12/19: Mexico City's Powerful Museum of Memory and Tolerance

Some of you already know that Steven and I met in Mexico, on St. Patrick's Day of 1981, in what was then the small town of Zihuatenejo, on the Pacific Coast when he was vacationing from Denver and I was there from Ottawa, Canada. Over the course of just four days, we fell in love after meeting while waiting to exchange money in a long line in a small bank. Before I left him to return to Canada, we talked about my moving to Denver or his moving to Ottawa and he gave me a lovely gold chain he had bought while living in Iran and I wear to this day! It sounds like a crazy story you would only see in a Hallmark movie but, less than a year later and after a significant health issue on my part, we married and I really did move to Denver! We never dreamt all those years ago that we'd be so incredibly fortunate traveling so far and so long after we retired and our four wonderful children were grown.

I mentioned all that because here I am finally writing about Mexico City, our last stop on our trip to South America that began way back on September 6th in Panama City. It was sad to know our fantastic trip was coming to an end in a couple of days but also wonderful to think we'd soon be back on home turf with family and friends in Denver. The previous day had been a long travel one, flying from Rio de Janeiro to Bogota, Colombia and then landing in Mexico's capital city too late other than collapse at our hotel located in the heart of downtown. 

As we strolled from our hotel, the first thing we saw was Plaza Santos Degollado, which looked like the entrance to the city's Chinatown, the last thing I ever imagined would be in Mexico City!

All along the major thoroughfare were bright red poinsettias marking the Christmas season.

We wandered into the massive Alameda Central Park that looked so inviting first thing in the morning with the fountain, statues and pretty pathways. The park, created in the late 1500s by mandate of Viceroy Luis de Velasco, took its name from the álamos or poplars planted in the park. By the late 19th century, the park was graced with European-style statuary and lit by gas lamps. It became the place to be for the city's elite.

In the park was the magnificent Neoclassical monument that commemorated the Mexican statesman Benito Juárez.

The park was a treat, an added bonus if you will, before visiting  the thought-provoking Museum of Memory and Tolerance across the street. The museum was created fifteen years ago by two women to raise awareness of intolerance and the horrors of genocide.

The focus of the museum was on the genocides that have occurred in Armenia, Hitler's Germany, Cambodia, Darfur, Guatemala, Rwanda and Bosnia. The word 'genocide' was first coined by Polish lawyer Raphäel Lemkin in 1944 in his book Axis Rule in Occupied Europe. It's defined as the deliberate killing of a large group of people, especially those of a particular ethnic group or nation. 

The graphics in the museum related how the first genocide took place with the rise of power in Germany following World War I with six million unemployed people and a sense of hopelessness in the country. Hitler took advantage of this and published his book Mein Kampf in which he laid out his ideology and divided humanity into superior and inferior races.

Just two months after taking power, Hitler had absolute control over Germany. Sadly, we all know too well what transpired in such a short time with the persecuted minorities in Germany and much of the rest of Europe in the space of just a few years.

The Nazis created one of history's most effective propaganda 'machines,' believing that a lie repeated a thousand ties becomes the truth according to Paul Joseph Goebbels, the Minister of Propaganda. The regime took total control of newspapers, theaters and the education system to convince the German people of their racial superiority and to propagate their racist ideology.

The flow of events in the Holocaust section was heartbreaking.

Stepping into a train car used to transport Jews, Romas, political prisoners and other targeted group to the concentration camps brought chills down my spine as I imagined the horrors of people who had been herded like cattle.

We read anew about thousands of people who died in the 400 ghettos that were built. Two million people were crammed into the largest one in Warsaw, in an area meant for just 200,000 people. Steven and I toured Warsaw and much of Poland several years ago and had visited what had been the ghetto. Being at the museum brought those memories flooding back.

The museum stated that Jews' and other prisoners' first encounter with the concentration camps began with a glance by guards who decided who would live and who would die. Nazis told the latter group they could take a disinfectant shower and that's how they were able to prevent rebellion.

For all the time we've spent visiting concentration camps and Holocaust Museums throughout what was formerly Eastern Europe and also in Israel, I hadn't remembered learning about the death marches that occurred near the end of the war. The museum described how Germans decided to evacuate prisoners from camps to the center of Germany as their aim was not to leave any witnesses and evidence of their widespread killing policies. Half of those who survived the camps just ten days before the end of the war died on the marches. 

One of the most gripping displays was this one which pictured the faces of some so-called committed people, those who decided to help and save lives of those who were persecuted. They, of course, risked their safety, well-being and lives for others. Click on the photo to make it bigger so you can see how few faces are turned forward - those represented the committed people.

