How my heart ached to return to Brasil. I had so strongly missed this great part of earth and its people. When I left Brasil I knew I had to explore south. But each day I knew I would return.
It was 2 in the morning and the taxi driver wound up the the steep, wet cobblestones of Santa Teresa, a neighborhood high on a steep hill overlooking the city and the
Pão de Açúcar. The driver asked me about the streets and I told
him I was unfamiliar with the neighborhood. I read to him the directions I had
printed, and together we discovered the hostel.
It was warm and humid and the snow and wind of Patagonia were gone. In the morning Santa Teresa looked over the metropolis and the beaches. I felt the sun on my beard and it was warm. No balaclava, no gloves, no thermal boots.
It was warm and humid and the snow and wind of Patagonia were gone. In the morning Santa Teresa looked over the metropolis and the beaches. I felt the sun on my beard and it was warm. No balaclava, no gloves, no thermal boots.
I
ate mamão for the first time in nearly 6 months. There were
two women cleaning and cooking breakfast—Elizabete, from Uraguay, and Maria, 8
months pregnant, from Rio. There was Guarai, a self-taught genius from Coritiba who had
taught himself mathematics, physics, chemistry and tutored university students
when he was younger to make ends meet. One day he gave me a lecture on money
supply and central banks, in the evening he tutored a student in atomic weight,
and late at night he played a lovely samba on his guitar.
Another evening I
met Daniel, a 60-year old carioca who had seen the many changes of the city
over the years. In the 70s he had lived in Boston and would visit every 6
months and every 6 months the prices would double. He lived in Lapa and invited
me to his home one evening with Pedro, a jazz guitarist. Pedro and
his girl sang melodies and Daniel shared cachaça and beer with us and we watched the rain fall over
the hills and in the jutting rocks and the green flora and lush trees that
cover the earth here.
I
would walk the streets and the beaches for the next few days, morning until
night. I was too overwhelmed to take many photos. I had no reference for a city
of such depth and beauty.
I
caught up with an old Colombian friend over coffee and it was clear both of us
were out of our element, mesmerized but the improbability of such a place: How
could the gods land such jutting stones upon the water, how could the ocean
meet such an urban city, how could such a large civilization be so tranquil?
I
had planned to stay for a few days, pull the bearings and regrease, replace the
brake cartridges, cassette, and chain, and then move on north to unpaved roads.
But there was too much to see and feel and I could not leave. I found a bed in
a room and paid for a month in full. I pulled the bike from the box and put everything
back together in about an hour, a record. I put the bags on the bike and told
Guarai that I was moving to Lanranjeiras but would see him again for more
conversation. There was much traffic on the roads but I had no problems and it
was a wonderful ballet to descend and ride across the city.
Laranjeiras
is more subdued and residential than Lapas. There are little restaurants on the
street corner that serve cold glasses of beer into the night. Men sell fried
pastel, fruit, and churrasco on the street corners. The beach is not far away
and I would run in the sand and use the dip and pullup bars.
Laura,
the owner of the guest house, told me of Ricardo, a Brazilian who had ridden in
South America for 4 years with 250 reis. He
had written a book and wanted to meet me. The next night Ricardo came over and
we spoke late into the night, sharing stories that lone cyclists resurrect from locations, sometimes painfully, but with joy. In the following nights I would explore more of
Lapa and one of its forró clubs and spent time with two enchanting paulistas,
cooking, exploring, dancing.
I was given a poem which moved me greatly, by the Brazilian poet Leminski:
V, de viagem
Viajar me deixa
a alma rasa,perto de tudo,
longe de casa.
Em casa, estava a vida,
aquela que, na viagem,
viajava, bela
e adormecida.
A vida viajava
mas não viajava eu,
que toda viagem
é feita só de partida.
This was difficult to translate, and I took license:
Traveling leaves me
a shallow soul,
close to everything,
far from home.
At home, life was,
the kind that, during the voyage
when exploring, beautiful
and dream-like.
A life traveling,
but never did I travel,
as the whole voyage
is made only by leaving.
I had explored the streets mostly without my camera. What follows are just a few photos taken in my first days here. There are some obvious vistas that are not included, but in the following days I will post street scenes that I hope will capture the feel of the different neighborhoods of Rio de Janiero.
I was reminded abruptly by the Brazilian phrase "saudades de você." Brasil is a constant embrace. When you are away from your friends, you
long for them. "Eu tenho saudades de você" is what you say when you are
away from those who you long to be with. When the embrace is separated, there is longing. You say
you long for someone when the embrace is separated.
SAUDADE
Por que sinto falta de você? Por que está saudade?
Eu não te vejo mas imagino suas expressões, sua voz teu cheiro.
Sua amizade me faz sonhar com um carinho,
Um caminhar, a luz da lua, a beira mar.
Saudade este sentimento de vazio que me tira o sono
me fazendo sentir num triste abandono, é amizade eu sei, será amor talvez...
Só não quero perder sua amizade, esta amizade...
Que me fortalece me enobrece por ter você.
Eu não te vejo mas imagino suas expressões, sua voz teu cheiro.
Sua amizade me faz sonhar com um carinho,
Um caminhar, a luz da lua, a beira mar.
Saudade este sentimento de vazio que me tira o sono
me fazendo sentir num triste abandono, é amizade eu sei, será amor talvez...
Só não quero perder sua amizade, esta amizade...
Que me fortalece me enobrece por ter você.
--Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis
