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About Rio de Janeiro

So, picture this—dim lights, oil slicker’n a pirate’s promise. Hands dancin’ like them gals in Lynch’s flick—mysterious, yeah? “What’s it mean?” I mutter, like Naomi Watts whisperin’ secrets. Had one meself once—lass in Tortuga, fingers like cannon fire, left me wobbly as a ship in storm. Happy? Bloody ecstatic, mate! Surprised too—didn’t know me toes could tingle like that.

School Clinic

Every corner bursts with character, every brick speaks.

Vinicius Coimbra on Globo’s Big New Play, Post-Colonial Telenovela ‘Novo Mundo’