STUDENTS OF PORTO VELHO

private education - CNA computer room


PORTO VELHO: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 9
Larissa of Porto Velho has left a comment at the BLOG, GATEWAY TO THE AMAZON. Comments are valuable to me, both as a writer, and because I treasure the effort and courage demanded to publicly comment in a foreign language. I have been priviledged in Porto Velho to converse with some 100 students. The students have opened to me a very small window into the Brazil that lies below the facade we tourists experience. I entered Brazil in a state of total ignorance. Without the students I would have remained ignorant. They have been patient and very kind and have permitted me to pose questions that many may have found impertinent or painful.

BUTTERFLY AND ALL THAT

ROAD WEST: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 5
Early mornings are misty and cool and beautiful. Trees appear out of the mist, miracles of survival in an agricultural landscape of cattle ranch and freshly sewn serials. A small fluttering of yellow butterfly is remarkable only because these are the first I have noticed in two weeks of travel through Brazil. Once noticed, the scarcity of butterfly nags. And bird life is minimal - none of the doves and pods of small black birds on the road side, partridge, quail, to all of which I became accustomed in Uruguay. The road enters a stretch of forest. A small animal with a ringed tail darts across the road. Later, in a second stretch of forest, I spot a plump red animal with fine legs, size of a medium dog, possibly a deer. Orange, single-seater spray aircraft are common. Do orange planes spray Agent Orange?

A SMALL PLEASANT TOWN

ROAD WEST: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4
Brazilians improve the further west I ride. So does the food. I pull off the highway into a small town this evening. Nondescript would be a polite description of the architecture. Sidewalks are tatty, so are the road surfaces. The grass in the square hasn't been cut in a year and is strewn with drink cans and plastic bags. Refuse blocks open drains. A couple of bikers and a woman walking a dog take time out to direct me to the only hotel. The hotel is run down or has never come up. However the staff (two women) are kind and helpful and work at communicating. I shower and change into clean clothes. The women point me to a restaurant where I devour great fish soup outdoors at the standard white plastic table. The temperature and humidity are a little high for perfect comfort. Not that I care. I am content. I have stumbled on a place of which I can find nothing good to write except that it has a pleasant and friendly feel. What joy after Brasilia...

BRAZIL BEEF REFUSED BY VULTURES

ROAD WEST: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4
Today I passed three dead cows on the side of the road - not a vulture in sight. Is Brazilian beef too tough for vultures? Or have Brazilian vultures immigrated to glut themselves on Peruvian garbage?

GREEN FIELD CATHEDRALS

ROAD WEST: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5

The agricultural wealth of Brazil is worshipped in green field cathedrals of galvanised tin.

GATEWAY TO THE AMAZON

GATEWAY TO THE AMAZON: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 5
I long for the Amazon. Enough of the café-free designer city, I am out of here. I reach Cuiba the first night. Ahead lies the Amazon Highway: 1500 kilometres to Porto Velho. I ride 800 Ks on Saturday, twelve hours in the saddle and a new personal record. Today I leave at 6 a.m. and face a mere 700 Ks. I halt every 150 Ks for a bottle of water and coffee and I break for Sunday lunch at an outdoor restaurant on the outskirts of a small town. The place is packed. Many groups are friends, relatives or neighbors - small farmers, many of them. I face a family at the next table: Mum, Dad, two daughters and a son. The daughters are early teens. The boy is a couple of years younger. He is a good-looking kid with fair, sun-streaked hair. He sits slouched deep in his chair. Parents will recognize the attitude. Why did you bring me here? You must hate me. Why did you bother having me?
The girls finish eating first and find school friends to chat with.
The boy sinks deeper into his chair.
The parents face each other diagonally across the table. They have nothing to say to each other. Dad finally reads Mum something off the label on a big bottle of Coke. What ever he reads fails to elicit a response.
The boy leaves the table.
Dad shifts seats to sit directly opposite Mum.
Shifting seats doesn’t help.
He gets up and pays the bill at the cashier’s counter.
Had Bernadette been there, she would have kicked me under the table and told me not to stare.
I know I stare. Staring is what writers do. People interest us.

SURPRISE, SURPRISE...

