From Sao Paulo, Brazil to Brazil, Indiana

The business class lounge in the Guadulhos airport is after passport control but before the metal detectors. I learned this after passing through all the security stuff, and so opted to hang out in the gate area rather than to go through security one more time.

The flight was uneventful, but the change from the quality of service of Korean Air and Air France to Delta was too obvious. The quality of food served was lower, and the staff, while courteous, felt more like fast food workers than fine dining. A couple hours in Atlanta, onto a smaller plane to Lexington, and the official flights of my RTW came to an end. Waiting in baggage claim for me were my two nephews, their baby sitter and her husband, who were kind enough to meet me while my brother was in D.C. on business.

I hadn’t slept much on the flight, and napped off and on that day at my brother’s house. I was awake enough that evening for nephew duty, so we headed to Sonny’s Bar-B-Que, and later enjoyed a walk around the block. The kitty box at my brother’s house—serving three nearly full-grown cats—was pretty stinky, so I closed the door to that bathroom enough to let cats through but to limit the odor. I left the top-hinged window ajar, confident that it was too high for the cats to get through. Wrong.

Cats don’t know when they’ve got a good thing going, and Oscar had made his escape. Maybe he was miffed about that recent operation… I discovered his absence the next morning, and went on search and rescue up and down the street, but to no avail. Fortunately, the neighbor’s dog was on the scent and pointed out that Oscar was hiding under the back porch. We got him back inside well before my brother’s return.

My brother returned that evening and took over, himself a bit miffed that I hadn’t changed the kitty box. “Not without a haz-mat suit”, I thought to myself. We talked about my Uncle John, who had recently suffered a stroke and was still hospitalized. We decided to run up to see him in Brazil, Indiana while I was there.

The drive there and back was beautiful; trees in Kentucky were short on color and were more a dull brown, but the trees in Indiana were beginning to peak with reds and yellows. At the hospital in Brazil, the nephews and I took a little walk, and brought some bright red leaves back to Uncle John, who is recovering very well.

Coming back through Cincinnati, we found our way to the science museum, located in the old train station, a gorgeous art-deco structure that had sat there abandoned throughout most of our childhood. The museum had closed thirty minutes earlier and was hosting a private event, so we continued on southward. My brother had another idea, and soon we were pulling into Chuck E. Cheese’s outside the Florence Mall in northern Kentucky. Not for the faint-of-heart, Chuck E. Cheese offers mediocre pizza, a robotic music show with serious sound problems, arcade games, a giant climbing tunnel, and a teenager in a rat outfit that tries to entertain the kids. Maybe the most fun was the virtual reality Cedar Point roller coaster ride the nephews did. Once is enough.

Another day in Kentucky, and then back to Phoenix. A change of planes at CVG, and I was at PHX before 2:00 PM Pacific time. Decided to sneak in and stay undercover for a few days, so I grabbed a cab. We drove right past both Kerry’s plane and Air Force One, parked next to each other, but I was too slow to get a picture for the web site. Was home by 2:30, was greeted by kitty, read the mail, balanced the checkbook, popped a frozen dinner in the microwave, and tuned into the last debate—a few miles away in Tempe—at 6:00 PM.

I sold my car before I left, and had arranged for the new one to be ready the day after I returned. It was still on the docks in L.A. when I arrived, thanks to a labor dispute and work slowdown (really—I googled it). It finally arrived ath the dealership Saturday afternoon. Back to work tomorrow (Monday), and should take possession of it (a Scion Xb, camouflage green) sometime tomorrow afternoon.

Was it worth it all? Yes, a thousand times yes! Maybe I’ll do it again with different countries in another five years. Now, I have to figure out where to go next year. New Zealand? France, Germany, Italy, Ireland? China? I hear Iceland is interesting, and I’ve always wanted to visit Easter Island, off the coast of Chile. Then of course, there’s Peru and Machu Pichu, Argentina and the Tierra del Fuego, or maybe back to Alaska or Hawaii…

JP

In Sao Paulo

Elections were happening in Brazil the morning we left the Hotel Serrano and Gramado. Gramado had been alive all week with people waving white or red flags for candidates on street corners and cars driving through town with megaphones blaring. This morning, our bus stopped at a polling place and left a number of people there to vote. Voting is mandatory in Brazil; one must either have a very good excuse filed with authorities for missing a vote, or lose a number of rights and privileges.

