Favela Funk Party — Getting Down in the Ghetto

Jackie Steves is guest-hosting her Dad’s blog with 17 posts in 17 days. Follow the adventures of Andy and Jackie Steves as they ‘ the first Steves to venture into South America ‘ report on their experience.

We will miss this colorful, spirited city.

Enlarge photo

Enlarge photo

Our last full day south of the equator was bright and clear. Cramming all of Rio’s important sights into the space of two days paid off by affording us a leisurely day. We metroed to the Hippie Fair in Ipanema. All the things I wanted to take home with me were too big to carry: a hammock, big bright painted murals of the favelas with jazzed-up colors, and intricate wooden chairs.

We bused it down the coast a bit to Posto 9, perhaps the most famous stretch of beach in the world. This was right by the bar where “The Girl from Ipanema” had been seen and written. The sand around it was carpeted in towels and beach chairs. I wondered out loud why people would come here if they had the option of less crowded beaches. Andy astutely pointed out, “It’s all about seeing and being seen.” Yes indeed, women showed off their tanned assets in itsy-bitsy thong bikinis. Men showed off their football-toned bodies in little Speedos many American men wouldn’t be caught dead in.

We walked along the water’s edge checking it out. We had our sights set on Leblon Beach, just south of Ipanema, quieter as well as very nice, in an upscale neighborhood.

The clouds cut our beach time a bit short, and we walked the several miles all the way back to our hostel enjoying a mild temperature and the promenade running all the way along the beach bustling with active locals.

We had grown to love small hole-in-the-wall restaurants here that serve simple fare of meat, rice, French fries, the occasional pizza, and big bottles of local beer.

We had heard quite a few hostel friends rave about the fun they’d had at the “Favela Funk Party.” We were very speculative at first. Going to a party in the slums? Gruesomely violent images from the film City of God surfaced in my imagination. Our friends would reassure us about safety and how the facilitating company totally takes care of you. If it’s safe enough for them to run, and tons of tourists partake without trouble, then it must be safe. So we paid our 30 dollars for a ride on what we decided would surely make for a memorable cultural experience.

They corralled us all into a big van. I agreed with Andy that it felt like a hen (English bachelorette) party with the majority of passengers excited, talkative British girls. The only exceptions were two very nice Brazilian cousins from south of São Paulo. The guy running the service clearly got a kick out of shuttling gringos to favelas because he gave us a sarcastically ominous pep talk and issued a spat of semi-serious rules. About 20 minutes into the ride, as we entered what looked like the favelas, all the loud high-pitched British voices were suddenly dampened.

They unloaded us right in front of the club, and I felt like we were a young naïve school of fishes in a scary sea of young people we didn’t know what to think of or how to act around. We entered the big warehouse of a club and a headed immediately for the VIP area upstairs that we gringos had special access to. When Andy wanted a drink we had to first go buy a drink ticket from the vendor person who sat behind protective glass. It was by no means a full bar, just a few basic options.

We took on the dance floor with a bit of trepidation. Soon it felt just like any other club, except that our white faces stuck out a bit and the local guys were shirtless. For several songs lines of these shirtless guys danced a choreographed line dance. Hip-hop/line dancing is definitely something I haven’t seen before. They were good! And fast!

We ran into our favorite Ilha Grande girlfriends again! Again, small backpackers world! By 2 or 3 am the fabulously flamboyant MC invited about a dozen people on stage for a dance-off. They really know how to shake it. By 5 am I was so danced-out I slept the whole van ride home.

The next day, during our last few hours, we strove to soak up as many final Rio sun rays as possible. Today, Copacabana (our own neighborhood) beach. This time we knew how to get our hands on the beach chairs, how to order my new favorite açai smoothie at a corner juice stand, how to stand our ground in the aggressive undertow of the surf, and how to pay a cheap price for a beautiful lunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant where all the neighborhood’s grandpas like to hang out having beers all times of day. It finally felt like we knew how to work this city, and now we had to leave. But I plan to stow away these insights because I definitely want to return to my new favorite city, the lovely Rio de Janeiro.

Comments

12 Replies to “Favela Funk Party — Getting Down in the Ghetto”

  1. I think it`s great that Andy and Jackie are having some good, youthful fun, but there`s something about this post that is rubbing me the wrong way – the title “Getting Down in the Ghetto,” the use of the word gringo, and going into the poverty-stricken favelas just to party. And why is it even an issue that they have white faces, while everyone else at the party are people of color? Mmmmm, maybe I am being too touchy, but there`s just something about this post that bothers me.

