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Rio: City of Wonder and Poverty
A Million Needles: Catching the King
Words: Eliza Douglas
My first time out of the United States was on a trip to Rio De Janiero, Brazil. I won't ever forget the feeling I had as we descended into the airport. My heart was pounding with anticipation as I saw the expanse of the metropolis, stretching in all directions, for what seemed like an eternity before me.
Upon landing, there was a mass exodus of people streaming off the plane, most of them Brazilians and some of them Americans, like myself, and we all filtered into our respective lines at customs. There were many things different about the Antonio Carlos Jobim International Airport than any others I have been to; however nothing could have prepared me for the shocking wall of moist, tropical heat that almost stopped me in my tracks. What happened to the air conditioning? The air was so thick and warm that it was almost tangible, as if it were a living entity attempting to swallow me.
After being brusquely swept through customs, I found myself jostling in line to snatch my luggage off of a creaking carousel in a dungeon-like luggage claim. Sweating profusely, I burst into the sunlight outside of the airport and thankfully found my sister waiting for me. She had married a Brazilian man and had been living in Rio for the last five years. I came to not only see the magnificent city of Rio de Janiero but also to visit my new nephew, Kaina.
What ensued after the airport was like nothing I ever experienced. My sister, a daredevil behind the wheel, was even more frightening a driver on the lawless streets of Rio de Janiero2. The journey from the airport, across the city to her neighborhood, was very reminiscent of the excerpt from the article “Magic Mountain” by Matthew Power. The chaos was astounding--unmarked road dividers, with cars zigzagging haphazardly, dodging barreling kamikaze busses and the occasional horse-drawn cart, and motorcycles weaving throughout, against traffic. Not to mention humans, as thick as thieves, weaving in between the cars, and the occasional horse-drawn cart. This scene could be third-world anywhere, and my eyes couldn't drink it up enough.
Once settled in, I went exploring around the city. Rio is often referred to as “A Cidade Maravilhosa,” or “The Marvelous City,” and once there, it becomes obvious why.
The city hugs dramatic, abrupt, conical-shaped hills that rim the Atlantic Ocean and the crescent of the Guanabara Bay. Brazil sits right on the Tropic of Capricorn, in the Southern Hemisphere, so even though I was visiting in winter the weather was a balmy 85 degrees, though an occasional rain storm cooled things down.
Portuguese explorers colonialized Rio De Janiero in 1565. Unique to other parts of South America that the Spanish colonized, the Portuguese blended with the existing native tribes. African slaves imported for manual labor further contributed to the Indo-European gene pool. It is this exotic concoction of people combined with a healthy lifestyle that make Brazilians, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful people on the planet.
Brazil boasts many memorable features, such as the exquisite golden sand beaches, shopping, nightclubs and delicious dining. However, what stands out most in my mind is the amount of poverty. The division of wealth is appalling, and the economic difference is to obvious to ignore. This is most evident in the existence of Brazilian shanty-towns, or favelas , where most of the poverty stricken people reside. Basically a maze on the inside, favelas are an ad hoc network of stairways, up steep inclines. Basically they are built up, on and over the hills surrounding the city.
They are a world within themselves, with schools, restaurants, and other amenities. The units are irregular, self-constructed houses stacked on top of each other. Homes are manufactured from a conglomerate of brick and corrugated iron. They are cramped and unsanitary, and the flavelas are ridden with crime problems.
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