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THE WORLD BY THUMB
100% hitchhiking - 100% world tour - Since 2013 - By Florence Renault
BRAZIL
From August, 7th to October, 10th 2013
Travel Story
Back to civilization
Salvador de Bahia
And so we arrived on August 7, 2013, in All Saints Bay. Twenty-one days have passed since we’ve seen land (from the Canary Islands, we had one month of navigating)…and in fact, you quickly get used to self-sufficiency. I was happy to see Brazilian soil from fair away, but had no feeling of huge euphoria or that famous “smell of land.”
Here we are: 500 years after the first explorers, we arrive in Salvador de Bahia. It is here that the colonial history of Brazil began. As a result, the majority of the region’s inhabitants, descendants of slaves, are black or mixed.
24 hours to go through customs, request a visa from immigration services, wash the boat, and polish the stainless steel with a toothbrush. We must soon leave “OUR” boat - last picture, last beer. Julien, the skipper, heads off to the airport. Cedric, my other teammate, continues the journey with me.
The first few hours spent in the noise, movement and colors of Brazilian civilization can be pretty frightening after a month of quiet.
We appreciate the colorful houses, smiling people, and the singsong language, which can sometimes be strident. A one-legged man is dancing in front of a street concert, crutches in the air, as an old woman selling cans moves her hips to the rhythm under the multicolored garlands in the street. But Salvador is also home to the pickpocket who tries to snatch my wallet and my phone, the drugged child sleeping on the sidewalk, an old man who begs for my fruit juice, another who begs Cedric to let him finish his cigarette…
It's the story of a Brazilian, a Breton and a Belgian...
Itaparica
They live on a magnificent island: Itaparica, just opposite Salvador.
I arrive there hitch-yachting (Please! Return to the port in 5 minutes!)
Cedric and I are welcomed to the home of his friends Fanny and Thiago, a very nice, vegetarian Franco-Brazilian couple. We have just a short week to wander the beaches and the surprisingly un-touristy villages, to make crepes à la bilik (Fanny is Breton), and to practice yoga (Thiago is a yoga instructor). On a side note, Brazil is the country with the most yoga enthusiasts (before India!). Rest and more rest, necessary after a month at sea. And then the procession of Saint Roch on August 16: one hundred people sing and dance in the village of Misericordia.
A special atmosphere reigns on this island, a mixture of slowness and wellness. Pierjo, the Belgian, explains to me that there are three centers of energy in the world, one of which is in Itaparica. Those who come to the island either come back there later or will never leave… as for Pierjo, he’s never returned to Europe – he’s been here for 10 years and is involved in many activities: sports, trash collection and sorting, local Web TV. It seems that the prefect of Itaparica fled to Luxembourg, and many people were thrown out for having constructed the Itaparica-Salvador bridge, which has still not been finished…
And what about me? Should I stay for 10 years or continue on my world tour?
(Answer in the next paragraph. ;-)
Ils habitent sur une île magnifique : Itaparica, juste en face de Salvador.
Hitch me to Brazil
Hitchhiking is complicated on smaller roads. Raising your hand at the side of the road (definitely not your thumb, which just means “everything’s fine”) does not stop many cars. A bit like in France, it’s ideal to ask drivers directly at gas stations. OK, but when you say “driver,” you imply “car,” and that’s where everything gets complicated!
In Itaparica, Fanny explained to me that a Brazilian with an average salary, such as a school teacher, can’t buy a car. It is therefore a luxury reserved for the upper class. In addition, since Brazil is gigantic (15 times the size of France), many people travel by plane.
So here I am, sitting on the sidewalk of the gas station, watching the planes in the sky and imagining a beautiful Mercedes stopping at the pump and asking to take me away. I wait. Nothing. I abandon the plan, instead going to ask truck drivers who drive at 80 km/h (and at 50 km/h uphill). I’m going to have to learn to take my time !
At the “posto de gazolino", there is a man who takes my picture and opens the back door of his car so that his daughters can see me better, as if I am a strange beast. Apparently, my project is very interesting to him, but he’s not going my way. Another man asks worriedly if I’m hungry or thirsty before leaving. And then the female gas attendants propose that I sit next to them, to wait for cars together. I get in Joao’s truck, a man with extreme patience and an expert in sign language. When we don’t understand each other, we laugh. When we finally understand each other, we laugh all the same. He’s 29 years old, and likes Carnaval, video games, and the president. He invites me to eat with him. Our ways part here. I climb into Luis’s truck, a Venetian blond (because yes, not all Brazilians are brown-haired). Night falls. I ask him to stop. He invites me to eat. I find a small hotel next to the gas station. I’ll leave early tomorrow morning!