  2. I have really enjoyed reading your SA blog. The cultural, geographical/logistical, social descriptions were written very well. The joy I sensed while reading about your experiences at this time in your life was so refreshing. Thank you for sharing the insight and taking the time to write.

  3. I think what is bothersome to some readers of these blogs is the tone, sometimes veiled and sublime but always constant, of what I refer to as reverse racism. Simply, there is always a tendency when describing these S. American travels of belittling white people and culture, whether it`s pointing out the obnoxious British or describing non-intellectual Americans. I am well-traveled and tolerant enough to appreciate other cultures without having to denigrate my own. Maybe wisdom, maturity and education acquired through life experiences will make some young travelers more aware of that.

  4. I think Jackie and her brother are just very very young and see the world thru a prism of privilege and inexperience. Further, writing is not a precise science. What we throw out there is interpreted differently by different people. It`s amazing to me how what I might perceive as seemingly innocent and sincere and informed writing by me is occasionally misinterpreted or raises the hackles of someone else. The lesson is just like that learned by skilled carpenters. Measure twice, cut once. Maybe measure three or even four times before pulling the trigger.

  5. I finally figured out what`s been bugging me about this blog! If these were any other young people partying their way through SA, it would be an interesting read, but they`re not “regular” young people[INVALID]-they`re Rick Steves` kids. Part of what I like so much about Rick is his back story, e.g., teaching piano lessons to earn money for rough and tumble trips through Europe, and that sort of thing. Andy & Jackie don`t have the same kind of back story (not that they should). This is a big assumption, but given their ages, I get the sense that Papa Rick footed the bill for this one, arranged all the tour guides for them, etc. While there`s nothing inherently wrong about that, it just lacks that “Rick Steves seeing the world by the seat of his pants” kind of charm that I usually find on this web sit. Again[INVALID]this is NOT a criticism of Andy & Jackie. If anything, I`m criticizing myself for having expected them to be more like their dad.

  6. OK, I might have a bias…since I am from Edmonds, too. So I know the “culture” Jackie & Andy grew up in. I think they are showing that young people with no dramatic ethnic experience shouldn`t be afraid to go out there and explore the world. As for being kids of priviledge…I think they are earning their way by apprenticing in the family business.

  7. I have to agree with F.C.[INVALID]there`s a little too much suburban naivete for my taste. `Slumming with the natives` is the crazy vibe I get. Frankly, I think the only people paying attention to skin color were Andy and Jackie (and the British girls) themselves. And by the by, they`ve been doing hip-hop “line dancing” for years, from cha-cha, Electric Slide, Harlem Shuffle and on and on for decades….

  8. Kathleen: I concur totally with your assessment. I truly enjoy reading of their experiences.

  9. Of course they noticed that they were few white faces! How many times are white Americans who grow up in Edmonds, go to school at Notre Dame and Georrgetown and travel to Europe find themselves in a minority. It`s what new to them on this trip. I remember getting stuck in a snowstorm in a Holiday Inn in Mishawaka, Indiana for a week. I was one of only two women staying there. When you experience something that is so different from what you have grown up with it`s only natural to comment on it. It`s part of learning and growing up. If you find the blog bothersome, don`t read it. But if you want insights into young people traveling and learning then take some time to read this blog. Pam

  10. It`s funny, I grew up in the South in a predominantly white suburb. When I moved to Arizona I was afraid to try out the Mexican restaurant down the block because they advertised menudo as being on the menu (mind you, I was fresh out of college, too, at the time) and I figured only Mexicans patronized the place. Then I moved to California and was one of very few whites in the two neighborhoods I lived in. After a while, color wasn`t so noticeable to me. Moving to Colorado was a bit of “reverse” culture shock and I found Boulder to be a bit full of itself trying to be the “Berkeley of the Rockies” because it was TOO white. Now I am back in my native state living in a small and VERY diverse town. I`m no longer afraid to try a restaurant for fear I`ll be the only white face in there and I bless the growth I experienced by living in places where I was in the minority. I`m still proud to be a Texan, but even prouder to see that in some places (sadly not all), diversity is the norm and celebrated. I am nearing 50 now and posting this as an example of how life experience really can change one`s perspective.

  11. Oh brother! I visited SA this summer and told people about us being the only white faces in the place to illustrate how untouristy the place was! The restaurants, the buses, the sleeping places were not where the usual North Americans go. No reverse racism-just an observation.

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