Bom Dia Brazil

I’m sure there’s a song about traveling on a Saturday night somewhere. For me, it was Sao Paulo, Brazil. It would be my 3rd trip to this region of the world, with only a few words of Portuguese in my pocket at a speed of 809 km/hour.

When booking my flights, the agent and my local contact said 3.5 hrs may not be enough to get from the regional airport to the international airport. Their public systems and structures rival that of some much lesser developed countries, and the people tolerate with a strong dose of patience, a mild dose of understanding, and a full dose of acceptance they can do little about it. The city is plagued with traffic congestion, which the government tries to control with restrictive driving times based on your license plate numbers. It appears not to have helped the inconsistency of what you’ll find when you venture out in a moving vehicle between the hours of 0:30 and 24:00. 

From the taxi ride to the hotel, the highway ran along a large culvert, surrounded by tall residential buildings in slightly rounded shapes towering over the city and creating the semblance of busyness in every direction. The buildings were clustered in groups like grain silos; a 1980’s staleness and character in its charm. It was tropical industrial meets metropolitan.  It lacks some of the heavy Spanish influence of other countries of Central and South America, yet retains its charm and character with simple, worn, brightly painted concrete storefronts, many with iron gates and vines taking over. The sophistication and charm varied by section as it does in nearly any large city.

 

I admired the new stay cable bridge in route - part of the ‘fixing up’ for the Olympics in Rio I’m told.  Though a business city, the rough sections were adorned with artists’ works (aka graffiti laden metal doors and concrete walls, and rough roads that felt more like Haiti), while “it’s all part of my rock and fantasy” played on the radio. We passed an Applebee’s and a shopping center. The driving was erratic at best, and even the strongest stomach would think twice before reading a magazine. I pulled out my survival biscotti (no mind that I was planning to save it to enjoy with coffee later). This called for drastic measures.  

Then a milestone reached - everything always equalizes once I step into my hotel room, intermittent internet and hot water or not.  I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I am in a land of the teeny tiny coffees (1 inch tall).  When the hotel door shuts, there is always a mix of emotion, fatigue and hunger that settles in.  The joy of traveling is always met with equal parts curiosity and loneliness if by yourself.  My ‘office’ is a 5 building complex set high on a hill with a view from the front entrance of a multicolored shanty town on a mountainside in the distance.  I would venture that direction in the morning.

The food was magnificent, despite the focus on rice and bean sauce every day. Varying forms of vegetables, meat, and desserts sampled daily.  We joked about how often they brush their teeth (a habit US could stand to adopt), and the lack of ‘mints’ in Brazil perhaps as a result. Bom dia (good day), Por favor (please), Obrigado (welcome).

After 3 days in the city, we ventured via plane to the countryside, to small towns of curious locals and the only motel in the area (where immediately upon entering the room, the door knob fell off).  I think my Brazilian counterpart and I were the only two people staying there.

Throughout the journey I saw, disappointingly, too many McDonalds and Walmarts - as if the tentacles of capitalism should not reach so far.  On the drive to 2 of my client’s plants, we passed rows of skinny rubber trees (whose liquid is used to make rubber – how crazy), and fields of sugar cane as far as the eye can see. Sugar cane stalks regrow for generally 5-6 years, before replanting is required. Our plant visit days were exhausting, walking in a cloud of red dirt with sugar cane fields in every direction. On the way back to the regional airport in Sao Jose do Rio Preto, I saw two horse drawn carriages and a small tribute statue of the Cristo Redentor as we roll by. How appropriate (too fast to even snap a photo for you).

 

The visit was exhaustingly wonderful, the business people welcoming, tolerant (of me speaking English), and very helpful.  I was surprised how much it was a melting pot of cultures, such that looking across the room, I could have guessed I was sitting in any US city. I'm told Rio is indeed full of jovial, easy going Brazilians who love the beach, but that trip is for another day.  And though we had to place our things in the back of the car when leaving the office, lest any stoplight induced thieves come knocking on our windows requesting whatever is in the front seat, it was still a productive and fascinating trip, which is always the point.

I made the earlier flight home and welcomed the lady that says “US Citizens, please use this (short) line”.  I was still singing “it’s all part of my rock and roll fantasy” when I wheeled my bag through the exit hall, greeted by my most-loves awaiting my arrival.  It is good to be home.

  

All Yellow

Today started out much like a regular day.  I love when they end pleasantly different.  This picture is large for a reason - I needed it for effect.  

