On Saturday night, for the first day de pré-carnaval, Avenida Oceânica was being swept away by a tidal wave of people. Suddenly, the endless beer supply made sense.
Banco do Brasil was boarded up first. We were walking back from the supermarket late…
“Wait, let me get that straight… you’re buying me roses for the first time in twelve years and I have to offer them to a mermaid by tossing them into the sea?”
This is our fifth trip to Brazil. I find Porto Alegre charming. Feng understands basic Portuguese. I think we’re ready for Salvador de Bahia.
An anecdote illustrating what I call “Brazilian logic,” i.e. things Brazilians make more complicated than they should be and mostly, that we don’t fully understand because we’re dumb foreigners.
There are cities within this city, lives lived so differently that it’s hard to believe there are only blocks apart.
You “oi” people to greet them. I don’t know, it sounds cool, right?
“Good night Mark, you gotta sleep now.” “Why?” “… Because it’s way past midnight and…
Pelotas’s got a sweet tooth. The city is famous for the doces de Pelotas, dozens of different bite-size pastries.
“What made someone stop in Chuy and declare ’this is it, this is where I want to spend the rest of my life?’”
Rio de Janeiro is the bimbo, the cheerleader and São Paulo is the not-so-pretty grunge kid with a quirky, artsy and rebellious soul, moody like the unreliable weather.
There were people everywhere, spilling onto neighbouring side streets, marching downhill and I just couldn’t see the end of it.
Carnival and the crowd of revellers had taken over the city centre—or rather, the city centre had been handed over to the people, taken over by craziness of the event.
Anticipation built up all week. The atmosphere was electric, like before a storm. It finally exploded Friday evening.
Here are the people of Rio de Janeiro, a collection of candid shots taken all over the city during the week before Carnival!
From the top of the Pão de Açúcar, you can really appreciate how crowded Copacabana is, how tall the Corcovado Hill, how long the beaches are.
Rio de Janeiro isn’t an easy city. Safety is a real issue and if one street is fine, the other around the corner may not be.
This is the miscellaneous FYI info that won’t be on the postcard’s caption and this is what travel guides won’t tell you.
An image comes to mind: a black couple kissing in the middle of the street, completely lost to the pounding drums.
Drink, dance, sing. Repeat. Anything goes, really.
Good thing there is a thermos of hot, black coffee in the hotel lobby. I pour myself a cup, then another one. It’s early, way too early.
We reached a geographical and metaphorical plateau, far from the beach, for once.
I don’t know if Brazil is dangerous. What I do know is that I feel safe enough to enjoy the country.
Brazilians are fairly litteral: when they nickname a museum the “Museu do Olho”—the “Eye Museum”—it actually looks like a giant eye.