Life's a Maze

The thick, dense foam lining in the helmet pressed firmly into my cheeks. I was thankful for the snug fit since the broken chin strap dangled on the side with no buckle to secure it. The dramatically steep and windy hills of the favelas in Rio de Janeiro, made a motorcycle taxi ride feel like the bravest thing one could ever do. Until you factored in the speed of the driving and the congested roads, then you’d adjust that label to one of the most precarious things you could ever do.

The ride came to an abrupt stop and we hopped off the back of our bikes. One driver pointed towards a dimly lit alleyway, before like two ninjas, they faded into the dark of the night. In a few hundred feet we spotted a yellow sign that read ‘The Maze’ with arrows pointing us in the direction.

We entered to find ourselves in a large space with the architecture of an 1800s Spanish mission, with white textured plaster walls, domes and arched corridors. A coolness was suspended in the air and sent goosebumps up my forearm but the thrill of our find was enough to keep me warm. The name of the club proved to be literal as well; with convoluted halls and stairways winding their way up to a rooftop. The owner, a reserved middle-aged German guy, had successfully curated a space for the subset of humans who call themselves artists and ex-pats.

We hardly spoke to each other that night Charlotte and I, instead like members of a remote tribe we communicated through dance and our facial expressions of pure elation, which said more than words ever could. Our uninhibited body movements elongated our limbs and intertwined with the other members of our tribe. Under a red light was a crowd full of mahogany and olive skin tones. Jazz notes swirled through the crowd slowly permeating the air and like an invisible vapor had everyone dancing under its spell.

At one point I ran into a French guy named Boris who I had met two months back in Brooklyn. It shocked me at first yet being in the Maze made me realize how our encounter was, in fact, intentional; one of life’s peculiar ways of conspiring to place us where we are supposed to be. Indeed the intrigue of the Maze lie in its stark contrast to its outer surroundings but if one were to observe it from a bird’s eye view, you would in fact see it as an artery indivisible to its heart, a maze within a maze. Its character, its rarity, its magic was steeped in the intricacies of the favela.