BRASILIA: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31
Brazilians in Brazil either whisper or shout. Their language sounds brutal. At first I presumed that they were quarrelling. However their use of language is mirrored in their behavior. They show little courtesy.
I wondered whether this perception was a misconception arising from my lack of Portuguese. My ankle resembles a football. This evening I take my crutches for a walk to the shopping center. In Buenos Aires, Argentineans would have made way for me, offered to help me at the curb. Here, in a walk of three hundred meters, I am twice jostled off the sidewalk.
Do Argentineans recognize that they are courteous?
Are Brazilians aware of being impolite?

TAWDRY CROWN OF THORNS

BRASILIA: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31
The Metropolitan Cathedral in Brasília stands on an island surrounded by urban thru-ways. The Cathedral is built in the shape of a crown. The design is drawn from the Crown of Thorns. The image is trite. The building is weak. I long for the majestic simplicity of a 16th century Christian/Islamic dome. And I could do without the thru-ways. Thru-ways fail as aids to contemplation.

DREAM OF GREENERY

BRASILIA: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31
The dead grass and red earth of parkland Brasilia depresses me. Professor Lucio Costa was the city’s designer. Did he fail to consider the months of drought? Or did he imagine an irrigation system greening his open spaces? People would delight in the swish of irrigation sprayers. The city would be cooler. The water is available. Brasilia overlooks a vast artificial lake. What do I know? I am merely an old Brit passing through…

ONLY GAYS READ BOOKS

BRASILIA: WEDNESDASY, OCTOBER 31
In her nightmares, Mrs. Thatcher must have imagined British Embassies peopled with men such as the Mexican Cultural attaché, men who read books, attend concerts, discuss ideas. The Cultural attaché suggests a historian I should seek out when next in Mexico City. I doubt that the charming young lady with a degree in Business Administration who manages the British Council in Brasilia could name a historian. For Brits, culture is suspect. Read books, you are presumed to be homosexual.
Sulman Rushdie is the most important and least parochial of modern British writers. His work touches on dangerous territory. Islamic fanatics have issued fatwa against him. He spent years unable to walk to the corner shop without police protection.
Our ex Foreign Minister, Jack Straw, recently remarked that he was incapable of reading Sulman Rushdie’s work. In any other European country, such a confession would make of the Minister a laughing stock.

DEAD BODIES AND MILLIONS OF FLIES

BRASILIA: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31
The Mexican Cultural attaché wishes me to believe that those about to be sacrificed were joyful at being honored.
The victims clambered up the pyramid. The steps are steep. The angle is designed to ensure that a dead body rolls back down.
At the summit, a priest gouged out the victim’s heart with a stone knife.
The temple must have stunk of blood and faeces – though I must check with a medical expert on this last point – if I can find an expert on hearts being gouged out. Does the victim’s bowels let go? Almost certainly.
Imagine the pyramid covered in blood and shit.
Imagine the stink
Then imagine the millions of flies. The flies must have risen in a black cloud each time a fresh body came tumbling down the steps and would have buzzed around the victims as they climbed. Honor? No, Sir. I am deeply sorry but tell me another story.
Witnesses from the period are unreliable: suggesting that being opened up with a stone knife was anything but a great experience got you opened up with a stone knife.

THATCHER WOULD HATE HIM

BRASILIA: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31
The Mexican Embassy in Brasilia is a fine example of brutalist architecture. An Olmec head in front of the embassy is equally brutalist and a brilliant juxtaposition. Lawns are watered and green. Barcelona chairs round a square glass-topped table in the atrium make a calm meeting place. My companion is the Mexican cultural attaché. He is immensely cultured. He does not have a degree in business administration. He teases that I have cast myself as an aging Kerouac. We discuss the Conquest and the Christianising of Mexico. He mentions the Madonna of Guadalupe. I am a fan of the Madonna. I wear two images of her round my neck and one lapel badge. The medallions were a gift from a Colombian wholesaler of wind-cured hams. A Mexican dentist's wife gave me the badge. They were gifts to keep me safe on my journey. I was wearing all three when the truck struck me. The Saint Christoper on the bike keys was a gift from my brother. I suffered one hell of a crash and survived.

