Favelas

A million dollar view from the top of Rocinha, Rio's most famous Favela.

One often controversial (and overlooked) aspect of Rio is the Favelas, or unauthorized ghettos that cling to the many hillsides of the city.  The word in Portuguese means shanty town, as they are comprised of hundreds of half-finished houses, jumbled masses of brick and cement that offer very little in the ways of sanitation or comfort, yet are what millions of people call home.  The Favelas are run by drug lords, and crime runs rampant - yet no police officers will venture into the area because 1) They will most likely be shot at, and 2) They make such a meager salary that they are probably being supplemented by the drug lords themselves.  The residents pay little to no rent, and don't even technically own their homes for the most part.  HOWEVER, somehow they all survive and seem to thrive in a fascinating corner of civilization.

Neighboring favela Vidigal shines at dusk.  The buildings were eerily similar to those stacked at the Amalfi Coast in Italy, yet this time incomplete.  This shot was taken from my hotel room at the posh Sheraton, illustrating how closely the favelas and upper class areas intertwine.

We were lucky enough to have the opportunity to visit Rio's largest and most famous favela, Rocinha.  An estimated 250,000 people live in this narrow valley that runs up the mountain away from the richly juxtaposed Leblon Beach.  (In fact, a 2004 report stated that up to 19% of the city's population lived in the favelas.)

Before we embarked, our guide Marcus warned us to keep a very low profile, shooting carefully out our windows and not to do anything to draw attention to ourselves.  This was practically impossible, as who else has a car full of white Americans pointing professional camera equipment out of the windows.  As we wove up the narrow main street - the only one wide enough for cars - you could feel the eyes on you, like never before in my life.  Dozens of children and young adults stood around on each street corner, some with walkie-talkies that Marcus would later tell us informed those above about our presence.  Lucky for us, we were viewed as harmless - and quickly made our way to the top of Rocinha to meet a couple local contacts who were to show us the best view of the favela.   

Zola at the top of the favela.

Buildings stacked like Dominos. 

A birds eye view shows the jumbled nature of construction.

At the top of the favela, we parked our car and were met by a pair of local boys.  They were to guide us on foot deeper into the area.  I couldn't help notice how the duo was exactly the real life version of the main characters from City of Men, an amazing movie about life in the favela shot on location here in Rocinha.  The film was released to worldwide acclaim in 2008, and I had watched it shortly before coming to Rio to get a feel for what to expect.  Now that I was there, it was easy to pick out exact streets and locations from the movie, lending an eery feeling to my visit.  Here's the trailer:

We followed the boys single file through about 200 yards of concrete passageways, passing makeshift stores selling everything from Coke to chickens.  The foul stench of rotting garbage hung in the air, and the air itself seemed heavy and claustrophobic.  Yet the people seemed to all remain upbeat, going about their everyday lives without questioning their surroundings.  It all made me feel very guilty about the materialistic abundance in my life, and I thought to myself what I would do if I were in a similar situation, and hoped that I could be equally as cheerful.  Eventually we made a sharp turn up a set of concrete stairs in an abandoned house, then proceeded steeply up 3 flights to the roof of a building.  When we emerged, the most breathtaking view appeared before us, the distant blue ocean and green hills contrasting with the red brick of the favela.  While they may not be millionaires, at least they have this view!  

No garbage service means the street corners become landfills.

The majority of people in the favela have electricity, but for the most part it is all illegally tapped from the city grid.  In fact, every power pole in the favela has a spider web of about 50 illegally rigged lines running out from it, like this one.

Kids are the light of the favela.

Are we back in Catania driving?

When we had taken our necessary shots, we were led to the car and drove out of the favela.  Ironically this is when our most serious incident occurred, as the police felt it necessary to pull us over at a checkpoint at the bottom of the hill.  (Apparently they too didn't think it normal for a car full of white Americans with professional camera equipment pointed out the window.)  Two squad cars blocked our way, both forward and backwards, while four cops - two with automatic machine guns - walked towards the car.  We were instructed to exit the vehicle, and Chris and I nervously stood while they searched every inch of our vehicle and questioned Marcus.  One of the policemen casually waved his gun in front of us, not really pointing it at us but not really making me feel relaxed either.  Eventually, everything was sorted out and we were on our way, but not before Chris sharing the love of Zola with on of the cops and me snapping this covert picture.  What a start to our adventure!  

Chris shows one of the cops a Zola bottle.  In the background on the right, the machine gun toting guard.  Good times!

~ J. Twice