Being the Adventures of Albertus Pinguinus Lacinus

Bethany came to visit for a few days, and for a few days I didn't have to feel so alone or stay quiet. (Bethany is a good listener. I had many, many things to share.)

We split our time between Curitiba and Florianópolis, which warrants a longer post to come. Thanksgiving was in Florianópolis with Chris, a friend from Rio - who now lives in Porto Alegre but is moving northward soon - and at a local bar for chicken, beans, rice, salad, and farofa.

For now, some pictures of Albert, the intrepid world traveler. For example, here's Albert in Defence Colony, Delhi, India. Albert is Bethany's companion for the moments that I'm not around. He was born in a toy store on College Avenue in Berkeley back in 2007, though how he got there from the Antarctica has never been fully explained.

In Curitiba, Albert accompanied us on a visit to the Oscar Neiermeyer Museum, which is named for and was built by the famous architect. I had passed the museum earlier on a trip to interview the head of the state sanitation company board, who has a fantastic office in a ritzy neighborhood that reminds one of Torrance, CA. We took the same bus route, transferring for free through a system of tube-shaped stations. The focus of the museum is contemporary art, but it didn't appear when we got there that the exhibitions warranted the entry fee. It was much more interesting to watch the crowds of college kids, families, teenagers, couples, dog walkers, and tightrope walkers that lounged around the museum on a quiet Sunday afternoon.





The Museum closed at six, but the sun is now setting much later this far South, so we walked back through the Centro Cívico, which is a pleasant part of town. We stopped to walk through the Passeio Público, which houses a zoo-in-miniature. This public zoo, located in the center of town with free admission and cool shade, is one of the luxuries that the city of Curitiba offers its residents. There is another, larger, zoo somewhere else in town.

However, recalling Hobbes's advice to Calvin that one might as well visit a prison after visiting a zoo, we had an angry penguin on our hands.

Albert and I know why the caged bird sings.


The pigeons and cranes that flew freely about the park did seem to taunt the caged exotic parrots and toucans.

The next day we visited the Jardim Botânico (Botanical Garden) of the city, which was nice but lacked two things: better labeling for the plants, and more shade. It was a warm, sunny day, and the sun wearied us. The plant names were given in Portuguese with their Latin names below, but neither were very helpful for understanding more about the plants. At the Passeio Público, the signs for the birds listed what they ate (e.g., seeds, fruits, leaves, small animals) and had a darkened area on a map describing where they could be found. The Jardim Botânico would do better to add something like this. It is a lovely space, capped by a greenhouse that seems to be a symbol of the city. (An interviewee has corrected my assertion that the greenhouse is the symbol of the city; the stately columned facade of the Federal University is the symbol of Curitiba.)

In any case, Albert posed in front of the greenhouse.



The next day, we left for Florianópolis, a town of 700,000 that is the capital of the state of Santa Catarina. Santa Catarina (SC) is wedged between the breadbasket state of Paraná (PR) and the southernmost, cattle-raising state of Rio Grande do Sul (RS). It features the most luscious coastline this side of Rio de Janeiro.

The state and city also have a history of settlement by German, Italian, and Eastern European immigrants, which is reflected in local architecture. On Thanksgiving Day, we all took turns sitting on the steps of the metropolitan cathedral. Identifying various influences on the cathedral is left as an exercise for the reader.





We stayed in Florianópolis until Saturday, and returned to Curitiba for Bethany's flight out. After a few relaxing days of sun, sand, and relaxation, we both have to return to work. Albert asked for a last photo with Curitiba's fascinating and fun tube bus stations, which are located at multiple points around town. The tube system and the interconnection of bus lines around five central trunk lines were the pioneering work of urbanist Jaime Lerner when he was mayor here. I hope to interview him this week about his two terms as governor. See him talk about urban design and Curitiba here (in English).

Albert is depicted here with the bus tube at the airport, right before he caught his flight to São Paulo, Houston, and finally San Francisco as a stowaway in Bethany's luggage. Traveling as a stowaway comes with a qualified endorsement; the space is tight but the price can't be beat.




