The many faces of Brazil and other parting reflections

Oh Brazil, you won me over big time! It was with mixed emotions that I headed home on Tuesday. On the one hand, I was exhausted from touristing and being in transient mode and it would have been ideal to stop and stay in one place for a couple weeks at least. The honeymoon, the excitement of a new place with new people and the exoticism and romance of travelling, was beginning to wear off as minor incidents began to highly annoy me. It is the fork in the road where you either decide to stay put for a while and try to adjust and begin some normal life activities or just go home. Of course this is not the time for me now to just hang out in Brazil indefinitely (but maybe in the future?) so home it was! And my readiness to end the transient-ness became instantly clear as, during my 24 hour-plus transit home from Brasilia to Sao Paulo to Toronto to Vancouver, my level of irritation with the airlines, the airports, the staff, and my fellow passengers exponentially increased over the course of the day. It even bubbled over to the server at the Taiwanese noodle joint down the block from me that I went to grab take out for lunch when I arrived home in Vancouver.

My great privilege to experience this country has not escaped my FULL awareness. In three weeks, I had the opportunity to see a number of the many faces of Brazil. From the sparkling, dazzling and groovy Rio de Janeiro:

To Curitiba, the Europe of Brazil:

...a highly-educated, 'cultured', well- kept, eco-conscious city. 

To Olinda and Recife, a tourist gem and impoverished city, respectively:

((Of course I didn't take pictures of the impoverished parts of Recife)).

From the tropical, isolated beach paradises of Pernambuco:

To the dusty and dry serrado of Goias:

Mysteriously scattered with refreshing oases:

The charm of Perinopolis:

And finally to the red scorched earth of the capital, the seat of their lapsing democracy, right angles and perfect lines, Brasilia:

This country, both the vast amount I saw and what vast amount more to see, from what I can tell, is a country made up of a multiplicity of paradises; around each corner another dazzling, enchanting, magnificent spectacle of natural and built landscapes, often in surprising places.

It is teeming with life that is cool hanging out with us humans; from wall lizards to beach lizards to toucans and parakeets, beach pigeons, frigate birds, parrots, to butterflies so big and brightly coloured they can only possibly be from your fantasies, to ants so tiny and organised that they can easily steal your picnic without you ever noticing, to scuttling camouflaged crabs and zebra striped fish, to stray dogs and cats, to bats, to banana-thieving and wrestling monkeys, to Izzy the pug.... at this point it wouldn't shock me if unicorns were also native to Brazil.

It is a welcoming and warm culture:

...where food is love:

It is a nation of people who take great pride in their regional traditions, from the puppets of Pernambuco:

..and the masquerade of Goias:

...to their national unifying celebrations like Carnavale and Festa Junina:

They take great pride in the abundance of their beautiful landscapes, their diversity, their resources their hospitality and generosity. Yet even as a country of great social, cultural and material abundance so much material poverty continues to exist.

Status consumption in many parts of Brazil is rampant while at the same time there exist pockets of people trying to create an alternative, more simple way of living.

There is an almost Canadian-level of politeness (please, thank you, no thank you, no thank you, I'm sorry, excuse me... but in Portuguese) while at the same time men everywhere adjust their crotches regularly in public while snorting their snot back up their throats very loudly. If I was less of a cultural relativist I most certainly would have left Brazil with ZERO Kleenexes left over due to culturally-insensitively offering them to the ubiquitous snot-snorting-swallowers.

It is a deeply religious, 'moral' society in which Brazilians continue to have archaic laws around abortion and gay marriage yet fear for their personal security on a daily basis,with a lingering, omnipresent shroud of distrust of politicians, the poor, and police at all levels. All the while there is tits and ass everywhere on the beaches.

It is a country of dichotomy, contradiction, and extremes; the visible manifestation and lived experiences of one of the greatest national equity gaps in the world (according to the GINI coefficent).

