28th of August - Sarajevo, Bosnia and Hercegovena
From Mostar we took a bus a few hours through spectacular landscapes along the river and through the mountains to Sarajevo. We found our little old lady to live with near the old town, and got settled right away. We were really in luck too, as we discovered that the Sarajevo International Film Festival was in town for most of the time we were going to be here.
Sarajevo is of course famous for the 1984 Winter Olympics, and here you can really see how a city can fall from glory quickly. Again, the city is part in rubble, part just shot up, and part renovated. Nothing is more obvious than the Olympic Stadium that once hosted the opening ceremonies on the world stage, now is just crumbling and has some carpet shops operating in what used to be ticket booths. It is also easy to see the distinctly Eastern European architecture, or as some might say, lack thereof. Lots of large cement buildings, and even though they are riddled with holes, have broken glass in the windows, and have been bombed to shreds, they probably never looked too much better.
Explaining Sarajevo is to explain Bosnia, which is also to really explain what happened to Yugoslavia. Sarajevo was the melting pot of Yugoslavia, where Serbs, Croats and Muslims lived side by side in relative peace. There is a corner here that has a Jewish Temple, a Mosque, an Orthodox Church, and a Catholic Church all across from eachother. During the day, you can hear church bells and the call to prayer from mosques sounding in unison. Yugoslavia was formed during WWI by grouping together Croatia, Serbia and Montengro, Kosovo, Slovenia, and Bosnia and Herzogovenia. This entire region had a long history of being dominated by larger forces, like the 500 years of Ottoman Turk rule (called 500 years of night by the Serbs), and the 100 plus years of rule by the Hapsburg Monarchy (which ended when an Austrian prince was shot and killed in Sarajevo, precipitating WWI). This history is what has led to such strong hatreds. The Muslims here are hated because the Turks were Muslims who enslaved the people here a long time ago, the Croats are hated because most recently they joined with the Nazis in WWII to wipe out the Serbs, and the Serbs are hated now because of their attack on Bosnia after Yugoslavia fell apart in 1991. All of these people and all of this drama was played out in Sarajevo from 1992 to 1995, and the wounds are still very deep here.
We met a cute girl who is a waitress at one of the restaurants that we frequent here, and we talked to her for a long time. She talked about her childhood during the war and how she wasn't able to play outside because her home was very visible and they could have easily fallen victim to sniper shots. Her family lived in the basement of their home, like mice. The kids in her neighborhood couldn't go to school because it was too dangerous, so they organized a way to homeschool children by sending them to different houses each day. She just wants to leave Bosnia, she is still scared, and she hates it here. We heard this from many other people too. Although when walking the streets things seem fine, even more than fine, beneath that exterior there are still many dark feelings brewing. One thing we have noticed is that the women here are gorgeous, all of them in perfect shape, wearing lots of expensive clothes, always completely made up. What we are finding is beneath that is a society that is just hiding their true feelings. The scars of a racially and religiously motivated war like what happened here so recently will never be healed. The hatreds are only made worse when suppressed.
In Sarajevo, we have found out that even though people have literally lived through hell (the most common phrase we get when we ask people about the war is "forget the war"), they can pretend that nothing has happened and look the part of a normal functioning society, but underneath that it is a different story. "Forget the war" means, "I don't want to think about the war", or "I don't want to talk about the war", but mostly it means "I am trying to put it out of my mind forever", but it is impossible for people to do. When you ask questions and people open up, you can hear how they "hate the Serbs", or would "kill them if they could." Sarajevo has all these people living together as neighbors again, and that is what makes it so interesting.
The Film Festival was the perfect way to get some different perspectives on this. We saw movies that were made by Bosnians, others by Serbs, others by Croats. All told their sides fo the story in different ways, through different mediums. Our favorite film was a short by a Bosnian director about the days leading up to the war called "Frame for the Picture of My Homeland." We watched the movie in an outdoor theatre set up in the middle of downtown with 1000 other people, and it was about the heart of the Serb violence against the Muslims, and it was eerie to be there watching it with those who actually lived through this horror. The festival brought out the best of Sarajevo, people were all out and looking good, and people were proud to host this festival in their hometown. We also saw a movie called "Darwin's Nightmare" about what globalization is doing to Africa, and we saw a good American film called "The Assasination of Richard Nixon." We loved having the experience of getting to see all these movies, especially in a place where there are still such raw emotions and many times the movies talk about what people won't discuss themselves.
