If you put down your caipirinha for a moment, you can begin to see how multi-layered Rio is. At its base sprawl long stretches of beach and busy urban streets. But head upward into the mountains and you might not even feel like you’re in a city. The movement of the people, the smells and noises, the very quality of air, changes. Literally wherever you stand will change your perspective of the city.
I’ve been here for nearly two weeks. By now, I’ve clambered my way up to Santa Teresa – a beautifully old, craggy neighborhood nestled against Santa Teresa Hill. I’ve passed through Tijuca – the world’s largest urban forest. I’ve stood beside old Christ the Redeemer, on Corcovado’s 2,330 ft piece of granite. One night, I wound upward through “The Maze” in Tavares Bastos, a drug-free favela. The streets were so enclosed that they felt like corridors, and you could reach your hand through a window and tap someone’s shoulder if you wanted to. Some of my Brazilian friends knew of a jazz club there, and just when our thighs began burning, we were met by smooth melodies and an incredible waterfront view.
What fascinates me about the altitude is that it coincides with another strata of the city – that of economic classes. Manicured couples dine at outdoor dinner tables as children run by in rags. But while the wealthy seem to flood the famed Ipanema, Copacabana, and Leblón, some favelas that stretch across the mountains have the best city views. Chaotic interlacing.
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