I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello - São Paulo

Warning: Sentimental post. All ITA graduates and sang-froids may want to give this one a pass.

I hate goodbyes. Even "so longs" are tough. I do my very best to avoid them and carefully did not arrange any goodbye parties here (though I did get surprised by one, and arranged a second small dinner with the "Fab 5"--don't ask).

I'm on my way back home--twenty-five years after leaving New England, I am heading back. My new blog is live and should be in action shortly--it's all about finding out that repatriation is harder than ex-patriation. Or so everyone tells me.

I think I have explained in other blog posts that I am not leaving Brazil, but rather going to the USA. Why am I going? Not because of security worries, exchange rate problems or even the absolute horror of the thought of four more years of Dilma Rousseff. No. I am going for my kids. My kids are half-Brazilian and half-American. They are seven years old. We have lived here six years which means they have no idea what it means to be American. They can sing the Brazilian anthem; they don't know one word of the American. I want them to ride a yellow bus; I want them to be in public school. I want them to know that the USA is more than a Target store and Disney World.

By no means do I think that the US is all right about everything and everything is better there. No, there are many things I will miss about Brazil and the recent days have made that conviction even more acute. The absolute warmth, humor and generosity of Brazil--as a country and as a people, well, they are unparalleled. I will truly, madly, deeply miss a number of friends here and their capability to make me laugh until I cry. I can only hope that we can carry the humor and love through skype and emails. We must. We have to.

The Alemão

This weekend we said goodbye to the Casa do Alemão, the German house, that we have rented for the last couple of years. It is the closest thing on Earth to paradise, in my opinion. If paradise has giant venomous spiders and cackling monkeys, that is (in the 7 year old twins' minds that is obvious). And though the leaving makes me sad, it also made me smile today.

The view from the Alemão. Which never changes.

As I walked through the remnants of a trail we had cut two years ago for the twins to find some pinhão (pine "berries" from the araucaria trees--kind of like chestnuts. Delicious), I realized that Brazil was already adjusting to our departure. In fact, almost nothing remained of our trail but the memories. The trees and bushes had grown up through everything. Even the monkeys had wiped out the remains--all the pinhão had been eaten and the husks left in a silent mockery. 

Life goes on. The Alemão will have new residents. The spiders, and hawks and monkeys and hummingbirds will have new admirers. The woods and trees have permanent protectors in our friends Rob and Pri. The house and its property will be there when we visit again in December. The trail will be gone, and our personal effects from the house, but the exquisite beauty will still be there.

The new generation: Zoe, age 1 and 1/2

Cafu, age 12

Life, and death, go on. On Friday we spread the ashes of our 14-year old labrador Caju in the ranch's beautiful lake. From whence he came.... Caju was a puppy at the fazenda when the fazenda was itself new to our friends. And as the wind ruffled the fur of his now-forlorn and decrepit best friend, 12-year-old German shepherd Cafu, three other young dogs raced by to chase the horses. And so it goes.

I will miss you, Brazil, but I realized this weekend that I leave you not. I am taking you with me. Every time I kiss a tight-lipped Yankee on the cheek to say hello, I take you with me. Every time I save a fuzzy spider that gives me the creeps, I take you with me. And every time I feel the warm wind blow (perhaps rare in Boston), you are with me. Shall we go?


That's all she wrote.

++++++++++++

Closing the gate on this chapter.

 

 

Or is it?

:)

Life goes on - Joanópolis

The view from the road home.

Yesterday I drove three hours to our fazenda house, spent an hour collecting stuff,  and then drove three hours back. We are going to Argentina next week and we're going to need our hiking boots. For some reason, we haven't been able to fit a fazenda visit into our schedule since Carnaval in early March. So since we're leaving Tuesday for Ushuaia, off I went.

I quite enjoy the ride--it is not long until I am in the curving mountain road of Rodovia Anhanguera. Yes, there were a lot more trucks than on our weekend outings but that just made me slow down more and enjoy the trip. At about 2 1/2 hours, the road becomes dirt and gravel and the cell phone doesn't work. This is the only place that I worry about traveling alone--our history of flat tires recently means that I am quite nervous about every noise from under the car. 

When I reached the house, it was all opened up because the housekeeper was airing out the rooms. She knew I was coming from one of the other ranch staffers -- nope, she doesn't have a phone either. When you need to communicate with the workers, they travel at set times to a place where their cell phones work. Fortunately, as renters, we don't have to worry too much about managing the staff.

Just as I pulled up at the house, the monkeys started calling loudly to each other. They were as close as they ever get, jumping from branch to branch in the pine trees. Far away there was the sound of a chainsaw as some ranch or another cut their eucalyptus trees.  Spiders jumped away from my stomping feet.

Of all the places I have lived or visited in Brazil, the Casa do Alemão or German house, our rented country house, will be the one I miss the most. You can read about it here. I fell in love with this house ten years ago when the owners first bought it from "The German". I waited 8 years to be able to rent it myself and now we will be giving it up in August. 

While I stood there and listened to monkeys and saws, an unusual sadness filled me. Unusual because the fazenda makes me happy. I realized how much I will miss the solitude, the sounds, the brushes with nature -- monkeys, parakeets and lightning bugs (not so much the spiders). I will miss hiking on trails with no trail blazes. I will miss watching my kids run up and down the hill in front of the beautiful mountain of Morro Selado. I will miss a place where the tv, internet, cell phone and home phone don't work. I will miss you, Alemão.

And as I stood there thinking all this, I realized that the Alemão will not miss me. The monkeys will live on safely away from bad guys, the parakeets will keep their house in the roof, the spiders will actually have a better life away from the capture-and-release routine they get with the twins. Life goes on at the Alemão, but soon not for me. When I return after August, there will be new tenants. When I return after August, it will not be "mine" (in fact, it never really was).

Life goes on. It's not something to be sad about but rather happy.  I wouldn't want things any different for the tenants and furry, feathered and 8-legged residents who will be there when I leave.

Lucky them!