Rio de Janeiro: A pior viagem da minha vida

A few weeks ago, I stumbled across an announcement for an ethnomusicology conference that would take place in Rio de Janeiro. It was set to begin in just two weeks—a little tight for flight shopping—but as I read the program I decided it was not to be missed.

The conference was to focus on the Palavra Cantada (or, Sung Word) and among the presenters listed in the program were numerous well-respected and widely published researchers of Brazilian music, including Liv Sovik, Carlos Sandroni, José Miguel Wisnik, Luiz Tatit, Marcos Napolitano, Elizabeth Travassos and David Treece, and my own mentor at UFMG (Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais) Glaura Lucas.

The guest speaker, much to my delight, was to be Anthony Seeger, an American ethnomusicologist whose best known work Why Suyá Sing: A Musical Anthropology of an Amazonian People is never missing from required reading lists in academia. He has also written extensively about ethics, recording practices, and copyright, and served as executive producer at the Smithsonian Folkways record label for more than a decade. [A surprising sidenote: Why Suyá Sing has never been translated into Portuguese!?!?!]

Upon taking a closer look at the program, I realized that all of the events started at 2 pm each day—nothing at all was planned in the mornings! I have NEVER seen a conference schedule like that in the US or UK. Rather than spending my time on the beach, as many of my friends recommended, I planned to spend the mornings doing archival research in the Biblioteca Nacional (National Library).

Delighted by all I would learn and discover, I enrolled in the conference, found a cheap flight, and booked a moderately-priced hotel in Glória, a neighborhood just south of Centro and a few metrô stops away from the conference site in Urca.

At this point, my perfectly planned—and nerdtastic, as my husband would say—research trip started to unravel.

Rather than bore you with all the hairy details, I decided to write a little story about my failed trip. In fact, as I write it, the trip still hasn’t ended—I still have two more hours until my flight leaves Aeroporto Santos Dumont.

 

Rio de Janeiro in Five days and Four Nights

 

Day 1: 98.6^o

I dreamed of five days and four nights in Rio de Janeiro,

until the workers of the National Library went on strike: Biblioteca fechou.*

I dreamed of five days and four nights in Rio de Janeiro,

until I forgot the often-elusive, but ever-essential charger for my waning cell phone.

I dreamed of five days and four nights in Rio de Janeiro,

until Prince canceled his scheduled appearance with Chaka Khan. Prince. PRINCE. NOOOO!!

I dreamed of five days and four nights in Rio de Janeiro,

until I awoke at 3 am with tonsils each the size of a small plum.

 

Day 2: 100.5^o

I dreamed of four days and three nights in Rio de Janeiro,

as I bought my first box of Cimegripe** from the farmácia.

I dreamed of four days and three nights in steamy Rio de Janeiro,

while I shivered, sweated, and slept, waking only to eat or pee.

I dreamed of four days and three nights in Rio de Janeiro,

including a nightmare of a Brazilian wandering spider attacking my spine as I slept.

 

Day 3: 102.1^o

I dreamed of three days and two nights in Rio de Janeiro,

as the garçonete*** looked pitifully at me upon arriving late for breakfast. (She let me eat anyway).

I dreamed of three days and two nights in Rio de Janeiro,

as I bought my second box of Cimegripe from the farmácia.

I dreamed (in vain) of three days and two nights in Rio de Janeiro,

until my dizzy head and flaming cheeks were no match for the conference in its second full day.

 

Day 4: 100.8^o

I hoped for just two days and 1 night in Rio de Janeiro,

until I turned on the hot water in the shower and absolutely nothing came out at all.

I pleaded for two days and 1 night in Rio de Janeiro,

while I napped through my third consecutive morning in the Cidade Maravilhosa.****

I longed for two days and 1 night in Rio de Janeiro,

and when I made it to the closing night of the conference, I listened, weak and bewildered, but left without meeting a soul.

 

Day 5: 99.2^o

I settled for one last day in Rio de Janeiro,

and just missed extending my hotel room to accommodate my 8:50 pm flight.

I left the hotel for one last day in Rio de Janeiro,

and bought my third box of Cimegripe, much to the pharmacist’s amusement.

I wandered through the last day in Rio de Janeiro,

and huddled in a dark café corner with an extreme-garlic-and-potato soup, a new book, and no one in sight.

I could not face the last day in Rio de Janeiro,

and settled in for five long hours at the Aeroporto Santos Dumont.

 

Home: 98.6^o

I spent five days and four nights in Rio de Janeiro,

and all I got was a cold and this lousy poem.

*Biblioteca fechou—library closed

**Cimegripe—Tylenol- and chlorphenamine-based cold medicine and sister to the infamous Benegripe, but without the wallop of 250 mg of caffeine. (Note: an average cup of coffee/tea contains 75-100 mg of caffeine).

***Garçonete—waitress

****Cidade Maravilhosa—marvelous city, Rio de Janeiro’s nickname

 

[Note: Apologies to the city of Rio de Janeiro—I am sure you are perfectly marvelous under normal circumstances.]