Pots and Bananas

The door bell rang as we sat down to lunch at the big house.  Margarita, our hostess simply ignored it explaining to us that the school children are always ringing it for fun on their way by her house. As they pass on the way to school they like to bang on the doors to make the dogs bark too.  There is no point in going after them.  I asked how she knew it wasn't someone who really needed her.  She said that then they would ring twice.  This relaxed attitude towards what we consider misbehavior is part of life here on the Mission.  The school children and those visiting the hospital throw their trash on the ground and no one tells them to pick it up.  Eventually the rain washes it away.  It seems like there are some things you just can't fix.  But it doesn't stop the mission from providing them with food and medicine every time they come.

 The Kaiwa are currently involved in a land dispute and have invaded at least one farmer's land. They sent someone over to the mission for food when they got hungry. Without hesitation Margarita went into town to buy meat and delivered it to them in the fields.  "I don't agree with what they are doing, but they need to eat," she told me.

Whenever there is some dispute on the reservation the most irate members of the tribe usually end up on her doorstep.  She and the director calm them down and she feeds the crowd.  "...or else they won't go home," she says.

Drunken men stop by her house late at night on their way home from town.  "They just want food." She always cooks more than enough and keeps the freezer full.  She has started using disposable plates and forks because she was losing so many of hers. 
In her mind true service is concentrating on providing what people need and seeing past their behavior.

Despite her busy schedule as director of the mission school, she finds time to bake me delicious cakes and pao de queijo.  When she asks me if I like something, then I know it will be coming my way soon. And in the evening she will walk down and deliver these treats to my door. We are all spoiled by Margarita's cooking.

Beads and Smartphones

Today it is rare to suffer culture shock because we are all well traveled global citizens.  I was curious to see the tribe that had been part of my family's life for so long, but I didn't expect to see much change.
I was invited to attend a church service on the reservation and was not surprised to find that it was held in a shed with crude wooden benches and lit with bulbs hanging from the ceiling. I did not expect to see the car park full of cars I could barely afford.
The next two hours revealed one of the strangest shows I've witnessed, and it was a show with everyone but me participating.  I found myself in shock as I tried to take it all in.  The front of the church was draped in pink and purple plastic cloth.  The electric guitars were plugged in and the sound system turned up to maximum.  While people visited, dogs and children wandered about.  A group of children got up on stage and did choreographed gestures while a young man sang and handled the mike like a pro. The drum kit and back up singers gave the impression of being at a concert.

The recorded music continued to play while another group got up in simple costumes made of cardboard and lengths of cloth. They reenacted the Easter story complete with a Jesus carrying a real cross around the church followed by a group of dancers. My mother and I were starting to feel a little out of place.  Some might say we were the most authentic: I with my beads and her clutching her Kaiwa Bible and hymnbook.
About a hour into it they were just warming up. Even with the song lyrics projected on the wall, I couldn't recognize the tune over the noise of the guitars and drum. Even their variation of the old favorite "How Great Thou Art" was unrecognizable to me.  But the most distracting was a teenage girl who stood up on the stage and did disco-like dance moves to further animate the songs. I was so exhausted by the myriad of strange sights that I was in danger of falling asleep when it finally quieted down.

Why was I so shocked? I had seen all those things before but they went against all my preconceived ideas for a church service on a reservation where most of the tribe lead very simple lives.
I didn't expect the congregation to pull out their phones and iPads to film the passion play.  I didn't expect them to be using their smartphones to read the Bible. I didn't expect the rock concert style sound system. And the fact that those modern touches were mixed in with the simple surroundings, dogs and children, sent me reeling as I tried to make sense of it all.
On the way home the comment was made that this church had managed to overcome the shock of cultures between different tribes living on the same land.  All that united them caused me to suffer a genuine culture shock!

