Carnival

     Once we found ourselves in the warm backseat of Evandro's van for what felt like the thousandth time that day, we soon started for Sambodromo. Although my eyes began to droop heavily, urging me to close them just for a couple of seconds, I knew that seconds could turn into minutes, and minutes into hours. No. I had to stay awake. Today, I was in Rio de Janiero, on my way to see the stage for the biggest carnival in the world, Sambodromo. That was not something I wanted to miss.
       After what seemed like a fleeting five minutes, Evandro soon came to a screeching halt before a vast, tremendously spacious passage way, lined with thousands of seats for spectators. In the hot, muggy air of the night, the stadium seemed all the more silent and still, devoid of any signs of live. Staring tiredly at the utter lack of people in the dimly lit stadium, I had to close my eyes for a second just to remember what Rio's Carnival in full swing would look like. Ah yes, throngs of extravagantly dressed men and women would walk down this very passageway, flaunting their dazzling sequences and feathers at excited spectators, locals and foreigners alike. And not only would there be thousands of colorful and enthusiastic individuals walking down the parade, smiling and waving, but the proud floats as well. Each would be grandiose and spectacular in their own individual ways. Each desperately striving to outdo the other and win the people's attention.
        Yes. This immensely quiet passageway, Sambodromo, was home to one of the world's most extravagant festivals, bursting with activity, and pulsating with life. After solely envisioning what Sambodromo would look like in Carnival, I felt like it was proper that the grounds of the world's greatest party get some peace and quiet at times. Of course, after several photos of the area, Evandro waved us back into the car, where we would soon be making our final stop for the day, our hotel.

Sambódromo, Home of the Rio Carnaval.

     As Evandro finished explaining the tremendous political significance of the stadium, I looked over to see a fleet of policemen striding past us on horseback. Although I shouldn't have been surprised by the police presence with the intensity of the recent riots, I couldn't help but staring at the bustling, stoney-faced parade of armed officials. Jeeps armed with heavy artillery swarmed the brightly lit perimeter of the building. Countless officials protected the front on foot, by car, and by horseback.
      Looking nearly as stunned as us, Evandro laughed as he said, " There are more policemen than fans." Apparently, there had never before been such an immense need for security around this stadium until the Confederation Cup. In fact, as Evandro later explained to us, it was a pretty precarious place on riotous game days. In the past, when Evandro was young and hot-blooded, he would often have to scrape past various thugs who would hassle him for money on his way to an unruly game.
    Now, however, the government was working hard to ensure the safety of anyone seeking to attend these events by heavily staffing the building with armed and mean-looking guards. Once we were fully satisfied with the political scene at Maracana, Evandro warmly clapped his hands together before announcing that we would next be going to the final place on our itinerary, Sambódromo, home of the Rio Carnaval.
    

A Sea of Policemen

   After a few minutes passed, we soon found ourselves lurching to a stop before a vast circular building, resembling a doughnut with too thin of an edge. Although it was about 7:00 PM, and thus pitch black outside, the bright, and seemingly endless number of streetlights suffused the stadium square with false daylight. Normally, I might be a bit uncomfortable roaming the streets of Rio de Janiero at night, but the astounding  number of armed officials in that one area instantly dissolved my anxiety.
        Marching solemnly before the broad, grey face of the rounded building, were hundreds of policeman, all wearing navy blue uniforms, streaked with neon orange "X"s, and firmly gripping slender batons. I watched them surround the perimeter of the building in awe, inquisitive as to why so many of them had gathered here.
      Picking up on my expression, Evandro began to explain,"There are a lot of police around here because there were strikes here. Some people are against this Confederation Cup because they think that the government had stolen a lot of money building this. So there are strikes all of the country. That's why there are so many cops around to make sure nothing will happen,"
      I gazed at Maracana once more in wonder. How could just one sporting event shape politics to such an extent? What was it about this place that spurred cops and civilians and politicians to action alike? Was it a confusing mixture of pride and bitter resentment. The pride of knowing that one of the world's greatest celebrations of football (soccer) would be taking place in your hometown? The resentment from the apparent  indifference with which the government treated enraged locals?

Hurtling Down the Peak to Maracana

     The hardest part of leaving the summit of Corcovado was saying goodbye to Cristo Redentor. After that it was easy, as we soon found ourselves rapidly hurtling down the lofty slopes of Corcovado. Although I was inclined to observe as much of the wilderness of Tijuca Forest as possible, I found it hard as the most I could make out were the hazy outlines of the treetrops. As I watched the landscape slowly become a blur before me, my eyes grew heavier until I was heavily drugged with sleep.
       After a few gentle jolts of my shoulder, I woke with a start to find that we were already in the parking lot where Evandro was waiting for us. I slightly cursed myself. I should have been awake the entire time, taking in whatever I could of Rio de Janiero. As I walked in a stupor to the bright, gleaming van where we heartily greeted Evandro, I sighed contently. Regardless of my reckless sleep, I probably hadn't missed much, and now that we had seen Jardim Botanico, a mall in the Botafogo District, Morro da Urca, Pao da Acucar, Selaron's Stairs, the Arcos da Lapa, the favelas, Corcovado, and Christ the Redeemer, I was immensely satisified with our travels for the day.
             But in spite of all we had seen, we were yet to see the heart and rhythm of all the athletic activity in the city, Maracana. After tiredly exchanging a few words with Evandro about the stunning beauty of Christ the Redeemer, I slumped lazily against my window, noticing the night life of the streets, without really registering it.

