Let us begin with the 15th. Traveling had become a necessity in my life. Perhaps only because I had anticipated it. Arriving in Rio was like arriving in any new city: waves of excitement and wonder were crashing on all of our heads--"you know, I could really see myself living here." And everyone smiling.
Rio has that e(a)ffect. I was surely under the spell. My theory is that the natural geography of the area is the major influence on Rio's character (in fact, geography and climate seem to be powerful enough to shape race and cultures, no? But maybe that is obvious). Check it out:
The city is built around a bay on one side and on the ocean on the other--both comprised of paradisical beaches. Mountains that seem to spontaneously rise up surround the city, and within this topography lies a tropical forest redolent with dirt flowers and foliage. We can only imagine the city without people--and then we must realize that this imagination is why so many people came to Rio and why it is the most touristed city in the world. Interestingly--Rio did not get big until 100 years ago. And although the trickery of our imaginations may lead us to natural beauty, there is something quite aesthetically touching abut the array of lights and buildings as well. Being that humans are natural and this is what we created, no?
While in Rio, I stayed in Copacabana, Ipanema, and only visited the most touristy of places. And so as the initial sprinkling of fairy dust settled at my feet, my perception of my Rio began to change. The Rio I saw is fake, inauthentic. More English than Portuguese. Overpriced trinkets and knick-knacks flooding the street. It is nice to not have to worry about being robbed like I do in Salvador. It is nice to have such an ease of access to a city. It is nice to be catered to by outstanding weather. But that is not real. And I appreciate the authenticity of my experience in Salvador.
Of course we cannot blame this on Rio--I had my experience. And the experience was akin to lust. I was wrapped in her arms and it felt so good but it just was not real. Too good. So it was wonderful and false.
One thing I need to say about cariocas--they are the nicest friendliest group of people I have ever met.
Like any good one night stand, Rio gratified a certain surface need, but left me hungry for truth. I had many moments of extreme frustration and anxiety in the Cidade Maravilhosa, which only led to realizations, actions, serenity, and satisfaction. The duplicity of growth.
I like people. Their company is appreciated. But the group dynamic is unacceptable to me. I am not patient strong or grounded enough to remain tranquil in a group. I have my desires. And when people do not have the same desires, anxiety anger and frustration boil. I experienced a lot of this in Rio. It left me asking: is the company of friends worth this anxiety? Sometimes it is and sometimes it is not. And of course, we CAN have our cake and eat it too--getting to that place of turning over our self-will and going with the flow as they say can only lead to enlightenment and in turn that far away place of ultimate relaxation.
And so, as a change of scenery approached, so came realizations, actions, serenity, and satisfaction.
To sum up Rio, it was really fun and beautiful.
In life and bodies of water, we must first wade in the shallows and learn how to swim before we can experience the depths. This natural progression cannot be reciprocated. Thus was my experience transitioning between Rio de Janeiro and Ouro Preto.
OP is an old city. Gold was discovered in 1690, and this caused a rush of prospectors coming up from Rio and Sao Paulo and even down from Bahia and Pernambuco. The city prospered for hundreds of years--as the Industrial Revolution used its vacuum cleaners to sweep the world of brooms, iron (a mineral that Ouro Preto also has rich deposits of) replaced gold in value. However, now, Ouro Preto is a simple small city in the mountains with a rich history of debauched rebellion, a good tourism industry, and breathtaking old architecture.
Ouro Preto has depth. I miss Rio like I miss peanut butter. I miss Ouro Preto like I miss an old friend. I was comfortable in that town. The people were not extreme in any way at all--there was a deep sense of balance amidst and within. I felt connected to the city. I marveled everywhere I looked. And I felt connected to myself, serene, and bound--the way a book is. Ouro Preto is genuine.
I am becoming a moral person. Of course I still fall. But sometimes, the new presence of integrity in my life distances me from other people. And it is not the morals themselves--but in my case, with morality come expectations of others. And with unreasonable expectations--expectations that I do not even place on myself--comes disappointment. And the only way to free ourselves from this is to practice non-attachment. And for me, that meant being alone (yet this mere remedy cannot cure of us such a malady...we are never alone, and must detach within a body).
And of course, I just like being alone, without people. I can go with my own program (which might be an unhealthy reason to be alone) and I learn more. I have a deeper experience. Because we are never just our selves--we must inevitably always be with the Other.
And so, taking the advice of a great friend, I made a choice to lose myself in myself in Ouro Preto.
Good things come ironically. On the way there, I met an angel. Buses are replete with angels. My talk with Newton was the best conversation I have had in person since arriving in Brazil. And the fact that it was in Portuguese and we reached the depths we did made me feel like words are not so important in communicating--for even though we understood each other's words perfectly, we understood each other perfectly not because of our words.
