Once again I find myself below the equator. Third time was the charm in obtaining a new visa for Brazil. I went solo this time and I had a weekend stay planned as well. Without the constraints of a traveling companion I could get under the skin a bit. I like seeing new parts of the world but too often I have to settle for the views of a tourist. Click click with the camera and rush back to the bus so I can I cram another 27 historic sites into my afternoon. Too much of not enough if you ask me. Sure you get to see the famous buildings but you never get to really learn anything about the place and the people. I made a new friend when I was in Helsinki last month. Whatta ya know she lives in Rio! Since I was staying in Sao Paulo for the week she suggested I come to Rio for the weekend and by the way the ticket is only $100. I was so there J
The adventure started after work on Friday. I had printout from the travel agency Cecilia uses and my bags packed and at the ready. Even though my flight was at 7:00 PM I needed to leave the office at 3:30 PM to have enough time to get to the airport. Which airport though? I knew the international airport but after showing my crinkled printout to a local he noticed that a different airport was listed for my Rio flight. Oh no! A different airport? How many did Rio have? I was calmed by news that the airport listed on my reservation was the domestic downtown airport. The guys at the office called me car and gave the driver directions to take me to the downtown airport post haste. Woo hoo! Friday traffic in Sao Paulo is like nowhere else. Imagine a four-lane highway with eight lanes of traffic going like crazy 80 to 5 then back to 80 down to 5 and so on for 2 hours straight. Lucky for me the driver loves American rock music so we had a bit of a sing a long to pass the time.
Guns’n’Roses Greatest hits as performed by some Brazilian cover band. They where good if…you had never heard the originals. Sorry I am used to Axl Rose’s growl and high-pitched wails coupled with Slash’s burning Les Paul work. This was a band I watched climb to the top then explode into a million pieces. The classic epic rock story repeated for a new generation. Boy meets guitar, boy gets rich, boy gets too big for his britches, boy loses it all and becomes a clip show footnote until 20 years passes and he is considered classic and re-releases the old catalog making enough to retire comfortably in Southern California. End of “Behind the Music” rant. I decided to make the best of it and try to fit in. I knew the lyrics so I joined my driver in screeching out loud with Axl as we snailed our way to the airport. Some tunes came easy but I must admit singing “November Rain” in it’s entirety is quite a task. No wonder Axl burned out and today sounds like a bag of broken marbles rattling when he talks. Anywho my driver and I broke down the barriers and cranked it up to 11. This would be just a preview of the connections I was about make over the next weekend.
Normal tourists sit quietly in the taxi hoping they aren’t being ripped off and afraid to speak. I decide to learn a bit about my host and make a connection. The ride was much more fun and I was so distracted that I was surprised when the driver turned the volume back down and popped the truck. Damn, “Live and Let Die” was up next and I wanted to do the big finish L The driver felt it too so we turned the cd back on and we did our big finish on the curb with the Paul McCartney classic to the cheers of the sidewalk faithful. THANK YOU SAO PAULO WE’LL SEE U NEXT YEAR! I think I am ready for Rio.
Once inside the domestic downtown airport I realized I was totally out of my element. My Portuguese consists of “Good day” and “Thank you” and I can’t read a lick of it. This airport was small and jammed with more people than the highway had cars. I held my bag a bit tighter and worked my way to the VASP counter. I held out my printout and hoped for the best. The line was a mile long and once I got to the agent he directed me to the VASP office to start a new wait in line number two. Again I waited and again no English just a series of hand gestures and the international sign for more money. Ugh! They were trying to get me pay for my ticket again. To my rescue comes a man who hears my plight and proceeds to bark at the counter agent. Then he tells me that he told her to quit fooling around and give a boarding pass. It worked. I thank him so much and headed upstairs to grab a bite and wait for my flight.
The top floor of the airport was a swanky restaurant by Brazilian standards. The headwaiter spoke English and was ever so helpful. I acknowledged that I didn’t speak Portuguese and asked for his help. A good move. I see too many American’s get pissed when people don’t speak English in the US and abroad. Maybe if we were a little nicer people wouldn’t think Americans are so arrogant. I try to ask for help instead of demanding it and the results are much better. I also use common sense when in new places so I don’t wander into places I shouldn’t and I don’t assume being American is something extra special. Meanwhile I had made my way to the gate. The gate consisted of a sliding glass door out onto the tarmac then up the stairs to the plane. It wasn’t that easy though. The planes literally pull up to the door and we pile on. The speakers were a constant drone of flights and boarding calls but I couldn’t understand a word of it. I tried to get on three different planes until finally another stranger came to my aid. He translated the flight calls and since he was on my flight he let me tag along to make sure I least made it to Rio that evening.
