From Sao Paulo, my bus arrived an hour earlier than I expected. While still waking up, I notice all of the passengers quickly filing off the bus, so I quickly followed suit. I found myself bathed in sunshine, in small to mid-sized town surrounded by lush green countryside. It was a welcome change in weather and environment after the last couple of days of rain and noise in Rio and Sao Paulo.
After identifying the hostel I was looking for outside of the city of Foz do Iguacu, I took a taxi there alone to find it set in the countryside with land to spare. After getting my room and putting away my things I overheard a group of 3 people getting ready to visit the Argentinean side of the falls. I impulsively asked if I could join them on the spot, and they obliged.
Visiting the falls with Stephanie (from Canada) and Karina and Archie (from Norway) was a blast. We followed an elevated walkway along the ridge of the falls, passing over tranquil water that would soon drop over hundreds of feet. Then we went to the other side where we could see a vista of the falls that was so wide it took 4 shots of my camera to capture. Finally we boarded a speed boat where we got up close and personal with most of the 27 independent, magnificent falls, and got soaked head to toe in the process. After spending the full day at the falls, we retreated to the hostel, which ended up being a backpacker's paradise.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Saturday, January 29, 2005
An Oasis of Modernity
My visit to Sao Paulo was many things I expected, and many I did not. I expected, and saw, a huge, bustling city with similarities to Los Angeles and New York. I expected to be, and was, impressed by the financial centers, and I expected to see many outlets for Brazilian culture and history. What I did not expect was to step into a middle-class dream similar to life in the States that, up to this point, I had not seen in Brazil.
It was my pleasure to stay with Jessica, in her family´s modern and cozy house a few miles from downtown. The contrast between a sometimes dirty hostel with antiquated fixtures and no air conditioning (meaning doors and windows were open all night) to a clean, orderly and modern apartment just like my family´s condo in California was a shocking transition. From freeway driving, New York City traffic, and upscale malls like you´d find in Glendale or Burbank, Sao Paulo is the seat of Brazil´s middle class.
My time in Sao Paulo also included more traditionally Brazillian experiences, such as trying pastiolis (fried meat pies), carne seco (shredded beef eaten with bread), and pao de queijo, a type of cheese bread. Also, on my second night, we went to a local bar to listen to live performances of Bossa Nova and Forro music. One of the most widely known Bossa Nova songs is the "Girl from Ipanema."
My time in Sao Paulo was rounded out by two facinating Afro Brazillian women I met who both spoke only Portugese. The first, whose name is Rosi (pronounced "Hosi") worked for a food stand just outside the metro station I used when entering and leaving the city. She is roughly my age and told me that she moved to Sao Paulo from Salvador to look for work. She urged me to take my next trip up to the beautifly northeast coast of Brazil.
The second lady worked in a museam I visited, and I couldn´t help but share a little bit about race relations in the United States in order to find out what her opinion was of relations in Brazil. I only understood about a third of what she said (as it was in Portugese only), but the jist of it was that there were few problems between Brazillians of the same income level. However, the problem was that the vast majority of people living in favelas (impoverished neighborhoods with 3rd World living conditions) were dark-skinned people of African descent, and that it was hard for them to climb the socio-economic ladder because public education was so horrible. I really wish that I knew Portugese better so that I could have understood more of what she said.
Generally, that conversation highlighted the uniqueness of my time in Sao Paulo, within the span of a couple of days, I had a look at both the horrendous favelas and the burgeoning Brazillian middle class. For me personally, however, the time in Sao Paulo was a refreshing return to familiar comforts, helpful to strengthen me for the upcoming week in the countryside.
It was my pleasure to stay with Jessica, in her family´s modern and cozy house a few miles from downtown. The contrast between a sometimes dirty hostel with antiquated fixtures and no air conditioning (meaning doors and windows were open all night) to a clean, orderly and modern apartment just like my family´s condo in California was a shocking transition. From freeway driving, New York City traffic, and upscale malls like you´d find in Glendale or Burbank, Sao Paulo is the seat of Brazil´s middle class.
My time in Sao Paulo also included more traditionally Brazillian experiences, such as trying pastiolis (fried meat pies), carne seco (shredded beef eaten with bread), and pao de queijo, a type of cheese bread. Also, on my second night, we went to a local bar to listen to live performances of Bossa Nova and Forro music. One of the most widely known Bossa Nova songs is the "Girl from Ipanema."
