The Garden of Delights in Botafogo
I lived in an apartment with a small terrace that looked like a forest. But as if all the foliage and pots of flowers weren't enough, one day I decided to plant pumpkins. Pumpkins, you may know, are creeping plants that need a lot of space to grow and bear fruit. So I decided to make a bamboo trellis through which they could spread freely, without taking up all the remaining space on the terrace. But where could I get bamboo in the South Zone of Rio? This project, like so many others, remained in the back of my mind, waiting for the right moment to put it into practice.
On one of those sunny Saturdays, I was having breakfast sitting at the kitchen counter, admiring the Mundo Novo hill from the window. Mundo Novo, for those who don't know it, is a hill that separates Botafogo from Laranjeiras. It still has a lot of vegetation. In some parts of the streets that wind up the hill, the tall trees, the vines that hang from the top, the rocks that still remain, covered in moss and with streams of water flowing from I don't know where, give the impression that you've gone through a time tunnel and back to old Rio. Very exotic.
Like so many other hills in Rio, Mundo Novo suffers from a dual personality. On the slope facing Botafogo there are mansions and upper-middle class houses embedded in the forest. As you go up the hill, these mansions give way to other simpler, poorly maintained houses. Right at the top, at the turn towards Laranjeiras, a slum begins. It was while I was admiring the parakeets, which were flying around between the woods of Mundo Novo and the trees on the plot of land next to my building, that I realized I could finally start planting pumpkins: on the slopes of the hill in front of me grew majestic clumps of bamboo, which were patiently awaiting my visit! That very morning, I asked my ex-boyfriend for help and together we set off on our bamboo hunt.
We walked slowly up the street that stretches from the base of the hill to its top, while carefully examining each plant that rose above the walls of the plots. As we entered the second part of the hill, the one with the lower middle class and poorly maintained houses, with residents who form a real community, the interesting part of the street began. Sitting by the windows of the houses, or standing next to the gates, we could see the elderly residents, who idled away their spare time admiring the movement of the street. We asked them one by one if they had bamboo in their gardens. Finally, a little lady said yes, and I explained my project to her. She immediately invited us in. We walked through her house until we reached the garden at the back of the property. The house was a small labyrinth, but the garden was magnificent. Immense.
In the garden next to the house, she proudly showed us her pumpkin patch. This was followed by other small beds, which she weeded all day. Then came a long stretch of bare earth, followed by a low wall separating the highest part of the land, where the bamboo thickets were. At the end of the plot, a very high stone wall bordered the road that snaked up the hill. With a sly look on her face, she sat down on the low wall and hugged her turkey. The pair of turkeys, she told us, were there to look after the security of the house, as they were ruthless with trespassers, but very tame with those at home. However, the male turkey in front of me was shaking his jowls menacingly, gobbling loudly and ruffling all his feathers, while examining me with an attentive eye.
She then took a machete and cut three bamboo poles that seemed perfect for my project. On the way back, she picked up some vegetables, lemons and a pumpkin to give to me. The visit went on and on without us knowing how to say goodbye without being rude. Poor thing, she must have been lonely! When we entered her house again, she insisted that we have a coffee or a glass of water. Although the kindness was great, I was beginning to feel like a prisoner.
Her early smiles now gave way to an unchanging expression, her insistent gaze resting on us. Her husband soon appeared in the living room, with a couple of grown-up children and a daughter-in-law. Suddenly the air in the house had changed. The younger ones looked at us seriously. Suspicious? With the hairs on my arms bristling, I looked at my ex and said, "Come on, Tan, it's about time we got home. My father must be worried by now. I grabbed the bag with the vegetables and the bamboos and started walking towards the front door. The elderly couple followed us, insisting that it was still early. They asked if we wanted any more vegetables. They told us we could come back whenever we wanted. When we finally passed the exit door, I turned back and saw their little faces, one above the other, tucked into the narrow gap between the doorway and the door, watching us with a fixed, enigmatic gaze. I went down the slope with my heart pounding and the impression that, this time, John and Mary had managed to escape from the witch's house.
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