Explorers and Missions of Brazil's Wild West: Final Part

Albert Maxwell's recent trip to northern Mato Grosso, Brazil, had given him reason to believe that the jungle was too hostile an environment to support a mission.  The only way in was on horseback and the insect infestations led to disease and infection.  He had witnessed the failure of other ventures when traveling along the Guaporè River.  The stately homes now lay abandoned and overgrown, their owners having simply given up and fled back east. 
Maxwell made one more attempt to penetrate the jungle in 1926.

On this trip he was alone and going into an area considered very dangerous after the disappearance of Colonel Percy Fawcett there the year before. The British explorer had entered the jungle looking for the mythical City of Z, another El Dourado.  He had given instructions for no one to come looking for him, and to this day no one knows how or where he died.  Many think he was killed by one of the tribes in that territory, and Maxwell claims to have seen a trunk with Fawcett's name plate in a tribal hut he visited.  But since Maxwell was able to walk right into that same village without experiencing any aggression, it is equally likely that Fawcett died of natural causes in such a place.
It is certainly true that Maxwell had an extraordinary way of being accepted by each and every tribal group he came into contact with.  There are stories of deaths of priests and government workers at the hands of the Xavante, but Maxwell decided to wander through the jungle alone looking for them.  The Xavante  eventually found him and led him into their camp to meet the rest of the tribe.  They sat together and were able to communicate in the most basic way.

The people who Maxwell felt needed his help the most urgently were the Kaiwa, a tribe sharing land with two other groups in the southern Mato Grosso. Contact with white settlers had left them poor and displaced from their way of life, struggling with disease and starvation.  He went with his wife to live in a town near the reservation.  Over the next ten years he used every ounce of energy to raise money, work the land, and  to build and establish a school, orphanage and hospital for the Kaiwa people.  They still function to this day and serve the needs of many other tribes.  The Kaiwa Mission is the only one of its kind to tend in this way to the needs of the indigenous tribes of Brazil. It is from there that I am writing this account of its founder.

Explorers and Missions of Brazil's Wild West: Part 3

In 1922 Albert Maxwell set out following the advice of Marechal Rondon in search of a place for his mission.  He and a colleague made contact with the Kadiweu, Terena, Bororo, Paracis and Nhambiquara tribes in Mato Grosso. All went well until Maxwell decided to visit Bolivia.  The tales of cannibal tribes across the border were too much for his companion, and he left Maxwell to go on alone.
Leaving his horse in Vilhena and continuing by canoe, Maxwell was welcomed by the Tupi Indians. He became very sick with malaria and expected to die there among the Tupi. The only way out was by horse and Maxwell was too weak to stay in the saddle.  His savior turned out to be a black man without a name, probably a descendant of slaves and brought up by a local tribe.

This man agreed to take Maxwell by canoe down a mystery river whose existence was known only to him.  He proceeded to tie Maxwell to his saddle, ride through the jungle to the headwaters of this river, carve a canoe and float him northwards towards the great Amazon River.
They passed by several abandoned settlements of rubber tappers.  In one they found rum for 'Blackie' and quinine for Maxwell. The medicine kept him from dying on the trip.  Most of it was spent in the canoe because they were afraid of what might be at the water's edge.
The dangers were real as they learned from two men they met on the river. These men were too scared to return down the river because they knew of group of warriors waiting to ambush and kill them.  They joined forces and Maxwell suggested they trust God and let the boat drift down the river. The boat took itself to the bank furthest from the waiting tribesmen and although they attacked, the arrows couldn't reach them.

Maxwell finally reached a settlement after 42 days on the river.  From there he was taken down the Amazon and to the coast of Brazil.  As far as I know there is no written record of Albert Maxwell and 'Blackie' being the first explorers to find and navigate the length of that uncharted river. Although it was Maxwell's spirit of adventure and courage that brought them to that spot, it was a humble nameless man and God who saw them through.

Behind Locked Doors

Part of Bible translation is the creation and distribution of various texts that give a people the chance to read their own language. The Kaiwa Mission have graciously supplied a garage where boxes of Bibles and reading primers are kept.  I was given the task of retrieving several hymn books from this storage.

