Month: March 2015
Feb 6 – Mar 25 2015 Brazil and Chile
Note: These letters are Creative Nonfiction, but accurately coincide with real events.
I was afraid of getting to Guarulhos airport late because of São Paulo flooding or the trucker strikes, so took a cab just after mid-day even though my flight was to leave 8 hours later. Yet the roads were clear of flooding and of striking truckers; traffic was light. Not only is the terminal a comfortable place, but there are a quiet recesses where one can lie down and take a nap on three seats. I did. My flight- on Gol Airlines- as in Goooooooool! was easy, in a very new big Boeing.
Can foreign airlines be safe, new, and competitive–like foreign made cars or off-shore medical care? My daughter’s flight was on Air Canada: San Francisco, Toronto, São Paulo, then a 10 day layover, then Santiago, another 10 day layover, and back to Toronto and San Francisco. Cost: About $1200. She found her journey, by comparison, superior. I found the same thing with Gol. My fare on Delta, not including an extra flight, and change, was $1700.
Thinking Santiago airport transportation would be difficult arriving at 0155, I had checked with a world-class transport provider; the most reasonable transportation was US$ 85. When I arrived, not only were immigration and customs a breeze at that hour, but a local ‘Transfer’ van cost less than 10 U$D, taking me right to my Rent-A-Home door in the Las Condes sector of Santiago. So much for fear of flood, strikes and 1 AM arrivals in Santiago.
The most striking thing about Santiago, and Chile in general, is its total transformation. 40 years ago the country was among the poorest and stagnant in the Americas; it is now the most successful by any standard measure. Because of the explosive economic and civic growth, the whole North and Western half of Santiago is an awesome expanse of tree-lined streets and parks, with elegant high-rise apartment, residence, and business buildings, surrounded by glitzy suburbs in the Andean foothills
If São Paulo is an earthy, wealthy and crusty old lady, Santiago is the great great granddaughter of a dead magnate who lost everything after WW I –when the nitrate mining industry collapsed (fertilizer and gunpowder); this decendent rebuilt the family fortune and transformed the family business, taking it to a new level and direction.
As one result Chile became relatively expensive for US travelers during the last few decades. But for Dollar holders 2015 is a relatively favorable time to visit, like much of the world; the Chilean Peso has fallen about 1/5 against the $US.
Even though this is a small country—less than 18 Million people—it has not escaped the world-wide changes addressed in Moises Naim’s book The End Of Power. He claims that historically powerful entities, people, governments, industries, and institutions can neither exercise nor hold on to power, which now belongs to obscure individuals, small business, small countries, informal coalitions, and upstart of all sorts.
As I write, local TV channels are doing live broadcasts of a huge investigation of tax fraud here called Pentagate: the exchange of political advantage (money!) by holding companies in order to evade taxes. The case has been building for months and is being adjudicated by the Supreme Court: One sees politicians and wealthy fraudsters in handcuffs, being denied bail, and led off to prison.The supreme court proceedings are in the hands of an eloquent elderly judge, who speaks clearly and deliberately, reminding me of our Watergate or McCarthy hearings. The electronic and print worlds are on fire. See http://santiagotimes.cl/pentagate-scandal-continues-heats/ and this blog: http://blog.panampost.com/editor/2014/12/11/want-responsive-elections-in-chile-fund-them-yourself/
The blogger, in particular, speaks not only to Chile but to the USA, and arguably, the world.
For almost a month we’ve lived in a nicely located Apart-Hotel, in Las Condes. It is on the metro line, and at the crossroads of upscale NW Santiago, the home of fine restaurants, dress shirts, ties, and business suits—-in the young, suits and backpacks–, glitzy shopping, and spiffed high-heeled women with ironed hair who roam this high-rise glass and steel world. These folk lunch in hundreds of sidewalk restaurants, and supper in style. New and expensive hotels are the rule. The picturesque old downtown financial district, a bohemian sector, and the student dominated barrio of small universities in between… are all a short metro or cab ride away.
As in much of the developed world, everyone here complains: approval of government is at less than 30%, of the president less than 20%. No one trusts corrupt and ineffective institutions, abusive businesses, failed efforts to control pollution and degradation of the planet; or our world in chaos: Sound familiar?
But objectively the fast growing middle class here lives well; and the poor live poor, but far less than half a century ago though complaints are almost universal. Over those decades, by every standard measure Chile is a better and better place for more and more people. Santiago restaurants and hotels are full. The skyline sprouts construction cranes. Roads and freeways are generally new. A tunnel running 15 miles E and W under the main river is a toll road which, when exited, makes automatic charges based on distance; no toll booth, but cameras. How can things be so bad all over the world and look so good? Yet that is the same all over our planet, if one simply compares life today with 50 , 100, or 500 years ago.There is another great metropolis built almost every month, and that is where most people apparently want to be. Maybe we need to stop listening to the News, and tend our own garden, as Voltaire suggested.
