Beachfront Coconut Trees

Hi all,
Last night I met a global traveler spending 7 months total at many locations throughout. After continental breakfast this morning, we deciced to walk towards a very large cemetary along the way to central Rio de Janeiro. This cemetary I saw from the top of Christ the Redeemer situated directly before the hostle I´m staying in now. The only thing between the hostle and the cemetary are two favelas (slums).

The favelas are literally built into the steep hillsides. The land has been acquired by the poor, similar to a squatters rights standard. During the heavy rains, the favelas suffer the devastations. I had heard of severe rains in Rio several months before arriving and have seen multiple landsides only in the favalas literally wiping swaths of slums from the hills. The cemetary was only about 1 mile over the gap between two mountains away from the beach where I´m staying or, the long way around to the cemetary about 3-4 miles around either on e of the mountains forming the gap in between. This was not a trip I would have taken alone or even at night with others.

The guide/tour information I had read about on the computers before arriving said the favelas are controlled by the drug lords and police protection is difficult to obtain. There are guided trips offered throughout the city although the information I read said part of the money people pay for the tour goes toward paying the drug lords for protection to allow tours to pass through the favelas unscathed. There is a very distinct difference or segregation between the business districts in the less steep areas of the city and the backdrop of the tall buildings along the mountainsides where the favalas lie.

I have always had a curiosity of getting away from the tourist locations and seeing how those less fortunate than myself live. So we took the direct route to the cemetary. There was a tunnel going directly through the mountain but just before the tunnel were very steep narrow stairs leading above the tunnel. Except only to stop a few times to catch our breaths on the stair climb and to take a few pictures, we walked comfortably out the other side entering the graveyard on the other side of the tunnel. The entry to the stairs at the tunnel came out on a narrow street close to the gap between the mountains. There were young kids playing soccer in the streets and a soccer field at the gap. The whole walk through smelled like you were walking just a few feet above open sewage.

The sewage smell is not so uncommon throughout the city. Seemingly, every street has the smell of stale urine and feces. Commonly, you can turn the corner from a local street market having the smells of fresh baked pastries and roasted corn to the wrench of people who have passed many nights before only to pee and poop in the pivacy of darkness on a tree or in the portico of a unoccupied building entrance. The steps leading straight up the steep hillside were wet, I couldn´t tell if from water seeping from the mountain or sewage, but the smells were of stale piss and raw sewage.

The stairs led steeply for several hundred yards coming out near the gap onto the street where you could hear the kids playing. Along the stairs, about every 15 steps would be a door to the left and right. This led to what I would call the porch of the house. Maybe three feet to the next door leading inside. I stopped briefly to catch my breath at one of the doors to my right. The porch was dirt and level for about 2 feet as it steeply dropped off to maintain the steepness of the stairs. The floor leading into the main door of the house was of dirt also. The exterior walls were of concrete forms for the first level and sheet metal and tin for the higher floors. I can only imagine what the structure inside might be of seeing dirt floors leading inside the house. The number of levels never exceeded three above the doorway. This was just a quick glimpse as I cought my breath and contineud on to the top. At one point on the way up, there was a narrow alleyway to the right of similar stairs going down.

Once out the other side of the two favelas, we entered the cemetary at the other end of the tunnel. The cemetary covered at least 15 city blocks of terrian. As we walked diagonally from the top right to the bottom left, I stopped occasionally to take pictures of some of the more interesting statues and figurines. Some with the contrasting favelas as a backdrop. We exited the cemetary, kept walking downhill to the beach on one of the main roads where we could hail a bus that would take us to downtown central. Neither of us were interested in doing anything touristy, just a walking tour. We passed the National Theater and the City Library and a very impressive Cathoic cathedral. The cathedral was pyramid shaped about 15 stories tall with stained glass leading up on all 4 cardinal points to the top, most visible from the inside which was open to the public. My new friend called it an upside down icecream cone.

As the day was getting late, we started walking back hitting different streets upon the return. We came across a shopping district with narrow side avenues for pedestrian traffic only. As we meandered through, neither of us shopping, we came out on the main thoroughfare where we hailed a bus that would take us back toward the hostle. One of the first smells upon getting off the bus was of yet again, stale urine. And this is supposed to be the world famous beach of Copacabana and Imbanema only blocks apart from one another. Eight lanes, four in either direction with a median of street vendors selling what I would call touristy stuff (junk). To the right, tall buildings (behind those, the favelas on the steep mountain sides), to the left, the ocean. An occasional petro station in the median. We decided to sit on a bench looking out on the beach as the sand became dark from the shade of the setting sun behind the buildings.

The only shade are the few coconut and palm trees along the beach. Occasionally, you might see a tourist sitting in the sand under them as a reprieve form the intense sun. The all to familiar smell gets noticably recognizable as you get closer to these groups of trees sparsly located along the beach front. Sitting there on the bench, my new travel companion tells me its not only the privacy of the city streets and porticos at night which are prone to the human necesity of relief, but also the coconut and palm trees receive the same attention. I can only laugh at the tourist sitting there in the shade, the coolness away from the sun. The smells of urine and feces buried inches below the sand seemingly everywhere but really in concentrated areas where one might gain a little privacy for quick relief.

Shanti, an African American female from California, and I have agreed on another adventure in the morining, to where who knows. Maybe it will be worth writing about tomorrow.

The hostle has bunk beds whereeach bunk has half the room underneath in order to lock up personal belongings. I´m glad I read about the hostle´s before arrive as the reviews suggested that you bring your own padlock. I feel somewhat safe leaving all behind under my bed locked up. Although, this morning, there was a sign on all the rooms saying "Attention Please! Pleae remove all yours belongings from the room until 11 am so we can do a maintenance for "Control of Plague" We are sorry for the inconvenience. Thank for your comprehension." I had heard of other complaining of small like fruit flies in their rooms but had not encountered them in my room. This is what they were spraying for. A language translation disagreement on the sign posted on the door made me slightly alarming but was quickly dispelled.

Chewy