Our last day in Sarajevo we went to the Tunnel Museum, where the Bosnians had built a tunnel 800 meters underground from the Serb occupied war zone to the safe UN zone underneath the airport runway. It showed pictures from life in Sarajevo with no water or electricity or food, and civilians being randomly shot on the streets by sniper alley. When we saw the footage we could understand why people will never forget, and don't want to talk about it. We also went to the Bosnian War Museum, which is one room in an old bombed out Eastern European cement bunker building. They dedicated exactly two pictures and three homemade guns to the war exhibit.
We have seen that the people here are very nice, and when they will talk have a lot of interesting things to say. It is also an odd town. We met another guy who runs a small restaruant in the old town, and he said that he can not find anyone to work for him. None of the young people want to work. They are still living off of the aid money that was sent here after the war, so people don't have to work to survive, and young people in particular just don't want to. They spend their days walking up and down the main strip drinking coffee and looking good, and that is it. The government wants to join the EU by 2007, but everyone here thinks that is a joke, there is no way they will be let in.
August 24th - Mostar, Bosnia and Hercegovena
From Split we decided to head inland to avoid the throngs of Italian and other European tourists that vacation in Croatia for the month of August. We took a train inland a couple of hours into what is today Hercegovena, to and old medieval city called Mostar. We arrived in the bus station, and the first thing we noticed were the bullet holes that pockmarked the entire city, like a teenager with acne. The city outside the bus station was run down, and we were thinking we had made a giant mistake coming to Mostar. We again had no place to stay, and with hotels still too expensive, we found another family to stay with in a small apartment that they rent out in their basement. We dropped our bags and went into the old town to get some food.
Walking through the narrow streets on the hill where we were staying, we could see the stains of war. Some buildings were demolished or in ruin. Others were functioning with people living in them, but had giant holes from missles or rockets rendering a level or an apartment unlivable. Pretty much the entire city had spray marks from automatic weapon fire. Life, however, goes on. A few blocks from our place we came into the old town, which is built on both sides of the river with an incredible old bridge that is famous and has made Mostar a tourist destination for over 500 years. The old city itself is truly magical and has been restored since the 90s. It is built along the banks of the river that runs a brilliant cloudy emerald color. There are minarets from old mosques poking up all over the city, and the stone work of most of the buildings is the same as it has been for almost 700 years. The best part is that all of these old structures are now really cool restaraunts that look out on the river, along with some tourist shops selling all kinds of junk from Turkey. It is such a cool looking place, and so unexpected after what the rest of the newer city looked like. We had a great dinner right on the river, eating cevapi and burek, two staples of Bosnian food. This was one of those places that we felt was a gem that we never knew existed, and we felt very lucky to have stumbled upon it.
The next day we set out for the new town because we had to buy a plug adapter so we could recharge our camera and take pictures of the town. Billy decided to wear a yellow shirt he bought in Brazil that has a crescent moon and a star on it, looking very much like the symbol of Islam. Knowing this was a partly Muslim city, we thought it could get a good conversation started with some locals. We were right, but the response was a little different than we expected. We had just been in the new town (where all the Catholic Croats live) and got many strange looks, and people were not very friendly. As we were coming back to the old town we heard a yell from across the street, someone wanted to talk to us, but we did not understand what they were saying. We walked over and asked if they speak English, and Dzenan replied in very good English, "Of course." He told us never to walk to the other side of the city wearing that shirt, or "They will slit your throat."
Dzenan is a muslim who fought in the war in Mostar, but has been living in Palm Desert, CA on political asylum since 1995. He told us about the war, how the Serbs came and began killing Muslims and Croats, and how the Croats also then turned on the Muslims, so the Muslims were defending themselves from both sides. For an entire year they had no access to electricity, very little access to any food or water, and no ammunition for their weapons. They used knifes and sticks (both of which we noticed he still carries on him). His entire family had been killed, except for himself and his mother. People starved to death, others we murdered in hideous ways by Serb secret police missions, others did all they could to survive (including hiding in couches for months). His stories were horrifing. He is a gregarious guy, and is a bit crazy. We think he is invovled in some kind of illegal activity (probably drug dealing) in the States because he had money, and when we asked what he did for work and how he was able to get 4 months off to travel to Mostar on a vacation, he would smile and say, "I was born rich."
