At the conference dinner in Recife, my husband and I talk with Elizabeth, the wife of one of the delegates. We mention that after the conference we are going to spend three nights in Rio de Janeiro.
Elizabeth, a Brazilian, says she will never go there. Too dangerous.
She has some words of advice for us.
Don't go into any of the favelas. No, we are not planning to do that.
If you are driving, be careful not to make a wrong turn. We won't be driving.
Don't wear a watch.
Don't wear jewellery.
Don't carry a bag.
Really? Is the place really so lawless?
Don't stop to take any photos. What? Can't you take any photos there?
I don't say this to scare you. Perhaps not, but you are scaring me witless. Should we just sit in our hotel and look at Rio through the window?
After this conversation I can't sleep.
In the morning I feel ragged, but I tell myself that it doesn't really matter. I am only going to be sightseeing, while my husband is at the conference. I decide to visit Olinda, the old town adjacent to Recife.
The taxi driver drops me at the top of the hill, explaining that it's better to start at the top and work my way down. It starts to rain lightly. A few market stalls are starting to set up. I buy a big coconut and drink the liquid through a straw. It's heavy to carry. A small group of musicians strum and sing, defying the rain which is setting in.
I head to a nearby church to take shelter.
As I enter, a young man approaches me, introducing himself as Josema. He explains that he is a guide from a charitable organization that helps indigenous people. He points to his T-shirt, which seems to confirm this. He shows me the various features of the church, explaining them in Portuguese. I'm understanding a lot of what he says, so I allow him to accompany me around the church. He offers to take a picture of me. I hand him my camera, and as I do so, I wonder if this is wise. He takes the photo and passes the camera back. Soon, I am pictured in front of all the main attractions of the church. And the pictures are pretty good. Now we go to an adjacent building. More photos. We visit several more churches. More commentary. More photos. We are covering quite a lot of ground.
Josema climbs onto a wall and shakes the branches of a tree. He picks a fruit and hands it to me. I wonder if it's safe to eat. But it seems rude not to, so I poke it into my mouth. It's delicious - acidic and sweet. Caju, he says. We take a short-cut through a hotel and the rain suddenly buckets down. We sit down and wait for the rain to ease. It will stop soon, he says. Half an hour later we are finally able to move on.
When we come to the next church, he explains that it's closed. We will come back later, he said. Perhaps, I say. He looks at me inquiringly. I explain that I'm feeling a bit tired. The truth is that I would like some quiet time away from my new best friend.
We go and see some other sights, including some giant puppets. He encourages me to buy tablecloths from passing merchants. I don't want any tablecloths. But I do buy a painting from a woman who shows me her portfolio.
Would I like some lunch, he asks? No, I would like a coffee, and then I would like to explore the town a little on my own. He leads me into a cafe, and I buy coffees for us both. I've been wondering what the deal is for this unsolicited tour. I'm happy to make a donation, but am not sure how much would be respectable. So I ask him. He asks for an amount that equates to a bit more than $100 Australian. I don't have that much money on me.
Josema says he has to share the money with the charity. He has put a lot of energy into this tour, and I've got some good pictures, but this is more than I was expecting to pay. And I didn't ask for the tour, it was thrust upon me. But I don't want to insult him and make an unpleasant end to the day.
So I ask him if there is a bank nearby.
He leads me down a lonely street, saying there is a bank around the corner. We turn the corner and there is a shop with a teller machine. I put my card into the slot. A message comes up - "Card not recognized". Immediately I wonder if my card has been scanned.
We walk around and find another cash machine. Same result. Has my card now been scanned twice?
Josema makes a phone call. "He comes", he says. Who comes?
A taxi pulls up. We get into it. "Where are we going?" I ask. "To find a bank", he says. The driver takes off at speed, tearing around corners and through narrow streets. Soon we are leaving the limits of the old town. And now it dawns on me. I've been kidnapped. My tour guide is now my captor. And $100 is not what he wants from me. He will force me to max out my credit card. He will hold me hostage in the dank cellar of a disused building. My husband will have to sell the house to raise the ransom.
I decide to speak up and assert myself. I will not let them smell fear on me. "Are we near the bank?" I ask, a little testily. "Yes, not far now". I wonder if I will have to make a run for it.
We pull up at a bank. I try the machine. It will not accept my card. Josema asks an officer where we can find a machine to take money out. At the airport, he says. "I'm not going to the airport!", I say, emphatically.
They will take me back to Recife. There should be a bank there.
The two in the front seats are my drug lords, and I owe them money.
I tell them I can get money from my hotel room. They take me to the wrong hotel and eventually find the right one. I pay the taxi driver, adding a tip to the already inflated tariff.
I tell Josema to wait in the car park. I head into my hotel.
And now it is his turn to wonder if he can trust me. It would be easy for me to disappear into my room and leave him waiting there, forever. He would have no redress - the hotel staff would tell him to go away. I go up to the room and raid our safe, assembling a small brick of notes.
When I emerge from the hotel I see the look of relief on his face. I tell him that he is an excellent guide, and that I enjoyed the tour. He shakes my hand, and they drive away.
Next day, as the conference concludes, we farewell Elizabeth.
She has some final advice for us.
Be careful in Rio.
If someone comes towards you with a gun, give them everything.