As I was fumbling with the rusted padlock, I heard sounds coming from inside.  I warily opened the door wondering what might jump out at me.  As I hovered at the entrance,I began to be bitten by ants.  Their nest is just under the door and each opening dusturbs them.
After running out, kicking off my shoes, and killing ants, I tried again to enter the garage.  All seemed quiet and I hoped that any wildlife within had found a way out.  I started poking around for the box marked "Japorahei Joa", the Kaiwa title for their hymn book.  I kept hearing rustling sounds and whirled around ready to

do battle with the intruder.  I checked the boxes marked "Genesis"and "Psalms".  Then just as I looked up a cat jumped out of "Minor Prophets".  Apparently the boxes, when they are half empty, make good nesting places for having kittens. Well, at least they won't have to worry about rats in here.

I locked up and having forgotten about the ants, got bitten again.  For a simple book storage facility, the place was just brimming with life.  I appreciate anew the lives that went into the making of these books and the lives that will be touched by them.  My Easter was the finding of life and hope in the most unexpected place, behind closed doors.

John 20:19-20

Explorers and Missions of Brazil's Wild West: Part 2

As a child I traveled from Porto Velho through the miles of Brazilian forest to the Bolivian border. I don't remember much of the journey except for the driver making one stop to pick up a paca he had found dead on the road.  The large pig-like rodent made the rest of the journey lying at our feet. At that time I did not recognize that I was on the same route as the "Railroad of Death", which an American company had attempted to build in the early 1900's. So many workers died of malaria that it was abandoned as a trade route for the rubber producers connecting with the larger rivers of the Amazon.
Albert Maxwell was not discouraged by this failure, and was very interested in meeting a Brazilian military officer named Marechal Rondon. In 1908 he had been commissioned to explore the interior of Mato Grosso, map the rivers and make contact with the tribes living there.  Rondon set out with compass and sextant and fearlessly entered uncharted territory.  He was never aggressive towards the indigenous people he encountered, even after being shot by one of their arrows.  His success in gaining their trust led to his obtaining their help and cooperation in the installation of telegraph lines through the territory.

Rondon was president Theodore Roosevelt's guide on a visit to Brazil in 1913. Together they were the first explorers of the River of Doubt, which was renamed Rio Roosevelt. They made it down the river without incident from the 'savage' tribes, but were constantly at war with disease and infection. Their remarkable journey took them hundreds of miles in unsuitable canoes and suggested that while the jungle was hostile, the indian tribes were not.
Rondon made it possible for Albert to visit the same potentially deadly areas of the forest without being attacked and killed by the tribes who were constantly at war with one another and the rubber tappers. Albert followed Rondon's directions and advice when setting out on his own exploratory trip into  northern Mato Grosso in 1922.  He was looking for a place to base his life's work and mission.

Explorers and Missions of Brazil's Wild West: Part 1

During my stay at the Kaiwa Mission I became involved in doing some translation of a book with information on Albert Maxwell.  As the founder of the Mission he is well known for his contribution to the work among indigenous tribes in the state of  Mato Grosso, on Brazil's border with Paraguay.  But how he came to start the work here and the story of his life was unknown until discovering that his son had written, but never published, a biography.

All of us have life stories which include the people and events that shape them.  Albert Maxwell's story was strongly influenced by his knowledge of the Jesuits' work in Paraguay, explorers of the jungles of Brazil's interior, and his fearless faith in a loving God.
For more than a century the Jesuit priests worked with the Guarani people along the Parana River on the border of Paraguay and Brazil.  They provided education and the skills to govern and defend themselves against slavery.  The missions, backed by the Spanish crown, were hugely successful.  The Guarani people were intelligent, peace-loving and very receptive to learning new skills. The white settlers were both jealous of their improved situation, and frustrated by their inability to enslave them.  This led to violence as the Brazilian mamelocos attacked the missions, massacred and captured huge numbers of the tribe.  Finally, in 1759 the king of Spain withdrew his support, expelling the Jesuits and leaving the Guarani to suffer their fate at the hands of the Brazilian government, where many had fled. Albert Maxwell encountered their descendents living along the banks of the Tabagi River in the state of Parana some 150 years later. He remarked that these people were friendly and very receptive to his desire of providing them with education and medicine.

