more of rio...

Phew! It’s been a while, but I’m back on the plane, this time from Rio de Janeiro to Sao Paolo, where I will catch the red-eye to Johannesburg. South Africa bound!

On Wednesday, Alessandro and I did catch the ferry to Niteroi, the town across the bay from Rio. There were many tankers in the water, attesting to the magnitude of global shipping. I was brought back to living in Staten Island, where seeing ships with 5000 containers on the top was an everyday occurrence. And here those same ships were, thousands of miles away, coming and going with different goods, but contributing to the same system of global capital, cultural, and material exchange, nonetheless. Niteroi was a testament to this world of commerce, with a hundred little stalls selling very cheap clothes, dried meats, shoes, house goods, toys, groceries, chatchkies, coconuts, fruit, and snacks. We even discovered a place called “Texas House,” which specialized in dried and frozen meats (you could smell it from a block away! I asked Alessandro—who was born and raised in Houston—if it reminded him of home, and he said not at all!). The consumer in me was tempted by some very cheap and semi-cute dresses, but I resisted when I pictured myself walking on the beach in Belmar or down 6^th Ave. and the swirling-colors-in-polyester look not quite translating.

Much of the city of Niteroi was designed by Alfred Neidermeyer, a famous architect who constructed many significant buildings and spaces around Rio (and elsewhere). The most famous is the art museum in Niteroi, which the locals refer to as “the Space Ship.” It is round, positioned on top of a podium, and its black window-lined exterior walls slope up and outwards, at once looking pretentious and welcoming, as much as a concrete structure from the 1970s can. It is perched on top of a hill, so Alessandro and I caught the bus up. We walked up a red carpeted spiral walkway, into the cool air-conditioned respite the Star Trek building offered. Inside, we learned that Neidermeyer claimed to be frequently inspired by female forms. We passed on the views from the window, and headed back into the 40 degree heat (about 100 degrees Farenheit). We noticed that a lot of people seemed to be sensually inspired by the architecture: couples making out, girls posing unnecessarily provocatively for photos, etc. Oh, Neidermeyer! We began to walk back down the hill to Niteroi proper. As we walked, we passed a beautiful private island, connected to the mainland by a lovely concrete bridge. There were old fishing houses speckling the sides of the island, and a weathered villa on top, with perfect views of Niteroi, the museum, Cristo Redentor (the enourmous statue of Jesus that can be seen from almost everywhere in Rio), and even, I think, Sugar Loaf, the amazing mountain that Alessandro has in the postcard view from him window. We also saw a number of charmingly dilapidated fishing boats, the kind which seem to pervade none-too-self-conscious photo sections of various anthropological texts. We decided that we might collaborate on a book, with the requisite gerund in the title: “Casting Seines: Power and Displacement in a Brazilian Fishing Community,” or perhaps “Reeling Our Lines: The Meaning of History in a Local Brazilian Economy.”He said I could have first billing, but his name comes first alphabetically, so…

The sun was setting, so we decided to jump back on the ferry to catch the colors on the water. Alessandro asked a family the best way to get into town, and they kindly offered us a ride. In the course of conversation, we learned that the family was planning a trip to Disney World, which had been their dream for years. Alessandro then cleverly pointed out that it was Disney that brought me to Brazil: the Three Caballeros’ captivation of my imagination had long ago inspired my trip to Brazil, to experience the people, music, dancing, colors, clothes… That image had subsequently changed, but it certainly was true that a Disney product had first planted my idea of a Magical Brazil! And now this family was living their dream to travel to the US, to visit the version of that place that Disney has produced. We were crossing paths in a Disney-created (at least partially) world of travel. Lovely connections exist everywhere if you look for them.

The sunset was, of course, lovely. We headed back to the Bonde (BON-gee) trolley car to hopefully take it back to the apartment, but it was closed because of St Sebastian day. Natch. Instead we walked to Alessandro’s old neighborhood—Lapa—to grab some dinner. Lapa is the Bohemian part of town, and also the center of the weekend partied. It was fairly quiet for a rainy Wednesday night, but some good beer, cod balls (a local favorite, they are lovely herbed codfish croquettes with an unfortunate name), pork, rice, beans, and escarole helped us outlast the rain and head home early to prep for our big day Thursday: a three day trip to Islha Grande (IL-ya GRAN-gee). A small, verdant island a few hours south of Rio, Islha Grande is a favorite tourist destination just outside the city. It is known for its wildlife in the sea and on land, for its tourist bars, restaurants, hotels, and hostels, and for a prison that was imploded in 1994, but that once was the home to political prisons from the 1930s onward. Alessandro was very interested in visiting the prison for his project: the government believed that by mixing political prisoners with common prisoners, the politicos would be subdued and have their ideals taken from them. But, as you can imagine, quite the opposite happened. The political prisoners taught the criminals their tricks of unification and ideals, and from this was born the drug trafficking groups that took over the favelas in the 1980s and 1990s. They still exist today, as counter-law enforcement groups to the several different kinds of police that monitor these lower income neighborhoods. Seeing the ruins of the prison was a top priority for Alessandro, though swimming in clear blue water was pretty high on my list.