I started in St. Louis MO heading to Chicago - late arrival to Chicago began the unraveling of a travellers journey.  I could wait 4 hrs for the next flight directly to White Plains, NY or fly into Laguardia instead in 1 hr.  I voted for LGA instead in an hour.  She booked me, though it was "completely completely full".  I nodded to confirm and didn't ask any questions on that one. 

At the departure gate for Laguardia, there were dozens of people waiting to try to get on the Laguardia flight. It was declared by all as the ONLY flight getting out of Chicago to New York for the day.  Everything else was cancelled coming in and out of LGA for the remainder of the day in anticipation of snow. Ouch.  Double Ouch.  I indeed held a golden ticket. I had slipped through to get confirmed a seat on the only flight leaving for NY amidst a crowd of standby hopefuls.  I wanted to hug someone.

The boards in this photo represent arrivals and departures to/from New York today.  The part I captured was just the A-C cities, nevermind the rest of the alphabet looked the same.  Green is good, red and yellow are bad.

I arrived in NY just as the snow started to fall.  I was humbly reminded -- by long gas lines off the freeway and many downed trees along the way -- that many people are still displaced and without power in the cold. Many drive an hour north just to fill up in order to return back, and even as far as 40 minutes north stations are marked by a telltale sign of yellow caution tape across the entrance to indicate they are out of fuel, knowing they are also 114th on the list for their next fuel delivery. Bless those that work tirelessly to ease the discomfort and help resume normal life in all of nature's mess. I will remain here tonight thinking about all those people still struggling and wishing there was more that I could physically do in my brief time here. 

Though the snow won't last more than a day, it is like a winter wonderland at my hotel window tonight. I hope you too have days that start and end in pleasantly unexpected ways every now and then.

Cheers.

What's Wrong with this Picture

On a recent trip to NY (see prior post about eventful transportation drivers), I again was cared for by a driver encouraged to treat my journey back to Laguardia like a video game, rushing over this way, breaking through that way, forging ahead, slowing down, breaking suddenly, radically, and frequently while the pit of my body desperately awaiting stationary ground. Its only 30 miles or so right.  I can do it on foot, I know I could...  Train? Tuk Tuk?

In general I understand that people sometimes answer the phone while they drive, often even if its deemed illegal.  I attest I have been known to commit this offense.  However, if responsible for another person in the car, a paid customer and cargo or not, I take issue, especially in a place like NY where driving takes on new meaning and requires a whole new level of intense concentration. You've played the game where you follow the ball to answer which of the 3 cups is it under when the music stops, so you know what I mean.  So, what's wrong with this picture?

 "Would you mind not using your phone in route, I asked", cleverly disguising my real question of "what on earth would make you think that using your phone GPS when you have a perfectly good GPS operating as intended and mounted to the dash is a good idea?"  No answer. Oh dear.

I arrived safe enough but I worried about safe enough all the way up 1 flight of stairs and 1 elevator.  And between that and wondering why he had a deodorizer still in the package hanging from the mirror, I ended my day in NYC. 

Despite it all, I was still on track to deliver in-person good night hugs, thanks to calm clear skies above me.  Goodnight friends.

Office Space & Bracelets

If this is the office of the future, I'll need to shape up my act. I must start purging papers and organizing today. And I must eat only carrots. But it's pretty isn't it?! 

Unrelated to the desk specifically, but related to the peace of making due with what you have, my friend Kesnel in Haiti makes small colored bracelets. I have a few extras (red, blue, white etc.), so if anyone would like one let me know and I'll mail it out gratuit (free).  Its embroidery thread around a plastic band that ties in back.  Kesnel makes and sells them to earn extra money. In this pic, he's making mine! In July, I visited his new business - an Internet Cafe and small technology center (PCs, printer, phones) in Montrouis, Haiti.  He's quite a gem, as is Haiti.  Let me know if you would like one.  

A view from the sky

Yes sky and cloud images taken from the plane generally start to look the same, but over the course of the miles, sometimes

there are moments that definately stand out...like a sunset over mid America, the coast line above northwest or southwest Africa, mountains over the western US, a rainbow over Geneva, or a mystery cloud line above the east coast skies. Those have caused me to glance twice and grab my phone. So, despite in-air photography challenges, I managed a few I cared to remember.  It is still one of the most beautiful vantage points in the world. 

