Brazil: Brasilia

07.09.2013

• Another overnight bus ride and an arrival in Brasilia, Brasil, the country's capital in the Federal District. It's a little after 9am when I arrive, still a big groggy as I navigate buying my next bus ticket out of town on Monday and getting the metro into town. 
• When I reached the central bus station a parade was just making its arrival up the main strip through town. Today I arrive in the seat of the nation for Independence Day celebrating the end of colonial rule of the United Kingdom of Portugal, Brazil, and the Algarves in 1822. This is another national holiday that I had planned to attend on my Bonderman travels and I had kept my heart set on Brasilia as the place to experience it. As I have traveled through Brasil these past few weeks I have heard from many Brasilians that this is not a day of great celebration. Perhaps it would be hard for any day to compare to carnival in this country or the many other regional festivals with religious or cultural heritage which people seem to identify more with than a distance political sociopolitical. I am forced to consider when and why and where and how we celebrate the "independence" of the United States (independence of mostly European descendants in an occupied land from their colonizing predecessors) which seems to bind many people to a shared sense of nationalism but is often little more than a parade, a barbecue, and a display of colorful (expensive) explosions. Either way, the abstraction is a rich opportunity for conversation if you can find someone to have that conversation, in any country; what binds us as a nation? what does independence mean? what are we independent from? what are we still captive to? who benefits or is left out of a social movement? how do we apply the lessons of social change in light of our current sociopolitical landscape?
• Having been told that Independence Day is not accompanied by grand public celebrations like other days in Brasil, I was assured that this year I would be sure to find protests throughout the country building off of the momentum of the demonstrations back in June. Brasilia, as the federal capital, was expected to be a very active spot for such "manifestations" which largely spoke against political corruption, policies that encourage economic inequality, and divestment in public programs and services. I would discover small groups of protesters in my two days in Brasilia but the military and police presence was far more visible. Waiting for my bus I watched a small portion of the parade (which ends by noon to avoid the head of the day). I am accustomed to parades being led by police cars. I am not used to seeing envoys of police SUVs, a caravan of tanks, a swarm of helicopters, and the cavalry on horseback. If the Brasilian faction of the Occupy movement was indenting to set up camp in Brasilia they arrived to find that the police and military had already occupied it. 
• My bus departs. The transportation system in Brasilia is as easy as the streets. A city that was designed and built as one large project, Brasilia has wide streets that are numbered more often than named in a system that reminded me of the Dewey Decimal process for libraries. My hostel, for example, is at street 700, section 8, block I, number 20, or, SCLRN 708 - I, 20. It sounds like an easier system, as sleek and modern as the buildings in this post-modern city. As an order and organization nut as I am, I couldn't help feel a bit lost for the soul of a named street or, as is the case in many places I have traveled, no name for the street at all where only a map, the experience of a taxi driver, and the goodwill of people willing to offer directions will get you to your destination. 
• Luckily, I did get off at the correct stop, thanks to directions of the very kind attendant at the bus terminal. As I stepped onto the sidewalk I found myself standing next to Elodie, a young French woman who had just exited the same bus with a large backpack on her back. I am not sure who said it first or if it was uttered in unison but the words "Hostel 7?" coming from both our mouths meant I had a new companion for next let of the morning's scavenger hunt. A little back-and-forth and we found our destination, a hip hostel with a VW bus facade as the reception desk. Everything about the hostel would prove to be as funky-chic from the marble in the bathrooms to the lounge patio in back with the outdoor grill and flat screen TV. Apparently this hostel is only three months old - another newbie on my list of stays in Brasil. Owner managed, Andre opened the hostel with four of his friends after leaving lucrative work managing planes to fight wildfires across the country, a job that took him away from his family and new wife more than he cared for anymore. As the only real gig in town they did charge a premium for the space and its amenities but still far less expensive than a hotel with far more charm. Home anew and home again. 
• Elodie and I were both ready to rinse the muck of overnight travel and settle in the new space. Once refreshed and unpacked, she invited me to join her for a day of sight-seeing which, in Brasilia, means touring architecture. Elodie seemed quite charming and spending the day with her was a charming proposition. It doesn't hurt that she is a student of architecture in Paris who has been working in Curitiba for the past two months who could share interests and insights to the structures we saw. Clearly a "let's do it now, let's do it all" kind of person, I was in good company for the day. We made our way back into downtown the the bus station at the heart of the giant plane-like city, nestled between the wings along Via Um Oeste, the equivalent of the National Mall in Washington, D.C.. We grabbed some street food, opened our map, and started our journey! So, here's the fun thing about weekends, national holidays, and police states: they make for a lot of building closures. While able to make it inside the lobby of the National Theater, all other buildings would be found with locked doors for the weekend which limited our appreciation of them to exterior architecture only. Rather than try to explain each one of them (which neither you or I have the patience for, I am sure), I will list the buildings visited today in the order seen, more for my ability to reference them later than for the nail biting I am sure you have succumbed to reading this post and waiting to read a list of buildings:

