We arrived in Rio Tuesday around noon, and were picked up at the airport by Jim´s friend Bernardo. A fellow musician and percussionist. His step father Felle met us at baggage claim and waited with us until Bernardo arrived. We smoked cigarettes that we had longed for after 24 hours of traveling. I slept on the flight from DC to Rio, Rob was not so fortunate. Quickly my plans to work on the plane evaporated. I joked with a new friend before leaving that when you depart on a long plane trip you get ready with days worth of reading and work, thinking time will stand still once the plane takes off. However, most passengers land without even turning a page.
As I sat outside the airport taking in the new air touching my skin, Rob talked to Felle in Portuguese about our project, soccer, and Rio News. I just soaked in the air, people, and taxis. In one way it felt totally new and foreign, in another it just felt like smoking outside any airport in the states. Bernardo arrived in a small white hatchback, fitting Jim´s description of Harry Potter to a T. The sights and sounds of familiarity sitting outside the airport were quickly whisked away as we jumped on the highway heading into Rio and Copacabana.
Bernardo explained that, ´´they´´, as in the government, had built a wall separating the favellas from the rest of the country. The wall was made of steel with small holes almost like a cage for a tiny animal, separated by pieces of glass. Each piece of glass was adorned with street art; children, flowers, soccer balls, foreign words; each piece had been painted from the other side. It was hard to tell if the artwork was meant for the people on my side as a portal into the world behind the glass as attempt to communicate, or for the favellas attempting to remind those behind the walls that there was still beauty in the world. Bernardo told us the military was currently occupying certain favellas. The violence has been spinning out of control and the military had to step in to keep the peace. When I woke up the second day we found out there had been a shooting in that exact favella. We don´t know the details I wonder if the artists of those glass paintings were alive. Bernardo explained the bosses of the gangs are children. One particular "boss" is just 17 years old. He said they do not fear death. It will be hard to find peace because of this and there are few options for legitimate work in the favellas. The military occupation was also a time for the two sides to come together and negotiate a better future. We did not feel hopeful about that as our car sped away into the mountains and tunnels at the coast of Rio.
At last we arrived at the ocean on the south side of Copacabana, we passed the lagoon where Joao Gilberto wrote ´´O Pato.´´ It was clear to me that I was correct in answering Brazil's call to come here, I felt at home. Our car twisted through the narrow streets finally arriving at the apartment where we will call home for the next week. We dropped off our baggage and headed into town to have lunch and "Chopp" with Bernardo. "Chopp" is a Brazilian beer that is kept cold, much like the marketing model - Coors. Although it is not a premium beer, it tastes much like Stella Artois. The restaurant where we ate is on the south west side of Rio in the hills, and we were served big plates of meat, sausage, rice and beans. The food went down easily as Rob and I were starving from our trip.
We went back to that apartment, Rob hung out with his Aunt´s sister and husband playing some of his tunes and Bossa standards, I took a power nap. I woke up to Rob and our new friend Roberto (Rob's Aunt´s husband) sitting on the bed accross from mine in my room. As I gained consciousness I realized they had been crying, Rob put his hand on Roberto´s shoulder and said you got a little emotional. Rob signaled me to get out of bed and show them the short for Chega de Saudade. We sat and ate dinner, drank bourbon and talked with Roberto in Portugese about his experience hanging out in Rio with Tom, Nara, and others. The very people we have been studying over the past year. He explained they all lived with in blocks from where we are staying.
Roberto Fontan, is an architect as well as a lover of Bossa and singer. He started expressing the feeling of being in Rio during the start of the movement, which brought tears to his eyes. Of course this then brought tears to our eyes, as we sat listening to an older man reminiscing about a time we can only experience through people like him, we experienced the young 20 something who was bouncing around Rio checking out the hottest clubs and bars as each new member of the Bossa movement booked shows. I am having a difficult time capturing the essence of this conversion, words can never truly express the truth. Although on my first night in Rio I truly understood what "Saudade" means. Alright we are done here, wrap the shoot lets go home..... HA!!! This is only the beginning.
We met up with Bernardo again and his friend Daniel who is a photographer here in Rio. We went downtown first to see a Miles Davis tribute concert, but it was expensive and seemed to be dead. So we hopped in a cab and took it to the area called Labo, which is much like old city in Philadelphia, or what would be the Chelsea area of New York here in Rio. I can´t remember the name of the club, but we saw this unbelievable Samba band playing. At least 12 players on stage, all under the age of 30, playing as one unit that is rarely witnessed in the States. It was fantastic. Our friends told us it was International Sex day here in Brazil. We danced, laughed and enjoyed, heading back to our apartment around 2am. Rob and I decided our night was not over. We ran to the beach, and went swimming in the buff. The moment my skin hit the water I felt it was the final step to truly liberating myself, and allowing for an empty body to experience all of Rio and Brazil. We met some English speaking Brazillians on the beach and ended our night discussing politics, culture and our generation into the wee hours of the morning. END DAY ONE.
-Stevo
No comments:
Post a Comment