The normal generational change continues but moves faster than ever.Older Chileans are often rather formal,and intense, preferring never to seem different from one another, reserved, focused, not easily given to unrestrained pleasures like dance or song by contrast to the same generations of Peruvians Panamanians, Argentines, Colombians, or Brazilians. Perhaps older Chileans remember the political crises of the 50’s 60’s 70’s, and more easily find solace in the oldest and finest wine industry in South America, and the birth of their new country.
The young educated middle class of millennials here more closely reflect a developing worldwide norm: active, outward looking, rejecting and objecting to borders, and limits of other kinds. While there is a drug culture found in millennials here it is, like alcohol, most damaging to the poor and uneducated, or those who lose hope for one reason or another. This crowd of new world young is worth listening to; more accurately, they will speak up whether we listen or not.
Chileans are miners, master builders and engineers of necessity. They work on and under a thin wedge of the earth’s unstable crust between the Andes and the sea. A well-built high-rise building may suffer earthquake cracks, but they are only skin deep. The structures can bend, like willows rather than Oaks; so the best place to be in a major quake is inside a well built building. Outside, deadly stuff can fall on you, you can be swallowed up by a big crack, or swept away by a river whose course is altered… that happened in a small town during the most violent earthquake ever recorded en vivo, near Valdivia, a southern coastal city. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1960_Valdivia_earthquake
Volcanic eruptions, like small quakes, can often occur without significant earth movement. They can be very spectacular with huge plumes of smoke, ash, and volcanic lightning. Pictures below are from three eruptions in places I have visited often: (ongoing!) near Ensenada, a friend’s house, and a unique old hotel full of antiques; Villarica, earlier this year, near one of the most elegant and unique international resorts in the world; and Chaitén near Pumalín, a famous 2.5 million acre eco-park founded by Douglas Tompkins. As spectacular as eruptions are, they are seldom deadly. They can cause much disruption of life however. This site offers a good idea of how ash affected the small town of Chaitén . http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/06/chaiten_volcano_still_active.html
But for us, and many expatriates, Chile is about extended family: We have 27 cousins for example. Most live in the Metropolitan area between Valparaiso and Santiago. When there we have little rest with visits book-ended between bienvenidas (welcome celebrations) and despedidas (goodbye celebrations); in between are daily get-togethers. We eat, and talk, gossip, and eat. There is rarely a lunch or evening free. We begin to yearn for home, for rest, for our Sacramento humdrum existence!
Feb 6 – Mar 25 2015 Brazil and Chile
Feb 25, 2015: I have often found it most interesting and informative to explore a new place free of appointments and guides; whether in mountain or city, that leaves me open to the unexpected, to personal discovery. The most insignificant person, or remote corner can be a more open doorway to an inner sanctum than an accredited official or guide.
The Asociación Paulista de Medicina offices are at Brigadeiro 278, 8th floor, in a modern office building. There is strict security. Yet my CA driving license and avuncular ‘Walking White Man’ appearance were adequate documentation. The guard asks: Why am I there? Not confessing the truth (no clear idea), I decide it is to visit the Association Library and Museum, listed in the extensive São Paulo Visitor’s Guide. The guard speaks at some length with the Museum Receptionist. I am issued a visitor tag and assigned a pleasant guide; perhaps she is also my keeper– to keep me from being lost– or making trouble. After all I am just a self identified Tom-Rick-or-Enrique.
After wandering through and taking photos, I venture to ask some questions of a young man i see cloistered in a small office. He is a pre-med student, working there as a library docent. After a few minutes, he dismisses my guide, and spends the next two hours taking me through the other sections of the Association offices.
These include: one devoted to the history of medicine, a museum of painting related to medicine; the inner sanctum of the library filled with fine old books; and an exposition of about 100 paintings by internationally known portrait artist, Adelino Angelo, with a section titled ‘Faces of Misery’– from Europe and South America.
Though he is not there, the museum has a curator and mentor. So I log the museum secretary on to the SSVMS site and web page with Bob La Perrierre’s fine on-line tour of our museum. Outside, dark thunder clouds loom and began to speak and leak. I thank everyone, ask that they visit me or SSVMS whenever possible, and leave for my next stop.
São Paulo claims at least ten formal cultural centers like that of the Medical Association, 23 formal museums, 20 schools of art, and 10 active ateliers. There is also the Museu do Futebol, a national shrine of sorts, but at this time a place of mourning over Brazil’s failure to win the last World Cup. Even so, The Futebol Museum is more than a celebration of male sweat and hormones; it is a celebration of Brazil. I had visited it earlier.Two major museums looked attractive: The Museu de Arte de São Paulo (MASP), Av Paulista 1578; and the Pinacoteca de SP, Praza de Luz 2, (Plaza of Light) in the big park by that name, across the street from a beautiful restored building, the Luz Metro Station.