We were invited with him and his girlfriend, a Croat named Natasha, and their other friend Allen to drive down to where there is a waterfall and a 1500 foot deep cavern where all the fresh water ran from. We thought it would be fun, so we got in the car, and next thing you know he is blasting ganster rap, driving like a maniac, and pointing out all his "enemies", meaning people he fought against in the war. After a harrowing drive, we got to the cave and had a nice cup of Turkish coffee on the banks of the river, right next to a very holy Muslim place of worship that dated back many centuries, to the Ottoman Empire. On our way back to Mostar after some pizza, he thought that we had gotten a flat tire, so we pulled over. Upon further inspection, the lugnuts on one of his wheels was loose, he thought it to be just another attempt on his life by one of his enemies. We drove past a church that was in ruins, and he bragged about taking part in blowing it up, during the war. They invited us to meet them at a bar later that night, but we decided that our lives were a bit too precious to be hanging out with this guy who thought he had people trying to kill him, so we pulled a no show at the bar, and hoped not to run into them again. It was, however, a very interesting experience talking to him, and I am sure we saw more of Mostar and surrounding areas than most peole do. Now that we are safe and out of his car, we are happy we went with him, but we might not have said that half way through the ordeal.
The other thing about Mostar is that literally about 30% of the town is now occupied by graveyards. They are everywhere. There are Catholic Croat graveyards, separate from the Orthodox Serb graveyards, separate from the Muslim graveyards. We wandered through some of them, and noticed one sad fact, especially in the Muslim graveyards, that almost all of the headstones read xxxx to 1993. Thousands of people were killed there, and many of them were 18-22 years old. Nothing makes you understand war more than seeing the graves, with pictures of the deceased and little sayings in all different languages. Although Mostar was beautiful, and we enjoyed our time there a lot, we got the feeling that the war is not resolved in people's minds, and that people are not all that happy in Bosnia and Hercegovena nowadays.
August 18th - Trieste, Italy and Split, Croatia
From Buenos Aires we flew to Milan, because it was the best fare that we could get to anywhere near Eastern Europe. It was a big culture shock going from one continent to the next, and a big sticker shock too. We arrived in Milan in the afternoon, then took a bus to the train station, and boarded a train that went to Trieste through Venice. We were in Milan for about 2 hours, just long enough for Billy to get pooped on by a pigeon, which I'm sure is good luck in Italy. We arrived in Trieste at midnight in the rain, and we did not have a guidebook had no idea where to stay. On the train we asked a guy sitting near us if he had a guidebook, he said no, but he lived in Trieste and offered to let us stay on his couch for the night. It was a very unexpected and nice offer, but we had to decline because he had to work at 7:00 AM the next day, and we needed to sleep in more than that after our long journey. So, he told us about a place that we could go that had cheap rooms, and we went there only to find that a dingy room would cost us 60 Euros (or about $80US). We thought surely this was a joke, so we put our backpacks on and headed back into the rain to find a different place. We wandered into a different hostel that was booked, but the very friendly guys there called all around town trying to find us a place to stay. By this time it was coming up on 2 AM, we had not eaten, and we were exhausted from the 20 hour journey from BsAs to Milan. We finally found a place that was 50 Euros a night, still very expensive, but that is the going rate in Trieste for the cheapest accommodations. This price for a room would not have been that bad a couple years ago when one dollar bought 1.2 Euros, but now that it buys .7 Euros it is bad (thank you Mr. Bush and Mr. Greenspan). We ended up having to haul our bags up 6 flights of stairs to stay with a vey nice guy in his apartment for the night. He made us milk and crackers (a nice Italian midnight snack), and asked Jen if anything ever happened to Billy, would she consider him for a replacement. Italian men of all ages are the same. We were amazed at how nice all the Italians were to us, we had three nice experiences with people in a row, and they all spoke English, which was also a shock after speaking Spanish for 7 months in South America.
The next day we spent the entire day wandering around Trieste waiting for our night bus to Split. It is a beautiful city situated on the sea. We ate pasta, gnocci, pizza and gelato because we were starving, but had to do so at fast food places because everything else was so expensive. It was still great food, but we got a bit panick stricken about what it costs to travel in Europe as an American now. After a nice day of lounging in the parks, we made it to the bus station where we went overnight to Split. We thought the bus ride would be a good opportunity to sleep, but the drivers played loud music, and everytime they stopped they would turn on the lights and make an announcement on the loud speaker, so we basically did not sleep at all.
