The Interior

A mistake easily made when living in a big city is to forget the outside world. One could spend a lifetime, thrice over, running from one corner of the hive to the other. So many angles to indulge in, so many apartment buildings, town houses, shopping centers and bus stops to find your way to. But in this bustling mass of noise and heat, a stopping and starting point for so many lives, there is little offered in the way of peace. Neighbor looks upon neighbor with suspicion, locked doors and partitioned lives, people loose site of their brotherhood and become circumstantial enemies. In time, with the traffic and the trash and the frustrations piling, it all starts to look like one big mess, and you know it is time for escape.

That time came this last weekend. Crawling from the crags and fissures of the earth, my little ant antennas pointed toward the sky, I knew the moment had come. So odd to be in Brazil, a place that wiggles with adventure, and yet taste so little of it. Life becomes droll, placid, and routine all too easily. The only remedy, after wiping the working sweat from your brow, is to just give in a get out.

And that is what I did. The Easter holiday weekend provided enough time to see some of the “interior” of the state—that which is off the coast and outside the city walls. The destination of choice, a little rural town called Lamarão which is 2000 thousand inhabitants strong (give or take a chicken or two).

So heading out of the city with a friend and a Brazilian family:

Gone went the favelas and inner city traffic!

Gone went the hive which stretched on for miles!

Dare I say, the interior of Bahia had an immediate appeal. It was country, a fim do mundo (the end of the world), at its best. Accustomed to the stealthy black edges of my concrete palace, I was immediately struck by the palms trees, the sugar cane fields, and the pastoral greenery. As I arrived in town, my thoughts lingered on my first trip to rural Brazil back in 2003. My experience was hearty, authentic, a heady mixture of running around town meeting cousins, eating meat, watching social operas ascend and go by.


Lamarão was certainly this. It was place of street markets and Easter festivity. I stayed at a local families house, amazed at the all hours socializing that would occur during the day. People would drop in -- neighbors and friends, lovers and cousins -- just to say hello. People chatted over coffee, over beer, over Bahian delicacies of fish, and rice, and beans galore. The Easter holiday was in full swing, with Catholic parades running the cobbled streets.

Celebrity status was instantly offered to my friend James and I. We were outsiders, tall, blue eyed aliens from some strange different land. Walking the streets, ruminating on Brazilian culture, we would attract unapologetic stares and whispers. People would step out of their doorways to gape open mouthed in our direction. Women would giggle as we walked by, men turn their heads with suspicion.



And so we danced. I played Capoeira in the street, laughed with locals, trying desperately to understand their lispy Portuguese.

As in every place I have visited in Brazil, everything seemed to be broken. Doors didn't shut properly, hand rails were bent and coming off the wall. My fan required a toothbrush solution to get it to work again. Everything was broken, and nobody seemed to care.

But where Brazilians lack in mechanical pragmatism, they make up for it in culinary prowess!

Walking the streets, there were so many interesting things to see. Find the irony in this photograph. The sign humorously reads, "Please do not throw trash here". Ha!

Indeed, the town was a mix of refreshing simplicity, and small town ideals. People seemed happy, a bit bored, running around talking to the neighbors, trying desperately to find something to do. There was work, in limited degrees. Houses in the town cost upwards of, get this, $50o0. Make money and live like a king. The challenge is to find work, and to find something to do. Local remedies include getting pregnant at a young age, talking shit about your neighbors, and drinking cachaça until your teeth fall out. Typical small town ignorance. But there was a genuineness about this life that I found appealing. Like letting the craziness of the outside world pass by, enjoying your small place and small time in the grand scheme of things.

And the local customs were so fun. Take the burning of Judus for example. Forget Christian forgiveness. Let's make effigies and blow them the hell up! Yeah!

Notice the chicken in her hand that was handed over to us for supper. So much nice.

All in all, this trip reminds me that there is so much of Brazil left to see. Perhaps a motorcycle jaunt through the interior, or maybe even a trip to the Amazon. In the end, it's good to get out of my metropolitan rat hole--to see what beauty the forgotten places truly have to offer.