From Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
(Pachamama resting in Miami)
Thursday, February 7
Apartment, 709 N.S. Copacabana
Watch Out! Superlatives follow!
Rio de Janeiro is united by Samba.
No other town we know is so dedicated to one musical style, and its offspring
Bossa Nova, than this city, this country.
Samba is an incessant driving sound, played non stop for hours, by energetic
musicians who stand continuously, and who make the union ordered rest periods
of American dance bands seem a tribute to a lesser order of physical conditioning
and willingness to play. In a dance hall, the sound is produced by
15 or more musicians, including guitars, brass, percussion and singers, who
never stop, from the moment doors open, until the last reveler leaves at 5
a.m. In the more informal settings, such as out of doors, it is played
by three to five people, without brass, and in The Carnaval experience, melody
comes from strings, at least one producing similar to the sounds of a banjo,
or charango, and from five to ten singers with microphones, plus four to
five thousand singing dancers. Yes, 4,000 to 5,000. You will see.
Unfortunately, the American ear is not immediately friendly to this massive,
loud sound, played so loud that speakers tend to distort. The unprepared
tire quickly, and become frustrated with the inability to distinguish words,
especially words in Portuguese. With time and patience, with several
experiences, after reading the words, The Samba Experience becomes unique
and massively compelling.
The pinnacle of Samba Experience is Carnaval in Rio, the greatest display
of man produced art we ever have seen, or expect to see at any other time
in our lives. A Samba Parade, at night, in El Sambodromo, gives more
stimulation, pleasure, and exaltation, than opening ceremonies of an olympic
games, or any other celebration we know. It is like Mozart, DaVinci,
and Michelangelo working together to penetrate the ears and eyes, and the
hearts, of millions of people, in five successive nights, from 9 p.m. until
6 a.m. For the dedicated, and prepared, the Samba Experience
of Carnaval generates emotions of pride and Rocky Mountain High, a feeling
of having been elevated to some new world of sense and feeling.
We saw one of the seven nights of Carnaval Parades. Last Monday
we joined 70,000 others to watch six of the twelve best Escolas de Samba.
These are not schools in the educational sense, but more in the sense
of a school of fish, a gathering of people, of more than 5,000 people in
each. The Samba School is a social and political institution with
one goal: to produce the best show on earth, for 80 minutes, once each year.
The schools have evolved from communities in Rio, many known as favelas,
some more than 80 years old. The Quadra, or social center of the community,
is a large barn like structure for music and dance. It is the rehearsal
hall, as well as the gathering place for weekly parties. The one we
visited is Mangueira, perhaps the oldest, with a history written in
the book "Samba." Here, the wings of the school come together to learn
the current year's song, which is a tribute to a specific story about Brazil,
such as "100 Years of Japanese Immigration," "The Arrival of The Portuguese
Court" when it escaped from Napoleon, "The Working Man," or, "Frevo," a dance
rhythm, African in nature, that appeared in the northeast of Brazil 100 years
ago. Each school has a song, completed by about October of every year,
and then played on radios nation wide, some destined to become the best of
Brazil's popular music. Each song has about 150 words, in a classic
and permanent structure that includes two refrains. Everyone in the
Samba parade is expected to sing the song, with gusto and showmanship.
A parade itself is a story, told in allegory by the floats and supporting
wings. These floats are superb, outstanding works of art, without any
commercial funding or endorsement. They are indescribable. At
a cost of perhaps $1 million each, they include up to fifty dancers, none
standing and waving to the crowd like a festival queen in the U.S, but,
instead, performing and acting to suit the story, and costumed to suit the
color scheme of the float. Before and after, compact wings of 100 to 400
dancers perform. Every member of a wing wears the same costume, personally
acquired at a cost of between $300 and $500. The floats are internally
lit, with mechanical animals that move realistically, running water, platforms
for dancers, and even for acrobats. Up close, they appear perfect,
with no protruding cables, and no obvious access points. Still, they
are self propelled, and self powered with full stage type illumination.
When a portion of the parade passes your seat, with the leading units
to your left, and the following units to your right, the eye sees an array
of splendid colors extending a half mile in each direction. The colors
are unified and complementary. The effect is a perfect whole, as if
a perfect painting were to dominate a person's entire field of vision.
Some see carnaval as a massive sexual romp, this impression encouraged
by photos of the scantily clad sambistas, the women who have made a profession
of dancing the samba in shows and parades. For the viewer, live and
in person, these women are barely noticed. Instead, the eye sees the
floats and the wings, and hears the music of the musicians and singers, all
given impetus by a drum corps of at least 200 people performing in sync,
as one. The eyes do not witness debauchery. Instead, they see
art.
(The modern Samba is performed solo, with legs moving at perhaps 5 movements
per second, and hips swaying in rhythm. This is not samba as taught
for couples by Arthur Murray. A sambista is highly respected. She is
like an athlete, the best getting cheers of praise like Michael Jordan. Their
thighs and calves are solid as rocks, and somewhat out of proportion, like
the torso of a weight lifter.)