We arrived at 4AM in Split, and after meeting a guy who had a guidebook, we walked to the nearest hostel. It was full, and the guy at the hostel told us the entire town was booked because that night there was the Brazil versus Croatia soccer game in Slpit. That exlpained why we were accosted by a very large, very drunk guy wearing a Croatia jersey singing and yelling and drinking beer when we arrived. He scared a poor old lady so much that she took refuge hiding behind us everwhere we went.
So, with no options for sleeping, and it being 5 AM, we went back to the bus station to find someone who might be able to let us stay in their home. We met an older babushka who offered a room in her apartment for $50 US a night. We took it, and soon found out that it was actually a good deal. We stayed with this family in their place for 2 nights, and all they did all day was sit in their small kitchen talking and smoking. We slept half the time because we were tired and still not on the right time schedule, but we got to see quite a bit of typical Croatian life. We also went to grab a cup of coffee and were waited on by a 6 foot typical looking Eastern European woman. We asked her if she spoke English, and she belted out very loudly, and what sounded hostile "small" (meaning a little). We paid her for the terrible cup of coffee, and she again belted "change" (meaning do we have any smaller money). She scared us, and we realized that we weren't in Latin America anymore.
We did wake up in time to go see the soccer game that was being shown on big TV screens in the old town. Since we had just come from Brazil, Jen wore a Brazil soccer jersey (Ronaldo's) and Billy wore red and white for Croaita so we wouldn't get too harrassed. It turned out to be a great time. It was a giant party complete with bands playing before and after the game, beer was served by vendors, and people were all very excited about the game. We realized how imoprtant soccer is for Brazil, they are by far the most revered team in the world, and they are welcomed to other countries as if the true champions have arrived. They are like traveling rock stars. We saw many Croats with jerseys that had half of the Croatian colors and half the Brazilian colors. The game ended tied 1 to 1, and everyone was happy.
The town of Split is an amazing old Roman fortress built of marble. There are huge walls and a thriving tourist center inside the old city. It was fun to walk the old, narrow streets getting lost here and there, looking at all the shops and outdoor hip cafes. It was, however, very touristy and and not really in our budget range. We did sit at some of the cooler looking cafes for either coffee or a beer at different times, taking in the sights.
The next morning we headed to a small town outside of Split called Trogir to meet up with Birnie, our friend from SF. He had been on a sailboat for the past 2 weeks cruising the Dalmatian Islands of the Adriatic. It was great to see a familiar face for the first time in months, and fantastic to get on the boat and cruise with them back to Split. The water was gorgeous, it was perfect weather, and we were doing something that we had really wanted to do. Billy got to drive the boat and Jen got to jump in the water. We got back and went to a real hotel in Split, where we slept on the couch in Birnie and Matt's room. That was another treat for us, a real hotel, with a mini bar and a private bathroom and everything. The next day Matt and Birnie had to go to the airport very early in the morning, and we stayed until check out, stole all the shampoo, soap, toilet paper and everything else that was not bolted down on our way out. It was a really fun time and Matt and Birnie even treated us to dinner the last night. We are grateful for their kindness and the towel and toothpaste they left behind.
10 de Agosto, Iguacu Falls & back to Buenos Aires
We were so excited to return to Argentina after months of traveling around South America. It felt like going home, because we knew the culture, the language and the customs in Argentina. It is really easy to travel in Argentina and it is the best value in all of South America (you get a lot for your money here). We knew what to expect, and we welcomed the familiarity. Upon arrival in Puerto Iguacu (the small town on the Argentine side of Iguacu Falls), we were back in the land of mate drinkers, excellent and inexpensive wine, thick cuts of steak at parillas, late dinners, siestas, double ls that sound like js, waiting for hours to get the check after a meal, "bueno" being the standard response to everything.
We were dying to eat at a parilla and have a glass of Malbec, so we went straight to a tenedor libre (all you can eat) restaurant with two guys that we befriended in Rio who traveled with us to Iguacu. We had a great time showing these two guys from Michigan what we knew about Argentina.