Finally on our way, our bus wound back down the mountains to Porto Allegre and the airport. Boarding a real TAM flight this time, we were back to Sao Paulo within an hour and a half. Even in coach seats, both TAM and Varig retain complimentary meal service. On arrival in Brazil, I flew to Porto Allegre from Guadulhos, the international airport I had flown into from Warsaw and Paris. We flew back to the smaller Sao Paulo airport that only handles domestic flights. Surrounded by the city, we were a quick and cheap cab ride through the rain to Alex and Iveli’s condo.

We quickly settled in, then walked down the street to vote. Their polling station was at a Jewish school, the signs and in each room written in both Portuguese and Hebrew. Sao Paulo is a city of immigrants; in addition to Europeans immigrants and refugees from World War II, there was also a large asian community, with Sao Paulo maintaining the largest Japanese population of any city outside of Japan. Votes cast, we walked to a nearby grocery, where I admired the fruits and vegetables that would be considered exotic in my Safeway.

Sao Paulo is the largest city in all of latin America, and is the third largest city in the world. There is some thought that it will become the largest city on the planet within an other twenty years or so. Going up in a skyscraper in the middle of the city, all one can see is buildings in every direction, to the edge of the skyline. Sao Paulo contains many different districts and neighborhoods, many reflecting the unique culture of those particular inhabitants. It is a city of both astounding wealth and devastating poverty. It has beautiful parks, though perhaps not as many as the population deserves. It has a fine subway system, well maintained streets, and sane driving compared to Cairo. Sao Paulo is rediscovering it’s city market, with the building being beautifully renovated, a restaurant level being added, merchants offering the best meats, produce, spices and cheese, and long forgotten stained-glass windows being uncovered and once again shown off.

That night—and again, things are already running together—we dined at a gourmet pizza restaurant, one of three Italian restaurants in one fine block all run by the Mancini family. Here there is valet parking, doting service, a generous buffet (including meats, cheeses and breads beyond our typical salad bar) and a grand piano to complete the ambience.
Fine wine, great pizza, and good company.

My friends Alex and Iveli are both doctors, had missed several days of work for the conference in Gramado, and were preparing to be off again in a couple of weeks to take their daughter Giulia to a swim meet in Rio de Janeiro (tough life, huh?). So, there were days Alex or Iveli would escort me around, others that Luis, Alex’s brother would be my tour guide, and one or two that I was on my own. Breakfast at their place each morning consisted of cereal, juice, fruits (mango and papaya) and my favorite, Romeo and Juliet (guava jam and a kind of cream cheese on toast). For dinner one evening, Alex did fondue, using a delicious combination of cheeses and breads.

The first day was with Luis, who took me to the Biannual Art Show. The Biannual is modern art at its finest and weirdest, and is a perfect fit with Sao Paulo’s modern architecture. One the first floor alone were quilted, three-dimensional cities; an undulating stack of pencil-shaped logs with large, inexplicable and seemingly unsupported holes in the middle of the stack; and my favorite, a Volkswagen Beetle (old style) suspended by a few hundred bungee cords, swinging and twirling with the artist’s gentle prodding. Much of the art—gathered from around the world--made you think, and after an hour or so our heads were swimming.

The rest of the day was spent touring the university Luis had attended (he is now a plastic surgeon), stopping by his condo for coffee and to meet his new dog (Shar-pei from Tibet), lunch (lighter Italian, salad and pasta buffet), and some time at his office where I was treated to an aqua-massage (much like the ones offered in our malls in the U.S.).

