Menos Pelos

So I got my own room. Finally. After two months of sharing a bunk bed, I got moved to the room with the damp patch. Joss sticks and a fan seem to be disguising the stench so far but I find it easy to imagine mouldy molecules infiltrating my lungs whilst I sleep.  What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.

I also joined the Menos Pelos club and treated myself to the biggest defuzz my nether regions have ever seen. In fact, a new relationship blossomed down there and although I was losing hair, I felt like I was gaining a friend. After the wizardry had been performed and the operation signed off, I was handed a small mirror and asked to take a look.

I can honestly say being re introduced to your fejayjay under strip lighting is a new experience and words don’t immediately spring to mind when asked ‘how is it?’ by the stranger who has been fumbling with your labia for the last 45 minutes.

 Well, its my vagina but its looking back at me , with a new do and a twinkle in her eye. So I decide to say what I think is appropriate and what I think a well trained Brazilian would say when looking in the magic mirror. But I cant really say what I see I think is pretty. Pretty red more like. I am surprised its still in one piece as I am sure part of me was chucked in the bin along with any remnants of a tan I picked up in the last two months. But she’s all there alright, so I turn to the lovely lady who knows as much of my life story as I can say in Portuguese and smile and say ‘Bonita’. And it is. ‘nita’, much much neater. 

Gumba

Footwear gained. Acid house phone lost. Another night of rebolando do popozao and groping lady friends, more cheap cachaça than you could drown a cat with and pangs of guilt that I didn’t shoot all the footage I needed. Just my brain. Processing everything. In no particular order. I’ll be fine in a couple of days. 

Note to self, don’t watch City of God before entering City of God.

So the rain has been, along with more ants, and more ants that were bigger than the first lot of ants. And another species of creature I had absolutely no idea  even existed. At first I thought it was an oversized rat that had been feasting on hormone pumped chicken from Lapa, then I realised that even rats couldn’t grow that big.  Its tail was enough to get the gag reflexes going and the wirey mane of black hair encouraged flashes of cleaning a long left dirty saucepan using the hump of the creatures back to scrub away those forever irritating stains.  After much research kindly assisted by our dear friend Google, it became clear that our furry little friend was called Gamba, but somewhere along the line I slipped in the letter ‘u’ and decided to call it Gumba.  After much fun and hilarity from the new discovery, I was forced into shock when a photo was produced of a dead Gamba taken on a drunken crawl home. It’s little face, its little mouth. Possibly one of the most revolting animals I have ever seen, but yet hours of fun and entertainment. Maybe I just need to grow up or maybe you just hold onto these things when inhabiting an alien postcode and a funny little ball of fluff comes to visit you in the dead of the night.

Spitting Nuns

In a world where you are lost in translation 95% of the time, it’s sometimes nice to know people understand you. Or at least, what you are trying to say. My mention of beef curtains at the dinner table or the text I sent in Portuguese asking a friend of a friend if she was a book are just two good examples.

I was pleasantly surprised however, with the warm welcome from a young boy in the street, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘Welcome to Rio’. I thought ‘what a nice kid welcoming the pasty gringa to his city in our native tongue’.  Then the thought evaporated, fast, as his mate followed it with a massive ‘Fuck You’. Ying and yang is big in this city and you kind of get used to it.

One moment your 100 miles high, dancing in a Samba school with enough energy to power a Double Decker Bus, then the next your inhaling human shit, watching a transvestite shave his legs out of his bedroom window. I can’t complain though as everyday is like an unfolding circus and you never know what will happen next, its just unfortunate I am still trying to sort out my footwear. My last attempt was unsuccessful and all I came home with was a Japan Midi mobile that flashes an acid house face every time I try to save a number. Have to say I was pretty impressed.

My sleeping is becoming strained here. I can’t work out if it’s the change of diet, change of scenery or just sheer lack of comfort. It’s been a while since I have inhabited a bunk bed and the other night I could of sworn it was more than just me about to take a kip. By the light of my computer I saw the crevice of someone’s bottom sat directly between my legs and became paralysed by the weight of someone or something for a good 5 minutes. Once the panic attack was over I proceeded to locate every crystal I could find that might protect me from things that go bump in the night and clutch them tight to my sweaty moz bitten body. It was a rough night I can tell you.

Apart from that I am half way to paradise. That is if you consider spitting nuns and lady boy prostitutes in g strings heaven. 

