In Rio, life’s a beach. Literally, the city is lined by miles and miles of beautiful sandy shore, from Flamengo to Botofogo to Copacobana to Ipanema to Leblon, and much of that is lined by a very unique sidewalk of black and white stones. The pattern has come to represent Rio, and appears anywhere from t-shirts to designer purses.
But life on the beach can also a bitch. Crime is high, even on the beaches, where there has been a recent resurgence in punk kids robbing tourists and locals. An editorial in local newspaper Folha de S. Paulo describes a recent scene at Arpoador beach, several blocks from my apartment:
…on the sand a gang of small boys were beginning to opportunistically rob things here and there. Fears grew of a arrastão – literally, a dragnet, or trawler… In the arrastão, a gang of thieves sweep down the beach seizing bags and wallets. As bathers flee in panic, the kids sweep up whatever they have left behind. Hence the name.
…The boys found their prey, right in front of us. A woman standing in her bikini by the water’s edge. The boy was about ten, in blue shorts. He reached up, ripped off her necklace, and sprinted off down the beach. The woman shrugged. This is Rio. What can you do?
The boys started the arrastão. The ripple of fear became a wave. This time, everybody ran. In minutes, a whole stretch of beach was empty. Police stood around clumsily, a show of force as ineffective as it was too late. Beach stalls owners stalked around with staves of wood or umbrella poles, furious at two good hours of lucrative Sunday afternoon business that had just run away. The boys had melted away.
My climbing buddy Aloisio told me that he was recently at the beach and came across three punk kids accosting an older women. He and his friend stepped in and got in a fist fight with the punks, chasing them away to cheers from other beachgoers. But where were the police?
Fortunately, the city also has a lot of free outdoor workout areas so you can bulk up for protection. Here’s a classic prison-style gym near Arpoador that is always full of severe-looking men toning the muscles beneath their beach tans.
Before arriving here I was thoroughly warned by Americans about the dangers of Rio, from flash robberies at red lights to incessant pick-pockets. I was fearful to take photos with my iPod or to pull out my wallet for street food. I am still cautious about both, but now I also know that locals are fighting that image of their city.
A snapshot of that: On Friday night I took a taxi home. As I got out and walked across the street, the taxi beeped and the driver yelled at me, pointing at the ground to several money bills. I’d dropped money, the driver was trying to tell me.
Robbers also have bigger fish to catch than my measly iPod and thin wallet. Maybe this is a byproduct of the rising wealth in Brazil? Robbers are setting their targets higher?
Sarah and I were never accosted during her weeklong visit, and in two months I have never felt unsafe on the beaches or anywhere in Rio (aside from perhaps when a man broke a beer bottle over another man’s head at Escadaria Selarón). It’s a moderately safe city if you play it safe, I think.
Plus, Sarah and I are both jacked and any would-be thugs knew not to mess with us.
And what do we do after a good workout and dehydrating tanning session? Drink a coconut.
