For whom the bell tolls

On the 24th of March, bags were packed and goodbyes were said to all at Casa579, and with a pang of sadness, and "saudade", Santa Teresa and the glorious city of Rio were left behind. My travels would bring me towards the Blue Mountains - a 3 hour drive deep in to the overwhelmingly picturesque Brazilian countryside where I would undergo 10 days of Vipassana over the next 12 days. This intensive course would involve following a strict routine of daily meditation with the goal of achieving mental purification, deep control of mind over body and an insight into the Buddhist way of life, along with 80 other willing volunteers.

After the first few hours of induction, we began what is know as "The Noble Silence", refraining from all forms of communication, from speaking and hand gestures to even the acknowledging others, for 10 long days. We then had our time table explained to us. 4am wake up follows over 11 hours of individual and group meditation sessions every day, each segment of the day denoted by the chiming of a bell. Food would be strictly vegetarian - breakfast would be served at 6:30am, lunch at 11am and no other food would be provided again until the next morning, with the exception of a lime juice or a piece of fruit being served in the afternoon. Music players, phones, books, writing, exercising and practicing any other meditation techniques, including yoga, were all prohibited - this was going to be 10 days left with nothing but my own head and guaranteed to be an titanic mental challenge.

The first three days would be centered around the discipline of Anapanasati - mindfulness of breathing. Clearing the mind of all thoughts, one focuses purely on sensations in and on the nose. Though this sounds simple in theory, in practice, trying to clear your mind is a mammoth feet. No sooner is your mind being distracted by simple things that slowly become out of control. You may start thinking about lunch, then what you would have for lunch if you could have any meal you liked - what it would be like if I opened my own restaurant? What kind of food would I serve? Wouldn't it be amazing to be a Micheline star chef? I wonder what Gordon Ramsey is doing right now.... Then all of a sudden, 15 minutes of meditation has evaporated into day dreaming nonsense. And this repeats over and over, for hours. This is made even more difficult sitting on a small cushion, back unsupported on a wooden floor, for a total of 11 hours a day - the discomfort is desperately hard to ignore - especially during each 1 or 2 hour sessions you are to remain absolutely still throughout.

A similar Vipassana meditation hall, though a little more established than our hut in the forest

Now, at this point, I can hear you asking the patently pertinent questions, "What the hell are you doing this to yourself - aren't you meant to be on a beach or something? Have you lost your mind?" And the answer is, or was by the third day, "I have no idea, yes, I should be on a beach, and yes, I think I have indeed lost my mind." By day three there had been very little explanation of what the goal actually was and what we would be doing over the next 7 days (other than simply focus on our noses - a tortuously unbearable thought).

The reason for enlisting on this course stems from a mixture of reasons. I have always been intrigued by Buddhism for its philosophical approaches and as a guide for having a happy, fulfilled life and thought this course would be an excellent way to asses, understand and practice their methods of meditation. This course also looked to be quite a challenge - holidays are for sitting on beaches, traveling should be about exposing yourself to new and interesting experiences, and this looked to be just the thing. Vipassana is not a religious practice. Its teachings are applicable for anyone, whether they be religious zealots or uninspired by these organised venerations entirely, and though Vipassana stems from Buddhism, on its own, it is purely a way to experience separation of the mind from the body - the technique Buddha used to achieve Nirvana 2,500 years ago. The purpose of separating the body and the mind is to practice, rather than just think about existentialism. It teaches self awareness, self control and allows the mind to subconsciously deal with past, whilst focusing purely on the present moment.

Gautama Siddhartha - the most famous of all Buddhas (enlightened ones) - is more commonly referred to as The Buddha.

Until the third day, we were practicing Anapanasati, but by the fourth day, we were to begin Vipassana. Rather than just observing breath, we would mentally scan all the sensory inputs on the surface of the entire body. The discipline is to be aware of all itches, tickles, tingles pains, aches, heat and cold as if you are a 3rd party observer, remaining perfectly still throughout - a technique that slowly begins to separate mind and body, rejecting impulses outside and focusing on what is occurring within. This was a joyous relief as I was uncertain of my stamina for ten days of Anapanasati - this gave me more to focus on and more to aim for during the days to come.

When it was explained during that Vipassana is not a religious group or cult, merely a mind purification technique, I took a glance around the room to see 80 people meditating in silence, chanting from time to time. I could not help but become afflicted by a dubiously cocked eyebrow with the severity usually reserved for the guy who tells you, "Now trust me, this is definitely not a pyramid scheme..." Proceding with caution, it became clear that this was primarily a meditation course with some focus on the teaching of Buddha (Dharma), teachings that are very insightful and logical - refreshingly bereft of fire and brimstone, orders and rules. All the doctrines are purely advisory and offer a guide on maximising happiness, tranquility and fulfilment in life - not blindly offering oneself to a higher power, but by questioning things and looking to yourself as the solution to any inner discord.