I began the trip with immense anxiety about my safety and the fact that I was going alone exacerbated not only my safety concerns but also began to simmer some other anxieties that perpetually exist in the depths of my gut: the anxiety of being 'doomed' to walk this earth alone, a spinster...oh a spinster doing wicked awesome shit, of course...but still experiencing wonderfulness and magnificence alone while EVERYONE else gets to have instant travel partners in their romantic partners with whom to split not only the travel bills but also with whom to split the experience of the journey (since I've been back I've only had fleeting thoughts about the fact that my trip would have been half the price with a travel buddy but alas such is the inequitably expensive life of the 'free woman'). 

While meeting many wonderful people with whom I experienced lovely moments superficially lent to my understanding that we are never truly alone, it was in the moments of solitude that I welcomed ultimate connectedness, free from all anxiety about life: the past, present and future.

"If man sees Truth in the morning, he may die in the evening without regret" -Confucius

      

The final paragraph of my paperback travel companion, Henry Miller's Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch (in my opinion, arguably his best work), reflects the end of my short but eventful  journey more beautifully than I ever could:

"And that is why I choose to remain here...where to give thanks to the Creator comes natural and easy. Out yonder they may curse, revile and torture one another, defile all the human instincts, make a shambles of creation (if it were in their power), but here, no, here it is unthinkable, here there is abiding peace, the peace of God, and the serene security created by a handful of good neighbors living at one with the creature world, with noble, ancient trees, scrub and sage brush, wild lilac and lovely lupin, with poppies and buzzards, eagles and humming birds, gophers and rattlesnakes, and sea and sky unending. Finis".

The final day in paradise: CLOSED

My last day in Brazil began perfectly with a morning trip to the Parque Nacional de Brasilia for a dip in the natural mineral water pools before the violent sun emerged:

Agua Mineral, Parque Nacional de Brasilia

 ..and a little back massage in the run off pool:

..with this view while I received my water massage:

Apparently if you venture into the 30 kms of trails contained within the park, which for safety reasons I was repeatedly told not to, you can easily come across armadillos and anteaters. While I saw neither of these, I was treated to a serious wrestling match:

Backbreaker!!!

Yay monkeys!!

Paulo, my taxi driver for the day and my new bestie, picked me up from the park and took me to begin my self-guided walking tour up and down the Eixo Monumental, the “body” of the airplane on the map of Brasilia. This area contains most of the interesting architectural gems including the Metropolitan Cathedral:

Catedral Metropolitana: CLOSED

Congress:

Congress: CLOSED

The Palace of Justice:

Palace of Justice (if you look close, there is a bunch of waterfalls on the front of the building)

Praca dos Tres Poderes with a bunch of weird shapes just put there:

Praca dos Tres Poderes: all buildings CLOSED

 The Ministry Esplanade that was just the same building over and over and over on both sides of the esplanade, each with their purpose displayed on the front (e.g. Ministry of Defense, Ministry for Eliminating Hunger, etc) for about 1 km:

Ministry Esplanade

It felt like a factory line bureaucracy straight outta 1984.

And Mondays suck in Brazil for trying to get into anything so it was really just a couple hours of walking in the searing sun, inhaling dust, and snapping photos of weirdly shaped buildings…. Last day of touristing lame duck syndrome.

But I did find my way to a last day churrasco at a restaurant for a late lunch called Fogo de Chao which I quickly came to feel very inappropriately dressed for the occasion, with my havainas coated in red dust, my sweat soaked sundress, and my book bag. It was a restaurant with valet parking and where it seems all the high up government-types go to eat so I definitely brought the classy bar down…sorry guys!

