Last day in Ouro Preto . . .

It’s our last morning at Pouso do Chico Rei. Today we take the omnibus along the Royal Way, a road built in the mid 1700s to haul gold to Portugal. Sometimes I look at these mountains surrounding this isolated town of Ouro Preto and wonder how the bandierantes, those intrepid Portuguese traders and explorers, found gold here, the mine’s location marked by the strange “finger of god” mountain (seen in the background of this pic of Ouro Preto).


Yet the town remains, isolated for so many years, protected as a colonial national monument since 1913, and now a town of 6,000, augmented at times by tourists, and simply beautiful. Saturday morning as we yet again admired the hillside views out our window, two small parrots came by, squabbling all the way.


Here we explored the Casa do Contos, the counting house, a veritable three story palace with walls in the old style, two feet thick, a library and hand painted faux marble on the second floor, and slave quarters in the basement. A great crack of thunder led to a downpour. As rain slicked cobblestone streets, we rested our feet, grateful to be inside, to sit on the stone stairs in one place.

Today we leave for Foz Iguassu, a land of majestic waterfalls, a bird park and butterflies – and three bus rides of about 27 hour duration. I will hope for internet along the way.

And the winner is . . .

The mystery is solved! Susie H. is now designated as the "Birder Queen" of my South American trip as she identified that little yellow bird as a Lesser Kiskadee.



You can see additional pictures to decide for yourself at Arthur Grossett's Lesser Kiskadee site. We've seen this little kiskadee in Sao Paulo, Rio, Salvador, and now here in Ouro Preto. The song sounds much like its name: kis-ka-dee, kis-ka-dee.

Outside, the drum clubs are warming up for Carnival with marching bands and samba steps. The energy hums through the night, with trills of whistles, singing, marching feet, and syncopated drum beats.

Today we traveled to Congonhas to see the Old Testament Prophets sculpted by Aleijadinho sometime between 1800-1805. These 12 statues were absolutely wonderful. My favorites were Daniel and his lion complete with curly hair, and Jonah with his whale featuring a double spout and curly fins. I suppose the curls were influenced by the Baroque era and will post pics a little later.

We traveled through the Serra Mountains and stopped in Tiradentes to see two churches there. The Igreja Matriz de Santo Antonio, featuring some of the last works by Aleijadinho, is stunning with its nearly solid gold altar. But I found the second church more moving.

The modest Igreja Nossa Senhora do Rosario dos Pretos (Church of Our Lady of the Rosary of the Blacks) was built by slaves in 1708 only after dark and honors several black saints, including Saint Benedito honored throughout Brazil and who came to Italy from the early Ethiopian Christian church. Musician Kris Katsuko writes movingly of attending services there. We stood alone in this church, quiet, and still felt the power of faith in spite of the legacy of slavery which remains always present in these great Baroque churches and cities, in their squares, and in their civil buildings, many with thick walls, once used as prisons.

Ouro Preto this week . . .

This week is passing too quickly. We're staying at Pouso do Chico Rei, a small 18th Century colonial inn where Pablo Neruda once slept, in a small town, once a gold mining center, now a tourist destination and national treasure. The first days here, I could hardly believe we truly were in the same place, the same room. I hear echoes of Neruda's poems and dream.



We've wandered these cobblestoned streets, up and down hills, visiting churches and museums. Today we visited an Oratorio Museum full of Baroque religious art and sculpture by Aleijadinho, nicknamed "the little cripple" because he couldn't use his hands to sculpt in stone and so asked his assistants to tie on his mallet and hammers. He taught himself how to paint and sculpt, studying pictures by Michelangelo. We'll go tomorrow to see his famous prophets in the nearby town of Congongas, about 14 kilometers away. It turns out there's controversy about whether Aleijadinho really lived at all; he may have been a myth, yet these fabulous sculptures remain.

I hope this slide show gives you a sense of some of what we've seen, much like the red ribbon hanging down from a saint's statue that connects you directly!



Brazil

Ouro Preto is also a college town about the size of Corvallis. Its 8,000 students live in dormitories called republicas, some public and some private. As they ready for Carnival, we can hear their clubs practicing for the great processions. Think samba music, drums beating complex rhythms, and crowds singing all under a warm starry night.

Yes, we also found a laundry, and I've drunk sweet Brazilian coffee with scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream mixed in. Someone told me sugar is added when the coffee is made, but I don't believe it. The coffee beans are simply fresher here. And I do feel guilty, waking up and seeing this vista out of our two large windows, another sunny day, no reason to work except on writing; it begins to feel like a honeymoon, an interlude, an exploration, an adventure, a beginning.

From Rio to Salvador . . . still in Brazil.

Jan 21. The 27-hour bus ride went very quickly as we traveled north from Rio through the hinterlands of the Brazilian coast to Salvador. We stopped about every three hours to eat, visit the baneiros, change drivers, and stretch our legs. I’ve tasted three different kinds of flan already, but none so good as that made by Vera. I can recommend the grill, and we’ve seen small herds of cattle everywhere. The cattle are very large, with floppy ears that hang down, and some with ferocious horns. We have blankets to cuddle under and a fascinating view of endlessly changing terrain as our driver takes us through mountains, very rich tropical valleys full of banana palms and red flowering trees. We see isolated clusters of houses, capped with red tiles, and rolling hills to the horizon. Finally our bus turns down to the coast and Salvador, a busy port town yet with a sophisticated beach front. Workers set up temporary viewing stands for the Carnival begins in just two weeks.