The most eventful part of the programme came about on the 5th day of silence. A successful day of backache and mental clarity had been followed by the evening video discourse to help with the technique, then all returned to the meditation hall for one last session before bed. As we sit down, our teacher summons us with a booming voice to "start again... start again..." As he speaks, a roll of thunder ominously shakes the air and resonates around the hillsides. The deeper we got into our states the stronger the wind a rain became. The backs of our eyelids started flaring light blue several times a second as bolts relentlessly hammered the forest around us, the winds went from a howl to a near deafening roar as trees began to topple around us, with the smash of branches the power for the whole site went out, and yet there we sat, unmoving, suppressing the adrenaline, becoming more and more intrinsic, even as the spray of fine rain hit us as it whipped into the meditation hall through the mosquito-netted window covers. Suddenly there was a loud crash - a tree only a few feet away was struck by lightning and came smashing down on the path outside the hall, vociferously showering the building with debris. There are times to find inner calm. There are also times for self preservation. We arose to inspect the damage and realised we were stranded in the hall, dozens of fallen trees littering the path back to our dorms. I finally broke my Noble Silence - "Oh bugger".

The path to our dorms, having been somewhat cleared during the remaining week, were still impassable at the end of the course.

I ventured back to our rooms in the dark with another participant (I can hardly say friend as, like with everyone else, we had not spoken over the week) who fortunately had a flash light. Showered by rain, climbing several felled trees in the process, we made it back, found candles to light our rooms and went to bed, trying, but failing miserably to get sleep ready for the next day.

Another blocked path at the sight

The 'Area of Permanent Silence' with an up-ended tree brazenly encroaching on its tranquility

Day six oddly started as normal. The bell chimed - that relentless bell - and we raised in the early dusk to view the aftermath. Everything was a wreck. Trees lay everywhere, paths were blocked and the power lines were so badly dammaged we were left without power for five days. Nothing was said - with the exception of candles instead of lights and a battery powered CD player to stand in for the evening discourse video, things carried on as normal. And the meditation continued, getting deeper and more penetrative as the day went on.

By the seventh and eighth days I was feeling the strain. My back ached, dozens upon dozens of itching mosquito bites were all over my body and 19 hour periods a day with only a fruit juice to sustain me was taking its toll, but more than this, trying to keep the mind clear and focused for such long periods of time was beginning to feel more and more masochistic. Dan FM became a hugely frustrating entity - 2 hours of relative clarity and self awareness would be unfathomably interrupted by "I feel good! Nana nana nana na! I knew that I would!". This would be expelled for a matter of minutes before, "Billie Jean is not my lover! She's just a girl...". Maximo Park's 'Gone Missing' was at the top of the charts, this appearing to be my theme song of the trip. Lunch was always ludicrously accompanied by 'My Angel is a Centerfold'. My inability to focus was frustrating and the feeling that I had got the idea of the technique and wanted to go back to the city was becoming overwhelming. Of my five other roomates, two remained - all others had quit and many more in other dorms had left too. The only thing that kept me going was the evening discourse and my personal oath to not quit at anything. G. N. Goenka, the leader of the modern Vipassana course is a charismatic guru who resonates wisdom and tranquility - a speaker to the United Nations, his discourses are fascinating, full of beautiful metaphors and at times very comic. Without these I would have been lost.

The bell, that ceaseless bell, chimed again at the beginning of the final day. It was over, we could speak again, and our hours of meditation were numbered and few. For the first time I spoke with my dorm mates, a bizarre experience after these 10 days of reticence, and we discussed the experience and shared our stories (mostly in Portuguese, which I was somewhat proud of). It also emerged that, when recalling a day where a meditator started having a fit of the giggles in the middle of a two hour session, laughter that went on to infect everyone in the hall so badly that we had to be lead out outside, all poorly suppressing uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter... this event was cause by someone falling asleep during the session and loudly letting out a snore. I was unaware of this before, unsurprisingly, seeing as I was the culprit. Overcome with embarrassment, everyone was great about it, thinking it as one of the funniest moments of the course.

The remaining few - my room mates and I on the final day.

So, who is Dan now? An enlightened soul shining benevolence and peace wherever he goes, quoting scriptures and converting those who have yet to find the light of Buddha's teachings? Well... I wouldn't go that far, though I would say it has been an experience that has taught me strength of mind and self control as well as given me ways to find deep inner peace. Meditation will still play a part in my life, though after 120 hours worth in one hit, it will be taking a back seat for a while. I shall always remember an English guy approaching me at the end, dressed in hindu robes in the hippyish style of all the participants (myself excluded), and said, "When you arrived you looked like you had found yourself gate crashing the wrong party, but we were all suprised to see that you made it!"

There are many things that I will take away from this experience, some that I shall leave, but all that was in my mind as we drove back into civilisation was that I had a flight that afternoon to Iguaçu Falls on the borders of Brazil and Argentina - A UNESCO site cosidered one of the most beautiful natural sights on Earth. I was still in need of a place to stay and a plan for the coming weeks, but more importantly, I needed to scream, scream at the top of my lungs over these falls and get myself a big, juicy Argentinian steak... I think we can all find inner peace there.


Peace, love and tranquility to you all.

;)

D

Favelas of Rio

The latest research has shown that 1 in 3 Cariocas, that's a resident of Rio to you and me, live in a favela (shanty town). So it can easily be argued that if you have not been to one then you cannot truly say you have had full experience in Rio. Though I had previous visits to Julio Otoni, Babilonia and Male favelas with community projects, I had yet to be submerged in the culture and still had many questions and much more to learn. With this in mind, I was given the opportunity to have a visit Rio's 'Rocinha', the largest favela in South America, with a swelling population of over 300,000 residents. Having had my blog posts noticed, I was offered a day and night trip in return for writing an article promoting ethical tours to educate tourists and locals alike.