The MASP owns more than 50,000 classical works of art. It is featuring an exposition that takes the visitor through the 18th and 19th century of art in Brazil and elsewhere: Manet, Degas, Cezanne, Gaughan, Matisse, Renoir, Lautrec, Van Gogh, Picasso, Hals,My iPad shuddered as I clicked on ‘photos’.
I am here for about 4 hours, while the sky darkens. Now I want to visit the Museu Pinacoteca. It is housed in a huge, block structured building next to yet another large park and plaza the looks off into the distance toward… What? More high-rise buildings. There are parks at every turn in this contorted city. The Pinacoteca sits atop, and covers, a large plaza which serves as a place for artisans to show their wares, for a weekly farmers market, and a shelter, especially in heat or rain..
The major part of the Pinoteca is on the second floor. Oldsters are admitted free; it was not crowded and I stay for 5 hours while outside the storm rages. At about hour 3 I am the only person on a guided tour provided by the museum; perhaps others, wiser than I, fled the storm. It was an unforgettable private introduction to both the history and the art of Brazil. early paintings by Europeans (Rodin visited and left some of his bronzes); the colonial period as seem by monarchists; the coup and independence; a gradual growth of national painters and sculptors. Obviously a huge collection but here are two I thought particularly relevant to Brazil:
One is by French painter who had never been to Brazil. if you enlarge it, ( click) you will note all indigenous are European. The other is by a Brazilian painter, who depicts Tiradentes (teeth puller), a dentist who supported the revolt against the monarchy and was drawn and quartered. The painting is so gory it was never exhibited until recently.
While I am drinking in this dose of art and history, lightning and thunder continue. I finally have to leave. The Luz Metro stop is about 300 yards across a wide empty street. I cross during a slight lull and take the metro. It is very extensive, elegant, nicely maintained for the most part, with escalators and electric walkways moving passengers three or four levels underground at times from one line to another.
It is still raining heavily when the train reaches my station, a few big blocks from my hotel. I wait about 20 minutes, but finally just go, arriving completely soaked. I strip and dry myself gratefully, and turn on the TV.
There is live coverage of extensive flooding, cars piled up by the roiling brown water, metro stations closed with people walking the rails to escape, fallen trees, and a man electrocuted when he tried to leave his flooded car as a wire carrying 15000 volts fell. I stored my museum photos and pulled out my still shuddering iPad to record a news broadcast.
This storm dropped more water in less time than any on record. It seems clear that reports of people fleeing SP because of the drought were premature; but some actually are leaving because of flooding. I hope to leave tomorrow, despite weather and an independent trucker strike. It involves huge theft of money from the State owned oil monopoly PetroBras, and a government decision to replace those losses by raising only the cost of diesel! Will the president survive? If so, won’t she be powerless? The greve, (strike or grievance), is blocking freeways without warning. Can I make it to the airport tomorrow?
Feb 6 – Mar 25 2015 Brazil and Chile
It is Monday, segunda feira; I want to stay on in the same hotel, so ask to extend. But I’m told the room rate now is 45 % higher; the clerk explains that when the hotel is full that happens. And even though I have been here now for a week they cannot allow me a three hour late check out when I leave three days later; not without another hefty charge. The people are very pleasant, and proper, but the rules are set somewhere in non-personal space; since I don’t want to move, or devote my time to arguing, I accept this abuse as inherent in a non-consumer sensitive society.
Food dystopia is rather new here.The food that Brazilians eat now is more likely than before to be fast, sweet, starchy and fat; but it hasn’t affected most bodies yet as they are active per force, and walk a lot. The old gastronomy requires the work of many to grow, deliver, and prepare fresh tasty food. Perhaps people, partly as a result of changing economics, will learn to eat cheaply and also well everywhere; I hope so. It is evening. I suppose I will go out again into the noise and crush of bodies, to someplace where I can enjoy being lost; and eat a nice lunch.
I spent yesterday with two of Sandi’s friends who are typical millennials. He was at San Francisco University, studied biology, later graduated in Brazil.Then decided he prefers graphic arts, so studied that, and is working for an ad agency. She became a lawyer and practiced in São Paulo, but now wants to become a chef; does pastry in a local bakery and will go to Italy for a 6 month course at a well known school. They live in Liberador, a section of São Paulo that is an Asia town. They plan to get married next year and travel to the United States hoping to visit New York then drive to New Orléans and on to San Francisco. They enjoy Country Western so I suggested they stop in Nashville… They will certainly visit Sandi and I hope they will visit us so I can take them to Yosemite and Lake Tahoe.