This was the first group of indigenous people Albert had contact with in Brazil.  He had left his home in South Carolina to study seminary in Virginia with the express desire to work with the tribes of Brazil because of what happened to the Guarani.  He applied to the Mission Board of his church only to be turned down.  His vision of bringing education, food and medicine to people who lived in isolation in the jungle did not fit with the church's mission goals of the time.  Their knowledge of the Brazilian tribes was quite limited and any attempt to contact them seemed like a mission fraught with peril and doomed to failure. Albert packed his bags, borrowed money for fare and set sail anyway on the next ship to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, in 1916.

Toad in the Room

I moved rooms and I no longer have a screen door.  I'm not too bothered by bugs so I leave the door open because of the heat. This turned out to be an unwise choice when I left my room last night. I had noticed the toad on my doorstep, hovering in the shadows.  When I returned the toad was now inside my door.  Any movement from me would scare him further inside.  While I was trying to figure out how I could get him to turn round or back out, he disappeared under my bed.  It panicked me further when I couldn't find him under the bed. There was no way I was going to spend the night with a toad lurking somewhere in my room.

With the help of a flashlight, I finally found him hiding behind some furniture. Dropping things on him did not budge him from his position. I finally prodded him with a broomstick while standing on the bed.  Of course I couldn't guarantee what direction he would jump in. I had to get over my fear that he would jump out at me, and I got down at his level.  Using a series of prods, pokes and sweeping actions I got him to hop out the door.

The toad just reinforced my feeling that civilization is not successfully wiping out the forest. Not only do creeping vines grow over everything, but plant life appears as if by magic everywhere.

There is a whole cactus garden on the roof.  And the ants quietly take over the lower levels.  They carry and pile up dead vegetation and increase the piles with what they bring out of the earth.  They will build homes in the most unlikely places; on well worn paths, doorways and up trees. The termites eat through the wooden homes and the humidity crumbles the mortar. The red earth covers everything with a layer of dust, it stains and sets hard when wet, and leaves its mark on anything man constructs.
We clean, sweep, cut and clear...but the forest strikes back.

Clear as Mud

We were riding in the cab of the pickup truck on the road to the little church of Farinha Seca on Kaiwa land. Along the way we stopped to pick up passengers and bumped our way down what resembled a dry stream bed. Those that had barricaded and closed this road the week before were nowhere to be seen.  The atmosphere was less tense, but the rain yesterday had flooded the path and water ran down around the church making a small muddy swamp.
As we arrived, the mission worker asked me if I would like to speak to the group or take a class of children.

I know it is their way of welcoming guests by inviting them to give a word, but I was quite taken aback.  What would I say to these people that would have any meaning?
The Kaiwa could tell me a few things:
How to live in this humid heat without AC or electric power; and how to get around without the need to carry drinking water with them;  how to appear clean in all this mud.
The mud was my immediate problem. I watched the Kaiwa take off their shoes and wade across the puddles as I wobbled along the edge.  They washed their feet and cooled off at the same time.  One boy stopped to drink and splashed his head with the running water that I found was quite clear despite the red mud.

The Kaiwa could tell me how they choose to bring up their children in their ever changing environment. Do they speak their own language to them or encourage them to speak Portuguese? Do they avoid the city or prepare their children for the challenges they will face when they enter into contact with the "civilizados"? The Kaiwa could tell me who they trust and what future they see for their people and their land.
I explained that I had come as a visitor to see the Kaiwa, learn more of their way of life, and to remember all I had forgotten of those visits made many years before when I was growing up. I hope they don't insist that I speak.