My time in Sao Paulo was rounded out by two facinating Afro Brazillian women I met who both spoke only Portugese. The first, whose name is Rosi (pronounced "Hosi") worked for a food stand just outside the metro station I used when entering and leaving the city. She is roughly my age and told me that she moved to Sao Paulo from Salvador to look for work. She urged me to take my next trip up to the beautifly northeast coast of Brazil.
The second lady worked in a museam I visited, and I couldn´t help but share a little bit about race relations in the United States in order to find out what her opinion was of relations in Brazil. I only understood about a third of what she said (as it was in Portugese only), but the jist of it was that there were few problems between Brazillians of the same income level. However, the problem was that the vast majority of people living in favelas (impoverished neighborhoods with 3rd World living conditions) were dark-skinned people of African descent, and that it was hard for them to climb the socio-economic ladder because public education was so horrible. I really wish that I knew Portugese better so that I could have understood more of what she said.
Generally, that conversation highlighted the uniqueness of my time in Sao Paulo, within the span of a couple of days, I had a look at both the horrendous favelas and the burgeoning Brazillian middle class. For me personally, however, the time in Sao Paulo was a refreshing return to familiar comforts, helpful to strengthen me for the upcoming week in the countryside.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Saudade
I am now in Sao Paulo after a 6-hour bus ride into the crowded, bustling, largest city in South America. Driving through the favelas of Rio on the way out of town was a little bit of a shock, as difference between wealthy Brazilians and poor ones is enormous. They truly live two different lifestyles, one in the First World, the other in the Third. The countryside between the two cities is gorgeous, and similar to California with rounded mountains and lush valleys. I have never seen grasslands that were so green and fertile.
I have come to Sao Paulo to meet a college friend of my ex-roommate, Jessica, and it has been a pleasure to meet someone on this trip that I know and have a connection to. She lives in one of the many, beautiful highrises that dot this city that reminds me so much of Los Angeles.
Last night, I accompanied her and her fiance to a uniquely named club, "Trash 80's," which, as you guessed, plays trashy 80's one-hit-wonders. The really interesting part for me was that while they played hits from the 80's that I knew, they also played many Brazilian hits from the 80's, which I found a lot catchier than most American 80's music. The club was filled with fun-loving locals who all seemed to have 9-5 jobs, but who go to the neighborhood bar to blow off some steam. It reminded me a lot of one of my favorite old haunts, the Press Club, in Sacramento.
While having dinner with Jessica and her fiance, Duda last night, she introduced me to the Brazilian word saudade when referring to an old friend of Duda's. The word can't be directly translated, but it means feeling a kind of longing, or nostalgia for a time past, an old friend, or a place visited. Apparently, it is a commonly-used word that permeates Brazilian literature and songwriting. I can truly say that even though I am thoroughly enjoying the company and hospitality of a friend while I am in Sao Paulo, I feel saudade for the people, places, and experiences of Rio as well. I will return one day, but for now I will visit this very interesting metropolis and will depart for Iguaçu Falls in a day.
I have come to Sao Paulo to meet a college friend of my ex-roommate, Jessica, and it has been a pleasure to meet someone on this trip that I know and have a connection to. She lives in one of the many, beautiful highrises that dot this city that reminds me so much of Los Angeles.
Last night, I accompanied her and her fiance to a uniquely named club, "Trash 80's," which, as you guessed, plays trashy 80's one-hit-wonders. The really interesting part for me was that while they played hits from the 80's that I knew, they also played many Brazilian hits from the 80's, which I found a lot catchier than most American 80's music. The club was filled with fun-loving locals who all seemed to have 9-5 jobs, but who go to the neighborhood bar to blow off some steam. It reminded me a lot of one of my favorite old haunts, the Press Club, in Sacramento.
While having dinner with Jessica and her fiance, Duda last night, she introduced me to the Brazilian word saudade when referring to an old friend of Duda's. The word can't be directly translated, but it means feeling a kind of longing, or nostalgia for a time past, an old friend, or a place visited. Apparently, it is a commonly-used word that permeates Brazilian literature and songwriting. I can truly say that even though I am thoroughly enjoying the company and hospitality of a friend while I am in Sao Paulo, I feel saudade for the people, places, and experiences of Rio as well. I will return one day, but for now I will visit this very interesting metropolis and will depart for Iguaçu Falls in a day.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Obrigado Rio (Thank you)
The gravid sky finally broke open this morning, and it has been pouring all day. This weather has finally disrupted the pattern I had going over the past few days in Rio. Waking up a little late, organizing my room, meeting the new travelers, going to the beach, eating at Churrasqueria (Brazilian BBQ), and partying the rest of the night. In Rio, the bars don't close until 5 or 6 (if ever!) and I usually got home by sunrise.