Iveli met me that evening and took me to their club. Over one hundred years old, this club sits on prime real estate in central Sao Paulo and is a grandiose version of a U.S. country club, albeit without the golf course. Tennis courts, tracks, swimming pools, gymnasiums, classrooms, game rooms, meeting rooms, a bowling alley, restaurant, café, underground parking structure—it has to be large, as 60,000 people hold membership. We walked across the street to visit Iveli’s parents—long-ago Italian immigrants to Brazil—and later back to the club to meet Giulia after her ballet lessons and swim practice. We had a delightful visit with Iveli’s folks, who I had met a decade earlier. Her father is a retired lawyer and aspiring artist, and is quite a character. Her mother speaks little English but creates some wonderful desserts.

Other days were filled with museums: the MASP (Museum of Art Sao Paulo), filled with Monets, Manets, Renoirs, Delacroixs, Van Goghs and more; the Museu Paulista (Ipiranga Museum), built as a monument to the Proclamation of Independence; and the Pinacoteca, across from the refurbished railway station (it’s Victorian architecture looking all the world identical to the one in Melbourne, Australia), this one filled with Brazilian works, both modern and not. Alex and I enjoyed a latte outside the museum café, coffee being integral to everyday Brazilian life.

Then the parks: the one featuring live, wild monkeys was closed the day we went, but we visited several other nice, smaller parks, all resplendent with native trees and flowers, ponds, lakes, walkways and soccer fields. The largest park in the city is where the Biannual art exhibit was held. Rivaling Central Park in New York City, it is adorned with lakes, fountains, grassy expanses and outstanding monuments. In between the parks were stops for coconut milk, served fresh out of a machete-sliced coconut, various foods (have you had a cheese bread yet? You must try it!), and coffee.

Other explorations included downtown Sao Paulo; a trip to the top of the tallest building in the city; lunch at the marketplace (pastels, fried pastries filled with meats or cheeses); and Avenida Paulista, a central street hosting stores, shopping malls and the fanciest McDonalds I saw on the whole trip; and their version of Rodeo Drive, featuring a Tiffany’s, Versace and more.

An evening party saw members from both Alex and Iveli’s family in for the evening. It was great to see Alex’s father again, his other siblings, as well as Iveli’s parents, siblings and spouses. We had picked up 4-foot long sub sandwiches—with a Brazilian flair—at a gourmet grocery earlier, wonderful desserts were brought in, and Alex plied his family with the Vana Tallinn that I had brought him from Estonia (essentially Baltic cough syrup).

The week ended back in Guarulhos, where Alex has a clinic, where his father retains his home, where his brother Marco runs a business, and where my flight would depart from. We went over in the afternoon to beat rush hour traffic, and ran into Marco, his wife and another brother, Marcello, at the house in Gualulhos. While Alex was at work, I explored Gualulhos a bit, and enjoyed being back at the house where my mother, brother and I had stayed during our visit ten years earlier. Designed by a famous architect, it was much as I remembered, but quieter and sadder since both Alex’s mother and my own had passed away in the previous year. A fond memory from our visit ten years ago was coming down for breakfast and seeing the two of them chatting away at the kitchen table, making hand motions at each other, neither understanding the other’s language.

Alex picked me up and took me to see his clinic, then over to a shopping mall for supper. We ended with ham and cheese crepes, the same meal I enjoyed with Iveli and Giulia when I had arrived in Gramado. We finished up with desert crepes made with Romeo and Juliet, explored the mall a bit, then headed to the airport.

Brazil was a great place to finish up the international portion of my trip. Brazil is a delightful country, filled with wonderful sights, food and people, made all the better by gracious hosts. Alex and Iveli are wonderful friends, and I feel fortunate to have known Alex for nearly 30 years. Alex and Iveli have kindly urged me to return to see both Bahia and the Amazon. In a few years, for sure, I’ll have to take them up on the offer.