While traveling, I loose my balance. I get out of my routine and my self-health begins to decline. I can't force thoughts baby--they just come!
And so, in Ouro Preto, I chose solitude. I was traveling with friends and spent a good deal of time with them and appreciated and savored this time as well. But my moments of bliss occurred while with only the inclusive Self.
I payed R$3.50 to enter an old church. Inside, I was told I was not permitted to capture its beauty on film. The servant who passed this message along to me was immediately subjected to my frustration with bigger problems. As I declared that he was a fascist, he shook his head and refuted "No. I am the butler to capitalism." He was right. This is capitalism at its best. I told him that God does not want us to pay to enter His house. He said God does not matter. People are trying to make money. Of course he is right about this desirably unforgivable wrong.
As I walked away from this situation, I asked myself the reason for taking so many pictures. I actually felt scared and threatened without my camera in hand. It struck me that I was taking pictures purely to show them off to my friends via social networks. I was not savoring the memories. I did not need to--because I had pictures, materials, to hold the memories in. My heart did not have to work. But I wanted it to work. Still I could not bring myself to put down the camera. Is there a balance? Can I travel authentically, for myself and not the other, and have the same appreciation for the visions before me without a camera? Would the appreciation be more?
On my way home that evening after taking a few hundred more pictures, I saw some kids playing on a roof. I asked them if I could take their picture, and no one said anything but they all walked away. A second later, a toddler returned so I lifted my camera. He gave me the finger. And again--here was I, and why did I want a photo of kids playing on a roof in Brazil? Only to exploit the exotica of their poverty and share it with my friends back home to serve my own self-worth. I continued to walk home, deep in thought.
That night, I left my hostel without a camera. It is true--I felt safe doing so because I had already photographed everything in town. But I wanted liberation. There were moments of fear. But being without the machine proved to be an unmatched experience...perhaps akin to soaring, looking down, and seeing nothing. I saw--found--much that night.
Amidst my smiling observance, a German man began insulting Americans. I let him shoot me down and I immediately and unconsciously began to insult Brazilians to the Brazilian man next to me to make myself feel better. I instantly became conscious of what I was doing and I stopped, feeling sheepish.
I was dead set on going to worship, the next morning being the day of Christ's resurrection. Going to mass in Ouro Preto on Easter could not have excited me more. I got to bed at 11 on Saturday night in preparation to wake up at 5:30. My alarm went off at 5:30, so I rolled out of bed, stumbled into the kitchen, only to see that the actual time was 8:00. Mass was already over. My clock must have stopped in the middle of the night and then started again, because it was 2 1/2 hours behind.
I was miserable. Enraged with the world. Felt victimized.
But the sun, Lou Reed, tobacco, fresh fruit and bread, and JC Himself curved my lips upwards. I need not be so attached to things. Why do I need to be in a colonial church in Brazil to celebrate Easter? Step 2 is finding calmness without the gifts of food smoke music weather and even Christ. It is realizing that we have all of that in ourselves and that we are nothing at all.
The next day brought us outside, to scale the heights of Pico (or pica, depending on how you see things...) do Itacolomi. Upon reaching its base, it became apparent why a guide was advised. We were faced with 100 meters straight up of deep dense brush 8 feet tall and 500 meters wide. Sensibly, 2 of us turned back immediately. It was just me and the Australian. After half an hour of bumbling through brambles, he declared his plans to return as well. I told him I must go on. His jesting words "Dude, you are so American..." pumped my pistons just that much more.
I plundered through those trees for hours. I got scratched, scraped, stung, and even feel into a precipice, luckily landing in water below. I was famished and dehydrated. I was not only American, but I was stubborn, and determined, and convinced that I was a fucking animal at the front of evolution.
When I reached the top, I took of my clothes, whooped out, and collapsed. I felt accomplished and proud. My body hurt. Coming down through the same foliage, my mindset shifted. I was foolish to try to conquer nature with such an attitude. I was irreverent. And I payed for it. My body looks like it went through a meat shredder.
But I was happy.
Returning back to Salvador was difficult. I wished my plane was bound for America. I felt sad. I felt fulfilled and glad to have taken my trip. I felt wonderfully alone and painfully alone. Knowing that this is my home for 2 more months was tough to face.
Yes. As you well know, I have spent all of my waking hours since returning in front of this screen. Yes, I would have been anxious if I did not. But I am still anxious. Ready to get on my bike and zip.
My body was not meant for clothes. I am naked when I can be.
So what can we learn from all this? The same things we already know: seek calmness only through the solitude of realizing that nothing is of consequence.
And after a day back in my city, I already feel adjusted. I feel...well, home. Salvador is a great and difficult city. Brazil holds many different worlds within her. And mine, I like.
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