Whoever Sees This

Coritiba had been a bit chilly.  Sao Paulo turned from warm to cold over the course of the day.  But flying into Rio De Janeiro for the first time it was immediately clear that I was way over dressed for this tropical city.  Got a good view of sprawling Sao Paulo as we left and banking in and hour later, the iconic city was laid out before me out to the sea.

Sunny, warm I tremendously excited to enjoy two days in this city.  My buddy though had located something on Wiki describing all the many ways people get mugged in Rio and read this aloud on the cab ride into the city, in great detail.  One scam after another, which he only interrupted to clarify the manner in which he’d been mugged in Nairobi, where he was pistol whipped.  This sort of violence is so removed from the ones comings and goings in China.  It isn’t really even much a part of a return home to New York these days.  I tried to imagine myself looking confident, walking down the street.  “Look behind ya, when you walk.”  

We checked in to a pleasant AirBnB in Leblon, which looked out over a new mall and up to the peak with Cristo Redentor, perched above the city.  Outside a young guy was sitting on the corner playing bossa nova classics on his acoustic loud enough to make me turn off whatever I was playing on my computer in the apartment and enjoy.  And after a quick grocery run over in the high-end mall, we were ready to take on the city, sans credit cards and passports and other things that would suck to have taken from me.

 One block, two block, three blocks later we were on the beach, there with the Pão de Açúcar 

 off in the distance, surrounded by hills and water we stood with our mouths open, marveling at how it may just have been the most beautiful beach setting we’d ever seen, like everyone whoever sees this for the first time, must do. 

Later that night, after one and then another beach side beer and a dinner of tapas we cabbed it over to Lapa, which was apparently the old red-light district and is now jam packed with music clubs.  A feast of live music, up and down the street.  We picked one venue randomly and enjoyed a relatively empty venue with a remarkable samba combo.  I sat on the window, watching each of the young men play, noting how the music swung even without a bass, that was anchored instead with a large drum. The continuity of the sound, I’d heard so many times before now became clear and I was tremendously happy to be there that night.

Saturday, 3/23/19