Postscript: Photos of Albert at the cathedral were taken exactly two years after he was denied entry to the Taj Mahal.

Back in the South: Curitiba, Paraná

"Curitiba is not particularly sophisticated or sexy, but its residents enjoy a quality of life unparalleled in other parts of the country.... It is not a beautiful city," states Lonely Planet.

They're not far from the mark; it doesn't shine or spread out in grand vistas any more than do the Brazilian cities I've visited. A part of me had hoped for a shiny, clean American-style city, but those expectations were probably unrealistic. The streets are calm and the bus stations are funky, but it's like any other major Brazilian city on a Sunday. Everything is closed. Metal grating over storefronts is not terribly attractive.

I've returned to the richer, more industrialized part of Brazil. The Center-West, which includes Mato Grosso and Mato Grosso do Sul, does have some large landholdings and agrobusiness families. I mean to say that there are rich people and developed areas in the Center-West. This state is also agricultural and is the breadbasket of Brazil; roughly 25% of the grains produced in Brazil are grown in Paraná. Here in the South, defined as Paraná, Santa Catarina, and Rio Grande do Sul, however, there's a larger middle class and more development. There is also a more diverse range of immigrant communities - I'm meeting people with Polish and other Eastern European last names this week. I don't stand out as much when I walk down the street.

(At the city council building in Cuiabá, instead of the usual "Você é de onde?" ("You're from where?") question, I got the question "Você é gringo de onde?" ("You're a gringo from where?"). I laughed, and asked, "Is it that obvious?" Yes, yes it is. In addition, often people will say "You speak Portuguese so well!" to be polite and friendly. This is obviously bullshit; I don't. However, at the Infrastructure Secretariat in Mato Grosso, a kind assistant was introducing me over the phone to a colleague and said in answer to a question, "Yes, well... he speaks Portuguese with an American accent." Her honesty made me laugh out loud.)

I'm overwhelmingly eager for this week to go quickly, and not only because I have a bargain hotel room with a ceiling fan instead of air conditioning. Bethany's coming to visit on Saturday. I'll admit that I'm distracted by her imminent arrival. I joked that, if I get either frustrated or overly enthusiastic in an interview, I'll ask my interviewees, "Look, could you please just ramble on about how the role of the state has changed since re-democratization for the next two hours? That will make my girlfriend arrive that much sooner."

I do plan to at least look into joining a gym. I spent my last week in Cuiabá going to a gym at night, and found it very satisfying. It made the evening pass more quickly. It certainly was better than a) writing up interview notes, which is inexplicably dull, or b) sitting in my room, reading off my computer and wondering how much time I had left in Mato Grosso. Also, I got a few pointers on lifting techniques from the staff, and the gym had a free cold water dispenser. All for five reais a visit.

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The overnight bus ride down from Rio was tranquil and pleasant. The first few miles brought back a memory from 2005 of how winding and mountainous the overland western approach to Rio de Janeiro is. We stopped at two rest areas, in Resende, RJ and in Registro, SP. In my groggy state at 3 AM, I figured out our progress by noting that the anti-smoking emblem on the glass window was in the distinctive shape of the state of São Paulo. I did manage to sleep, and arrived in an awake, if not completely completely rested, state.

Curitiba is slightly hilly, and in some ways resembles Porto Alegre. (I might use my "this city reminds me of San Francisco" line again, if warranted.) It's been raining since 5 PM, very heavily at times, which also reminds me of Rio Grande do Sul. The pedestrian walk in town is nice, and the tree-filled plazas are pleasant. I'll hold off on a final judgment until after the city comes alive tomorrow. I have a 2:30 PM interview, and the weather is sufficiently cool and pleasant such that I think I'll walk the two kilometers to the office. There are two potential problems with this idea: it will rain at least some of the time tomorrow, and the city is only shaped like a grid for five-square block sections. Multiple streets end, curve, or hit each other at odd angles. I'll have to draw a map on a slip of paper to avoid getting lost.