 Those people with their backs turned represented the majority of citizens who were indifferent to injustice or not brave enough to become committed. It made us search our souls and wonder, if faced with that same harrowing situation, would we be committed ones or turn our backs? I pray none of us will face that terrible 'what if' situation.

Beyond the historical experience and recounting of the horrific crimes perpetrated by the Nazis, the museum succeeded in giving the prisoners a face and reminded us that each one had lives, hopes, stories and dreams before so many were snuffed out.

Following the Holocaust, the prevailing belief was 'Never Again,' a promise that such atrocities could and would never happen again because people in all nations were so horrified at what had happened. Exhibits on a lower level made clear that so many genocides have continued since WWII including in Cambodia, Darfur, Guatemala and more. 

What happened to the Armenians in 1915 at the hands of the Turks was the antecedent of the term 'genocide.' The Armenians, the first Christian people in the world, numbered about two million in the early years of the 20th century. Hundreds of thousands were killed by the Turks on death marches as a result of hunger and exhaustion. A further 1.5 million Armenians were exterminated. In less than two months, Steven and I will be starting our next long trip. After a few days in Paris, we'll spend a week in Armenia where I hope to learn far more about that tragic chapter in the country's history. 

The exhibit on the genocide that took place in Rwanda explained that it is generally thought for genocide to take place, there needs to be ancestral hatreds and differences. That wasn't the case in Rwanda where, despite sharing a single people, religion and culture, hatred and prejudice still occurred when a Rwandan colonel, with the approval of the ruling Belgian government, installed a new racial order. The Tutsis were considered to be akin to Europeans but with black skin. Social divisions became racial divisions from then on.

When the Hutu-controlled government became independent from Belgium in 1962, the Hutus wanted the total elimination of all Tutsis; thus began the genocide of 80,000 Tutsis in fewer than 100 days before the UN became involved. It is estimated that between eight hundred thousand and one million people were murdered in a war that the UN could have prevented if they hadn't ignored reports of the officials on the ground to send more troops. Rwanda is still seeking justice and is in a process of reconciliation.

We were all too familiar with what transpired in the former Yugoslavia, having spent quite a bit of time in each of the former republics a few years ago, following the disintegration of the country after the death of its leader, Josip Broz Tito, the fall of Communism and severe economic problems. Ethnic cleansing took place of all non-Serbians in 1991.

Steven and I like to think we have kept up with current affairs and world events but sadly we were both totally ignorant of what transpired in Guatemala when one hundred thousand indigenous Mayans were murdered by the army in the 34-year long conflict from 1962-1996.  Nearly fifty percent of the country's population has Mayan roots and they were victims of social and economic marginalization by a dictatorial and repressive government.

On our first overseas trip together in 2013, we learned of the genocide perpetrated by Cambodian Pol Pot's regime from 1975-79 after tens of thousands of the country's citizens were displaced by US bombings to eliminated the North Vietnamese in 1970. The Khmer Rouge took advantage of the displaced people to seize power, eliminating all private property and banned all religious institutions. 1.7 million men, women and children, most belonging to religious minorities, were assassinated by Pol Pot. Visiting the Killing Fields and execution sites still haunts me to this day.

Learning more about the genocide taking place right then in Darfur, a region in Sudan in North Africa was particularly difficult as it brought home the fact that once again nothing had been learned since the Holocaust and all the subsequent genocides that have taken place all over the world in the last 72 years. 

The war in Sudan began in 2003 when rebel groups began fighting the government, which they accused of oppressing Darfur's non-Arab population.Four hundred thousand Sudanese have been systematically murdered by the government who responded to attacks by carrying out a campaign of ethnic cleansing against Darfur's non-Arabs. 

It would be easy to make the 'Memory' section of the museum a very emotional guilt trip to what we humans do and have done to others. Nevertheless, the museum didn't succumb to this temptation. As someone stated much better than I could, "it was presented in a way that will make you become an active member of a group that has recognized that indifference is at the core of the self-inflicted calamities in world history."

The other section of the museum dealt with 'Tolerance' which was defined as to respect, understand and appreciate the diversity of all people. Laudable goals, perhaps, but with a museum such as this one in Mexico City, we may be one step closer.

Both Steven and I were emotionally wrung out after spending so much time in the other part of the museum, we didn't derive as much from the tolerance section as we would have if we'd started there. 

I  cannot overstate how impressed I was with this museum. I can't remember any other museum informing its visitors in such profound ways of the suffering endured on our world. The museum didn't just 'give' information to the public but rather helped raise our awareness to the most pressing problem we humans have: our 'human' nature. If you visit Mexico City, I urge you to set aside a couple of hours exploring its Museo Memoria y Tolerancia - you'll be glad you did.