Favela housing

Favelas are notorious for violence, lawlessness and drugs and are often feared by the local Brazilians. Almost daily, there are news reports of shootings and troubles occurring in these areas - The British Embassy warns that, "they are characterised by poverty and extremely high levels of violent crime. Do not venture into a favela even with well-organised tours, as favelas can be unpredictably dangerous areas." Despite these warnings, it was clear during my stay in Rio that there is more to favela life than locals, the media and the embassy would lead you to believe. Though entering a favela unaccompanied would be far from wise, I was with Zezinho, a life-long resident of Rocinha who I had been working with through my job at Casa 579. Covered from top to toe in self-designed tattoos of his beloved favela, he is the city´s unofficial ambassador and has a mission to eradicate the stigmas of his community for both locals and tourists.

Rocinha from the sky

When arriving at Rocinha, enveloped by the Dois Irmaos (Two Brothers) Mountains, this fortress-like entity rests upon the landscape like a man made glacier. Standing at the mouth of the city within a city, you look up at thousands of simple brick shanty houses clumsily stacked five or six stories high. After an initial orientation, we ascended the steep slopes of Rocinha by mototaxi - a hair-raising experience where hundreds upon hundreds of motorbikes weaved up and down the small main road, three bikes to a lane, all racing each other up and violently swerving the giant potholes that plague the streets. At the top we got to see the beautiful, unique view across Rio before descending by foot to a small bar in the city centre to soak in the city sights over a beer.

I took this opportunity to get much more of an understanding about the fascinating history of the Rio favelas and how they operate. The etymology derives from the 'favel' plantations - black slaves from Africa were sent in their thousands to Brazil to work, though not allowed to stay in the city, they were sent far away to the hills to build make-shift shacks and mud houses to live in. The longer they stayed, the more permanent the structures would become, up to the point where the government set out to evict the population to keep them away from the city. Only when eviction was threatened the drug lords came, heavily armed, to take over and protect the favelas from the state. Before their reign, violence and crime within these communities was rife, but once they took control, all inter-favela violence and crime (with the exception of drug dealing) was forced to stop, pulling the community together against outside forces. Ironically, though the gangs brought drugs to favelas (most of which are sold to outsiders) they also brought stability and order to these towns.

Zezhinho

Today in Rocinha, the dealers of the A.D.A - Amigos dos Amigos (Frinds of Friends), or as Zezinho prefers to more subtly call them 'The Guys', make a total of around R$10 million (£3m) a month in revenue and make payments of R$240,000 (£100,000) a month to the police force in order for them to stay out of the favela. This leaves a city of 300,000 people running with zero police presence with almost zero crime levels (with the exception of drug dealing). A very counter intuitive and thought provoking concept that makes one question how societies are able to function in alternative ways... If there is any violence, it is almost always between the two other cartels in Rio - The Red Command and The 3rd Command, who will fight over territory and ownership of less fortified favelas.

Despite the bribes the police have to been seen to be active in the war against drugs and made a raid a week before my visit with 200 heavily armed police, 3 gunship helicopters and two tanks. A sizable force by any standards, although, upon seeing the capabilities and equipment of the 1,000 strong A.D.A, most armed with automatic rifles, anti-tank and anti-aircraft weapons, this rarely makes a significant dent in the fortress that is Rocinha.

Zezinho´s roof terrace

As much as the drug lords offer protection and, now the government has finally revoked their agenda to evict the residents and offer infrastructural support, there are still significant problems with public services. Poorly funded schools mean that education levels are extremely poor, there is a big problem with water availability, the sewage network is very badly maintained and health facilities are old, outdated and understaffed. Although the infrastructure and poverty situations do not compare to those of many African counties, there is still a significant gap between the favela residents and the children at R$5,000 a month private schools just metres away outside Rocinha. Considering the average wage of a resident is R$600 a month and houses are worth R$20,000, there is an overwhelming wealth and class gap that seems almost divided beyond reconcile.

Many people call a modern Western city the 'Concrete Jungle', though having seen Rocinha, this place is truly closest to the metaphor. Hundreds of wildly unkept and unmaintained telephone and power cables drape over the roads at staggeringly short intervals creating a canopy over the roads, joining at lamp posts and telephone posts that are so overwhelmed by wires, they look like black trees. A trip through the Bacos, the narrow labyrinth of capillary-like lanes that weave throughout the city feels like an intimidating, dark forest trail that open into areas where half a dozen dealers will be sitting around brandishing their guns. Though they are not being intimidating, it is hard not too feel ill at ease this being such an alien sight.