I woke up in a piss-poor mood on Thursday, for some reason. We didn’t make coffee, though Alessandro did wake up early to go to the local bakery to get bread for breakfast. I packed up my trusty backpack with our stuff, and we made the 20 minute journey through the paths of the morro, and down the long hill to the main road. It was already 35 degrees at 10am. Another scorcher! This did not improve my mood. Though a coffee, fresh pineapple juice, and ham and cheese pastry did the trick. With all of the walking Alessandro and I had been doing, it felt like we would work out for several hours, stop to refuel, and then do it all over again. A city bus to the central bus terminal, and we were on the Costa Verde bus to Angra Dois Reis. The bus was like a Greyhound, and though it was full, we got seats together. A battle of War with my trusty playing cards from the Allenwood General Store (he was king), and a very scenic drive through the dusty outlying towns on the periphery of Rio, then through winding mountain passes along the sea, and finally, two hours later, into the port town of Angra. A tragedy had occurred there on New Year’s Eve: heavy rainfalls caused several landslides on the hills surrounding the towns. At least one favela was affected, as well as a hotel, where 18 teenagers were killed. The scarred landscape was very visible, with huge dirt tracts slicing through the dense, brightly colored housing on either side.

The boat that we took across the bay to Islha Grande was a catamaran, which, though less alluring than the old, brightly painted schooners that surrounded it, got us across the water in about half the time (and for the same price). We sat on the top deck, enjoying the refreshing breeze and admiring the rich foliage on the islands we passed. Various “salespeople” were on the boat in attempts to capitalize on the undivided attention of the tourists who rode it. We received a business card from a man who told us that the hotel he worked for was a 4 minute walk from the beach, and had rooms for R$100 (about US$60), though we thought we wanted something on or closer to the water. When we arrived at the island, we were greeted by a cruise ship kind of town. A few small streets, lined with tour companies, restaurants, and bathing suit/gift shops. We saw that there were a number of hotels along the beach, so, with my 15 pound pack on my back, we set off in the sand to find out where we could get a good deal. The humidity had increased, and I could feel the sweat accumulating through my dress and onto the waist band and shoulder straps of the pack. Every place, we realized, was the same: $R230 per night. This seemed exorbitant considering the deal we had been offered on the boat. We walked the entire length of the beach, and at several points I almost threw myself—pack and all—into the ocean.

Finally, after climbing dozens of sets of stairs, we located the hotel our gentleman on the boat had promoted. And it was beautiful! Perhaps he mentioned it to Alessandro in Portuguese, but I was unaware that it was an artist’s hotel, with unusual colors, artifacts, furniture, hand-hewn stairs and balustrades, plants, fishponds, and artwork throughout (pics describe it better, please check the Picasa album!). And our two-bed, air-conditioned room was, indeed, only R$100 a night! It felt like a miracle after all of the walking we did. About ten minutes after we were given our key, we began to unpack and turned on the AC. And then….thunk. The power went out. We stepped outside to look, and saw that not only had the hotel lost power, it seemed the entire street had. A drop in pressure signaled a pending thunderstorm, but it had yet to arrive. We were left with little else to do but take a nap, and wake up in the dark, hungry and ready for dinner (the headlamp was super useful! I was so glad I brought it…).

The island is known for fresh seafood, and Brazil is known for a wonderful stew-like dish called mocqueca. It is fresh tomatoes, onions, and herbs, with either fish or shrimp in a coconut broth, served with rice, beans, and a special rich fish sauce. The power in the whole town was still out, and the rain and lightning had begun. We put on our rain gear and sloshed through the sand and mud streets to a restaurant on the beach. Each table was lit with several candles, and since the gas kitchen doesn’t require electricity, we knew we were in luck (plus the bartender looked competent! I was ready for my caipirinha after all of the journeying we had done…). We sat, ordered caipirinhas with marajuca (passion fruit), and waited eagerly for out shrimp mocqueca. The lightning on the beach created an incredibly beautiful show, illuminating the trees, boats, mountains, and water with bursts of blue that we never could have seen had there been electricity and no storm. We practically inhaled it, and took turns holding up the candle so the other one could go back for seconds, for thirds… Just as we finished, the lights in the restaurant came back on, and we headed out on a search for dessert. We found a sweet little place, full of local kids hanging out, where you serve your own ice cream. What a great idea! We mixes and matched, and they weighed it at the counter. It was a very cool system. After the sweets, we headed back to rest up for a busy day of remote prisons and beaches.

