New Year in Tabatinga

O espelho reflete certo; não erra porque não pensa.
Pensar é essencialmente errar.
Errar é essencialmente estar cego e surdo.

O único mistério do universo é o mais e não o menos.
Percebemos demais as coisas – eis o erro, a dúvida.
O que existe transcende para mim o que julgo que existe.
A realidade é apenas real e não pensada.

O único sentido íntimo das coisas
É elas não terem sentido íntimo nenhum.

- Fernando Pessoa (pseudonym Alberto Caeiro)

The mirror reflects accurately; it doesn't deceive because it doesn't think.
To think is essentially to be deceived.
To be deceived is essentially to be blind and deaf.

The only mystery of the universe is the more and not the less.
We perceive things too much - thus the error, the doubt.
What exists transcends for me what I think exists.
Reality is simply real and not perceived.

The only hidden meaning of things
Is that they have no hidden meaning.

- Alberto Caeiro

I've spent the last few days in São Paulo, spending Christmas with my family and enjoying some of the sights of the city. São Paulo is generally not considered a very touristy city, but in reality it contains some real gems.

We found a tour sponsored by the city metro system that provided a free guide (as in a person) for the historic center of the city, with the only requirement being that you had to buy 1 metro ticket.

We soon found out that this service existed partly to promote the benefits of the metro to tourists and residents of the city. The guide spent a good 15 minutes explaining how they had scientifically determined exactly how far the yellow line should be from the edge to prevent people from falling onto the tracks, regardless of height.

As if to put to rest any lingering doubts that the São Paulo metro system is, in fact, the most advanced on the planet, she went on to say that on the Paris metro, horror of horrors, the yellow line is right up against the edge, which apparently is about equivalent to putting rice krispies treats made of diamonds on the tracks and inviting people to come down and help themselves.

When the group of about 25 people failed to express their utter disgust at this travesty, she added that in New York they also had such a statistically perfect gap between the edge of the platform and the yellow line, but that she had it on good authority that this was implemented at a later date, probably copied directly from São Paulo.

But seriously, the rest of the tour was great, and our guide Anna was very informative and nice.

I'm now continuing a few days later, and by now Mateo has left to go back to Rio for the New Year. I'm with my friends the Domingueses in an apartment in Tabatinga, a small beach villa on the coast of São Paulo state.

I must say it's a little strange being here. I'm writing this in a luxury hotel, with a red Ferarri parked outside. Down the street are million-dollar beach houses with every conceivable gadget and comfort imaginable. Helicopters bringing in residents from São Paulo have been coming and going all day, and three of them are parked outside right now.

I can see the ocean from here, where 30 or 40 luxury yachts float silently in the waters of the bay. In the distance is an island called Tamanduá, shaped like a crocodile. There you can buy a Coke for $10 reais (5 dollars) or, if you're feeling generous, a paella (a Spanish seafood dish) for 10 people for a meager $800 reais (400 dollars), almost 3 times the average monthly wage of a Brazilian family.

Meanwhile, the source of all this wealth, the city of São Paulo, was responsible in 2001 for 1% of all the homicides in the world, despite containing only 0.17% of the world population (according to the BCC). As if you needed one more way to describe the disparities that this country contains, right?

How Brazilians See Us

It is rare that you get to see your own culture through the eyes of others, but I think this video pretty much illustrates what you would see (and also helps you understand why there are so many misunderstandings between cultures).

Northeast Trip Slideshow

Here's some video and pics from our (me and Mateo's) trip to the Northeast of Brazil. Enjoy!

Capoeira Fights

This is pretty intense.

Goodbye Northeast

Mateo and I spent the last few days in Morro de Sao Paulo, a fisherman's village/tourist trap a couple hours south of Salvador by boat. It was basically the same old boring paradise, a clone of a thousand million identical vacation getaways all over the world. 

