Favelas

Brazil, Day 7: Sugarloaf, ANOTHER favela experience, and Lapa street party

/ kw1385 / Leave a comment

We had designated Friday morning as the time to go to Pão de Açucar (Sugarloaf Mountain) after hearing that its views were best in the morning light, so that was our first order of business once we got up. After waiting more than 20 minutes at the bus stop and almost giving up on the bus, #511 finally arrived and took us (and the many other people packed on board) to the base of the Urca mountain (the smaller of the two in all the images of Sugarloaf). We were wholly unprepared for the line that we found there. I volunteered to scout ahead and figure out just how long it was; it may well be the longest line I’ve ever seen. It stretched about three city blocks and was sometimes as many as ten people wide. We debated for a few minutes about what to do… it seemed like waiting in line would cost us the whole rest of the day, but we also didn’t know if we’d be any better off trying to show up first thing on Saturday.

Fortunately, luck was on our side. Stacey and Mary went to do some scouting of their own and ended up meeting an Irish couple who were much further up in line. They invited us to join them in line, allowing us to cut over two hours of wait time! We soon found ourselves boarding the first of the cable cars and heading up to Urca.

The first thing we saw on that summit was the launching pad for the helicopter tours of the city. Every few minutes, a helicopter would take off for Cristo or other points around the city; we learned that the shortest journey offered – a total of ten minutes, just round-trip to Cristo, was about R$150; the most expensive was over R$1000! They seemed to have plenty of business despite the high prices.

We did a loop to take pictures from the various vantage points there; it was the opposite of our experience on Corcovado. Everything was completely visible and gorgeous. We could see many different beaches, each with its own distinct coloring, and mountains off in the distance that were half hidden by the haze and seemed not to be quite real. It’s no use trying to use words here; you’re just going to have to look at pictures.

After a quick bite to eat, we boarded the second cable car to the top of Sugarloaf. We took another round of even more spectacular photos before setting off in search of the monkeys advertised on the signs asking visitors not to feed the wildlife. We followed a set of short trails that led a through the foliage downhill and even made monkey-like sounds, but we didn’t find any… perhaps on my next trip!

After descending back to the ground level, we caught a more prompt bus back to Copacabana and grabbed about two hours on the beach. I finally joined Mary and Stacey in wearing a tanga; I was very glad to purchase a bikini with the same pattern as the famous Copacabana sidewalk, and I went into the water to put it on as soon as I had it! I must say I felt quite liberated. J

Back at Cabana Copa, we rinsed off, grabbed our stuff, and set off with mixed feelings for the hostel we had booked for our last night. Lonely Planet had recommended it, and we all thought it sounded like it would be an interesting experience. The hostel was located in another favela near the Santa Teresa neighborhood of the city; Lonely Planet described it as a guesthouse with lovely views from its porch. There weren’t too many options left in Rio by the time we realized we needed a place on Friday night, and we figured it couldn’t be that bad if Lonely Planet (a source I’ve always trusted) recommended it. Here is a description of the place on HostelWorld.com:

“The greatest view and the quietest environment you can imagine! The Hostel ‘Pousada Favelinha’ is located on a small mountain in the heart of Rio de Janeiro , between the district of Laranjeiras and the hip Santa Teresa. It is situated inside a small ‘Favela’, one of the many ‘poor’ districts that Rio has got. However, it is not ‘poor’ in cultural terms, and it is absolutely secure! You are only a five minute walk from either the metro station at ‘Largo do Machado’ which will take you to the Copacabana beach in only another 7 minutes, or from the ‘bondinho’, the old little cable car which runs through the beautiful artist´s district in Santa Teresa and right down to the center of Rio and the nightlife district ‘Lapa’.
Since there are no roads in front of our hostel, the only thing you will have to put up with is walking a small hill up (or down, wherever you come from) to reach home. This paths leads you through so many beautiful houses and trees, playing children, and old women chatting, that you would wish your stay was longer…”

Well, dear readers, let me tell you about our second adventure in a favela.

We got into a cab with a nice young driver who, together with Mary, the Lonely Planet book, and his GPS finally figured out where to take us and gamely did his best despite having no real idea where we were going. We stopped multiple times to ask for directions, and at once point we had to go in reverse about 200 yards down a very narrow street on a hill (we think we may have hit some things in the process). Finally, after about 40 minutes, we found the school that Lonely Planet had mentioned as the entrance to the hostel (something along the lines of “enter through the school” – nothing too detailed.) By this time it was dark, and although we weren’t in a favela at all like Rocinha (it was more like an older part of the city), we didn’t much like the idea of getting out of the cab and wandering around. Two men at the gate to the school pointed us in the general direction we needed to go, and we started off.

