I think if I were living in Rio, I would probably live in Lapa. Not that I knew anything about Lapa or felt at all safe there - but it's the type of neighborhood I love in the States, with its angry street art, artistic soul, and streets of bars and restaurants.
Outside of the Christ statue and beaches, we didn't have any plans for Rio - so when I saw a picture of the Escadaria Selaron, I wanted to go and get a photo. We never made it to the stairs, however. After dinner at Belmonte, some foolish navigation, and the empty feeling of a closed off city on a Sunday, we were just on edge enough that three men staring us down froze our legs and skirted us back to the main street.
There are a ton of parks around Lapa worth exploring, apparently an awesome/funky nightlife that's not to be missed, and a youthful spirit to the area that we didn't encounter in our few hours roaming the unfamiliar streets. Maybe our heads were filled with too many tales of danger. Or maybe Sunday's emptiness made blending in with our light hair and green eyes impossible but we left Lapa before ever becoming acquainted.
I'd like to go back some day. To revel in the idea of the youth, the locals, marking their city. Flipping through my photos on the city bus from Lapa to the more touristy Copacabana area, I had a small feeling of having missed something. I've been obsessed with New York City's Hotel Chelsea in its punk-rock heyday for a long time. When artists and musicians and writers roamed the neighborhood, stood on balconies, painted buildings and walls and streets to display their proud ownership and existence. I think that's how Lapa lives. Proudly, marked in the colorful graffiti of ownership. Where feeling everything is the objective and living the byproduct.
Lapa gave us laughs. It connected us in a shared moment of “survival” – real or imagined. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything but I’ll wander back to Lapa someday – to give the city a fair shake. Maybe hidden behind those doors with too many locks is a Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen or Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin. Maybe it’s just a young professional like myself, struggling to jive with the daily grind. Lapa’s possibilities feel endless.
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