The Rio Olympics are underway, and all this talk about Brazil has got me thinking about my trip there many, many, years ago. Brazil was my first trip traveling on my own, my first exposure to a country plagued by economic struggles and extreme poverty, and the first time I learned that entire governments can go on strike.
I wish I’d kept a journal from back then, and even more importantly, I wish I’d known more about photography. But this was before digital cameras and smart phones and I definitely didn’t think to write things down. While a journal would be amazing to go back through, this trip left lasting impressions that need no written documentation for me to recall.
We spent a morning walking around a vast outdoor market in São Paulo, and I still, to this day, remember the smells. Not good smells, but the smells of sewage. You see, São Paulo has rivers that run through the city, and the rivers contain industrial runoff and wastewater. These rivers are filthy, repulsive, and repugnant, and unfortunately, the market wasn’t too far from the watery sludge. São Paulo is the largest metropolis in Brazil, the Americas, and the southern hemisphere, with 11.3 million people inhabiting the city. It has 3 million more people than London and New York City. Pause and think about that for a moment. It’s enormous.
During my visit the government was on strike, which closed many things including my friend’s college. She indicated this wasn’t that uncommon, but it was such a foreign concept to me. The economy was unstable, and instead of converting my money to Brazilian Reals, my friend’s family wanted to pay for my expenses and I then paid them my US dollars. I wondered what they did with the dollars – did they hide them under the mattress and convert them when the markets were more favorable?
From São Paulo we embarked on the several hour bus ride to Curitiba, where my friend’s home was. She had written to me ahead of time, stating they would meet me in São Paulo and accompany me on this bus trip because a local flight was even less safe than the most dangerous highway in Brazil, the BR-116, and they didn’t want me making the trip on my own. This section of the country’s arterial highway is nicknamed the “Highway of Death” because part of the route runs along steep cliffs that are lacking in any safety fencing, and traffic is intense with trucks and drivers edging their way through tunnels, narrows, and turns. Google “most dangerous roads in the world” and this section of highway makes the top 10 list. Earlier this week I read an article that described the horrendous exploitation of girls as young as 9 on the BR-116, trafficked in the highway’s towns and at the road’s many stops. While I was not aware of the sex trafficking problem, I do remember the feeling of the truck stops being unsafe, and my friend and her mother insisting we always stick together when we were stopped and using facilities or buying snacks.
I visited in July, which is winter in Brazil, and the further south we went the chillier it got. I will never forget driving down the streets of Curitiba and seeing people standing outside their makeshift homes, constructed of boxes the size of refrigerators with trash bags and tarps for protection from the elements. Entire stretches of several blocks were lined with the poverty-stricken people. It was the first time I’d ever been in a car that was swarmed by children begging for money when you were stopped at an intersection. It was the first time I saw gated homes and communities, with access gained only by code, key, or call boxes. It was the first time I’d been anywhere where a middle class didn’t really exist. You were either in privilege, or you were in extreme poverty and I’m not sure much has changed there since my trip all those years ago.
Curitiba is home to roughly 1.8 million people and is known as the cultural center of Brazil. While there I visited many of the beautiful attractions, and loved every new experience I had. But what I remember most from my time spent in Curitiba is the feeling of extended family and friends and the many evenings we spent together. We watched soccer games, we bantered, we ate a lot of food, we went out to clubs, and we ate breakfast at unholy hours of the morning because we hadn’t gone home yet. Extended family takes on a whole new meaning in Brazil, and the camaraderie of this tight-knit large group of friends is something I’d never experienced before, and have never experienced since.
Toward the end of my visit we made the journey back to São Paulo, surviving yet again the Highway of Death. From São Paulo we traveled within the state to the small city of Espírito Santo do Pinhal, to visit the family farm, which to me, resembled something more like a plantation. The farm was a beautiful and peaceful slice of rural Brazil, and I was glad to have experienced this part of my friend’s life.
My time in Brazil was amazing and it firmly planted my early passion for travel. I enjoyed my time so much that I considered intentionally missing my flight, as the idea of travel was much more appealing than going off to college a few short weeks later. But forever ingrained with the responsibility gene, I made it back to the United States on schedule, with the hopes of one day seeing my friend and visiting Brazil again. Thanks to social media, we’re once again connected, and I have no doubt we will one day be reunited.
Sunflowers and Fog 