jonasgoat

lapa

In Braaaazil, Rio de Janeiro, Sud America, tunnnneeeee! on November 12, 2010 at 5:05 pm

The street party that is Friday nights in Rio is a riot of people and sounds, and smells. Street vendors serve beef or chicken on a stick. But it’s the music that holds the attention, it throbs from every corner, from every bar front. The connection that Brazilians share with their music makes me smile. A samba band plays under cover, a crowd has gathered and the song starts but before the intro has even finished they have started singing, the words known by all. Lapa is filled with these spaces as everyone crowds in to be closer to the band, to be closer to the music, to merge with it. And I lean on the edge a smile on my face, tapping my foot and wanting it to never end.

We break out as a massive, and head over to Lapa with Thomas, a crazy Frenchman who works at the hostel and lives over in Lapa itself, in one of the blocks by the tiled steps. Its raining, and we sit in his cramped bed sit, getting drunk on beer, and straight cachaca, about ten of us all crushed in, waiting for the water to stop falling. It gets messy, so fucking messy. Even before we hit the streets and the bars, and the clubs. Dancing till the wee hours, losing people, finding them again, and generally just having messy brazilian fun. So good, oh so good.

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