• Teatro Nacional Claudio Santoro
• Museu Honestino Guimaraes
• Cathedral Metropolitana de Brasilia
• Anexos dos Ministerios
• Palacio Itamaraty
• Congresso Nacional
• Palacio do Justica
• Palacio do Planalto
• Praca dos Tres Poderes, a park that houses the Pavilhao Nacional, Espaco Lucio Costa, Espacio Cultural Oscar Niemeyer, Museu da Cidade, Pira da Liberadade

• What we missed in not getting enter most of these buildings was made up for in exhaustion walking between them. We made the long hike back to the bus terminal along empty street (really, empty eight lane streets) strewn with post-parade litter, lined with Brasilian flags along the light poles, and guarded by the omnipresent armed men and women in full protective gear (who must have been swimming in their own sweat in the 32 degree (Celsius) heat. We decided to hop the bus us to the Estadio Nacional Mane Garrinchac (National Football Stadium) to catch the game between Brasil and Australia. On the ride we chatted with a woman who saw a couple of pale figures (us) and asked where we were from. Having lived in Pittsburgh, PA, she spoke beautiful English and was happy to share about her experiences in the United Sates. Sadly, we would not be seeing the game with her today. Tickets were only on sale until the day before the event and Elodie and I decided it was not prudent to purchase R$40 tickets from scalpers at the rate of R$100 per person. We settled for a small cup of acai instead with condensed milk and granola and to look for a way to sneak in which was also fruitless. One lap around the stadium checking for weak points in security, listening to the deafening roar of the crowd inside, and we decided it was time to move on. We regrouped in the parking lot of the stadium where the bulk of the police presence had now congregated expecting that the stadium would be the natural spot of a political protest. In light of this, the parking lot had been closed for the game with spectators required to bus or walk to the event leaving a sprawling mass of asphalt barren with the glistening stadium like an island in a black sea. The hum of helicopter blades overhead added to the eerie feel of the place and we decided there was only one thing to do: see more buildings. Excited for more lists? Here ya go:

• Ginasio de Esportes Nilson Nelson
• Praca do Buriti - Memorial dos Povos Indigenas
• Memorial JK
• Praca do Cruzeiro - Memorial da 1 Missa
• Catedral Rainha da Paz
• Praca dos Cristals