BRITISH COUNCIL, WINDOW TO BRITISH CULTURE

BRASILIA: TUESDAY, OCTOBER 31
In my youth, culture was considered an important aspect of the National image. Poets and erudite novelists represented British culture abroad as officers of the British Council. Lawrence Durell was of their number. THE ALEXANDRIAN QUARTET was a product of his posting to Egypt. Transfer to Cyprus produced the equally brilliant BITTER LEMONS. Today I visited the British Council offices in Brasilia. The manager is a young and exceedingly beautiful Brasilian woman. She boasts a degree in business management. She is a child of Thatcherism.

DEAD GRASS AND BRUTALIST ARCHITECTURE

BRASILIA: MONDAY, OCTOBER 30
Brasilia is a creation of the Fifties. The architecture is concrete brutalist. Many of the buildings are magnificent. The designer envisioned these massive structures rising from soft green lawns. The effect would be superb. The lawns are dead straw liberally patched with bare red earth. The effect is not superb.

For those unfamiliar with brutalist architecture, my daughter out of law is a noted architectural photographer. Her web site features some of Britain's finest examples. http://www.sarahjduncan.com/

BRASILIA IS FOR CARS AND NOT FOR PEOPLE

BRASILIA: TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30
Brasilia is designed. Everything has its place acording to the master plan. Embassies are in the Embassy sector, hotels are in the hotel sector, Ministries are in a long line in the Ministry sector, so it goes, so it goes. Sectors are separated by great swathes of parkland. Understand the design and you can find your way - if you have a vehicle.
Corner shops and cafes don't feature on the grand design.
Arive fifteen minutes early for an apointmet, what do you do? Sit in the car and broil? Squat under a shade tree that provides too little shade?

NO CRAMPS AND AMONGST THE LIVING

BRASILIA: MONDAY, OCTOBER 29
In Punta Grossa, I was up in the night with bad cramps in my thighs. A white-jacketed expert at an homepathic store perscribed pills, one to be taken each morning. I have been cramp free for the past three nights. A regular pharmacist filled my heart medication perscription with a joint water and cholestral pill. I am alive.
And I am in Brasilia.
The road crossing Brasil's heartland was mostly excellent.
Much of it was four lane highway with a central division.
Agricultural wealth is on display, gas stations abound, so do small hotels and motels for lovers...

ALL YOU CAN EAT

ROAD TO BRASILIA: SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28
I pull into a gas station at 1.30, fill the tank and park in the shade by the cafeteria. Sunday lunch is all you can eat for $6. Help yourself from the buffet to salads and vegetables, rice and beans, stews. Waiters tour with big skewers off which they carve direct to your plate from various cuts of beef, pork, lamb, sausages, grilled pineapple. The pineapple is excellent.
A small truck driver with bow legs wears baggy shorts and a Manaus T-shirt. He has never been to Manaus. A big truck driver in jeans and a plain shirt has driven from Manaus this week. He was held up for six days by floods.
Or he may have been on a six day surfing holiday.
Translating from Brasilian Portuguese to my Cuban Spanish is not an exact science - however I am certain that water featured in the driver's adventure and that it wasn't fun.

CONVENIANCE FOR SHORT TIME LOVERS

ROAD TO BRASILIA: MONDAY, OCTOBER 28
Motels in Brasilia are sited on the outskirts of all towns. Brasilian motels are short stop conveniances for short time lovers. The driver enters directly into a garage, pays through a hole in the wall and is given a free packet of prophalactics. How do I know? The prophalactics are advertised - as are saunas, hydro spars, naughty movies, cascades and a swimming pool. Many of the motels are named after cities in the US. Miami is a favourite, as is Dallas. Lilith is another. Extacy, Orgasmic and Love feature as does one splendidly named Mama Maria's. A hydro spar is tempting after a long day in the saddle.

Are singles permitted?

Please let me in. I am not allowed to play with myself at home.

US/BRAZIL

ROAD TO BRASILIA: MONDAY, OCTOBER 28
Brasilians are similar to citizens of the US. Both envison their countries as civilised strips of land backing onto a vast ocean with a few islands. In the US one island stretches from Denver through Vale to Aspen. Los Vegas is another island. So is Palm Springs.
Brasilia is a Brazilian island. I don't know what others exist. Perhaps Manaus? And Brazil only has one land strip/one coast.
Plane is the only way to travel to an island.
People who journey by rail or road are weird.
Riding a small bike is very weird.