They do not feel a need to marry; they hope to live with few limits, and very limited restrictions of profession or vocation. Ironically, that freedom requires limiting a subset of needs or wants to the basics, the essentials: They like to do things but don’t seem to care much about having or acquiring things, even though they appreciate them. Their interests are transnational and supranational. They prefer to buy dreams rather than acquisitions. I like that; maybe it is, curiously, almost old-fashioned conservatism, or what a century ago was called liberal.
I was born into a time when life and well-being were what one ate, and how one behaved; the Good Life was created by Family, maintained by individual right and healthy behavior. It still can be; but we seem to believe it is equally well created and maintained by the state, by industry, and in accord with government given rights. Take the significance of food for example: In Brazil people spend a lot of time eating. Food dystopia is still new here.The food that Brazilians eat now is more fast, sweet, starchy and fat, than it used to be; but it hasn’t affected most bodies here yet as they are active per force, and walk a lot. The old gastronomy requires the work of many to grow, deliver, and prepare fresh tasty food. Perhaps people, partly as a result of changing economics, will learn to eat cheaply and also well; I hope so. It is evening. I suppose I will go out again into the noise and crush of bodies, and places where I can enjoy being lost; and eat again.
I have spent the last 15 years reading– mainly dead people’s words– feeling that anything that lasts so long is worth my ever diminishing time. That was reading I didn’t do enough of in med school or as a real working doc. It has been very rewarding to listen to the dead. But I now find the world in the midst of another techno-cultural quake, as significant as the invention and development of speech, language, agriculture, writing, or printing. ‘The End of Power’ is a recent book by Moisés Naím that addresses this change. Clearly there is something happening today in the world that is significant even if it’s only a few years old. I believe the millenial young reflect that fact.
We went to the museu do futebol– the soccer museum. Brazil is, at least nominally, samba, song, and futbol. The museum is much more than a huge monument to maleness, or the sport. It is a cultural resume of history and peoples– because Brazil is a melting pot as is the USA. see http://museudofutebol.org.br/
Brazil has won the world football cup five times. They failed in 2014, such a national disaster that it is not yet included in the displays devoted to each world cup. I doubt it will be there before the next world cup in or three years!
Feb 21, 2015: São Paulo is a huge and labyrinthine metropolis. I travel by metro ( Santiago metro to the fourth power), bus and taxi when necessary. I am often lost. When going with Sandi’s friends from place it is a pleasant surprise that both these paulistanos also must ask directions. They. like I, often get directions from other lost souls, only partly or relatively right, or simply wrong! Ha Ha Ha! Or maybe Ra Ra Ra. Which is, practically, Frog Frog Frog.
There is always the question of safety with respect to foreign travel, In the USA our media is salted with reports of assault, theft, extortion etc. Yet at home we know where and how those things are most likely to happen. On the other hand in a foreign environment that is not so clear. However, I have found the rest of the world little different from my own country in that regard. One can easily be aware of what and where to avoid.
My trip from the airport to downtown São Paulo is an example of what to do and not to do. I live in the mind of a child of the great depression of the thirties: Waste not want not. So after asking at the airport, instead of a cab or transfer van I took a bus directly to the upscale Paulista Section of the city. During the half hour drive the bus attendant asked each passenger what stop they wanted. When asked about hotels, he explained that they are overly expensive near my stop, the last. He suggested a cab to a different nearby sector.
A well dressed woman overheard, and commented: ” Why go someplace else when you are at a good spot already?” Again my retarded inner child from the thirties spoke up in my mind; the attendant seemed credible and attentive; so I followed his advice. He hailed a cab and scribbled a name and address on a card.(Ooops! I noticed he took a commission! My second mistake was to ignore that.) The driver had trouble finding the hotel; when he did, we were in one of the most filthy, run down and fearsome drug toxic inner area of any city I had ever been in before.
When I make that sort of stupid mistake I try to react immediately. Without getting out, or paying the fare, I told the embarrassed driver I’d give him an extra half fare to take me immediately back to where we started; this time, directly. I think we were both pleased to get there; he with his undeserved fares and me with my immediate future.
Feb 6 – Mar 25 2015 Brazil and Chile
Oi, as they say here. It is Tuesday, terca feira, (c cedula, or a tail that makes it an s). Work on the asilo
— a rural small town home that will house about 100 old and handicapped people–is finished for now, the multi-year project showing serious signs of surviving; it was very rewarding to be there as that started to happen.