POSTSCRIPT: I am not making up names. Brazil and its twenty-seven states are officially divided into five regions: the South, the Southeast (including Rio de Janeiro), the Center-West, the North, and the Northeast. These administrative divisions don't denote any political power; they're used as short-hand in government documents to categorize and refer to regions with roughly similar economies, geography, and levels of development.

SECOND POSTSCRIPT: Today is November 15th, which is Republic Proclamation Day here and the namesake for major streets. Emperor Pedro II was deposed in a military coup, and the Brazilian Republic was proclaimed, on November 15, 1889. To my relief, tomorrow is not a holiday.

Invitation back to Porto Alegre

An invitation to celebrate the anniversary of certain municipalities in Rio Grande do Sul at the state Legislative Assembly. I believe this arrived because I left my personal email address on a sign-in form at the public meeting on sanitation.

The Minarets: Cuiabá, Mato Grosso

In honor of my cousin in the Australian Army who's on a mission peacekeeping in an Islamic country for the first time, I present the minarets of Cuiabá. This town has a lot of radio towers, cell phone towers, electricity towers, and towers. I attribute these numbers to the remoteness of the city and the size of the state. There are 141 municipalities in the state, spread from Amazonian jungle to Pantanal swamp to dry sandy cerrado. The capital lies roughly in the middle of it all. I guess that cell phone towers are there to relay calls from pretty remote locations. (The latest Brazilian air accident was an Air Force plane that went down northwest of here. The survivors were rescued after a native tribe alerted officials in their bi-monthly meeting with government officials. That's pretty remote.)








The last photo contains a view of the Verdão (the Big Green), the stadium that will host matches in the 2014 World Cup. There are stickers plastered all over town celebrating the arrival of the tournament to Cuiabá; there are also graffiti saying things such as "Cup = trash" or "Cup out" or "A Cup for whom?"

I can summarize my thoughts about Cuiabá in with a contrast. It is not a lovely town. It has alternated between extreme heat and uncomfortable humidity. However, the people have been wonderful, warm, open, and friendly. Despite their kindness, I'm glad to be going home to Rio de Janeiro soon.

Aesthetics don't seem to be a high matogrossense priority. Below are photos of City Hall and the Municipal Cathedral. Judge for yourself.




I don't mean to suggest that there aren't flourishes of beauty to be found. In front of City Hall is the ambition of numerous Americans: a Ten Commandments plaque! Long ago, I was shocked to notice graffiti on public monuments, specifically on the statue in front of the Congress in Buenos Aires. This phenomenon is not limited to Argentina. (The oddest graffiti below reads "Thou Shalt Not Burn Alligators.")



There's also a bust of Marechal Rondon, an intrepid explorer who was the first to string telegraph lines across the cerrado (predecessors to the radio towers) and discover the sources of numerous rivers. His life is pretty amazing, and it's justified that the nearby (even more remote) state of Rondônia is named for him.



The town is walkable, but is hillier and more hot and humid than was Campo Grande. I took two weekend walks in search of food and happened upon two of the three main shopping malls in town. This was very fortunate, because malls have three key items: food courts, air conditioning, and drinking fountains. (New lesson: when out walking, always carry an empty water bottle. It saves money and is refreshing. Also, note that airports also have those amenities.) I could sit in a food court and read without being bothered. On Sunday, I went to the mall, armed with a camera – because I was eventually going to a museum, but it was going to be closed for lunch hours – found a bookstore, found the politics section, located some books I wanted to read, found some pieces of paper in the form of deposit envelopes at a nearby Banco do Brasil ATM, and sat down to read, take notes, and photograph relevant pages for entry later. Isn’t that how everyone spends their weekend?

I later visited the third shopping mall, Shopping Pantanal, because it's right across the street from the state government/administration complex. It's the best of the three; it even has an H. Stern outlet. I spent yesterday there, after my morning interview, reading a book written by the former state Secretary of Finance and preparing for my afternoon interview. The afternoon interview was a fiasco; no one at the Secretary of Infrastructure’s office knew anyone who would be prepared to talk with me. I left empty-handed.

