Then I went home and blogged about it.
My last week in Rio turned out to be quite different than what I had imagined it to be, and not in a good way. After carnival, the people I had been hanging out with and had been sharing fun moments with, started leaving one by one... First there was Chris, Marcia´s friend from Leeds, the next day our Spanish friend Rocio returned to Madrid, a few days later followed by my dear friend Seth who left last Thursday. Then finally on Monday Pieter, the really cool Dutchman I had travelled with in Peru, moved on as well. To top it off, Raissa had to join her mom on a trip to visit some relatives, so I was left pretty much by myself. Now all of this is part of travelling solo and, in itself, would be no big deal.
The day Seth left, Marcia´s friend Hil arrived. No bad word about her. The next day Hil and I decide to catch some sun at the beautiful Ipanema beach, just two blocks away from here. After an hour of tanning, I decide to go for a quick splash in the water and refresh myself. As I get up, I ask Hil, who was no more than 2 feet away from me, to keep an eye on my stuff. She gives me an absent-minded nod. Upon my return from the refreshing water about two minutes later, I find my shorts, which I used as a pillow, to be missing. As I inquire about the whereabouts of my beloved AE shorts, Hil seems as bewildered by their absence as I am. Cursing and pissed off to find myself in this situation once again after two previous robberies in the past months, the feeling gets worsened by the realization that for once, I decided to take my pocket camera to the beach today, carrying it in one of the cargo pockets. Because I don´t have any beach pictures yet. Other than the camera holding pretty much all my carnival pictures and the shorts, I also lost R$50 and my Visa card, which were hidden in a special interior pocket my mom had sewn into all my gear before I left. So much for a quiet day on the beach.
Today being my last full day in Rio, I had hoped to spend it with Raissa and my wonderful host Marcia. After a dozen or so unfruitful attempts to reach Raissa and plan a fun day together, I settle for a day of bumming on the beach and behind the computer, much like any other day in the past week. While waiting for Marcia to come home from work, she calls me and invites me to join her and her colleagues for drinks in a nearby Irish pub. Half an hour later I walk out of the apartment and start making my way to the bar, which is located some 300m farther. As I turn the first corner on my way, I run into a gang of about 8 teenage guys, who ask in a way that can be described as anything but polite what time it is. Que horas são?! Exchanging a look with some of the guys, I get a feeling they are up to no good, mumble something and try to get passed them. A few guys block the way, and I try to return in the direction I had come. At this point one of the older guys, which I doubt was over 18, comes running towards me, pulling up his shirt and fetching a knife from his pants, lifting it in the air in an attempt to stab me. As the knife comes down, I act on the reflexes 16 years of judo training taught me and use my forearm to block the knife making its way towards my body. In a simultaneous judo move, I grab the guy´s forearm and drag him to the ground. As I hit the ground together with my aggressor, the other guys come running toward me, going straight for my pockets and their contents. Before the attack, I had already taken out the R$36 I had in my right pocket and was holding it in my hand. In an attempt to get the guys off of me, I throw the money behind me and yell Para lá!, indicating that the money was no longer on me. Being preoccupied with making sure the guy with the knife doesn´t try to stab me again, I don´t notice one of the other guys yanking out the borrowed cell phone from my left pocket. In the struggle, I do manage to grab a R$20 note which had apparently fallen away from the smaller notes. At that point, I hear a guy across the street whistle and shout something. Whether it was someone coming to my rescue or one of the favela gang members warning his fellow thugs for nearing cops, I don´t know. Nor did I care at that moment. I just saw them running away, sprinting off into the night. With plenty of adrenaline pumping in my veins, I get up and start running towards the bar, where I meet Marcia and her colleagues. I have a beer or two but can´t quite get into the party mood, so I leave the bar and head home.
I think it´s time I got out of this town.
The day Seth left, Marcia´s friend Hil arrived. No bad word about her. The next day Hil and I decide to catch some sun at the beautiful Ipanema beach, just two blocks away from here. After an hour of tanning, I decide to go for a quick splash in the water and refresh myself. As I get up, I ask Hil, who was no more than 2 feet away from me, to keep an eye on my stuff. She gives me an absent-minded nod. Upon my return from the refreshing water about two minutes later, I find my shorts, which I used as a pillow, to be missing. As I inquire about the whereabouts of my beloved AE shorts, Hil seems as bewildered by their absence as I am. Cursing and pissed off to find myself in this situation once again after two previous robberies in the past months, the feeling gets worsened by the realization that for once, I decided to take my pocket camera to the beach today, carrying it in one of the cargo pockets. Because I don´t have any beach pictures yet. Other than the camera holding pretty much all my carnival pictures and the shorts, I also lost R$50 and my Visa card, which were hidden in a special interior pocket my mom had sewn into all my gear before I left. So much for a quiet day on the beach.
Today being my last full day in Rio, I had hoped to spend it with Raissa and my wonderful host Marcia. After a dozen or so unfruitful attempts to reach Raissa and plan a fun day together, I settle for a day of bumming on the beach and behind the computer, much like any other day in the past week. While waiting for Marcia to come home from work, she calls me and invites me to join her and her colleagues for drinks in a nearby Irish pub. Half an hour later I walk out of the apartment and start making my way to the bar, which is located some 300m farther. As I turn the first corner on my way, I run into a gang of about 8 teenage guys, who ask in a way that can be described as anything but polite what time it is. Que horas são?! Exchanging a look with some of the guys, I get a feeling they are up to no good, mumble something and try to get passed them. A few guys block the way, and I try to return in the direction I had come. At this point one of the older guys, which I doubt was over 18, comes running towards me, pulling up his shirt and fetching a knife from his pants, lifting it in the air in an attempt to stab me. As the knife comes down, I act on the reflexes 16 years of judo training taught me and use my forearm to block the knife making its way towards my body. In a simultaneous judo move, I grab the guy´s forearm and drag him to the ground. As I hit the ground together with my aggressor, the other guys come running toward me, going straight for my pockets and their contents. Before the attack, I had already taken out the R$36 I had in my right pocket and was holding it in my hand. In an attempt to get the guys off of me, I throw the money behind me and yell Para lá!, indicating that the money was no longer on me. Being preoccupied with making sure the guy with the knife doesn´t try to stab me again, I don´t notice one of the other guys yanking out the borrowed cell phone from my left pocket. In the struggle, I do manage to grab a R$20 note which had apparently fallen away from the smaller notes. At that point, I hear a guy across the street whistle and shout something. Whether it was someone coming to my rescue or one of the favela gang members warning his fellow thugs for nearing cops, I don´t know. Nor did I care at that moment. I just saw them running away, sprinting off into the night. With plenty of adrenaline pumping in my veins, I get up and start running towards the bar, where I meet Marcia and her colleagues. I have a beer or two but can´t quite get into the party mood, so I leave the bar and head home.
I think it´s time I got out of this town.