This breaking of my schedule has given me the time to think over the past few days, and all of the great people I've met. I met the first American since I've been here, Laren, a sanitary water systems student from Colorado on her way to a world youth conference in Porto Alegre. I also met Gabriel, a Lebanese-born student from Sao Paulo with whom I had some great conversations. I hung out with a Brazilian from the swamps of Mato Grosso, played soccer with 3 Argentineans on the beach, visited the statue of Christ with two Israelis, and clubbed relentlessly with two amiable Irishmen. I struggled to learn Portuguese from a modeling agent named Rafael, danced samba on the beach with girls from Sao Paulo, and made a good friend in Christian from Peru, who works in Lima. My last day I met Michael from Sweden, and Diego from Columbia, to whom I promised to eventually visit his beloved country.
I have been benefiting from quite a comfort zone in Rio, as there has been a critical mass of the same people at the hostel since I've been here. In the last few days, however, many of them have left, stripping away the comfort and familiarity of the hostel which had given me a home in the city. There's no doubt in my mind that it is time to move on.
Obrigado, Rio. Thank you, for an amazingly great time.
This breaking of my schedule has given me the time to think over the past few days, and all of the great people I've met. I met the first American since I've been here, Laren, a sanitary water systems student from Colorado on her way to a world youth conference in Porto Alegre. I also met Gabriel, a Lebanese-born student from Sao Paulo with whom I had some great conversations. I hung out with a Brazilian from the swamps of Mato Grosso, played soccer with 3 Argentineans on the beach, visited the statue of Christ with two Israelis, and clubbed relentlessly with two amiable Irishmen. I struggled to learn Portuguese from a modeling agent named Rafael, danced samba on the beach with girls from Sao Paulo, and made a good friend in Christian from Peru, who works in Lima. My last day I met Michael from Sweden, and Diego from Columbia, to whom I promised to eventually visit his beloved country.
I have been benefiting from quite a comfort zone in Rio, as there has been a critical mass of the same people at the hostel since I've been here. In the last few days, however, many of them have left, stripping away the comfort and familiarity of the hostel which had given me a home in the city. There's no doubt in my mind that it is time to move on.
Obrigado, Rio. Thank you, for an amazingly great time.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Rio Pictorial
It has been a few days since my last entry, and a lot has happened. So, instead of describing every little event, here are a few pictures of what I've seen and done.
In the taxi from the airport.
Hotel Turistico
A street performer in the central Rio neighborhood of Lapa.
Ipanema Beach on a cloudy, but very warm day.
The streets filling on Ipanema before a festival.
The main float of the "Banda de Ipanema" Carnival warm-up festival.
Thousands of people crowd the beach for the festival.
A group of young models who stayed at our hostel for 2 days.
After an impromptu samba party on Copacabana Beach with ladies from Sao Paulo.
The whole group from Sao Paulo on the same night in Copacabana.
Good friends in Hostel Tropícal.
The magnificent statue of "Cristo Redentor" overlooking the city of Rio de Janeiro.
In the taxi from the airport. Hotel Turistico A street performer in the central Rio neighborhood of Lapa. Ipanema Beach on a cloudy, but very warm day. The streets filling on Ipanema before a festival. The main float of the "Banda de Ipanema" Carnival warm-up festival. Thousands of people crowd the beach for the festival. A group of young models who stayed at our hostel for 2 days. After an impromptu samba party on Copacabana Beach with ladies from Sao Paulo. The whole group from Sao Paulo on the same night in Copacabana. Good friends in Hostel Tropícal. The magnificent statue of "Cristo Redentor" overlooking the city of Rio de Janeiro.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Mis hermanos de Chile
The main reason that I chose to stay in hostels is for the social outlets the provide to a solitary traveler. For me it was fortuitous to stumble upon Hostel Tropícal. This place is a draw for young, South American back packers from inside and outside of the country. Most of the travelers were from Brazil, Peru, and Argentina, with only a couple of "western" travelers (no other Americans yet), but things really got interesting when a group of 5 students from Chile arrived.
All were medical students, and Felipé, the leader of the group befriended me and was able to speak more words of English than the rest of his group. Hanging out with them was challenging, as we could only communicate in my halting Spanish. But I found that my language skills were improving greatly with all of the practice.
