Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro: 22oC, cool, grey and overcast.
It is Sunday again, and tomorrow is my brother’s birthday. He did not send me a message or call me on my birthday in April, but I will still try to wish him a happy birthday.
I woke up early, walked, exercised, had coffee, and took time to reflect. Yesterday, Katia’s mother passed away. She was in her early nineties and had been battling Alzheimer’s for a long time. From the beginning, Katia had been taking care of her mother with the help of a team of carers. So, when Dona Lais passed away, it marked the end of an era for many people.
I was lucky to have gone out with Katia for about a year and gotten to know her mother and the carers. Katia’s family has a different story, like mine and many others, where our extended family plays a significant role in our upbringing, sometimes more than our parents.
The wake was today at 3:00 pm. I was not sure if I should go, but I decided to attend. I am glad I did because I saw many people I liked at the wake, including Katia. Katia’s cousin, Maria Lucia, and her husband, Candido, were also there from Barra do Pirai. Katia grew up in Barra da Pirai with her cousin. Maria Lucia is like a sister to Katia. We visited Maria Lucia for a weekend in Barra do Pirai, which was very enjoyable.
During that weekend, we also visited Conservatoria, a neighbouring village known for its folkloric Serestas (Seresta is a traditional Brazilian music style from the first half of the 20th century. The musician who plays seresta is called a seresteiro. In the 1960s, the Museum of Seresta and Serenata opened in Valença, Rio de Janeiro), with musicians singing and playing at night in the square or front of the windows of the old, beautiful Portuguese colonial townhouses. Maria Lucia and Candido made us feel welcome that weekend, and we enjoyed it very much.
Selma, one of Dona Lais’s carers, was also present. Selma practices Candomblé, an African religion with roots dating back to the time of the slaves. I have a close friendship with Selma and her family, including her friend Francisco, a Candomblista who owns a farm in Teresópolis, about eighty miles from Rio in the mountains.
Katia and I once spent Carnival on Francisco’s small farm. He was selling a lot of land, a small part of the farm, about three acres on one side of the hill. We went to see the land, the perfect place to build a tiny house just for the family or to build an Airbnb complex of small chalets as a small business venture.
I felt at home when I set foot on the land as if this were where I belonged. Walking up the hill that was not so steep, I saw a large plantation of eucalyptus trees over twenty meters high. Swaying in the wind, the trees generated a sublime sound as if they were talking to you. I fell in love with the place. Among the trees, deep vegetation made the place even more enchanting.
The price for the land was very reasonable. I asked my mother to lend me the money to buy the land. With the favourable exchange rate, the Sterling Pound to Real would be nothing for my mother. It was unbelievably cheap. However, she declined. Francisco sold the land, but I have always felt that this land is destined for me to be my future home in Brazil.
At Dona Lais’s wake, I met Francisco’s sister, Ines. I met Ines at the carnival, and Selma and Ines told me that Francisco was waiting for me in Terasópolis. I told them that I think about the land every day and that I want to buy it back from the first buyer in the future.
If I return to Brazil in the future, I want to purchase the specific land I have mentioned or some land nearby. I want to live close to people I care about, with a base to return to, even when travelling. I envision having a house and a small business where I can return whenever possible. I desire to live in the middle of the forest, surrounded by nature, without any neighbours, just the trees and their natural music.
What do I need? I need a lovely small house, lots of trees, vegetation, and nature, no close neighbours, a few dogs, and access to the Internet. That is all.
I spoke to everyone at the wake except for Katia’s daughter, Janaina. For some reason, we do not seem to get along well. She avoided complimenting me, so I did the same. It was nice to see Katia; we talked, and everything went well. I stayed for about 45 minutes and left after saying goodbye to everyone.
The Memorial do Carmo Cemetery is in front of Avenida, Brazil, one of Rio’s most important and dangerous roads. Since I did not want to spend money on a taxi, I had to walk about two kilometres to the central bus station.
Normal middle-class Brazilians would be afraid to do it, especially as it was beginning to get dark. Rio is now extremely dangerous; I could see and feel it as I walked. Few people were on the street, and most seemed strange. Even stranger was I, a gringo, well-dressed in a black blazer and good jeans, at the beginning of the evening, when it was getting dark, in one of the roughest places in Rio de Janeiro.
Luckily, nothing happened. I found the right bus, and in 30 minutes, I was home.
In bed by 10:00 pm.
Thank you.
Thanks for taking the time to read this blog post. Explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