Florence among the hippies
Chapada Diamantina
-“Florence, do you want to smoke ? ”
It’s nine in the morning, I’ve just woken up at the campground, and three Brazilians in dreadlocks are passing around a joint in the graffiti-covered kitchen. Hugs-peace-shalom-todo bein?
Some people spend the day here meditating at the river’s edge or playing the guitar near the fire. We prepare the meal and eat together. Hey, where’s my butter and my cheese? Oh yeah, right, my (uh… THE) food belongs to the collective group.
Each day, Diego and Atana teach me a few words of Portuguese, and I teach them French. They also want to start a world tour and would like to visit Europe. And then there’s Clara, a German who came here to join her Brazilian boyfriend. They’d like to settle down in the village, open a homeopathy store or sell essential oils, but there’s already a lot of competition. Plant boutiques, yoga, massages and artisanal activities are not lacking here…so they’ll have to see. For the moment, they spend most of their days walking around.
Yes, we find ourselves in a magnificent nature reserve that somewhat resembles the Far West with its large stony cliffs, but there is also a jungle landscape. Streams and waterfalls everywhere. Walks during the day, and then a three-day hike with Samy, Cedric and Thomas (cock-a-doodle-doo). High stony plateaus and forests that take your breath away. In the evening, at the shelter, we teach Joao, the owner of the space, how to play President (the card game). Then three men join us in the kitchen – his friends, who have come to play forro, the traditional music of the area: a mix of country and samba. Joao sounds a few notes on the accordion near the oven’s fire. The guitarist hums the song. Yee-haw! By candlelight, the drum and the triangle join in. A magical ambiance in the valley of Pati.
But where's the supermercado ?
Brasilia
I’ve been walking around the center of the capital for two hours, and I haven’t seen a single supermarket. Huge cement towers for the ministries, banks, and other offices, a few restaurants. Delusions of grandeur! The city was built by Oscar Niemeyer in the 1960s and 70s. Before, there was nothing. Not even this immense shopping mall, where I ask the salesman at Brazil’s SFR the way to the supermarcado. He looks at me with big surprised eyes, asks a colleague, and then another, and another. “No, there isn’t one here! Do you have a car?” No. There’s just a little food shop, 9 m2, on the rooftop. I buy Chinese noodles for survival – you never know! I leave behind these thousands of square feet, where you can find hundreds of Converse sneakers, but not a single tomato. I ride down the packed escalators, arrive in the central bus station where the entire city is in a rush at the end of the day. It’s the heart of the machine: Brasilia is laid out like the interior of a plane, with the administrative buildings in the middle, homes and apartments in the wings, and the parliament in the cockpit. Outside of the plane, in the “clouds,” is where my hostel is located. Not even there can I spot a single supermarket. Guess what I ate that evening…
The next day, I attack: the woman in the hostel explains where the supermercado is located, and I go there by bus. I dash across the big streets where the cars speed past. Not even a crosswalk! I walk and walk some more. Everything is far. Did the architect forget that humans have legs? Impossible, in any case, to find the supermarket – so it’ll be McDonald’s!
I return to the hostel in despair, and admit my failed mission to the woman at the front desk, who kindly offers to take me there. Twenty minutes later in the car: tomatoes bought, thank you!
Here the buildings are organized in blocks with letters, and the parallel and perpendicular streets have numbers. Each district has its own supermarket. There are two hospitals in the city, one at the end of each “wing,” and two media centers as well: one in the southern wing, another in the northern wing. A perfect symmetry, relentless logic (it would have helped to know the logic upon arrival), and definitive functionality…for cars!
Translated by Sarah Craver
But where are the protestors?
Brasilia
On the edge of the military parade: multicolored leotards and onlookers!
Like every year, September 7 marks Brazil’s independence (1822) and is also the occasion for protesting under the blazing sun.
