Where the Sacred Dwells, Namaste

April 29

Breakfast on the veranda of our room. Ah, yes, it’s a tough life, but I know that somebody must live like this, and I’m prepared to do my part.

A footnote (pun intended) to yesterday’s blog. Walking along the beach with Rosa and Paul last night, we noticed some boys playing a game at a volleyball net. We assumed they were playing volleyball, but when we looked more closely, we noticed that they were getting the ball over the net using soccer rules, i.e. never touching the ball with their hands. It’s called foot volley, and is quite amazing to watch.

Picked up at 9 by our guide, Luiz, who had met us at the airport yesterday. A full day of traditional Rio sightseeing. At Corcovado and Sugar Loaf. After a scenic ride along the Rodrigo de Feitas Lagoon, we arrive at the Cosme Velho district, where we board a cog-train, which takes us right through the Tijuca Forest, to the top of Concovado (hunchback) mountain. On our way up, we enjoy beautiful views of the Guanabara Bay,the Rodrigo de Freitas Lagoon, the beach of Ipanema and Leblon and the Rio-Niteroi Bridge. Arriving at the base of the Statue of Christ the Redeemer, we have a stunning 360 degree view over the city. The statue was paid for, constructed and owned by the Catholic Church. Though it was intended to be completed for the centennial of independence in 1922, delays in raising funds and construction postponed its completion until 1931 (query whether the work planned for the World Cup and Olympics will meet a similar fate). The statue is almost 100 feet high, about the height of the Statue of Liberty, minus the torch, and the arm span of the statue is some ninety feet.

Carol, of course, had to feed a monkey a pistachio nut she had in her purse. Riding back down on the tram, we are entertained by some young Brazilian musicians, who are playing for tips and succeed in getting several of the women on the car to dance with them. Fun.

The afternoon involved taking two cable cars up to the top of Sugar Loaf, a mountain that looks back on the city of Rio and Concovado, rather than looking out from the city towards the bay, as we did this morning. Now, I know this sounds like a pretty boring day, and the photos below won’t do it justice, but it’s impossible to overstate how breathtaking the city of Rio is. Looking at it for a day was well worth the time.

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I lied a little bit, though, because we did do several other things, the most interesting of which was stopping at a museum of naïve art that has a collection of some 6000 items from all around the world, the collection of a Jewish jeweler. Wonderful to look at, and many of the pieces were extremely good. We also stopped for lunch at a Brazilian steakhouse in Ipanema, whose ample salad bar of seafood items more than satisfied Carol. And we ran three errands, two of which were successful (buying tickets for a modern dance concert at the opera house tomorrow night and getting cash at an ATM). The third, trying to find an orthopedic seat for Carol at two different places, was not.

Returned back to the hotel to rest. You’ve probably figured out by now that, for me, “rest” is a synonym for “blog”.

Took a taxi to D” Amici, a very good Italian restaurant in Copacabana, where we met Andrew Janszky, who heads up the Brazilian operation for a large New York firm, Milbank. I had gotten to know Andrew almost thirty years ago, when he was the hiring partner of Shearman & Sterling, a consulting client of mine. Andrew is based in San Paolo, but was able to arrange business in Rio, so that we could have dinner together. So, if anyone needs proof of the smallness of the world, in less than a week, Carol and I have had dinner with a Brazilian oncologist and his radiologist wife, a Brazilian cardiologist and her economist husband and a Brazilian/American lawyer.

Dinner with Andrew was terrific, once we finally found the place. The taxi driver could not find it and dropped us at a spot that was not our restaurant. After getting help from a couple people we found, who, luckily, spoke English we located the restaurant.

Andre (his real name, which he goes by in Brazil) is a lot of fun, lively, and we picked up pretty-much where we left off some twenty-five years ago. He has a unique perspective, having been born in Brazil of Hungarian parents, moved to and lived in NY, and now living half time in NY and half in Brazil. Andrew loves the Brazilian people but finds it frustrating to live with constant concerns about safety. I think it’s fair to say that he’s down on many aspects of Brazilian life, when compared to life in the U.S. After a delightful, long dinner with much conversation, Andrew sent us back to our hotel with the driver he uses in Rio.

April 27

Excellent breakfast in the hotel before being picked up by Gabriela for a walking tour around the historical old town at 9AM. The Pelourinho is situated in the historical center of Salvador. Declared a world heritage site by UNESCO in 1985, it is a great example of colonial history and symbol of the black movement in Bahia. Pelourinho literally means the pillary where slaves were beaten, pillaried. The Pelourinho contains a number of churches, museums, local artists’ studios, galleries, shops and restaurants.