I had planned to include far more of our day in Mexico City but writing this post has done me in. I want to save the rest of our day for the next post! 

Next post: More of exciting and enjoyable Mexico City!

Posted on June 20th, 2018, from Santa Fe, New Mexico, a day away from home!

12/17: Our Final Hurrah in Rio: Famous Churches & Iconic Ipanema & Copacabana Beaches!

Let me apologize for the almost total absence of photos in this post. I didn't realize until a couple of days ago when I opened it up and noticed barely any of the photos I took on December 17th had, for some reason, been loaded in this post. Believe me, I am so bummed not to have any photographic record of the majority of our last day in Rio and Brazil!

We started off our last day in Rio, a Sunday, fittingly enough at Mosteiro de São Bento, the oldest church in Rio and one of the finest colonial churches in all of Brazil. It was founded in 1590 by Benedict monks, whose Order of Saint Benedict received from the Portuguese crown the possession of the hill it was built on. The order then baptized the hill as St. Benedict. As you may recall from my first post,  the old downtown of Rio grew up on four hills. Only St. Benedict Hill and Conception Hill have survived because the two others were destroyed during the 20th century. 

When we climbed the hill to the monastery, I remembered what they say about not judging a book by its cover as the church looked attractive, but not too impressive as we walked up to the entrance. However, once we stepped inside, we were blown away by the beautiful intricate work and gold everywhere. The high arched ceiling, alcoves and statuary were stunning and well worth the walk up the hill. 

We had made a point of going to São Bento that morning to be there for the 10 am Mass being sung in Latin by the friars. The scent of incense was so strong we could even smell it as we entered the courtyard! It was so warm inside that many parishioners were fanning themselves with church bulletins. Because we had arrived too late, there was standing room only still available. Neither of us minded as it meant we could admire even more the sacred art and the gold, gold & more gold covering intricate carvings from our vantage point at the back. Thirty friars participated in the Mass including one much older one that was pushed in a wheelchair. The priests also run a school which is said to be one of the best in the city. Despite the large crowd attending Mass, the church was still a welcome island of beauty, silence and introspection.

Several days ago, we had stopped by the Igreja da Candelária but it had been closed so we returned in the hope it was also open on the Sunday morning. These photos were from our first visit to the grand Italianate temple that had long been the church for high-society citizens of Rio. 

The quasi-legendary history about the establishment of the church is that in the beginning of the 17th century a ship called Candelária almost sank during a storm on the sea. Upon arriving in Rio de Janeiro, a Portuguese couple, António Martins Palma and Leonor Gonçalves sponsored the building of a small chapel, fulfilling the oath they made during the storm. This small chapel, dedicated to Our Lady of Candelária, was built around 1609.

Built between 1775 and 1894, the church was modeled on Lisbon's Basilica de Estrela, a church I've just added to our sights to see in Lisbon when we're there for five nights in December this year. The marble for the stunning tile floor had been shipped from Verona, Italy. I was so glad the church was open this time so we could admire the beautiful painted ceiling, the leather seats and the nautical themes throughout.

 Directly in front of the church seemed to be an unusual location for this nude sculpture, don't you think?

 As we walked through more of downtown Rio to the metro, it was sad that homelessness was a large part of life in the city center. It was a fact we couldn't escape from as was the intense stench of urine. Conversely, each of the metro stations was immaculately clean and we saw no signs of any graffiti at any of the stations or in any of the cars. 

We couldn't leave Rio without spending time at the famous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches so we took the metro to Ipanema first. There we walked around the Hippie Fair in General Osório Square. The Sunday-only street market had stalls that featured items like clothing, leather goods, art and jewelry. We had a blast wandering around the Feira Hippie as it was the perfect place to look for some  mementos of our trip to Brazil. Though who know us are familiar with how crowded the walls of our home are with pictures, paintings and even wall hangings from our adventures around the world. Now, one of the walls has a small painting that will always remind us of our time in Rio!

We were both antsy to get to the beach so we didn't dilly dally much longer and walked the few blocks to the Ipanema beach where it looked like half of Rio was spending their Sunday afternoon! For about ten bucks, we rented an umbrella and a couple of beach chairs from a fellow who set them up for us in one of the few empty spots. Without being asked, he made sure to put our backpacks around the chairs so there was no chance of their walking off as Steven's shoes, glasses, etc had done back in Valparaiso, Chile a while back!

