[024] Rio & Home
I'm travelling in South America. Here's what I'm up to, some photos and other bits
Rio had everything I wanted for my last week in South America. The city is a wonderful buzz of energy, beauty, and life being lived outdoors.
I’d like to claim I spent my nights in Rio mingling amongst the crowds as I danced to a fine beat of Samba and Bossanova. Maybe a caipirinha in hand, one of those flat caps and an open linen shirt. But as it happened I fell into the orbit of a bunch of English lads. So instead we stood awkwardly on the fringes, watched the dancing, and talked about Plymouth Argyle’s recent form and the merits and demerits of different league one grounds. I guess this was module one of my UK acclimatisation.
My days were loosely structured. I rejoined the lovely Cam who I first met in Ilha Bela, and on a morning we’d meet outside the Hilton hotel and run the length of Copacabana and Ipanema. It set the rhythm of the day and included some time playing in the beach breaks and eating a cup of Acai for breakfast. The city was abuzz with G20 for most of my time in Rio, and one morning run we enjoyed being cheered on by hundreds of Chinese flag-wavers who were anticipating the motorcade of Xi Jinping. Paid actors or not, they certainly showed enthusiasm.
Later I’d meander to one of the tourist sights and had them ticked off fairly quickly: Sugarloaf, the botanical gardens, a hike up Dos Irmaos and Christ the Redeemer. I was mugged off by Jesus Christ. After a sweaty hike up through Atlantic Forest, I paid my tenner entrance only to be greeted by a thick blanket of cloud. So no views, and I couldn’t really see above Christ’s waist. I arrived back at the bottom to enjoy a perfect view of him against a clear blue sky.
My favourite moment was an evening at the Maracana. Flamengo had just won the Brazilian Cup and the fans were in good spirits. Not that Rio appears to ever be a place of bad spirits. The streets were awash with black and red striped shirts, and street vendors pulled Bramhas from their ice boxes whilst turning beef skewers on their BBQs.
The atmosphere inside the stadium was incredible too. The best way to put it is that, well, the fans were just well behaved. Let the English get pissed up on cold cheap lager for a few hours and you brew up the 2021 Wembley Euro Final. Here the fans were boozing don’t get me wrong, but it felt different. Passion without aggression. Respect for fellow fans. Women and children enjoying the game, and barely any police. Kind of contrary to what I expected, which is maybe why it felt so nice. The game was great too. End-to-end despite it being nil-nil, and I even saw David Luiz blaze a penalty over the bar and Hulk pinging 40-yard pops aged about 53.
At the end of my stay I had one of those movie moments riding the taxi to the airport . A warm buzzy feeling combined with a moment of reflection as I watched the traffic creep along the highway. I could draw a parallel with my taxi ride 10 months prior when I’d arrived in Buenos Aires, excited but apprehensive, and not being able to speak a word to the taxi driver. And here I was, excited but apprehensive, and not being able to speak a word to the taxi driver.
But something had happened. I knew that, because things felt different to January 2024. Time had passed, I had done some stuff, and something had changed. And at the very least they’re measures which show I’m still playing this puzzle that is life.
On the red eye I woke up as we came in over the Isle of Wight. The Solent looked tiny below and I could pick out New Milton where we used to spend summers with Grandad, and Hurst Spit where he used to take us fishing. The sun was low out to the west and the fields were still fringed with a white frost on their southern edges.
Over the Home Counties I gazed upon pristine football fields and and my mind was taken to fond memories of playing at university; and then quickly to lush green summers playing cricket by the river, and I tried to spot Oxford out to the west. Closer to London I found Box Hill and remembered days when we’d cycle out to it. And as we looped around South London and then back on ourselves, boring landmarks brought with them pleasant but surprising associated friends and memories. Selhurst Park, Denmark Hill Hospital, The Brandon Estate in Walworth. Then the bare crowns of trees lining the Thames sat on top a blanket of golden fallen leaves. Craven Cottage, Brompton Cemetery, brutal and massive Twickenham. Come to think of it, it mainly turned into stadium spotting.
I find staring out the plane window is a great occasion to recognise ones feelings. This day I had the warm feeling of returning home, but this time it felt unfamiliar. Normally it borders on elation, but I was feeling something uncomfortable and melancholic, and I had a knot in my stomach.
I had a beautiful week seeing friends and going to gigs in London, but the feeling continued. I’d always felt a rush walking and cycling the streets of London surrounded by history, stories, beautiful architecture, life, the arts, energy. But something felt a bit less shiny about London than when I left, and I felt more like a stranger than I did a belonging. The adverts jarred me and seemed to be everywhere, and the streets seemed colder and grey (to be fair, late November is not the time to arrive back).
It might all be linked to this being the first time since 2015 that I don’t have a home in London. And so of course as I sofa surfed (on comfy beds in spare rooms - my lovely friends are making it in this world!), it was normal that I didn’t feel London was my place right now. But maybe it was a feeling of insignificance and separation, that a places keep growing and developing, whether you’re there for the ride or not.
I felt something similar when I saw Fontaines DC a week later in Leeds. I’d first seen Fontaines shortly before Lockdown in 2020. Then playing their raw post-punk working-class debut album Dogrel to a packed Brixton Academy, and now they’ve evolved into an expansive stadium band, doing Sunday Times interviews and attracting a young audience that might be more aligned with brat summer. Just like London they’re doing their own thing, with or without me; and I can’t influence that change or feel nostalgia for the past, I can just savour the moments in an ever-changing world.
I’ve been enjoying the muddy lanes of Yorkshire for the last few weeks, and being lazy, and having the same bed each night. In January I will head back to Chile for a bit. More on than in the new year.
Have a wonderful last few days of 2024.
Love George x