On the way there I sat on the front deck of the boat so that I could see the horizon and get plenty of air, thereby cleverly avoiding the effects of seasickness. Predictably, I proceeded to get sunstroke, which led to me spending the night sweating uncontrollably and vomiting every few hours, with some good explosive diarrhea thrown in to spice things up. I mean, honestly, who gets diarrhea from the sun? How does that even make sense? Isn't the punishment supposed to fit the crime?

Even more predictably, I sat inside on the way back and got very seasick, losing my breakfast over the side of the ship to a less than grateful audience.

Today and tomorrow we spend the day chilling in Salvador, and Saturday we head back to Rio via a 26-hour bus ride. Should be fun.

Candomblé

Mateo and I went to a candomblé ceremony last night. This ceremony is the central activity in the spiritist religions that were practiced by the original African slaves that were brought to work on the sugar plantations of colonial Brazil.

It was definitely interesting. Rose pedals were spread around the floor in a large room dominated by a huge altar, flanked by images of both Catholic saints and Candomblé spirits. The religion as practiced in modern-day Brazil is actually a big mixture of elements from African religions and Catholicism. The slaves, although forced to "convert" to Catholicism by their Portuguese owners, recognized the basic personalities of their gods in the Catholic saints, and by mixing the two they found a way to continue their traditional practices while ingratiating their masters.

The procession of Candomblé priests (called Fathers and Mothers of Saints) shuffled into the room, swaying to the beat of the drums that announced their entrance. They then started bowing to each other and kissing each others' hands, in a ritual that looked like it was meant to reinforce the hierarchy of the group. For several hours they danced and chanted, always moving around the room in a large circle.

A few highlights: this one black guy with dreadlocks was "possessed" at one point and started screaming really loudly and kind of convulsing. A lady sat him down on a bench and apparently calmed him down. It reminded me actually of things I've seen in charismatic congregations in the U.S., with people being "slain in the spirit" and whatnot.

Another interesting thing was the presence of recording devices. We were told that photographs and filming were absolutely prohibited during the ceremony, that this would be a grave offense to their religion. Well, when we got there there was a cameraman with a big over-the-shoulder camera, and a number of people busted out their digital cameras and camcorders once they saw that no one was going to get mad at them. Apparently the gods were able to communicate with the faithful despite all this technology.

I had an epiphany during the ceremony that in retrospect should be just painfully obvious. The candomblé priests were doing a movement where they prostrate themselves on the ground in a quick forward movement, supporting their upper body with their hands and slowly lowering their heads to the floor, in this case to kiss the feet of another priest, only to whip upright again in an elegant movement. It reminded me very much of a nearly identical movement in capoeira, the afro-brazilian martial art invented in this region. During the procession itself the participants swayed and stepped in a very samba-like pattern, while the ballet of bodies around the floor was reminiscent of a soccer match (the "beautiful game" as they call it).

I think that all these art forms (capoeira, candomblé, samba, soccer, carnaval, and many more) are really just different manifestations of a single profound and vibrant Brazilian spirit. This spirit, although it has a vast number of influences and has evolved greatly over the years, comes originally from candomblé; the belief system that was the only thing the slaves were able to bring with them stripped naked in the holds of the slave-trading vessels.

Even thousands of miles away from their homes, in a strange land with a strange tongue, they retained in their minds the memories of saints and spirits, dances and rituals, prayers and incantations that had imparted meaning to their everyday existence. And in their time of greatest, most extreme trial, it was these same spirits that sustained them, that gave them hope, that kept them united.

I find this fairly ironic.

In their attempt to strip them of everything of their culture - and everything that made them human, for that matter - the slavetraders of centuries past left their African slaves with only ideas, left them with the only thing that could not be taken away. In so doing, they merely set the stage for the emergence of a country where every facet of life is influenced by this ancient faith (actually, faiths).

Whether you are Brazilian or American, if you want to appreciate and extol the virtues of virtually any aspect of Brazilian culture, you must recognize the all-pervasive influence that the African religions have had. Until this country does so without reservation, it will be standing on misunderstood and shaky ground.

