Brazil - Danger In Theory
Arriving in Rio, farewell warnings echoing in my ears, I suspiciously refused the airport taxi drivers, certain to take me straight to the Favela (Brazilian slum), to jump on the fancy tourist bus to the fancy tourist area of Ipanema. Two sunny, glamorous days later I found myself heading for the Favela voluntarily, on the back of a motorcycle under the care of an ex-patriot who had found himself a home there.
It was intimidating. Hundreds of people gathered, livelier than the average English club with an atmosphere we only find at festivals, yet this was just the edge of one of the poorest communities in Rio. We walked in, him casual, me pretending to be, ascending the steep slope which characterises inner-city Favelas, rendering the land unattractive to more affluent folk. We hopped on a motor-taxi to see the view from the summit and I submitted to certain death as a teenage boy raced up the windy, busy roads with Ladraos (Brazilian equivalent to Chavs) lining the sides.
Yet, I survived. Even if I had recovered the breath stolen by the motorbike, it would have been knocked right out of me again as at the top, level with the famous statue of Jesus Christ, I saw a view of a vibrant, thriving city surrounded by mountains, lined with the sea.The only difference between it and the classical postcard image were the haphazard houses and shacks with makeshift lighting sloping beneath me to meet it. Climbing back on the teenager’s bike, him grinning at the Gringa with both mirth and reassurance, an expression I came to know and love, I felt ready to take similar risks for similar rewards in this unique and dazzling country.
My guide explained that a Favela can actually be one of the safest, and certainly the cheapest, places to live. Contrary to the popular belief, you are significantly less likely to be robbed as the gangs who control the Favelas are merciless with thieves and no-one can escape the notoriety of a close community. This lack of mercy is the danger; the problems in Brazil are real and horrifying, yet the danger to tourists is more to their wallets than their lives.
Traveling alone, with little Portuguese and poor organisational skills, I found myself, more often than not, in need of help. This state of being, however, never lasted long, I could ask one person for directions and would find a group would gather as more and more people eagerly joined in. One occasion in particular stands out: with little hope and much panic I found myself lost after dark in an untoward area with only vague memories to tell me where I was staying – next to a flooded road and not too far from a church (aka, in Brazil, practically anywhere). I chanced asking a pharmacy worker if he knew a place like this and the usual crowd collected, all of them raking their brains, determined to help. In the end one of them actually drove me to the place that he had ingeniously identified and to my profuse thanks would only say, ‘God willed it’.
This is the Brazil I came to know. I was robbed, with astonishing gentleness, once and the fault was really my own, as the transvestite prostitutes who ran to my aid agreed. I was helped, above and beyond anyone’s highest hopes, several times daily and met inspirational people on every corner. The Pelorinho is Salvador’s most famously dangerous spot, where wealthy tourists meet the poorest of the poor and breed a heart-breaking army of orphan children addicted to heavy drugs. Here I encountered a child I had given money to earlier that evening (in a moment of weakness as donating money neither helps nor hinders their difficult lives). Expecting trouble I was hesitant as he approached me, yet he remembered me, cracked a smile and kissed my hand, expressing gratitude for an act I couldn’t justify. This is Brazil, with people who are kind and enjoy life no matter what their situation.
As a country with a dramatic wealth divide, which only stands to grow with the economic boom and poor social policies, you must expect a high level of crime as the desperate and decadent rub shoulders. This crime exists alongside a culture that accepts diversity with pleasure, thrives upon fellow feeling and most of all, has refined the art of enjoying itself to host the most infamous parties in the world. If you are lucky enough to visit, I have two pieces of indispensible advice: always talk to strangers, and leave your inhibitions at the airport.
Rosie Harrison