Now– out of that decent healthy countryside, and into rough tough raucous São Paulo. If Rio de Janeiro is a beautiful painted lady of Brazil, SP is its body and soul: Futbol, Samba, and Industry. It’s 1830, at night. The 24 hour clock, metric system, day/month/year dating, and periods in big numbers instead of commas are among the many minor differences notable to Norteamericanos. I use that term because many in our hemisphere feel, and insist, that people in the USA are not the only Americanos–Americans.
The fading day is trying to hold on to the city . It won’t succeed; or will it? A satellite view of the earth at night reveals a planet on fire with electric lights; São Paulo ,home to about 15 million people, is a big burning blotch of light.
I am sitting 3 m above street level, at the corner of Luis Coelho and Bela Cintra, in the open air veranda of a restaurant. Below the rodo dos rodos (wheeling of car wheels as I imagine in my poor Brazilian) is intermittent and shoes carrying bodies move along relatively quietly, in sharp contrast to a couple of blocks away on Rua Agustinas or Rua Paulista
Paulista Restaurant, and an omelet!
São Paulo Subway System
Metro at Trianon Museo de Artes SP
View from MASP- Museo de Arte SP
Vendors in Sheltered area under MASP
It rained this afternoon. Thick wet skies threw down an almost tropical rain on S P, washing, but spoiling, the view. It was very welcome because of the drought here. This was the second storm in the past few days; but it didn’t last more than an hour, like the ‘dry’ season in the tropics. Afterward I walked up Consolacion, left on Paulista, and left on Bela Cintra to this corner restaurant–Segredos do Minero. I like the name– Secrets of Miners. It reminds me of the 13 little mining towns of my childhood, even though the restaurant has nothing to do with mines, except history, and an extract from a very nice poem. The name, however, doesn’t refer to miners but to about people of Minas Gerais, the original mining country of Brazil, a place of old culture, relative wealth and a power historically and politically. The country changed. wealth and power moved on, but Minas remains a treasured part of the lore of the nation. The State, the miners the mines, and Mineros — those who live there–are family. For a look at the menu of my restaurant, cliquez: http://segredosdeminas.com.br/ I have come here often, and the owner gave me a menu, where Frai Betto’s poem appears. *See below: Ser Minero.
I like the spot. I like the food. I like the chatter, usually subdued, maybe because the fare is relatively expensive… no music, no alcohol driven decibels. I like the restaurant, the name, the view from my table above the street. The menu features meats of many kinds prepared in different ways. When there is a chill breeze at night I order hot soups. They come boiling hot in big clay pots with a ladle in the middle, to spoon the soup into a bowl. The soup is accompanied by a small roll of buttered garlic bread, I order water sem gas (no gas). And possibly an espresso later but not way late. Like, Wow. So? Yes, I’m an old man.
One reason I’m here is my disease: xenophilia, love of the Other. And I have a conceit of being an American in a place including both our continents; and in that America there are three major languages. Brazilian is the one I lack. What better way to learn than immersion? This is my third trip but the others were touristic and short. I did study some before coming; the overlap between both English and Spanish, and Brazilian, is sometimes helpful, sometimes very misleading! Even so, I can now read almost everything. I can make myself understood fairly well because when my words are garbled I or get totally lost I revert to gestures and to Spanish. Nonetheless, I can hear almost nada, except when the subject is quite clear, as on TV news about assault, murder, robbery, ads, erudite art show enthusiasts, news… etc. Teen age talk in tongues in Brazil, as they do everywhere.
It seems to me Brazilians are almost reliably tolerant, and considerate, even in crowds. On the SP subway escalators, people politely almost always move to the right (like the sign says!) to allow those in a hurry to pass. Drivers are courteous even in this city of …what? between 15 and 20 million.
People are always willing to answer questions, (even when they aren’t clear about the question or the answer!) There is a fairly typical Latin American machismo; it’s reflected in the Futbol museum, a multi-million dollar homage to maleness. Yet Brazilians are very tuned to USA and there are prominent informational items everywhere on the social, sexual, environmental and nutritional matters we focus on in the USA.
There is a general tolerance of the Other, with some exceptions: The homeless, the drug addicted, are ignored almost completely. I suppose people assume they don’t vote, or contribute much in any other way. In that sense this is a harsh, or practical reality. Is it Tough Love? I suspect it is.. Street sleepers are usually gone by 10 AM, in this an upscale area, they are…Where?
The ‘millennials’, young educated adults here are, it seems to me, like to their peers all over the world. My daughter Sandi’s friends, for example. He studied Biology at USF for a year, a scholarship; then came home and graduated. But, didn’t like the field, and took up technical drawing, now works for an advertising agency. She was a lawyer, worked for a while here, changed her mind and is now garnered a 6 month scholarship in Italy to train as a chef. They live relatively simply, marginally by some measures: no car, no home- they rent, public transportation, saving and spending on their big dreams, big Ideas, not big Things. No marriage yet, no kids, not even any pets. They hope and try to live without– or despite and beyond borders; in the physical world or in the personal.