Oh and I also found out my personal "orixá" (protector spirit) is Iemanjá, goddess of the seas, which is why I love the water so much. She's also the most powerful orixá. How sweet is that?

Salvador

After a few days in Maceio, we made our way south to Penedo, a quaint little city on the banks of the Sao Francisco River. From there we took a boat ride to where this river meets the ocean, a rather chaotic event that is given the name of "the falls" even though the water is not falling from anywhere.

After that it was a night in Aracaju and then on to Salvador, the capital of Bahia.

Oh, Salvador, how do I explain you? It is a magnificent colonial city, with towering churches and old government buildings from when this city was the capital of Brazil, ruling over the vast sugar wealth of Portugal's most prosperous colony. It is a second Africa, the cultural and ethnic influence unmistakable in every face and costume. It is the musical heart of Brazil, the site of the emergence of the country's most famous musicians. It is the biggest street party in the world - Carnaval - when the city comes alive and every stone vibrates with the energy that infuses the city during those weeks.

It's hard not to be overwhelmed by the place. Sounds and smells almost literally assault you as you walk by, while the sheer number of things to look at makes you wander in circles, without really caring.

The diversity of people walking the streets is amazing. Germans mix with Italians, Americans with Argentinians, and of course everyone enveloped in a sea of blackness. Conversations go on in an eclectic mix of language and hand signals, the push and pull of humanity expressing itself in negotiatons between buyer and seller, between capoeiristas barely missing each other in play, between the insistence and refusal of the beggar and the tourist.

I get the feeling that this is a very human place, that the miscegenation and syncretism that are exalted here as unique are in fact what we as a race are all about. When we stop clinging to our particular idealogies, stop trying to insist that we or our ideas or our pets are somehow "pure," we see that we are the product of countless years of mixing and matching. I think this realization should give us a healthy respect for each other, and for ideas and people we think of as beneath us because they are somehow less "pure."

I'm being kicked out. I'll continue later.

Frevo

This is a really neat (and fantastically energetic) dance called Frevo, proving once again that there is no limit to the number of dances the Brazilian people can event. It is practiced most in the city of Olinda, in Pernambuco.

Porto de Galinhas

Well the first week of our 3-week odyssey is officially over, which is just incredible, as in "hard to give credit." I think that this momentous occasion deserves a little look back on the great memories we've made over the days.

I think that without a doubt it is the people we've met along the way that have made the difference between a good trip and a sick one, which I think is always the case. A few highlights:

The two Swedish girls we met at the hostel in Boa Viagem in Recife. If you are reading this, I have only this to say: you are insane, and you know it, and you are proud. What can you say about two teenage blond girls who can drink 20 middle-aged Brazilian construction workers under the table? That sounds like a metaphor but it's not.

On a related note, me and Mateo have unanimously decided that Swedes are the craziest partiers in the world. We think it's because their society is so perfect that they need to find an escape. Crazy parties: one of the many terrible, just terrible downsides to having an egalitarian, wealthy, uncorrupt, fair society with universal healthcare and a long history of peaceful relations with its neighbors. If only everyone could deal with their frustrations the way we do in America: cheap and ready access to firearms of all varieties.

Our second day in Recife, after visiting our second (that's 2) closed museum, we were lucky enough to meet Sergio, a former tour guide and part-time Elvis impersonator who generously offered to show us around all day for free. He used his contacts to get us inside the St. Isabel Theatre, the colonial-era theatre where women and "coloreds" of any type were not allowed, and where the great sugar barons of the time hobnobbed with each other and even sometimes with the Emperor. We also saw the Casa da Cultura, an old prison now converted into an eclectic market. Check out the pics on the right if you want to see a jewelry store inside a prison cell.

Another friend we made in Recife was Klen, a sociology doctoral student from Minas Gerais who was in Recife this week to take the entrance exams for the doctoral program at the Federal University of Recife (he passed - congrats!). Kling traveled with us to Porto de Galinhas, exerting a mature influence on the two of us which we skillfully managed to ignore. Maybe next time buddy!

