The Boys in Brazil

Brazil is way cool. Most Brazilians are easygoing and friendly, quick to smile and give you the thumbs up. Of course poverty and crime and all the other human infirmities exist here, but the general vibe is laidback and open. Brazil’s generosity of spirit is probably attributable in part to its size. The fifth-largest country in the world has plenty of space as well as time. But those other biggies (Canada, Russia, China and the USA) all seem terribly serious, even rather grim. Brazil is way out beyond them all in terms of cool, the ability to enjoy life moment to moment without taking it all too seriously.

Maybe it’s the tropical heat, but the racial melting pot seems much more truly melted here than in more northern climes. Africa has blended with European and indigenous peoples, with Middle Eastern and Oriental races. This mix works well, in terms of beauty and attitude, not to mention the food and the music. They'd rather fuck than fight and it shows and feels very good. The general lack of belligerence is a relief, ergo a pleasure.

Tuto bem? Brazil has @ 8 thousand kilometers of coastline, thousands of absurdly beautiful beaches, many with no one on them. We have come here for Joaquin to learn the art of surfing. At 7 he is the youngest student – probably by about 20 years – in the classes of 20-, 30-, and 40-somethings. The first group of a dozen or so students included about half Brazilians and half Europeans. People fly in and fly out from everywhere in the world just to have a go at surfing. It is a strange reality of jet age vacations to consider that one of the men hiking with us down to the beach last week and chortling at the nightly movies of himself on the waves is now back in raw, snowy Berlin. Another woman has returned to Stuttgart. Still others have returned to San Francisco, Rio de Janeiro or Brasilia. We kept the commute to the waves for another week, with another, smaller group of folk: from the USA, Canada, Belgium & Switzerland. Joaquin opted for an additional four days after his original six.

Some surf students extract themselves from their “normal” lives for a week, others for two. One man from Rio told his wife he was on a business trip. How will he explain the sand and salt in his clothing and suitcase? Joaquin is applauded and indulged by the guys (mostly 20s some early 30s) who run the surf school (Easy Drop). I could probably leave him here to live in a corner of the school and sweep up for food and surf lessons, come back in a year and find a little surf master, fluent in Portuguese. He might however by that time have lost his (marginal) abilities to read and reason. And he would no doubt have a large, ornate tattoo. One of the surf instructors - Zuketo - has a lavish tattoo that seems to relate a long, complicated south sea legend on his back and arms, making Queequeg look like a yuppie.


Some young single adults (esp. the non-Brazilians) are allergic to children, who apparently somehow threaten their notion of personal freedom. They seem less able to relate to Joaquin or the idea of him. One American woman did not hide her resentment of Joaquin's ability: "If he stayed here another month he'd be as good as they (the instructors) are, which is annoying, really..." At the evening video review of the day's waves, with many shots of Joaquin, she said: "He shouldn't be allowed to get any better..." But she was really the exception to the general feelings of good will of everyone for everyone else. But Zuketo did not help with his ill-timed hurrah at the very end for us, after a barbecue at a fabulous house up above the river in the rain forest, coming home at night in a Landrover full of surf students and staff: "Yea, Joaquin, the best surfer on the beach!" I could feel the other surfers in the class stiffen around me. Zuketo immediately went silent. It was an awkward moment and totally superfluous, even if true.


Several folks thought I should sign up for surf lessons too. Twenty, maybe even ten, years ago, I might have done it. Now I no longer suffer the urge. Let Joaquin have his chance. I am the Olde Dog. Do the surf instructors get tired of watching neophytes flounder week after week, their pale bodies stiffly posed as they wobble toward the shore? They shout encouragement to them, realizing perhaps that only one in a thousand will ever make anything of it, while the instructors take every chance to surf the biggest ones available. Fred, Joaquin’s initital teacher, is a nice enough guy, but he much prefers surfing to teaching. I can’t blame him but did get a bit annoyed as his “breaks” lengthened, thinking that I was paying him to surf. But I did not come here to complain. Suddenly Fred was gone, replaced by Chago, Ian and Zuketo, who had much more time for Joaquin. Nothing was said by me (luckily) or anyone else but the whole scene improved.


Brazil is undergoing a modern wave of European recolonization now. British, French, Swiss, Germans, et. al, loaded with money are seeking tropical redemption in hot, sexy, ample Brazil. And who can blame them? Why live in cold crowded expensive soulless Europe when you can loll about in tropical splendor among relaxed human beings with a talent for daily pleasures? One could buy or build a home on the Brazilian coast and have the whole year's mortgage paid by vacationers who spend the high season (mid December through February) renting your place. You wouldn't want to be there then anyway, with the crowds. Just enjoy the other ten months. It's a plan...

We bid a reluctant farewell to Bahia and slid on down to Curitiba and eventually, Florianopolis, about which I had heard extravagant praise for years. I was not at first enamored of the colder water, but soon got used to it and finally became a believer as we found just the right beach for us - Barra do Lagoa - with great small consistent surf. Joaquin took some more classes here and I got my quota of bodysurfing. Gorgeous. We hated to leave, but our month in Brazil was therapeutic and enticing. Both Joaquin and I hope to return, next time, for longer. Beleza. Muito obrigado.