The Concrete Jungle

The favelas of Rio are credited with the creation of samba music - a beautiful cultural fusion and evolution of African music with the soul of South America. This has long since been in the main stream however and the 21st century is a new era of electronic music in the slums. A grimy, heavy set of pounding baselines with repetitive rap lyrics is not to everyones taste, but is hugely popular at the Baile Funk parties that begin at around 2am near the top of the city which is where Zezinho and I went after chilling out on his terrace and a meal. The most popular song of the year is about a Rio football player called Petkovik



The club is a warehouse with speakers stretching wall to wall, standing over 6 meters high, the base so loud you could feel your rib cage rattle and static electricity build up from the hairs on your head to the tops of the fingers. At 4am, I experienced one of the most incredible experiences I have had on my travels yet - an overwhelming roar competed with the club speakers - at least one hundred motorbikes descended upon the club. The Guys had arrived. All armed with assault rifles, some also carrying pistols and anti-tank weapons, the A.D.A. collected out the club before marching inside to join the festivities. I wish I could have taken pictures, but I was assured this would be a very bad move... There was nothing aggressive about their entrance at all, their weaponry acting merely as outrageous bling - the sight of their entry though will always stay with me as one of the biggest culture shocks I have ever had. A shocking expression of how culturally different the European and South American continents can be. By 4:30am, and with a 16 hour shift at Casa 579 at 8am later that day, it was time to depart. A mototaxi ride with Zezinho to the bottom of the city would end my final favela visit in Rio, leaving me with much thinking to do about my previous premonitions about how societies function, the Rio drug trade and the city slums. A truly eye opening experience.


Zezinho´s website for favela tours in Rocinha:
http://favelatour.org/

Life after Carnival

And so it began - the Winners Parade of the Rio Carnival - the best five schools of the competition were lining up to parade down the Sambadrome. Arriving early to get our seats, the rest of the staff and I on a rare collective night off cheered as fireworks and the baterias exploded into action. The Brazilian Carnival is more than just a party. Its history going back to the 18th century when the Portuguese brought the idea across the seas where the huge African slave population adopted it as their own. They played a vital role in injecting soul and vibrancy in to the event that still resonates today - so much so that the slaves were allowed these three days off a year to become involved. Rio Carnival is the embodiment of beautiful and glorious escapism - men dress as women and the proletariat are the Kings and Queens of Rio, looked on in awe by the bourgeois and the aristocracy, that is unless they themselves participated, usually dressing as slaves.


Clockwise from top left - Manguiera's first of 5 giant floats approach. The Bateria dressed as prisoners. Flag bearer and escort leading the Passistas (dancing girls). Heading toward the end of the Sambadrome, denoted by Oscar Neimier's famous arch.

Now a highly competitive event, as big as Brazilian football (if not more so) there are 12 schools in the top (Special) group, the most famous including Salguerio (last year's winners) Beija Flor, Mangueira and Grange Rio, and 12 schools in the second (Access) group. Each school desperately fight for the respect and prestige of winning the Carnival or to gain league promotion, and can achieve this title though the inventiveness and brilliance of their fantasias (costumes), dancing, floats, bateria (drum squad), flag bearer, Vanguard Commission (leading dance wing), school song and overall theme. Each school having anywhere between 2,500 and 4,000 participants, all in full costume, there are many different 'wings' to the parade, meaning that you will often see 20-30 different styles of costume per school with up to 100 dancers, each more brilliant, bright, inventive and fun than the next. An orchestrated explosion of colour and creativity, combined with the impeccably professional floats, a sea of dancing, drumming and song, the paraders wash through, wave after wave in all their feathered and bejewelled glory with beaming smiles - the Carnival brings tears of joy and admiration to hundreds of onlookers, and it's not hard to see why.


Three left-most pictures - dancer girls on the parade floats. The Mangueira flag bearer and her escort, bottom right and one of their impressive floats, top right.

The pictures can only tell some of the story - to see some of the work of this year's winners, Unidos da Tijuca, click this link to see their Vanguard Commission in their magical element of their theme 'Secrets':



Notice 6 costume changes in 2 minutes! This is just a small element of their show that included the mystery of the Library of Alexandria and Michael Jackson (who appeared from a pod in an 'Area 51' float dancing samba - so that's where he's got to...)

I feel very privileged, not only have watched this incredible event, but to also have been a participant and to be involved in the escapism by being someone I wouldn't normally be (a Roman Centurion, Transformer, Father Christmas hybrid being a less than regular alter-ego I tend to indulge in) and to see the wonderment and nature of this global spectacle.


My video of Salgueiro at the Winners Parade (more on youtube.com)

The days after the Carnival are sad days for Brazilians and unofficially considered the Brazilian New Year. Like peacocks without their tail feathers, the kings and queens of the past week are now faced with the realisation that this will fail to be the case again for another 360 days, and to quench this withdrawal they head to the beach (usually with a caiprinha in hand). I had written previously that Ipanema and Copacabana are some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. This is only true in the sense of famous, popular beaches, though any famous popular beach is often spoiled for this very reason - there are too many people. This is why I headed out with a friend to Barra da Tijuca beach during a trek out to the South West coast of the city. With fine white sand and light blue waters that stretch on for miles, the beach is tranquil and blissfully free of vendors - a swarm of salesmen pacing the busy beaches shouting "Cerveja! Cerveja! Agua! Agua!" constantly and harasing you for business. Cunningly equipped with sun cream this time to avoid previous pains, we stayed until sundown before seeking out a Bosa Nova club in town.


Sundown at praia da Barra da Tijuca

In more recent days I have been exploring new parts of town with friends including old coffee houses, the rocks overlooking the ocean in Aproadore, an incredible local sea food restaurant 'Sobrenatural', the best cake shop / museum in Rio and learning the joys of Nos Normais (Brazil's favourite sitcom), as well as just hanging out on the poussada balcony catching some sun with a good book. A special mention has to go out here to XB and FW for making the last weeks especially memorable. And while I am making special mentions, I also need to say farewell to Daniela who I have been working with all this time at Casa 579 who is returning home to Mexico. I couldn't have done this job without her here with me - we've had such a great time at the blocos during Carnival and at get-togethers at Casa Amarela making music and trying our hand (or should I say feet?) at samba. You will be sorely missed.