Helping in Haiti

Day 1-3

Thirteen in all, we arrived into Port au Prince for our two hour drive to a mountain village community center where we would stay. Driving through “Port”, electricity lines were few, and people flowed through and among the streets, enjoying their community well into the hour of 10pm. A “football” (soccer) game lit up the night just beyond our line of sight in a community park. Haitians walking the streets were well dressed, shoulders high, with a casual enthusiasm in their smiles.  

Our facility was a welcomed assembly of tile, metal, and concrete bound together in unlikely fashion and uncertain fortitude. Recycled rusted nails and metal scraps used to cover many small spaces. The facility centered around a basketball court for the village children that I was told is a welcomed distraction from the evident need and disappointing pace of progress for many of them. We arranged our things among metal bunks and brightly painted rooms, and settled in to sleep alongside the locals. Intermittent plumbing and electricity were evident, nearly expected. The toilet was flushed once a day using a bucket of water. The shower released a dribble, so I knew I would attest to the strength of my deodorant in three days time.

We moved boxes, prepared wash bins, and organized shoes, awaiting cautious, but eager crowds. Over the next couple days, our work was completed on the community center gym floor in the mornings (children’s shoes), and in nearby churches in the afternoon (women’s shoes).  Our group was a mix of families and individuals, men and women, working together smoothly, cooperatively, and systematically in a quiet hum for nearly 5 hours of the day in total. Our days were deemed a success by us all, with a tally of nearly 700 pairs of shoes distributed.

Children were generally shy, sometimes crying, occasionally smiling, often uncertain, and always beautiful.  My French was useful but often difficult just the same, since French Creole is the predominant language. I made jokes about the cold water or the color of their shirt, and saw them relax with a smile – a small but satisfying connection of the heart made. They always turned to say “Mesi” (Creole for “Merci”) as they left.

The afternoon distributions began with a walk in the village, requiring careful footing along hilly terrain where gravel and stones were the only roads. As we neared the church, a crowd of women had lined up beneath the midday sun in anticipation of our arrival. I could not help but consider how long they had been waiting. As they stood in a line, each gently held the person in front of them with their forearms, creating the look of a human chain. Did they intentionally or unconsciously do this - holding their space or holding each other - I was not sure.

The inside of the church was a room of concrete with long wooden benches that lined each aisle. As we began to set up, young boys who were standing outside, scuttled to find a space to peer through the window openings, their hands holding tightly onto the vertical bars that covered each. They eagerly watch the activities of the day, though they were not due to receive anything in return. 

As we began, women were escorted inside, five or so at a time. Their feet were measured, washed and fitted for a shoe. At my station, I smiled and looked at each one, eye to eye.  There was so much to see.  They said little, but there was a story in each of them I was certain. Beautiful face and skin, and wide bright eyes plenty.  Their feet were dry, worn, hardened by daily routine, work of their lives, and terrain. And yet, they presented their most well kept selves; clean, well dressed, painted toes, with hair swept off the nape of their neck, often carefully covered with a hat. Again, much like the children, when I asked in French if the water was cold, they would smile and I could see their shoulders relax. Some would fit to the shoe rather than the shoe fitting to them, in order to avoid being empty handed. A mutual smile was exchanged to show we understood.

When each fitting was done, they took the new shoes and placed them back in the box. The old shoes, weary and weathered from use, adorned with holes and layers of dust, still had a purpose. They would say Merci and nod in appreciation and validating agreement.  As one hour became two, our ‘store’ stacks of shoes began to fade quickly, some sizes more than others, and many of the women who had been measured for a size of which we had none, were turned away with little reward for their wait. This left a disappointment in our heart and an apologetic look on our faces.

On our walk back to the center, many children asked to follow us 'home'.  They clung to our arms or fingers to show us the way and feel our skin.  They were all smiles and wide eyes as we walked. They seldom smiled for photos but for the interaction up close, they could light up a room. Once at the center, I lingered a bit in saying goodbye. I gave a hug and one child gave me a kiss on the cheek.

Day 4

During our three hour drive to Montrouis, we saw glimpses of earthquake rubble, partially completed concrete walls, and small tent camps evident by blue tarps and metal scrap walls for homes. We stopped to see the mass burial site on the hill that was used during the earthquake and the fields where many had been displaced afterwards. Today they are largely vacant fields. Further along the coast, we saw large coastal homes and small commercial centers lining the road. We stopped to see the progress of a local internet café, being started by our local guide Kesnel, then spent a few hours at a coastal resort, followed by the best cold shower we had every taken.  

