At 7 o’clock AM, punctual as the council tax bill or the Gol planes noisily gliding towards Santos Dumont airport, they arrived. A small family of marmosets – gray-ish fur, long tail, inquisitive expressions and long white hair sprouting out of their ears, making them look prematurely old – descended down the tree, from the bush recesses where they lived, and went on to keep an eye on us. Their short, sharp ticking squeaks reminded me, with certain unease, of the Velociraptor noises in Jurassic Park but, apart from that, they were pretty much harmless.
This was, in a nutshell, our biggest worry when in Botafogo: keeping the marmoset family on their tree and out of our kitchen and away from our mangos. Sure, it is a generalisation and shouldn’t be taken as a description of the situation for the entire Rio de Janeiro, but – apart from the distant…
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