For the viewer, all of this comes at a cost. A decent ticket for
one night is at least $250, and the best run up to over $1,000. No
one would pay this for a seat at The Indianapolis 500 Festival Parade. The
tradition here, however, is that revenues go to the best samba schools, for
production of floats, and for a few important costumes. Another cost
for the viewer is personal energy and commitment. Remaining in a hard
seat all night is not easy. We saw several tourists, clearly unprepared,
leaving early, with pain and frustration painted on their faces. The
sound and fury was too much. How sad.
We returned from The Sambodromo, excited and exhausted. The subway
cars were jammed with viewers, and with costumed dancers. The dancers
seemed beyond exhaustion, but, when asked if they would do it again, the
answer was a big smile and a powerful "yes." A fair share were families,
father, mother, son and daughter, all in costume to support their escola.
Chichi and I ate alone Tuesday, in our apartment, and found ourselves
trying to talk out the experience, but feeling something beyond words, something
that brought tears. Part of our feeling involved personal luck. It
rained all day Monday, but stopped before the parade, and left us dry all
night, only to start again next day. On Wednesday, we were attracted
to a television at a bar, which was showing the conclusion of the escola
competition. It was a live broadcast of the judges' votes, expressed
just like in diving or ice skating, perfect being ten. As time wore
on, it appeared that Beija Flor would win. Around us, as each new 10
was shown, revelers dressed in Beija Flor T shirts sang their song and cheered.
We did too. Every Brazilian is attached to an escola, like Indianapolis
fans to The Colts, with one important difference. Only the few can play
football, but anyone can perform in an escola. By the way, Beija Flor
was one of our two favorites. Our hearts had been with Mangueira, but
it came out in the lower half. It performed Sunday, and we did not
see it.
We arrived in Rio December 29, in time to see the New Years Eve beach
celebration called Reveillon. Music and fireworks, and a wonderful
evening on Copacabana Beach, with two million others!! For the next
four weeks, Chichi exercised daily at Body Tech while John took Portuguese
lessons at # Number One. We enjoyed ourselves, with good food, and
good friends, especially Ted and Gayle Nering, here to visit his daughter
and son in law, Alyssa and Breno Lorch. We also broke bread twice
with Bolivian friends who live here.
Rio can be a tourist's dream, but only with preparation. Copacabana
has the most beautiful beach in the world. The surrounding hills provide
unlimited opportunities for outdoor fun, and the city is as exciting and
complete as New York or London.
(The correct pronunciation of O Rio de Janeiro is O hee O Gee Ja Nay Ru,
with accent on the Hee and Nay. The R symbol connotes an H sound in
English, and the D symbol sounds like English G. The O at the start is the
same as "the:" in other words, The River of January.
Saturday, February 23
O Rio de Janeiro
Oh my! I thought I was done with superlatives:
A first class overnight bus took us to Ouro Preto. A few days later
we went to Belo Horizonte, then by train to Vitoria, and by plane to Salvador.
The first were fine, but Salvador is, well, wonderful.
The historic center of Salvador (The Pelourinho) has more art, dance and
culture per square foot than Lincoln Center, more police protection per square
kilometer than Fort Knox, and more music per block than The French Quarter
(mostly percussion, the best in the world). At first, our ears and minds were
battered by the constant rhythms of drum corps, but, as we became accustomed,
we loved the sound, and the accompanying dances, such as capoiera. We
saw both the best, such as the ballet folklorica and Olodum, and the worst,
which is the amateur efforts on every plaza and street corner. No where
else in the new world are African dance and sound traditions as well preserved
as here.
The usual complement of historic buildings also is here, and, frankly, we
are tiring of them. However, La Igreja e Convento de San Francisco
is special. It is a Franciscan effort, and it effectively communicates
The Franciscan principles of life, which, in the main, are common sense. Like
so many of our discoveries in South America, the church has fine work, on
the order of DaVinci or Michelangelo,. We know those two from our history
and art appreciation courses, which, unfortunately, do not teach about the
magnificence of art in South America. The absence of foreknowledge,
and the opportunity to discover and to be surprised, is one of the great charms
of traveling south of our border.
An evening of Condomble´ also tested our senses. It is more
than four hours of rhythm and chanting, with a god entering the body of a
participant, leaving her in a trance.
This coming week, we will relax, beach-it-up, see movies and music, and
prepare for our trip home on Friday.
THE OTHER SIDE OF RIO
Homeless street people are everywhere, always asking, usually respectful.
Below our 10th floor apartment, a complete family, including children
and a new born, lived on the sidewalk, always cleaning their space and leaving
prior to the opening of stores. We have photographs of them. The
climate of Brazil is favorable to street living and sleeping, with rain the
only major enemy.
Every city in the world has homeless people. Rio takes care of them
as well as anyone.