We hadn't come to swim but to just 'be' there at the beach and take in the scenes around us. No one had to go hungry or thirsty or lack anything much while on the beach because every couple of minutes someone would wander by selling snacks, drinks, cigarettes, sunglasses, sarongs - you name it, it could be purchased without moving from the comfort of our chairs! I remember the air being redolent of dope being smoked or 'inhaled' as per Bill Clinton! We had books with us but neither of us read much, content with taking in the nonstop activity around us. 

I read that on any given summer weekend, which was when we were there, up to a half-million Rio residents, known as cariocas, and tourists descend on the beaches and streets of Ipanema and Copacabana. On New Year's Eve, more than three million people take to the streets and the sand to take in the new year!

After a long while, we wandered down the sidewalk adjacent to the beach where we eventually came across the famous Girl from Ipanema statue. I so wish I could show you the photo I took of it. The statue was based on the song written by poet Vinicius de Moraes and composer Antonio Carlos Jobim as an homage to a beautiful teenager called Heloisa Pinheiro who, on her way to the beach, passed the cafe where the men often met for an afternoon beer. I had heard of the song made famous by Frank Sinatra so it was so neat seeing the statue that has captivated so many! 

In the late afternoon, we walked toward Arpoador, a massive rock dividing the iconic Ipanema and Copacabana beaches, and the main sunset spot people come to in Rio. It was so much fun clambering over the rock and taking in the gorgeous views of the setting sun. We continued walking toward Copacabana beach, marveling at the wave-patterned mosaic pavement on the way.

It was a fun walk to Copacabana as we could see people playing beach volleyball and a game called footvolley played entirely with the head and feet. All along the beach from Ipanema to Arpoador and ending at Copacabana were a series of twelve postos, concrete bunkers that served more than just lifeguard stations. The postos were like small 'neighborhoods' of bathers, each congregating in its own social type or groups - gays, couples, families, teenagers and so on. All along, beach side kiosks, cafes and stall after stall selling all manner of souvenirs were constant lures for us to stop and look and take out eyes off the beach. The day which had started out with peace and serenity from visiting two marvelous churches ended with our having having a blast on two of the country's most famous beaches. It seemed like the perfect way to say goodbye to Rio and Brazil and on to our last stop of our three plus month adventure to South America,

Next stop: A whirlwind tour of Mexico City.

Posted on June 15th, 2018, from stormy Grayton Beach on Florida's Panhandle.

12/16: A Walk Back in Time on Rio's Ilha de Paquetá

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After getting an engrossing and somewhat alarming one-on-one tour of Rio's largest favela, Rocinha, Steven and I needed something lighthearted to visit for the rest of the day. Ilha de Paquetá, a popular tourist spot in the Baía de Guanabara, sounded like it would be an ideal escape from the city’s bustle and the morning's events. Knowing that, because of its size and the fact that it is accessible only by boat, Paquetá was one of the safest places in Rio with virtually no crime was especially important then, too! 

Luckily, it was very easy to take the metro downtown, then walk past the Imperial Palace on the Praça XV that we'd toured on our first day to the ferry terminal. We couldn't believe how fortunate we were when we happened to arrive there just ten minutes before the ferry left at 2:30 as the next ferry wouldn't have left for another 90 minutes!

A view of Sugarloaf in the distance:

A ferry returning from Ilha de Paquetá:

The Baía de Guanabara was where you may remember the 2016 Olympic sailing and rowing events took place.

The bridge across the bay to Niteroi was one of the longest I could remember seeing.

An oil platform likely?

The very pleasant ride across the bay took 75 minutes.

Some history of  Paquetá courtesy of Wikipedia! Up to the end of the 15th century, the Tamoio Indians used Paquetá as hunting and living grounds. It was officially registered by the Frenchman André Thevet in December, 1555, and acknowledged by King Henri II as a French discovery in 1556. Together with Paranapuã Island, Paquetá was one of the main centers of French resistance to Portuguese occupation. While the French had the Tamoios as their allies, the Temiminós Indians led by Araribóia supported the Portuguese.

The Portuguese victory was consolidated with the expulsion of the French and the defeat of the Tamoios. Paquetá was then divided into two allotments assigned to settlers; the one now called Campo was given to Inácio de Bulhões and the Ponte area to Fernão Valdez. Apparently the characteristics of this division between Campo and Ponte were still evident in the island's festivities, in soccer matches and in the parade of dancing and singing groups during Carnival.

The ferry we had come on was the Ipanema, named after one of the world's most famous beaches, and which we looked forward to exploring the next day.

I bet this 'Christmas tree' would have been pretty when illuminated at night!

The island was an auto-free zone so travel was limited to bicycles, bicycle rickshaws and horse-drawn carriages. We chose none of those options as we'd been around so many people for days on end, preferring to wander by ourselves and content with whatever we came across.