The flight is less than an hour and I was impressed with how fast we got on and off the jet. I was only 40 minutes late but thankfully Cecilia waited and soon we were zipping through Rio in her rental car. Her car was in the shop but the insurance company came through with a car. It was a car but no air conditioning and no power steering. It would be a hot work out for the driver for sure. I got a quick tour of downtown then we stopped at a park and square on the beach. Local musicians were gathering and people walked and talked in the humid night air. It was like a movie scene. A marriage party was playing on the beach and old women cooked cheese on a stick and sold Cokes. Couples nestled under the trees and a few kids were still in the water playing in the gentle surf. Before long the musicians began playing traditional Samba. These music circles allow anyone to join in with any instrument. There was a core of guitarists and a bass who sort of kept reign but other people with bongos and tambourines came and went. The PA system was old and tired and it was somewhat distorted but the purity of the music was there. These were songs they all knew and loved. Art just happens sometimes.
I felt like I was being allowed a look inside the real world of the people who lived here. This was a not a tourist spot or Friday evening hangout for the super fabulous. Normal people meeting after work or just walking the dog and enjoying being outside, this is life. Cecilia’s friend Cassia joined us in the park and together we drove up the coast to Copacabana. We found a café and enjoyed a late night snack of French fries with cheese, roasted garlic and some bacony type meat product. Cassia spoke perfect English and we all laughed and swapped stories of our lives and friends. New friends sharing food and life are experiences that might be missed when traveling as only a tourist. The world is more than a fishbowl for our entertainment.
Think about that the next time you see something on the news that just doesn’t compute in your sheltered American brain. How can people do that? How can people not understand? These are questions that ring out day after day as we continue to try and shape the world to our view, for their own good of course. We love reality TV these days so much that I am surprised at how unwilling we are to get out and live the reality. It is easier to pay these fools to live for us. Dance monkey dance! Life is too short to let someone else have all the fun and yes pain. I won’t go too far here but without a little pain to balance the joy you won’t fully enjoy the joy? Hmmm. I hope you can parse my meaning from that really bad sentence. Now back to our show.
No hotels this trip and certainly not any motels. Maybe it’s time for a sidebar on the Brazilian idea of a motel. In America motels are the poorer cousin to the hotel. Family oriented and scattered across our landscape motels are part of our world. Name brand chains work nicely for the family vacations or as a place to house Aunt Edna during her visit. The local one location varieties are best for activities best performed under an assumed name. In Brazil they take it to the next level. Motels in Brazil are rented by the hour for the sole purpose of amore. Space is at a premium and most young people live at home until they marry so if you want any alone time with your special friend this is the answer. I have heard that they are clean and well kept and since the motel is practically an institution there is no shame in booking a few hours. It isn’t cheap by Brazilian wages so I guess you either save up or find a wealthy paramour. They also manage to snag some pretty locations too. I saw the coast dotted with motels that boasted views. I suppose you might as well get all the sensory inputs going when you are being charged by the hour. They had cute names like “Alibi Motel” and “Carousel Motel”. Another little tid bit of real life in the tropics. Once back at Cecilia’s I was set up in her son’s room and after a quick shower I was asleep to the hum of the air conditioner in no time.
Saturday morning was a very bright experience indeed. The sun comes up early here and stays out forever. We made toasted cheese sandwiches and drank really strong coffee. Another shower and I was ready for a little exploring. I also met Cecilia’s son Jaoa that morning. At four he was protective of his mother and his territory. I had slept in his bed and now I was eating breakfast and taking away attention from his mom. When we were finally introduced he greeted me with what I come to learn is the traditional Brazilian child greeting, a punch in the nuts. Yes, “Hi howa doing?” Whack L I gathered my crushed dreams and went for another cup of coffee as mom scolded the boy. He made his point, respect the turf. This greeting was repeated later when I met another small boy later that day. He also caught me off guard with a swift blow to the boys in the band. I wondered how a man could survive down here. Anywho once I regained a voice in the correct register I went on.
We all climbed into the hamburger box that was our car for the weekend and headed out for the coast. In Rio the coast is everywhere. Stopping in a small park and beach that doubled as a landing strip for hang gliders and parasail we grabbed a few waters and watched the aeronauts glide down to the beach. I was approached by a well tanned man who offered to give me a ride. He claimed to be Bob a military pilot and parasail guru. For about $30 I could strap myself to Bob and then leap off the top of cliff and glide gently to the beach. I feared I would wet Bob who in turn would beat my boney ass all the way to the ground. I saved the $30 and my ass and decided to wait until we reached Sugarloaf to unleash my daredevil streak.
