A far cry from Scotland

A full day, starting with a funeral (of an acquaintance, not a close friend, but I feel desperately sorry for his widow) in the beautiful Cemitério dos Ingleses (English Cemetery), which dates back to 1809 (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cemit%C3%A9rio_dos_Ingleses,_Gamboa). It's on a steep hill, shaded by old trees, whose roots are pushing up the paths, and probably some of the graves as well. The hill might well be helping to fill the cemetery up too - elderly people trekking up to a funeral could do with a chair lift. Another serious risk is Rio's oldest and possibly most violent favela, just the other side of a wall and overlooking it. I half expected bullets to start whistling round our heads. Tragically, deaths from stray bullets are a daily occurrence in this violent city, most particularly in the favelas, where bandits, often very young and high on drugs, wander round toting their weapons in full daylight and shoot-outs with the police are commonplace.
After the funeral, I waited in some trepidation for the tram, to take me back to the Metro station. The tram station felt far too deserted and exposed, so I stood opposite it by a taxi that was waiting for someone else who had been at the funeral.
The rest of the day was far more agreeable - a Queen's Birthday Party. An odd choice of menu - bangers, mash (sorry, purée) and steamed veg - particularly since it was cooked by a French chef. But the bangers were excellent, handmade from a Cumberland sausage menu obtained from a top chef in the UK. The party was organized by a close friend, the newly appointed Chair of the BCS (used to stand for the British Commonwealth Society, believe it's something different now). HH has known her since he first arrived in Brazil, when she was only 14, so we had to go, although we often avoid these events when they fall on a weekend. I'm glad we did, it was a great party and we knew practically everyone there. So good to see so many friends in one place at one time. The entertainment was first class, too - before lunch, the Pipe Band from the other side of the bay pretty much raised the roof (even though they were outside). Not a Scot among them, and most of them come from the favela. The photo's a cheat, as I asked a friend to take it, but couldn't do it myself. I'm in the middle, on the left, with the friend who teaches us all Scottish Country dancing, including the band when they come acorss the bay.
Also before lunch, we had beautiful music played by a renowed cellist and equally renowned pianist, followed by a magnificent solo rendering of 'Anthem', from 'Chess', sung by one of the lads who took part in our recent Shakespeare evening. I knew he was a professional actor, but not that he had such a wonderful, strong singing voice. Then on to some hilarious charades, and winding up with some 60s - 80s music from a band HH has occasionally played with.

I came away glowing from all the warmth and friendship, and thinking 'how could we ever return to the UK, where we have good friends, but all over the country, and try to make new friends in a new place, after all these years here'. People's lives seem far more scheduled and formal in the UK and by the time they get to our age, people have their established patterns and friends and don't want to bother with elderly newcomers. Besides, we'd be likely to lose our independence, with daughters telling us what to do, and our grandchildren would just see two old fogeys going steadily downhill - think we'd better keep our distance, maybe we can maintain the illusion that we're still in good shape :-)