Give them your clothes if necessary.
Really? Is Rio going to be the biggest disappointment of my life?
Elizabeth, a Brazilian, says she will never go there. Too dangerous.
She has some words of advice for us.
Don't go into any of the favelas. No, we are not planning to do that.
If you are driving, be careful not to make a wrong turn. We won't be driving.
Don't wear a watch.
Don't wear jewellery.
Don't carry a bag.
Really? Is the place really so lawless?
Don't stop to take any photos. What? Can't you take any photos there?
I don't say this to scare you. Perhaps not, but you are scaring me witless. Should we just sit in our hotel and look at Rio through the window?
After this conversation I can't sleep.
In the morning I feel ragged, but I tell myself that it doesn't really matter. I am only going to be sightseeing, while my husband is at the conference. I decide to visit Olinda, the old town adjacent to Recife.
The taxi driver drops me at the top of the hill, explaining that it's better to start at the top and work my way down. It starts to rain lightly. A few market stalls are starting to set up. I buy a big coconut and drink the liquid through a straw. It's heavy to carry. A small group of musicians strum and sing, defying the rain which is setting in.
I head to a nearby church to take shelter.
As I enter, a young man approaches me, introducing himself as Josema. He explains that he is a guide from a charitable organization that helps indigenous people. He points to his T-shirt, which seems to confirm this. He shows me the various features of the church, explaining them in Portuguese. I'm understanding a lot of what he says, so I allow him to accompany me around the church. He offers to take a picture of me. I hand him my camera, and as I do so, I wonder if this is wise. He takes the photo and passes the camera back. Soon, I am pictured in front of all the main attractions of the church. And the pictures are pretty good. Now we go to an adjacent building. More photos. We visit several more churches. More commentary. More photos. We are covering quite a lot of ground.
Josema climbs onto a wall and shakes the branches of a tree. He picks a fruit and hands it to me. I wonder if it's safe to eat. But it seems rude not to, so I poke it into my mouth. It's delicious - acidic and sweet. Caju, he says. We take a short-cut through a hotel and the rain suddenly buckets down. We sit down and wait for the rain to ease. It will stop soon, he says. Half an hour later we are finally able to move on.
When we come to the next church, he explains that it's closed. We will come back later, he said. Perhaps, I say. He looks at me inquiringly. I explain that I'm feeling a bit tired. The truth is that I would like some quiet time away from my new best friend.
We go and see some other sights, including some giant puppets. He encourages me to buy tablecloths from passing merchants. I don't want any tablecloths. But I do buy a painting from a woman who shows me her portfolio.
Would I like some lunch, he asks? No, I would like a coffee, and then I would like to explore the town a little on my own. He leads me into a cafe, and I buy coffees for us both. I've been wondering what the deal is for this unsolicited tour. I'm happy to make a donation, but am not sure how much would be respectable. So I ask him. He asks for an amount that equates to a bit more than $100 Australian. I don't have that much money on me.
Josema says he has to share the money with the charity. He has put a lot of energy into this tour, and I've got some good pictures, but this is more than I was expecting to pay. And I didn't ask for the tour, it was thrust upon me. But I don't want to insult him and make an unpleasant end to the day.
So I ask him if there is a bank nearby.
He leads me down a lonely street, saying there is a bank around the corner. We turn the corner and there is a shop with a teller machine. I put my card into the slot. A message comes up - "Card not recognized". Immediately I wonder if my card has been scanned.
We walk around and find another cash machine. Same result. Has my card now been scanned twice?
Josema makes a phone call. "He comes", he says. Who comes?
A taxi pulls up. We get into it. "Where are we going?" I ask. "To find a bank", he says. The driver takes off at speed, tearing around corners and through narrow streets. Soon we are leaving the limits of the old town. And now it dawns on me. I've been kidnapped. My tour guide is now my captor. And $100 is not what he wants from me. He will force me to max out my credit card. He will hold me hostage in the dank cellar of a disused building. My husband will have to sell the house to raise the ransom.
I decide to speak up and assert myself. I will not let them smell fear on me. "Are we near the bank?" I ask, a little testily. "Yes, not far now". I wonder if I will have to make a run for it.
We pull up at a bank. I try the machine. It will not accept my card. Josema asks an officer where we can find a machine to take money out. At the airport, he says. "I'm not going to the airport!", I say, emphatically.
They will take me back to Recife. There should be a bank there.
The two in the front seats are my drug lords, and I owe them money.
I tell them I can get money from my hotel room. They take me to the wrong hotel and eventually find the right one. I pay the taxi driver, adding a tip to the already inflated tariff.
I tell Josema to wait in the car park. I head into my hotel.
And now it is his turn to wonder if he can trust me. It would be easy for me to disappear into my room and leave him waiting there, forever. He would have no redress - the hotel staff would tell him to go away. I go up to the room and raid our safe, assembling a small brick of notes.
When I emerge from the hotel I see the look of relief on his face. I tell him that he is an excellent guide, and that I enjoyed the tour. He shakes my hand, and they drive away.
Next day, as the conference concludes, we farewell Elizabeth.
She has some final advice for us.
Be careful in Rio.
If someone comes towards you with a gun, give them everything.
Give them your clothes if necessary.
Really? Is Rio going to be the biggest disappointment of my life?
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