Sir Phamalot in Rio

Rio De Janeiro - August 10 2008

The Mango Tree, ever since our arrival, has been filled to the brim with the British. A charismatic bunch, their humour (as they would spell it) could be best described as dry. Even so, in the last couple of days we were able to team up with a few of them, and its been quite deadly (i.e. cool).

One of our most outgoing friends, Paul, claims to be an Aussie (even tho he lives in England). The first night Paul arrived, we all decided to go out to Rio de Scenarium (a club in the neighborhood of Lapa). Our group of 15 or so rolled out to the street party. Apparently, Brazilians always know how to party, because the streets were filled not only with tourists, but a surprising number of Cariocas (native brazilians). Parts of Lapa can be dodgy (i.e. unsafe), so we decided to spend the duration of the night in the club. Three floors of music, dance, and drinks ensured a good time. That is until, of course, our friend Paul starts making trouble. Non-smoking signs, clearly evident, did not deter this badass Aussie from cranking one out and giving it puff. Bouncers were upon him immediately, and a scuffle ensued. When I asked him later if everything turned out okay, he replied 'Oh yeeaa, no worries. That wasn't a thing, I got into a little riff over some drugs later too' We had dinner with him the next night.

Before said dinner, though, we needed something to do. Well, when there's nothing better to do, there's always the national pastime. And when you're in Brazil, thats football (soccer to all us Americans). Our group from the scenarium, plus some newly acquired Englanders, set off at about 3 for Maracana Stadium. The stadium seats up up to 115,000 fans, and was once the largest stadium in the world. Football at Maracana is meant to be experienced, not watched. Although the crowd of 35,000 seems miniscule inside the monsterous stadium, their spirit more than made up. Drums, flares, and flags work together to create an electric atmosphere which is seldom ever felt at sporting events in the states. Fans sing, chant and scream from the first whistle to the last. Flamengo, Rio's most popular team, boasts over 33 million fans and, on this night, won 1-0 to break a 7 game skid. Needless to say, the crowd was giddy and the chants lasted long after the game was called.

Waking up relatively early the next morning, we found the weather to be more suitable for our English counterparts than for the beaches of Rio. Two of the English girls invited us to come with them on a self-tour of the city. Oblingingly we accepted, and were soon off on the bus to center city Rio. There, we were able to take the trolly around town. Not any ordinary trolly, this one seemed to be a discarded relic of former San Francisco glory. Undeterred, we boarded for what would prove to be a drenching ride (at least for me). Touring the city, the dichotomy is stark. Barely a few hundred feet seperate million dollar mansions from favela shacks. Crime and gang violence mar the city, while the beach we just left is a year-round tourist haven (although, as you will see later, crime does also make its way to the beaches). One can only pity the masses of those unfortunate enough to be living in the favelas.

For a little more research, that night we went to a favela funk party, essently a party in the ghetto. The music was tolerable, and the dance floor packed, although mostly with dudes. We stuck with the girls from our hostel, and I almost got into a fight for it. In brazil, the men are extremely confident in their approaches to women, to the point, one might say, of outright aggression. What would merit a slap in the face and a sexual assault lawsuit in the States is merely the norm. Needless to say, our girls, and one in particular, Roxane, had been getting hit on all night. However, one persistent fellow in particular would not take no for an answer. He kept up his advances in the face of some of Roxane's most vigerous defense, pushing included. Seeing her plight, I intervened to take the heat off. This did not go over well with this brazilian gentleman, and we soon began to exchange verbal insults in languages which we both did not understand. One can imagine the results. Fortunately, our hostel blonde, rachel, stepped in before things got out of hand. Quickly soothed by her presence, the young Brazilian was content to keep his peace. Truly, it seems that nothing can get you into or out of trouble faster than women.