We had a bit of a zany tour, because it started in drizzle, evolved to a really heavy rain (which caused us and Gabriela to purchase umbrellas) and eventually subsided, after we stopped for coffee. The umbrella business was definitely the business to be in this morning. We ducked into various artist studios, shops and churches, in part to explore them and in part to escape the rain. Because it’s Sunday, many places are not open. A holiday in honor of St. Benedict was being celebrated, with music and processions in the elaborate São Francisco Church and in a Black church named Our Lady of the Something-or-other (not its actual name) and we visited the Cathedral Basílica. As we walked we saw the cobble-stoned, colorful streets of the historic district.

We walked (in pouring rain) to the Elevador Lacerda, built in 1873 and connecting nowadays the Upper City and the Lower City as an important means of transport both for locals and tourists. From there we would have gotten a panoramic view of the All Saints Bay and Mercado Modelo, except that we pretty-much couldn’t see shit (slight exaggeration, blogger’s license).

Gabriela is a fun guide and companion, and her personality engages everyone we encountered.

After we left Gabriela, at noon, we visited a very interesting museum that combined African masks and statuary with a fascinating collection of odd musical instruments made by a Swiss craftsman. We wished we could have understood more (or at least some) about the instruments, but they were most interesting to look at, anyway.

So, there emerged a sort of pleasing kaleidoscope of an experience to our morning, not exactly what we’d optimally have planned, but memorable and enjoyable nonetheless. I hope that the photos below capture something of the scope and nature of that experience.

Rodrigo has trouble getting near the hotel, but does eventually, minus Fernanda and Julia, because the latter has a runny nose. We try to park nearby, but nothing is around, so we engage the services of a young boy to lead us to a spot. By the time we get there, Rodrigo decides that this is not such a good idea, but needs the help of the boy to lead us out. Rodrigo gives the boy some money to change, so that he can give him a tip. I can’t believe Rodrigo has done this and, of course, the boy never returns. Rodrigo is philosophical about all this, and we’re now aware that it’s not only tourists who get taken in.

We drive to the Igreja do Senhor do Bonfim church, where a service is in progress. A young woman is tying a ribbon to the fence, like the ribbons at the church we saw this morning.

We go into a room that has wax arms, legs and organs hanging from the ceiling, tributes for the healing that people whose pictures and letters of thanks are displayed in another wall of the room.

We see the odd instrument that the guy played at the ballet last night, and Rodrigo tells us that it is called a berimbau, and that he knows how to play it. It seems that he studied martial arts for two years, and knows how to do the acrobatic dancing/fighting that the dancers did last night. Those who learn the martial arts are required to learn how to play the berimbau, as it is viewed as part of the same training. So, the things we saw at the ballet last night are starting to make more sense.

From the church, Rodrigo takes us to Sorventeria de Ribeiria, an ice cream place that was founded in 1931. We feel compelled to partake, Carol toasted coconut and me, at Rodrigo’s suggestion, tapioca. After the ice cream, Rodrigo takes us back near our hotels. Our good-byes are not that sad, as we’ve agreed to have dinner in Chicago with Rodrigo and Fernanda when they come for a big oncologists’ meeting late next month. We’ll finally get to meet Julia, but in Chicago, not Brazil.

Carol and I go straight to a restaurant Gabriela has recommended not far from the hotel, called Maria Mauro. It’s quite good, but not as wonderful as last night’s meal.

In the lobby, we chat for over half an hour with a couple from New York, Anne and Charlie, a FDA lawyer. They’ve been to Rio and Iguazu Falls, and then had a fabulous time on the Amazon.

We go up to the room, where Carol packs and I work on this damn blog.

April 24-25

Spent the day packing and getting ready (okay, piddling around) for our 9:30 PM departure, a non-stop flight to Sao Paolo, more than 10 hours and over 5000 miles away, where we’ll have a layover of about 3 hours before continuing on to Salvador de Bahia, a flight of a bit over two hours. Yes, it’s a pretty long haul, but we’re rather used to it, and have done considerably longer. Truth is, it would be a really long walk, so it’s best to just suck it up and get on with it.

The airport experience was pretty-much the airport experience. There was some unexplained trouble in getting our boarding passes. Carol was randomly selected for the fast security line; I was not.