It was not all work and no play. I did eventually reach the zoo on Sunday afternoon. The museum was closed. The zoo’s located at the federal university in town and admission is free. (The ice cream vendors out front, however, had many, many sales.) Brazilian families and I walked freely around the complex, and the animals behaved exactly according to expectations: in the hot Mato Grosso sun, they lounged in the shade and tried to sleep.

I’ll just dump a bunch of animal photos on here. There’s no order to them. One is of a capybara up close. There are some birds. There was a concrete dinosaur, and a monkey banging a nut against concrete to break it open. Oh, and the colorful parrots are native. Always remember that Brazil has an incomprehensible amount of biodiversity.












The last picture was taken especially for Bethany.

In all, an okay town. I certainly wouldn't vacation here. I think Campo Grande is a better entry point to the Pantanal than is Cuiabá. Cuiabá is closer to the national park in Chapada. The zoo and the malls are better here; the food and weather in Campo Grande were more to my taste.

A final note: both towns have the same taste for ice cream. There seem to be ice cream shops (sorveterias) on every corner, and with good reason. As the following billboard illustrates, intense heat is best addressed via soft serve:


"Thirty years refreshing the Mato Grosso heat."

I'll be back in Rio de Janeiro in 48 hours. Thank goodness.

Halloween 2009: Parque Nacional Chapada dos Guimarães, Mato Grosso

I should begin by noting that I'm currently in Mato Grosso, a state to the north of Mato Grosso do Sul. (Well, obviously, Adam. It's in the title.) The two states were previously unified as Mato Grosso, and before that were part of the Province of São Paulo. Two people have mentioned to me that the capital of the Province of São Paulo was moved from its first and present location to Cuiabá for at least a short while in the colonial period.

My thoughts on the state capital Cuiabá will follow. For now, a bit of tourism.

Recall that I arrived in Campo Grande on a Sunday and confirmed that Monday was a holiday. Cuiabá had to top that: my first Friday was Public Servants' Day, which closed all schools and government offices, and this Monday is Day of the Deceased (which follows All Saints' Day). So we're in the midst of a four-day weekend, and the city is closed. 15% of my weekdays have been holidays during this trip. Dammit.

I tried unsuccessfully all week to reserve a hotel room in Chapada dos Guimarães, a small town about an hour from the capital. Despite my failure, I resolved to make a day trip to the National Park, and was confirmed for a group excursion on Friday afternoon. I was told to show up at 9 AM, which meant getting to the bus station in time to buy a ticket for a 7:30 AM bus.

Either stupid me, or malandros Brazilians. Getting to the bus station on time meant skipping the hotel breakfast and eating something I will probably regret at the terminal cafe. It meant losing sleep, hustling down the hill, and arriving at the tour office at 9:01 AM. I was the first one. We left after everyone else took their sweet time, stopped at the ATM, went fruit shopping at the market, stood around chatting, at 11 AM. I should know better by now.

No matter. I joined a group that comprised four paulistas (people from São Paulo) who largely kept to themselves, two friends, Sérgio from Belo Horizonte and Leyde from Cuiabá who used to live in Minas Gerais, and Faisal the guide, a Portuguese and literature teacher from the local high school who guides on the weekends and also runs a campsite in town. (It understates the problem to say that public school teachers are not paid well in this country.)

We set out for the Caverna Aroe Jari, the longest cave in the country at 1.2 km.

This was my first introduction to the Brazilian cerrado.

Brasília lies in that direction, about 850 km away.





The region is a massive mesa that is bordered by the Atlantic Forest to the east, the Amazon Basin to the north, and the Pantanal to the west. On some maps, it's termed the Mato Grosso Plateau. The most remarkable features are short, stubby, fire-resistant trees. A lot of the cerrado is currently being cleared, or has been cleared, to plant three crops: wheat (milho), cotton (algodão) and soybeans (soja).

The sheer vastness and harshness of the cerrado impressed me. (New trivia point: Brazil has more land area than does the continental United States. This is a big region smack in the middle.) There are multiple river systems throughout, but many are seasonal and distant from one another. In the area immediately surrounding Chapada, some rivers flow south, into the Pantanal and eventually into the River Plate Estuary near Buenos Aires. Other rivers, not five kilometers away, flow north and eventually end up in the Amazon Estuary near Belem.

