Brazil : 4 Rio (part I)
(This text was originally written on Jun. 24, 2003.)
Rio. First of three parts. (Click [] for pictures.)
Rio is a dilemma. Brasil’s second largest city of 10 million Cariocas, Rio redefines the meaning of “dramatic” in more ways than one, some of which are unfortunate. During my brief stay there, Rio was constantly throwing questions at me of which many have no answers, but for a few days the city’s carnival made me forget - sometimes - why I need to look for answers in the first place.
Long before we set foot in Rio, the anticipation of going there was already a dilemma. On the one hand, there was weariness. While other big cities in Brasil (and around the world for that matter) have their respective dangers, Rio always seemed to have more of it. International media has focused extensively on Rio’s problems since the 70s: escalating drug-related violence, or military vigilantes who “clean up” the street children with bullets, just to name a few. Then there are our Brasilian friends in Japan - mostly those not from Rio - like to say “Rio is dangerous; don’t go there.” And they will have stories - most of them rehashed from media but sometimes personal ones too - to back up their claims. Furthermore, just before my departure I went to see a critically-acclaimed Brasilian movie called Cidade de Deus (City of God): a graphic and realistic portrayal of drug trade and gangsters in a Rio suburb of the same name, based on a true story. The body count was so tremendous that it made the most dangerous parts of LA such as Watts or Inglewood look like Disneyland. Another city in a Rio suburb averaged 250 murders per 100,000 population in 1989, three times that of Washington D.C., the murder capital of U.S. Granted, most of these deaths are drug-related and occurs in the favelas of Rio, which I know I wouldn’t be going to for sightseeing (just like I avoid such areas when I am LA or NY). Still, for tourists to Rio getting robbed or getting things stolen, even in the safer parts of Rio, seems very common. Guide books to Brasil caution about bringing expensive equipment to Rio in the first place, which is fine for the causal traveler but difficult advice for any serious photographer to stomach. Just how would one take good pictures of Brasil with a disposable camera? So far I have not had trouble in Sao Paulo and Ouro Preto with my cameras or belongings, but as Rio loomed closer, I couldn’t help but think if my stuff could escape unscathed.
On the other hand, going to Rio has been one of my lifelong goals ever since I fell in love with Brasilian music many years ago. The birth place of bossa nova, and the undisputed capital of samba, Rio was the place to go for such pilgrims, much like New York is the place for jazz lovers. Furthermore, after years of parading with samba schools in Tokyo, I wanted to experience the real thing at the city where such carnival parades began in the early 1900s. And as if those reasons aren’t enough, there are the postcard images of Rio’s natural beauty, of Copacabana, Corcovado and Sugarloaf mountains; yes, these are tourist traps to be sure, nonetheless too well known not to warrant at least a visit in my lifetime.
* * *
So it was weariness, yet, at the same time, a strong desire to go to Rio cooked up a strange brew in me that simmered more and more as our departure to the city crept closer. This craziness within me only intensified as news images of Rio’s burning buses flashed across the TV screens while we were still in Ouro Preto, two days before going to Rio. Apparently a drug lord named Beira-Mar has been captured and jailed in Rio a while back and his subordinates decided to create some unrest by setting several buses in service on fire (which scared off other bus drivers and disrupted citywide bus service.) As we discussed this incident with a newly made Dutch friend at our Ouro Preto inn, he mentioned that he had just come from Rio and he recounted how during a bus ride there two men in the bus were hand-signaling each other while taking furtive glances at our friend. Sensing danger, our friend got off the bus at the next stop, which luckily happened to be his stop and he got home safely.
* * *
Our plane skirted around Tijuca and flew over Rio’s northern suburbs on its final approach to Antonio Carlos Jobim Airport, named after one of Brasil’s greatest composers. Zona Norte (north and northwestern Rio city) is fairly flat with a sea of drab two or three storey red-brick houses (many of them without proper-looking roofs), interrupted by an occasional factory. Much of this area is also favela, or slums, where Rio’s poorest live and where most of the city’s crime and drug-related violence take place. (The aforementioned burnt buses incident occurred around there.) It’s no surprise that guide books caution against going to this part of town. (My Brasilian wife lamented had Varig put us in a smaller plane, we would be able to see the famed Corcovado and the statue of Christ the Redeemer during landing at Rio’s smaller domestic airport in the south. This unforgettable experience is described in Samba do Avião, one of Jobim’s most beautiful songs.)