Yesterday I’d had lunch with a friend who had been to Brazil four times, and cautioned me strongly about the dangers of travel there, advising me to get a money belt to wear. Really, I asked. Really. I’d told Carol, so, as she got through the security line first, she found a store that sold money belts and had one put aside for me. At the counter, I asked one of the two young male employees whether the belt was worn under the pants. When they said it was, Carol asked whether I’d be able to close my pants. If not, I told her, you’ll hold them up. One of the two guys immediately asked how long we’d been married. I said that, if we make it to June, it will be forty-nine years. They were amazed, smiled and congratulated us. We’re amazed, too. Money belt purchased, but not yet donned (I’ll have $21 less to store in the belt), we headed to the United Club, where I overloaded with crap, before it was time to board our flight.

Now’s the time you regret not having read more about where you’re going and how, despite your vow to do better, you’ve once again put more in your suitcase than you need. This reminds me of a story that a very bright young woman investment banker told me about her interview experience. As a consultant, I was talking to some prize hires of my premier investment banking client so as to be able to give them advice about recruiting. The woman told me that she was asked repeatedly by bankers what her worst characteristic was. Evidently bankers thought this was a clever question and that they were the only ones who used it. Most interviewees answered by sneaking in a positive trait as their worst characteristic, for example, “I’m a perfectionist and can never settle for less than the best” or “I sometimes drive myself too hard to accomplish my goals.” Anyway, this woman said that she got so sick of it that she began to answer the question of what was her worst characteristic by saying, “I over-pack.” I’d have hired her on the spot.

But I digress….We are traveling Economy Plus, which is roomier than coach, but much less expensive than Business Class, a sort of compromise. Announcements are in English and Portuguese, a language I’ve not heard before, a kind of cross between Spanish and French. I can pick out a (very) few words with my Spanish. Luckily, though, I’m fluent in English. I’ll use my ten hours of flight to read some short stories by Native American author Sherman Alexie, which Carol and I are reading for our book group, review a book I bought on the operation of my camera, waste time on Sodukos and try, but fail, to sleep. All of my reading is on my iPad, as I’ve totally crossed over to the dark side. Oh, yes, and write in the blog. For instance, now I’ll give you some information on where we’re headed, Salvador de Bahia.

As the first capital of Brazil, from 1549 to 1763, Salvador de Bahia witnessed the blending of European, African and Amerindian cultures. It was also, from 1558, the first slave market in the New World, with slaves arriving to work on the sugar plantations. The city has managed to preserve many outstanding Renaissance buildings. A special feature of the old town are the brightly colored houses, often decorated with fine stucco-work. As the first capital of Brazil, from 1549 to 1763, Salvador de Bahia witnessed the blending of European, African and Amerindian cultures. It was also, from 1558, the first slave market in the New World, with slaves arriving to work on the sugar plantations.

As early as 1549, the Governor General, Thome de Souza, on the orders of João II of Portugal, made Salvador the seat of the royal administration. It played a leading economic and political role until 1763, when the seat of administration was transferred to Rio de Janeiro. The upper city, located in the area of Bahia de Todos los Santos, was discovered in 1502 by Amerigo Vespucci, and has been preserved by its historical evolution. It was built upon a ridge parallel to the Atlantic coast, which made possible defense against Spanish (1580) and Dutch (1624) attacks.
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The historical centre itself, which revolves around the Pelourinho quarter with its triangular place, is characterized by its fidelity to the 16th-century plan, the density of its monuments, and the homogeneity of its construction on a hilly and picturesque site which embellishes the urban scenery by providing steeply falling and ascending views of incomparable beauty.

For those who may be interested, here is a very brief (and not very pretty) history of slavery in Brazil:

The slave trade

Initially the Portuguese seemed to hit it off with Brazil’s natives. There was even an exchange of presents between Cabral’s men and the Indians on the beach, with a Portuguese sombrero swapped for feather headdresses. Relations cooled when the Portuguese started enslaving their neighbors for work on the sugarcane plantations. Yet, for a variety of reasons the Portuguese felt the Indians didn’t make great slaves and turned instead to Africa’s already existing slave trade.

African slaves started to pour into Brazil’s slave markets from about 1550. They were torn from a variety of tribes in Angola, Mozambique and Guiné, as well as the Sudan and Congo. Whatever their origins and cultures, their destinations were identical: slave markets such as Salvador’s Pelourinho or Belém’s Mercado Ver-o-Peso. By the time slavery was abolished in Brazil in 1888, around 3.6 million Africans had been shipped to Brazil – nearly 40% of the total that came to the New World.

