a open heart.
I went to the Rio State league final at the Maracanã and witnessed Botafogo win two nil. I sat and drank beer at a local bar each night, made some friends. I wandered around the centre of the city. I took public buses around to areas I had not been. I swam at Copacabana almost everyday. I wandered around markets selling stolen stuff, markets selling fish/sharks/rays, markets selling spices and got hissed at by prostitutes on my way home. I drank coffee standing up on corners a few times a day and made some more friends. Eliot and I and sat on Ipanema beach under the moonlight with a few young Brazilians.
Meanwhile, back at the hostel, guests sat around watching television waiting for night to fall so they could play drinking games and listen to Coldplay. Most seem totally unaware of the discoveries that can me made outside of the relevant Lonely Planet chapter.
Brazil is wealthy by Latin Americans standards, of course, many still live in poverty. However, there is always an optimistic haze in Rio. The people are just that, a people. They aid each other. They love each other. In a city with daily murders and violent crime (not to the extent that the LP will have you believe) there is a sense of honest brotherhood.
I will share three sweet little examples. Two involve soccer.
OneI was on Copacabana beach, Good Friday. The streets leading to the beach were rather empty. The beach itself was full. Little space to put down your thong/s. Amongst the jungle of dental floss bikinis and beer sellers men gather along the waters edge to play soccer in a circle. They use their head, chest, knees, feet, shoulders, neck and back to keep the ball in the air. I sat on the sand and watched a group of three grow to five then six. Strangers are invited to join in and the group is now ten. Ten swells again to twelve. Men walking past are drawn to the circle like drops of water gathering on a cold glass. But now, the group is now too big and splits into two without a word spoken.
The group’s is mimicking cell behavior, growing and dividing, growing again. A beautiful, natural process was being acted out by men in bathers on a beach, like a strange educational skit.
As an aside, the other thing that became clear was that Australia has no chance against Brazil in Germany. These guys have skills beyond belief, and day jobs.
TwoWhilst on Ilha Grande (next post) Eliot and I were walking past a football game in progress on the town’s soccer field. The ball was kicked over the fence and rolled into some long grass over the other side of the road. The teams stopped and stared whilst I shuffled over to get their ball. I threw it back over the fence. Moments later Eliot said “You notice how they never say thank you? We are all brothers, you get my ball. That is how is works.” This is the honesty to which I refer. There is no need to thank, we help each other and that is the way we work.
ThreeLast week I went for a walk through Copacabana to get some dinner. There is no shortage of homeless and mentally ill people in the streets. One middle aged man sits on the steps of a bank tearing newspapers into perfect strips all day and night. By dinnertime there is a pile of shredded paper at his feet that would rival any large corporation’s daily output. Another, dressed in black with natural dreadlocks stumbles around for most of the day shouting at walls and poles. By nightfall he exhausted retires to the footpath. He wears black pants with the crotch and seat missing, exposing his bum and balls. On this night he was in a particularly public spot, wares gleaming.
Whilst I was at dinner someone had carefully and thoughtfully placed a brand new white cotton blanket over him. He had the top of the blanket cuddled up under his chin like a child. Days later he still had the blanket, now black.
The above experiences each revealed a little more about Brazil. I hope this continues in coming weeks. I hope to learn more about the fertile soil, the stew of people, the rich history and exciting future. I hope my high expectations will be met.
