Channelling the Cane Spirits

Sunday 17.06.07

Praia de Copacabana, one of the world's most famous beaches, would be wide enough to land an open-topped 747 on, wings and all, were it equipped with a roll-cage, giant dune-buggy tires and a couple of hundred surfboards tied on top. There are goals for beach futebol matches set up permanently all over the sand - enough area for two fields and a volleyball or futvolley court side by side with plenty of space left for the Brasilians to sunbathe while wearing swimming gear at least three sizes too small.

Big dumping waves broke close to the shore today, and the undertow pulled stronger than a road train on the Sturt Highway. Nevertheless, I thought I'd try a spot of body surfing, and, for not first time in my life, found myself breaking upside-down along with the wave, with what felt like plenty of time to contemplate my fate on the way down. Now carrying plenty of sand with me, despite the fact I was wearing no underwear, i joined the others to get changed back at home.

Gigantic Cemitario de São João Batista occupies a huge space in Botafogo under the gaze of Cristo Redentor, and is just a quick taxi ride through a tunnel from the hostel. Offerings lie out the front for those inside, such as bottles of alcohol, cigarettes left to burn down, various biscuits and bread, and strangely, a basket of rotting meat and a dead rooster. As we entered this place of quiet repose, all else ceased to exist beyond the cold stone structures and the odd tree or creeping bush. This city of death imitated that city of life, Rio de Janeiro, still bustling with energy outside the gates. Of course the famous, important and wealthy took central position with their family mausoleums, busts and statues. Thousands of other elaborate structures were perched on top of lavish tombs, adorned with crosses, angels, Jesus and Mary, like stone wedding cakes for the dead.

Toward the edges lay the middle classes, and climbing the hills, almost favela-like, were the resting places of those unable to afford an ornate memorial. Rows and rows of sealed stone sets of drawers stood, some with their own little flower boxes. The pots, flowers long gone, like the souls unable to tend them, were overgrown by moss or now containing only barren earth. Above this loomed yet another favela, with lively music floating down onto the silence below, like raindrops falling in a desert.

While on our way to Ipanema at night, our combi van strangely began ascending the winding road to favela Cantagalo. Instantly we were suspicious, and soon we were halted at a police roadblock. The police, two with fingers poised on triggers of their handguns, and one wielding an assault rifle pulled us and the driver out for questioning. From what I understood they were either stopping the vans routinely to stop drug-runs for tourists to the favelas, or to curb recent robberies of tourists by vans such as these. Either way, we were eventually set free, stirred but not shaken, back down the hill to Ipanema.

A SADDENING STATISTIC ABOUT SAVING SUPERMARKET SHOPPING BAGS

We all know saving plastic bags is a great idea, and of course in Australia we have the green cloth bags that can be reused. A sobering thought is, for all the work we do in that regard, the same cannot be said for many other countries. Take Brasil for example:

Brasil contains 180 million people - that's one Aussie for every 9 Brasilians. They barely ever fill the bags to the top, and always double bag. Lets say a quarter of all plastic bags in Australia were saved by the green bag, and the average Australian would otherwise normally use 4 plastic bags a week. That makes 60 million bags per week, a saving of 20 million bags. Using that formula, each Brasilian would use at least 10 in the same amount of time, making 2160 million plastic bags every week! Thankfully, as a country becomes wealthier, it tends to become more environmentally aware, so we may see improvements on this (and hopefully the recycling and indoor smoking fronts) in the coming years.