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.

Reaching for the Sky

I was first told to begin looking for them while my plane was landing; that they were a rare sight to see.  Luckily, my flight was not full and when the pilot gave my fellow travelers and me the ability to grab open seating, I darted for the nearest window seat.  It would be a long flight though, 12 hours from Detroit to Sao Paulo, so I killed time off and slowly let myself drift into an uncomfortable economy class sleep.  In the wee early hours of the morning I awoke and thanked my internal clock for doing so; now I could be prepared to catch a glimpse of them upon arriving. 

The plane cabin was dark except for the sole shaft of the sun’s early gingery rays shining through my window.  The stewardess politely told me in Portuguese to close my window because people were trying to sleep.  I thought she was crazy; how could such a radiant beam disturb them?  I feigned ignorance so she tried again in English but, there was no way she was going to get me to shut it.  Fellow passengers be damned, I wanted to witness this rare sight.

The plane signaled its descent with an unmistakable de-revving of the engines and I could notice the clouds approaching the belly of the aircraft.  It would not be long now.  My warm ray of sunlight suddenly, sadly turned to the dull gray of the blanket of clouds as we dipped into them.  The plane pushed through the haze, the light returned and there they were in front of me; buildings.  Tall, enormous buildings, stretching endlessly to the horizon line like thousands of little fingers reaching up to scrape the sky.  I quickly forgot all about the majestic sunrise and simply stared.  As the plane banked through the air it offered more views of the sprawling metropolis below.  No matter which direction I glanced, the city carried on illimitable. 

Just a glimpse of Sao Paulo.  CLICK the picture for a larger image.

Buildings in Sao Paulo are part of what make this city so astonishing.  A tall, proud man can feel mighty short standing among these immense creations.  From one end of the compass to the other and across, if you look up and spin you are guaranteed to be treated to an assortment of great structures.  Sao Paulo is ranked 23rd in the world for the most amounts of skyscrapers tallying 63, according to Emporis.com, a corporation that indexes building information from around the globe.  By Emporis.com’s indexes, Hong Kong leads the world in skyscrapers with 1,256 and New York City is second with 562, closely followed by Tokyo, Chicago and Shanghai. 

But what defines a building as a skyscraper?  Many definitions are vague, various and cite an assortment of qualifications like a certain amount of meters high; most commonly 100 meters.  I believe, surely the best way to name a building as a skyscraper is any building that stands above all the other buildings in its area, thus changing the skyline.  For the sake of argument though, let us say a building of roughly 300 feet or approximately 100 meters qualifies it as such. 

Having said that, Sao Paulo has a multitude of other tall buildings that fall just mere meters short of our established definition.  In fact, Sao Paulo has 5,672 “tall buildings” with almost another 500 planned or under construction, according to Emporis.com.  New York City has 5,953 with only 100 planned.  Which is unfair, seeing how NYC is stuck building on an island with 304.8 square miles of land, according to the Department of City Planning of New York City.  Sao Paulo on the other hand has grown to such a size that its city limits and skyscrapers border its neighboring city’s buildings on all borders, which is what gives that impression of a never ending city. 

I have ridden the metro from one end of the city to the other and at every stop that offers a view it appears as if the city extends out farther and more unchecked than the previous.  At night from a distance the city glitters with flashing lights and it is difficult not to be awed by its grand expansiveness.    

Unfortunately, the city suffers from a lack of urban planning.  If a new apartment needs to be put up so people can live or a company wants to move into the city, little thought seems to be put into where the new giant will go.  Have space; will build.  This is great because it gives those people somewhere to lay their head at night but, it does so at the cost of negatively effecting the city’s already poor traffic situation and raises other potential problems in the future.  If a pedestrian is not too busy being shocked by another building around the bend, this can cause one’s hope for the future of the city to become lugubrious and disheartened.  

Recently, problems with poor urban development appeared to assist in the problems caused by flooding that claimed many lives in Rio de Janeiro this past year.  According to the International Union for Conservation of Nature, illegal construction, deforestation and unregulated housing are to blame in part for the devastating effects of the flooding. Over 700 lives were lost and thousands left homeless.  Can this happen to Sao Paulo?  Maybe not exactly as Sao Paulo does not possess the same climate or land layout Rio de Janeiro does but, poor urban planning in the city will surely cause more problems than it is currently solving. 

