Hot Wax

I’m on my last few days in Brazil (for now anyway). Shortly, I shall head back to London for my friend Andrea’s wedding preparations. Specifically the making her wedding cake - a three tier lemon sponge creation she’s picked from a magazine. Thankfully it’s not too complicated. (I have a habit, when confronted with the joyous news that one of my best friends has reached the holy grail of true love, of immediately opening another bottle in celebration and then offering to make the cake for the big day.)

Before I leave Rio I had hoped to seek out a boxing school for a few final rounds of training and a chance to try wrestling without a Gi. Specifically at a place called Luta Pela Pez, (Fight For Peace) situated in a favela and set up to channel the energies of young people living in the slum into a more productive outlet. Their website bares the saddening statistics that violence, primarily associated with firearms, is responsible for 59% of deaths of young people between the ages of 14 and 19 in Rio de Janeiro. In 2000, across the state of Rio, 6,218 people aged under 25 were killed by firearms. What’s even more tragic is that of these 609 were aged just 7 or less. Luta Pela Pez endeavours to alter these statistics by investing in young people and providing training.

Sadly, it seems that time is against me and this time around I won’t be able to make it there. However, with this and my samba school still on the ‘must do in Rio list’ I may make another stop here on my way to or from the Caribbean at Christmas.

There are many things for which Brazil is famous. With little interest in football I’ve been able to experience some of those less well known as well as the popular tourist traps. The highlights have to include the breathtaking scenery of Paraty and the city of Rio, the kindness and friendly approach of the locals in Tabares Bostos, the skill and agility of the Capoeira and Ju Jitsu fighters I’ve encountered, the hidden gems - both people and places and the fantastic food. Needless to say to try and take in even a fraction of Rio in just three weeks simply isn’t possible and I’m incredibly glad I have a return flight booked already.

So in the absence of any manly activity before leaving I decided to participate in one of the country’s most famous feminine exports. I could go into more detail here but I think today’s subject matter says enough and were I permanently based in a country where the smallest swim wear was de riguer the thorough, (yet mercifully swift) approach of the lady at the beauty salon might not have seemed quite so unfamiliar or in fact, invasive. But, needless to say now I can tick another Brazilian booty treatment off the list.