They are not drug oriented, or escapist; their parents Worry; Obviously. They are very e.connected, current with most of the US and world TV series one way or another: like Orange is the New Black, Mad Men, Orphan Black and many I can’t name. When I mention Walter White (Breaking Bad) they break into a long dissertation about the crafting of the show, the use of metaphor, color, clothing…etc. They feel the series was a timeless classic at birth. They talk about the theme of the book Lili sent me: The End of Power by Moises Naim... meaning the power of nations, of government, of industry, of Order… They reference the printing press, which led to an end of the God and King alliance. Surely, they say, this too is a dangerous time, the inevitable beginning of major world change.
I express a reservation about the power of individuals over institutions because it seems to me that who live in relatively free, if clearly imperfect condition, don’t understand how a ruthless dictatorship of one sort or another can hold its people prisoner in body and mind… Can the e.world of change overcome that? Possibly but not yet in places like North Korea, which is a black void on the satellite night view of earth. Maybe the change will be universal and irreversible, like the development of the printing press, land earlier, that of language, writing, agriculture. We agree it will not be easy or predictable.
I am in my hotel room watching CNN. People are, they say, concerned about the closing down and evacuation of São Paulo due to lack of water. There is here, yes, a drought; much like ours in CA, it may last several years; in some small towns the water infrastructure is inadequate and people have to go elsewhere for water, as in some San Joaquin Valley towns.
But at least so far these 15 or 20 million Paulistas have water; the parks, and rural fields, are green and the SP faucets put out clean chlorinated water, with only occasionally a slight musty smell. Everyone who can continues to choose bottled water in a determined effort to fill the ocean with plastic garbage, which is of course, oil.
A video taken from my hotel room TV 2 days later deals with the worst storm in recent history, flooding of hundreds of miles of freeways, portions of the metro, hundreds of cars swept away, a death.
My take, therefore, on ‘News’ is it’s not what it pretends; it’s not evil by intent, but degenerate, created or invented, ,and often toxic in fact. NEWS is not about what happens, it is about entertainment and profits. Once we are imprinted with false or very selected ‘facts’, or factoids, it is hard to let go.
*Carlos Alberto Libânio Christo, O.P., better known as Frei Betto (born August 25, 1944) is a Brazilian writer, political activist, liberation theologist and Dominican friar, born in Belo Horizonte. At the age of 20, when he was a student of journalism, he entered the Dominican Order. He was later imprisoned for four years by the military dictatorship for smuggling people out of country. Betto is an over the top activist, populist to say the least, communist to say the fact. He is also a fine writer, for which one can forgive most of his political sins, even though he uses his considerable talent to mislead. This is the redacted piece from the restaurant menu, I’ve translated it crudely losing it’s cadence, corrupting its imagery, misinterpreting its more subtle meaning: but that is what translation does!
“To be Mineiro is not to say what you do, but what you will do; to pretend not to know what you know; to speak little and listen much; to let people think you a fool, to sell cheese, and have a big bank account.
“A good Mineiro isn’t a drunkard, doesn’t reap the wind, doesn’t walk in the dark, or in the damp, doesn’t fear speaking with strangers.
“Only believes in smoke when he sees fire, only risks when certain, never gives up a bird in the hand for two in the air.
“To be Mineiro is to say ‘UAI’. To be different. To have a registered trade mark. To have a History.
“To be Mineiro is to be pure and simple, humble, and modest, courageous and brave, faithful and elegant; to be Mineiro is to see the sunrise and the moon’s bright light, to hear birdsong, and the purring of cats; it is to feel the awakening of time and the dawn of life.
“To be Mineiro is to be religious, and conservative; to cultivate letters and arts; to be poetic and literate; to like politics and love liberty; to live in the mountains, to have an inner life; it is to be decent.
Letter Two: of a series about Brazil and Chile, Feb 5 to Mar 25, 2015
Note: These letters are a form of Creative Nonfiction, but accurately coincide with real events. I have changed little excepting the personal names
Monday Feb 16, 2015
This small town in Minas Gerais is 4 hr by car NW of Sao Paulo. I am spending the next ten days with Volunteers in Mission, a Methodist program, working on an asilo–a home for invalids and old people. It has been a long term project, now reaching a state of viability, with increasing support from town people, who at first were quite dubious; they doubted the project could be completed. At first the Methodists worked, while locals, and politicians talked and watched; but now both are more active, as are average people in this rural town of less than 15,000.