While walking around the small town we were both entranced by the proliferation of colorful flowers. 

I almost got hit taking this photo as I wasn't paying attention to where I was. Oops!

What an adorable and happy mural, unlike some we'd seen earlier in Rocinha that commented on the favela's struggles.

Since my camera had gone kaput way back, I only had my phone camera to take all these photos. The telephoto lens, sadly, wasn't strong enough to capture the birds atop the rock who, as long as we looked, didn't move one iota. I was sure that they were sculptures until Steven persuaded me otherwise!

Most of Paquetá’s houses dated from the beginning of the 20th century, but there were some older buildings dating from the early 1700's, all of them well preserved. 

Along this beach was Tamoios' Park and an old cannon from the beginning of the 19th century that was used to salute the arrival of Prince Regent Joao to the island.

We found a very quiet spot along the waterfront, a good distance from the town, where I read and Steven played solitaire on his iPad, both happy to relax and take in the beauty around us. I loved hearing a departing ship's horn in the distance knowing we were in no rush to leave.

After a good while, I got antsy wanting to explore more of the island so we ended up walking down a dirt road that took us to the beach on the other side of the tiny island.

Our selfie taken on the pier seemed a world away from the gunfire we'd heard twice just a few hours ago in the favela.

I loved this shot of the colorful paddle boats waiting to be rented for a spin in the bay. Unfortunately, the water surrounding the island was polluted, so we couldn't swim there. 

We strolled to the end of the boardwalk through gates to Parque Darke de Mattos, a park that was as pretty as it gets. We found a bench to sit on but, all too soon, a man came by to let us know the park was closing so we needed to leave. What a shame as we thought we'd found another slice of heaven on earth.

It was fascinating how the portico had been built around a famous baobab tree called Maria Gorda or Fat Mary which residents kiss for luck. Paquetá's twenty baobabs, a type of African tree, were the only ones in the country beside one in the public square in Fortaleza in northeastern Brazil. The baobab is the national tree of Madagascar, a country on our wish list of those we'd love to see. The trees were brought by African priests and planted in specific places for the worship of African religions. According to an old African legend, if one is buried inside a baobab, his soul will live while the plant lives. It and many other specimens of 100-year old trees were registered and protected by law. 

It's safe to say that never in our lives had either of us ever seen a tree protected by a hand-crocheted cover! I could only wonder who had taken the time to make it and why!

As we meandered back to what constituted as the 'town,' we passed  a huge get together near the beach. The food grilling on the BBQs smelled so delicious, I wished we'd been invited to enjoy it!

After getting some street food across from the pier, we had enough time to visit the Catholic church called Paróquia Senhor Bom Jesus do Monte before our ferry left at 7.

I only had a few minutes to take these pictures of the Christmas celebration about to take place at the church.

I was hesitant to take the photo of the Three Wise Men but, one of them, Balthazar, was so friendly and said in perfect English, they welcomed my photo as Mass hadn't yet begun. How I wished we could have stayed for Mass that evening but we needed to return to Rio.

A last view of the beautiful church and the harbor on Ilha de Paquetá. Our time on the island was like going back in time and was a delightful refuge from the nonstop crowds and horrendous traffic we had come to associate with Rio.

Seeing the spectacular sunset on the ferry ride back to Rio, we were glad we hadn't taken the earlier ferry  as originally planned. 

As we enjoyed one of the most beautiful sunsets we'd ever experienced, we couldn't help but reflect on that part of our tour of the favela that morning when we'd heard gunfire. We remembered how Zezinho, our private tour guide, had said people just knew from experience to lie down on the floor when gunfire transpired. 

We felt badly for Zezinho as he had been far more concerned than we had been about letting us down after assuring us, just 48 hours before, we'd be safe. Once the gunfire erupted, he later confessed he wondered if something might happen when he spotted the SWAT team. We remarked to each other how little faith Zezinho seemed to have in the police who had gone after drug dealers when they escaped in the favela's alleyways. We didn't live his life but I thought I could begin to understand his philosophy.

This image brought to my mind some of the fabulous 18th and 19th century nature paintings we'd seen in museums. 

We got back to the center of Rio about 8:30 and were so surprised how desolate the area was on a Saturday evening. Not a person was around except for a significant homeless population who had already sought a quiet place for the night. I had hoped to grab an ice cream cone but the only place around had just closed for the night - so sad to end such an intriguing day without ice cream!

Next post: Visiting the sacred Mosteiro de São Bento and the marveling the famous Ipanema and Copcabana beaches!

Posted on June 12th, 2018, on a very stormy day from Grayton Beach State Park on Florida's Panhandle.