Umbrellas

Texto de Nancy de Lustoza Barros e Hirsch na revista para a comunidade de expatriados de língua inglesa no Rio de Janeiro. Para ver a revista na íntegra, clique aqui.

Umbrellas

Some experiences turn to lessons very quickly: never plan to stay in Rio de Janeiro during vacations in January. It rains. Better yet, it pours. A few of you will remember the first Rock in Rio music festival: George Benson, Yes and a lost pair of shoes, as it would not budge from the fist thick mud. After the show, the alternative was taking a bus to São Paulo and spend the rest of the leisure days by a swimming pool at a cousin’s. Not an option. Young and restless, no other place compares to Rio, even while there is this crazy guy surfing the flooded waters in Baixo Gávea.

A mystery to be solved when it rains: where do all those vendors carrying umbrellas come from? Do they hide in dark alleys, sneaking up the skies, and begging for dark clouds, day in, day out? And where do they store their arsenal? They are so fast! All of a sudden pedestrians in need bump into them right as the first fat splashy hurtful drop of rain turns into a blob on your smart garment while in the centre of the city interviewing for a job – yeah, it is the beginning of the year, and there is a list of promises to be fulfilled.

Women in general suffer the most from the ravages of rain. They wear thin shifts that vanish under water. The hair turns into whatever; the high heeled sandals become drenched, start to squish, and as luck would have it, eventually, one of the tiny leather straps goes bust.

Picture yourself in the middle of Largo da Carioca, the furious summer wind channeling from the sea, the Portuguese stones transforming into soap — let us not even get started on the ghastly job of the guys that place the black and white pieces on the sidewalk —, the safety under the marquises being disputed inch by precious inch…

You have to think quick: the tube, a bus or a taxi back home? Alright, forget the latter, taxis are a fig of imagination at times like that… The guy sporting three hundred and ninety eight umbrellas on his arms approaches. Is he reliable? How much this artifact is going to cost? After having negotiated not the price but the cavities of your purse, the protection in white with little black cats opened and fervently grabbed, you part in the direction of Avenida Rio Branco. As you bend the corner, so does the umbrella over itself.

Foto: deviantart.