Africans were seen as better workers and less susceptible to the European diseases that had proved the undoing of so many Indians. In short, they were a better investment. Yet the Portuguese didn’t go out of their way to protect this investment. Slaves were brought to Brazil in subhuman conditions: taken from their families and packed into squalid ships for the month-long journey to Brazil.

Visitors to the beaches of Porto de Galinhas, near Recife, might not pick up on the area’s grim past. Even after abolition, slave traders continued to smuggle in slaves often packed into a ship’s hull under crates full of galinhas (chickens).

Masters & slaves

For those who survived such ordeals, arrival in Brazil meant only continued suffering. A slave’s existence was one of brutality and humiliation. Kind masters were the exception, not the rule, and labor on the plantations was relentless. In temperatures that often exceeded 30°C (86°F), slaves were required to work as many as 17 hours each day, before retiring to the squalid senzala (slave quarters), and with as many as 200 slaves packed into each dwelling, hygiene was a concept as remote as the distant coasts of Africa. Dysentery, typhus, yellow fever, malaria, tuberculosis and scurvy were rife; malnutrition a fact of life. Syphilis also plagued a slave population sexually exploited by its masters.

Sexual relations between masters and slaves were so common that a large mixed-race population soon emerged. Off the plantations there was a shortage of white women, so many poorer white settlers lived with black or Indian women. Brazil was already famous for its sexual permissiveness by the beginning of the 18th century.

Aside from the senzala, the other main institution of the sugar plantation was the casa grande (‘big house’) – the luxurious mansion from which the masters would control their slaves.

Resistance & the Quilombos

Resistance to slavery took many forms. Documents of the period refer to the desperation of the slaves who starved themselves to death, killed their babies or fled. Sabotage and theft were frequent, as were work slowdowns, stoppages and revolts.

Other slaves sought solace in African religion and culture. The mix of Catholicism (made compulsory by slave masters) and African traditions spawned a syncretic religion on the sugar plantations, known today as Candomblé. The slaves masked illegal customs with a facade of Catholic saints and rituals. The martial art capoeira also grew out of the slave communities.

Many slaves escaped from their masters to form quilombos, communities of runaway slaves that quickly spread across the countryside. The most famous, the Republic of Palmares, which survived through much of the 17th century, was home to some 20, 000 people. Palmares was a network of quilombos covering a broad tract of lush tropical forest straddling the border of Alagoas and Pernambuco states. Under their leaders Ganga Zumba and his son-in-law Zumbi, its citizens became pioneers of guerrilla warfare, repeatedly fending off Portuguese attacks between 1654 and 1695. Eventually Palmares fell to a force of bandeirantes from São Paulo.
As abolitionist sentiment grew in the 19th century, many (unsuccessful) slave rebellions were staged, the quilombos received more support and ever-greater numbers of slaves fled the plantations. Only abolition itself, in 1888, stopped the growth of quilombos. Over 700 villages that started as quilombos remain today. Some were so isolated that they remained completely out of contact with white Brazilians until the last couple of decades.

In San Paolo, we collect our bags and, of course, run into a fellow we know who is in our congregation in Evanston. He’s in San Paolo for business for a couple days. We recheck our bags to Salvador, change money and have time for a drink and ice cream. We’re able to get wifi and so check our email.

Trip to Salvador is uneventful, and we meet our guide, Gabriela outside baggage claim. She is a live wire, originally from Buenos Aires, and we ride with her in the air conditioned comfort of our car some 40 minutes to our hotel, which is in the heart of the cobble-stoned historic district. Quaint hotel, Casa de Amarelindo, with a very comfortable room on the third floor, which hereafter I plan to take the slow elevator to reach. We forego a walk around the cobblestones and colorful historic district to rest up AND SHOWER, before dinner.

We take about a half hour taxi ride to the authentic, local restaurant called Restaurante Yemanja, where we meet Rodrigo and Fernanda, two delightful and lovely 30-year old doctors with whom we’ve been put in touch by the Olopades, our Nigerian doctor friends at the University of Chicago, with whom we’ve traveled to Ghana and Nigeria. Rodrigo is an oncologist, who spent two months at the U of C, and Fernanda is a radiologist who spent the time in Chicago at Northwestern. We learn all about their families, including their 4-month old daughter, Julie. They could not be more delightful dinner companions and, before they drive us home, we make plans to get together tomorrow night. Below is a photo of them, and of Carol, checking emails.

It’s about 11PM, and we plan to crash, hoping to be ourselves (whatever that means) tomorrow. Then we begin the real trip, and, hopefully, photographs.