The Rugged, Little Republic

        The journey to Cristo Redentor seemed to take forever. As we traveled around and around the  long, muddy, twisted road, with its edges bursting with the foliage of Floresta da Tijuca, I stared contently at the sight for sometime, before sighing resignedly. After several minutes of seeing nothing but the bristling, tropical vegetation and the sloping road before us, my eyes grew fatigued of the seemingly endless torrent of green, and began to gradually close themselves. The adventures of the long day were beginning to take their effect. I was starting to think that maybe a short nap would be just what I needed. A sudden jolt of the car stirred me from my lethargy. It seemed to be reminding me of just where exactly we were going.
         I looked on once more, to be finally rewarded with a gracious lapse from green, for rapidly approaching us was an array of close, stocky, beige and reddish buildings, all secured with weather-beaten terracotta roofs.  My curiosity heightened by individuals who would ever want to live at such a height, I stared at the close community with  immense interest. There were perhaps ten or so shops in the main square of the town, that were all narrowly shaped to confrom with the lofty demands of the road. None of the facades of the buildings appeared to be sleek and shiny like their counterparts in the sprawling city below them. Rather, they gave an old, rusty appearance, as if the individuals who lived in this community did not really care much for appearances, but for purpose and value.
     I smiled at my musings. Perhaps I was reading too much into external appearances. As we trundled carefully along the muddied path, Evandro enlightened us by saying that all of the artists of Rio preferred to live here, gaining inspiration from the incredible views of the city and their close proximity with Cristo Redentor. And although I found myself growing profoundly sick of the uniformity of the forests and the winding road before us, I had to admire this particular favela. If anyone knew how it felt to have Cristo Redentor as a magnificent neighbor and all of the views that He did at their doorsteps, it was the rugged, little republic on the side of Corcovado.