The Whole Horizon: Sao Paulo

Once in a lifetime it happens. You arrive from one place after a long trip and are about to leave for another faraway location. Few things matter in such a situation, except maybe for tickets and schedules. Food becomes an unnecessary luxury – or maybe unnecessary liability. Who wants a heavy belly while riding an oscillating vehicle?

So you arrive to an in-between place and have some time to kill, but not enough to allow a proper break. No time for a quick shower in a cheap hotel. No time for a short walk to an unknown place. There is time just for putting the luggage at the terminal storage and for a short search after some quick satisfaction. Comfort food is an easy solution.

So you walk around, blinking at the bright lights, ignoring the sweet sound of the unknown language, failing to notice the unforgiving crowds. Looking around for something recognizable. Yearning for an unknown.

So you walk around and then you see a humble stall selling coffee. Nothing pretentious. A bar-like setup and a few simple tables scattered around it. A basic menu caters for the thousands passing through every day. It looks as good as any other place. There as many reasons to adopt it as to reject it. Out of complete indifference you sit down and ask for a cappuccino. Another fifteen minutes to kill.

Soon, a smiling waitress puts a simple paper cup in front of you and waits for her tip. How do they call their money here? Before touching the cup, a last thought crosses your mind: maybe it isn’t such a good idea to drink a coffee before a long trip at night. Then, too tired to consider the thought seriously, you take a last look at the foamy drink and follow it with a shallow sip. A second later, you realize you are drinking one of your best coffees ever. Welcome to Brazil!

A couple of hours after landing in South America, I stumbled upon a church. It was a Russian Orthodox one; would I have been more surprised if the first temple I had seen was a Tibetan Pagoda? Obviously, the Global Village was in one of its good days.

In dense urban areas, temples get often shadowed by a plethora of tall commercial buildings. Skyscrapers would block any good angle. Most probably it would not be possible to see the structure as a whole; a series of snapshots from bad angles would be the only thing to be appreciated. That is not the case with this one. Despite being located in a relatively central zone of Sao Paulo, the church got the place it deserves and is wonderfully illuminated during the late afternoon by sidelight filtering through far away placed big buildings. Surrounded by low gardens, its soft, round lines offer an oasis of peace in a turbulent city: a miracle.

The dichotomy between the noisy, hot South American city and the frozen temple does the trick: “we are something else, we offer you peace,” it seems to be quietly shouting. It could convert a Buddhist monk one day before achieving Nirvana.

Being a cathedral, and thus the main Orthodox Church in the city and the administrative centre, it is quite luxurious and is probably the best of its kind in Sao Paulo. The interior is typical of an Orthodox Church, with many colorful icons and dark, soft-lined furniture which is further softened by massive amounts of incense. I was alone in its interior and found that the place managed to impart a deep sense of peace and was ideal for a short break of meditation and prayer during a busy day.

Unbelievably, the cathedral is located next to the “Paraiso” (Paradise) subway station. Was that a hint? The Blue Line – to which the station belongs – is known also as the North-South one; it connects the city with the Tiete terminal. For those familiar with the BART in the San Francisco Bay, the subway will look suspiciously similar. Actually the excellent Sao Paulo subway was designed on the BART model.

Usually, whenever we hear the term “long-day” we think of it in a figurative way; after all, days have a fixed length. However, for once, I was entitled to use the term literally.

After two years in Asia, it was time to leave for South America. Hong Kong offered few opportunities for reaching South America through the Pacific Ocean and none of them was convenient. After a few days on talks with the Time Travel agency, I settled for a flight to Sao Paulo through Johannesburg. It sounded awkward at first, but the more I thought about it the more I liked it. I had never been in South Africa – taking a quick look certainly would improve any future decision to visit the place - and the South African airlines had a good name.

Following a last visit to Pacific Coffee – my favorite in Hong Kong – I boarded the plane and after a short delay we left ground a few minutes after midnight. Traveling in such a direction the night seemed endless and the Indian Ocean was just a dark emptiness below us. After having been in the plane for about half a day, we saw a massive, dark, compact block of buildings separated from colorful fields by flat, geometrical suburbs and landed on Johannesburg by midmorning, local time – we had gained a few hours. From the air, the city looked attractive, despite (or due?) its reputation. While approaching the runway a sad reality became evident: the airport was too far away from the town to allow a short visit while waiting for the next flight.

Nonetheless, a well equipped airport can be a pleasant place for a few hours. Johannesburg’s one provided the necessary entertainment – maybe it was the novelty of being in Africa that made the time fly away. The strangest sight was a bookstore packed from floor to ceiling with almost a single (and excellent) book: the Dark Safari by Paul Theroux; however, I had bought it already before the flight. Spices and tribal handicrafts were the main souvenirs for sale.

The second flight was in full daylight and allowed a clear view of the southwestern African desert. This plane was newer and had better entertainment options; a welcomed blessing since the Atlantic Ocean offered few sights. Next to me, a nosy Mozambican kept asking questions, but luckily, the excellent South African wine served with the meal kept my attention elsewhere.

All of the sudden, a brownish coastline appeared and Brazil was announced through the speakers. Nothing prepared me for what was to follow. One thing was knowing that Sao Paulo was the biggest city in South America, but a different thing was seeing that from the air. Hill after hill of low houses, the city occupied every patch of visible ground. A city aiming for - and reaching - the horizon.

After landing and gaining a few more hours, I was a full eleven hours behind the Hong Kong clock. By midnight - still awake and enjoying the jetlag - I have had a 35-hours-long day.