More than 300 people have gathered in front of Parliament this morning…Juliana had told me that the protests would probably be in the stadium that afternoon, so I guess this is just a morning warm-up. I arrive at the stadium a few hours later: only about ten people brandishing anti-corruption signs. They’re opposed to the organization of the World Cup in Brasilia. According to them, only the stadium is ready: the rest (hotels, restaurants, street signs…) won’t be ready in time. The world event would “enrich” a few political powers, but wouldn’t benefit the population.
So where are the protestors? They were all arrested, a young, distressed man explains to me. There was a huge roundup! All of them? That seems strange to me… I decide to go back down the main avenue in search of them. I find five young people with signs who are being violently searched by the police. Traffic was cut off from the entire city center. Helicopters are circling noisily in the sky.
Finally I find a hundred protestors near the central bus station. Some of them are wearing scarves and masks, as a sign of protest. A few weeks ago, the government forbade the wearing of masks (gas or otherwise) and the wearing of vinegar (if a scarf is soaked in vinegar, it allows you to breathe in the presence of tear gas). Cameramen and photographers, clothed in scarves, helmets, and safety goggles, immortalize the scene. The police aren’t far away. Youth chant slogans and advance a bit haphazardly, then turn back and gather in front of the art museum. 6:30pm: the crowd dissolves, the young Brazilians swap their signs for some beers and crowd together for the outdoor concert…paid for by the government!
Around 11pm, I arrive at Katia’s apartment (who had offered, in a bar the night before, to host me). Her roommates protested today. Daniele is revolted by the police aggression. Her eyes full of anger, she explains that half of the protestors were arrested. Some police officers on horseback came and clubbed members of the crowd (a method carried over from the dictatorship years, according to Daniele). As for Vanessa, she was slightly injured, but the next day, I find her with a small smile of victory on her lips: for the first time this year, the TV news did not only cover the parade, but included some images of the protest!
Of Gold and Coffee
Minas Gerais: Diamantina, Mariana, Ouro Pretto, Lajinha
Brazil is the second-highest producer of minerals (after China) and produces the most coffee in the world. And this is in large part in Minas Gerais, a region as large as France, if that’s possible!
Along the highways, I notice many quarries of rocks and minerals. Cristalina was baptized thus for its crystal mines, and Diamantina for its ancient diamond mines. Compared to the Bahia region, the highways here seem in better shape, the towns and villages better maintained. In the stream crossing the town of Mariana, two men look for gold with their “sieve.” An illegal activity, according to the Passagem de Mariana guide, the largest gold mine in Brazil, which closed in the 1980s.
At 200 meters below ground, I meet Fabio and Maykke, an Italo-Belgian couple. Maykke is writing a thesis on the future of Brazilian fair trade coffee. According to the European charter, only small producers can sell their coffee at an affordable price with the “fair trade” label. One part of the earnings is donated to social and educational programs. According to Maykke, who has surveyed the region for two months, this has truly improved the life of farmers and their families. Perhaps, but the United States would like to change the charter and authorize large producers to receive the “fair trade” label as well, which become yet another commercial brand.
And here I am 48 hours later in Fabio and Maykke’s car, surveying the highways of Minas Gerais. We go deeper into the small, abrupt mountains on which coffee shrubs grow. Then we meet the directors of a fair-trade coffee cooperative.
In fact, I forgot to tell you: here, coffee is not that great, and horribly sugary (to hide the taste?). Good-quality coffee is sold at a high price to Europeans and Americans. The remaining coffee is consumed by the Brazilian population. Does that seem fair?
Und ich spring, spring, spring
Blumenau
… immer wieder,
und ich schwimm, schwimm, schwimm, zu dir über
(And I jump, jump, jump,
…always and still
and I swim, swim, swim toward you)
Imagine many thousands of Brazilians, in traditional colorful Bavarian dress, soaked in beer and shouting this German song with all the necessary gestures. “So lustig” (funny) is what Denis, originally from Stuttgart, repeats to you all night. Here, Bavarian dresses are worn short, sunglasses are all the rage, and the beer is Brazilian – just like the accent that flavors the Oktoberfest songs.
und ich nehm, nehm, nehm dich bei der hand,
weil ich dich mag
(and I take, take, take you by the hand
because I care for you)
Everything began in 1850, when Mr. Blumenau arrived in Brazil with about ten German colonists. They built houses with exposed timbers and breweries – and lived happily ever after. Many waves of immigration followed, thanks to the world wars. The town now numbers 300,000 in population.
