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.