Journaled on Sunday, 19th of January 2025 | Santo Cristo, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: 31 degrees, hot, sunny and slightly overcast.
It’s Sunday, the day before Julie leaves for England. Her flight is late tomorrow evening, so we’ll probably head to the airport around 7:30 or 8.
Yesterday we took Yasmin to a party at the Northeasterners Convention Centre in São Cristóvão. The place felt a little run down and tatty, a flat note to end her stay in Brazil on.
Still, all was not lost. We had a couple of beers, and Julie found a beautiful reversible print while I picked up some rugs for the bathroom.
Today we woke up with a little tension in the air. It has been building for a couple of days now, understandably, given her anxiety about returning to England. She doesn’t want to go, but she has to, and I’ve grown used to having her here with me.
Only time will tell how we handle this going forward. Long distance relationships, especially at our age, rarely work. They’re almost impossible to sustain today, when everything moves so fast and feels so immediate.
I’m hoping for a change, whether that’s her coming back to Brazil for a couple of months or me going to England. For now, I’ll let time run its course and see where it takes us.
After some morning affection, and while making coffee, I decided a trip to the laundrette was a good idea. It would get me out of the flat for a couple of hours, and while I waited for the clothes to wash and dry, I could write at least one journal entry.
It would also give Julie time to pack and call her family in England, something I’ve had no contact with until now. While I’m out, she can talk to them freely, without me overhearing even indirectly. It’s an awkward position for us both. I don’t want to know what she says to her mother, her daughter, her son. It’s none of my business.
When I got back from the laundrette, her suitcase was already laid out on the floor, with half her clothes and belongings packed inside.
The tension I’d felt earlier was even more pronounced now. We talked a little about what we’d done together over the last four weeks. It had been so good for both of us, at least for me. There’s always something more, better, or different we could have done, but even so, we’ve both had a great time in every respect, and it’s only strengthened our feelings for each other.
Again, neither of us really knows what the future holds for us.
In the late afternoon, we picked up Yasmin from another birthday party, the same crowd as yesterday, just at a different venue, this time in Lapa. Julie had passed through Lapa once or twice before, skirting the edges of the neighbourhood, but never actually gone in until the evening, when it’s really humming, buzzing and bustling with people until the early hours of the morning.
I used to go to Lapa 25 years ago, when the first samba houses opened in the area. Carioca de Gema was a true blue carioca spot. Back then I’d go at least once a week and got to know the owners of many of the bars and restaurants there, including Thiago, whose Carioca de Gema was the groundbreaking first entrance for the many samba houses, bars and restaurants that still exist today.
That was a long time ago. After I got Bruce, my first boxer dog, everything changed, and I lost touch with Lapa’s bohemian nightlife.
I went to a show at Circo Voador in Lapa, a semi-open-air alternative concert hall, with an ex-girlfriend six or seven years ago. Afterwards we had to pass through Lapa to find a taxi home. The Lapa I’d known at night had changed completely. It felt darker, dirtier and more sinister, so I haven’t been back in the evening since.
I’d arranged for Nalva to take Yasmin to the bar where the celebrations would be held, and Julie and I would pick her up around 5 or 6 p.m.
At the right time, we took the VLT tram into the city centre and walked to where Yasmin would be. There was some confusion with the address, but we found her eventually.
Yasmin is at an age where she’s naturally seeking more freedom. My only worry is the hidden violence in Rio. I can’t imagine something bad happening to one of my daughters.
After finding her, she said goodbye to her friends and we all walked back to the city centre. We left Yasmin at the metro station to head home to her mother’s. Before going home ourselves, we had a chopp, a light Brazilian beer, at Amarelino, one of Rio’s most traditional bars. By 9 p.m we were home.
Be kind and be happy. If you can’t be happy, still be kind, but never be naïve.
In bed by 9 p.m.
Thank you
Thank you for reading. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.
Richard