Tatiana, a member of the Couchsurfing site, hosts me in her family home, built on the land which was left by her German ancestor. When she was a child, she spoke German with her mother. Her mother explains that during the floods of 1983, there was water all the way up to the gate. Oktoberfest was thus created in Blumenau to gather the necessary funds to rebuild the town. Thirty years later, beer is still as much a success as ever!
und ich sag
Heut ist so ein schöner Tag
la la la la la
(And I say
Today is such a beautiful day
La la la la la)
Former clichés and new preconceived ideas
Brasil
After two months travelling across Brasil, I think it’s time to sum all that up !
It’s an occasion to forget a few clichés… and build up other ideas !
So, first of all, no, I haven’t had my breasts or my buttocks redone… and neither have most Brazilians. The country of plastic surgery doesn’t exist. Or not as much as I would have thought. I have seen a few Barbie dolls who had had plastic surgery, and some over-muscled Kens on the beach, but it’s not something common. Our prejudices probably come from the images of the Carnival that we see in the medias.
To be honest, most Brazilians are fat and uninhibited. They are no gods of beauty as we usually think. You find all kinds of people; handsome, average, ugly… a bit like in France, really.
Except that in France, no one ever told me : « What ? You travel without a weapon ? », while drawing a flick-knife out of his pocket. That was Scoob, a truck driver, he was worried about my safety and he offered to give me his knife (which I refused). I have heard a few stories about hold-ups and muggings on Brazilians. And I have heard pieces of advice, every single day ! Especially because hitch-hiking is no current practice here, and Brazilians seem to feed on the news in brief.
Someone once tried to take my wallet and my cell phone, in Salvador de Bahia (very famous for its pickpockets). Apart from this 20-minute rush of adrenalin, I never felt like I was in danger, neither in big cities, nor in the countryside.
No, mum, I am still alive !
Because of the former Portuguese colonisation, I had expected a « Mediteranean pace of life ». But absolutely not ! People here start working at 8 a.m., have lunch at 11.30. A lot of offices and shops –and even restaurants- are closed between noon and 2 p.m., but not in the afternoon. Which means no set up time for a nap. As it is close to the equator here, the night falls at about 6 p.m. Dinner is at about 7pm and we go party quite early, to be back home at about 11pm or midnight.
Brazilians are no hagglers. If you say « no, thanks », they don’t insist. Prices are usually not negotiable, and, by the way, a curious thing is that there is no big difference of prices between a city or another. For example, a meal in a self-service restaurant always cost me between 10 and 14 Reals (3-4 euros), a night in a youth hostel around 30 Reals (10 euros) … I know, Brazil is not that cheap, is it.
… What else is surprising?
- The population is very young, life in the villages is then very lively – very different from life in our French countryside, filled with retired people.
- Brazilians easily speak about politics. I have seen many demonstrations denouncing corruption, about a mayor or the government.
- It is quite easy to understand the Portuguese language. After two months, I understand more than a half of conversations.
- When I was taking pictures of people with my camera, they would thank me... Erm, no, sorry, I am the one who should say “thank you”, here.
- Here, politeness codes are different from the ones in Europe, so I have learnt how to not be susceptible and to forget a few « that’s polite/impolite » reflexes.
- The codes for relations between men and women are not the same here, but as I am used to the French susceptibility, it is easy to break the codes...
- Oh yeah, I also realized that France is a country of alcoholics. Seriously, I can’t believe how much we drink! Here in Brazil, alcohol doesn’t have such a big cultural importance.
- The list is really not complete...
So, what I’ll keep in mind about Brazil is that it is :
- Gigantic : 15 times as big as France, in other words, a lot of land to see, and I am frustrated I couldn’t see everything in two months.
- Welcoming : people are smiling and welcoming ! They would come and talk to me in the street, teach me a few words of Portuguese. They just loved chatting, and were not money driven. I was invited for lunch/dinner several times, and asked if I wanted to sleep over. I met some nice people couchsurfing as well!
- Diversified : people are Black, mixed-raced, white, blonde, and the countryside is sometimes like far-west, or it’s mountains, beaches, rice fields…
- Musical : a real shock after one month at sea. Music is listened to very loud, with the windows open. There are also a lot of concerts in the streets and bars. And people dance !
Translated by Sidonie Régnier
Photographies Of Brazil
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