One of my favorite parts of the week is most peoples' least favorite part: the rush-hour van drive from Gávea to Rocinha.
It's a little hard to explain why I enjoy it as much as I do. First of all, I'm invariably crammed up against the door - my school is one of the last stops before the van starts to ascend the hill. It's standing-room only, so my head is tilted at an unnatural angle for the majority of the 20-minute ride. I have to swing out of the way each time someone wants to get off, while also keeping clear of the guillotine-like door which slams open and shut every few minutes.
I hold on to the headrests to keep from falling into the laps of my fellow passengers, who try to ignore the awkwardness of me leaning into them as more and more passengers are crammed in behind me.
Chaos is the rule when ascending the hill. The van driver swerves and weaves, cutting through traffic like he's playing a videogame, competing with the motorcycle drivers in a life-and-death match for vehicular supremacy, with the unwilling spectators doubling as potential victims. Lane directions switch without warning and without logic, flowing past obstacles like so many fish in a river.
The view is incredible as the van approaches the "99" stop; the Corcovado brightly lit in the distance, the Pão de Açucar visible between two distant hills, the lights of Lagoa outlining the deep blackness of its still waters. No one looks at this view, however - they're used to it.
The driver, as if he doesn't have enough to think about, is texting on his Palm Treo, laughing and recounting the funniest of the jokes to the three passengers in the front seat, who don't seem to mind in the least that the man who holds their lives in his hands is crying from laughter.
Two older men in the back make fun of the driver, who just started a few days ago. He keeps asking the "cobrador" (the guy collecting the money) where exactly he's supposed to stop. The hecklers criticize his every turn, and try to outdo each other in the extravagance of their teasing, with quips such as "be sure to stop
this side of Baghdad" and "life isn't all about work after all, you know? There's more important things you could be doing..." All is forgiven when they mutter "não liga não" (don't mind us) as they slip out the door.
We make a sharp turn at the "Escadão" and the radios of three different vans, all playing "No One" by Alicia Keys and all passing each other at the same moment (yes on a barely two-way street) sync together, creating a moment of strangely transcendant unity, three vans passing each other in the night, all traveling to different places and yet all somehow linked.
A blond girl of Japanese descent sits in the corner seat, skillfully ignoring the stares of the people around her - she's used to it. A pregnant woman sleeps completely upright, her swollen belly together with her bag acting like a wedge against the seat in front of her. An older man jealously guards his bag of soda cans collected during a long day of work, as if they were silver instead of aluminum.
The sign on the back of the bus in front of us is advertising a new book: "Paixão: Descubra O Que Você Ama Fazer" (Passion: Discover What You Love To Do). I can't figure out whether it's stupid or genius; whether they're targeting the wrong audience or I'm just underestimating the potential of Rocinha's residents.
A huge banner strung across the road advertises a DNA paternity test (Best Price in Rio!) alongside a sale on baby clothes, which I can't help but think is awkward but also extremely logical.
At each store we pass, a lone cat keeps silent vigil seated squarely on the doorstep, eyeing each customer with the suspicion and contempt only a feline can muster.
As I examine the driver and start thinking what a difficult and stressful job his must be, I see the bumper sticker plastered across his dashboard: "Não Tenha Inveja de Mim - Trabalhe e Tenha Fé!" (Don't Envy Me - Work and Have Faith!). I laugh and everyone looks at me strangely.
As we near the end of our journey (or at least my journey) I see a quote written in large letters on a wall, facing the street: "Quando Tudo Mundo Faz Sua Parte, Tudo Se Encaixa" (When Everyone Does Their Part, Everything Comes Together).
The easiest way I can explain why I love this ride is this: it leaves no room for complacency, no room for boredom. The van is just too packed for that. As long as you don't shut the world out, as long as you leave one sliver open, it will challenge your preconceptions and your prejudices, confront you with your own fears, test your faith in those around you, force you into the comfort zones of others, and them into yours, make you laugh and maybe even shed a tear.
Where else can you get all that for 2 reals?
Just wanted to let mutual friends know that Derick Dahl will be here for a week starting tomorrow morning. You can see his travel blog at:
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