Are you freaking out of your mind?

I have always loved the beach. Yesterday, it was my birthday and I tried, I really did. I plopped my towl down on the deserted Ipanema beach and tried to appreciate the beauty of the waves and moutains. The huge drops of rain persisted in their insistance that I take the hint and have the good sense to desist. I gave up when the wind started lashing my face with sand. Oh well.

I settled into one of those ubiquitous little beach stands with the plastic table and chairs to read. Suddenly, I was surrounded by six large, loud American men. Four of them, from my own beloved Texas, were buying those crappy knock off soccer jerseys that fall apart the first time you wash them from a street vendor. They then began to complain about how the water made them sick. Right... (the water is absolutely fine and drinkable, I imagine the week of high risk sex, binge drinking and overeating they excitedly told me about had nothing to do with it...)

Despite the inclement weather the two Chicagoans had set up a large Bose iPod player on their table and were chilling to instrumental rock music.

Now. for context.

I wouldn't walk around in Rio with even a watch. When taking pictures, I use a disposable camera or take pains to hid my digital, only whipping it out quickly when I already have the shot planned, then promptly stuffing it back in my pocket. Brazilians shed all jewelry before going out and are careful to keep a low profile. In fact, during my taxi ride earlier that day, the driver and I congenially discussed strategies for best avoiding a mugging. While I emphatically do not share many Brazilians unfair characterization of Rio as a "very dangerous" city, I freely admit only an idiot would ignore its high crime rate.

People recount stories of kidnapping and muggings and murders with pain in their eyes I would never want to experience.

So imagine my absolute shock at seeing a piece of high technology worth multiple thousands of dollars displayed prominently in a public place. I absolutely could not resist the question... ummm? aren't you a little... er... worried about that?

The Chicagoan's response surprised me even more than the stereo. He was deeply offended and irritated with me. He had never had a problem, ever. He had never felt unsafe. And who do I think I am? As if he didn't know how to handle himself... As if he didn't know Rio... He had been coming down there for over a year, staying for long periods of time and he had a friend and he was learning Portuguese with Rosetta stone! He was not some inexperienced tourist and I might as well mind my own business, because he wanted to sit at the beach listing to music. Damn it.

Wow... very taken aback, I simply tried to explain where I was coming from. How every single one of my Brazilian friends (without exception) had been mugged at some point or threatened with a weapon as they tried to quietly go about their business. I told my own stories of close calls with fights and carjackings.

I live here. I have spoken Portuguese fluently for four years and while I too love this city, I have the humility to accept the rules that govern this place and the good senese to heed the advice of the natives who are only concerned with my wealfare. I freely admit I am a foreigner who has much to learn about life in Brazil.

By all means, display your material wealth prominently in the shadow of the one of the largest favelas in Latin America in the city with one of the world's highest violent crime rates.

Oh... and those men were laughing at you two because you were freaked out by that bug. It's called a dona joana and is basically a glorified lady bug. Have a nice stay.

City of lights

Preparing to leave, I realized Americans have two ideas about Brazil. First, that violent crime is continuously threatening to end your life and rob you of all possessions leaving you naked and bleeding in some dark alley. The other is that Brazilians are stunningly gorgeous with a smoldering sense of sexuality. Langurous eyes shaded by palm fronds beckoning... I started to get a little nonplused by the constant insinuations that I would soon be engaging in almost constant orgies with the gods.
*wink


Oooookay then... Welcome to Rio!

Soon after depositing my things at some friends' apartment, we set off together to walk down the beach front. Copacabana, Arpoador, Ipanema, Leblon... Rio's mountains draped in surf, a fresh, high sun overhead: Sunday afternoon, the city was out strolling. People trotted next to us on a marathon. Neighbors chatted in bars down the beachfront. Kids on tired old powerwheels and bikes with training wheels cruised through a moving forest of legs. Since it's winter, there were but a few surfers, a few beggers both brozed by innumerable beach afternoons - each in their own way, diehards...

We wound through the cool, tall streets of the Zona Sul. The black and white mosaic sidewalks tinted green under our feet from the light filtered through arcades of trees. Men unloading furniture. The fat taxi driver dozing shirtless in his cab. The bustle of an open-air craft market. Shoppings, stores, restaurants, bars, supermarkets.

Glancing through the hundreds of faces, I thought, to be honest, few Brazilians fit American's ideas of beauty. Most are too skinny, too fat and/or shall I say it? Too dark. Yes, every once and a while a man with the most perfectly chisled body would saunter down the street, a cocky smile on his well-porportioned face. But you would meet more gymbunnies in Chelsea on a single city block. The fact that I even had this thought told me I was looking for support for Americans' Brazilian beauty myth.

No, as much as it pains me to burst your bubble, Brazilians are pretty much like people anywhere... pretty, ugly, big, skinny, hairy, young, old, scarred, trashy, sophisticated, slight, thick... would you really want it anyother way? After all, if you wandered into a room of half-naked underwear models, most likely you would be too worried about sucking in your gut to get a hard on.

I left Rio on a dingy, snuffed out cigarette of a night. Hurtling towards the bus station in one of those wild, off the track roller coaster cars they call taxis here, I was lost in thought about all that I had seen. We careened down a street and turned a corner -

suddenly, between the buildings the black sky was filled with a galaxy of stars. It was so unexpected, it took a moment to realize they were the distant lights of one of Rio's infamous shantytowns precariously ascending up the invisible mountain face before me. Poverty, ignorance, violence, dead ends all transformed into constellations of lives hanging above the fitfully sleeping city.

Beauty.