The next day we went to the Argentine side of the Falls. Iguacu Falls straddles the borders of Argentina and Brazil, and upriver there is a hydro-electric damn that provides Paraguay and Brazil with a substantial percentage of their electric power. In Guarani, the native language spoken in Paraguay, Iguacu means big water...that is an accurate description. It was no surprise to us that Argentina managed to claim the lion's share of land around the falls, as we have seen Argentina do this with other natural wonders that sit on it's borders (like Perito Moreno the glacier that sits on the border between Chile and Argentina). The Argentine side of the falls was well organized for tourism, with a maze of paths and trails that allowed visitors to view the falls from various vantage points, a train for transporting visitors around the park, and boats in the pools below the falls that manuevered almost underneath the massive amounts of rushing water. We had never seen waterfalls of this size before. The width of the falls and the extensive area that they cover is breathtaking, and there is something so calming about watching water move continuously over the edge of a cliff. It's as mesmorizing as watching waves break at the ocean, but the sheer size of these falls makes this an indescribable sight. The air was damp from all the mist given off by the falling water. We happened to be there during winter, and it was particularly cold that week, so we missed a lot of the wildlife that flourishes during the tropical summers. It would be a completely different experience to see the falls in the summer. We got lucky with better weather the next day, and the sun shone on the Brazilian side of the falls. The falls were less spectacular on the Brazilian side, but the view of the Argentine side was fantastic. From Brazil, at this distance, we could see the falls in their entirety. We thought that this was an interesting analogy for the personalities of the two countries sharing this natural resource. Argentina owned more of the land around the falls, but Brazilians had the superior view.
That evening we headed back to Buenos Aires on an overnight bus. We were actually looking forward to this bus ride, because the buses in Argentina are so comfortable. They show movies, they provide meals, the seats are roomy enough for sleeping. We booked our tickets in advance to make sure that we could get cama clase (bed class) seats, and we were excited to make our last South American bus journey in style. Months before when we were in Argentina, Billy told me that he had seen an advertisment in the bus station for a bus company that served lomo and vino (steak and wine) for dinner. This was always a joke between us, because I never believed that it was true, and we had never been served steak and wine on any of the bus rides we had taken during two months of overland travel in Argentina. I had this image in my head of passengers gobbling up filet mignon and guzzling free flowing wine and it seemed too good to be true. We got settled on our bus from Iguacu to BsAs and out came the lomo and vino!
When we arrived in Buenos Aires, we were anxious to do all the things we hadn't done the first time we were there. First on the list was a trip to a tenedor libre restaurant called Grant's. We had heard about this restaurant from various people who knew Argentina well, and we had to see it for ourselves. On a week night you pay $16 pesos ($5) for a complete buffet dinner that includes sushi made-to-order, chinese food, gourmet cheeses and meats, salads and desserts. There's a crepe station, a parilla, a stir-fry station...basically if you can dream it up, they will serve it up. We went to town at this place, and practically ate them out of business. We also wanted to see a part of town called La Boca, which we had skipped the first time we were in Argentina because it was said to be somewhat dangerous. After getting around the rest of South America unscathed, we thought that we could handle La Boca. It was very touristy, similar to Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, except it was located in a seedy part of town. It was a commercial tourist trap at the water's edge dressed up in brightly painted corrugated metal. From there we hopped on the 152 bus (our old favorite) to Puerto Madero to a place called Sushi Club, where we had all-you-can-eat sushi for a steal. We spent afternoons wandering around Barrio Norte and Recoleta, getting lost among cafes, gelato shops, parks, and museums. We finally found Teatro Colon, the opera house in BsAs, where you can see an opera for a few dollars, but we just missed a performance of The Barber of Seville. An international tango competition was being held in the city while we were there, so we went to see some of the dancing. We had salads and cortados at our favorite cafe in Palermo. We had drinks and dinner with Italian friends that we had met the first time we were in town. We just wanted to wrap our arms around Buenos Aires and take it with us. It was hard to leave the city that brought us to South America in the first place.
Next stop--Trieste. From Italy in South America to Italy in Europe.
6 do Agosto - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Rio is one of the places that we were most excited to see, as we have heard so much about it. We have heard it is fun and beautiful, but also a place to use extra caution, as it can be quite dangerous. We arrived after a 30 hour bus ride from Salvador, and picked a hostal out of our guide book that was full when we got there, so we had to spend an hour walking around Ipanema with all of our bags to find a different place to stay. Our first impression was that Ipanema is as nice of a neighborhood as we have seen anywhere in South America. Nice resturaunts, bars, upscale shops, and nice looking condos everywhere on tree lined streets. This was our impression before we saw the spectacular beach that is synonymous with Rio. We also later learned that Rio has the most expensive real estate in South America.
