Yeah so that's that. I was in Brazil at the invitation of the Museum of Art in Rio. A few caipirinhas, two workshops, one Universidade das Quebradas talk and one lecture (alongside South African poet and educator Joan Meterlekamp) later, and I'm back home dreaming of Rio's mosquitoes and beaches and remembering her favelas and people - you know, the stuff poetry is made of.
a native of Rio de Janeiro.
2 (carioca) a Brazilian dance resembling the samba.
Lazy man's diary entry.
I sat still in the middle of a forest with only 1 other person around faux-meditating, swung past Paulo Coelho's and Pele's homes, ate who knows what manner of fish, checked out Christ the Redeemer's statue (which is cross-less and I've rather always liked that), danced Samba with the Atlantic for an afternoon, seen more half naked people in one week than I ever have in my entire life (I applaud anyone who is comfortable in their own skin), been to Copacabana and Ipanema to see what was so special about that girl that she got her own song (she should've gotten 2 if the locals are anything to go by), touched the edge of jungle so thick you better kiss the boy you have a crush on before going in because …unless they send the Hulk and the A team in after you you ain't coming back out, checked out Sugar Loaf mountain because who doesn't go to a place called sugar anything, suffered yatch envy at Botafogo, seen the Okavango Delta's twin (sister you need to come to Grumari and meet your brother), learnt that vultures' have cousins as protected as QE's swans in that other English speaking land, spoke fractured Portuguese till I was blue and pink in the face (thank you melanin how would anyone know), gained a shade of color, wondered if the one-way looking streets could accommodate both the vehicle I was in and the one hurtling my way at 14000 knots (given the humidity in the air surely that counts as traveling through liquid-y substance, no? well I'm here and I can cry if want to) and in conclusion Rio I am in awe of you. With all your mosquitoes and baggage and lightness and all, all that jazz you are my kind of guy…
And you dear reader, a few postcards for you below to help you navigate this country of 200 million people. Can you smell the sea? Wherever you are, I hope so.