My last churrasco (note the white tablecloth lump off to the right covering my hideous backpack to hide it from the eyes of the fancy customers ;-) )

 After a two hour meat orgy that is the Churrascaria, I headed over to a hipster café recommended to me by Dais where I could sit and use the internet and my laptop and write and not worry about a restaurant armed robbery:

Sweet hipster cafe, Objeto Encontrado

I had planned to head to the TV tower:

TV tower: Closed

…just before sunset to watch the sky become fiery from a high vantage point that overlooks the center of the city. Paulo and I showed up and, yet again, another edifice closed on a Monday. I gave up and got Paulo to take me home where I kicked off my dusty havaianas and cracked a beer and waited for Dais and Marcie to come home from work. I tried.

After one last late night Brazilian dinner out:

Dais and Marcia, my immensely generous hosts

…we retired home so I could finish my preparations for departure in the morning, with very mixed feelings about returning home to “real life”. However, it is arguable whether doing a PhD in Vancouver is indeed real life.

Two days in Perinopolis: a roller coaster of emotions

In my room in this beautiful house in Perinopolis, I slept only half good as I was so excited for the sun to come up so I could get up, make coffee, and establish my little morning hammock nest with my book on the veranda:

 Surrounded by orchids….

…and song birds, one of which I gave the endearing name of “my little fluffy yellow dumpling”, I delved into Henry Miller’s diatribes about of the insanity of a conventional American life.

After awhile, Dais awoke and we began to prepare breakfast. Whilst doing so, we heard a thunk which turned our heads only to observe a little bright green, speckled tropical-looking sparrow-type bird in convulsive shocks on the veranda having ran into the window. As he gasped for breath, I picked him up and moved him to a warm sunny spot on the grass. I gently stroked his beautiful feathered back while he took his last breaths. He died within a few minutes. This was the first time I have ever seen the life go out of a creature larger than a cockroach (yes I am guilty of, in the past, perpetuating a systematic ‘insecticide’ against the Asian cockroach within the borders of my apartment in Bangladesh).

After breakfast, I held a private funeral service and buried the little fellow in the red earth under a young tree.

Following breakfast and before the sun’s evil afternoon twin emerged, Dais took me to one of her sacred spots here near Perinopolis, the cachoeiras (waterfalls). Did I mention that when you drive in this area you can expect to be treated to toucan sightings as they fly across the road at low-ish altitudes. These incredibly stunning creatures still only register in my brain as surreal cartoon birds.

Anyways, I digress. Dotting the serrado (which is simply the type of ecosystem here):

…are numerous waterfalls which you can swim in. We visited two waterfalls. The first was Araras:

..which is quite developed as a privately run leisure park complete with cafes, families, camping spots, etc. However, if one is feeling slightly more adventurous, it is possible to hike into the rocky, dusty serrado about one kilometer:

To get to Renascer:

..where there were only us and a trio of young men with a selfie-stick and a go-pro.

The sun began to get fierce around 1 pm and, after adventuring down the river, drinking a couple of beers and talking about how important it is to always have options in life, we retreated to the sweet ambience of the air conditioned Renault Duster and headed out for a pay-per-kilo Brazilian buffet in Perinopolis….(Side note: come on North America, this is a great idea and we should be adopting this as a not only a way to satisfy customers but also as a public health intervention) and a quick catch up with my new boyfriend:

We were on the road again to Santo Antonio by late afternoon to hit up Dais’s group of friends’ Festa Junina, a month-long celebration that continuously occurs throughout the country. I was told that it is theoretically a celebration of Saint John:

…much in the same way Saint Patrick’s day is a theoretical celebration that gives people an excuse to get kinda disgusting. The Festa is also traditionally associated with agricultural harvests and so it is typical for celebrants to dress as farmers and farmer-girls and all the food served is corn or made of corn:

We arrived to a giant “condo” in a gated rural residential community called “California” in Santo Antonio, a town equivalent of maybe Morinville, Alberta for size and services. Dais had told me the only thing special about this generic rural serrado town was that her friends had this huge concrete party house here and were thus hosting the Festa. The massive veranda, lined by a swimming pool and containing a full outdoor kitchen complete with BBQ, two bathrooms and a dance floor was the site of the party.

