Curitiba and Carnival

Post date: Mar 18, 2011 10:23:04 PM

Curitiba- Progressive but still Brazil

Carnival-

3-3-11

What have I to fear? The google map directions failed to inform me that the signs leading from the highway to the innards of Curitiba had no exit numbers or street names- only destinations. Knowing my couchsurfer host lived downtown, I passed half a dozen exits leading that direction as I searched for the exact exit I needed. I gave up and somehow picked exactly the right exit. Once I realized I was on the right street though, I had gone too far, and in the process of turning around, a man pulled up beside me at the stop sign and offered to lead me to my destination. After a few turns he motioned me to pull up beside him. He thrust out the window a photo album whose top photo was a picture of him posing with his distance-travel-ready bike. Bikers help bikers. It is an unwritten code we all follow.

Cassiano, my host, turned out to share many of my intellectual qualities, so we were able to have some interesting discussions. He eagerly showed me around his downtown, and only a professional tour guide could complete with his knowledge of the buildings’ histories, the city’s development, and the story behind Curitiba’s very non-Brazilian feel.

The city is dominated by Europeans and those of European descent, primarily Germans, Polish, and Italians. Despite its great population and area, the feel is hushed and patient. The traffic isn’t bad. The cars don’t spit dust and black clouds. There’s rarely a candy wrapper or cigarette butt in the gutter. Trash cans are strategically placed. Spacious parks dot the city. The streets are wide, labeled, and the drivers use turn signals. Recycle bins are always right next to the garbage cans. Exercise is a popular activity. I saw a grandma scold her grandson for dropping his pop can on the ground. Cassiano picked up the can and continued on, showing the kid that people take responsibility for the cleanliness of their city.

How? A mayor over 10 years ago spearheaded a revolution in the city’s eco-culture. Pro-environment propaganda plastered the buses and billboards and tv ads. “The Leaf Family” was some sort of kid’s educational group that won the hearts and minds of the children, brainwashing them into thinking that the environment is actually worth protecting. Geesh.

Appearances can be deceiving, however. I wonder what studies exist determining the correlations between regional wealth and theft. I think I just felt too safe here, as if I was in the United States, because twice in one week I sat my helmet down, one of which times for no more than 60 seconds, and upon my return, the helmet was gone. Couldn’t believe it. The worst part about being robbed is not losing the money. It’s the feeling of violation and victimization. My Brazilian reminded me, “You’re still in Brazil!” and advised me the obvious.

I visited the KTM and Kawasaki shops here in Curitiba. The KTM shop was especially helpful. I also learned that their bikes cost 2x to 3x as much as those in those in the U.S. I love the KTM Adventure but the cost was too high even in San Diego. It’s even less popular than Kawasaki, weighs more than my KLR, and doesn’t have the reputation that my bike carries in terms of performance. The best bike for this trip would have been a Honda XRE or a Yamaha XL in terms of parts and repair availabilities. I bought my fork oil and spark plug from the Kawasaki shop. KTM spent a fair amount of time calling around for an oil filter but informed me what I’d already learned- that it does not exist in Brazil. But, they taught me that I can continue to reuse my filter unless it becomes swollen and unfolded. That knowledge will carry me to Argentina. I contacted Paraguay and Argentina’s Kawasaki offices and identified stores in Ciudad del Oeste in Paraguay and Correntes in Argentina where I can finally install my desperately needed new oil filter. It will be an exciting moment. Strange, eh!?

After a couple days and nights at Cassiano’s home near downtown, I moved over to my friend Yara’s place, a suburban house in which she lives with her mother. I met Yara 4 years ago while lounging in Posto 9 (a section of beach) in Ipanema Beach on my first trip to Brazil. We became friends that day, so it was on my list to pay my only Brazilian friend a visit while in her country. My God has her English improved! I guess her living in Russia, South Africa, and England did her some good in that sense. Many people I’ve met have gotten their jobs simply because they speak English or some other language. She has 3 dogs in her home, which was such an uplift. Especially Pollocko (the term Curitibans use to identify a very white person from Europe, which in Curitiba is likely to mean someone from Poland, a Polack), named because he’s light haired. He’s not even white though, so I don’t get it. Anyways, Mr. Pollocko has a firm sense of pride, loves to eat and poop all over the place, and swim. I never seen a dog love swimming so much. We all went for a walk, and that dog would jump and lay in every puddle we encountered. Good thing that day was the day before his bath.

Yara exposed me to Zulu music from Africa. She also taught me the shocking fact that, especially in northern Brazil, 6 year olds prostitute. Parents sell their children to have food to eat. Horror. The idea of growing up thinking that that is normal.

