(2-III-2001) Two days of sightseeing, Nadia and me alone. General surf carnival, with removal of cabins and garlands. We wandering through the same places of the early days, and we've known others, like the mythical Sapateiro Baixa do, which I found a mix of street and street Carretería Marbles (and the square just before the Market Model with Lift Lacerda front, certainly has an air of Plaza de la Marina). We have promised not to step back more Stiepan if another year, so we have a small hotel overlooking the Pelourinho that seemed the ideal place to stay. We have also been setting in aparthotels Bar. There I was pleased to see a cute monument to Stefan Zweig , on the waterfront. The image of today, however, has been the misty evening in the Castro Alves Square from the bus. Otherwise, I spend hours on the fourth reading, and sleeping hours and hours and hours on the bus listen to anyone. This afternoon's cousin Dagmar came to take us to Bonfim, but in the end we were not. We left without knowing the famous site of the ribbons of color, because tomorrow is our last day and we decided to go Abaeté. The most unsettling, finally, are the twists and turns of the bus. Nadia and I Descojonado every time we pass through the dam Tororo. (3-III-2001) Abaeté In a bar, dazed by the beer in the unreality that distill the sweetened versions of classic Brazilian type crooning accompanied on his Yamaha. These sounds faintly overlap those of synthesizers and altofalante s of the neighboring bars. Beer edges lime sweetens the discomfort. I have written new cards: those that originally wrote in enthusiastic tone, the broke yesterday in a rush, those of today had a lighter, more cynical. Before you sit in the stall we have been walking around the Lagoa. Not as pretty as the songs say: the famous "Areia branca" had too many black spots, and basurilla here and there. Finally, all those songs baianas outlined a self-paradise: paradise was in them and not in reality. But I can not say that I've disappointed, because I (do not move in my usual) came without much enthusiasm. I liked, however, be here, but prosaic aspects.
The moon in the blue sky, mediated. Below a black and a black have taken to dancing, she in a tight pink dress, the pattern stretched over her flesh. In the background the white pieces appearing between the dune vegetation. Before they removed the body of a black Lagoa; appeared in his twenties. Just today comes in the newspaper a year ago that nobody died drowned. The amount from the seventies is five hundred. Five hundred dead in thirty years here, and the tune still, animated, and the stunning beer. And over the odd bird of considerable size. Raptors
black in the sky. A white plane. The white van came to pick up the black body. A sixteen year old hero: he died to save his sister. The white crescent. A black girl has grabbed the microphone and sang softly rising star (white).
Reconciliation at the end. Back on the bus, marine sunset Caymmi songs (by Rosa Passos) in the headphones. The long waves, light, and the bodies to the backlight. Now, sunset from the gazebo next to the Elevador Lacerda. Nadia has declined to buy the last gifts to the Mercado Modelo. From here, the sun coloring the clouds above the island of Itaparica. (Sunset interrupted occasionally by beggars and vendors, the vendors exhibiting their products sad, its sad hungry beggars.)
The port with the boats, and no direct light. The strong round over there. The quiet murmur of the evening. Distant drums, the source below, faint voices, cars harmless. The mild weather. (And tomorrow I'll be far from here.)
(5-III-2001) Arriving in Rio We were crushed by the twenty-six hours by bus, but we went for a walk just outside the luggage at the hotel. Misty afternoon: vision faded from Copacabana, also because of tiredness. In Ipanema the afternoon light had spread through the haze and the atmosphere was red, unreal. Rain threatened and no one has become the preferred hotel. I've been looking at CDs and books along Rua Visconde de Pirajá. Upon leaving the last shop, I was unwittingly the only customer who was, I found one in the street and all closed and dark. It has been to drizzle a few minutes. Then, dry lightning and quiet on the waterfront: truculent glare behind the Morro Dois Irmãos and Pedra da Gávea, which seemed theatrical scenery. Return apace, with apprehension. But the danger was only in me was the night flowing smoothly. Copacabana night lights, the outline of Sugarloaf, which so beautifully done in the paper. And now, on TV, after an interview with Gilberto Gil, Jô program begins. (6-III-2001) tropical Dusk. Opposite, the Morro Dois Irmãos, with a palm tree in front. The lights in the favela of Vidigal, falling as the trappings of a Christmas tree on the left. I drink a beer while waiting for anyone, with a coconut with the moleskine. We stayed here in calçadão , off the street Maria Quitéria, which has proved to be a bit beyond the famous Posto Nove. Went to the dentist. Is delayed. I walked from Copacabana, as evening fell. Very pleasant summer day, in contrast to the images of the storm in Spain (rain, wind, cold) showing the TV news. This morning we have been shopping at Shopping Rio Sul and then we come down to the beach from the hotel. A couple of very fresh water baths, beer, Salgadinho , reading the newspaper lying on the towel and sat in his chair, contemplating the waves on hulls Adriana Calcanhotto; also walk along the sand to Leme. Topic to be fulfilled: the landscape surprises. Corcovado suddenly emerges from behind the Copacabana Palace, and beyond, reaching Leme, Ipanema vision towards the Dois Irmãos as one, near the Pedra da Gávea. The contrast between Copacabana and Ipanema. The twenty or so small islands or mountains of Copacabana, including the Sugar Loaf, and here in Ipanema totemic presence of Dois Irmãos. Before a few rays have fallen, but not from behind like yesterday, but left and at sea. Pra viver really gives the area Sul reunion just this day I have become the wishes coming here. Maybe buy an apartment when you can and live between Spain and Nadia Rio's already there, waiting to cross the traffic lights: the red is my green to finish the sentence.
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