This is my second trip to work on the asilo. I was here before in 2008. Methodists, consistent with the views of founder John Wesley, generally value doing over talking; good acts over good words.( Politicians of the world please note.) The VIM leader, Ted, is from silicon valley, compulsive and aggressive. Probably that’s essential there, and as a VIM leader. He constantly speaks of herding cats; there are only six of us this time, three men and four women, all hard working and dependable, rather un-cat like in that regard. There are no slackers, but Ted doesn’t seem to suspect that cats are more easily led than herded. So we quietly do what cats do. Example: After it becomes clear we will finish what we started, the cats began to bypass our herder to repaint a dingy dining/TV area currently in use, and that will still be in use until the project actually opens; a place they spend 90 percent their days. The asilo director approves, and it is done, despite contrary rulings by Ted: ‘that’s enough… stop here’ and so forth. But the cats stray on, even recruiting a local volunteer and some residents of the asilo, who can be herded even less easily than Nortemericanos. And to his credit, our herder, who is wise and experienced, having led many similar missions, is unperturbed. He himself is an extraordinary cat.
Extraordinary is also the perfect word for people who leave their comfortable homes and and pay their own way to a remote part of the world in order to try doing something that might be illusory or idealistic, but takes them to a world that is new and renewing, where there is much to be done. That is just one reason I like to go on VIM trips. My companions are a breed apart, one I admire and enjoy being around. One can, as has been so common over the last century, ridicule missionaries. But that is merely a cheap and easy abuse, directed at those who are’t able to aren’t there to respond..Of course there are self serving frauds among all of us, including religious types, and those called missionaries. But I have traveled the world for more than 80 years one way or another, and my experience with missionaries is nearly universally positive. I may disapprove of religious institutions; I often do. But only very rarely do I disapprove of activist religious individuals. And this kind of VIM mission attracts the best amateur missionaries.
After our work is complete, Carnaval begins. It lasts about four days, shorter and low key by comparison with the cities. It is less crowded than I remember last time, less beer, more friendly; maybe that’s because the country– indeed the world– is more limited than it was then. Everywhere government is unpopular, corrupt, bungling, and worse: powerless. Brazil is no exception. Some things like this annual celebration endure in that hot humid Summer, one reason nothing happens until well after dark.
Here is something i found by the road while looking at coffee plantings. It captures the feel of Carnaval, and samba competitions. My translation, of course, is amateur, but it is roughly accurate. ‘Block’ is akin to barrio, or sector:
We are arriving, rich folk
we are only beautiful people
A toast to life itself
Founded in Alvarada’s garage
With Anisio Perez the theme’s fun
It’s Carnaval not UTI (?)
With peace and love in our hearts
with audacity and joy
And regard for the holy church; to the sound of my drums.
Come my love,Let’s do Aue Aue Aue; At Carnaval and Block Fuze.
I’m watching while a samba school band practices for their competition. Maybe 40 people. A leader starts to conduct from the front, then moves around constantly into the band, urging them with arm gestures, and rhythmic jumping, shouting instructions, arms pumping up and down in rhythm for emphasis, blowing on a police whistle to signal certain changes or rhythms. Toward the rear are 10 or 15 boys; they beat small metal rimmed plates, making metallic sounds. Toward the front are three or four large drums of differing sizes. They sound a heavy, usually steady beat. There are a number of high pitched drums, some tall with middle pitch some small with a higher pitch. All this collection of instruments, and some i miss, put forth complicated patterns of beating; often changes are made in unison. I could not figure it out; will have to go on line for more info!
It is Sabado and I go to the celebration. Two big schools compete, going slowly around the covered block by turns. Afterward are stage shows and professional bands for the rest of the night. The Samba parades are impressive, but I feel sorry for two performers in particular (reportedly women).Their school has chosen Disney theme and they are completely clothed in heavy Mickey Mouse costumes, dancing with great energy ahead of their samba school parade that takes at least 1/2 hour to circle the big old church square. And at the end or their route they are not done. The drummers keep drumming, the people keep dancing and prancing. The two Mouses stand and gyrate for pictures. When I stand between them for my photo they radiate heat through their heavy mouse costumes. It is still quite hot but they continue for another hour. Wow..
At the moment someone, a male voice on loud speaker, is going on about something… roving groups of similarly costumed people come and go. The samba band music seems a bit mindless at first. I’m reminded of a friend, a protestant, who said at a Catholic funeral mass: SOO Repetitive!! Samba drumming can give you that impression. But it is quite complex and precise. Even so, it’s hard for me to guess why people find this collective celebration as significant as anything else in life, like Futebol. Why it is samba so elemental to this culture. Maybe because it is a collective abandon. In a small town it involves everyone; even dogs come and go. Lots of beer for kids, as well as caipirinhas whenever they can grab them (rum and stuff …think, ‘rum and Coke’; the word implies rustic or hick); little kids running and jumping about; a sound stage… no, two.