The afternoon was spent amidst the company of www.newvisionhaiti.org and the well loved children who live there.  Amazing support is being shared and provided to the communities and the children of Haiti through the gracious families who run this organization. We played with the children, and I video taped one little girl dancing and talking with me. When I showed the video to her, she gave me a gift she would not even know; her face lit up by her contagious laughter. I will remember that moment the rest of my life.

Day 5

As we were heading to the airport the last morning, I reflected, and I kept reflecting all the way home into my very own driveway.  One of the reasons I love to travel is to appreciate the involuntary breakdown that occurs within me, when I get to know another people and place. It is a healthy breakdown of every comfort I have, every assumption I have, and every reservation I have – all stripped down to nothing. That is, nothing except the human heart. At the end of the day, across many continents and countries, this remains the same; most people do the best they can with what they have for their family, themselves, and for each other. They will respect you if you respect them.

I came to Haiti to be of help, and as a 12 yr old from our group said, to spread “hopeness” with every shoe. While there, I was also told by a local community leader that what Haiti needs most is resources (people) to come to help and to teach them how to improve, to help change their mindsets about what is possible. One hope for himself and his people was they would strive to leave a better legacy, not to settle for less than they are capable. They offer so much to each of us in return.

I am grateful to have served with and met such a wonderful group of people. The service that I provided may have faded quickly, but if to only one person I made a difference, it was so much more than worth it. 

Where in O'Hare

As I walked around the Chicago airport, there is a bit of every nationality about me.  Shirts that say 'I love Saudi women' right next to Harley man.  But alas it is time for some new eating options at ohare.

In a NY state of mind

Why is it that drivers from NY Laguardia to White Plains think you need to be there minus 5 minutes ago and drive like lunatics to get you there?  45 minutes later, I'm nearly sick upon arrival to either destination.  Stumbling out of the car just needing the ground under my feet to feel right again. 

Up and back in a day - nice to be home again after dinner.  It is like I never left.

Ein paar Worte auf Deutsch

I've decided in my limited awareness and use of German that one of my favorite words to say in German is Flughafen (airport).  Between that and Bahnhof (main train station), I'm usually well covered anyway.  Gotta luv small German towns.  Enjoyed a very pleasant 4 days in Bad Laer last week. Summer that's more like spring.  I'll take that any day, even if it is the smallest hotel room I've ever been in.   Cheers.

 

Electricity for all

Finally a hotel that understands the pain!  Thank you London. The cost?  A view of .. well.. nothing - the downside of airport hotels in London since few have much of a view to speak of.  

Other interesting events this trip....the Heathrow Hoppa Bus had a scuttle with a car - a bit of a bump as they were changing lanes.  No damage but the car driver got out and proceeded to spend a long 5 minutes yelling at the bus driver (and he in return) about whether two wrongs make a right.  Honestly, I just quietly wondered how far is the walk to Terminal 3.  Glad to be back in the bloody US. 

Rubbish.

Marrakesh marvels

After all the work, the Robert rendez-vous, and a stroll around our favorite spots in London, we had a five day trip to Marrakesh, Morocco.

Old stucco and cement buildings colored of red clay, bland by wear, time, weather, moped and donkey cart crashes, local material, and just plain cultural preference. Narrow cracked stone pathways, broken pieces of walls with wires amiss, and darting cats cautious and running underfoot. Tunnels to follow, leading to somewhere, others nowhere.  A small wooden, creaking, dark aged door upon which to knock. 

Now enter the open air and sun filled rooms with color tiles surrounding all sides. There are a collection of fountains, vibrant foliage, more wooden doors, sitting spaces with an abundant supply of pillows, and the glow of lanterns at every turn. Welcome inside the Riad, any Riad. You've entered a parallel universe.  Have some mint tea (no really you must). 

Our highlights:

• I love mazes - who needs maps
• 'The' bread - one kind - every day - every meal - one kind - we came to love it
• Overly friendly 'help' at every turn - its worth 10-20 dirhams and it may just get you where you are trying to go
• Being awoken at the crack of dawn for prayer call
• Mountains that look just like New Mexico
• Delicious food - brochettes til you drop
• Intoxicating spices, herbs, and souks (markets)
• Feeding a baby camel
• Friendly welcoming people
• A moroccan 'bath' like no other
• The flurry of activity day and night
• Hiking everest (oh nevermind it was just a waterfall)
• Tradition and diligent work at every turn
• The thrill of a delapidated bridge (or two)
• Beautifully tiled mosques, doorways, fountains, and floors
• Negotiation! and the joy of speaking some French everyday