I’m in a little paradise. My escape from the city to a remote place outside Teresopolis, two hours north of Rio de Janeiro. Here I’ve rented a room in the Vercosa family home to find some peace and escape the heat of the city. When I arrive by Uber, it is already raining cats and dogs. Google Maps has trouble finding the exact way to the house.

No road, no path seems to lead directly there. I get dropped off at a promising looking path, packed with groceries for the whole week. Unfortunately, it is the wrong path that leads me to the neighboring property, a pasture, on the other side of the fence. I’m soaking wet and my Uber is already on its way back. Being completely soaked with the backpack on my back reminds me a bit of my hike in New Zealand .

Since the fence proves to be insurmountable, I give in and make my way back to the road. In the pouring rain I soon find the entrance through an enchanted forest, which opens the way to the lush property with pool and pond.

Three dogs and a few cats live here. The owners let the wet poodle into their halls after a brief shout. We communicate in Portuguese, a language I haven’t spoken in many years. The joy of speaking it slowly returns to me. The son, Abel, helps me hang my wet clothes to dry, and the mother, Raquel, helps me stow the groceries.

Both of them like to talk. A good opportunity for me to practice. The very next morning we chat for hours about life in Brazil, Brazilian politics and especially about corruption in the upper echelons. Raquel asks rather rhetorically, “What right do the rich have to accumulate more and more at the expense of the poor without even thinking of giving something back to the masses?” In Rio in particular, it becomes clear to me how wide the gap is between rich and poor. In colorful tones, Abel describes how many Brazilians live for their labor, with no apparent way out of their misery. Ironically, many rich people also live for work, even though they would have the opportunity to shape their lives on their own terms.

People live by selling bags of potato chips in the congested streets. Hordes of young men wait all day for the traffic lights to turn red to earn a living. I suspect there is not much room to escape this life, to perhaps one day sit on the other side of the Uber window and with a guilty conscience keep refusing the snacks on offer.

As I write these lines, I lie in a hammock listening to the pattering rain. I ask Raquel if there is a difference between the super rich and us, who can enjoy our lives here in modest wealth. She says yes, because the ruling elite fleece the poor to become even richer, while we only use the possibilities given to us to make our life in this hell a little more pleasant. I think that we too can make a contribution “downwards”, even if it may not change the lives of all people on earth, we can positively influence the lives of individuals within the scope of our possibilities.

Unfortunately, I myself too often forget what privileges I enjoy just by being born in a Western country and to put my own ego in the background. I hope that just being aware and sharing about these grievances can be a first step towards a more just world. For now, all I can say is: to be continued.

Small addendum: About 500 meters from the estate there is a hotel in the style of a Swiss canton. There’s an amusement park there, an indoor ski slope, and even a small castle. Kind of ironic to write about privilege in such a setting.