Our hotel, the Pousada do Boqueirao, hides behind a colonial façade. We enter into sunlit rooms and up the marble stairs, past a large painting of a mermaid (Yemanja), and down a dark hall to the back of the hotel. Our room opens with a verandah and an ocean/bay view. We can watch ships leaving, hear the chip-chip-chip of hummingbirds over the traffic far below. Tomorrow we’ll explore. Tonight we’re just exhausted. We took a shower in our little blue and white tiled bathroom and are relaxing in our room, complete with hammock, view, lovely old table with two chairs, a sofa, an armoir, and elegant high ceilings with a fan. It’s barely cool enough for us to open the shutters. Later, we’ll go out in search of a television to celebrate the inauguration of Barack Obama.

I begin to understand the preoccupation that Latin American writers have with isolation and decay. Even with the scope of what we saw today, the countryside seems barely tamed. I find myself more comfortable in the cities, as large and busy as they are, for the jungle looms trackless and endless. Everywhere we see little isolated houses that have been abandoned. The heat continues as well, making everyone move slowly, if at all.

While in Rio, we took the bonge (trolley) up to the Santa Teresa district to visit ruins and the Meuse Ceu (lovely art by Concalvo, Portinari and others, and a 18th-19th Century library, with some prints and books dotted with age). And yet, as we walked down through this lovely colonial district, some homes had also been locked up. Their fine colonial bones were covered with graffiti. I could almost see them mouldering away in the tradition of Gabriel Garcia Marca. We saw two old women sitting in a shady garden talking, not moving, entirely white, as if the sun had never touched them, the neighborhood aging around them. One feels enervated, waiting for the sun to fall into the sea, and thirsty for water all the time. Only the vibrant music wakes us up, transforms us, propels us to dance in the streets, even the old ladies tap their feet; magical realism simmers under everything Latin American.

Update: It´s now Friday and I´m down the street from our hotel, fighting a Portuguese keyboard and slow internet access, but all is truly well. We´re back on the bus on Tuesday, another 20-hour ride to Belo Horizonte. It will be hard to say goodbye to vibrant Salvador with its sweeping vistas of the bay, vibrant Bahian culture, and wonderful, wonderful foods. I wish you all just one day of 90 degrees to compensate for the snow that some of you are having. Think hats, suntan lotion and lots of air conditioning. And dinner on a verandah overlooking the bay as the sun fades to starry, starry night.

Blame it on Rio . . .

What a wild town. . . I now know why the people walk so slowly. It's too hot to walk as fast as we do in the north. And very warm, up to 90 today, we wandered through colonial neighborhoods to find the Museu do Indo, a small museum of Brazilian indigenous peoples, their beliefs and artifacts.

We must have walked miles to the Urca neighborhood by the bay near Sugarloaf to sit in an open air cafe, Garota da Urca, by the beach. Our waiter brought us Cuban chicken with crusty fried bananas that melted in our mouths, and rice mixed with peas, green peppers, ham and plump, big raisins. Afterwards, cafe espresso. I'm addicted.

We took two cable cars to the top of Sugarloaf (Pau d'azucar) for sweeping vistas of Rio and watched the sun set and the lights of the city slowly blink on.



Yesterday in Copacabana, we spotted this sand castle. At first I noticed all the crosses and thought how religious. But check the image over the gate! And if you like, check out more pictures on Webshots (see link to the right).



Tomorrow perhaps an excursion to Santa Teresa, a trolley car ride, ruins and another museum of the colonial era. That's after a leisurely breakfast and a morning spent writing. Internet access is still chancey, but when we scan the newspapers in Portuguese to keep up and hit CNN when we're connected. The news on CNN is far grimmer on the U.S. and world economy than what's reported in Rio's Globo, which currently runs distressing headlines about the attacks and counterattacks between Gaza and Israel.

We do see a few young men sleeping in the streets and an occasional beggar. Nothing like what I'd see in San Francisco. People easily walk on the streets at night (but we've not been out later than 9 pm; some would call us slackers). Everyone we've talked to is excited about Obama's presidency, now just a week away. Here in this beach town, everyone seems set on simply getting to the beach and to the sun. I'm starting to feel guilty about being retired, but not too guilty. May you find joy wherever you are!

Sao Paulo . . .

2009 begins in Brazil. Orchids grow wild here, high in the trees along busy Sao Paulo streets. We see flowers I cannot name along with bouganville, impatients, hibiscus trees, and palms of every order. The people do not rush. They stroll hand-in-hand and arm-in-arm, dressed for warm weather in shorts and skirts and sandals. They sit in cafes sipping coffee in the afternoon and wine in the evening.

After a 24-hour journey (including champagne at midnight on the plane) and two layovers, we nearly napped all of January 1 away at our hotel for this week in Sao Paulo, the Pousada Dona Zilah in the very green jardins (gardens) district.

Today we walked 10 blocks or so to MASP, the Museum of Art, Sao Paulo, to stroll as Brazilians do before the masters – Picasso, Rembrandt, Modigliani, Diego Rivera Joshua Reynolds, El Greco, Bosch, and new to us, the Brazilian artist, Portinari, among many, many others. We’ll return tomorrow.

Tonight I can sing praises to Brazilian pizza, the best I’ve eaten anywhere in the world. One day I will try to make our choice at the Margarita Pizza restaurant, their Godfather pizza with rough chopped boiled egg, slices of fresh tomato and ham, delicately flavored black olives, and cheese all baked crusty in an old-fashioned brick oven. We sleep comfortably with a simple fan turned on through the night for temperatures in the high 70s. Except for missing family and friends, this approaches heaven! I officially thank United for their mileage plus program! Total flying cost for two, round-trip from the US to Brazil, US $120.