I went with her and a her gay couple friends to a pre-Carnival “Blocko,” the theme to which was cross dressing. I haven’t worn make up since I was a Spice Girl in the high school senior talent show. Yara looked like an Italian Johnny Depp, and her friends were hilarious with their thick beards bursting from beneath their girly masks, chest hair curling out of their slinky leopard patterned dresses. We drew a fair amount of attention, I must say. I learned yet another way I could make money, push come to shove!

3-12-11

So much has happened in the last week or two.

Yara took me somewhere that healed me- the River. Show me the river and I will show you Gary Edward Howard. It has to be the magic my father instilled me all those years ago, fishing, boating, and camping on the old St. Joe in Ft. Wayne. After weeks in concrete, sand, saltwater, sweating skin, highways, and Portuguese language, I was finally home again, where the trees usher the parade of singing, clear water with sweeping arms and sighs. Do you hear that? Nothing! And in that nothing I find my everything. People, people, people! And all of people’s stuff! We’ve built these huge, complicated things and forgotten that all we actually need is water, air, some food, shelter from the storm, and someone with whom to share the experience. All else is superfluous. Decadence.

And the practicalities of motorcycle adventure…

I spent two days on a job complicated by the facts that A) I didn’t know exactly what I was doing and B) the guidebooks don’t say anything about maintaining a bent and bruised motorcycle. I’ve been feeling this hiccupping and just plain bumpiness in my bike at low speeds for about the last 6 weeks. Since Sao Paulo, more or less. First I thought it was the misrouted hosing. Then I figured it was the hole in my carb’s diaphragm or perhaps some dirt in one of the valves. Then I thought it was my old suspension (fork) oil. So, I changed the oil in the forks, but one of the forks was bent, as I already knew, but this made it difficult to disassemble and reassemble. Then realigning the front wheel was a chore. But, I succeeded in the end. It’s just too bad that the problem is still there. Now I am waiting to see if Argentina’s gasoline makes any difference since Brazil’s has such a high alcohol content. I’ll check out the spark plug also, the next time I get a free hour.

Then there was the issue of me being illegal in Brazil. Here comes my laughter! Once again, as in Colombia, my permit has expired. Luckily, Brazil is such a laid back country. They are riding the wave of their bountiful resources now, but if they don’t get a little more serious, they’re going to be limited in their economic prosperity. Happy go lucky is great for the health, less great for the bank. Or if you’re being treated in the hospital, or if you’re taking a bank loan, or some other less-than-serious involvement with a second party.

Yara has a way with people, too. I am lucky to be so helpable. She went with me to Policia Federal and the Receita Federal to extend my Brazilian tourist pass and my motorcycle permit. Just took $30 for the tourist stamp, and the motorcycle was free to extend. Incredible. Took some running around, but it was worth it. I’ll have no trouble exiting the country.

Then came Carnival! Since I was already here, it seemed silly to run off from Brazil’s sacred holiday. Nobody sleeps for 5 days. In the north, like in the state of Bahia, the reputedly most pure and fun of all Carnivals in Brazil, the celebration is quite wild. Yara explained to me that there it is virtually a fertility festival because you see men and women having sex in public. Sex is a natural part of pretty much any cultural gathering, I think. It’s a time of celebration and enjoyment and excitement, and so people become aroused. Here, I believe, people look forward to Carnival in part due to the expected promiscuity. Yara said guys will kiss 20 girls in one night in Rio. I went to Carnival before, in Rio, Recife, and Olinda, and I didn’t see such things, but there is no doubt that the sex factor is in the air. People make out everywhere. I was walking along in Antonina, the first place Yara and I went for Carnival, and a couple were obstructing my path as they made out right there in the lane. I politely guided them to the side of the lane so that we could pass, but then the couple broke and without a word walked quickly away from each other in opposite directions. I think they just saw each other as they were walking, kissed, and then continued on. Don’t see that everywhere.

The carnivals are pretty much the same everywhere. The music, Samba, is fairly repetitive and similar every blocko you attend. Vendors line the streets to sell masks, glowing devil horns, pinwheels, body paint, and foam spray. Men with Styrofoam coolers are selling cheap iced beer. Kiosks sell meat shish-ka-bobs, sandwiches, acai smoothies, refrigerated coconuts, and candy. Cocada is this delicious block of sugary coconut that can come mixed with fruit, chocolate, vanilla, and other flavors. Very yummy. Another popular fast food is corn on the cob or this soft cornbread-like mush wrapped and cooked in a corn leaf. I wish I had that right now instead of this oatmeal I’m eating here in my hostel room. There’s also “Caldo de cana,” or sugarcane juice. The sugarcane runs right through special press that squeezes the juice into your cup. And then you drink and go, “MMM!” Cotton candy is common as well.

