August 15, 1998
My departure from the U.S. is marked by burnt, weak coffee from a Noah’s bagel franchise, which I interpret as a totem, for delicious coffee I expect awaits in Brazil. Clad in white blouse, bell bottom thing blue cotton elastic waistbanded pants, my Clark sandals which I predict will be my best friends, the same as the black Eddie Bauer wind breaker warming me. Getting packed in a 22” carry on rolling bag plus a book bag for a month was quite challenging. At least every clothing item is skimpy, for the hot weather, and I committed to only 7 pairs of underwear. As it is I could probably squeeze in a few pounds of cashews. Everything is in duplicate or triplicate, spread among my various totes, repellant especially which according to the literature is the prophylaxis for many of the heinous diseases. You know Patty [my doctor sister] has been on your case about diseases when on a map of Minas Gerais you see a town called Tres Marias and at first glance think it was called Tres Malarias.
2 watches, cheap. 2 pairs of regular and sunglasses, etc. So far I’m happy to be alone, no coordination. I sport a silver band on my left middle finger, ready to move it to my wedding finger when the occasion calls for it.
I’m a nervous wreck about keeping my clothes clean since I have so few. Trying to plan on what dates to land where, mostly based on festivals or market days. There is so much to see! I feel like I’m opening a jewelry box and trying on a couple different pieces, but there are so many more styles I’ll have yet to try on.
In Miami airport, for my first time, and fears of airborne disease and intrigue have set in. Every suspicious look – a girl with dyed hair, a guy in a baseball cap rushing, lead me to the incontrovertible conclusion: on the lamb to South America. Obviously influenced by too many mystery novels and movies. Ironically United checked me all the way through to Brazil with hardly a glance at my passport. I missed my window of opportunity to get away with something. Cuban airport food and cigars abound. All kinds of airlines I’ve never heard of.
Totally calm and in control, but after a nanosecond of doubt realized – hey, I can change my flight and return home if I feel like it at anytime. However what if I were still sitting at home now, with a job, thinking “I should have gone.” That would suck. Truly my only fear is 1. Getting mugged; 2. Not carrying my camera enough for fear of getting mugged. I spritzed on some Paris perfume in duty free as a comfort thing. I also don’t want to act too safe, feel like every day is planned, lest I miss out. I’m really excited about hearing all the samba band practices that go on. Dancing in the street!
Used to the modernities of Denver airport, I stood holding hands under the Miami faucet for 15 seconds before noticing it was the push-in type. Then I followed a girl out confidently walking with toilet paper on her heel. Most comforting has been the constant smell of cardboard pizza with cheap pepperoni that takes me back to our cafeteria and every cheap food stand since then.
It’s always interesting to see what a chef whips up for ovo lacto meals. All quite good this time: carrots, brussel sprouts and corn with rice coated in cheese. On the U.S. legs, hashbrowns with sauteed mushrooms. Then pasta with sauteed veges and garbanzos. I grabbed a Jornal do Brasil upon entering the 747 and was relatively impressed by my reading ability, learning about a crisis at a zoo. I sipped wine to induce sleep. Surround by Brazilians, I will dream in Portuguese!
Approaching Brazil the airline offerings changed to “café, licor, cognac?” The starched white steward monotoned, carring a tray of 1oz plastic cups.
Lynn’s question about what I expected Brazil would be like and how I would describe it upon my return came to mind throughout the trip. In the historic part of Salvador where I will be staying I imagine a Disneyland/Taxco like cobblestone street, narrow, where noise echoes off the rainbow of 4 story buildings. Cafés line the street. We’ll see… It seems that by imagining myself there, I get less scared. Like I picture myself fiercely yelling “Vai embora!” at street urchins and “Deixa me!” I look at the faces of my co-flyers and they all seem either kind or normal. I imagine them protecting their wallets on the bus. I hope the only thing about me that screams “tourists” will be the fact of my attending touristic events.
For the first time I feel like joining tours to see the city, for example at night, since there’s no chance in hell I would go out alone at night after what I’ve read. It’s sad. It says simply don’t even go on the winding roads that connect the lower and upper city alone. It sounds like such a nice walk.