• Eventually we made it to the Quartel General do Exercito (the headquarters of the military which seemed appropriate for the day's sites though it was odd to see it so deserted). It was easily one of the more impressive structures we had seen this day with a large space in front that looked like half a heart fallen on its side. While intriguing as a from it also created amazing acoustics as evidenced standing in the center of it and listening to a group of children bouncing shouts and laughter around the air. As I watched in delight, a man approached and asked (again, in English) where I was from. This began our night with Dalton and Celia and their family. Initially shocked to hear how far Elodie and I had walked in one day they were stunned to hear that we were planning to find a bus or taxi home which was too far, too late, and too expensive in their opinion. It was insisted that we allow their daughter to drive us home as it was in nearly the right direction. This was amended to a ride home after we joined them at their house for coffee. Who were we to decline? So, off we went with the family (and pet dog, Jack Sparrow) to their home in a section of military housing - Dalton works in IT for the military and has lived in Brasilia off and on for years between stints working abroad for UN projects. Celia, we learned later, is a special education teacher in the local schools which is integrated into standard classrooms here instead of being provided at separate facilities. 
• We were greeted at the house with snacks and beverages. We drank strong Brasilian coffee. I learned the difference between cold water brewed mate of Northern Brasil called terere from the version more commonly consumed in the south called chimarrao which is prepared with hot water; I leaned that one commonly shares mate by sipping some through a metal filtered straw and then pass the gourd that it is served in. I learned that the biscoito de polvilho biscuits I have been seeing throughout the country are made from manioc flour and that they are gluten free and taste like buttered toast and are my new favorite thing in the whole world. I learned that pao de queijo (cheese bread) and farofa (a common condiment) are also gluten free and suddenly a whole new world was at my gluten free feet! I was served Brazilian tapioca for the first time, sort of like a crepe made with tapioca powder that magically sticks together when heated in a pan; I asked to witness one being made; I was offered the chance to make one myself; I received my first cooking lesson in Brasil; I did well. We spent nearly two hours with the family talking about the military, labour law, racism, immigration, and other aspects of Brasilian life and culture. The food was great but the company was outstanding, every member of the family showing us such grace and hospitality. Elodie and I were beyond touched by the welcome we received. 
• Eventually it was time for us to go home and, daughter having left, Dalton and Celia drove us themselves. When asked if we were in a rush to get home we, of course, replied that we were not and were offered a driving tour of some other parts of Brasilia we had not seen and to enjoy some of the buildings we had seen in the glory of their nighttime spotlights. We saw the Palacio do Jaburu, the Palacio as Alvorada (the President's home where we were instructed by guards to please back up), the Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, and the beautiful bridge with three twisting arcs across the lake where we stopped for photos. Dropped back at our hostel, there were not words enough to thank our evening's hosts for such a wonderful night. I would later learn that violent protests erupted in Belo Horizonte, Sao Paulo, and Rio while I drank mate with my new friends. A quiet evening in the home of new friends is just as much a part of Brasil as social action on the streets. Tonight, I am grateful for the experiences I have been offered and thoughtful of the things that people must sometimes fight for and demand in every country in the world, even the democratic ones. 
• Back home to Andre and our hostel, Elodie and I were starving for something a bit more substantive than tapioca. How grateful were we again when Andre invited us to join him and his friends on the patio for a barbecue. We cleaned up and then arrived to be greeted with plate heaped with food and trays of grilled meats and drinks of our choosing. We scarfed down our food while talking to Andre and his pals who all love living and working in this city that most people in Brasil have told me I could skip on my trip. With dry hills and a large lake, the city that supports agriculture and government reminded me a bit of Sacramento, the capital of California and an hour drive from my hometown. I could relate to the appeal. We talked a long time with Daniel who, like Andre, wants to visit Seattle someday for the common tourist destination of... the airline manufacturer, Boeing. To each their own. I promised to show them the same hospitality when they were in my town as they showed to Elodie and I tonight. What a day. I am beginning to trust more and more this magic that is travel and to melt into whatever experience seeks me out. Buses and planes and hotels are planned; real travel simply happens.  