After going to the beach, we went back to the hostel for drinks and conversation. It was a noisy and jovial discussion that ranged from Chilean movies, to embarrassing stories from college and, of course, American politics. After filling the humid, 80 degree air with our noise, we went to a neighborhood in downtown Rio, named Lapa.
It is a lively neighborhood of colonial buildings crowded around snaking cobblestone roads. When we arrived near midnight, there were at least a thousand people packing the crowded streets, which were pulsating with samba, rock, raggae, and hip hop. The highlight of the night, was a samba drum group of 6 people who maintained a steady and enthusiastic crowd, dancing samba to the rhythms for the entire night. The music was so fun and natural, that I soon found myself dancing samba next to the locals without reservation.
The night ended as the sun rose, and the streets slowly cleared out, but I was distressed to find out that my Chilean friends were moving on to another town early that morning. Felipé invited me to look him up when I visited Santiago, and I promised to do that.
All were medical students, and Felipé, the leader of the group befriended me and was able to speak more words of English than the rest of his group. Hanging out with them was challenging, as we could only communicate in my halting Spanish. But I found that my language skills were improving greatly with all of the practice.
After going to the beach, we went back to the hostel for drinks and conversation. It was a noisy and jovial discussion that ranged from Chilean movies, to embarrassing stories from college and, of course, American politics. After filling the humid, 80 degree air with our noise, we went to a neighborhood in downtown Rio, named Lapa.
It is a lively neighborhood of colonial buildings crowded around snaking cobblestone roads. When we arrived near midnight, there were at least a thousand people packing the crowded streets, which were pulsating with samba, rock, raggae, and hip hop. The highlight of the night, was a samba drum group of 6 people who maintained a steady and enthusiastic crowd, dancing samba to the rhythms for the entire night. The music was so fun and natural, that I soon found myself dancing samba next to the locals without reservation.
The night ended as the sun rose, and the streets slowly cleared out, but I was distressed to find out that my Chilean friends were moving on to another town early that morning. Felipé invited me to look him up when I visited Santiago, and I promised to do that.
Friday, January 21, 2005
De Touristíca para Tropical
I´ve finally been in Brazil for over 24 hours, and I´ve just gotten over the jet lag. When I did go out, it was to Copacabana to find a youth hostel to stay in. The first one I visited was full, due to the coming of Carnival, but the second had room to spare and was pretty cheap at $14 a night.
While taking the Metro yesterday, I couldn´t help but be impressed by the diversity of the people of Rio. Cariocas come in every conceivable shade of color and have varying degrees of African lineage, but what really impressed me was the effortless intermingling between them; neighbors of old and young sitting on porches, mixed families walking down the street and groups having dinner. While the U.S. is often called a melting pot, comparatively, the people of Rio put that notion to shame.
As an African American, I have never felt less self-conscious than since I´ve set foot in Brazil. I have made an effort to not overtly reveal myself to be a tourist and people rarely give me notice. In less than 2 days, I´ve had half a dozen people assume that I was Brazilian without asking, or approached me speaking Portuguese. The vibe in this country is wonderful.
Even when it was obvious that I was a foreigner, people have been friendly to me as well. I made another friend today in Marcos, a high-school age Brazilian who worked at a local street sandwich shop. After watching me stare at the Portuguese menu for 5 minutes, he offered me help with his limited English. I found out that he spoke more Spanish than English and we were able to communicate much better. The only bad thing was that the grilled cheese sandwich that he helped me order was the worst thing I´ve eaten since I´ve been here.
While taking the Metro yesterday, I couldn´t help but be impressed by the diversity of the people of Rio. Cariocas come in every conceivable shade of color and have varying degrees of African lineage, but what really impressed me was the effortless intermingling between them; neighbors of old and young sitting on porches, mixed families walking down the street and groups having dinner. While the U.S. is often called a melting pot, comparatively, the people of Rio put that notion to shame.
As an African American, I have never felt less self-conscious than since I´ve set foot in Brazil. I have made an effort to not overtly reveal myself to be a tourist and people rarely give me notice. In less than 2 days, I´ve had half a dozen people assume that I was Brazilian without asking, or approached me speaking Portuguese. The vibe in this country is wonderful.