A Visit to Paraguay

I have never been to Paraguay before despite the fact that as a child we spent our holiday time just a few miles from the border with Brazil.  Paraguay was synonymous with everything that was shady, illegal and cheap. Many products were smuggled into southern Brazil through the Paraguayan border. My father told tales of arriving at the border only to find a asphalt road give way to dirt, and the border guards up a tree.
They no longer police the border and Brazilians and Paraguayans share the now bustling city of Ponta Porã.  One side of the road is Brazil, the other Paraguay, and an hour time zone difference. Everyone speaks Portuguese, Guarani and Spanish.  Prices are shown in both currencies and dollars are widely accepted.
Paraguay has set up a huge shopping center for cheap imported goods.  By cheap, I mean inexpensive, because they include all the famous American and European brand names. There are outlet stores and warehouses where you buy in bulk. It is fascinating what you can find there... everything from surfboards to Scotch whiskey, with all the needs of the local cowboy community thrown in.

The day we chose to visit Paraguay turned out to be an eventful day in Brazilian politics. In recent days there have been numerous protests all over Brazil against the government, calling for the impeachment of the current president. These arise from the alleged corruption scandal involving her party and the ex president, Lula. Things were looking hopeful when it looked like Lula would be arrested and tried, but the morning of our trip brought new news.  Lula was to be appointed as the president's chief of staff. And with the appointment he can no longer be prosecuted because under Brazilian law cabinet members can only be tried by the supreme court. The nation is in uproar. Can the government get away with this? Everyone is out in the streets and the police are out as well, keeping order. We joked that the military might take over, shut down the country, and we would be stuck in Paraguay. Good thing I brought my passport.
As we left we drove out between the two flags of Brazil and Paraguay.  The Paraguayan flag flapped cleanly in the breeze.  The Brazilian flag flopped down, old and ripped.  "Just like the country", our driver commented.

The problems in Brazil have been a long time in coming and it is time for a change. The changes to the constitution made to protect workers and bring about land reform are no longer working. An example of this was only too obvious as we drove home through the rich farm lands and cattle ranches. A row of makeshift shacks were standing along the road by the fields. These belong to the "sem terra", or people who claim to own no land. Originally these people could make a petition to the government for land, and land was taken from the largest land owners to be distributed among those without. They draw attention to their petition and plight by camping out by the land they hope to own one day. Today this practice has led to shanty towns, illegal appropriation of land, and open conflict between the haves and the have-nots. There are rumors that the "sem terra" own land in other areas of Brazil, and move around appropriating land wherever they can.
Paraguay, who has few legal practices of this sort, operates more by way of free trade.  They go into Brazil, buy up products which they sell back in Paraguay to Brazilians for a profit. Crazy, but acceptable and legal.

It grew dark as we approached the reservation. Our driver was wary of taking the road at night because of the current disputes over land there.  The indians had recently invaded two farms and claimed the land by putting up tarp covered shacks and living there. They draw attention to their dispute by barricading the road or throwing rocks at passing cars. Fortunately we didn't get hit by anything, but we did see the shacks out in the middle of the farmers' fields.  The reservation no longer is able to hold the 14,000 indians who live there.  It only needs someone from outside, even a Paraguayan, to come up with the idea of taking back their land from the white man to spark a situation like this one. In the long run no one wins.  The farmer loses the land, often without a fight, the crop is lost and the land lies unused.  The current occupants then sell it off cheap to someone, and take their money off to buy what ever they can. In all of this, Brazil, who used to be the great benevolent force behind the oppressed worker, loses out to their neighbors as they struggle to resolve each dispute.