There are forests, but they aren't shady, and the underbrush is thick. When the first bandeirantes (Brazilian explorers from the southeast in search of gold and Indians to enslave) pushed through into the interior, the going must have been extremely difficult. Teddy Roosevelt explored this region at the beginning of the twentieth century, after his presidency, and cut years off of his life. Even with modern conveniences, it's not the most comfortable area. (Or maybe I'm soft and spoiled.) We traveled with leather shin guards to protect our calves against the spiny, sharp, or stubborn brush that lined the trail.





Faisal remarked that Chapada dos Guimarães is not named after a Guimarães family or person, but is instead named after the city in Portugal. No one lived here when the name was chosen. You see, we're west of the Treaty of Tordesillas line. This should have been Spanish territory. However, bandeirantes representing the Portuguese crown, in order to establish a series of claims, ran around hastily giving everything in the territory Portuguese place-names.

We did explore the cave, and a nearby crystal blue pool, but the pictures from both aren't very good. It was very dark, as caves are wont to be. They were both cool with slight breezes, which was refreshing. Here are three of the best photos:







Last, we stopped at a nearby natural waterfall with an artificially-created swimming hole. No one seemed to mind that, in my rush out the door in the morning, I had forgotten to pack a bathing suit and had to swim in boxers instead. The water was cold, which was a welcome refreshment despite the onset of a thunder storm.

I was offered a ride back to Cuiabá with Leyde and Sérgio, and gladly accepted. We dropped Faisal the guide off at his house after a stop at a storied ice cream parlor (new fruit: buriti), and made our way back. It was another "huh" moment; speeding through the dark with two Brazilian strangers. They are very nice people.

Before we left, however, we stopped at the geodesic center of South America, which is perched on the edge of the mesa with a view over the valley below and toward the Cuiabá skyline. The point is equidistant from the extreme east and west, and north and south, limits of the South American continent. I presume that this measure excludes Panama. I now have a new answer to what's in the middle of South America.

I'll conclude with a photo of myself from the Geodesic Center, because I was raised with the idea that landscape pictures without people are dull. If I had included myself before, I would have left out all of the weird natural details.





Hope everyone had a scary Princeton Parents' Weekend.

A comida brasileira

When Bethany came back from a year in India, she stated that she had no interest whatsoever in eating at an Indian or Indian/Pakistani restaurant. Thus, I only ate Indian food three or four times in the subsequent academic year. Only once did I eat it in her company, and that was while she had pizza or pasta. I thought that this was a shame, because I really like Indian food.

After only two months of fieldwork, I can see her point. Next year, if someone recommends that we go to a churrascaria or a Brazilian restaurant (of which there are fewer in the States), I'll probably hesitate or flat-out refuse.

You were right, Bethany.




Postscript - I do not mean to suggest that other people should not eat at churrascarias or Brazilian restaurants. They should. The food is usually delicious, and Brazilians are very good hosts.

"O que acontece?"

"Brazilian coffee - It's more delicious!" I can't deny or confirm this; the coffee is pretty good, but I don't normally drink coffee and thus can't make a comparison. Sadly, the photo I took left out the exclamation point. Also note that this ad is on the outside wall of a public school. I don't know why.

So this is my final day in Campo Grande; I'm leaving tonight for an overnight bus ride to Cuiabá. I don't have profound thoughts about Campo Grande. I largely enjoyed my time here, and the people were wonderful, though it was harder than my time in Porto Alegre. I felt a bit more lonely, bored, and depressed at times than I was in the South. It's harder to go out and see things and experience a city when the sun is blazing hot and the city is so spread out. (Although the city is walkable and easy to navigate, it's at least a one-kilometer walk to the nearest decent restaurant. That trip - down the same streets, past the same stores, under the hot sun - gets tiresome after a while.) Oh, and my stomach was a little upset for a few stretches of time.

