The beauty and the ugliness are an equal draw...

I have lived in New York since my college days, and though I come from Texas, and country beginnings, I thrive on the energy of NYC.  Brazil has that same energy, the big city kind, and yet it also has forest and beach, and mountains.  Something both places share is a disparity between classes.  I believe the negative aspects of Brazil, the poverty, the sexism and the corruption are part of what makes Brazil "cook"; just like NYC.  In Brazil, the negative is offset by the spontaneity and warmth of the people. 

I can think of no better experience from Brazil to explain the mix of negative and positive, than relating my experience walking up to the "Christ the Redeemer" statue in Rio de Janeiro.  Why hike up 12 miles to a popular tourist site that had both cable cars and taxis to reach it?  Because the day before I went, a taxi driver half convinced me with his 12 words of English that the hike was just a little over 5 miles.  My ego backed by my frequent stints of 5 mile  jogs on the treadmill in gyms across America further convinced me that I was up to the task of hiking to the top. 

Approximately 8 miles in, I realized that I'd taken on more than I could handle. I found myself walking along the edge of a poor neighborhood and thrust into the theater of a chicken, a disheveled man and a half naked baby around 2 years old.  First I observed the chicken running after the child, a boy, pecking very close to its chubby legs,  and then I realized that the man was watching me very closely from a slab of concrete that filled in as the porch of his home.  Something about the way the building was leaning quite precariously against the next, made the word favela come to mind.  The man starred, and I became uncomfortable, but then we both turned as we heard the chicken clucking loudly; the child was now chasing it and attempting to grab its tail feathers.  No longer threatening the father looked on proudly and smiled, just a a laugh came from my mouth, and no further communication was needed. 

I kept walking energized by the contact, but 10 miles in the encounter and the beauty of the rain forest surrounding me, were no longer enough to sustain me, and the tea and the raisins, and nuts that I'd brought along were finished.  At this point, a taxi driver stopped offering to take me the rest of the way for free, because I looked so tired.  In the end, he did ask for payment, a kiss on the cheek, and in less than two minutes I was at the statue.  I was sooo tired that after wringing out my t-shirt and and buttoning my jacket to act as a shirt, I barely took five pictures of this huge Christ statue.  However, what I lack in pictures, I am rich in memories, of the way I felt, changing from being threatened by the man's stare to sharing in his joy and pride over his son's hutzpah.  Who knew my most beautiful memory of the Christ the Redeemer journey would be a father's pride.