Rediscovering Kanorio in Rio

by Evelyn Kanorio Gitonga (Kenya)

A leap into the unknown Brazil

“Kanorio?” The girl with a cardboard sign asked at the airport. “Yes!” I exclaimed, hoping that my enthusiastic tone would be interpreted as friendliness. “Hi!” “Show me your ticket.” She stated indifferently, setting the nature of our relationship. I pulled my phone out and showed her proof that I had ordered an airport pick-up. Satisfied, she gestured for me to follow her to the cab in which I would have my first encounter with the city. If I was to describe Rio de Janeiro from that ride, I would sum it up as ‘huge’. The roads were wide, the buildings were massive and the well-lit tunnels seemed to go on for days. As we raced through the quiet, amber-lit roads, I caught myself staring at the graffiti on the wall. Some were scribbles that called out members of the government. Others were images of beautiful African faces with determination in their eyes. All were messages from a community that demanded to be heard. They were signs that despite its grandeur, Rio was not a perfect city. After I settled into my apartment, I dedicated the next few days to the required logistics and sadly lost another day to the pits of jetlag. As a result, I was stoked when my tour group finally said the words that I’d been waiting to hear. ‘Let’s go to my place for a party.’ The words were from Valentina, one of my favourite people here. She said everything with self-assured finality as if daring anyone to miss out. She was also always in shorts, a reflection of how ready she was to dance. We followed Valentina to her place and there, with a Chilean flag proudly stuck to the wall, she introduced us to sultry South American beats and new dance moves. The bottle of cachaca on her table may have had a hand in helping keep the energy up. Later I would learn that Rio does not have a shortage of parties. Here, a party is not an event - it’s a lifestyle. It’s in the air itself. If Rio was a sound, I’d think of it as a buzz or low hum – either from air conditioners, car engines or the cheers of people laughing. The sound wakes you up in the morning and follows you throughout the day and well into the night. The next weekend, the real holiday was set to start. The plan was to visit one of the must-see places in the country - Angra and Paraty. At Angra, we were set to take a luxury cruise around four islands, stop for lunch and swim the day away. We boarded the bus at 6.00 am on Saturday and prepared for the three-hour-long trip. I have never been a fan of waking up before sunrise but when we arrived at the dock, all prior complaints disappeared into the wind. The view was to die for. Pristine waters surrounded by lush, green mountains lay before us, begging to be explored. After we were guided to our boat, we sat at the top deck and leaned on the rails as it sailed lazily across beautiful, aquamarine water to a world without a care. Every so often, we would jump off the boat to splash around in the clear sea and climb back only to sunbathe and sip generous caipirinhas. To say that this was one of the best days of my life would be an understatement. At 5.00 pm it was time to head back and catch the bus to our next destination. Two beautiful hours later we were at Paraty’s town centre. After a quick shower at one of the many hostels around, we set off on a stroll around the town’s cobbled streets in search of dinner. While the town was beautiful, the exhaustion that I’d been holding off finally checked in. For this reason, I would tell anyone heading to Paraty to dedicate a full day to the old colonial town. I had to turn back and call it a night. As my cheek hit the pillow, I sent out a prayer of gratitude for all that Rio had shown me and prayed that it would never end.