I arrived in Rio on April 2nd, and spent the next two and a half days visiting with friends. Though my 2010 visit with M in Australia planted a critical seed regarding my wish to travel and live differently, E and P are the ones who planted the seed for this visit to Brazil. We'd had a number of false starts about this, so it was a magical moment when I saw their smiling faces at the more northern airport in Rio, to which they'd taken the long drive to pick me up. I was here! With them!!
I met E and P through mutual friends in Felton, CA and we found a quick resonance with each other. They told me about the Fundaçäo Casa Grande (Big House Foundation) at which I will volunteer later this month, and encouraged me to experience it, saying that I would "get" them and they would "get" me. This was the impulse for my wanting to learn Portuguese, which has been a journey all its own -- and which is what eventually led me to Palmas. More on that when I write the actual Palmas post.
The Rio aiport is the most beautiful airport into which I've ever flown: endless green mountains, beautiful clouds and water everywhere. The airport itself is on an island, and there are many smaller islands throughout the bay. Leaving this particular airport, one drives past a long wall of what appears to be opaque glass with occasional images that look like they were stenciled on. My friends informed me that the wall was put up so as not to offend entering and departing tourists with a view of the poverty-ridden favela that lies behind it. (Somehow I'm reminded of the curtain that gets pulled between first class and coach on an airplane; is there something inherently unviewable about people with less money? Or are those in first class doing something shameful from which others must be shielded?) In relatively recent history, favelas have been unsafe places to visit, as well as to live. However, increased police presence and decreased crime have led to a trend toward favela tours. My friends reported that tourists take photos of the residents and their housing as if the people were not actually people. Listening to them, I was reminded of a friend's dissertation about the inherently political nature of photography. I will have to pay closer attention to my own use of my camera.
From the airport, E and P first took me to their lovely home in a cul-de-sac off a long cobble-stoned street. Their apartment is an amazement: deceptively spacious due to their design choices, richly intimate, clear and simple yet filled with life, color and art. It is a space in which one feels immediately at home, and it is a perfect reflection of their abundant, warm spirits. The doorway of the apartment opens into a welcoming multi-purpose room, where one is greeted by a breath-taking view through a continuous set of cantilevering windows. From a beautiful hammock hung from the walls, one can gaze out the windows at the massive, lushly forested Corcovado mountainside. At the top of this mountain, the statue of Christ the Redeemer (Cristo Redentor) looks over the city with his arms spread wide. E and P informed me that, although they live on the third/top floor of their building, they must take care with any fruit they leave out because the macaques living in the forest will readily scale the building, leap into their apartment, steal the edible goods and be gone in a flash.
My short stay in Rio was relaxing yet full of delights, as well as evocative and provocative experiences. Among these were a peaceful walk through parts of the Jardim Botánico (Botanical Gardens), an elevated view of the city from yet another lovely green area, monkey head trees out on the sidewalk, traffic traffic traffic, beautiful and varied architecture (sometimes reminiscent of Parisian art nouveau), green green green everywhere, the most delicous mangos I've ever tasted, the sight of a manguba tree in a parking lot (complete with two hanging pods -- I thought it was a cacao tree, but my friend in Palmas enlightened me), a walk around the historic former port area that is currently undergoing renovation, and a visit to an institute (IPN: Instituto de Pesquisa e Memória Pretos Novos - Institute of New Blacks Research and Remembrance) in a house that turned out to have been built over the Cemitério dos Pretos Novos (Cemetary of New Blacks).
It appears that the history of the slave trade is deeply embedded in and intertwined with the history of Rio. The Botanical Gardens is located within the huge Tijuca National Park, and includes a large mansion that now houses an art school, a smaller building about which there apparently is some controversy (stables? quarters for enslaved workers?), and a well worn stone washing area (known to have been used by enslaved workers). The Gardens have a tropical feel, and I went ga-ga over colors, as well as some of the spiraling root and choke-vine shapes that abound. I got to see how jackfruit grows: on short stems, directly from the trunk of the tree. (See link below for more information about the Botanical Gardens.)
The former port area is no longer under water, having been filled in over centuries and then built upon. If I remember correctly, the city was excavating and renovating in an area known during the 1800s as "Little Africa," for the large concentration of Africans living in it. In the process of excavation, the city discovered two levels of former plazas, one built over the other. I believe that the older plaza had been one at which arriving Africans disembarked from slave ships, and the one above it had been part of a more richly appointed area.