Poor urban planning is but an afterthought to me though; I am way to busy trying to keep my jaw shut as I crane my head upwards.  It is simply stunning what man can do with a bit of math, steel and concrete.

Barrio Liberdade, Brazil's Japan Town

One of many food stands that line the streets

Before I even have a chance to reach the intersection of the street, the whiff of roasting meat, teriyaki shrimp and the shouts of a crowd tempt me to come hither.  With the idea that there is a good time to be had now implanted in my mind, my legs start to carry me faster and faster down the road.  I turn the street corner and I am immediately assaulted by billowing smoke.   It wafts around a row of brightly red and white striped food stands that line the street and take over the sidewalk.  People crowd around them, overflowing into the road while throwing up their hands trying to signal to the fast speaking vendors what they desire.  I move closer and distinguish the distinctive chatter of merchants tallying orders but, they are not speaking Portuguese; it is an inimitably Asian dialect.  I am very confused. 

I pause for a moment and take in my full surroundings; little around me has remained Latino from the previous city block.  Red, oriental street lamps now edge the narrow avenue giving a stark contrast to the green and yellow of a Brazilian flag whipping in the wind above. The country I was just gaining a sense of familiarity with has violently reverted back to a place that is once again entirely foreign and new.  People of Asian descent seem to outnumber the traditional looking European Paulistanos and the food stands display through foggy glass windows various meat skewers.  For a moment I start to lose myself and forget that I am in South America.  Nevertheless, I am quickly snapped back to reality by the solitarily recognizable thing, the traffic; forever locked in the stop and go motion that is the Sao Paulo commute.  I realize then that I have stumbled into the area of Sao Paulo called Barrio Liberdade (Liberty Neighborhood).

                The neighborhood is home to the Nikkei, the descendents of Japanese immigrants that flocked to Brazil a little over 100 years ago lured by clever coffee plantation owners.  In 2004, there were approximately 2.6 million Japanese and people of direct Japanese ancestry living abroad of Japan.  1.6 million, about 62 percent, live in Brazil, according to the Association of Nikkei and Japanese Abroad, an organization that tracks Japanese people across the globe.  In 2008 the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics released a book about the demography of the Brazilian population.  The book claims that in the year 2000 there were 693,495 Japanese living in Sao Paulo, thus giving the city the densest Japanese population in the world outside of Japan.

A popular side street that possesses many restaurants

                The majority of the Sao Paulo Nikkei, along with other Asian inhabitants, live in Barrio Liberdade.  Over the past century, they have taken a little slice of the grand Sao Paulo metropolis and made it their own.  Injecting their architecture, art and cuisine into the Brazilian cultural scene.  In the artisan market that borders the food stands, vendors attempt to sell definitively Asian style trinkets to both tourists and locals alike. Colorful dragons and phoenixes woven from wires line tables, wooden name planks smeared with black calligraphy are made to order and bamboo wind chimes hollowly clunk together in the breeze.  I am not much of a shopper though and do not often take interest to many artisan fairs.  After walking through once, whilst marveling at how some people manage to find room for such colorful debris, I made my way towards another narrow street lined with juice stands, sushi restaurants and….a shopping mall? 

                As a side note, shopping malls are all the rage here.  The malls, more commonly known as “shoppings,” are everywhere.  They follow the exact same design of malls everywhere across the world; big, crowded, filled with materialistic crap and totally unnecessary.  American brands such as Tommy Hilfiger, Nike and Abercrombie Fitch have found a cozy niche in the Brazilian market and milk it for all its worth. 

As put by a Brazilian saleswoman I spoke with one day, “Who doesn’t want to wear what the North American actresses are wearing?”  She could not be more right, despite an average pair of Nike sneakers fetching the equivalent of US$150; the Brazilians want them and buy them without qualms. 

A woman in a mall shop sews together anime costumes

This mall was a little different though.  Packed into what appeared to be an old office building, the “shopping” is narrow and tall; five floors of tiny shops that can barely fit four to five people inside them and two floors of Asian buffets and restaurants.  Each floor’s shops offer the similar commodities and lots of it; anime and manga (Japanese cartoons and comics).  Bootlegged kung fu DVDs with Portuguese subtitles play on old clunky TVs that hang in the hallways, illuminating the young window shoppers eyeballing the newest action figures from the Marvel and DC Comic franchises.  I was a bit shocked to see the Mighty Morpin Power Rangers dubbed in Portuguese battling enemies I can recall from my own childhood.  This is truly globalization at its finest. 

