I am accompanied by ambrosial chicken soup that I made earlier today - an unfitting meal perhaps in the 38 degree heat, but I was keen to use all the remainders of the Christmas lunch we had a few days ago and prove to the doubting staff at the house that there is a use for a stripped chicken carcass. This entailed Vera and Anna, our cleaners, sitting somewhat uncomfortably close in the kitchen, heads cocked, hands on chins and wearing furrowed brows, analysing my every chop and slice. They will be trying some later and no doubt become hardened converts.
The last two weeks at Santa Teresa have been a fantastic reflection of the duality of the city of Rio. Lapa is the closest town to Santa Teresa, yet Lapa, the 7 night a week party hub, could not offer more contrast to the tranquility and peacefulness of this arty bohemian district. Well famed for the yellow `bondi` electric trams that have been running for over 110 years, the quaint museums and coffee shops, the town has distinctive and colourful graffiti art that covers every wall on the climb to the hill-top centre. On the bondi trip, you can either pay 60 cents for a seat (20p) or if your are keen for a more adrenaline-filled ascent, you can hang off the side for free - an experience that can easily include sudden, self induced whiplash and you pull yourself close in to the tram in the face of wildly driving on-coming traffic, overhanging branches and dangerously close walls, amongst other things.
Casa579, my new place of work and new residence, has been a fantastic relief over the last few weeks. This guest house has a lot of charm and many friendly occupants all keen to share their stories and impart wise travel tips. After a daily 3 hour shift, I have found myself being uncharacteristically lethargic, spending most of my days immersed in a good book on the balcony (in a possibly over-precautious factor 48 sunblock following previous events - I'm told we only have seven layers of skin and I'm pretty sure I'm down to my last two) and watching movies in the evenings. A large part of me is finding this lifestyle difficult to adjust to considering the heavy work demands that I have had over the last few years, and a part of me cannot help feel partially guilty for not being more productive, though am letting all this be for now and have numerous ideas to get more from my stay in Rio in the new year.
My stay at the guest house can not go without mention of its two most honoured guests, Molequi and Belinha - two rescued stray dogs, now both settled residents who have the privilege of taking me for a walk every morning. By far the most challenging event in my day is to try to contain the rocket powered 6 month old puppy that is Molequi, who has taken to greeting me with a leap that involves a consistently well-aimed shot with his paws in to my crotch, leaving me bent over double with every meeting. During our walks, Molequi attempts to charge down every passing car, bus, cyclist, man, woman and child, accompanied by the slow, plodding Belinha who has a tendency to want to run, then suddenly stop to sniff posts, plants and passers by. A combination of temperaments that, this morning, led me to be walking normally down the street one minute, both dogs in front, to suddenly having my arms snapped and splayed in opposing directions, to look on to the Christ The Redeemer statue, having adopted much a similar pose - the singular difference that 'Big Jesus' is without dogs, though perhaps an interesting idea for an addition to the sculpture in the future.
Christmas in the Southern hemisphere was a peculiar experience for me the first time this happened in Perth nine years ago, and I am sure it will take a lot more than one episode for it to ever feel right (if at all possible). Christmas Eve brought mid-thirties heat, high humidity and intense sunshine across the city on the day where all Brazilians celebrate Natal - Christmas. That night I arranged to meet up with three Brazilian friends I had made at Samba Villa who had recently moved to a new apartment, suggesting that I came round for 7pm. I got the impression that I had made a faux pas in my choice of timing and offered an earlier and a later suggestion, but they concurred with seven, only for me to find when I arrived that the Brazilian tradition is to wait to eat until midnight. The proceeding 5 hours involved too many caprinhas (one caprinha is too many caprinhas) and cervejas (beers) on an empty stomach, but was followed by an exceptional meal of pork and pineapple, boiled lamb, rice and roast vegetables, with the leftovers later brought out to the homeless children on the street. Much entertainment ensued from talking with the Brazilian's French companion, who spoke very little English, some Portuguese and a little Spanish - our conversation flitting between the French that I didn't know, the English he didn't know, and thankfully a mutual level of Portuguese comprehension but that which was unintentionally breached from time to time by Spanish... which I didn't understand. It was a lovely way to see in Christmas (with the exception of the unique brand of hangover provided by the cachaças - the elemental liquid-evil in our caprinhas) and closer than I dared hope to getting to a traditional, homely Christmas.
In my attempt to become perceived as a Carioca, the holy grail for any long term visitor to Rio (Carioca being to Rio what a Londoner is to London) and to ensure a reduced chance of being forcibly relieved of my camera on my way home at 7am from Christmas dinner(a strong possibility considering my Brazilian host had been mugged the morning before at gun point in the middle of the street I was currently walking on) in an area totally absent of taxis, I opened my shirt, ruffled my hair to match a more local style, stuffed my camera down my trousers and wore my rarely seen "Dare even look at me the wrong way and I'll be sure to leave you with no teeth" face, I stormed down the road to the distant bus station, pretending I was too busy and important to see the opportunistic street residents evaluating their chances. I have a mental image of how I had fit in seamlessly, radiating an air of streetwise austerity, though can't help but wonder if a giant, pasty, middle-class English gringo with an expression that could perhaps have been interpreted as constipation, can ever be described as a 'seemless Carioca'. I did, however, arrive home with all limbs intact and camera safe, and based on this success, I have chosen to stick with the former interpretation.
Being that my musings have over-run, it is now the 31st of December and we are now faced with the last day of the year. The plan is to meet up with friends at Copacabana beach after a BBQ at the guest house, watch the Samba schools show their might on stage and make our way down to Ipanema where it is said that one million people will be joining the beach party, with world-renowned DJ Tiesto bringing in the new year. A big part of me wishes I could spend it with you, my loving friends and family, though I can't deny that I am delighted to be here on the other side of the world and making a go of it on my own. Have a fantastic New Years everyone, wherever you are - Feliz Ano Novo!
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