This takes me to the IPN, which was both remarkable and disturbing. A couple had bought a house in the former "Little Africa" area of the city, with the intention of renovating and living in it. When workers were taking up the foundation, their tools broke stone and, along with this, repeatedly brought up human bones. The couple contacted officials, and discovered that the house had been built above an old cemetary whose location and history had been lost and forgotten over time. The name, Cemetary of the New Blacks, was a reference to recently arrived Africans within the slave trade, many of whom died soon after their arrival in Rio (others having already died and been thrown overboard on the journey itself). Further, the term "Black" in Brazil is considered quite offensive when applied to a person, and I imagine may be more akin to our use of "nigger" in the US; I don't know the actual equivalent. Regardless, "cemetary" is an over-stated term for this place, which was described as a mass grave for 20,000 to 30,000 Africans whose bodies were thrown in, allowed to rot, hacked up to make room for more bodies, and then also burned. The couple was so moved by the discovery that they stopped renovation and have turned the house into an institute for research, memorial, community involvement and education. (See the link below for more information.)
I was grateful to my friends for taking me to these places as well as the more upbeat locations. As in the US, racism and racial segregation continue in Brazil. For example, I noticed that all of the park workers I saw in the Botanical Gardens were dark-skinned people. When I asked E about this, she said it was a lower-paying, lower-status job. This reminded me of the many outdoor work crews I had seen in planted street areas when I lived in Norfolk, VA, who were almost always African Americans. On the other hand, almost all of the probably thousands of travelers I've seen in the Brazilian airports so far (Rio, Brasilia and Palmas) have been lighter-skinned people. The legacy of enslavement appears to be predictably potent and complex.
To end on a lighter note, my friends twice took me to lunch in a large warehouse-type building full of small fruit and vegetable stands, eateries and other shops. The roof of the building looked like sheet metal, and I imagined what it would sound like in the rain. I got a quick lesson in the Portuguese names for various fruits and vegetables, and noticed how huge the avocados were. (In that moment, Pavlov's dogs had nothing on me!) The vegetarian restaurant at which we ate was small, open, friendly and exceptionally good. From my seat in the corridor, I looked toward the entrance of the building at yellow melons hanging overhead in fine plastic mesh bags; they looked like melon balloons floating in the air. On another day, I drank fresh, cold young coconut juice (as in México, directly from the coconut). On that same day, E made a point of walking me through an upscale market in the building so we could get an air-conditioned respite from the heat.
That same evening, we joined three friends of E's and P's for dinner outside the building, where I had my first experience with "chopp." This is a very tasty Brazilian beer. When it was first offered to me as a possibility on the menu, I started to ask what it was and then decided to simply say "yes" to the encouraging looks on their faces; I was glad I did! The topics of conversation over dinner included language (the linguist in the group specializes in the study of indigenous languages), travel and family. Everyone was extremely generous and supportive regarding my Portuguese, including the three at the table who could easily have engaged with me in English. Bolivia was recommended for its remarkable music. Hmmm. At the airport on the way out of Rio, I arrived at my gate at the end of a long hallway of gates. What was there but a small bar advertising chopp. Hmmm.
My entry into South America was rich with love, encouragement and support, which have so far been the constant pavement of the road I'm traveling.
meg 4-13-13
Jardim Botánico (Botanical Gardens) in the Tijuca National Park:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rio_de_Janeiro_Botanical_Garden
Cemitério dos Pretos Novos (Cemetary of the New Blacks):
http://www.foxnews.com/us/2012/09/14/brazil-cemetery-african-slaves-honored/
Here is an image of a monkey head orchid (I've never seen this, but discovered the photo while searching for the monkey head trees and couldn't resist posting it):
http://www.facebook.com/
Check out the close-up of the monkey head flowers! They were like wild animals with furry tongues. I haven't yet found a good photo of the fruit growing on the tree, so will have to take my own on my next visit to Rio:
http://www.portalsaofrancisco.I thought I might have some other photos ready by now, but that is not the case. I'll attach links in another post.
I've heard a few times that racism doesn't exist in Brazil, but I doubted it.
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