Now at this point, given the description Lonely Planet, we assumed the hostel would be just on the other side of the school or something simple like that. This was not the case. Instead, we went up and down some stairs and inclines for about 10 minutes before I popped into a little bar and asked for directions. The two men there looked flabbergasted to see me but seemed to know what I was asking for, so we set off again down another hill and bore left as they directed. Here we once again had to find someone to help us, and fortunately a young woman offered to lead us part of the rest of the way. It was at least 10 minutes before we finally found the building that multiple people seemed to think was the hostel.

Taking a deep breath (as by now we were completely out of breath from hiking around with our heavy backpacks), I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked again, and then we started calling out. (We knew someone was in the building because we’d seen people on the back porch from a distance). Finally, a man opened the door a crack and looked at us with a somewhat bewildered yet sneaky look on his face. I explained that we were looking for the hostel, and he gave us no indication for a moment that we had in fact arrived at the place in question. Instead, he asked us to hold on and shut the door.

By this time, we’d pretty much decided we couldn’t stay here even if we did find it. We wanted to go to the famous Lapa street party that night, and there was no way in hell we could have left that place and returned later in the night. We also felt 100% sketched out. This did not improve when the man opened the door again and invited us in while communicating in broken English that since we had arrived after we’d said we would that he’d given our room away. (WTF?) It was clear that something nefarious was going on; this dude definitely struck me as being high out of his mind, and we think that him closing the door the first time was to stop whatever obvious drug use or exchanges had been going on in the living room prior to our arrival.

Fortunately, he was quite nice and called us a cab to take us back to town. He left us alone for about two minutes, during which we composed ourselves (thank God we’re each good at being calm in a crisis!), came up with a quick plan, and braced ourselves for going back the way we’d just come. By the grace of God (or in this case, Cristo), we managed to figure out our way back to the school, and the cab was waiting for us when we got there.

The above narration does not do this story justice AT ALL. This was one of many instances over the trip when I really just needed to have a video camera on. It’s impossible to communicate the extent to which this place sketched us out or how angry we were at Lonely Planet – we have NO IDEA how they could have thought to recommend this place and so grossly misrepresented its location. It says a lot that the people we met inside the favela were friendlier and more helpful than the people at the hostel! Here is what I found on a Lonely Planet forum just now about the same place:

“I am urgently compelled to make this post … due to my experience on my departure after an 11 night stay. After being awoken by the owner returning at 5am with a gang of friends and playing music at maximum volume (to the point of the walls vibrating) somebody burst into my room and switched on the light. Irritating to say the least at which point from my bed I yelled several expletives. That is all I did. A few hours later, I was about to check out and I wrote a note of complaint to the male receptionist who was a gentle and extremely helpful young guy called Jorge who had only been working there a short time. I owe this guy a lot. I explained what had happened and communicated my disappointment and requested that after an 11 night stay I was entitled to a discount at least for such a terrible night. Minutes later I was then met by the female part owner who was smashing my door with a 75cm wooden club in a rage of unparalleled intensity. On opening the door she wielded the club at me and screamed and yelled what I assume to be the filthiest words the Portuguese language has to offer. In the following moments I had the bat raised to my head, I was spat at and later pelted with rocks as I left the building. …. As a practising clinical psychologist, there is no doubt that this ‘woman’ would have been sedated or restrained in any other environment and is in dire need of immediate psychological assessment.  For this reason, I urge you to give serious thought to staying here. Had she indeed hit my skull with the bat I cannot imagine what would have happened. The fact that there is a pitbull on the premises that responds to her commands and the fact that the police will not enter the favela only compounds the danger here.
After travelling in over 50 countries in the past 15 years including all of S America, this is my worst experience.”

Anyway, we had the cab take us back to Cabana Copa, where we got on a computer and managed to find a room at a hotel a few blocks away. Because we’d technically booked a room for two, we had to devise a plan to sneak the third person in. Mary volunteered to go and find food for us while Stacey and I checked in. I must say, it was a relief to check into a legitimate hotel after the adventure of the past two hours, and we felt so reassured by the assistance of the bellhop in getting our bags upstairs. We turned on the tv, found that “Erin Brockovich” was playing, and chilled out for another few minutes before Stacey went down to get Mary.

I have to give Mary major props for the food she managed to acquire in 20 minutes: she came back with an entire pizza (Brazilian style has sausage and onion on it), a burger with fried egg on top, and a grilled banana and cheese sandwhich along with some beers. We had quite a little party in our room as we celebrated being alive, having all of our belongings, and having been able to work through the situation.