This Monkeys gone to Rigby and Pellar

I am broken. Every bone in my body aches. I was up all night with heart burn after eating an unruly amount of Frango then attempting samba before allowing the little winged friends to digest. I feel terrible. Alongside the splattering of mosquito bites and ant nibbles, my legs are beginning to seize up. My footwear is far from practical for climbing the cobbled hill to my house but it does however serve the purpose of allowing me to blend in. So far so good but you never can tell when a bogey man will appear from behind the trees so its always best to be well prepared.

Mancando is the word I would use to best describe the way I feel right now. The terrain is rough in Santa Teresa. Health and Safety doesn’t exist and the pavement is only there if you fancy it, otherwise it’s in the road along with every other vehicle that can move on wheels. 

Bumped into Cesar the drum man again today. His greeting lingered a little too long for my liking, but that’s the way it is with most men here. You find yourself impersonating a Cobra trying to avoid the quivering lips and panting breath. How a desperate Adonis can be sensual god only knows.  It’s a regular occurrence to be charmed into an arm lock whilst trying to avoid the passionate advances of a man fuelled by lust. And age doesn’t matter here. Only last night I had a 19 year old lad literally undress me with his eyes. I’m sure he was disappointed when he realised I had all my pubic hair intact. That’s another adventure all together.

The monkeys paid a visit today, jumping from the trees to my breakfast bowl full of banana. You know they say money grows on trees, well it doesn’t.  It grows on breasts. I find at least 10 Brazilian dollars stuck to my right nipple every time I take my bra off. Best wallet Rigby and Pellar invented.

Gherkin Merkin

So I have discovered today that even if you think you are a medium size in Rio, you are actually a small. The tighter the better. An accomplished look must involve mushroom hips and a bulging vagina. Bearing this in mind, I must remember to return the hysterectomy pants I purchased this morning. They were cutting off my oxegen supply and quite frankly it felt like two of us were doing the talking when I put them on.

I am slowly but surely getting to grips with the food thing out here. Having done my second shop and realising if you don’t like grub doused in sugar then your well and truely screwed, I decided to opt for the fruit and veg variety. If you can classify a gherkin as a vegetable then that’s fine, but I was truly disappointed when I went for the crunch and the experience was not that dissimilar to an edible fart.  You live and learn, and that seems to be the attitude best applied to everyday life in this marvellous city. I never thought I would be sweating my limbs off in a forro dance class, clinging desperately to a 15 year old boy for him to show me the way, or steps at least. Nor did I think I would have to make my  own doo doo paper into sushi rolls in an attempt to save the ever failing sewage system. But these are the joys of Rio. If you cant take the heat, then get out of the kitchen. 

I heart Ailton.....

I have fallen in love with Ailton.  Cesar the drum man is sat talking to me. I was trying to understand bits of what he said when Ailton walked by. I hope his not jealous. Cesar thinks I am fluent. I managed to work out that God Dicatates the world along with him having a new telephone number. I have got Portuguese class with Olivia in half an hour and I am sure she is going to tell me more about her stream of brazilian boyfriends and her thirst for red wine. Drum man is now stroking my hand to a chorus of gun shots. He has invited me to see him play on Sunday and Saturday. The pain of being lost in translation is only going to get worse as tomorrow I face my biggest challenge yet. Cinema Nosso opens it doors to the young people of rio and somehow, someway, I have to be of some assistance. 

Entao......

As the plane hovered over Rio De Janeiro just before landing, a sea of a thousand twinkling eyes welcomed me to the city that would be my home for the next 3 months. The woman who had necked sparkling wine throughout most of the flight turned to her boyfriend as they peered out the window and said 'Look at the fireworks baby'. I wondered if she knew about firework parties in the favela, cos I certainly didn't. Slightly concerned there would be no one to pick me up, I was pleasantly suprised when my 6ft 3 driver took me and two back packers to his rather beat up car and spun us all the way to the hill that was to be home, in Santa Teresa.

Within minutes of dumping my bags I was trudging further up that hill to savour my first caipirinha and brazilian bum grope. It didn't take long to make friends and in less than twenty minutes I had a Pink Floyd veteran pouring me cerveja and attempting to understand my pigeon portuguese. Being a streetwise kind of girl, I made sure to ask him if there was any rohypnol in the beer but this only confused him more so I decided to drink the beer anyway. He was wearing tie dye after all.