Now, before we arrived at the party, we stopped at the one pousada in town, the Pousada Ide. Dais had peremptorily booked me a room there so I was sure to have a calm retreat to go to once the party began to turn into an all nighter. Many of the other party guests had booked up the other eight rooms. It had been so thoughtful of her to ensure I had this option after hours of partying with strangers, her being highly aware of my personality and my needs;she wanted to give me options (much like our discussion earlier that day at the waterfalls). Anyways, we stopped to drop off my stuff and get the key to my room only to find that the “dude” who runs the joint was not there and that Dais's friend had paid for my room and had my key and was already at the party. So we left for the condo to begin Festa-ing.

As soon as we arrived to the party of about forty people, Dais’s friend Vania took me by the hand and led me around the party to introduce me to everyone. Before I knew it, I had a beer in hand and was led onto the dance floor by a dance partner to participate in the traditional quadrille, something akin to square dancing:

 This whole group of people at this partywere basically all long-time friends and the love and caring, of long lost connections and present day maintained friendships, was palpable. Later the dancefloor filled up with people and we danced the night away to Brasilian music:

Followed by a fire and sing along. Two am rolled around and I was exhausted from conversing (and mostly not in English) all evening and was ready to go back to my Pousada. Vania, Dais’s friend, saw that I was tired and offered me a ride back to my Pousada. She retrieved the keys to my room from the other friend who had paid for my room earlier and we left.

Vania opened the Pousada main gate for me, handed me the keys, gave me a hug and kiss and drove off. The streets around the Pousada were dark and deserted. I closed the gate behind me, locked it, and headed to room number 6…and I never got in. The lock was broken. Here I was, 2 in the morning, in a town with no taxis, no use of my phone or wifi to contact my friends at the party, strange insects gnawing on my haunches, and a screaming desire to take a leak (which I ended up doing in the courtyard). After 20 minutes of trying to open my door, I went to try and open the gate and perhaps maybe I’d walk somewhere and find some other human to help. Again I could not get the gate back open and the rattling of the keys drew the attention of another woman in room #2 who poked her head out. She spoke excellent English and had also been at the party and was long time friend of Dais. She also tried the lock but no avail. She then tried to call the owner with no answer. I had resigned myself to sleeping on the veranda but she kindly offered me the extra little bed in her room, much to the unwelcoming complaining of her partner. I felt thankful but at the same time really really guilty…as if I was intruding on their romantic evening. I curled up on the bed, still in my clothes from the day and silently cried myself to sleep (only very gently). I was grateful for the bed but felt unwelcome there, I was exhausted, I felt I had lost control of the situation in a foreign country entirely, AND I was super pissed about the waste of money on the room. I wanted my money back IMMEDIATELY.

The next day, I finally made it back to the condo complex for breakfast with the rest of the gang, reluctantly told the tale to Dais, feeling like I was complaining and hadn’t handled the situation well. She was soooo pissed. She found me a towel and guided me to the bathroom like a trauma victim for a shower to help "change the bad  vibrations" I was experiencing. She regaled the group with what had happened leading to some of the women even empathetically tearing up for me, a poor little flower, alone in the middle of the night, with no language capacity to get help, and no ability to contact anybody. A band of them drove back to the Pousada and had to basically arm wrestle my 50 rs back from the, evidently, savvy entrepreneur who owned the Pousada that became known as the “Santo Antonio Palace” for the rest of the day.  

As I reflected on this experience that was not really scary, just SUPER frustrating, I came to the conclusion that when one is travelling around alone, there is always a plan B and even a plan C in the back of your mind….even if it’s just: “okay if I can’t find my Pousada, I’ll just get dropped off at a fancy hotel and pull out my American Express card and pay it off later” or “if I get lost on the bus then I’ll just find a taxi somewhere”, etc. Simple optional plans. However, I had been commenting to Dais earlier how nice it was to not have to pay attention as to how to get places or see things when you’re with someone who knows the area;  you get to stop caring about logistics. I had become too comfortable and had given over all plans to other people which got me to “well I guess I have to sleep on the veranda with the lizards and bugs and no blankets”.   