Even when it was obvious that I was a foreigner, people have been friendly to me as well. I made another friend today in Marcos, a high-school age Brazilian who worked at a local street sandwich shop. After watching me stare at the Portuguese menu for 5 minutes, he offered me help with his limited English. I found out that he spoke more Spanish than English and we were able to communicate much better. The only bad thing was that the grilled cheese sandwich that he helped me order was the worst thing I´ve eaten since I´ve been here.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Cariocas
I finally arrived in Rio de Janeiro at 10:39 local time, which is 4:39 pacific time, which means that, yes, I´ve been jet-lagged all day. But fortunately, American Airlines served up what seemed to be the best ham and cheese sandwich I have ever had in my life! It along with black coffee worked enough wonders for me to tackle this day.
Honestly, I was more than a little bit intimidated by the prospect of the beginning of this trip, as I would be visiting a new country and place for the first time in my life and I didn´t know anyone in the whole city. But that´s where the amazing spirit of the Cariocas, the residents of Rio stepped in.
The first resident I met was Henrique, and he threw me at first because of his heavy New York accent. He spent most of his high school years in New York City after growing up in Brazil. Now is a semi-pro/professional skateboarder and he just wanted to take a break and come back home. We had enough good conversation to fill all of the waking hours of the connecting flight from Miami to Rio. At the beginning of the week, I may meet up with his friends and hang out with them.
Upon finally arriving after nearly 14 hours in the air, I was bombarded by offers for tours, taxi cabs, and who knows what else, even before I left the airport building! To be expedient, I just took one of the taxi offers and picked a cheap hotel in a decent neighborhood to stay. The taxi driver was patient with my indecision, and the hotel managers, who can barely speak any English, smiled through my mangled Spanish/Portuguese conglomeration. (By the way, Portuguese is HARD, I feel like it is listening to Spanish being spoken in a French accent). After getting some quick shut-eye, I visited a couple of hostels and briefly waded in the ocean at Copacabana beach. It is very, very hot and humid here, I think I´ll be spending most of my time in the ocean for the next couple of days if I can swing it.
Also on the horizon for the next couple of days is visiting the Statue of Christ and the Sugar Loaf...
Honestly, I was more than a little bit intimidated by the prospect of the beginning of this trip, as I would be visiting a new country and place for the first time in my life and I didn´t know anyone in the whole city. But that´s where the amazing spirit of the Cariocas, the residents of Rio stepped in.
The first resident I met was Henrique, and he threw me at first because of his heavy New York accent. He spent most of his high school years in New York City after growing up in Brazil. Now is a semi-pro/professional skateboarder and he just wanted to take a break and come back home. We had enough good conversation to fill all of the waking hours of the connecting flight from Miami to Rio. At the beginning of the week, I may meet up with his friends and hang out with them.
Upon finally arriving after nearly 14 hours in the air, I was bombarded by offers for tours, taxi cabs, and who knows what else, even before I left the airport building! To be expedient, I just took one of the taxi offers and picked a cheap hotel in a decent neighborhood to stay. The taxi driver was patient with my indecision, and the hotel managers, who can barely speak any English, smiled through my mangled Spanish/Portuguese conglomeration. (By the way, Portuguese is HARD, I feel like it is listening to Spanish being spoken in a French accent). After getting some quick shut-eye, I visited a couple of hostels and briefly waded in the ocean at Copacabana beach. It is very, very hot and humid here, I think I´ll be spending most of my time in the ocean for the next couple of days if I can swing it.
Also on the horizon for the next couple of days is visiting the Statue of Christ and the Sugar Loaf...
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
4:28am
My journey begins in northern California, at 4:28 am, due to both last-minute packing and anxious anticipation of the trip ahead. A shuttle will arrive at in less than 4 hours to pick me up... I guess I wanted to add some intrigue and drama to even my ride to the airport!
I guess it's fitting that I should be up late, waiting for Departure day to arrive given that I've been waiting to go on this journey for over a year, since the point when this trip was first conceived.
In spite of my stubborness, drowsyness is slowly draining away any coherent thoughts I have, so I'll end my opening entry noting that in about 27 hours, I'll set foot Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Even just writing it sounds dreamy, sleep-deprived or not. On to new adventures...
I guess it's fitting that I should be up late, waiting for Departure day to arrive given that I've been waiting to go on this journey for over a year, since the point when this trip was first conceived.
In spite of my stubborness, drowsyness is slowly draining away any coherent thoughts I have, so I'll end my opening entry noting that in about 27 hours, I'll set foot Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Even just writing it sounds dreamy, sleep-deprived or not. On to new adventures...
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