The VIP section fills with dancers; it’s a central, raised area, where some important folk like to hang out. I think it costs about U$100 to get in but that includes plenty of booze. All around is a milling crowd, mostly young, not all in costume, dancing and talking and drinking. Lots of loud harsh male voices, flocks of teens. It continues til dawn of course.There are only two days when the samba schools compete. The rest are for music, alcohol, prancing and dancing. . It is not a gaudy celebration here, more a family sort of thing; a barrio thing, where people from one area get together, make up some costumes, and dance along together in a sort of neighborhood solidarity that’s been developing for months.
Catholic Mass on Sunday is not particularly crowded. The religion was celebrated the night before, perhaps so people have the right to rest up during the day for the night to come. I can’t understand much at mass– even though in many regards there are similarities with protestant Christian litany. As usual, I can read almost everything, speak passably, though people don’t find my accent easy; but as to understanding average fast speech, and especially teen talk, almost nada. The church is fairly full. I want to take a little bit of video but am shushed immediately by my friends, and properly so I suppose; but one admirable thing about Catholics, it seems to me, is that it is very tolerant of real people’s behavior; much that would not be allowed in organized protestant churches is acceptable, even welcome.
We don’t go to carnaval that night. To finish the asilo work is demanding– and to recover from just one evening takes all the next afternoon, at least for me, just sitting around, napping and eating.
Last evening you may be surprised to know we ate Pizza; like many US imports that are re-exported, it is big in Brazil. The Pizzeria da Roca isn’t pronounced the way one might think; the c is cedula c with a tail, an ‘s’; and the R is like our H. It means small country hut and sounds like ‘Hosa’. It was an interesting place… a couple of local kids went to Italy, studied pizzology, and came back, bought a piece of land about 8 km out of town with nothing commercial around. They created a little park with rustic walkways meandering through the woods, and opened up their restaurant. It is regularly packed on weekends; especially with well off folk here. Perhaps they prefer to congregate in a more remote place. This Sunday night it is packed by 7 PM!
The next day, Monday, or segunda feira, I decide to wash clothes and everyone follows. It’s about time. As I hang out my rags on the clothesline the clouds thicken. A huge black cumulus rises in the East (Which is not E but L here– for Leste; neither is West W… it is O for Oeste. So the compass points are NSLO). Raucous parrots, (maritakas) hide in their hollows as a sudden wind comes up, mourning doves cease crying, and little hoppers flee… to where? And of course all this is my fault for hanging out clothes which brought on the storm. Worse, the wind that comes in ahead of the rain dries my things so I take them in quickly… not so lucky are those who wash and hung out their clothes after I do. Maybe that rain washes off the old-fashioned lye soap better for them.
Nana, has again loaned me her wi -fi connection; she is in her kitchen, on her own computer, copying verses from the bible in HUGE text. It looks like she’s almost finished. I don’t want to abuse her by writing too long, and stop. She loves to talk, is quite alert, and lonely at times. It is afternoon, and the clash of a practicing band and some samba drummers invades Nana’s house and its windows rattle to different resonances. It is muggy and warm. This evening the parades, will return with the drumming corps marching behind or among costumed samba dancers, schools in matching colors and designs, among people just coming and going independently. The celebration will be loosely guarded by … generally black… guards.
We talk of everything and nothing. Once she says: “A mea mae estaba en Cadeira de Roda por seis anos.” (My mother was in a wheelchair for six years) but I didn’t understand. . Roda of is pronounced Hoda. After a time she made clear it means Wheel Chair… I had forgotten that cadiera is chair.. I kept thinking of back or hip as in Spanish cadera. So I broke out my hearing aids to hear the foreign sounds better. She’s somewhat hard of hearing too, so I passed her one. We spoke comfortably each one-eared. Nana had tried some hearing aids before but my COSTCOs seemed much better… so she plans to get a pair. We talked, for hours, almost understanding one another!
The country house where we stay at night is at least an air mile from the cathedral on the hill, the site of Carnaval. Yet sometimes at night our windows rattle with the drum beats. Our rental is quite impressive as decayed luxury: a large one story house with a long veranda, a four car garage, a private well and leach field, large grounds, a pool, a lighted tennis court, and a few square miles of land for cattle grazing. I suspect it is empty most of the year, but all is cleaned up to make it attractive for rental during Carnaval. Tomorrow it will be time for me to go to São Paulo Sao to meet my daughter who is a very skilled barrista and coffee roaster; she speaks four languages–Spanish, French, Portuguese and English– ideal for scoping out coffee growers. She’s in Guatemala now, but I will meet her there tomorrow, and later we go to Chile to meet my wife and family.
My VIM colleagues are back, anxious to go home to bed, and they are not a patient bunch; so, Ciao.!