In Porto we met a ton of just phenomenal people, one of the effects of being in a very small town. Jeanette and Timu from Germany were a couple of instant friends, two of those people that you feel just an instant connection to from the moment you meet. Timu showed us some sick house dance moves at the local club called Santeria, where we spent every night we were there (and some mornings too).

While we were in Porto we also took a little excursion into an ecological reserve they have there, with mangrove swamps and seahorses. I would like to say a few things about seahorses.

First of all, it is widely accepted that on the universal scale of cuteness seahorses lie above kittens and bunnies (but just below puppies). I mean, they're miniature horses that swim around the ocean. Who would believe that if they didn't see it with their own eyes? I mean, it's like if I told you I had an 8-foot pink bunny.

Also, when you catch them and hold them in your hand, they just lie there, looking at you helplessly with those big brown eyes. Who could hurt such an innocent creature? Actually, the chemicals used in sunscreen burn their skin, which is why you're not allowed to hold them. Although apparently hundreds of sunscreen-laden tourists swimming for hours in their natural habitat apparently doesn't do any harm. Who would have thought, right?

Well, as usual I've been too long-winded, and by now I am no longer in Porto de Galinhas, where this post was started, but rather in Maceio, capital of the state of Alagoas, so I will continue the story elsewhere.

Recife

Mateo and I arrived in Recife on Saturday after a grueling 50 hour bus marathon. So far it's been great. We spent the day yesterday in Olinda, a historical city about 30 minutes to the north, where we saw some good capoeira, repente, and drumming and ate some tasty acaraje. A gorgeous sunset over the city rounded out the day of historical sightseeing and beach bumming.

A few impressions from our first couple days in the northeast of Brazil: life is slow here. You see it in the way people talk, the way they move, the length of time it takes to get a waiter's attention. I think it's refreshing actually. It makes you wonder how much more we actually get done with our constant activity.

Asking for directions is quite an experience here. First of all, you never want to ask an individual person for directions. Seeing as "I don't know" is, in general, a culturally forbidden answer, they will more likely direct you to an area where they believe there should be someone that may know how to get there. I speak from personal experience when I say you can spend all day at this game.

But asking groups isn't exactly a picnic either. The first 5 minutes or so are spent in bewildered stares as they try to comprehend what planet you came from. Then comes the obligatory 15 minutes of passionate discussion about what you mean exactly when you say "the Recife Palace Hotel right next to the Holiday Inn and Pizza Hut in the Boa Viagem neighborhood." By this time surrounding people have been drawn into the debate, battle lines are drawn, weapons unscathed, and then begins the half-hour or so of discussion on which of the virtually infinite ways to get there is the best, of course taking into account traffic patterns, the weather, any local holidays or special events, the location of any favelas or bad neighborhoods, police presence, alignment of relevant constellations, and if anyone is on their way there or on their way anywhere or even not planning on going anywhere at all but will gladly take you personally.

Even after this ordeal, the designated spokesperson (usually the individual whose proposed route was chosen as the best and therefore who won the prize) insists on telling you no less than 10 times how EXACTLY it is one gets there. There's no use in trying to get this number down into the single digits. It's not gonna happen. You can interrupt, walk away, punch him in the face - all this will only encourage him because he's not sure you're listening. By the time you leave you'll know not only how to get there, but also the Top 30 Things That If You See Them It Means You Are Going the Wrong Way (all rights reserved). Yesterday an old guy literally ran after us, leaving behind his refreshment cart, to make absolutely sure we hadn't somehow misunderstood "end of the beach." Amazing, just amazing.

But no really, the people are great. They are extremely kind and caring and truly want to help you.

Looks like we are going to Porto de Galinhas (voted best beach in Brazil) either today or tomorrow, depending on whether we can find anything to do here, since the city is dead right now. School's not really out yet so we're kind of just waiting for the parties to start in the meantime. After that we're thinking of going to Palmares (site of the biggest runaway slave city in olden times) and then to Maceio.

Check out the pictures on the right.