What I didn’t see was sloppy drunkiness everywhere. That stuff is more common in clubs. The police do a good job keeping things in order; I never saw a fight and they prohibit open containers in certain areas. Nobody was running up to me and offering me drugs either. I really think that the meaning for the people is more about the music, the costumes, the food, the dancing, the being silly…

Now I did find opened condom wrappers in various public places, but I never saw sex. Well, I take that back… in a minute though…

So, we went to Antonina and everyplace was either filled or wanting way, way too much money for a place to sleep. Yara and I danced all night with the samba blockos and subsequent concert. It rained off and on. Most people continued through the rain, but Yara and I ducked under a roof to avoid catching hypothermia. This region is a higher altitude, which means colder, even if we’re still in Brazil.

Blockos. The samba school is a non-professional organization. A club, if you will, and you pay dues to be in the parade, to wear a costume and dance. There is a truck with a deck atop it where 5 or 6 people singing and playing guitar or some other instrument will be performing. At the near front of the parade is the drum section, the heart of the samba. That’s the area I like to be near. The parade continues for a couple blocks, taking about an hour to make that distance. It sings the same 30 second to 1 minute song over and over and over again during that time. So it better be good. In my opinion, it’s very rarely worth listening to for more than a couple minutes, but my opinion is highly gringo-ized.

Blocks away from the blockos are always teenage boys with their cars with popped trunks blasting at concert level volume Brazilian hip hop, “funky.” It’s a competition. Side by side these cars will erupt sound, attempting to attract the most dancers. Most of the time it’s not even girls dancing. Guys, straight guys, will stand in a circle doing hip hop dancing. To me, it looks very gay, but I guess it’s not. That’s what makes it so hilarious. Meanwhile the guys try persistently to pick up the girls dancing or standing around the outskirts.

The loud, wet, and tiresome night in Antonina ended with a long ride home to Curitiba, where we rested and prepared for a few days in Florianopolis, the city Brazil says has the best beaches.

We drove through a treacherous night of rain, fog, and bad drivers and arrived safely at a campground that would be our home for the next 4 days.

Day 1, Monday, we lounged on Santinho Beach then went to a blocko in San Antonio. Day 2 we went to Cachoeira Beach, which I loved because it was less crowded, the waves were smaller, boats were docked out from the beach, and the water smelled like FISH! That night we went to Sambaqui for another blocko, and this was the most fun I’ve had in all my Carnival experiences. It was not too crowded because a few days prior there were two people shot and killed in that neighborhood. There were lots of police around. I danced like a freak. I know people must think I’m on all kinds of drugs and stuff, but the hardest thing in my system was a Red Bull! I stomped and stomped and jumped and spun and vibrated to that music. Great, great rhythms. Not sure how we got in it, probably because of Yara’s dancing, but we ended up in the parade, in front of the drum section. She and I were the wildest dancers in the parade. She is a dancing queen. I’m telling you this girl can dance some samba. Everyone was watching her in awe. One of the paraders was this older man who had his arms stretched out to her, showcasing her, for over 30 minutes. At the end of the parade, the music didn’t stop. People were loving it too much. But when it did stop, the dancing didn’t They put the music on the speakers, and people just went crazy, running around, laughing, singing, and not even drunk. Just letting loose. I must have lost a liter of sweat or more. I reached my musical orgasm that night in Sambaqui, the quiet little neighborhood on the cool beach.

Exhausted but light with joy, we left at 4am. The dancing and music continued. Carnival finished this night.

Day 3 we went to this beautiful beach I can’t remember the name of. We strolled down the way and found a clearly gay section of beach. Past it we found a point of mammoth boulders with tidepools. Stunning scenery. Watched the sun set over the Atlantic Ocean. As we left, we found ourselves surrounded by gays on the rocks. I was shocked to see three naked guys huddled together by some rocks. Lovers held each other openly on the rocks, under the stars. Somehow the stars didn’t make things any more romantic looking. At least I didn’t see any real action. It was hilarious. Then, walking back to the bike, we found a gay club. Every 50 yards was another couple of men laying in the sand. It was the highest density of gays per square foot I’ve ever seen! It’s nice to have a place to meet up, I suppose. I later heard that it is THE place to go if you’re gay in Florianopolis.

Day 4. Drove back to Curitiba.

Something is strange about the dogs down here. So aggressive! Walking Yara’s dogs is a workout, even with the chubby cocker spaniel, because they pull relentlessly and bark nonstop, and because every house in the neighborhood has a gated yard with dogs, Yara’s dogs and every house’s dogs have a shouting match and try to launch at each other through the gates. Within a minute of leaving Yara’s house, the entire street is lit up with the barking of 50 dogs. Why, I wonder? Lack of exercise? Lack of socialization with other dogs? Genetics of South American breeding? The diet? Dogs are more or less the same everywhere, but there are more mixed breeds here. And here, not a few, but EVERY dog, from pitbull to tiny mutt wants murder.