Trouble in Dry Flour

Sr Enoch picked us up Sunday morning for a visit to the village of Farinha Seca.  It lies on the reservation near the Mission and not far by car.  I volunteered to ride in the back of the pickup before I remembered the condition of the roads. I felt like I was reliving a chapter from my mother's book where she describes the jarring journey as a passenger sitting on a wooden bench of a cart.
As we bumped along the divide Gracinha clued me in to which land belonged to who.  Many of the white-mans' fields were empty, unplanted. She explained that they were afraid that the indians would burn their crops.
We stopped several times to pick up passengers but most villagers seemed reluctant to leave their homes. We passed one house built in the old Kaiwa style, with thatched roof reaching all the way down to the

ground. I learned that this was one of only two houses of this kind left on the reservation.  All the other Kaiwa live in brick homes.  "Harder to burn down," Gracinha explained. 
I began to sense that there was unrest here.  And further down we were stopped by a barricade of trees cut to fall across the road.  A man dressed as a village chief told us the road was closed due to the amount of rain they had recently.  Sr Enoch is well known on the reservation and so he was able to convince the men to let us through.  The village boy sitting by me did not recognize the men as being from these parts.  He also told us about a shooting that had taken place the night before resulting in an indian being taken to hospital.

When we reached the corner of the reservation where there is a small church, we were approached by an angry farmer.  He claimed that if the indians didn't let him drive on the road to his land they could expect more trouble. Few turned up to church and those that did were advised to stay home and not get involved in the dispute over land.  The Kaiwa are a peaceful people, but there are plenty of others who go around looking for a fight. Alcohol, drugs or politics are usually behind any contact initiated from off the reservation.  It must be quite a meaningful and refreshing change for the people of 'Dry Flour' to receive a visitor like my mother who they consider an old friend, and has no other agenda other than to see how they are doing.

Rango e Futebol

We are staying at the Kaiwa Mission just outside Dourados.  The mission runs a hospital, school, church and Bible Institute primarily for the Kaiwa and other indigenous people in southwestern Brazil. My family has always felt welcome there. I found that little had changed over the years and no one was surprised to see me after so long away. "She found her way back," they say.
We are expected to join the director and his wife for the midday meal even if, like today, they are hosting a large group of visiting council members from all over Brazil.

The meat is being prepared on the grill outside under the orange trees: well seasoned steak, chicken and spicy pork sausage.  My mouth waters because I can already guess the rest of the meal: rice, brown beans prepared with pork crackling and manioc flour, fried manioc, potato salad and a tomato-onion vinagrete.  A perfect combination of tastes. I realize how jealous my sons would be if they knew what I was eating. 
A discussion broke out at the table as to whether we could eat like this outside of Brazil.  Someone told a story of trying to find beans to cook a Brazilian meal in Chile.  Most of the company could not begin to imagine being without this food.

The director's wife told her story of, when feeling sorry for my mother's lack of Brazilian ingredients in London, she packed and sent her home to England with some local cheese.  Unfortunately the suitcase containing the cheese went missing and a missing bag report had to be made.  She then became aware that bringing cheese into the UK is strictly prohibited.  She listed it in the contents of the missing suitcase anyway. The case was finally found and the cheese overlooked.  Miraculously, the cheese was still good and my mother was able to bake pao de queijo in London.

Over sweets made of banana and milk, we listened to the council members tell their stories of traveling and the misunderstandings that inevitably occur when one stumbles into another culture.  There was the 'Popcorn Potty' and the 'Flush toilet shower', two which brought on the most laughter.
After lunch it was time for an informal soccer game.  A good meal and a soccer game... I cannot think of a better way to bring people of different tribes, cultures and races together.

Big Field or Thick Forest

Our trip to Dourados included a bus ride from Campo Grande where we had landed the day before.  It suddenly occurred to me that we could have flown straight to Dourados, taking about two days off our travel time.  When I asked my mother why we didn't fly direct, she came up with several unconvincing reasons: a) it would cost much more (I sincerely doubt this); b) the flight would cause her to miss out on miles (again...highly doubtful); and c) her friends in Campo Grande might feel hurt if she didn't stop there (much more likely to be the real reason). My mother is very comfortable stopping in Campo Grande and looked forward to spending time with Felix and his family.