But of course the Japanese would have a strong influence in the Brazilian culture.  Right after the US Navy’s Commodore Mathew Perry demanded that Japan open their ports to trade in 1854, many Japanese started to immigrate across seas to the Americas.  During that time in Brazil, Italians and Portuguese were working the coffee plantations for extremely cheap labor.  Someone had to harvest the beans though because slavery had been abolished in Brazil in 1850; just before the “War for Southern Independence” in the United States did the same in 1861.

Eventually though, the Italian government got fed up with their citizens working for dirt cheap wages and living like slaves in the new world.  Consequently, Italy eventually enacted the Decree Prinetti in 1902, thus greatly limiting the amount of Italians that were allowed to start anew in Brazil. 

With African slaves no longer an option and the Europeans tired of the shenanigans, coffee plantation owners went to the Japanese with promise of profit and a better life in Brazil.  The Japanese fell for it and in April 1908, the ship Kosato Maru with its 781 Japanese passengers, departed from the port in Kobe, Japan.  Three months later the boat docked at the Port of Santo, approximately 60 km south of Sao Paulo. 

The first Japanese had arrived but, they had just begun to find their home in South America.  When the United States enacted the Johnson Reed Immigration Act in 1924, which greatly adjusted the amount of Japanese that were able to obtain citizenship in the United States, the Japanese all but flooded into Brazil.  According to the Association of Nikkei and Japanese Abroad, between 1908 and 1941 approximately 190,000 Japanese immigrated to Brazil; most of them forging their homes in Sao Paulo and beginning the Japanese’s new found home away from home.

Despite the joy I was having in a poorly lit hallway reliving my chaste memories of high-school kids fighting with giant robots on TV, the “shopping” was still a mall and there is only so much I can take.  Returning to the street, it was time to hunt down some food and explore Brazilian-Asian cuisine.  I hungered after meat on a stick and a beer, making the food stands an ideal place to venture back to.  For US$4, I got a tender meat skewer and a beer; I’ll take that any day.  Yet, my hunger is not so easily satisfied and my curiosity for Brazilian sushi drew me to a restaurant named Musashi.   I ordered two salmon temaki.  A traditional Japanese way of preparing sushi; rice and salmon are wrapped together in seaweed that resembles an ice-cream cone.  I will give it to those Japanese-Brazilians; they pulled it off right and gave a lot more fish than is normally common in the dish. 

Beer and steak, what more do you want?

             Barrio Liberdade’s main attraction though, is its bridge that stretches over a highway marked by a large Torri; the traditional wooden structure found at Shinto shrines all around Japan.  The structure is an entry point into the heart of the neighborhood and the bridge offers views of even more tall skyscrapers in the distance.  It seems that is a common theme with Sao Paulo.  Along the bridge, more people tried to sell me brightly colored things that I politely turned down, but secretly, enjoyed being shrieked at from across the street.  It is the little things, ya know?  If you cannot smile after being hollered at by an old Asian lady attempting to sell you Peruvian hat in Brazil, I don’t know what will make you happy.

The popular bridge in the neighborhood from a distance

           Yes, Barrio Liberdade is a place in Sao Paulo like no other; maybe even the world.  Filled with a delicate mix of Asian business sense and laid back Latino attitude, the neighborhood is an interesting find in a predominantly industrialized western city.  From traditional shrines, delicious food and of course, the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, this neighborhood is not to be passed up while in Sao Paulo.   

An Interview with a "Street Artist" and a Tour of Vila Madalena

“A tall woman walks along the sidewalk of a busy downtown street; her backpack of supplies bouncing steadily in pace with her long strides.  Her pace speaks of purpose and frustration. The woman’s emerald eyes attentively scan the walls of buildings and staircases seeking out what she desires most.  She is an artist; an artist on a mission to find herself a canvas. 

"Concrete Heart"
photo provided by "Magrela" 

It is necessary that the canvas is fitting for her style of art; something ignored and ordinary. She craves to transform something dirty and unkempt into an item of beauty and vibrance.  Her lengthy black hair whips around her head as buses reeking of diesel and belching black smog blow by.  She needs an outlet, a release.

