Into the Favela

On Saturday, Enéias and Junior are flying home.

Before they depart, there is one more thing I want us to do together.

I want my own version of Diana Krall's "rooftop sessions" - an informal video taken on the rooftop of a hotel in Rio, jamming with some friends.  So we all go up there, take in the spectacular view one last time, and record our own video.

Then the two musicians go off to pack up their rooms.

My husband wants to go on a Favela Tour.

Really?  Why?

I've heard so much about the dangers of going into these neighbourhoods, I'm a bit worried.  My other reservation is that it seems a little distasteful to go and gawk at poor people.  Is that really tourism?

But he is keen.  And I guess they would only take us into a favela that has been pacified by the police.

In the brochure it is unappealingly named "Slum tour - by jeep".   I suppose we will drive through the favela in a vehicle protected by bullet-proof glass.

So we sign up for the tour.  I dress very plainly and leave my handbag in our hotel room.

Tour guide Marcia collects us from the hotel.  We climb into the open tray of the jeep and strap ourselves in.  No bullet-proof glass, or any glass for that matter.

We pick up some other tourists, and then we are on our way to Favela Rocinha.  The jeep winds its way around the hillside, and it stops where the favela begins.  Directly opposite the favela is an up-market residential district - it's a very strange juxtaposition.

We all get out of the jeep.  I suppose it's just to stretch our legs and to look at that little market?

"Follow me!" calls Marcia, and she leads us into the favela.

It's like stepping into a wonderland.  It's a jumble of run-down houses piled high on top of each other.  Garlands of electrical wiring and rows of satellite dishes adorn the streetscape.  We follow Marcia up and down some steep flights of steps and along narrow alleys.

This is a city within a city.  It's got everything you would expect to find, but smaller and more basic.  Little fruit shops, little lunch bars, little hairdressing salons, little furniture stores.

The people who live here have the best-ever views of Rio.  The houses are brightly coloured, and inside you can sometimes glimpse people watching TV.  Hip-hop music is blaring out through some of the streets.  I know I'm not qualified to judge, but the people here seem happy, healthy and proud of what little they have.  That's my impression, anyway.

We gather in a little courtyard where a capoeira group is practising.  It's like martial arts mixed with dance, and it's very acrobatic.  Boys and girls demonstrate their skills, then Gustavo, the group leader, invites us to learn some dance moves.  It is exhilaratingly fun and we all have a good laugh, then we pay for our lesson by donating money to their school.  Learning capoeira is good for the self-esteem of the favela kids, and it gives them a healthy focus in life.

The tour has transformed my view about the favelas of Rio.  I know that there are still dangerous areas, but most people in Rio live in neighbourhoods like this one, and this is their daily reality.

It's my husband's birthday, and he's flying home to Australia in the early hours of the morning. We go to a good restaurant for dinner.  This feels a bit weird after visiting the favela in the afternoon.  I decide to feel grateful that we can afford it.

He suggests that we start with some champagne.  Perusing the wine list, he says to the waiter, "I'll have the Spanish sparkling, and my wife will have the Brazilian."

I refrain from making the obvious joke.