Sugarloaf is a giant piece of rock that juts up straight into the sky. This rock is located along the bay and the view from the top is one of the best in Rio. Below Sugarloaf is a smaller rock that is used as a stopping point and connection point to the peak of the big rock. A series of gondolas connect the ground to the first rock then up to the top of the big rock. A tourist trip indeed but required none the less. The gondola ride was quick and fun which was good because there really is only one way down if there was a problem. The top provided a view of the entire city and bay. It was breathtaking. I snapped a few pictures and together with Joao we explored the nature trail around the peak. The little trail circled the peak and offered different views of the city and surrounding areas. Climbers lowered themselves over the edges and families soaked in all the pure sunshine and I was amused by the ring tailed monkeys who frolicked in the shade of the brush. They weren’t afraid of people but they didn’t give us attention either. It was as if they just didn’t care, it was monkey play time and these silly people wouldn’t get in the way of that.
The monkeys provided a metaphor for the forest as well. The city and roads were carved out of the lush forest and coastline. The forest seems to come right up to the edge of civilization and in some cases it almost like the forest is allowing us to set up temporary shop. It is all temporary isn’t it? At least our time here in this reality is anyways. I won’t try to see or guess what’s after this life because I can’t but I think I have a pretty good grip on this life and I tell you the forest is just waiting till we screw it up enough then it’ll take back over.
The view made me think of how small we all are even though we want to believe not. The sheer size and beauty of this big blue marble is awe inspiring when you let it all in. My friend Cecilia and her nut busting boy headed back to her condo for lunch and a disco nap. We baked most of the morning and early afternoon in the sun and we just needed to regroup before we went shopping then off to a party. A disco nap is a late afternoon nap for an adult that prepares the body for a late night. Pre-sleep if you will. Lunch was tasty and I was asleep minutes after another shower. Showers are good in this part of the world. Not the full on soap and shampoo variety but instead the cold hard rinse that washes the layer of sweat and sunscreen from you. Joao’s futon bed was a little small but it was heaven for those few hours.
I got back up at 6:00 PM and Cecilia and I headed out for some shopping. I needed to pick up a few things for the Leftcoastlove family in SF and she needed a gift for the party we were attending later. The mall was a converted textile mill that at one time was owned by Cecilia’s family. Her family was cute. I met her mother, father, grandmother, and niece during the course of my visit. Meanwhile back at the mall I discovered my new size (clothing size that is) is 1 for tops and 38 for bottoms. I grabbed a pair of shorts and a new blue t-shirt and then joined my buddy for a cappuccino before we ventured back out again. Before we left though we ran into a few more of Cecilia’s friends and that led to a table at a café and more cheesy fries. We talked about sex, and relationships, and pop culture, we laughed about family and smiled a whole lot. Basically the same stuff I do with my friends in San Francisco. People are basically the same.
Later at the party I learned a few more things. I love
the adult traditional greeting, not to be confused with the child’s
greeting. They hug and kiss like crazy here. I met everyone at the party
and each of the women, and there were a lot of them, kissed me. I provide
exhibit A to the court as proof of multiple babes.
The party was fun for more than the eye candy factor. These were real people hanging out celebrating a friend’s birthday. No pretense or attitude and they all welcomed me with the best English they could muster. My parlor trick of juggling came in real handy as a way to break the ice and make new friends. We were at the party pretty late and for a few hours Cecilia and I were apart since I had demonstrated that I could hold my own in this new environment. I liked the house and the hospitality offered by everyone. I was shown pictures of friends and children, I was allowed to listen in the current gossip and I was even introduced to the hostess’s gerbils.
Cake and candles followed by more kisses and hugs. I managed to meet almost everyone and I had a super duper non-tourist fun fest. Leave the clubs and other tourist traps to the posers and fraidy cats. I was touched by the friends of a friend and I hope I get back to see them again soon. There were so many to remember, let’s see there was the fireman babe Andrea, there was the police babe Gisele, there was the hostess babe Ana Claudia, and the babe list just goes on and on. It was like the Walgreen’s commercials where everything is perfect in the town of Perfect. I had found my perfect. Such nice people and fun to look at too.
Cecilia and I headed back to her place and we stayed up way too late talking and eating leftovers. Jaoa’s father had picked him up earlier that afternoon so we could go to the party and stay out late. The other benefit was that we could sit up until 3:30 AM just laughing and sharing. Cecilia told me about growing up Brazilian and her experiences over the years. She still meets Americans who are surprised that she is Brazilian. They tell her she doesn’t look Brazilian. What does mean? She thinks some people expect her to be in a thong and a big headdress of feathers. Even this is a form of prejudice and discrimination. Americans can forget that the rest of the world is more than National Geographic Explorer once a week. The people at the party lived the same sort lives we all do. They worry about work and prices they celebrate birthdays and holidays and it once again illustrates how much alike we all are. I guess that was my big lesson. Be yourself and be open and you can fit in and enjoy life anywhere.
I want to thank Cecilia 100 million times over for opening her home and life to me for a too short weekend. I will go back to visit and see what other lessons my new friends can teach me in the tropics. Forget reality TV for a week and make your own reality. Try something new, try somebody new, go someplace new, just new it. I do have a few more tales from Rio but this should be enough for today.
Peace.
Sean