Day 74 - Rocinha

After a lazy day soaking our hangovers in the slighty-overcast sun (COME ON, its supposed to be scorching here!), we decided to catch the favela tour here for 15 quid. Sam, as usual, was properly nervous - this time not because the favela kids carry guns, but because we had to ride on the back of a motorbike for 2 minutes - and I was generally quite interested, since we studied this stuff in geography about 10 years ago.





So, after dismounting at the foot of the hillside whilst holds the concrete estate of Rocinha, we had to jump on the bikes and head up to the entrance. Sam got left behind because the guide had told her driver to drive SLOW, but we all bombed up this steep hill, clipping vans as we passed them, narrowly avoiding dogs and kids, and almost losing our exhaust near the top. But we made it, and despite worrying about sam's lack of attendance for at least 4 minutes, she showed, and we started the walking tour back to the base of the hill.



The favela is pretty special. No streets for cars, just alley-ways 5-foot wide criss-crossing the whole place. As we entered, some old, fat woman selling churros grabbed me and kissed me about 40 times, much to the amusement of the surrounding favela people, but we pressed on.



The whole tour has been kinda bigged up by the promoter - advising us not to take photos of people with guns. And at the time, when we saw our first kid with a machine gun, it was pretty scary and intimidating. Whilst the others don't believe, I think it could have been staged. Not because I'm cynical that guns are around here - its pretty clear that they are from the lack of police and the "community" that solves its own problems. But it did seem a bit unrealistic. That said, we didn't take photos, nor look the guys in the face when they passed us.



That said, we visited a grafitti shop and grabbed a view of the whole estate. Its pretty awesome. The guys here don't pay any taxes, so they get free electricity, free telephone and internet. In their tiny concrete houses they generally have a television set (often widescreen) per room, a decent stereo, nice furnishing and good electrics. This place isn't poor and unhappy and backward - they just have a bad sewerage system because they don't pay the council.



Its shocking, all the same. Rubbish lines the streets everywhere. The streets smell of sewerage, because the sewerage is running down the streets. But the kids are happy, and loved having their photo taken. The people look busy and content. The inside of the houses are kitted out and the place is, apparently, pretty safe for locals. And transvestites are respected in the community, WHOO HOO!



It was interesting, and kinda shut me up for a good hour afterwards. But in hindsight, there's not so much to pity. Its not the way of life I would choose, but those guys seem to be getting on with it just fine.





Later that night, a few of us decided to head out to a club that was playing hip hop, drum and bass and samba. I wasn't drinking tonight, so spent the whole time dancing with the girls, being a bit of a knob, and loving the music.