Connections

VW Golf Wagon from Nysa to Opole, courtesy of Urich. Late bus from Opole to Warsaw. Hopped off a bit earlier than the central station, and caught a cab to the Warsaw airport—at rush hour, of course. Arrived at the airport with time to spare, and had to wait for the Air France counter to open in order to check in. Only LOT Polish airlines seems to have a lot of counters there; all others are shared by various airlines depending on the time of day and when flights are scheduled.

Air France from Warsaw to Paris, and then from Paris to Sao Paulo/Guarulhos. Got through passport control and customs, found the TAM (Portuguese airline) counter, and picked up my boarding pass for the trip to Porto Allegre, where I would then get a shuttle to Gramado. Rechecked the bag—after shifting lots of heavy stuff into my day pack because of the domestic weight restriction on luggage—went back through security and waited on the TAM flight. First, a delay, then our plane is at another gate, then another delay, and we board a Varig plane, code-sharing with TAM. Once on board, they announce an “operational delay”, and then come on and say that the pilot has a “health problem” and cannot fly. Hmmm. A substitute pilot is on the way. Indeed, he or she is and we’re on our way in another 10 minutes, but now 90 minutes late.

My friend Alex had e-mailed me the details for the Sao Paulo-Porto Allegre-Gramado run, which he had kindly worked out for me with his travel agency, but the e-mail was lost in cyberia. Things were in place with TAM, so I was feeling ok, but had no idea of the name of the tour company that would take me on to Gramado. Indeed, arriving in Porto Allegre, no one was holding up a sign to greet me. Thankfully, they had a wonderful staff at the information booth in the Porto Allegre airport, and Lucas, who had spent two years in New Jersey as a child and spoke passable English, took care of me. First we walked outside to check the various shuttles, but learned nothing. Back inside, he soon found a driver that was supposed to take two people to the Hotel Serrano in Gramado—my hotel!—but he didn’t know his passenger’s names. A match made in heaven. Soon, I was in the van heading out of the city and up into the mountains of southern Brazil. By the time we arrived at the hotel two hours later, the driver had confirmed that I was indeed supposed to be one of his riders! :)

An easy check-in at the hotel, a pleasant surprise with a large, luxurious room, a hot shower, and then I went looking for my friends. I found Iveli in the lobby with her and Alex’s daughter Giulia, we left a message for Alex, and headed for lunch. Alex is an orthopedic pediatrician, and an especially good one. He was there for a conference and had some obligations to fulfill during our time there. We had lunch at a café in town (ham & cheese crepes with the national soft drink, guarana), and ran into Alex on the way back to the hotel.

Gramado is a fascinating town; it and its surrounding state, Rio Grande del Sud completely evaded inclusion in my Frommer’s guide to Brazil. The region received many German immigrants during and after World War II, both Jew and likely Nazi. The town is in the mountains, gets a little snow in the winter, and looks more like something out of Bavaria or Switzerland than Latin America as most imagine it. Think Gatlinburg, Tennessee with less commercialism, lots less cars, more tasteful architecture, all with a Brazilian twist and you get the idea.

My time in Gramado is already a blur. Eat, go site seeing. Eat some more, go for a walk. Eat yet more. And more. Brazilians love to eat, and much good conversation happens around the table. They also happen to enjoy very, very good food. One night it was all-you-can-eat steak at a bar-b-que, where you return with your plate to the grill again and again to sample the succulent meats. Another it was fondue, with a small griddle on our table to cook the various kinds of meat, finishing up with a chocolate fondue to dip fruit and cookies in. A breakfast buffet each morning in the hotel with tropical fruits and juices, crepes, meats, cheeses, yogurts, breads, and the best coffee of the entire trip. Then the afternoon of fijwada (very bad spelling here), where you get rice, black beans, some kale, and then meat. Alex was showing me the meats, all stewing in soup pots: these are ribs, this is sausage, this is foot, this is loin, this is ear, this is another sausage. He failed to point out the pig’s tongue; I knew after one bite that it was not something I wanted…

