Escaping the Big City

            Tucked way back in the country side and nestled between rolling hills, the town of Pouso Alegre, Minas Gerais is taken right out fairy tales and movies.  Cool air whistles through narrow cobblestone streets as children ride their bikes through patches of shade bestowed to them by puffy white clouds above.  Old men sit at plastic tables on street corner bars sipping beers from tiny glass cups; their younger counterparts, cigarettes tucked behind ears, shoot pool on dimly lit tables inside.  Ostensibly content with watching life move on by, most of them pay no attention to anything in particular.  They certainly do not seem concerned with the gringo and his camera. 

A quaint little town hidden in a valley.

          This tiny town is where I decided to spend my long weekend away from the noise and bustle of Sao Paulo.  As much as I love big cities and often feel my best while navigating through the sprawl of buildings and hecticness that they can present; it is nice from time to time to get away.  There are moments when the smog and grime can get to one and I had an itch creeping up my back, notifying me that such a time had arrived.  Luckily for me, Brazil celebrates the Christian holiday Corpus Christi and if you are not joining the millions parading in the streets, you are hopping on the fastest way out of town.  The fastest way for me and my companions came in the form of a little Volkswagen Gol, driven by Rodrigo Porcionato. 

                To avoid the traffic of the city we decided to depart late on Wednesday night.  This would cut down the commute out of the metropolis from five to three hours; I have been told that two of those five hours are usually spent shuffling in the audacious traffic.  My roommate Ive, her boyfriend Ricardo, Rodrigo and myself hit the road at midnight to commence our flight from the city to Ricardo’s birthplace Pouso Alegre.  After moving out of the endless sea of buildings we entered the country side, rifling through dark and lonely highways in the black two door compact.  I must confess, I do not remember most of the ride.  Occasionally I would be jostled awake to observe Rodrigo gunning past a tractor-trailer, wait till we were safely past and then allow myself to nod off again. 

                At about four in the morning we arrived at Ricardo’s family’s home, the crisp night air and foggy street simultaneously waking and disorienting me.  After the car was backed into the garage, I simply called it a night and passed out in a bed already made for me; Brazilian hospitality at its finest.

                Chatter coming from the kitchen, sunlight and the promising smell of coffee aroused me in the late morning.  I made my way downstairs to join the chorus of voices.  Of course, I was the last to rise and tried to pass it off as if I had been up and ready for hours; after a lot of practice I have gotten pretty decent at that.  I found out that morning that food and drinks are sweet in Minas Gerais, also, they love their cheese.  Breakfast consisted of black sugary coffee, bread smeared with cream cheese and a wheel of delicious white, soft cheese that had a taste similar to mozzarella.  It was difficult not to return back for seconds numerous times.

Pouso Alegre after a hike up one of the hills.  Click for larger image

A family goes to fill their drinking water jugs.

Ricardo offered to show me around the town after breakfast and we set off on a stroll up and down the hills of his hometown.  The township is built in traditional Spanish colonial fashion.  Slender brick avenues are designed for one way automobile passage but two often squeeze by, colonial style houses with red tiled roofs line hills in all directions and the town center has a magnificent old church and plaza where people gather to drink, eat and play.  In some ways the town’s residents live like they did in the times of old by going to local water fountains to fill jugs of drinkable water for their families.  Pouso Alegre even possesses a tiny zoo.  I cannot say many good things about that though; the only animals they have are two lions separated in two tiny cages.  I felt bad for the great cats; yawning in boredom as a young child roared at them a mere two meters away.  I gave him my best “Cut that crap out” look and debated throwing him over the fence; surely the lions would still remember what to do.    

Modern apartment buildings are steadily rising.

 Like the rest of Brazil, the town is growing and expanding its boundary’s.  A few large apartment buildings that look relatively new dot the horizon; during our first walk Ricardo stretched his hand out and waved it in an arch over the town.  “Ten years ago, all of these houses were trees,” he said.  Many new homes can be seen being built on land recently cleared of the old giants; new mortar being laid down before their stumps can be fully removed.  According to Pouso Alegre’s government run website, the town’s population has increased by almost 35,000 residents in the past twenty years.  Approximately 130,000 people reside in the township now.  Despite the obvious modernization though, the place still retains its small town charm that makes it a little jewel in an emergent country.

                I wore out the proceeding days wandering the tiny streets, kicking back beer and whiskey with Ricardo’s hospitable father and chowing down on great cuts of meat and cheese.  It is tough to be me.  Friday night we were treated to Ricardo’s band, “Show Brega’s,” concert.  This was a gig unlike any other I have ever seen before and one I highly doubt I will witness again.  I was told that there would be covers of American music and poorly dressed band members, so I was mightily intrigued prior to heading to the show.  A group of us went down to the town center to wait in line at the pink colonial theater about an hour before it was scheduled to begin.

Rodrigo chilling with the traditional salt, orange and beer.  Squeeze the orange, spread the salt and drink the beer.