Would I recommend someone visit here? If you're en route to the Pantanal or to Bonito, or overland to Paraguay or Bolivia, yes, of course. (I find our proximity to Bolivia strangely fascinating, given that, in my mind and memories, La Paz and Lake Titicaca are in another world entirely. Trivia point for the next time you're on Jeopardy: the only two South American countries that do not border Brazil are Ecuador and Chile.)

The expected temperature in Cuiabá tomorrow is a high of 37 degrees. That's pretty hot, especially without an ocean breeze, at only 15 degrees, 35 minutes from the equator. I have to adapt by learning to wake up early, get my tasks accomplished, and be content with spending the afternoon inside in the air conditioning. I've learned that behavior in Campo Grande; now I just have to live by it.

This morning, I retraced a route I ran yesterday evening. The street photos below are an attempt to give a sense of what Campo Grande looks like, and why I made the observation that it seems more Latin American than Brazilian. It's an attractive city in a certain sense, but I'll leave that certain sense to each of your particular tastes.

These views look east down Rua ("Street") Dom Aquino, toward the center of the city. This is my hotel's neighborhood, Amambaí.






As noted before, this city is the jumping-off point for the Pantanal. And if your city has one main attraction, and that attraction is spectacular, by all means you should play it up. So they did.

While running yesterday, I heard and then saw another blue and gold macaw. It was not as large as the ones below. It did, however, sound like a human. I thought someone had shouted at me, and turned to see the macaw in flight. She hadn't spoken in English or Portuguese, but the sound of her squawk certainly recalled a macaw or parrot's mimicry of human voices.

It was nowhere as large as these are.







Unfortunately, I don't have a photo of the phone booths that are encased in large parrots. Someone else has photos here. I do have a photo of an animal-pomorphisized trash can, from Indigenous Nations Park:



Some spare thoughts:

1. The title of the post is Portuguese for "Then what happens?" Almost all my interviewees have used it as a rhetorical device. I think there were one or two exceptions. You can hear Faustão (Big Fausto, host of a Sunday variety show for the last twenty years) use the expression here about thirty seconds in. He then goes on to discuss his recent weight-loss surgery. I don't mind the phrase; I just find it charming. I do get mildly annoyed at people asking "entendiu?" ("did you understand?") at the end of every sentence, but I stifle my annoyance.

2. Cuiabá will be one of twelve sites that host games in the 2014 World Cup in Brazil. Campo Grande will be left out. This is a sore point here; some of the campograndenses have mentioned it without prompting. I replied that I felt their pain, but that I have no influence over FIFA or CBF decisions.

3. Today marks the beginning of antimalarial pills! Hooray! My run yesterday went toward the airport, past the air force base and the general hospital. As I approached the airport, the roadside trenches filled with water grew larger and larger. I decided to turn around early; I had no idea what type of (possibly-dengue-carrying) mosquitoes waited on the surface and would take flight in the quickly-falling dusk.


So tonight I take a ride out of this bus terminal, for the first overnight bus ride in Latin America since my trips in 2005. (My description of bus rides can be found halfway down here and here.) Lonely Planet describes the area thus: "The bus station in Campo Grande is an eyesore, rife with prostitutes and shady characters" (426). Yeah, my hotel is there, and I walked past this station daily to get into the center of town. As they also note: "Most budget accommodations are clustered around the bus terminal, but this is a seedy area with no shortage of small-time crooks and prostitutes" (426).

Judge for yourself. (Prostitutes most likely not pictured.)





Then there's this sign on the south side of the building (find it in the above photo!), which I found amusing.



The sign reads "This structure was the number one shopping center in Campo Grande and it was the postcard [image] of Mato Grosso do Sul." I don't know whether this is a protest, a boast, a lament, or just an observation. It certainly makes good use of the past tense.

In the city's defense, they're building a brand new bus terminal elsewhere, which is set to open in about one month. (In typical style, they already held the inauguration ceremony months ago, when the station was not yet operable. This same series of events happened with the Siqueira Campos metro station in Copacabana, Rio.)

Two more weeks until I return to Rio.