One afternoon we drove out to a park and hiked down 600+ steps to a beautiful waterfall, and then of course, back up. Near the top, we watched wild monkeys playing in the trees. Another day, another park, this with a deep gorge carved by a river, magnificent cliffs, hawks soaring and screaming, trees with yellow blossoms, purple blossoms, red blossoms; cotemunde congregating and circling near a picnic table, sniffing up to tourists with ringed tails in the air. Then a steam museum in Canela, with small replica steam engines demonstrating the production of goods a hundred years earlier; a full-size steam train engine dangling out the upstairs window to the ground in front replicating an historic—and spectacular—train wreck in Paris. A classic car museum, cathedrals, a chocolate factory (strawberry’s dipped in white chocolate!), then Papa Noel, a kind of Santa Claus land on the top of the mountain with spectacular views. A new “alpine slide”, a German-designed sled ride on aluminum tracks down the mountain and over a cascading stream, kind of a one or two person roller coaster. Evenings were capped off with a soak in the warm pool and a snack of cookies my friend Ewa had sent from Poland.

Gramado is a first-class town and a fun place to visit: many fine restaurants and hotels, beautiful state parks with amazing natural features, beautiful flora and fauna. It eludes me why Frommer’s would neglect the entire region—maybe they just didn’t make it down that far. It’s well worth your time for a fascinating look at another side of Brazil.

Next: Sao Paulo!

Slow Train to Nysa

I took a taxi to the train station in Krakow, rather than try and lug my suitcase on and off a couple of trams. The Sheraton offered their own cabs, new Mercedes, but the price was double or triple a regular local cab, so I called for one of those. I’m sure the ride I had was more exciting than I would have enjoyed in the luxo car! The train arrived and left promptly and was reasonably comfortable, though I would date the cars to the 1960’s or earlier. I grabbed a compartment in the non-smoking end of a car, and shared it with one man who said almost nothing, and another who spoke some English, was from Romania, and was traveling to Warsaw to work on a Master’s degree in computer science.

There were about a dozen young men in our car finishing their term in the army and heading home. By ten in the morning, the beer was flowing, and they were standing in the hall outside our compartment smoking, throwing cigarette butts and beer cans out the window. They returned to their compartment, grew louder and louder, then began singing. Others on the train seemed embarrassed by them, and by the time I got off in Opole to change trains, they were hanging out the windows yelling at people and singing. I was glad to be changing trains.

The train from Opole to Nysa was older—maybe the 1940’s or 1950’s, maybe earlier—and was slow. We left about 50 minutes late: I was beginning to think I had crossed a time zone, but the departure was simply and inexplicably delayed. It felt like we never exceeded 30 mph, and stopped at a number of boarded up brick railway stations to pick up and drop off passengers. One stop was in the middle of an open field that had been recently planted, no buildings in sight save for a metal shed open on one side to shelter waiting passengers. Nysa lies in the south of Poland maybe 20 kilometers north of the Czech Republic, and mountains in that neighboring country can be seen in the distance.

Upon my arrival, my friend Ewa (Eva, like Gabor) was there to greet me. We returned to her apartment building, lugging my suitcase up the steps to the top floor. The inside was nicely decorated and comfortable, and they had prepared both some chicken noodle soup and a Polish dish made of cabbage, meat and spices (vigo?) for lunch. There, I got to meet Ewa’s husband Urich, an ambulance driver who is studying to be a paramedic, and their two year old daughter Marta.

After our lunch, we drove to the center of Nysa to visit their 1,000 year old cathedral and to tour the city center. The cathedral was beautiful, and boasted the steepest or second steepest roof of any cathedral in Europe. It too had been bombed out in the Second World War and rebuilt. About half of the buildings in the center were original, the rest built in the last few decades. Nysa looked like a town that people enjoyed living in and taking care of: Soviet era buildings painted with bright colors, flowers planted and tended, people sweeping the sidewalks, shops proudly displaying their wares. We headed to supper in a restaurant located in the basement of an older building, full of ambience, heavy wooden beams, and a fireplace. We enjoyed soup in bread bowls, and a Polish beer made with apples, perhaps what we would call “hard cider”.

