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The warm sun had risen, promising a new day with heat and humidity. The sunshine spreads throughout the lively city, ranging from fancy flats to illegal infrastructures with many bullet holes, the latter mostly found within Rio’s various favelas. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the last bit of my black Colombian coffee, leaning on the edge of the blue-painted veranda while looking out over the hundreds of old brick buildings below me. Each building is a colour of the rainbow, and a maze of electrical wires miraculously powering the many households. Privacy is near enough nonexistent with only narrow alleyways separating one neighbour from another. Kids are playing with their kites from the rooftops and a group of teenagers are still up after yesterday's wild Baile Funk party, usually held in the middle of the favela with its ridiculously loud, yet distinctive music. Two weeks have passed, with it has the strange and disorientating feeling of my new surroundings. Although, it will take a few more weeks until a western girl can feel at home living in the midst of one of Rio de Janeiro’s favelas, named Pavón. Situated between Copacabana and Ipanema beach, built on the wall of the mountain, together with views of the sea, to some this may sound like paradise. However, the story behind the many souls living here is far more complex than many foreigners can imagine. A war between drug lords and Brazil’s notorious police force has long been taking place and rather than improving, the number of lives lost per year has increased by hundreds. However, life continues and people with less, know how to smile and make the most of what is. Today I’m heading to Copacabana Beach to meet up with some locals friends who sell anything from Brazil's iconic drink Caipirinha to bikinis, and delicious coal grilled halloumi cheese made with your choice of herbs. As I walk down the tight stairways and through the narrow alleyway of the neighbourhood, the cheerful music of Samba intensifies. It’s Saturday morning, and we’re a week away from the start of the carnival, the streets are filled with life as always, but now Samba is being played everywhere. What a joy it is to see people of all ages with big smiles on their faces, dancing to these incredible rhythms. I step onto the first open street, smiling while expressing my foremost confident greeting in Portugese; “bom dia”, to the local guards armed with machine guns who keep a close eye on all the entrances. I’m met by running cheerful children who’d all been playing with the water from the showerhead next to the tiny convenience shop. A football is being kicked around, and some girls with their beautiful afro braided hair are dancing and laughing with radiant eyes filled with life. I’m intrigued by their way of life and I think Rio de Janeiro is about to capture my heart. Several drums and other musical instruments are lined up against the wall in preparation for today's festivities that I’ve yet to explore. I keep greeting the locals as I continue my daily walk, carefully placing my steps on the steeply uneven, broken cement street, while passing fruit stalls, barbers, garages and people searching through the many piles of rubbish. Above passing stairways, drugs are being bought and sold, shockingly having children as young as eight working to protect their territory. When I reach the bottom of the hill, which means the end of the favela, several motorbikes locally called moto-taxis are all lined up. Except for an old Volkswagen, used as a minibus, these can be your only chance for a lift up the mountain for no more than three Reales. Beside them, police are patrolling around the clock, yet they rarely enter. Strange looks come my way from the people below, some filled with confusion, probably wondering why a white girl with blond hair is wandering these parts of the city. But, my genuine smile calms their judgements, happiness can be found everywhere, and I have learned that some of the most unique people live within these hills.