Daniela has since been replaced by another Mexicana, Lisset - someone who I appear to have already made an impression on. When I invited her to join me for a run the other day, I spoke in Portuguese asking if she wanted to 'correr', using hand gestures in the way that I now do to complement my speech. A shocked look appeared on her face and she left the room without a word... It turns out that 'correr' in Spanish is to 'have sex'. In this case, the hand gestures only seemed to make matters worse. Fortunately, all was cleared up and we did go for that run (and no, that's not a euphemism) and order seems to have restored at the house, though I remain ever conscious of the linguistic minefield that still lies ahead.

With more trips planned as my time here in Rio gradually reaches an end, it turns out there is life after Carnival after all...

Thanks for all your support by writing comments and sending emails - It's great to hear from everyone at home, so please keep it up! Until next time,


Dan


PS - if you want to see anymore short movie clips of the trip, type 'dandoestheworld' in to YouTube. Hope you enjoy!

Carnival Crescendo

As the red sun sets behind the Corcovado mountain the city lights begin to glimmer and, eventually, a single deep drum beat rises up from a favela in the valley below. By the time dusk transforms into night, from the shanty towns to the main streets, the whole Central district is alive, awash with thousands of Cariocas and gringoes alike moving to the beat. Eventually, at the height of the thundering percussion, all performers suddenly stop for two beats, leaving a silence even more resonant than their drumming, and when they crash back into their beat a moment later, they are joined by guitars and the crowd erupts into song and samba dancing - loud and numerous enough for the entire metropolis to hear and feel shake through the earth.


A local favela at dusk

These are the daily blocos and street parties in Rio at the moment. Growing in size and number in the week leading up to Carnaval, there are dozens performing in town squares and parading through the city streets. The locals are drinking in the streets from midday - every one of them in fancy dress costumes - moving on to parties at 11pm, dancing through the night until 6am before moving on to the early morning blocos at 7am. You would be hard pushed to find people who party harder anywhere in the world.


Me and the Casa579 staff, Daniela and Ziggy ready for a bloco party

In light of the popularity of the Carnaval, our pousada is saturated with guests, relegating my sleeping quarters to either Igor's house - a dark, insect riddled mosquito haven 200 steep steps down through the forest garden - or the moon and star-lit roof terrace. Pretty easy choice... with the exception of one night, in amongst 3 weeks of blissfully sunny days and cloudless nights (tough life), where we experienced a storm stronger than the likes you would have expected even Noah to have witnessed - the rain and wind was so hard on the terrace we had to put struts up to support the roof and guttering.

Though the night at Igor's resulted in over 50 bites and roughly 2 pints of blood loss, spirits were not weakened, for there was a plan brewing... After convincing the manager that I would take full responsibility for maintenance and cleaning, work began on reviving the roof top jacuzzi. I had earlier determined that there were a number of guests that would be aesthetically well suited to this new facility and work began immediately to take my mind off the incessant itching. To my dismay, repairs and the need for chemicals and testing kits delayed the process by a few days, and now after a job well done, and after a change of guests, for my efforts I am left with a space to join Pete, Ted and Karl in the tub if I wish. Not quite what I had in mind...

As much as I enjoy recounting my experiences in this blog, I can't help but notice there is always a negative factor to blemish what would otherwise be an idyllic stay, and was certain I would have better luck this week in avoiding this. Alas, it was not meant to be... My new work mate at the guest house, a Brazilian Paulista called Ziggy, has recently joined us and already set up a tour for the guests were you are taken on a forest hike and visit a number of cachoeiras (natural waterfalls) for the day. I joined our guests on his first tour where we had an excellent expedition through the overgrowth, heaving ourselves up steep slopes by grabbing tree roots and vines, to get to these remote waterfalls. These small waterfalls have beautiful pools at the bottom where you can swim and watch the wildlife that surrounded the area, from purple butterflies with wings the size of your hands, to toucans and monkeys. After enjoying the cleansing, clear water and bathing in the pools, we somehow resisted the urge to re-enact Peter Andre's 'Mysterious Girl' under the falls before having a lunch by the river. Ziggy was delighted by the success of his first trip and had great reviews. Unfortunately, yet understandably, the only thing the other guests focussed on when we returned to talk about our day was the dead body we saw at the begining of our ascent into the forest. Only a few hours before we arrived a local man had been murdered, having had his throat slashed, and lay a few feet away in a big pool of blood, still with open, glazed eyes. There were heavily armed police on the scene and explained that a suspect had been caught and the area should be safe - Ziggy explained that the man had killed himself to the guests to make them feel less ill at ease and tried to take everyone's mind off it, but to his dismay, this is all everyone wanted to know about when we returned. It was certainly unsettling to see this sight so close up and be reminded yet again of how dangerous this city can be, but remaining as light hearted as I can, I still find it entertaining to see Ziggy wince when I describe his trip as the 'Cachoeira Cadaver' tour.