Staying in Ipanema is not cheap, and since we decided to choose location over luxury, we ended up in dorm beds in a backpacker`s hostal. Things were great as we had our own room for the first three nights, but once the weekend rolled around it filled up with drunks from all over the world. We purposely have avoided these situations on this trip because we know how they can turn out with such predictable clientel, but we had to bite the bullet this time due to the high cost of getting our own room in expensive Ipanema. Things hit a low point one morning when Jen woke up after hearing the door to the dorm room slammed repeatedly at about 6:30 AM, and went downstairs to get some coffee. On the stairs she encoutered a 19 year old Englishman with blood all over his face and shirt, a huge black eye, completely sprawled out all over the stairs with money in one hand and a tipped over beer in the other, yelling "quero mais cerveja" (I want more beer) at the people who ran the hostal. He then preceded to tell his story about getting beat up by some Brazilian boys and losing his friend. They told us that Rio was dangerous, but we are sure this guy provoked whatever happened to him, which he did not remember a bit of the next day, nor did he get much sympathy from us.
Rio has a reputation in Brazil for having snobby residents. They are called Cariocas (the name given to the first white settlers in Rio by the natives), and because they live in such a beautiful place they are very proud of their city and themselves. They have a really big rivalry with the Paulistas, or the people from Sao Paulo, and often chide the Paulistas for working too hard indoors and having pale skin, while the Cariocas sit on the beach and look tan and are in perfect shape. We saw this first hand on the beaches of Ipanema and Copacabana. There were perfectly tanned Cariocas laying out on the beach all day, all with perfectly sculpted bodies and small bathing suits. They clearly spend half the day at the beach, and the other half at the gym. They did not seem to work, as we saw the same people day after day on the beach (this happened to be the week before school started for many students). They bring their chairs to the beach, sit in groups of 5-10, and smoke pot all day. This was clearly a way of life, as the entire beach was up in smoke all day long, nobody even looked over their shoulders for police.
After one day walking along the miles of amazing beaches that stretch along the coast of Rio, we decided to head up to Corcovado, where the famous statue of Jesus overlooks the entire city. This was one of the experiences we will remember forever. Rio is just so spectacularly set that it can only really be taken in from high above the city. There are long stretches of white sand beach everywhere, with giant cone-shaped mountains that form the setting that you see in postcards. There are also a lot of lagoons and a large bay, so there is water everywhere, truly the most incredible setting for a city. We were there in the dead of winter too, and it was still perfect beach weather. They say Rio gets 1 week of winter per year, which consists of some rain and temperatures that go as low as 68 F. We spent 2 hours looking out over the city under the shadow of a 200 foot Jesus statue, and were totally impressed.
Rio is also known for its nightlife. We tried a few times to make it up late enough to go out and see it, but never made it until the last night we were in town when a guy we met named Felipe asked us if we wanted to go out. Felipe worked at our hostal, and he took us with one of his friends to Lapa, one of the main places to go and see and hear samba. The streets were full of people, guys selling drinks from carts, and loud music and people dancing. We got lessons on how to be a real Carioca from Felipe. He taught us how to walk the right way (chest out with a swagger), what football team to root for, all the hand gestures and pick up lines that the Cariocas use on eachother, and generally how to act like we belong. It was great getting to know Felipe and really fun learning all the little tricks and sayings that are characteristic of Rio dwellers. We joked with him that the Porteños from Buenos Aires have a reputation for being the most arrogant of all the South Americans, and he just laughed and said imagine what they would be like if they lived in a city as beautiful as Rio. He then said Porteños and Cariocas are similar, except for the fact that Cariocas are better, with no hint of sarcasm. He was funny and showed us a great time, dancing in the streets until 4 AM. As the night got later, the hookers came out in force, wearing barely anything and walking in the streets poking their heads into car windows. This was our queue that it was getting a little late, and we should call it a night. We all went back to the hostal and said goodbye to Felipe who has promised to come to San Francisco soon. When Cariocas say goodbye, they say "come by my place later." It is not meant to be an invitation, but shows how they are generally very welcoming people, and this is how we said goodbye to Felipe.
Another thing that was on our must do list in Rio was to visit the favelas. These are the slums that are tucked into many different pockets all around the city. For anyone that has seen the movie City of God, that was about one favela in Rio. There are 800 favelas in the city, and they are all built on public property by residents that have no money to buy land, so they are all in essence squatter settlements. The government long ignored them, but allowed the people to live in shantytowns where they erected them, although they would not be equipped with electricity or water or other public services. Those times have changed, and now they have these amenities, but are still the center of the drug trades, and are for the most part very dangerous and very poor.
