Every week a sad surprise,
Revolving around a territory that doesn’t exist,
A brown and green shading on a paper map.
Where are the mountains?
Where is Mato Grosso? Ceará? Rio de Janeiro?
Page 123. “Catholic priests entered the fracas on the side of the students. On Sunday, April 21, John, two of our photographers and I attended a mass for student martyrs held at the Church of Candelária downtown. After the mass was over a dozen priests, led by their bishop, locked their arms and led a column of more than 2,000 student worshipers through the main portal into Pio X Square. We walked alongside the procession.”
[Church of Candelaria, from Wikimedia]
Page 127: “After our drinks we left the Olimpia, lollygagging our way,
patently lovers, through the dark streets of Lapa. It was fall; I was
shivering slightly. John put his arm around my shoulders while he
waited with me for the bonde.”
[The Bonde, arriving at its station in Lapa, from Panoramio]
Page 128. “John got into the Beetle taxi gracefully, more gracefully than I managed. We arrived at the northern end of Avenida Atlântica still undecided where to go, when John spotted the Ouro Verde Hotel.”