Me and guests at the cachoeira in the Jardim Botanico district

In the last few weeks I have participated as a non-paying guests on other tours as a pousada representative and been to see some of the country's best known samba acts in free concerts to raise awareness for Haiti, but the most memorable thing I have participated in this week, and one of the eternally extraordinary experiences of my entire life to date for that matter, was at the opening day of the Rio Carnival at the Sambodrome. Last Friday I paraded in full costume with Estácio de Sá Samba school in front of some 80,000 people, not to mention a global TV audience, joined by 3,000 fellow dancers in a costume that can only be described as a Transformer / Roman Centurion / Father Christmas hybrid. After six hours at an all day bloco in Santa Teresa and work at the hostel from 6pm until midnight, a group of us left for the metro station in a pair of kombis (kombis being the city's mini-van bus alternative) after a few caiprinhas at 2am.

Waiting for the parade to start

The envy of the local kombi circuit, our driver had a TV screen and neon lights installed in his VW and had chosen to blast out music during our decent to the station. Though samba would have been more preferable, "I Want it that Way" by the Backstreet Boys was blaring out as our Formula 1 racing driver / pop star wannabe swerved dangerously as we sped down the hill. As we came out of the metro station by the Sambodrome, the full scale of the event came into focus. The streets were crowded with participants from the passistas (young samba girls) to the bateria and volunteer participants in glorious costumes like a myriad of a thousand shattered rainbows milling around a melee of illustrious floats. There being some five parades preceding us, our 4:40am entrance was somewhat delayed, and the blocos and work of the day were beginning to catch up with me - once left exhausted by the side of the road, we eventually began moving in lines of eight behind our float towards the entrance and the excitement began to build. The roar of the crowds and the thundering of the bateria drums intensified along with the pace of the parade. As we turned into the Sambadrome, a deluge of fireworks erupted along with the crowd. Adrenaline coursed through everyone as the bright lights and overwhelming noise enveloped us. We had fifty minutes for our parade to wave, dance and sing the Estácio song that we had learned earlier that day.

Though clearly not under as much pressure as the professional dancers, we still felt it our duty to do our best to perform well, as the Carnaval is strictly judged and schools are heavily competitive to win the event or be promoted in to higher leagues for funding and most of all prestige. By the end of the kilometre long parade, hot, sweaty and exhausted, we collapsed in a heap and watched the other participants filter through. A solid year of work by thousands and millions of Real spent on fifty minutes, and a mixture of emotions of elation of the experience and sorrow that it was over took over the participants, such that could never really be fully comprehended by a visitor - for millions of Brazilians, this is their life. How will they be judged? We would find this out later, but then our only mission left was to find our way home by searching for taxis in the streets that were slowly piling up with discarded and once so beautiful costumes that began melting into the rubbish piles by the road. The night was finally over and shall remain an utterly remarkable experience of my time here in Brazil.


Estacio do Sa - 2010

Com X Todo

Though it has only been a few weeks since the last update of my trip, the days have been inordinately busy, such that I am surprised to find myself already looking in to February - the month of the Carnival - which is only two weeks away now, commencing on the 13th. The heat has been relentlessly strong during the day, though there was a period of a week where the nights would be punctuated with tropical thunderstorms, the likes of which I have never seen or heard anywhere else before. Lightning would strike dozens of times a minute across the cloud strewn skies accompanied by titanic thunder, making one cower even in the relative safety of home. Nightly power cuts would have the staff and the guests of the house sat around candlelight contemplating how out of sorts we felt without our electronics and internet amongst lulls in conversation. Thankfully these episodes have stopped for now and we're back to the sweltering heat of the night time in Rio, and safely plugged back in to the internet .

I have finally had my first real taste of Brazilian football at a state league match between Vasco and Tigres which I attended with a Chilean guest, Mauro. The first half of the match was missed due to the palaver of trying to acquire tickets from touts / guys who thought they knew someone who had a mate who had a cousin who might have a few tickets going spare, with comical, if not frustrating charades to communicate our dilemma. It goes without saying that there are some marvellous talents in Brazilian football, and all players seem to have such a tenacious edge to their game. I couldn't help noticing, however, that the players seemed to have excessive tendency to play, where possible, on one side of the pitch that was shaded in the afternoon sun. In 38 degree heat, you can hardly blame them, though it was rather amusing to see all the players take a 5 minute break in the 70th minute to revive themselves for the final minutes of the game. Cheering for Vasco, we weren't left disappointed with a 1-0 lead going into the final minute, and though there was a near clutching of a draw from the jaws of victory by conceding a penalty in extra time, it was to no avail. A great day out at the game with all the flair and flourish you could want.


The squad on their 3/4 time water break at Vasco’s picturesque home ground

After a day out in the city, it is great to be able return the tranquil bohemian town that is Santa Teresa, there are some wonderfully quaint historic bars in the centre, Largo do Guimarães, where a few glasses of ice cold choppe (draught beer) go down a perfectly. After a drink or two, naturally you gravitate towards a street vendor (who would never be more than a few metres away) and cast a discerning eye across the spurious looking ingredients he has ready for your late night snack. Boldly, you chose the hot dog, and are reassured that this comes 'com x todo' pointing to the sign on his cart. 'Com' means 'with', 'todo' - 'everything' and keen to appeal to the Western market, there is an 'X' - a letter pronounced on its own in Portuguese as 'shees' and therefore obviously pertains to 'cheese' for the English speaking patron. i.e. With Cheese and Everything. Far from obscure when you think about it, right? You are then treated to Everything: Cheese, ketchup, mustard, mayo, hot sauce, lettuce, corn, peas, onion, and (my personal favourite) long thin potato chips, all over your hot dog. You are then left to make your happy way home, leaving a trail of Todo splattering and crunching behind you, suppressing the thought of the dire consequences that surely await your stomach later in the night. Wonderful.