That evening, I enjoyed sitting with their daughter Marta on their couch, holding a Polish children’s book and having her tell me what the animals were.

The next day, I visited the school the Ewa teaches at, sitting in on one of her English lessons, then talking to four classes of high school aged students. The school is named “Carolinum”, began as a Jesuit school, and is 400 years old. When we entered the first class, all of the students stood because their teacher was entering the room—very impressive! My first question from a student was “Have you seen Fahrenheit 911, and if so, what did you think of it?”. It was the most important question I received that day, and a variation of the question I have been asked everywhere on this journey. People around the world are afraid of our President and the administration that is in power in our country, and are deeply concerned about what another four years would bring.

A question that I wished I had answered better was from the young man that said that he had heard that Polish women were the most beautiful in the world, and asked if I agreed. A loaded question for sure, but I wish I had said more in regards to the beauty of a person that lies within, and how looking only at the exterior can turn people into objects.

The school building was fantastic, with vaulted ceilings in the hallway, a library that looked like a room out of Oxford, and an auditorium that could have been a small concert hall in Vienna. I did ask one group what their greatest challenge or concern as young people in Poland was, and they instantly replied “jobs”. Most of the factories in Nysa have closed in the past few years, and unemployment there is soaring. Their main hope seems to lie in their participation in the European Union, and their soon to be received right to look for jobs in other countries.

Ewa left me to explore Nysa for another hour or so while she wrapped up at school. Meeting me at the cathedral with Marta in tow, she drove me out to their lake, and then to her father’s house. It was great to meet him—he and Ewa seem to be cut out of the same cloth, and he obviously enjoyed his granddaughter very much. He had been a carpenter, and examples of his handiwork were throughout his home. We then met Urich at the hospital, where he enjoyed showing off his ambulance. More than that, he obviously enjoyed setting two year old Marta in the driver’s seat and turning the lights on.

That evening, they prepared some more traditional Polish food for me, including stuffed cabbage and some wonderful Polish bread. We had a nice visit with Magda, one of Ewa’s co-teachers, watched a video about Nysa, and watched part of “Shrek” in Polish—it seemed pretty natural!

The next morning, Urich drove me into Opole to catch the bus, worried that the train from Nysa could again be delayed and I would miss my connection. We shouldn’t have worried—the bus arrived 30 minutes after our departure time, and we lost another 30 minutes in road construction. Miraculously, we arrived in Warsaw only a few minutes late, making me think that train and bus schedules there involve a fair amount of fiction and creativity. Plan accordingly. Ewa had generously prepared me a wonderful lunch for me to enjoy on the way, including sandwiches, fruit, juice, and a traditional salad made with egg, carrots, and other good stuff. I caught a cab to the airport, arriving well before the time Air France opened their counter for flight check-in.

Poland was a fine country to visit, and I was very fortunate to have friends to help host me for part of my visit. My visit to Nysa was a highlight, especially to stay in a home, visit a school, and see a town that is off the radar screen of American tourists. It once again reinforced my interest in visiting out-of-the-way places that most tourists don’t get to. The word I get from Ewa on the trains is that many more people own cars now, and so the call for trains is declining, and with it the number of trains and connections available. I have to wonder if they’ll enjoy a revival there and will match the service available in western Europe, or if the trains in the Baltics and parts south will die out all together. On my way out, Urich drove me through several more scenic towns en-route to Opole, and each would be worth spending some time in. So, get going, get out there and explore!

Next: Brazil!

Just checking in

I'm in Gramado, Brazil, in the southern state of Rio Grande del Sud--a region that didn't even make it into my Frommer's guide, but should have. I have more pictures from Poland to post, and some text about my visit with Ewa Michalek Drobik and her family, but will need to wait another day or two until I'm at a better computer to post the information.

Suffice it to say that the sun is shining in Brazil, my friends here are taking very good care of me, and they´re trying to kill me with good food! More later...

JP