My boyfriend Tom lives at the bottom of Dona Marta (the favela in Botafogo), but in a building that is still part of the “asphalt,” the middle class area, not the slum. He is a flutist and sits in now and then with a group that plays in front of the bar/butcher shop across the street. He had been up the "morro" (hill) - though only once. People in the neighborhood certainly recognize his face.
And so on Friday I heard an unusual invitation:
“Do you know Dona Marta? Shall we walk up to the entrance of the favela?”
I was a little taken aback by the idea:
“Now, at night?”
“Why not?”
“OK, let’s go!”
And so we went. We walked up the street a little way, just far enough to get to the point where the road stops, where the first staircase heading up into the morro begins. From there one can see another landing, a few of the houses/shacks, and Kaka’s Bar (Bar do Kaká), not open for business yet, but with the opening date already set. We stopped there for a few moments, looking around, making some observations to each other, typical tourists. But these moments were fleeting. After a minute or two a woman who was heading up the stairs said: “Hi, can I help you? Are you looking for someone? Going somewhere?”
Tom answered in his fluent Portuguese (with a gringo accent, of course): “I was showing her Dona Marta, because she hasn’t been her before. I used to play with Rodrigo Simőes who grew up here - do you know him?”
She continued to chat with us, and said, directing her comment to a guy who was walking down the hill: “Rodrigo...? I don’t know him... hey, Kaká, do you know Rodrigo?”
This was Kaká of the Bar do Kaká. A young man, twenty-three years old, with two kids and another one on the way. His Christian name is Cassiano, and he goes by Kaká.
A really nice guy, very outgoing, he came over, introduced himself, and began to chat.
“Hi, I’m Kaká and that’s my bar. Yes, I think I know Rodrigo. But did you want to talk with him? I am going down to my dad’s bar to eat some “carne de sol” (jerked beef) with aipim (manioc), the best in the world! Want to come drink a beer?”
I had kept my mouth shut up to that point, listening attentively (but passively) to all the conversation.
As my hair, skin and eyes are quite light (not very characteristically Brazilian), he asked: “Where are you from?”
Me: “From Jacarepaguá.” (For the uninitiated, Jacarepaguá is a Rio de Janeiro neighborhood inland from Barra da Tijuca, surrounded by two mountain ranges. It is about an hour by bus from the Zona Sul, if the traffic is light.) “But what country?”
“Brazil! I am a carioca, pô!”
And Kaká guffawed and said: “And here I am wasting my English!!!”
We walked down a way with Kaká to his father’s bar. Don’t think of a bar in the sense of a building, door, chairs inside, etc. etc. The bar is a movable cart (albeit a substantial one) which can be closed up at night, but customers must sit or stand on the street. We sat down at a metal table on the street (no sidewalk this far up) with other people from the area, all friends of Kaká.
We met the brothers Celo and Márcio. Sofia (Kaká’s second wife, already very pregnant, with a big belly), Pica-pau, Francisco (who worked at the bar), Seu Joăo (Kaká’s father), Caetano (a guy wearing a shirt of the Flamengo Football Club, known as Gringo because of his unusual blue eyes and light skin), and Cassiane.
Cassiane deserves her own paragraph. She is Kaká’s little four-year-old daughter - beautiful, with curly hair, a charming smile, dimpled cheeks. She left us captivated. She kissed, played, and laughed - a ray of sunshine.
As far as the carne de sol com aipim is concerned, I never, repeat, NEVER, ate one so good. Fit for kings!
The beer, Skol and Antartica, was ridiculously cold (“estupidamente gelada,” just as Brazilians like it). The music was a mix of forró, samba, funk, and hip-hop, both Brazilian and American music. The chat was entertaining, relaxed, and high spirited. I felt flattered, since I was sitting with the men, something not so common in such a setting; the men and women held their own distinctly separate conversations. We were invited to the grand opening of the Bar do Kaká the following week, with live pagode, free sangria for the ladies, and fireworks at midnight!
After countless beers and plates of carne de sol, we realized it was time to head home. We asked how much we owed, and they wouldn’t let us pay!
A few hours earlier I had never walked up to Dona Marta. Suddenly we were guests of honor. As Tom likes to say, quoting the poet Manuel Bandeira, "aqui sou amigo do Rei..." (Here I am a friend of the King)
We went home happy, holding hands, smiling, enjoying a magical, simple, warm and unforgettable evening. I invite all my readers to check out o Bar do Kaká.
Rio for Partiers - a guidebook with attitude.
Rio Botequim - a guide to Rio de Janeiro’s top down-home bars called botecos (in Portuguese).
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