We found a guide that would take us into Rocinha, the largest of the favelas in Rio, with over 160,000 residents. We walked through the tiny passageways of the favela, met some of the people, and saw what life was like there. The favelas have long been ruled by the gangs, and the drug lords have very strict rules; one of which is no stealing. They rule the place with an iron fist, so people obey the laws, or suffer a fate worse than what the police will dole out. However, in Rocinha, the police have started to put up posts and are moving into the territory, causing an uproar and some shootouts. Because of the shootouts, we were only allowed to stay along the main roads, and so we did not get to see as much as we wanted, but found the whole experience very interesting. The one thing we were most surprised by was how well the people lived in the favelas, from what we were able to see. They did not look all that different than any other poor parts of town we have seen in other South American cities. I think we would have had a different impression if we were able to go further into the favela to see what life is like away from the main roads that are paved, and have electricity and water. The favela was full of kids flying kites, and we were told that this is most commonly used to alert the drug dealers that the police or rival gang members were coming. All in all, they welcome tourists because it brings money into the favela, and people were nice to us and we never felt in danger. It was also a very stark contrast to all the residents of Ipanema, Leblon, and Copacabana who sit all day on the beach with a cigarette and beer in one hand, and a cell phone in the other.
We loved Rio, but also found it to be a very strange place. The poverty was not as bad as we thought, but the luxurious life of the rich was more hedonistic than we imagined. It is very strange that these two parts of society are so often right next to eachother, and functioning in apparent harmony. Ipanema beach is public, but we never saw any poor kids begging or stealing there. There was also not much of a police presence, so it seems to us as if the two sides of town just coexist, but don`t really mingle very much. The only thing that we saw that looked like mingling were these two young kids playing paddle ball on the beach using a flip flop as a paddle, and a soda can as a ball. After soccer, paddle ball is the most popular activity of those at the beach, and we joined these two young kids and played paddle ball with our flip flops until we were exhausted. They loved it, and took it very seriously. Whenever the boy hit the can over our heads, he would jump and and cheer like an NBA star after a slam dunk, then he would cross himself and kiss the sky. He was better at the celebration than the game, he wanted to be Ronaldo, the biggest soccer star in Brazil.
30 do Julho, Salvador de Bahia, Part 2
Brazil was the last country in the Americas to abolish slavery, in 1888, so the traditions and culture of the former slave population in places like Salvador are not a distant memory, but are still an integral part of life today. Candomble is an example of this; it is a religion practiced by the descendants of slaves in Brazil. It was outlawed until about 40 years ago, because it was thought to be similiar to voodoo. When West Africans were brought to Brazilian soil as slaves and forced to proselytize to Catholicism, they preserved their native beliefs and religious practices by assigning names of Catholic Saints to their African dieties. It appeared that they were pious Christian converts while they continued to worship spirits that inhabit natural objects and phenomena (like the God of water or the God of disease). This syncretism of Catholicism and the animism of slaves from West Africa is alive and well today in Salvador.
We went to see a Candomble ceremony on a Saturday night to witness this phenomenon for ourselves. We were told not to wear any black or red clothing to the ceremony, and that was the only information that the tour agency provided us with. We had only heard stories about these celebrations, so we didn`t know whether to expect an animal sacrifice or a sitdown mass. We hoped that it wouldn´t be a show performed for tourists, but instead a chance for us to get a genuine peek at the sacred practice of Candomble. In the end we were very satisfied with our experience.
There are 1,000 Candomble temples and 166 Catholic churches in Salvador. Most of the Candomble temples are in the poorest neighborhoods, so we were headed to the outskirts of Salvador to a favela (slum) where one of these temples was located. This temple was very small, it was a simple one room home converted into a place of worship. Our tour guide was a talkative Brazilian guy who had lived in Atlanta for 10 years, and loved telling the story about his confusion with the word payday when he first arrived in the States and was learning English. Apparently payday means "I farted" in Portuguese, so he had an embarrassing and difficult time learning about that celebrated day of the month. He picked us up and then drove a car jam-packed with tourists around in circles for an hour and a half before we finally arrived at the temple.