If Zona Norte is the part of Rio that guide books and especially, RIOTUR - Rio’s official tourist association - would like the foreign tourist to ignore, Zona Sul (southern Rio city) is Rio’s crown jewel with its assorted and (all too familiar) images being sold to you in the form of postcards or travel brochures. The “south zone” has it all: in additional to the world famous beaches, hills and landmarks mentioned in the previous paragraph, it is where Rio’s middle class and up reside. Some of the beach front apartment flats - especially in Ipanema and Leblon - are the most expensive properties in Brasil. Land is scarce in Zona Sul as it is limited to the narrow strips of real estate that are squeezed among surrounding hills, beaches and the Atlantic ocean.
But, favelas do exist in the rich Zona Sul, and some of them albeit in a very dramatic fashion. Whereas beach front is reserved for the residences of the rich, the poor have managed to construct their simple brick houses on the morros (hills) behind the high-rise, upper-class apartments in Copacabana, Ipanema and elsewhere. From a distance some of these morro favelas actually look pretty good, blending in with the surroundings. But upon closer inspection, many of the favela houses are shabby, and built precariously on steep slopes. News of those houses being swept away during torrential rain storms are not uncommon. While it is unfair to single out Rio for its favelas - as all of the Brasilian cities have favelas - Rio’s favelas in Zona Sul are easily the most visually dramatic as they are built on steep hills and exist side by side with the upper-class apartments and establishments. Of the most ironic must be the view from Ipanema beach towards upscale Leblon: a huge morro favela where its inhabitants make a measly US$100/mo. on the average is built right behind the beachfront five star Sheraton Hotel with rooms that cost over $200/night.
Morro favelas are rather ironic for me as places where I have lived before - whether it is San Francisco, Hong Kong, Los Angeles or Tokyo - it is more of the rule than exception that the the higher one goes, the more expensive the property. In Rio it is the opposite, and with morro favelas it is not uncommon that the top of the hill are usually reserved for heavily armed druglords, a kind of no-man’s land even Brasilian authorities would be reluctant to go.
* * *
Anywhere I go in Brasil I make an easy target: six feet tall, camera on my shoulder; but of all the cities I visited in Brasil - Sao Paulo, Manaus, Belo Horizonte, Rio and Salvador - I received the most requests for money in Rio from the poor. Most of them were children, usually black. My usual policy is ignorance, and I try to justify it by thinking that I won’t be helping them to buy glue or other addictive substances. The justification doesn’t really make me feel better, and it’s wrenching to keep saying to poor kids who approach me, “não, desculpe.” (No, sorry.)
My profile also makes me an easy target for pickpockets, although I have not had any trouble so far in Sao Paulo nor Ouro Preto. Only my second day in Rio, we were walking on Carioca St., and had just made a turn to go towards the Nova Cathedral, a funky-looking cone-shaped church. It was broad daylight and there were people around, but that didn’t stop three kids from “approaching” us. Si had seen one kid across the street signaling to two other kids walking behind us, and after she alerted me I pulled her to walk back to Carioca street. The two kids behind us followed us and approached us quickly, one of them asking out loud for money. And when I refused, all of a sudden he just came next to me and stuck his hand into my bulging left pocket. For a split second I was frozen and I could feel his hand in the pocket, which contained a digital camera and my wallet. (He had picked the right pocket.) Fortunately at that time Si screamed like no tomorrow and scared off the kid (and actually she surprised me too), so no damage was done.
The second time I got my pocket picked was almost a week later. I was walking to the carnival parade stadium, carrying my backpack on my back - a bad mistake in hindsight - which contained my camera and video camera. The road was a mess: crowded with people, and it was starting to rain. I came to understand later that two guys were working together: one had suddenly cut in front of me, forcing me to brake suddenly while the other one had come behind me and opened my backpack - all in a matter of seconds. What they had not noticed was that my friends, Taka and Ed, were walking right behind the thief that opened my backpack, and Taka managed to seize the offender’s arm before any real damage was done.
In both cases I could not blame any of them for trying to pickpocket me. I don’t believe anyone would turn to crime if there was another way for him (or her) to live. They were desperate, hungry and living day-to-day not knowing what tomorrow would bring. I can only be thankful that I had not been robbed with a knife or a gun, in which case I would have no choice but to hand over all my possessions.
(Rio: To be continued.)