Snapped by a guest at Bar do Gomes, Santa Teresa

I naturally have been busy acquiring new friends in my time here, but am proud to say this now includes new family. Before my family have a collective acute panic attack, I should clarify - I mean to say that I have been affectionately adopted by our cleaning lady, Vera, who has kindly nominated herself as my stand-in mother while I am here in Rio. A wonderful lady, who, alas, I fail to understand most of the time due to her resistance to speaking Portuguese more slowly for me so that I can follow her, I now have an arrangement whereby I bring her ingredients from the supermarket and help wash up in return for her delicious Brazilian meals of chicken rice and beans. I am truly set up well here now...


Me and the staff at Casa 579 (Vera in yellow)

With Carnival just around the corner, we are really getting in to the spirit of things in town at the moment and getting the guests out to see the best of what is around. Friday was a night at Centro Cultural Carioca - a free outdoor samba concert with a superb performance by a dance group showing their moves to wow the local crowd. The following day, we got a rare opportunity to parade with the samba school Estácio during their technical rehearsal at the Sambadrome - the same event that I described in my last post, the difference being that I was no longer just a spectator. In amongst the thousands of dancers and the mighty 'bateria' (percussion group), wearing the Estácio shirts and colours, the guests and I were lined up, given handkerchiefs to wave and sent down the Sambadrome with thousands of spectators cheering us on down the strip. Though this was a rehearsal and few were in full costume, the magnitude of the event was just enormous. The whole parade was singing the school’s song at the top of their lungs, dancing and waving as we slowly made our way down. The parade took just over an hour to reach the end of the strip where we waited for the rest of the parade to stream through, meeting everyone from the top dancer girls to the Samba Queen herself, in all her sparkling cat-suit glory. The atmosphere from start to finish was utterly electric and the excitement of the Carnival to come is hard to contain – it is going to be truly epic.


A view from the Estácio 30th January rehearsal parade

As you may have sensed by now, the city manages to ground you after such nights with startling regularity. The taxi ride home from the parade was going rather well - not only was I able to converse well with the driver in Portuguese, I was directing him up through Santa Teresa's darkened roads and showing him short cuts to get us home quickly. Taking a moment to reflect on the evening, I took my eyes of the road for a while, only to turn back to see a man suddenly step out into the road, holding a large rifle, the barrel of which was aimed straight at my head. The taxi hit the brakes and we came to a sudden stop. It became clear that the man was a policeman, though far from a reassuring factor as police robbing tourists is not exactly unheard of. After checking out the cab, we were left to drive on and returned home without further incident... I was later informed that the police can be rather direct in attempts to prevent the drug trade going in to the favelas, and that all was safe, which is understandable - it is more the feeling during that split second moment when a gun is suddenly pointed at your head that stays with you than the motives behind it.

With all these adventures, both positive and negative, all in all I am really having such an incredible time here and enjoying some amazing experiences. I am also in high spirits as Vera has brought me some spaghetti bolognaise - Brazilian style, much the same as traditional spaghetti, with the wondrous exception that has been sprinkled, not with cheese, but with batata fritas (potato chips). Well, they say you can't knock it until you've tried it, but forgive me for being less than optimistic. Bom apetite...


A samba girl from the Estácio parade

[For those keen on seeing some of my photos, for those who have not already, do have a look on my facebook page (email link: danrobertson2@hotmail.com) or a couple of the photos (more to come) on http://www.flickr.com/photos/dandoestheworld . By the next posting I also hope to have a youtube account to share a few short videos too for the real die-hard fans – collector’s limited edition DVDs to come in late 2010]

Samba & Shoot-outs

Two weeks in to 2010 already - time seems to just be flying by. And what has this new year brought so far? Well, starting from the beginning with the striking of midnight on the 1st of January, a myriad of kaleidoscopic pyrotechnics fire into the night sky over the length of Copacabana and Ipenema beaches. A spectacle for the two million strong crowd that lasts for quarter of an hour, followed by samba dancing, hugging all in sight and wading into the ocean, clutching lilies and roses, throwing flowers into the water to make new year wishes. I was joined by three girls from Ecuador, Sweden and America who were staying at the hostel - all feverent about keeping a steady flow of beer, caprinhas and sparkling wine throughout the night in spite of their 9am departure for the airport in the morning. The atmosphere on the beach was awesome - an incredible experience and I can't have imagined a better way to begin the decade (particularly assisted by stealthily cutting past the 3 hour long queue for the metro for a quick getaway home!)

Needless to say, the first full day of the year was a write of, spent re-hydrating and avoiding excessive sunlight. In the days that have followed I have made numerous trips, including to Jardim Botânico (the botanical gardens), Museu de Arte Moderna and Academia do Samba Salgueiro (Salgueiro Samba School). The gardens I would recommend to any visitor in Rio. The 140 hectare UNESCO protected site is a dazzling collection of eclectic varieties of plant life from around the world, containing well over 6,000 different species of plants, compartmentalised into separate cacti, orchid, palm-tree, Japanese and rose gardens, amongst others, and more than half of the site being an uncultivated Atlantic Forest running up the breath-taking Corcovado mountain.


