The Green Stone

This time last year I was in Cuba, walking down the Malecón with salty wind tangling my hair and a mind full of questions. I had received a humanitarian aid license through an organization called The Cuba AIDS Project and spent 10 days traveling through the island with a group of public health professionals and well-intentioned tourists. While there we visited hospitals and local clinics, met with volunteers, and shared mojitos and salsa dances with new HIV+ Cuban friends.

It was a relief to connect with people that reminded me of the fire I’d come so close to letting flicker out. Back in Austin, my personal life was in crisis and I was decidedly uncomfortable with the roles I’d allowed myself to slip into along the way. I had given up so much of what is truly important to me in life, all in an attempt to save a relationship that had died long before. The short time I spent in Cuba marked a turning point for me; I was tired of living to make someone else happy and ready to reclaim my identity as a traveler and an adventurer.

Less than a month after my return to the US, the relationship in question finally ended. I cried for days on end, overwhelmed by dueling waves of loss and relief. Without that unhealthy situation monopolizing my energy, I threw myself headstrong into my work. At the time I was directing two HIV prevention programs targeting at-risk members of the African American community in Austin. I had a staff of 10, an endless stack of reports and grant applications taking over my desk, and all the added complications that come from working at a resource-hungry nonprofit. I would come home exhausted after 12-hour days in front of the computer and curl up on my great-grandfather’s old loveseat with my cat Azul, unable to do anything but just sit and think.

It was in the middle of this constant swirl of ideas and meetings that I became friends with Costa, the director of the Cuba AIDS Project. At first he was just the voice behind a New Jersey area code, calling me at work to discuss Cuba and the possibility of me doing some fundraising for the Project. But with time we got to know each other better and would have funny conversations speckled with Spanish and Portuguese, talking about his Greek heritage, the music scene in Austin, and our common professional aspirations.

Coincidentally, Costa shares my love for Brazil and we both had plans to be in Rio de Janeiro in the beginning of May. We finally met last Tuesday at a beachfront cafe in Copacabana, a block down from the apartment he and his friend Robert, an accountant, had rented for the week. I was strangely nervous about the encounter, intimidated by his extensive experiences in Cuba and slightly worried that we wouldn’t get along well despite our long run of interesting phone conversations. Turns out my concerns were unfounded. We all got along fabulously, and I could sense an immediate mentor-mentee connection with Costa. We shared travel stories over caipirinhas and French fries, then made plans for me to host a city tour the next day.

Costa and Robert came up to Santa Teresa in the late morning and I arranged for a cab to take us up the winding road to Corcovado, the Christ statue that watches over the bay from the highest peak in Rio. We drove with the windows down, letting the fresh smell of eucalyptus and wet leaves rush through the car. Corcovado is situated in the middle of the Tijuca National Park, a thick swath of Mata Atlântica that is the largest urban rainforest in the world. It’s easy to forget you are in a city of 11 million people as the road winds through the greenery, tall trees filtering out the sun and the sounds of the neighborhoods below. We stopped and took photos at the Mirante Dona Marta, a lookout point about halfway up the hill that is equipped with a helipad, then continued up to the base of the Christ statue. The air was clear, thunderclouds scared off by the unexpected winter sun, and we had an perfect 360 degree view of Rio de Janeiro and Niterói, the sister city across the water. We looked out over the skyscrapers and traffic, the pristine beaches of Zona Sul, the favelas sprawling down the granite and green hillsides, and the industrial stretch of Zona Norte in the distance. Rio is without a doubt the most beautiful place I have ever seen, more than deserving of its nickname: Cidade Maravilhosa, the marvelous city.

We headed back to Santa Teresa and had lunch at a seafood restaurant called Sobrenatural about a block down the trolley line from our house. The food was ridiculously good and we ate like tropical kings, polishing off a shrimp stew with coconut milk and vegetables, rice, manioc, and a grilled cherne fillet with caper sauce. Shots of ginger rum and tall glasses of beer finished off the meal, and we walked back to the house fighting the temptation to call off the city tour and spend the rest of the afternoon lounging in hammocks on the verandah.

