A riot of colours in Rio

Borneo Post

6 days ago

Every step tells a story – the world leaves its colours on Jorge Selarón's dream staircase in Rio de Janeiro.
RIO was never in my bucket list of places I must visit.
But when I was invited by Xinhua News Agency (China news agency) to attend 'BRICS Media and Think Tank Summit', I readily accepted amidst the many voices from well- meaning friends – it's a long, tiring journey of 30 hours!
So, my first impression of Rio was not of monuments or history books, but of the long-haul flights to reach there.
There is no regret. Who will, when Rio impresses you with colours which are bold, unashamed that spill into every street corner, like a samba line that refuses to end?
From the moment I stepped into Ipanema's famous Hippie Market on a Sunday afternoon, I realised that here, even doing business was a celebration.
So, that's why Bernard, my tour guide insisted that I should make a visit there!
Colour fabrics flutter in the cool breezes like carnival flags.
Afro-Brazillian beadwork glitters under the sun.
There were artists making their sketches with colours and oil.
Tourists and locals joined in as part of the performances.
Each stall is a curated personality – a man selling colourful hammocks weaves stories with each swing of fabric; a woman with arms full of bangles plays matchmaker between her necklaces and my indecisiveness.
Nearby, children clap and adults cheer.
I stand awed – no this is not a market, this is not a market; this is the colours, the sight, the smell, the sense and the touch of Rio.
I am glad I am here.
It reminds me of our weekend 'tamu' in Sarawak and Sabah. But where our markets speak in whispers of dried shrimps and jungle herbs, Rio's sings in colours, rhythm and flamboyance.
Everything here is tuned up a notch – or two, or 10.
Earlier, Bernard took me to Santa Teresa.
Trams operate in this beautiful neighbourhood carrying tourists and locals uphill. It is a place with its history in layers of peeling paint and graffiti.
In its slow pace, it allows passengers time to admire the scenes: old mansions with rusted gates, walls tattooed with art, bougainvillea vines plotting a quiet rebellion.
Santa Teresa is Rio's thoughtful sigh. After the drumbeat of Ipanema, this hilltop district feels like a long exhale.
A place where poets might drink black coffee, while cats nap under a painter's easel.
There are bookstores with dusty charm, small galleries with giant ambitions.
In a busy cafe, I enjoyed the heart and soul of Brazilian comfort food, 'Feijoada'.
It came with slow-cooked black beans, smoky sausages and tender pork, which had a whole lot of flavour.
This national treasure, in its local way, came with rice, farofa, and orange slices.
I took my time… but Feijoada took my heart; the waiter became my friend before the bill arrived.
Here, the city slows – not because it's tired, but because it is in deep thoughts.
From Santa Teresa, it's a short walk downhill to the famous Escadaria Selarón – the Lapa Steps.
If the market was Rio's voice and Santa Teresa its soul, then the Lapa Steps are its dreamscape.
Imagine 215 steps, tiled in every colour you can think of, each one a fragment of someone's memory or offering.
Chilean-born artist Jorge Selarón spent over two decades transforming this staircase into a global mosaic.
Red dominates, but look closer and you'll spot tiles from over 60 countries.
I did not find one from Malaysia, which Bernard said there was.
It's just too colourful that one would not care if those were from Malaysia, China or Japan.
This is not just a Brazilian landmark – it is the world's staircase, and we are all just passing through.
So, it does not really matter whether you spot one from your own country.
However, Selarón included portraits of a pregnant African woman throughout the steps.
It was not fully explained, saying only that it was part of his personal obsession.
In one of the tiles, he wrote in Portuguese, which is translated as:
'Ms. Elena, my lady.
'I want to apologise that in these past years, since I have been decorating the staircase, I have not been able to keep up with my rent.
'Thank you for your understanding.
'Selarón, 2000.'
I guess Elena has forgiven Selarón.
Tourists posed. Children danced. Musicians strummed. And I stood quietly, thinking about Selarón, who once said this was his 'tribute to the Brazilian people'.
What a gift! What a mad, wonderful dream to leave behind!
You don't just see Rio. You feel it, in your feet after walking its hills; in your heart after hearing its music; in your memory, long after the plane takes off and sends you home.
On the long journey home, I thought about how our own cities might feel if we celebrated life as openly as Rio does.
What if our Sunday markets were also Sunday festivals?
What if we allowed a little more music, a little more madness, into the grey routines of urban life?
When Portuguese explorers arrived at the Guanabara Bay on Jan 1, 1502, they mistakenly thought it was the mouth of a large river. So they named the place 'Rio' (river) 'de Janeiro' (of January).
In reality, it's a bay, not a river.
But the name stuck – and so we now have Rio de Janeiro!
Rio de Janeiro isn't perfect. But it is alive.
And that's something we could all use a little more of.