The Jardim Botanico

The MAM (Modern Art Museum) was a somewhat strange experience whereby a strict set of rules were imposed with ruthless rigidity, having an unfortunate dampening affect on the experience. No photos, no phones, no water bottles, no talking, and especially no diving in the shallow end - some of the more textural pieces in the first gallery were worth getting close to in order to see the finer details, but this would cause a petulant fuss by the curator's weaselly minions who would quickly scutter over to usher me away to a more acceptable distance. The same went for displays of photographs in glass cabinets on tables where people would rest their hands on the woodwork in order to lean over to get a better view - more scuttling and ushering of startled visitors would ensue. The collection is relatively small in comparison to its counterparts in other major cities and sadly bereft of numerous great works that had once inhabited its walls, from Picasso and Dalí to Miró and Magritte, an unfortunate fire in the 70s saw to the end of this beautiful era. Impoverished of the works of many great Brazilian artists (with the exception of Carlos Vergara), there was an overabundance of French collections, and though they had their merits, it was disappointing to see such a lack of local talent, especially being that these is such a saturation of wonderful home-grown art in and around Santa Teresa. In its defence, a saving grace of the museum, it has to be said, was the blissful air conditioning saving me from the 43 degree heat that was sweltering everyone outside - Rio in the height of the summer is becoming really quite extreme.


Untitled by Carlos Vergara

Academia do Samba Salgueiro is the samba school who won the 2009 Rio Carnival and are a now synonymous with the partying spirit of the city. On a trip to the school with some of the guests at the house, we squeezed ourselves into the packed hall that easily fit 2,000 people, and watched the Salgueiro supporters dance the night away. The percussion troop, the bateria, were playing their carnival procession music lead by their samba queen and were later accompanied by the gorgeous group of female samba dancers in full dress. The infectious rhythm and fast-paced, alluring dancing is incomparable to anything else I have seen - and every Brazilian can do it. From young girls to old men in their seventies, everyone in the academy was moving with mesmerising skill and speed. Those who know me well will be fully aware that I am far from a distinguished dancer, even when presented with the most simple steps, and needless to say, I joined in and danced all night having a ball, though clearly failing to impress in this new environment... A week after the visit to the academy another group of us went to the Sambadrome, an Oscar Niemeyer building with a stretch of road nearly a kilometer long where the schools parade down during carnival. This was on the night when Salgueiro were performing a dry-run (without costumes or floats) of their upcoming performance. Everyone builds up the hype and the size of the carnival, though I was still astonished at the scale of the event. Thousands upon thousands of dancers trailing as far as the eye could see passed through the Sambadrome with an electrifying presence. If this is what the event looks like without floats or costumes then the main event in February, combined with the attendance of a dozen schools, will truely live up to its title of 'The Greatest Party on Earth'.


One of the Salgueiro dancers at the Acadamy


The Sambadrome of Rio de Janeiro

Rio has a peculiar habit of oscillating from showing its incredible beauty, fun and passionate side, to revealing its more rough, deprived and dangerous elements without notice. Still buzzing the next day from the night at the Sambadrome, I took a walk from Santa Teresa to Lapa and was soaking in the sun and sights during my descent whilst listening to music on my phone. I had barely made it 5 minutes down the hill before I saw agitated policemen armed with rifles peering around walls along the road looking down at the local favelas, when one gestured to me urgently to put away my headphones. It didn't take long to discover that there was a gunfight in progress in the shanty towns. In the arid mid-day heat, plumes of dust were rising behind distant men running behind buildings for cover, followed by multiple kinds of fire, from pistols, machine guns and high powered rifles. There was no police presence in the epicentre - this was clearly a gang or mafia matter that are often let be by the authorities when contained within the favelas - and there was an strange lack of screaming or shouting, the only sound amongst the gunfire being cockerels and chickens making a rucas in their pens. The road down the hill was full of men from Santa Teresa overlooking the events in silence, understandably concerned about the events unfolding below. This was another eye-opener, reminding me that you cannot allow yourself to become too relaxed in this city and that no matter how much fun you are having, to always have an element about you of being alert and cautious.

Loathed to end on a solemn note, we did have fun this week when we went to look into the garden at the bottom of the house. First drawn out by toucans occupying the trees outside with their jet black and bright orange feathers, we were also greeted by small monkeys (whose species I am yet to determine - see picture below). After some time spent coaxing them closer, the guests and I spent the morning feeding them all pieces of banana. Being in a grand capital city, it is peculiar to think that we have such visitors, though Tijuca is such a dominant forest in the near distance and brings extraordinary wildlife to out door. Toucans, monkeys and geckos being more popular, giant ants, mosquitoes and moths bigger than your foot less so.

I am looking forward to what next week will bring and will be in touch again soon, hopefully with more exciting stories and pictures. Until then, take care everyone.

Feliz Ano Novo

It is hard to adequately articulate my current view as I sit in the living room at Casa579 in Santa Teresa. The magnificent Corcovado mountain and the Tijuca national park are being hammered with a gargantuan torrent of rain, the early evening sky flickering alight with the stabbing of lightning into the flooded valley before me. 'Captivating' barely comes close.

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!