The day was too beautiful to give up, though, and we took a taxi to Sugarloaf to ride the aerial tramway and get a different perspective of the city. The tram swayed and coughed its way to the top of the granite mountain and Costa joked about our faith in the Brazilian engineers who likely make less than US minimum wage. We arrived just in time to have a cafezinho (the ubiquitous gulp of espresso that fuels life down here) and watch the sunset. We sat in silence watching the sun disappear behind the clouds and sink below the hills, the sky still glowing orange as the first city lights flickered on along the beach.

Costa and Robert returned to Santa Teresa several times during the week to hang out with me, my friend Jenna from New Mexico, and Mattie, a new friend and kindred travel spirit. We celebrated Costa’s birthday together on Saturday over sugary drinks and the best present ever – a tacky fisherman’s hat screenprinted with a bright Brazilian flag that Jenna and I purchased on the beach for the special day. There was such a great dynamic between us, generations fusing together, effortless conversations, and laughter echoing late into each evening.

And then it was time for another goodbye. Sunday morning Jenna and I took the bus to Ipanema and met Costa and Robert at the Hippie Fair to hang out one last time. We were sitting at a small folding table in the corner of the plaza having a snack when Costa announced that he needed to speak to me in private for a few minutes. I gave him a puzzled look and followed him through the crowds of shoppers and vendors. He took my arm in his and started speaking in a hushed, intense voice.

“I had the most unbelievable thing happen to me last night on my way home.” We made our way to a patch of shade and he continued. “I was walking down the street and there was this old, hunched-over Brazilian woman standing alone on the sidewalk. She looked up, pointed her finger at me, and called out, ‘Costa!’ I walked up to her and asked her how she knew my name.

The old woman replied in Portuguese, ‘You don’t know me, but I know you, Costa. There are Givers and there are Takers in life, and you are a Giver.’ Then she leaned in and said softly, ‘I have something for you.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a polished green stone and placed it in my hand. ‘This is for you. It will bring you all the luck, protection, and love you could possibly desire in life.’

I looked at her, my mouth hanging open in amazement. I tried to take out some money to pay her but she refused, closing my hand around the stone and smiling, gently shaking her head. ‘No, this is for you. Take it.’ I thanked her over and over, practically crying in the middle of the street.”

“Oh my God, Costa. That’s incredible.” I was close to tears myself.

“I know,” he replied, “I’m still blown away by it all.” Costa reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone. It was beautiful, a smooth moss green agate with thin waves of turquoise and aqua on one side. He placed the stone in my right hand, sending chills down my back. Cupping his hands around mine, he continued. “When I got home, I stepped outside and started thinking. I’ve been so blessed with a life full of luck and love. I don’t think I could ask for anything more.”

He looked me in the eyes and said, “Ali, this stone is for you. I know you are a Giver, too, and we are few and far between. I want you to take this stone with you to Africa. It will protect you in your adventures, and I hope it brings you everything you could ever dream of in life.”

I felt dizzy with emotion, tears running down my cheeks. “Thank you.” It was all I could manage to say, completely overwhelmed by his gesture. Costa hugged me and we walked back to the table, arms linked, amazed by the inexplicable magic that swirls through our lives and brings us together.

A few minutes later we all said goodbye and Costa and Robert headed for the airport. Back to reality, back to New Jersey and accounting jobs and the challenges of nonprofit fundraising. Jenna and I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping at the Hippie Fair, then met up with Mattie on Ipanema beach.

As I looked at the waves, I thought of Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist.” One of my favorite parts of the book is the idea that sometimes, when you truly want something, all of the universe conspires for things to work out. And there I was, surrounded by friends, sitting in the sand in the most beautiful city on earth, about to embark on a life-changing adventure. A salty wind tangled my hair, my mind was full of questions, and a smooth green stone glowed in my palm.