For over an hour she marches past three metro stops until she finally finds her canvas.  The wall is ugly and neglected.  The wall is perfect.  Its cracked and chipped surface begs the woman to be made into something to see. 

The artist feels angry and frustrated at the city.  It is not made for walking, trees or subjects of splendor.  She sets down her bag and takes out her brushes; making sure to shake each one thoroughly.  The can’s little metal ball rattles the paint and she begins to depict what she feels; a woman with a heart of concrete.  With every stroke she discharges her being into the image, controlling the chaos as she creates it.

When she is done she steps back feeling relieved, refreshed and renewed.  Not many people will walk by the painting.  But, if even one person sees the beauty in it, it is all worth it.” 

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So I had an interview with a street artist the other day.  I would say it went really well.  The perils of public transportation were working against me that day and despite being 20 minutes late to the interview, Magrela was very receptive and understanding. 

Maggie and Pericles.

Maggie, known by many as Magrela taken from the word magra which means thin, is a very down to earth person and the first “street artist” to respond to my requests for an interview.  Along with my roommate/translator Pericles, we met her at the Vila Madalena metro stop and proceeded to an empty, quaint café in the area.  

As the sun played peek-a-boo with the clouds, occasionally letting in little gasps of light, Maggie told me about her experiences and history with street art.  After studying finance for three years she decided to stop her schooling in 2007 and pick up street art as well as pursue other forms of art.  She owns her own clothing brand that features her unique art style as well as sings and writes poetry.  She has been drawing since she was a child and does not work with traditional canvas.  The streets are her canvas.

With the help of Pericles, we talked about street art for a little over 30 minutes.  We discussed about how the art allows her to express her emotions and the dangers, or lack thereof, of being approached by the police. 

“Oh! But officer, I did not know I could not paint here,” she says. 

When we finished our coffees she took us on a tour around the Vila Madalena neighborhood; a hip and trendy neighborhood of Sao Paulo.  Its steep hills and narrow streets occasionally allow for glimpses of the sprawling metropolis below and seemingly far off that is Sao Paulo.  Most streets are lined with artisan workshops, galleries and bars.  The bars look like a good time so I made sure to mark the location down of a few. 

A view from Vila Madalena

Walls and staircases are coated in street art.  Many resemble a Bohemian style of sorts; some are vibrant and abstract while others are portraits of famous figures and musicians. Maggie pointed out a wall that had the Ramones and medicine pills tagged all over it (I suppose they could have been other pills…).  To whoever can remember it, I imagine that the area can be reminiscent of New York City’s Greenwich Village in the 1960s.

Maggie with one of her pieces.

She pointed out some of her paintings she had done and described the different aspects of them.  One had crabs in it; painted for the area of the neighborhood the art was in called mangue (Mangrove).  Another was a collaboration piece done with three other artists when she first began tagging up walls and staircases.  A final piece she showed us was of a woman with a fish and a bull over a small town.  She enlightened us to the meaning. In short, the bull represents a man and the woman is nurturing him with the fish.  I do not think bulls eat fish but, I get the meaning and I believe the art has a simplistic exquisiteness to it; if such a thing exists.

Maggie, a Sao Paulo native, informed us about what influences her and described her unique style to us.  How she feels when she paints and the evolution of the woman she continuously adds to new areas of the city.  What I found interesting was that she told us she does not feel the need to practice “street art” when she is not in Sao Paulo.  That the problems, people, cars and industry pushes her to do what she does in her home city. 

Maggie's art on a wall in Vila Madalena

There is much more to say about our morning together but, I am working on a much larger article about the “Street Art in Sao Paulo.”  I am currently discussing the subject with an art museum curator in the city and I have another interview with a street artist/professor this coming Sunday.  So I will leave this post as it is; I do not want to give away everything just yet. 

If you are interested in some of Maggie’s art, here is her Flickr page.  Check it out and send her some love. 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/magritcha/

Perils of Public Transportation

                I think I had sex today.  Then again, I am convinced I have sex every time I ride the rail lines in Sao Paulo.  To say that forms of transportation in the city are congested is an understatement on par with, “There is corn in Nebraska.”  The trains, subway cars and busses in the city can get so crowded that it is not uncommon to grab the nearest arm, leg or ass to keep yourself from falling over.  Once the vehicle jerks forward or stutters to a stop, it ceases to be a commute and changes into an endeavor not to molest your fellow passengers.  However, getting around Sao Paulo is not just a rated G orgy.