The Hotel Bromelias, like most hotels and hostels in Brazil, includes breakfast. My hostel in Salvador did, and it consisted of rolls, 2 pieces of cheese, a slice of watermelon, coffee and juice, which was simple and sufficient. Hotel Bromelias, however, made that breakfast look like food they would have served at the penal colony! Four different kinds of breads and rolls; still hot, fresh baked cake; papaya, watermelon, and honeydew; ham and cheese; warm paninis; two changing kinds of fresh squeezed juices; coffee… And in the most beautiful setting! The rising sun shining onto the covered patio, overlooking plants, the koi pond, interesting art. We were quite full, and ready to find our tour boat. One near the beach offered three stops: snorkeling off a nearby island, the prison, and another popular beach on Islha Grande. We rented snorkeling gear and jumped onto the catamaran, which, once again, I was glad to be taking. After about 30 minutes on the cat, I started to feel a little woosy. But then, just as I began to indulge my sea sickness and feel bad for myself, a woman screamed. Everyone jumped up and looked, and she was pointing over the side of the boat: “Dolfin! Dolfin!” and sure enough, right off the side of the boat, were maybe 6 dolphins, jumping through the wake of the cat, smiling and loving the attention from the boatful of happy people. They stuck with us for a good 5 minutes until our steady clip outran theirs. It was really beautiful! And unexpected.

We arrived at the rocky cove where we were to snorkel. Everyone jumped off the boat, and Alessandro and I began to explore the different rocky regions below. We were immediately over a large school of shimmering blue-green fish, swimming together like a ribbon of metal around the algae-covered rocks. Soon we noticed urchins spotting the rocks, and little yellow and black fish swimming around them. Then bigger, less bright fish became apparent a bit deeper. I began to dive down to get a better look at them, though I think one dive was deeper than I thought, and I didn’t equalize the pressure in the my ears. This, I think, gave me a low-level headache the whole next day or two. But swimming with the creatures was wonderful.

Then we were onto the prison. The boat dropped anchor about 100 meters away from a long, white sand beach. The deckhand then told us that we could either pay R$5 to have a boat bring us to shore, or we could swim in for free. I put Alessandro’s camera in the waterproof case Lel’s gave, plus a few bucks for lunch. On went our snorkeling fins, and in we swam! There was a lot of mucky seaweed, but it didn’t bother me too much. We walked barefoot and in bathing suits up the dusty path to the ruins of the prison. Though the prison itself had been imploded in 1994, the guards’ tower, mess hall, and some other buildings still stood, in addition to the small community of houses that served as accommodations for officers and workers (we guessed). As we walked past the lightless, concrete structures, scorching in the 40 degree heat, we wondered what kinds of practices distinguished the prisoners’ lives from the guards’ lives. Both were stranded—isolated—on this remote island, with nowhere to go, no one to see, imprisoned by the brush, the mountains, the water, the heat, the concrete, the guns. It would be an interesting studying to find the ways that these kinds of penal colonies attempt to maintain normalcy in these extraordinary circumstances for guards, as they simultaneously keep prisoners in exceptional states of underprivilege. I’m hoping to avoid Agamben here. But I think I’m failing.

Regardless of which theorists I was subconsciously referecing, it was an unusual experience to walk around a museum in only a bathing suit and a trucker’s hat, carrying nothing but neon pink diving fins. After checking out the photos, ovens, dough mixers, and colonial-style desks in the old mess hall, we wandered around the rows of houses nearby to find one of the two restaurants in the compound for lunch. We found it, and it was a house, with a woman in the kitchen cooking your choice of one of three meal choices. I bussed a table, as Alessandro ordered and brought out the food. We each had frango (chicken) with rice and beans, as ordering beef would have required Alessandro to jump behind the line and help the woman cook portions of the meal, as the patron before him had been forced to do. We enjoyed the chicken in the shade with ice cold guaranas (a very popular energy/soft drink in Brazil), and then laid on the white sand until it was time to swim back to the boat.

As we waited for the rest of our boatload to return, it started to drizzle, then to rain. I wasn’t feeling great, and the chill in the precipitation didn’t help. The last spot was a combo, with the option to swim to a white sand beach or chill near the rocks where we anchored to snorkel. Alessandro convinced me to don my mask and fins one last time, though the water was murkier, and felt more chilly than refreshing in the rain. The group, it seemed, agreed, and we only stayed about a half hour before heading back to the main town. The rain stopped long enough for us to share ten minutes on the painfully slow connection they had at the internet café, figure out our boat home the next day, and to walk home. Alessandro worked on his proposal, and I read about Johnny Appleseed as Dionysus, the current theory being purported in the Michael Pollen book I’ve been lazily paging through.

It seemed as though only two choices of restaurant were available in the town: nice, expensive seafood restaurant, or mid-priced pizza/crepe place. Weird, no? Considering that pizza is not wildly common in Brazil? We thought so. When in Rome… So we asked our hotel guy which was the best pizza place, and (we thought) he recommended this pizza crepe place. When we showed up, we were surprised to find a DVD of a Madonna concert playing loudly in the background. We were amused all meal by her antics. Though they were out of pizza crepes (?). So we had regular cheese, ham, and veggie ones, which were great, and a banana honey one for dessert. Back to Bromelias we headed to fall asleep to the rain, and wake up for another lovely breakfast in the morning sunshine.