Me, Dais, and Marcie drove home on Sunday afternoon with plans to go to another evening free concert/birthday party in Brasilia but we were all exhausted and the thought of another party made us cringe. We arrived home to Marcie’s son’s baby, Izzy, who had been dropped off earlier that day to be babysat fir the week:

With Izzy, some beers, dinner, and animal documentaries, all was right with the world again.

I did this, then this, and then we did this and then this...

The day started out like a usual Friday for me. While Dais went to early morning pilates I went for an early morning walk in the local park down the street from her apartment.

It is just a little park, about 2 km around. By 7 am It was bustling with people jogging, walking, doing tai chi and yoga in and among the giant termite mounds:

On my way home to North Superblock 214, Bloco G, I had the thought that Brasilia may as well be Edmonton:

…except for the wild, bright green parakeets that have built their home in the trees around the apartment complexes.

Dais and I returned home at about the same time and had a leisurely coffee and breakfast before packing up and getting ready to go to campus…again, just another day, really. Dais is a professor at the University of Brasilia’s equivalent of a school of public health.

She had a couple of morning meetings to attend and I thought this would be a good opportunity to visit the campus and get some more work done. Shortly after arriving, the internet no longer worked for me so I decided to go get some snacks at the snack hut and quickly began to notice that I was on a very special (architecturally) campus that is as weird as the city of Brasilia itself.

I was first drawn to the chemistry building which didn’t look like much from the outside except a giant concrete block:

But upon venturing inside, I came to see that it was a really beautiful space that reminded me of a building on Caprica before the cylons annihilated it:

After exiting this building I saw another building that looked curious so I decided to follow my nose and came across yet another fascinating building with interesting, incredibly linear, landscape architecture:

Cool. Then I noticed yet another building and further followed my curiosity. It was the bioscience building, also incredibly linear and sci-fi-ish:

Of course then there was another building that was also something straight out of the 1950s world expo:

And finally, this, the arts building:

Which is when I realised that I was standing on the grounds of a mars space colony model, red earth and all:

I likely could have continued all day to be pulled from one fascinating building to another, each incredibly unique, like ‘em or not. What I found to be the most interesting, given I don’t know a thing about architecture, is that the modernist philosophy/ideology underlying the architectural design is so explicitly reflected.  

Lunch was upon me and I had to go back to Dais’s building as we were scheduled to hit up a Frieda Khalo exhibit that was showcasing some of her work along with the work of 15 other Mexican women surrealists:

While we waited in the longest line up ever which I grinned and bared, I ran across the parking lot to take a quick glance at the federal bank:

Federal Bank, Brasilia

...famous for its stained glass marvelousness that lines the walls of the ground floor:

And even acts as the actual doorway to the bank:

By late afternoon we hit the road towards a small town about 200 km west of the city nestled deep in the heart of the Serrado, called Pirenopolis. This is an artesanal and hippy town with a vibe reminiscent of Salt Spring Island but with colonial Portuguese architecture:

Streets of Pirenopolis, Goias

Streets of Pirenopolis, Goias

Streets of Pirenopolis, Goias

….The following day we would head to another small town for a big party but first we would spend the night in Pirenopolis where Dais’s friend generously let us use her beautiful weekend/soon-to-be retirement home:

Dais and her partner have purchased land in this neighbourhood and will begin building their own weekend/soon-to-be retirement home in the fall which I will forever be welcome to visit, I’m sure.

How did I get such cool friends??

We arrived after dark and unpacked and headed out for dinner. We went to the main bar and restaurant street, Rua de Roasario. Here we selected one of the many food and drink location options and finished our busy, hot day with some comfort food and live blues.