The Gaze of Cristo Redentor

        Once I'd finally accepted that I was actually standing in front of Christ the Redeemer, I slowly turned away from the immense statue, and duly gaped at the panoramic views of Rio de Janiero around us. While it was true that the scenery was nearly submerged in complete darkness, I  still managed to marvel at the seemingly infinite number of twinkling lights in the distance, blazing bright whites  amidst the overwhelming black. And although it was difficult to distinguish every detail of the vast and beauteous landscape at that time, I still caught my breath when I spotted the hazy silhouette of Pao de Acucar and Morro da Urca, standing tall amidst the city. Walking further down into the smooth and spacious pavilion, I stared at a doughnut-shaped building standing a little to the left of my vision. It was surprisingly visible from such a height, as it was surrounded by numerous lights and activity.
        I pointed down towards it, asking my parents what it was. After several seconds, my father replied, " That's Estádio do Maracanã...Evandro told us he would be taking us there after Corcovado and Christ the Redeemer, but-"
       He checked his watch. It was 7:00 PM, and it was time to leave the staggering heights of Corcovado and bid Christ the Redeemer a mournful goodbye. We still had to see Maracanã, the shining center of all the athletic activity in the city, and Sambadrome. Before turning away to begin our lengthy descent down Corcovado, I took one last look at Cristo Redentor's face in the darkness, and sighed. He appeared so quiet, so firm, so watchful, so still amidst all of the chaos and growth of the city. It really was hard to leave. I could've stayed there for hours. When I finally forced myself to leave, I promised myself that we would return to that very spot. Under the comforting gaze of Cristo Redentor.

The Illuminated Face of Cristo Redentor.

   We came around to the front of Cristo Redentor, and finally summoned the audacity to stare directly into his face. I instantaneously felt small and insignificant ,looking up at such a formidable figure, which could be seen from all of the distant corners of Rio de Janiero. Although there were clusters of  bustling tourists and dozens of bright, flashing lights from cameras, I could not bring myself to look away from what stood magnaimously before me.
         Now that I stood only a few meters from the base from the incredible statue, I had an unhindered view of His face. I no longer had to wistfully imagine what it would look like. In the faint orange light, his visage shone broad, angular, having a strong chin, and solemn, not cheerily welcoming residents of the city, but rather soberly accepting his responsibility to protect them. I looked closer at the details on his face. His eyes were blank, having no pupils with which to inspect his surroundings. And yet, I felt like these minute, unnecessary details would take away from the powerful of the landmark. It would make it more complicated, more human. As I hungrily continued to scrutinize the statue, I realized that most of the carving in the work was done to preserve its pure and striking simplicity.
      Framing his face were his long, strands of hair, which gave off the appearance of being soft, and smooth in spite of their being carved from marble. Other than a faint mustache at his upper lip, the solemn face of Christ had no other noticeable attempts at minute details, being rather plain and smooth. With difficulty, I pulled my eyes from Christ's face as if held in a trance, and continued to examine the rest of him, including his symbolically outstretched arms and plain apparel.  And for a moment, I almost found it hard to breath, standing before in the illuminated face of Cristo Redentor.
   

Such Majesty

 After a few more minutes, once the bright pink hue of the sky melted into a deep violet, we slowed to a stop before a lengthy flight of stairs, which lead to the illuminated posterior of Cristo Redentor.  I couldn't believe it. We were so close. Thus, in spite of my aching feet and my heavy eyelids, I was renewed with energy to ascend those treacherous stairs. While my mother did not seem to share this enthusiasm, we took to the steep, black, marble stairs after a few short breaths. Although it took a particular amount of energy climbing those steep stairs, my eyes were not fixed on those petty obstacles, but the tremendously vivid figure of Cristo Redentor before me.
         We had no doubt missed the sunset, seeing that the figure's top half was suffused with an orange light, and the bottom with a bright green, but it didn't matter. It was still...amazing. The closer I came to the awe-inspiring statue, the faster I climbed the stairs, heedless of the searing pain within them. This was Cristo Redentor. Christ the Redeemer.
       His robes were cut with a fine, simple precision, running down in vertical strips to emulate folds. And even though his raiment from behind seemed relatively simple, heaving only a few clear-cut creases, Cristo Redentor demanded and received attention and respect from every angle. Not watching my step, I faltered a little as I crossed over the last one. We had finally reached the broad, smooth, black-marbled pavilion that stood at the base of the enormous monument. Staring in awe at the broad back of this incredible monument, I wondered how it would finally feel standing directly before Him. So small in the midst of such majesty.