08.09.2013

• Today was a chance for Elodie and I to at least see the inside of one building we knew would be open on even a holiday weekend Sunday. So, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and grabbed a bus downtown to visit the Cathedral Metropolitana de Brasilia. Something I forgot to mention yesterday (said as if I am actually writing these blog posts the same day I live them) is that most of the noted buildings in this city was designed by one man, Oscar Niemeyer. You may remember his name from my posts in Sao Paulo or Belo Horizonte (said as if anyone is reading this blog to with attention) and he would have been mentioned if I went to the Neiteroi museum he designed on the other side of the water from Rio. He is the guy that Pablo is Costa Rica was so excited about when I told him I was coming to Brasilia. He is the man about whom my architect friend from German said, "Oscar Niemeyer; of course," when I started to tell him about this architect that Pablo had told me about. He is easily the most ubiquitous and prolific architect in Brasil. This, is the stunning cathedral he created for the capital city. The portion visible from ground level outside is the stained glass cone held up by beams that reach like hands in prayer to the heavens. A ramp leads congregants and visitors down into the main level of the cathedral where the magnitude and beauty of the building seem in even greater proportion. I believe that God (said the Unitarian Universalist) is in everything tangible and intangible but I always appreciate a space that serves as spiritual art which invites us inside to take us outside of ourselves in into something greater. 
• After some time inside, Elodie and I walked down to Praca dos Tres Poderes (Park of the Three Powers), so named because the three branches of the government (Executive, Legislative, and Judicial) have their primary buildings one three of the park's boarders. Below the park is an impressive library. Or, so we are told. It is still closed. However, the Espaco Lucio Costa was open for tours and so we made our way inside this small monument named for the urban planner who won the primary responsibility for the city's design. The space is all marble, floor, walls, and ceiling, with large squares along the wall on which are engraved a brief history of the building of Brasilia. Thankfully, English translations were posted below and I took photos of each so I could avoid hours of scribing. Again, I will spare you a complete history lesson and point out five interesting facts: 1) Salvador was the original capital of Brasil, then was moved to Rio in 1763 where the whole capital of the Portuguese Empire was relocated when the royal family fled to Brasil in 1808 after the invasion of Napoleon; 2) proposals to relocate the capital inland date back to the mid 18th century citing security and a more equidistant location from major sea ports; 3) the move was first approved in 1822 sparking a series of constitutional actions and authorizations for the next 127 years which were never acted upon; 4) would be President Juscelino Kubitschek de Oliveira (JK) made completing the move of the capital a campaign promise in 1955 and, after being elected, has plans in place and a team of urban planners and architects hard at work, including Lucio Costa who designed the city like a giant cross (which most people now say looks like an airplane from above); 5) after blessings from the Pope in 1957 and year of intensive construction, the new capital was inaugurated on April 26th, 1960 - 138 years after declaring independence and only four years before the military coup. It is a city clearly designed with hope and visions of prosperity in the era of technological advancement and fashionable airlines. The city is real concrete, glass, and steel, the material articulation of the dreams which, to this outsider-onlooker with hindsight in my favor, seem as beautiful and distant as the city is to most Brasilians. I say this with tenderness as I consider our penchant for building monuments to honor our ideals in the United States with resources that might otherwise be put to living out our ideals. The first photo in the stream below is that of a man (presumably) who is without a home and living on the streets of Brasilia in front of the beautiful Museu Honestino Guimaraes. This image says a great deal to me about the priorities of capitalism in what we celebrate and what we ignore.  
• Elodie and I then took a failed cab ride toward other buildings that were either closed or which we had already seen in last night's car ride but didn't realize they were the buildings we had circled on our map already until we were well on our way to a R$30 taxi fare. Back to the park and another walk up the parkway toward the bus station. The streets were busier today but not by much. The grandstands from the parade were in various states of deconstruction and provided us shade for the occasional breaks from the unforgiving sun. Elodie did her best to cover her sunburn from yesterday. I did my best to keep my pink nose from going full tilt red. We both reapplied sunscreen. 
• Back at the bus station we ordered two cups of calde de cana, sugar cane juice, this one with a hint of lemon. It was a refreshing treat before braving the sun again walking toward the Torre de TV, a television tower where you can ride to the observation tower for a view of the city. You can do this, of course, if it isn't closed. Luckily, we discovered a large crafts market on the other side of the tower which provided a couple hours of distraction and yielded Elodie some last minute gifts including a football jersey for her eight year old brother back in France. We found ourselves overwhelmed by options at the food court but settled our stomachs on snack and then went seeking a small sample of acai which satisfied the sweet tooth. 
• We crossed the street into the Parque da Cidade o Sarah Kubitschek (city park named for another noted architect) which houses a small amusement park. It reminded me of the small children's parks my mother would take us to as a child, one near my grandmother's home in Concord. I imagine that some of the children here today will wander by the park one day with some happy memories of Sunday outings with their mothers. All around us there was life and laughter. It was as I have come to expect from Sundays in Latin America with the late nights of parties and early morning of church finished and the relaxed yet festive thrum and beat of a day of rest resounding through the city. 
• We walked on, past the Cenro de Reabilitacao Sarah Kubitschek, a little turned around between streets 302 and 502, and then to our final destination for the day, the Santuario Dom Bosco. With four tall walls completely made of stained glass, walking into the sanctuary was like drifting into a warm light at the bottom of the sea. It was surely one of the most beautiful spaces I have ever seen and, even now, writing about it nearly two weeks later, I feel a deep sense of peace looking at the photos and letting my mind drift back to that brilliant refuge on a scorching day in Brasilia. I would have stayed all afternoon but Elodie had a plane to catch. She flies back to Curitiba tonight and back to Paris tomorrow. I am sad to loose her so soon. She has been such an easy companion - smart, funny, outgoing, mission-driven, interesting, and caring. She felt like an old friend by the time I said goodbye to her at the hostel. I guess it's a good thing that I love Paris. Guess I'll have to visit her. 
• I toyed with the idea of seeing a movie tonight but opted for a night at home instead. I talked with Kevin for a while. I read the Lewis Model of world culture that he sent me. I finally read the article that Tracy Harachi sent me in July from the New York Times about the industry of travel blogging and wondered a) why I am not getting paid for this (oh, right, I am) and b) why don't I find a way to keep getting paid to travel (oh, right, I have a list of ideas already written to make this happen). In the background folks played Youtube clips on the flat screen TV. I fell in love with this video, One Day Job featuring Diogo Granato and Amazing Break with street dancers in Sao Paulo and a message to viewers to "Occupy" - the streets are yours. They are, really, and they require our movements on their surfaces in order to survive and serve their purpose.