Somewhat later, after showering and resting a bit, we headed out for our last evening in Rio. Every Friday night, the Lapa neighborhood has a big street party. We didn’t know much about it other than that it existed, so we were curious to see what we’d find.

The street party isn’t quite like anything I’ve ever seen in the US. Lapa is the samba district, and several blocks were closed off to traffic. The streets were filled with stands selling beer, cocktails, and all sorts of food, and the various samba clubs and restaurants were all alive with people. There were hundreds of people there ranging from age 8 to age 88. Some were in casual attire; others were in costumes. It was crazy; it’s probably the closest thing to Carnaval that anyone can experience in Rio when it’s not that time of the year. We had a blast just strolling around taking in everything and everyone. We even encountered Michael Jackson and took a few pictures with him!

Most of the samba clubs sounded amazing but had pretty long lines, so we opted to sit outside at a bar and just watch people go by while we sipped caipirinhas. Again, this was a situation that called for a video camera; words just can’t explain. It was just too cool. We all agreed that it was a great way to spend our last night; we felt like true cariocas.

Brazil, Day 4: Favela Rocinha

/ kw1385 / Leave a comment

Our experience on the favela tour blew my mind this morning. Warning: the following post contains information that is likely to make members of my family extremely uncomfortable; just keep in mind that I am alive and well. This experience was worth every ounce of risk, and the perspective I gained is something all of us privileged people should have.

“Favela” essentially means “slum”. Over 52 million Brazilians live in favelas; the 2002 Academy Award winner of best foreign film, “Cidade de Deus” (City of God) portrayed real events in an actual favela about 40 km outside Rio. Favelas are famous for their brightly colored buildings, horrible living conditions, and gang/drug violence. Many are controlled by drug lords; back in November, Rio’s police undertook a major cleaning up effort in a couple of favelas, resulting in the arrest of over 100 drug lords. Although the drug trade is inherently unstable and dangerous, it also can lend a sense of order and government; the drug lords understand that business is better when people aren’t afraid to leave their homes.

We joined a group of 15 others on a tour of favela Rocinha, located about 15 minutes northwest of Ipanema. It is one of the safer favelas, and the tour group, Be A Local, has run tours there for a while now. It’s a great organization that gives a significant portion of profits back to the favela.

Our guide, Patrick, gave us some instructions during the van ride to the favela that certainly reinforced the reality of what we were about to do. You might be wondering why anyone would want to tour a slum; the answer is that we (as all three of us did Teach For America) were looking for additional/different perspective on poverty, plus favelas have just become kind of synonymous with Rio (thanks in part to the movie). We were all aware of the enormous amount of poverty in Brazil and wanted the chance both to see it up close and to contribute in a very small way to community development through our tour fee and supporting the local artists who would be featured on the tour.

Anyway, Patrick told us that following his instructions would be very important in order to make sure we were all safe. This particularly applied to picture taking; certain areas are okay for pictures while others are not. The drug lords are generally very wary of photography because of the potential publication of images that might be incriminating, so we couldn’t take pictures in any open, public areas.

Traffic was unusually slow en route to Rocinha, and apparently this was because the police were doing a small raid. Patrick said they were looking for illegal cars and bikes, but regardless of how harmless those things sound, police presence was significantly higher, which just creates more tension. We saw a lot of police cars as we pulled up at the foot of the hill.

The biggest part of the adventure was right at the beginning. Since the tour route starts towards the top of the favela, we had to get up there, and there aren’t really any roads, so we couldn’t just drive up. Instead, we caught motorcycle rides with some of the locals who make money by shuttling people to the top… the favela equivalent of taxis. They were not in any way associated with the tour company, but they apparently do this every day with tourists.

After another round of instructions from Patrick (motorcycle safety tips and another reminder not to take pictures), we waited to get on our motorcycles. Mary hopped right on one, and Stacey and I waved good-bye more than a little nervously as she disappeared up the hill. We weren’t all going at once, and we didn’t know where we were going except up.

Stacey and I ended up being on the last wave to go up. I rode with Riccard, an attractive 30-year-old who pulled up, pointed to me as if to say “I’ll take her!”, and was nice enough to let me put my arms around his waist rather than holding onto the little handles behind my seat. He also told me to keep my limbs as close as possible, and I soon saw why: moments later, we were weaving our way through the traffic of cars, trucks, and motorcycles headed up the hill. It was a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. We passed police carrying machine guns and cars with men pointing machine guns out the window as they drove up, and we also hit a number of curves during which I grabbed Riccard very tight and prayed to Cristo not to let us wipe out on the road. Nonetheless, part of me actually felt very safe; Riccard just seemed to radiate a confidence and kindness that reassured me greatly. We talked as much as his attention on the road and my lack of Portuguese fluency allowed, but he told me that he loves the United States and has lived in Rocinha for 30 years.

