(7-III-2001) Morning in the Centre: Rua do Ouvidor and Avenida Rio Branco. Libraries. The vitality of those streets that are literally a tropical Lisbon, all full of teselitas and saplings. Previously, the Sugar Loaf from the bus over Botafogo. At noon, again at the Copacabana beach. The newspaper O Globo brought the obituaries today by Mário Covas, governor of São Paulo. Shortly after arriving in Brazil came the news damped his internment. During all these days have been coming flashes, though I pay them much attention. Yesterday and saw people moved in the news. And today, the profiles of the newspaper. It seems that he was a prized, rare thing for a politician here. I am excited by reading what they said about him. That figure is know a man just after his death, the knowledge is well soaked from the beginning of melancholy. Afternoon long walk alone. First I went to the Rua Duvivier, to see the alley was the legendary Beco das carafes, which I located in the History of Bossa Nova that I bought yesterday. The reading I will rediscover the city. Tropicalia book by, for example, I knew where he is today the Shopping Rio Sul in the seventies had an apartment building where they lived Caetano Veloso, Edu Lobo and Paulinho da Viola, among others. And in the very Rua Duvivier lived Chico Buarque. Precisely the book I'm reading a biography Buarque: stimulating fertility. Once I uploaded the Avenida Atlantica to Le Méridien, and then I dropped the whole Arpoador Copacabana to where I stopped for a while. Minutes looking at the end of the afternoon. To Copacabana the clear light, the tranquility of the waves. In the opposite direction, the Morro Dois Irmãos backlit, wrapped in fog. I continued to walk to Ipanema Rua Anibal de Mendonça, I have traveled until reaching the lake, which I had seen last year. Glare. It was six o'clock in the afternoon and the lake contained a quiet time, marvelous in its stride. The Redeemer in front, in profile. The wooded slopes and down the buildings. Return and night: full moon and the clouds white lightning in Copacabana. On desire-dark bodies monitoring the calçadão .
(8-III-2001) Morning again in the Centre: the Candelaria Church, the Monastery of São Bento, Santa Rosa where he studied at the beginning of the century Uruguaiana Rua, Rua Alfândega ... I returned by bookstores and record stores yesterday, to do more shopping. In the bookshop's Edifício do Marquês Herval used was a copy of the anthology of Alliance of Luis Cernuda: how will we get there?
Nádia Last week in Rio has been shopping at a store in Copacabana and I have aimed at the Avenida Atlântica. In the Rua Santa Clara I have come across Nelson Motta, which I thought to perceive a furtive air of happiness (at night I find that Rodrigues was in Rio Pascolatto because his wife Constance, the Brazilian Ridruejo Pitita comes out on TV "live from São Paulo", lol). Once on the promenade, I began to walk to Ipanema in order to reach Leblon. But something held me. At the height of Othon sounded a batucada. Were nothing short of Mangueira drums, playing on the beach: "Eu conheço esse bumbo, bumbo esse é da Mangueira ...". A French team was filming a documentary on the orders of a blonde MILF, which must be the producer. Encouraged by the cameras, have taken a few mulatto dancing in bikini on the sand. It was a half hour magic: with fifteen or twenty percussionists running rhythms and strutting mulatto as only they know it, a swaying tits, ass, arms, hips, hair, eyes and legs that made me a hundred. Then I continued wandering around, stepping on hot coals. Now I write in the rock climbed higher Arpoador. The sun has set behind the Morro Dois Irmãos. Tranquility. I pet a soft little wind, front and back, the waves without time. A cloud was ajar and it appears that the sun had not yet set (it is a little above the Morro)-glare appeased by clouds and the Morro. Annotations to the outdoors, such as watercolor strokes.
(9-III-2001) still the last minute shopping at the airport. Somewhat sickened by both disk and therefore carry the book. This morning, last look at Dois Irmãos from Arpoador, Leonardo. Rain loose for Copacabana. Blurred landscapes. Rio vanishes again, but will continue to live here (and in all of Brazil) with reading and music. In Madrid, I await the last throes of winter.
(10-III-2001) Air travel. Rio from above. We went through the clouds and blue sky above. (An obvious where'd never thought about: the good days over cloudy day.) Mountains, mountains of clouds. Clear-down Brazilian territory, forests, cities ... Outlet to the Atlantic, and as night. Gray clouds. Full moon. The moon on the wing (the wing the moon "). Darkness. Lights below: islands (Cape Verde, the Canaries). And in the end the steps prosaic: the landing, the bus, waiting for luggage. Yesterday on the plane before takeoff, I listened "Meu Rio" . Soon, the flight attendant told me I had to turn off the pileup during the flight. Obedient, I gave the stop. This morning, landed in Madrid, pressed the play and the song went by where he had been ten hours and seven thousand miles later.
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