For me, approaching Dourados by bus gave me a chance to become reintroduced to the area and relive memories of what it was like to live in this part of Brazil.  Just to the north lies the Pantanal, a large area of wetland and home to some unique wild life.  Because of all the recent rain, we drove past flooded fields and shallow pools.  The rich farm land was looking more like the Pantanal.
I had already been lucky enough to see the macaws when leaving the city. Then I caught sight of a black and white toucan beside the road with its beautiful orange beak.  My mother told me to look out for ema, the rhea.  Sure enough, we passed a group of seven of the ostrich like birds feeding in the fields. My father had taught me to bird watch in this very part of the world.  He would take me out on walks, point out the birds, describe them and name them for me. He took me to the Pantanal twice where he watched the birds and I looked out for alligators.

Most of this land is cattle country.  The farms are vast, with fields dotted with white cattle and termite mounds.  Although the name of the state is Mato Grosso, meaning 'thick forest', most of the forest has been cleared.  As we approach Dourados and the reservation land, there is still some of the old forest, standing tall.  The road becomes a rutted track, and I realize how much I would miss if we flew in. 

Fauna, Flora and Felix

Campo Grande is not like the bustling metropolises of the coast.  Our host, Felix, met us at the airport in tank top and flip flops, and made us feel welcome in his home.  The house has a carport which serves as an outdoor living space and a big mango tree in the back.  We relaxed outside while he prepared us lunch.  The mango tree was no longer with fruit, and his tangerine tree had died since my mother's last visit.  He had planted a passion fruit vine in its place.  It was producing its first flowers and fruit.  I watched the butterflies and hummingbirds that were attracted to it. 

Felix set the table outside for lunch and we ate rice, brown beans, and beef with beet juice.  He regaled us with stories of an relative of the owl, a potoo, that had hatched in the 'inga' tree outside his home. He carefully guarded the chick from the neighborhood cats until it had flown off a week ago. And of the toad that came hopping into his yard each evening just to leave the next day. He welcomed the toad as he believed it ate the scorpions.  He has both toucans and macaws in the trees from time to time.  I can definitely hear the parrots... and the children playing in the street.  I can see their handmade kite flying above and the remnants of an old kite stuck in the tree out front.

I find out that Felix bakes cakes as a side business and does some catering for large events.  His wife is considering starting a 'cake-in-a-pot' business and they plan to build on a new kitchen some day.  They work hard without giving the impression that they work hard. They have lots going on, but they always have time for visitors, family and friends.
While reminiscing about past visits, my mother mentioned that she kept a record in her diary of the details. Felix wanted to know if he was in her diary.  Well, now he has found his way into my blog.
The next day he drove us to the bus station and four macaws flew beside the car, three blue and one red and green.  He told us of a place in the city where wild capybaras calmly cross the road disrupting the traffic at rush hour.  He would take us there on our return visit.

He left us with these parting words:

"Eu nao esquento a cabeca com nada. Pra mim tudo e festa."  (Translation: I don't get upset about anything.  For me everything is a party.)

Pao de Queijo e Cafezinho

After an eleven hour flight we arrived in Sao Paulo's Guarulhos airport.  Now any airport for a major city is much the same as another. When you arrive there is not much to tell you of the country where you just landed.  However, I was immediately aware of small details that let me know that I was back in Brazil. 
Even before landing, I was served a sandwich to eat with a knife and fork.
The humidity and sticky heat made me feel sticky.  There was no AC indoors. 
The loudspeaker warned passengers of the dangers of mosquito bites and the Zika virus.
Every passenger had more bags than the one before, their carts piled high as they pushed towards the exit.
I could smell the toasted cheesy bread from all parts of the building.
At the counter, glass cases displayed the pao de queijo next to the espresso machines.
The service was  slow, no one seemed in a hurry to catch a flight. But everyone went out of their way to make my mother comfortable.  She was always offered the best seat and transported around.
The crew member pushing my mother's wheelchair had an altercation with another passenger and made some choice comments on her ability to drive her cart.