The ceremony had already started by the time we arrived, so we took our places outside the building near the door where we could get a good view of the dancing and chanting that was underway inside. The crowd was separated into men on one side of the room and women on the other, and there was an inner circle of participants who would be entering into trances and then later appearing in costumes of the dieties that were being celebrated on this night of the week. Different dieties are worshipped on different days. The participants sang and chanted in the Yoruba language, and they were accompanied by drums and bells. We noticed that one of the drummers was missing a hand, but he played the bongo with more skill than any drummer we have ever seen play. The music, dancing and singing were enchanting enough to lure anyone into a trance. There were specific people assigned to help and aid the handfull of participants who started to fall under the spell of trances. As they trembled, sweated and yelled while dancing with their eyes closed or rolling back in their heads, they needed someone to make sure they didn`t hurt themselves or any spectators with their uncontrolled body movements. Mainly women entered into trances, as is the custom. The members of the congregation were old and young, some seemed like regular attendees, while others seemed to show up specifically for the free meal (which was given out near the end of the ceremony). Everyone was wearing white and blue.
After the participants had completely entered into trance states, they were escorted outside and later returned wearing costumes that represented dieties (orixas). The festival we attended dedicated to the God of the Swamp, but the most interesting of all of the costumes at this ceremony was the God of Disease. The participant representing the God of Disease wore a straw mask, cape and dress to cover her face and body disfigured by smallpox. Also in attendance were the God of Lightning, God of Hunters, and God of Water. After another hour of chanting and dancing, towards the end of the ceremony, we all threw rice and fragrant flower petals at the dieties as they received other gifts. All of this was done in the name of adoration, because the dieties are vain and they are happiest when they are showered with attention in this manner. We left the ceremony before it came to a close, so we are not sure how it ended, but we were told that it began in the morning with an animal sacrifice and that it would not finish until well after midnight.
The next day we went in search of a museum that claimed to house the best collection of balangandas (slave charms). We plotted out the most direct route on the map and started to make our way to the Museum Costa Pinto. As we walked down the hill and got further from the Pelo, we noticed that the neighborhood became increasingly seedier. A seemingly crazy man approached us and told us not to go any further down the street because it was dangerous. We tried to dismiss him and continue along, but as we rounded the corner we were stopped again by two armed policemen standing at the entrance to what looked like a crack alley. This is the first time we had seen anything like this in South America. It looked a lot like the Tenderloin in San Francisco. The police cautioned us to turn around and quickly get out of this area. We tried to map out a way to circumnavigate the crack den, but we were unable to get around it. As we were retracing our path back to the safer and more touristy area of the Pelo, we spotted a desperate-looking man who was suspiciously crossing the street toward us. Luckily we happened to be in sight of the two police officers that redirected us earlier, and when this man realized this, he changed direction. We decided that it would be best to travel to this museum by bus instead.
The museum was well worth a visit. It had an amazing collection of gold balangandas that were once worn on a chain around a slave`s waist. The charms were depictions of fruits, animals, a fist that represented African unity, and other symbols of daily life during those times. It is said that the slavemaster rewarded slaves with these charms for a deed done, and when the slave accumulated a dozen charms, they could have their freedom. We were impressed by the intricate charms and the concrete evidence of a very sad and oppressive way of life.
Sundays in Salvador are holy days. The streets are deserted and everyone is either at church or making the pilgrimmage to the beach to worship the sun, sand, and ocean. We did a little of both. As we headed to the bus station to find transport to the beach, we let our ears lead us into the church known as the slave church in the main plaza in the Pelo. Mass at this church would inspire the most stubborn aethiest to become a devout worshipper. It was a joyous celebration as people were dancing, hands were clapping, friends were greeting eachother, everyone was smiling and singing to incredible music with African drum beats. Salvador is a place that makes you feel alive.
On our last night in Salvador we were walking in the Pelo and heard the sound of drums in the distance. Again we followed the sound and stumbled upon a marching drum troop. The drummers were young boys being led by two older men who acted as conducters. The troop had attracted a crowd of people who faithfully followed them around as if they were pied pipers and the mesmorized crowd was under a spell like rats. This crowd would`ve followed these drummers and their music to certain death without concern. We stood on the sidelines and watched and then became overwhelmed by the phenomenon and joined in the dancing and marching ourselves. We were all dancing in synch with abandon regardless of who we were. There was a sense of unity despite differences between us in age, color, etc. Everyone smiled and cheered and no one was judging anyone else. It was the kind of joy derived from something unexpected and foreign but familiar to the soul and so seldomly experienced that it was very special. It was a beautiful expression of humanity.
Our friend Jose said it best when asked about his impressions of Brazil. Jose is from Lima, but he is working on a PhD in Spanish Literature at Princeton, and we met him in Rio while he was there doing research for his studies. He stated it simply and precisely, "Brazil is alive." Our experiences in Brazil have reinforced this feeling for us as well.
