A New Year, A New Brazil

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We see out Floripa, the cast of characters changing, as the old leave and the new arrive. We are the old boys, in age, and in time spent in the hostel. There are a few more adventures, sure, like when Breno passed out. My notes, always the purveyor of actual truth, record (and this is not for the squeamish): “Breno has shat his pants. He was complaining that he had lost them, but the maid has found them in the bushes, with crap all over the cell phone in his back pocket. They explained this to him in front of everyone, and gave him back his cellphone, wrapped inside a rubber glove.” This is the stuff of legend on Planet Backpacker. Breno, a young guy from Sao Paulo, held the record for consuming 29 beers in one day. Says he: “I was talking to a girl who said she wasn’t interested in speaking to drunk guys. So I told her, I wasn’t interested in speaking to girls who were not interested in speaking to drunk guys.” Can’t fault the logic there. Ana, a professional swimmer, takes us to a Forro club and cracks up as my attempt to dance. I have all the grace of a one legged ostrich, but the enthusiasm of hyperactive puppy.

I wrote, many miles and years ago, how I sometimes felt like the older guy in the hostel I used to encounter when travelling in my early 20’s. At 34, I am practically a grandfather. When our fellow travellers, most of whom have yet to see their 25th birthdays, discover that I am 34 and Chris is THIRTY NINE, there is such a strong reaction of disbelief that we begin to enjoy telling them. “But you both look like you’re in your 20’s” they say, and we smile, because this is the age of our hearts, if not our bodies. It’s easy to feel young if you hang around young people. Sometimes however, we both look at each other, and acknowledge that, like the old cop in an action movie, perhaps we are getting too old for this shit.

There is time to sneak in one more adventure. Ivan and Giselle come and visit us, driving us around the island, allowing us to see just how many beaches lie further up from Praie Mole, including Jurere, possibly the most expensive neighbourhood in all Brazil. Ivan invites us to visit Blumenau, a surreal slice of Germany in Santa Catarina’s interior, and with two days left, we hire a car and set out to find it. Blue skies announce a new beginning, as we drive through coastal towns and cities, fry our skin on the long sandy strip of Praie Brava, stopping into roadside Churrascarias where an all you can eat buffet (and non-stop grilled meat) costs us $7 each. Brazil is still a bargain, whatever you might experience in Rio. Soon enough we’re in Blumenau, but we could be somewhere on the Rhine. With the heavy rain, massive flooding had hit the region just a few weeks before, and Blumenau bore the brunt, its adjacent river breaking its banks, some 80,000 people displaced. Everything seemed just fine in the centre of town, almost unnaturally so. Further out, landslides and rubble testified to the recent damage. Ivan met us in a mall, took us out for dinner, to a hole in the wall jazz bar. His friend Fabiana hosted us on her family farm, about 2 hours into the countryside, where we swam under ice-cold waterfalls, and ate a traditional German feast (complete with pickles). This is the People Chain at work. This is the definition of Modern Gonzo. Finding yourself in a place you never planned, and couldn’t imagine if you did.

We see out the final night in Sao Paulo with a gathering of new friends we met around the country, drinking vodka in a warehouse exploding with the excitement of a carnival rehearsal. Teams compete during the carnival, and their warm-ups are carnivals unto themselves, complete with drummers and dancers and processions. One final BBQ at our new friend’s Viktor and Cris, where unannounced friends stop by for a beer or six, the sun beaming down on the courtyard like a school kid apologizing for his shoddy attendance. The curtain draws.

So yes, Brazil is still my favourite country. Even when it rains on the beach. Even when the buses are full, or Rio is shut down. Sweat and passion, rhythm and danger, Brazil dances where others walk, and laughs (or cries) where others carefully reflect. Beautiful enough to seduce the most hardened hearts, it is the most raw of the major nations, for all the joy and heartache that brings. Easy to visit, impossible to forget, rest assured: Brazil will yet see many more tales of Modern Gonzo.

Rocks over Commercial Drive
Vancouver, Canada
19 January, 2009

Gonzo Gallery for A New Year, A New Brazil

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