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Chapter Five

Darien

O n account of getting thrown onto a new flight two weeks before my mother to reach Rio in time for training, there’s no one to keep me awake on the plane. I sleep through most of my trip in the cushy cabin, but my eyes flutter open to breakfast. This is perfect because, as I eat, I get to watch us begin the stunning descent into Rio de Janeiro.

We soar over the expansive city, so close, yet so high up. I make out the beaches of Copacabana, dotted with umbrellas, the psychedelic mosaic sidewalks of Ipanema and Leblon, where all the hotels stretch up to the sky and the rich tourists do their shopping and bar-hopping. Just past it, I can see Rocinha, the biggest favela in Rio, a mishmash of brightly coloured buildings perched precariously all over a massive hill – my mother’s home. And the backdrop to it all, our national park, Tijuca, with its seemingly never-ending greenery, climbing upwards till it reaches a peak, where Christ the Redeemer stands, arms wide.

It’s the best welcome I could ask for.

We touch down at Rio de Janeiro International Airport in Gale?o. I don’t actually enter the airport; stairs are folded out from the plane, and I’m shepherded down them by several security guards.

‘It’s good, man,’ I try to tell one on my way out, but he just shakes his head, stern-faced. Funny, the security is never this tight in the Euro countries. I don’t think all the people putting it in travellers’ heads that Rio is one of the most dangerous cities in the world are doing Brazil any favours. Either way, I know how to get around here much better than anyone on my detail, so escaping their clutches won’t be hard.

We get out of the airport unscathed using a deserted back gate. My car will be in the garage of my Santa Teresa house, not far from the neighbourhood where I grew up. I offered to let M?e use my house when she’s here, but she stays in our old one, telling me I’m grown and need my own space. Truthfully, I know that’s partly bullshit. Other than me and the Chevy, the house is all that’s really left of my dad. M?e keeps her distance from the memories all year, but the break is her chance to feel close to Pai again, even if it’s only for a moment.

Before I know it, the driver has pulled our black Porsche right up to my front gates and scanned in, the journey quick due to the clever route he took to get here. The fact that there are no fans around is really refreshing. Of course, I love them, but sometimes it’s worth lying to the media about your date of arrival to get a day’s peace. I’ll let myself drown in a sea of hats, posters and driver cards tomorrow, when training at the new facility will begin, and my team will place a new weight on my shoulders. For now, I’m afforded some semblance of calm in this place.

Santa Teresa is on a hilltop. All the roads here are very curvy and very narrow. We are beautifully untouched; our town never quite left the nineteenth century. We have the only tram in the city that still operates, canary yellow paint peeling just slightly, but charm still fully intact. My childhood here plays out in my mind like a dream. Santa Teresa is so stunning it’s surreal, like someone has drawn this caricature of a small town nestled in a crazy city and thrown me into it. I could have chosen a place anywhere in Rio, but nothing will ever top Santa Teresa for me. Even San Francisco can’t match it. This will always be home.

I feel that the moment I enter my house. It’s not much flashier than anywhere else in town. One floor, white plaster walls, arched windows, a roof of curved terracotta tiles. It bakes during the day and simmers at night. I kick off my Sambas once I’m inside, and slip on the well-worn pair of flip-flops lying on the tiled floor. It’s just the way I left it from summer break; even the houseplants look the same. Granted, they’re fake because I’m away half the time, but it matters to me. This house is my order among the chaos, my safe haven, my breathing space.

I collapse into my armchair with such force that I’m surprised the shawl draped across the back of it doesn’t fall right off. I close my eyes, and I listen. I relish how distant the chatter, the beeping of the horns, and the rattling tram are. Here, it’s just the faint rustle of the leaves, the chirping of birds rarer than a blue moon.

And, apparently, the loud default ringing of my phone.

I groan and roll over to grab my phone from the coffee table. Tranquillity never lasts long. The call is, of course, from my trainer. I love Celina Valdez to death, but in this moment, I want to throw her phone in one of Rio’s many lakes and make sure it never sees the light of day again.

‘ Tudo bem! ’ Celina chirps the second I hit the green accept button. ‘I’ve been practising. Tell me that was good.’

‘It was good.’

‘Perfect. Then hit me with a reply.’

‘Well, foi beleza , until you disturbed my peace …’ I drawl sarcastically.

‘I don’t know what that means, but thank you. I love to hear that I’m excelling at my job,’ Celina shoots right back. ‘Just calling to make sure you’re aware that tomorrow’s centre orientation begins at eight a.m. sharp. It’s a brand-new facility. Let’s be on time, yes?’

‘Sure.’

‘So no partying.’

I should have seen that one coming. As much as I loved the calm of my corner of Santa Teresa, there was something about the party scene, most likely the sense of anonymity that went with a roomful of inebriated clubbers, strobe lights, and smog. I could have a good time without scrutiny or recognition (which, unfortunately, wouldn’t be happening again anytime soon).

‘Where’s this complex, again?’ I cleverly gloss over Celina’s unpopular directive.

She makes a disapproving sound. ‘Not far from some area called Urca. It’s a wonderful location.’

Celina is right about that. The views from the track will be crazy. Spaces near Ipanema get to be ridiculously crammed with tourists, but Urca is typically much less congested and can be much more low-key. Heidelberg seems to have made a wise decision.

‘Great. I’ll be there at eight.’

‘You will.’ My trainer’s proclamation sounds almost like a threat. Like I said, I can’t help loving her. ‘Because if not, you’ll have worse people to deal with than just me.’