Brazil
Pantanal
When Claudia showed us to our room at the working farm in central Brazil, she said not to be alarmed if we turned on a faucet in our bathroom and a frog dripped out. This was apparently normal. Both in the sink and in the shower. By day three, I was a bit saddened it hadn’t happened to us, which astonished the other guests who were the clear winners in our popularity contest with the amphibian neighbors. I did see a tiny light brown specimen on the window as I took what may have been my third or fourth shower—and that was on our first day. We were, after all, in the world’s largest wetland.
We had spent a week in São Paulo, and a weekend in Rio de Janeiro before we landed in the Pantanal, Mato Grosso do Sul, an area described to us as like a heart beating in the middle of the country with its seasonal expansion of rain, when everything comes to life, and contraction in the dry season, when life recedes. We arrived during the dry season, winter solstice time — June 17–21 —and were below the equator, on the border of the Tropic of Capricorn.
Our privately owned ‘fazenda’ in Mato Grosso grew many of its own vegetables and had cattle, as well as offering a limited number of rooms for stays. The experience included meals and guided tours — an essential aspect of introduction to this fascinating, rugged part of the world. We went on evening ‘night-spotting’ rides in an open car to look for tapirs, numerous birds such as toucans, bright cobalt blue hyacinth macaws, parakeets and jabirus—think huge storks wearing plague masks—peccary (not a wild pig but looks like one), capybaras and elusive jaguars, which we only ever saw signs of — fresh claw gashes on a tree where they’d recently climbed and large paw tracks. In a way I liked it better, to be hunting for the wild cat but never finding her.
By day three I was dreaming of looking out on the horizon and scanning in an expectant mood for wildlife. Why not, I thought, adopt this attitude all the time? After all, you never know what wonders you might see, including right where you are now.
São Paulo
It’s not fair to comment on a great, diverse city such as São Paulo when you are in my position. Todos Santos, which sits 3,000 miles away on the northern boundary of the tropical zone of Mexico, may be the closest on the continent I’ve come. Not only was that 15 years ago, but it was not what I’d call South America—though I’ve noticed opinions differ on where the distinctions between Central and South America lie.
That said, by the fourth or fifth day walking around São Paulo, I got a feel for it. It cramped my running style a bit since I was warned away from walking in lots of places due to crime. Later, Pericles, our city guide in Rio, explained: in Brazil, people say their national sport is soccer, but really it is scaring people.
Nonetheless, I generally abided by locals’ advice about where and where not to walk, as well as on my own internal guidance system, an instinct I’ve come to trust. If the hairs on the back of my neck go up, I direct my feet elsewhere. So far, so good.
Among the standouts in São Paulo were the Oca Museum, which looks like a spaceship, the Afro-Brasil Museum, and the MASP (though I somehow missed the historic part of this art museum. A reason to return!).
Palm trees, pencil cacti, giant bamboo, coconut trees, guava, fiddle-leaf fig, papaya and rosewoods—the largest city in the southern Hemisphere, São Paulo boasts an estimated 652,000 street trees, and despite Brazilians practicing their national sport on me, I walked a lot, albeit with a friend for two of the days.
After lunch one day, David and I sauntered with some friends to the Futebol Stadium. We noticed an outdoor area filled with families and realized they were there to watch a World Cup match. I was impressed by the number and use of public areas in both SP and Rio, places where families and friends gathered to hang out, play music, laugh and dance. Though the depth of winter, the weather was warm, making outdoor communing easier.
By the end of our ten days in Brazil I felt I’d just gotten started. I already long to return and explore more, and get to know the rich, sensuous land better. Maybe take a samba class or stay at a coffee farm. This trip was the amuse-bouche of South America, and now I want the whole meal. The place works a magic difficult to articulate. I remember an acupuncture client—as I recall she was German—who went to Brazil, then returned announcing she was buying a house and moving there. The allure, for her, a summons.
As we checked out the last night in the Pantanal, we mentioned being kept up at night by the ubiquitous scratching sounds emanating from the roof. I had assumed it came from small creatures like squirrels or birds. Not far off. Claudia thanked us for letting her know that the bat problem was not yet resolved. Glad I didn’t know that.