As we left terminal 3 in search of our next gate, we came into the old part of the airport which looked exactly like when I was last here 25 years ago.  Jon and I were long distance dating at that time, and I would fly in for the weekend.  We also left from here as newly weds on our honeymoon.

I had decided that I would travel on my Bristish passport this time as it was in my married name.  I nearly didn't even bring my Brazilian one along.  But when I arrived someone asked, "Brasileira?" and ushered me into the correct line.  I fumbled around, produced my Brazilian passport and was welcomed home.  Just like that, I was back in the coutry I grew up in, as if I had never left.

Remembering the Old While Making New

The trip was my mother's idea, but as most trips in my family, the outcome is dependent on many seemingly unconnected events.  Needing to visit some villages in Brazil, and wanting a travel companion, my mother suggested I go with her.  I wasn't sure I could justify another long absence from home, but I couldn't really find another reason not to go.
Sam's swim meet landed on a holiday weekend, in the city where my brother lives.  So that led to the trip beginning with a drive to Budapest.  I had three good reasons to go to Budapest, the last being the beautiful city.

There are no direct flights to Budapest from Sofia, and it is a drive of a minimum of 8 hours.  Sam would be flying with the team and we calculated that his door to door time would be roughly 8 hours. Driving becomes cheaper when you have more than two people, even with cheap budget airline prices today.
And by car we can load up on snacks, bottles and pillows. A book on tape and rest stops make the time go quickly.

The border crossings are what make or break a car trip.  You never know how long it will take or what to expect.  Jon endured five hours in line during the height of the refugee crisis.  They rarely close a border, but they can make the process slow down to a crawl by insisting on car inspections and extra documents.
Everything went smoothly this time, even when we were stopped by the police on the road.  We aren't quite sure what they wanted, but we must have looked innocent.

Southern Serbia is worth a drive through.  The road winds through mountains in a deep gorge.  The road seems to be carved out of the rock.  There is nowhere to stop along this stretch.

Jon, who is usually driving, wishes there was.  He can't resist picture taking, and is always disappointed with the results.
I was noticing something else in the landscape. There were few signs of spring when we left Sofia, but now there were bursts of color everywhere.  Trees had new green leaves, and white and pink blossoms dotted the hill sides.  It is a mystery to me why this small area was further ahead in the seasons.  Within an hour we were back to winter with empty fields and stark trees. The temperature seemed to drop as well.
I wonder how many travelers pass through Serbia without stopping. They make it easy to do. You can pay the road toll in euros or with credit so there is really no need to carry the local currency.  The road is flat and wide, and before you realize, you are entering the next country.
Hungary seems a little stricter and less welcoming.  We stopped to get Forints, buy the necessary road tax and check that our headlights were on.  Last time the police stopped us and fined us for this infraction.
We made such good time, arriving before the team of swimmers by plane, that we drove into Budapest before dark.  Suddenly we were among stately buildings, grand bridges spanning a picturesque river, castles and palaces.

Sam asked us later if we had only come to watch him swim.  We assured him that yes, that was our only reason for coming to Budapest. But the sight of the city from high up above the river at night, the delicious Filipino food that kept coming out of my sister-in-law's kitchen, the warmth of conversation around the table while we bring up family memories, the earning of a medal in the 50 m butterfly, and time together before parting, are all icing on the cake.

My son sat down by me, exhausted from his events, and I noticed the flags down his arm.  They represent the places he has lived and where he has memories, and the places that make him who he is.  I wondered if one day he would return to one, out of mere curiosity, to remember the old while make new memories. That is exactly what I am doing by returning to Dourados, Mato Grosso, after over thirty years.