My Favela Experience

  So my time in Rio de Janeiro has temporarily come to an end. My 6 weeks in the Cidade Maravilhosa were memorable for a number of reasons. The heat averaging out at 35C+, the iconic beaches stretching along the coast and the postcard perfect Christ the Redeemer peering down and observing his city. There were some more edgy memories that also stick in the mind; not least seeing a 20 on 1 fight on Copacabana beach that left the victim with a new face, and the regular tirades of gunshots that I could hear from my bedroom. It's certainly safe to say I've never visited a place quite like it, with its obvious natural beauty being chipped away relentlessly by its ugly, bludgeoning acts of crime.

  One of the most interesting elements of Rio de Janeiro's identity is the favela communities that are scattered both in the centre and the outskirts of the city. The favelas house an estimated 22% of the city's population (approx. 6.3 million) and, rightly or wrongly, present a strong stereotype for tourists coming over here from abroad. Films such as City of God have painted an incredibly strong vision of what a favela is and have attached a number of leeching toxicants to the word. I asked a few of my English friends and family about words that come to mind when they hear the word favela:

"Poor. Dangerous. Drugs."

"Slum. Poverty. Crowded."

"Drugs. Slum. Community"

"Crime. Poverty. Colour."  

"Brazil. Cardboard. Football." (You know who you are...) 

"Crime. Colourful. Disco." (Interesting last choice Louise...)  

  So you get the point, not the place you'd want to settle down and have kids. Since arriving in Rio, something about these favela communities has fascinated me. Their raw, jagged appearance makes for aesthetic gold (in my opinion) and something about them made it very hard for me to take my eyes off them. In my second week in the city I visited the Donna Marta favela, which was made famous by Michael Jackson in his video for They Don't Care About Us. It was an intriguing, passing visit for me and my mates, with a tourist-less experience sucking us into the true nature of the community's homecoming rush-hour. Whilst valuable, it was more of an immersion experience than an informing one. So when the opportunity arose to continue my education by visiting a favela with a local guide, there was no way I was turning it down.

Livin' La Vida Carioca

  From doing this blog I've realised that it's impossible to do everything in the same style. Before starting it, I thought it would be like a simple equation: I do something or visit somewhere, I write about it, I post it. A very review-orientated travel blog. Yet then came South America and it's numerous imperfections, sparks and quirks. Not a day goes by here where I don't see or hear something bizarre or experience something that just wouldn't happen at home. These things don't merit their own article like an Iguazu Falls or Boca Juniors match (the show-offs), yet they combine to offer their own unique kinks to this Year Abroad armour.

What a nice weekend this looks so far...

  Occasionally enough of these weird or amusing things occur in a short period of time and I just can't help myself. This weekend was exactly one of these honeypots of material. There were highs and lows (more of the latter) and it was a bit of a rollercoaster. Come the end of Sunday, I stopped and had a little think to myself. I was still broken from a monster hangover, slightly embarrassed from some goings-on and, inevitably, tipsy once more. The Brazilians are re-knowned for their natural gravitation towards chaos - and this weekend I got a taste of the action.

  It all started on Thursday, where every good weekend starts right? I'd finished my classes for the day and I was feeling daring. Well, not daring enough for where I was going to be a thing of impulse, but daring enough to take the plunge. I got myself onto the metro and headed from Copacabana to Ipanema. I got off the metro to scorching 37+C heat, and set off en-route to my destination. Like every single damn time I've gone in search of a place in South America, it took longer than anticipated due to awkward street organisation, but finally I found King 7 Tattoos tucked away at the back of a building. I paused, contemplated my imminent life decision, and walked in.