| Carol Ann Gratsos Howell....page 18 |
| VACATION #16 RIO DE JANEIRO God made the world in six days, the seventh he devoted to Rio, land of samba and sunbathers, of coconuts and coffee, of carnaval and macumba, of Sugar Loaf and shapely cariocas, of Christ and Corcovado, of feijoada and cachaca. Rio de Janeiro with its heat, rain, wind, traffic, overcrowding, poverty, garbage and dog shit. Rio is blond and brown and black. It is in English, in Spanish, in Portuguese and Portu-spa�ol. You feel as if you are going to fly or faint. You are there, yet you are not. There is too much to see, too much to hear, too much to smell. Your absorbent material can't handle it all, it overloads your circuits. You need to turn off the noise and movement of such an enormous amount of people and their conveyances in such a small place. The gentle rain continues for a week, then the too-strong sun shines for four days, then the terrible wind and rainstorm which you mistake for a hurricane, and then the sky runs out of water, Rio is its hot self again. The nights seem to be as hot as the days. The cariocas laugh and shout in the streets. The transvestites parade on the boulevard. The macumba ceremonies continue unceasingly behind closed doors. The priestess dances and drinks and smokes her cigar. She chants and shouts to the saints. She shakes and slaps the sinner until the devils depart. Before you find your friend Dalia, you stay in a hotel in downtown Rio. You head out of your door to get some breakfast when the maid stops you and tells you to go back to your room and order caf� de manh�, literally morning coffee. It's free. They bring it to your room. With a flourish, a white jacketed gentleman brings you: Two soft French rolls, three packs of crackers, three bananas, three oranges, a quarter of a foot long papaya, two squares of cheese, two pats of butter, two flan-flavored yogurts and plenty of coffee and hot milk in silver pots. Wow! All of this is for one person! The next morning you get four bananas, three white figs, two oranges, a huge slice of honey dew melon, two prune flavored yogurts, two cheese squares, three squares of butter, two jams, two huge French rolls and again three packs of crackers. All that's missing is the partridge in a pear tree. Rio isn't famous for its architecture like Brasilia, but it's wonderful anyway. There is a tall round building, another which looks like a Mayan pyramid, modern buildings mixed with old ornate ones, sculptures -- modern and classical. You spend two weeks with your friend Dalia who lives in Ipanema Beach. She explains about life in Rio. "The very poor get jobs in Copacabana and Ipanema. The government provides housing for them elsewhere, but it's too far away. It costs too much to go to work at their menial jobs. So they build creative shacks on the side of the mountain, which is pure rock. Some build on stilts with whatever material they can find. They must hand-carry the water. There is no sewage system. When the government thinks that the conditions have gotten too unsanitary, it warns them to move out. When they don't, because they can't, the government sets fire to the houses." All the sadness aside, it is a marvelous contradiction. The poorest people live on the hill with a view of all of Rio and the bay. The land is free. Are they the fools who live on the hill? Dalia has a wealth of sayings and superstitions, like, when to cut your hair, depending on whether the moon is growing or not and whether you want your hair to grow or be short. And that a woman should never put her purse on the floor, "You'll be poor!" But she says that wheat brings financial prosperity. You enjoy sitting in a sidewalk caf� at Ipanema Beach, watching the women walking by with quivering breasts. The girls from Ipanema aren't "tall and tan and young and handsome," like the song says. What they are is short and round and of all ages, and although they may be tan, very few are really pretty. However, your friend Dalia is a real beauty, but she doesn't know it. Sonia Braga can't hold a candle to her. It's your last day in Rio de Janeiro. You go to the square and feed the pigeons. You stand outside a music store and listen to your favorite songs. You feel a little sad, and at the same time your heart is pounding in anticipation, you're going to carnaval! ***** |
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