                 Moving around Sao Paulo is great.  Even while congested to the point of feeling like a sardine in a tin, you can get anywhere in the city fairly expediently using one of many forms of transportation.  As they usually are; busses, trains, subways, motos and, if you can control your road rage, cars are all decent ways of getting a commuter from A to B. 

                The best part of moving around the city is that it is affordable.  When used with an electronic fair card, the public transportation network costs R$2.90, the equivalent to about US$ 1.50.  A rider can jump on and off any of the subway routes, train lines or busses for the next three hours for no additional charge while using that card.  Are you reading this WMATA? 

                By far the speediest and most effective way to get around this city is the motos.  These little bikes tear between the cars and busses, narrowly missing side view mirrors whilst leaning on their high pitched horns.  I think that the motorists often believe they are in a movie instead of real life.  Without a doubt, motos are responsible for the most traffic related deaths and accidents in Sao Paulo.  A fact that I have personally been witness to while stuck in a traffic jam on the highway. 

As my car rolled by a mangled bike, the ground littered with shards of metal and plastic, a white tarp covered the motorist’s lifeless body; his feet ominously sticking out from underneath.   I am told by many that this is not an unfamiliar site to bear witness to.  Many even seem desensitized of the site to the point where all it merits is a “tisk-tisk” or a shrug of the shoulders.

You can go anywhere.

                If risking your neck, quite literally, on motos is not your thing, the subway and trains with the use of your legs are exceptional ways to get around.  All of the trains interconnect frequently.  Many lines intersect one another at a station just to cross again two stations later and then again at the end of the line’s routes.  Check out the map; the word “extensive” does not do it justice. 

                The busses are also an excellent form of moving around.  According to the Lonely Planet’s guide book South America on a Shoe String, there are 1,333 bus routes in the main city itself.  The City of Sao Paulo’s website claims that there are “almost” 10,000 busses in service to transport people around the city per day.  Also, busses are fast, very fast.  My first ride on a bus felt more like a rollercoaster without seatbelts than it did a ride to the museum.  The driver hopped curbs, grated to halts and put the pedal to the metal on onramps, all the while as the old man standing next to me nonchalantly read his book.

This bus is actually rather empty...really.

                Last week during a rainy rush hour morning, a bus drove off an overpass and crashed into a train on the tracks below.  On a train line that I had just used an hour before.  The train’s conductor managed to pull the brakes in time and avoid annihilating the bus, thus avoiding any fatalities.  The passengers told news agencies that the driver was driving fast, the driver claims the road was slippery.  Here is an article pertaining to it.

Sky News Article about the bus on the tracks-Complete with video and pictures, click here.

                The public transportation system is not without its problems.  Along with an occasional flying bus, it can get crowded, as mentioned before.  In a city of 20 million though, what is one to expect?  I once observed a security guard help close a packed train car’s door by pushing on a guy until the door stopped closing on his arm and legs. 

Space is not easy to come by during rush hour.  Forget waiting for the people to get off the train when the car pulls into the station because of this.  If you want on, you better charge those getting off while throwing up an elbow to the others doing the same.  Don’t worry, as long as you aren’t stiff arming grandma no one seems to mind.

                Crime is also another problem that riders have to watch out for.  As you board a train or bus with your backpack, make sure you are wearing it on your chest or set it down between your legs.  You want to be able to see whose hands may be trying to pry open your zippers.  I personally go with the backpack on the chest, hand in the pocket along with the kung-fu death grip on my wallet method. 

                But you can’t let the negative aspects of transportation get to you.  No matter what country or city you are in.  How else will you see the museums, picnic in the parks or drink at the bars?  As well as moving you around a city, public transportation is a great way to take a few selfish moments and contemplate the day.

                On my daily train commutes, I use my 20 minute ride as a moment of Zen.  I have no control how fast the car moves nor can I change its path.  The ever-changing scenery passes by serenely to the click-clacking of the wheels on the tracks; bringing an irrepressible smirk to my face.  For those 20 minutes, everyone on the train, no matter who they may be, have no control of where they are going.  So they might as well just accept the fact that we are all on the same ride together, even if only for a little bit.  Just make sure you shower before you ride please.