Walk around Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul

I've now been here for a week in the South. I arrived at the end of Semana Farroupilha, the annual celebration of the revolt in 1835 that made this state briefly independent from the then-Brazilian Empire. People walked around in period costumes, or at least those not wearing soccer jerseys - the city divides between Internacional and Grêmio - did. I think even today there are still a few wearing their gaúcho heritage around.

I'll be here one more week, before my flight back to Rio.

As predicted, the accent is closer to what you'd hear in Argentina. I initially sat down and ordered fizzy water, which in the carioca accent is pronounced "com guy-sh." The waiter paused. "Com gas?" Yes, yes, with gas. To date, I've heard the "tu" form of the second-person, and I've been asked "quando tu chegas?" but I've not been called "tchê."

By the end of this trip, I may speak Portuguese in a hodgepodge of regional accents that's still unmistakeably American. For example, I've adopted my água com gás to local tastes, but I still say três with the (carioca) trailing "sh" sound.

Some observations:

1. As in Rio, everyone has been wonderful, helpful, and friendly. I've had a great time at interviews. That being said, I consider this mainly a trial run for the project. The case in Rio Grande do Sul is thoroughly documented, and I have only a limited number of questions.

Some lessons: I need to pack more. I only brought three undershirts, five dress shirts, and three polo shirts on the trip. The plan to wash some of these in the sink has been compromised by the cold and the rain. (My last hotel room was, um, high in mold and cold and low in circulating air and light.) When packing, one has to compromise between the weight and convenience of the luggage and the costs and inconvenience of laundry and, well, wearing not-so-clean clothes.

I need to make calls in advance. I did make some calls for this trip, but left some to be made in Porto Alegre. The lack of reliable internet in the previous hotel room put a crimp in these plans, as all the calls were dropped or fuzzy; using my cell phone instead quickly burned through the fifteen-reais credit. Better to use Skype and the reliable internet connection in Rio de Janeiro. (The price difference is absurd.)

2. It has rained. A lot. The news is currently showing snow and hail in the surrounding hills and in Santa Catarina, the neighboring state to the north. (Frustratingly, the images from São Paulo are of sun and clear skies.)

3. The city reminds me (the Portuguese construction is "makes me remember") of San Francisco. There are hills, narrow streets, tree-lined streets, and plenty of bookstores, small parks, and old architecture. It's very attractive in that regard, but there aren't the same views over the water from the heights that San Francisco has.

I'm also reminded of my querido Buenos Aires, and of Montevideo, which are so near and yet so far. (Read: I'm not allowed to go there.) I'm closer to Bs. As. than I am to Rio de Janeiro, but just barely. I can feel it.

And I can start to see it. The vegetation is not entirely tropical, but is getting closer to temperature Buenos Aires. For example, the riverfront looks just like the estuary at the mouth of the River Plate:





In one of my interviews, I talked for a while about state geography with a former senator, who pointed out that the lagoon depicted here is fresh water for 75% of its area, until you get down to the municipio of (yes) Arroio Grande.

Side note: these photos are taken near the Usina do Gasômetro, an old gas refinery built by the creatively-named State Electric Energy Company (CEEE). In 1996 or so, CEEE was broken up and partially privatized, which is part of the background for my dissertation project. Yesterday on the walk, I happened upon a hip-hop concert at the Usina, sponsored by the city and state governments as part of a day-long campaign against crack cocaine.

At the same time, despite my allusions, the sidewalks, the attitude, the language, and the cuisine are still thoroughly Brazilian. I won't traffic in stereotypes, but I'll note that stores and offices open at 8:30 nor 9:00 AM here (compared to 10:00 AM in Rio) and that people are punctual. That's neither Brazilian nor not-Brazilian. (Like their counterparts in Rio, portoalegrenses almost never walk when on escalators. I can't explain that one yet.)

4. I took a walk around town on Saturday afternoon and took the following photos.

I'm staying only a few blocks from the hilltop depicted here, with its church, monument, and the state legislative assembly.





I spent Tuesday afternoon at the state assembly, trying to schedule an appointment. I succeeded, through no effort of my own, and am returning there this Tuesday.

Fieldwork for the most part has been lonely. There's a lot of unfilled time, during which I'm reading or getting ahead or playing with a dataset, and not much time socializing. It's very different from tourism: I'm not here to be entertained or visit sites; I'm here to meet professionals and conduct interviews and exchange ideas. Most of my interviewees are middle-aged, with families and lives and interests. (They've also all been, thus far, exclusively male.) At the end of the day, they go home from work, and I go back to the hotel, and plan for the next day. When I hit exhaustion, I find some place to eat dinner, usually by myself. It's travel, but it's work and not play.

(A happy exception to this was a night at a blues club with Chris and Shana, Fulbrighters who are here to live for a while in Porto Alegre.)

As the phrase goes, acontece, so it goes.

Finally, Porto Alegre has its own version of cute public propoganda:



I'll ruin your adoration by noting that the squirrel is the mascot for the Zaffari supermarket chain; the sign notes that maintaining a clean city is in our hands.

Postscript: yes, I don't have any skills at photography.

UPDATE: Signs that you might be nearer Buenos Aires, no. 45: They sell alfajores here. I don't like them, but I had to buy one.



Industria Argentina, natch.