Not more than 10 minutes after leaving the bottom of the favela, Stacey and I caught sight of our group, and the motorcycle ride was over. I wish I could have taken a picture with Riccard, but alas we were definitely in a no-picture area. I thanked him as profusely as I could and joined the group.

We set to walking single-file through the narrow “streets”; they are more like passageways between the jumble of buildings. Throughout the tour, we navigated around hanging wires, trash, feces, and running water. You will have to see pictures (when I get home) to fully appreciate what the favela was like; it’s very hard to describe the extent of the poverty we witnessed.

Despite the dirty and dismal surroundings, we encountered people who were quite friendly and seemed happy. Stop 1 was in an artist’s studio, where the three of us bought beautiful paintings and took our first pictures of the view, which was incredible. They may live in a slum, but the residents still have prime real estate with amazing views of the water. Speaking of real estate, we learned that the general idea of land ownership in Brazil is essentially that if you can build something, you own that space. In the favela, this means that people often just build on top of already existing buildings, which explains the very haphazard appearance of the favela. (Both here and in the ones I passed in Venezuela, I find it hard to believe that none of the buildings have ever just fallen over.)

We stopped next to watch some teenage boys play quite an impressive percussion arrangement on paintcans (I took video). After that, we bought very cheap bracelets made, very innovatively, from internet cables. We also visited a community center that provides child care – a key service in a community where families average six kids and teenage pregnancy is almost standard procedure. Because of the police activity, no one was at the child care center. (For the record, we were among at least three tour groups in Rocinha at that time, and the guides were constantly checking in with people as we moved to make sure we wouldn’t encounter any trouble.)

Finally, we descended to the main entrance where we’d started; our final walk was through a covered outdoor marketplace where once again the police were everywhere. By this time they seemed less menacing…

Mary, Stacey, and I are still processing the experience, and I/we plan on supplementing this post as we make an effort to write down everything we saw and heard. For now, what I can say is that I am now grateful in a whole new sense for what I’ve been lucky enough to have in my life; safety, housing, food, clothing, education, and disposable income are so easy to take for granted. The 400,000 residents of this one favela live 20 minutes from the high-class area of Ipanema, but their world couldn’t be more different.

Update:

The newspapers the morning after we were in the favela all had headlines about a major police operation, so turns out they were there for more than unregistered motorcycles. Here are some of the translations from the newspapers I bought:

Front page headline in O Dia: “Police now hunt wife of the ‘powder boss’ in Rocinha”

Sub-headline on front page: “The vanity of Danubia de Souza Rangel – wife of the trafficker Nem – will be used by police to catch her. A fugitive of justice, she posts pictures on the Internet of the life of luxury she leads in the favela, which yesterday was targeted by a police operation.”

Article headline: “Nem and Xerifa of Rocinha escape from police siege: Investigation that found a R$2 million laundering scheme culminated in the hunt for drug boss and his wife in the slum”

First paragraph: “The civil police descended yesterday morning launching a megaoperation with about 200 agents to arrest community leaders and relatives of the head of the drug trade in Rocinha, Antônio Francisco Bonfim Lopes, or Nem.  All are suspected members of a money laundering scheme. An investigation discovered movements of more than R$2 million [~ US $1.3 million] in bank accounts.”

Front-page headline in O Globo: “Companies Launder Rocinha Money: Five small business in the Zona Sul  [the southern part of Rio where the beaches are] and Rocinha are under suspicion of laundering money for drug trafficking in the favela. In a local operation, the civil police seized three tons of marijuana and arrested 11 people, but the trafficking chief escaped again.”

Article headline: “Siege of ‘laundering’ of Rocinha: police operation against business that legalize the millions of profits from trafficking”

First paragraph: “Five legal small business in the Zona Sul and Rocinha are being investigated on suspicion of money laundering for the drug traffickers in the shantytown. To dismantle the gang, identified after seven months of investigations, operations opened yesterday in Rocinha, one of the last strongholds of trafficking in the Zona Sul. The goal was to meet 30 arrest warrants for people connected to the drug dealer Antônio Francisco Bonfim Lopes, or Nem, but only two of the people searched were arrested. In the action, no weapons were seized, and Nem escaped once again. Despite the claims of the residents of Rocinha that on Monday night three police officers from Leblon went up to the slum to advise of the operation, the commanders of the police denied that there had been leaking of information. The police said they could not disclose the names of the companies so as not to prejudice the investigation.”

We heard something on the tour about leading information about whatever the operation was, so it’s interesting that that shows up in this article.

Wow…