… After rather long hiatus and nearly intolerable pause between posts, I’m taking the time to apply myself and work on my manuscript for a bit. I’ll keep you posted (ha-ha) on the growing number of words in the meantime. So far, so good:
45,077 46,007 words (or: 34,923 33,993 words to my goal)
Every time I go back home to Brazil, I’m amazed at how much of my awareness of the city has been erased by a decade of living in little, organised, law-abiding Switzerland.
Take the insane amount of distance between things, for example. Sao Paulo is a massive city! I’m instantly gobsmacked by the amount of time you spend in traffic – and I’m only here on vacation! This was an exchange I had with my mother during my last trip home:
Me: I have an appointment at ten AM in Vila Mariana tomorrow. What time should I get a cab to take me there?
As it turns out, to travel the 11 km from our place to Vila Mariana could take anywhere between 25 minutes and an hour and a half. With a spread like this, no wonder people are so stressed in traffic! I dug deep into my heart to find any vestige of road rage, but it wasn’t there anymore. A little part of what once made me a typical Paulist had become dormant. Continue reading
I mentioned to one of my (many) cousins in Rio Preto that I was amazed at how much the town has grown, and pointed out the development of office towers and residential skyscrapers all over town. In true “I’m-getting-old-and-don’t-want-to-face-the-facts” fashion, I reminisced how when we were kids, we joyfully celebrated the fact that the town’s first McDonald’s was opening; we also had to play outside all day (or go to the movies) because there was no cable TV.
Now, there’s a massive Walmart, and smart little boutiques, and even a Hilton hotel opening in a few months. My cousin indulged me and listened patiently to my rant, before making an interesting comment; she called Rio Preto a “gentle giant”. Meaning: yes, the town may have grown over the past decade, but it maintained an endearing small-town mentality.
Within about 20 minutes of arriving in Sao Jose do Rio Preto, you start appreciating the fact that the town is nowhere near as stressful as Sao Paulo. While Rio Preto and Sao Paulo have some things in common (why does everybody here drive like they’re the only ones on the road?), others are a welcome change, for instance:
There is still a strong link with the town’s agricultural traditions. People still have fruit trees in their backyard. People still make home-made jam. People still know how to get a cow to get out of the middle of the road (step one: open your vehicle’s window; step two: proceed to tap your hand loudly on the outside of your car door). And, of course, people still have that easy-to-spot, delicious countryside accent.
The distances are shorter, and it takes you a fraction of the time to travel them. Unless, of course, you’re stuck behind a tractor. Or there’s a cow in the middle of the road (in which case: see above). Although to be fair, the latter doesn’t happen very often anymore.
People walk places, and seem happy to do so. There are actual sidewalks! And walkways! How did I not notice this as a kid? People go about their business on foot and don’t seem as neurotic about security and crime as we unfortunately have to be in Sao Paulo.
It will not surprise me in the least if you tell me you’ve never heard of Sao Jose do Rio Preto (although I was really amazed to discover there is even an English language Wikipedia page dedicated to it).
Rio Preto is a town deep in the Sao Paulo state countryside, almost exactly half-way between Sao Paulo city and Brasilia. Together with its towns (which were at the time little more than overgrown farms), it was the setting of some of the most memorable summer vacations of my childhood. My grandmother had a lot of family there, and it was where I first discovered my love for movies, and where I first tried fruit straight from the tree. The thing I love most about this place is that, even though it is “the” commercial centre of the region, rumour has it it insists on lying to the census, so that it can still be officially referred to as a “town”. Never mind that it’s apparently tip-toeing dangerously close to one million inhabitants.
After several years away, I took the five-hour drive with my mother to see our family. As we drove closer and closer and could see Rio Preto taking up a considerably larger part of the horizon than I remembered, one thing became abundantly clear:
Toto, this is not a small town anymore.
After the initial shock of disorientation, It came as a surprise that a few things remain the same:
The kindness of people. My mother and I were received by our extended family like two long lost children.
At around mid-day, you’ll be able to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Rio Preto is mostly still farmland. The average temperature year-round is 23C, but in the summer, this can go all the way up to the high 30s. It is dry, sunny, and absolutely glorious.
Patience is still a virtue. By definition, you shall not be in a rush if you’re in Rio Preto. A loose sense of timing reigns; people are often a little late, and you are forever forgiven if you are on time.
After nearly two and a half years away, I decided to come back to Brazil for a few days to see my family and (hopefully) use my time wisely as a writing retreat, seeing as I’ve been facing a block lately (for those still keeping count: the manuscript is now at 42,018 words). There is no place like Brazil if you’re looking for creativity. Yes, even better than Paris or London. The weather is better here. So watch this space over the next few days.
With the end of the year drawing closer and closer, so does the possibility that I’ll have to be in a plane again.
Like many other people who hate flying and who enjoy grounded life, planes are obviously my least favourite places in the whole wide world. Airports and government buildings in South America are a very (very!) close second.
Airports, I feel, have become the place where good manners and elegance have gone to die. Where else can you expect to see people growing impatient, angry, anxious, before abandoning all resemblance of common decency and beginning to engage in line-cutting, foot-stomping and sometimes screaming? And all of this happens even before they ask you to take off your shoes at the security check – by which point, particularly during the holiday season, we’ve come to embrace the madness. Continue reading
It was a stuffy December day, and the sun was trying to burn through the cloudy sky.
That Friday before my baby sister’s high school graduation, my father gave The Angry Chef and me a ride to the familiar house on Rua Bastos Pereira. The air still smelled of rain – it had been raining on and off all week. Dad parked his massive silver SUV in front of the white metal gate. The gate looked strange and new; when I was a child, an orange, solid wood slide one had been there instead. I wondered what that gate must have looked like to my mother, as she probably still remembered the short metal fence that stood there before. Continue reading