                Close to the start of the performance the line had grown and snaked around the entire block.  When the doors opened the group of us streamed into the theater and split up, myself heading for the balcony and Ive making for the front row, I was amazed at the amount of people who were coming in.  “How could all these people fit into this building?” I wondered.

The mob pushed in with little problem; taking plastic chairs and placing them on stair cases, crowding around balconies and putting children on laps.  As the crowd settled down as best they could the band members began to come out one by one to the call of the hidden announcer. Ricardo was first but, when he came out he was unrecognizable. 

He wore a bright red jumpsuit that glittered in the spotlights, his chest hair puffed out of a long slit bearing his entire torso and a newly grown afro bounced unnaturally on his head.  He sat down at his drum set and adjusted his gigantic sunglasses.  More members came out next; two guitarists wearing similar outfits as Ricardo, four back-up singers in suits and trench coats, two sexy female dancers in leopard print tights and finally the lead singer.  He must have wanted the most attention because he came out skipping, hollering in PortuEnglish and spinning in circles so to reveal to everyone his ass-less cowboy chaps.  The crowd went nuts; Rocky Horror Picture Show, eat your heart out. 

For the next two hours I was treated to a mix of traditional Brazilian music, constant outfit changes, horrendous, unsynchronized dancing and a few classic American covers; The Village People’s “YMCA” was pretty well done but, Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” had me hollering and singing along.  In true Brazilian fashion we stayed out late after the performance sipping beers and one-upping each other’s favorite parts of the show.  Eventually we called it a night as the birds began to chirp singling the next day was about to begin.

Saturday was my first time experiencing a true Brazilian BBQ.  Instead of waking up to coffee and cheese I arose to the smell of burning coal and the distinct sound of opening beer cans.  Replacing the usual hamburgers and hotdogs I am accustomed too was an entire leg of pork, a bursting bucket of sausage links and varying cuts of meat sliced on a wooden cutting board.  I was informed that this was the only way to do BBQ; after having the meat quite literally melt in my mouth, I am inclined to agree. 

Ricardo's father, "Bigode" (Mustache), preparing for the BBQ

By mid afternoon the house was filled with friends and relatives of all ages.  It was not long before babies were crying, uncles and cousins were loudly joking, slapping each other on the back whilst children wearing sly smirks attempted to discreetly set off fireworks in the driveway.  The grill, never absent of red meat, crackled and wheezed into the evening and as day turned to dusk and dusk gave way to night the party only slowed to allow people to procure more beer.

I played a traditional Brazilian card game called Truco on a large drum; its bass echoing as we threw our cards down on it in rowdy fashion.  Truco is played two vs two and after every round a team can gain one point or three, depending on if they can call the other team’s bluff.  I wish I could explain the rules better but, after multiple rounds I am still slightly unclear on how I lost so many times.  Aces are high, sometimes, as are sevens, sometimes; jacks can beat kings and I do not know what else.  What I do know though is that when you call someone’s bluff you have to yell “TRUUUUUUCOOOOOOO!!” at them; I excel at that part.  Winners play the next in line round robin style and after a few games the decisive champs were Ricardo’s brother Leandro and his fiancé Natalia.  I taught the Brazilians some American drinking games as well. 

Beer Pong makes it south of the border.

They were not big fans of Beer Pong, which can best be described as basketball with ping pong balls but, they excelled at Flip Cup.  Whereas Beer Pong is played with two teams of two, Flip Cup is more akin to a drinking relay race with as many people playing as a table can fit.  Many beers were tossed back to the chant of “Toma, Toma, Toma.” (Drink, Drink, Drink) as uncles, aunts and nephews all took part in the game.  The night ended in a foot race down the street in which I lost ten Reals.  I blame the beer for making me forget that soccer is such a big deal down here…

Alas, there is only so much country side I can take.  Cheese and coffee are grand but, I missed Sao Paulo’s high pitched moto horns and the screeching squeal of truck brakes in the morning.  My escape from the big city came to an end on a lazy Sunday afternoon watching movies and interviewing the local Gypsies.  They are an interesting band of wanderers but, that story will have to wait till next time. 

Waiting in the rain, 2 AM

The joys of traveling

AFTER THE FACT- We did not quite make it back in a timely fashion due to Rodrigo's little Volkswagen not being able to cope.  A 200 kilometer journey ended after 150 km when smoke gusted from the hood blurring our vision.  We faltered to a stop and waited for the first tow truck; the VW Gol not even giving the slightest inclination of coming back to life.  The truck arrived at about 4:30 AM and dragged us half a km to a gas station.  He pulled us over to the side of the parking lot and proceeded to tell us it would cost R$400 for him to take us the remaining 50 kilometers. We opted to wait for another truck in the parking lot of the gas station till about 8 AM; other garages would begin to open up for the day then.  At nine another one arrived and towed us the rest of the way back to Sao Paulo in stop and go traffic; a fitting welcome back to the big city.