I forgot to mention the fact I first learned from Rod in Frade. It is apparently common knowledge here that the slaves of Brazil were emancipated not due to a pang of conscience, but because the plantation owners learned that it was cheaper to pay them an independent wage than to pay for their room, board, and welfare.

I’ve had a few discussions about the reason beneath the numerous differences between the United States and those countries south of its border. The Spanish and Portuguese dominated the settlement and exploitation of these countries, while the U.S. was explored and raped mostly by the English. The indigenous of all the Americas, as in all lands sieged by more greedy, technologically advanced nations, were slaughtered, displaced, and enslaved. But the rulers of the Latin countries never lost the conquistador mentality. The U.S., a land settled predominantly by those escaping political and religious persecution ended up with founders who created a Declaration of Independence and Constitution that broke the confines of the traditions from which they came. Above all, the Americans are a people who believe in freedom and equal opportunity. The oppressor-oppressed dynamic is a disease that still infects the cultures south of my country’s border, and so the poor have learned better than we to accept that which is given by your position in life. The people here are more relaxed. They accept that they have few opportunities due to the cultural and legal restrictions imposed upon them. In the U.S., there is inequality, but much less than here. In the U.S., the poorest family’s needs are met by the taxes paid by every citizen. Here, parents rent their childrens’ bodies while the government continues to suck up the money to pay for their yachts and island bungalows. The differences between the countries are numerous. I do not doubt that shelves could be filled with the books about the whys and wherefores of these differences, as well as their “educated” solutions to the economic and social problems of the Latin way. Equally, however, the U.S. must learn from the Latin passion, relaxation, and enjoyment of the beauty of life. We Americans have every right to be proud of our achievements, but our health would benefit from a hair less fanatical fundamentalism. I appoint myself to begin with me.

Speaking of weary, I moved in for a week with Yara’s friend, Mariza and her two boys. The house and feel of the neighborhood reminds me of my sister Cindy’s family. It is comfortable. Family! Mariza is a single mother. Her oldest, Adam, is 12, loves Nirvana, is learning guitar, and he will begin Tae Kwon Do soon. So, of course he and I made a connection. We watched a Nirvana video and he downloaded a couple of their songs to my phone. He attends school for only half a day, for some reason, while his brother attends full time all week. Isaac, 10 years old, prefers over all existing musical artists, Elvis, and he proudly showed me the gel he uses to style his hair as Elvis. The family’s dog is named Elvis also.

The schools here divide the curriculum into 50% standard reading, writing, arithmetic stuff, and the other 50% into some craft or special interest of the student, like quilting or guitar. The U.S. system would benefit from the incorporation of foreign educational formats. Every nationality I’ve encountered has described how their schools are far more tailored to the individual interests of the student. Some schools in Europe allow students to begin specializing in the career path that most interests them as early as 15 years of age.

The popular winter drink here (now is summer though), is wine boiled with cinnamon, clove, ginger, and sugar. In the north they use the Brazilian whisky Cachaza instead of wine. The children and I drink a grape juice substitute. Also during winter the regional treat is baked pinecone. There are two types of pinecones they eat, salted. That and corn on the cob are the favorites.

The culture of southern Brazil has had such a European influence that years ago there was a strong movement to become a separate nation. Cultural diffusion, driven largely by the attraction of the south’s wealth, has since defused the movement and celebrates Carnival and samba music like elsewhere in Brazil. But, it is still a long way from styling itself as the state of Bahia, the most African of Brazilian states, where authentic African dress, dance, and drums live on.

Yara has introduced me to African music and dance, and I must say that of all the dancing I’ve seen in the world, I am convinced that my roots are more closely knit with African blood than my skin lets on. I’ve been told I dance like an African, and now I see why! It’s the stomping they do. It’s the rhythm that just draws you to the earth. Each of the many musical styles of Brazil can be said to descend from samba, and samba clearly evolved from African drumming.

Have I mentioned that Brazilians are unable to end a word in a consonant? “Hip hop” is pronounced “hippy hoppy.” “Funk” is “funky.” “Like” is “likey.” “Michelle” is “Michelley.”

3-18-10

I was planning to leave for Iguazu today, but last night, 3 miles from home, my motorcycle died all of a sudden. Once again, no power. Nada. No electricity. I wiggle the handle bars, checked the main fuse, but the only thing I could figure was that the battery had been overloaded again, as in Cuiaba, and died. So, I gave up trying to diagnose it after 2 minutes, found a safe place to store the bike at the friendly Shell station next door, went home, and returned the next morning. A shop a quarter mile up the road found the cause to be the ever-so-simple-loose-cable-syndrome. How could the cable come loose? Ah well. They recharged the battery and I was out of the gate short just $20. By the time I was packed up though, it was late afternoon, so I have decided to finally zoom out of this city tomorrow. Should make Iguacu before nightfall tomorrow.