A Bizarre Encounter

Four police officers flanked the squad, serious eyes ahead, hands ready on guns – uniforms reading ‘Polícia Pacificadora’. Officers tasked with 'pacifying' Rio’s favelas' for the Fifa World Cup and Olympics. Ready, aim, fire! An array of bright flashes attack me and the unassuming street I ascend. Aiming at doors, windows, ordinary people – triggers are pulled in rapid succession. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh from the Scottish winter, I feel like I’ve been transported to paradise. Informações Turísticas – “habla Inglés”? I ask meekly. She shakes her head but points to a hill. “Obragada” I reply. Twisting and turning, the street rises sharply, and a sheer hill appears decorated with brightly colored shacks, jumbled and stacked like Jenga blocks. The only gringa in sight, I join the end of the queue feeling a tad out of place. The locals don’t blink an eye, as we wait in the shade of a wall on what looks like the most exciting lift in the world! I’m flabbergasted with the panoramic view across Rio, as the metal box hoists upwards on its little train tracks. Turquoise seas meet bright blue skies and a carpet of colors stretch out to join golden palm lined shores. Tearing my eyes from the view, they lock with the curious eyes of a local passenger. A woman showing some years, with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Our warm exchange is only slightly hindered by speaking different languages. Extending hospitality to a stranger, she gestures for me to accompany her as the doors open. “Obragada” I smile, but the moment passes and the cable begins to crank again. A last heave and the lift stops with a clunk. I’ve reached the top. My heart swells seeing a girl wearing a Informações Turísticas shirt. I must be on the right track, and thankfully there’s just one. I stroll up the hill and round a bend - four armed police meet me. Fingers on triggers, guns slung across torsos, they escort a group of gringos. Eyes on LCD screens they parade past in a bubble removed from reality, clicking wildly on their cameras like tourists at the top of Cirsto. I pass the coach at the top of the hill. Just yards away is an unspoiled view of the famous Sugarloaf Mountain. No-one else in sight, it's the type of view you’d expect to photo-shop a crowd from. I look down the hill, in stark contrast to the way up, neat houses are hidden by towering walls. What a difference 10 yards makes, I wonder...still grappling with the bizarre encounter, as I begin to descend down the hill.