Many travelers dislike traveling in local buses. They find it cheap, maybe even degrading. Actually, it is a good way to see the countryside and local culture. Most other ways of transport create a barrier between the traveler and his muse; and aren’t we – travelers – trying just to look above cultural and physical barriers?

Hence I decided to take a bus along the Brazilian coast from Sao Paulo to Chui, the border cross to Uruguay. Instead of stopping over at the main cities along the way, I treated the trip as a quick survey; I took a direct bus and flagged the places worth of a special visit in the future.

Two companies serve the line, one Brazilian and the second Uruguayan; they work on alternate days. I bought a ticket with the Brazilian one, Transporte Turismo, and was not disappointed. The only worrying issue was that they kept the passengers passports during the trip. The bus left a few minutes before midnight and provided snacks and meals stops.

Once there was light outside, the landscape was attractive despite its monotonousness. Most of the trip was through a huge plain, green, and well-watered; lazy cows enjoyed effortless meals. From time to time we stopped for meals; the Brazilian food turned out to be tasty and varied; it included barbecued meat and plenty of vegetarian dishes.

Eventually the bus did not travel exactly along the coast and the ocean views were rare. The only exception was Florianopolis. The city is split in two parts; the western one is on the mainland, while the eastern is on the Ilha (isle) de Santa Caterina. Two bridges connect between the two and the bus used both of them. The elongated island has many beaches, some of them facing the mainland and others the Atlantic Ocean. It is a main beach resort in the country and I immediately decided for a more careful visit in the future. Though much bigger and being surrounded only by salty water, the general layout of tame and wild beaches reminds of Punta del Este, in Uruguay.

Chui was the final destination and we arrived there about two hours after midnight, twenty-six hours after beginning the trip. Unfortunately the passports were given back stamped out; but getting a new entry stamp to Brazil was possible on the spot. The two countries were separated just by an avenue, and it was possible to move freely across the border.

Chuy was the name of the Uruguayan town, which was full of casinos catering for a dubious crowd. Finding a hotel there was an experience on the limit of being life-threatening, with a thug following me closely in an old, decrepit car that seemed to be the first prototype of that technology. The hotel concierge hurried me in and closed the door with a huge key.

The Language
English did not help. I had a little Spanish and no Portuguese at all. However, for Portuguese speaking people it is relatively easy to understand Spanish (it does not work in the opposite direction) and Brazilians turned out to be extraordinarily helpful people. Each one of them did an effort to understand and to answer slowly, well-pronounced simple words.

The People
All Brazilians exuded a simple message: “Live and Let Live;” simple but few have mastered it. Smiles, politeness, and a feeling of cooperation were the norm, from the clerk selling the tickets, through the smiling waitress serving the cappuccino, and ending with a nosy kid at the bus that did not stop asking questions.

The Bus
The bus was worth every penny. It was modern and comfortable and included spotless toilets. The seats were wide and there was room for stretching the legs; I slept in perfect comfort. The frequent breaks allowed studying the cities along the way. But being in Brazil, there was more good news. At the back side of the bus there was a big container of hot coffee, free for the passengers. Needless to mention, it was excellent.

When arriving at a new and foreign place, many aspects of its culture are closed to us. However, much before we comprehend the language or understand the culture, much before the gestures and body language of the locals make sense, even in our first day there, we can taste and enjoy the local food. It is the first gate we cross to a new culture. It may be quite limited – it won’t explain all the local idiosyncrasies – but it would provide the first glimpses. Which ingredients do they use? How do they cook? Do they care about aesthetics? What kind of cutlery do they use? Endless questions, maybe not very important ones, but the only ones that are easy to answer in the first days.

Brazil’s multifaceted ethnic mix has created unique dishes which blend up into a very special cuisine full of flavors as complex and wonderful as their creators. The local staples are rice, black beans, and manioc flour, which are combined with different meats and fish to create basic meals. The best known and the indisputable national dish is the feijoada, a stew of meat and black beans (feijao) served with rice. The meat type and amount can change enormously, but the dish uses only modest amounts of spices – if any at all. The dish is usually big enough to share between two. If the stew contains mainly vegetables (and especially potatoes, yam, manioc, or carrots) and little or not meat at all, it is called cozido.

But meats and rice are not enough for a complete diet. Caruru is a dish originating in Africa which became very popular in Brazil. It is made with vegetables cooked in water and drained. Then peppers, onions and shrimps are added and everything is grated with okra paste and dende oil. It is fabulous with any fish – the traditional companion of the dish.

A fruit is always a great way to end a meal and Brazil offers plenty of them. Even better are fruit juices, which here are called "sucos". Ice and sugar are usually added, unless the drink is asked to be "natural." "Vitamina" is a juice prepared with milk instead of water. "Batida" is prepared by adding to the fruit and the water a bit of "cachaça," a sugar-cane liquor. Many of the fruits do not have names in English; guarana and graviola are such two and their taste justifies settling down in the country.

It would be impossible to finish such a note without mentioning the local coffee beans. I did not manage to drink a bad coffee in Brazil regardless how cheap or badly prepared it was. Even the simplest stall in a poor neighborhood and the overcooked coffee in a thermos at the back of a long distance bus were elixirs rarely available elsewhere.

The food is the first cultural gate we cross while arriving at a new place. If that gate is a pleasant one – and Brazilian food is gorgeous – then the other gates seem to open in a friendlier fashion. Suddenly, facing a new – sweet sounding – language is not so intimidating. Bon appetite!