The Galloping Vendors
There had just been again weeks of violent unrest in the world, but I was quite a few countries away, together in a sprawling São Paulo street market with a colleague and our big happy-but-guarded driver. The three of us were amiably ambling amidst a big, colorful, confusing, and crowded set of not-quite-straight rows on uneven pavement and outdoor shops and inside shops and coconuts with straws and colorful scarves. And music CDs and sunglasses and an amusing, sometimes perplexing mishmash of electronic items. Much of this, if not most, of dubious officialness.
The majority of these items were sitting on wood planks, next to which sat oft squat, loud, tanned, tired yet eager vendors.
By the hour next, some of these sellers looked vaguely uncomfortable, nervous. The storm clouds were coming, rain was imminent, and there was palpably a rolling sense of unease.
Fidgeting, bustling, clamoring, much more than before.
Then yelling and a pounding of feet and a thrusting forward of seemingly thousands of people, many of them with those same wooden planks bobbing precariously as the crowd shovingly stumbled, then broke into a run. It looked at times as if they were almost falling forward, haphazardly heading fast away.
At the same time, fast towards… towards speeding police cars zipping and blaring through the streets, seemingly without regard to the vendors, their wares, or the people buying them.
“INSIDE! GO INSIDE!” shouted our driver. “NOW!!!”
I wasn’t quite sure which inside he meant, which side of the street. I was equally unsure of what was happening. Had there been an explosion?
But I didn’t ponder sitting still. I ran as well as I could, dodging it all, ducking thankfully into the same store as my colleague and our driver who could hopefully protect and explain.
* * *
We were okay. The crowd passed, the sirens faded into the distance.
Our driver chuckled softly.
“I’m sorry for the situation.”
A raid. The vendors had not paid the proper taxes.
“I’ve only seen this on the TV. Never happened to me. But what an experience, eh? What a situation!”
He shook his head a bit as we searched for our car. He told me to not take any more pictures, that it was not a good idea, though after the running-of-the-vendors we’d just survived without impalement, I doubted a few additional photos would contribute measurably to any future danger but I complied nonetheless. And I thought, I’m glad I wore those ugly strong American sneakers.
“I’m sorry” he said again. But it was all okay. The added color was scary but memorable and worthwhile. I smiled, knowing that my time in Brazil was just beginning and that I was ready.
|A view of the marketplace before the storm (See more of my São Paulo gallery)|
The patient kindness of strangers
Maria and I wanted to go to Sugarloaf Mountain but didn’t quite know how. We made it to the city center by bus, just as we had the days before, but then were a bit stymied. This second bus didn’t seem to be where Cornelius had, admittedly tenuously, thought it would be, said it would be. We waited and walked and then—abandoning any pretense of stubbornness or shyness—began to ask around.
One person sent us to another to another, all in a friendly way. Until we got to the one woman whose name we never got. Perhaps she said it, since she said a lot, quite a lot. When it became quite clear that our limited Spanish and her limited Spanish were not going to mesh productively, she decided upon the show-and-tell method. She herded us to a spot which was noticeably not very near the spots we had spotted before, and then she waited with us.
Waited and talked and talked, pretty much all in Portuguese. Neither Maria nor I speak Portuguese, and I think the woman knew that, but she spoke on rapidly and happily and pointedly despite that unfortunate but apparently-not-show-stopping linguistic gap. Every once in a while she’d pause, and we’d continue to nod, and she’d carry on, obviously as pleased to be with us as we were befuddled-yet-grateful to be with her.
* * *
Twenty minutes and many words and smiles and nods later, the right bus came to take us to Sugarloaf Mountain. We clasped each others hands, I think maybe even hugged, just as we did with the majority of Brazilians we had the distinct pleasure of meeting, and then waved goodbye while speaking the only Brazilian we knew: Obrigado.
|A view from Sugarloaf Mountain (See other photos I took in Rio)|
Mmm… not sure how I want to comment on this. :-O
Ok, first of all, again I will say that the writing style amazes me. Even more now that you are describing something that is familiar to me to some extent, incredible detail and description accuracy!
Second, now I’m wondering why oh why haven’t I insisted on taking you guys on this S?o Paulo tour myself! Of all the places you could have gone to, why in the world did this driver take you there? So much for the image I was trying so hard to preserve here. 😛 Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to take comfort in the fact that at least you’re choosing to see the experience as “memorable and worthwhile”. I’ll tell you this, though: next time, I’ll be in charge of the tours myself, mmkay?
It was great meeting you in person! Looking forward to meeting again, hopefully sometime in December.
Malk’Zameth, thank you! I think I pronounced it correctly during (most?) of my Brazil trip, but that’s embarrassing that I typed it wrong. Fixing it now 😀
Hey, Patricia… thank you for the kind compliments on my writing! And don’t worry about my impressions of S?o Paulo: as you can see from the photos, my experience was definitely broader (and less scary) than the one story shows 😀
All the best for your trip out here to the States, and see you then! Take care…
Adam, I’m sorry for the episode with the vendors. I’ve seen your cool pics of Rio, my city. I was at the Google Search Masters and loved your presentation. Even asked you a question on relevance of websites. Hope you remember that. I was way back in the audience. The whole event was great. Congrats once again and obrigado.
wow! i have been in Rio de Janeiro it’s a really beautifull place.
All time ppl not using shirts, ufff.. the sun coconuts really good places, i really like brazil.
Awesome and very interesting writing style
😀 I loved the article and am really glad you enjoyed your trip. Your writing style is amazing!
Thank you very much.
F?bio, I’m honored that you enjoyed the Search Masters event, and there’s no need to apologize on behalf of your country :-D. It was an adventure, and was just some extra color in my wonderful time in Brazil. I’m already looking forward to returning. And Linda, thank you for the kind words; it makes me quite happy that people appreciate my admittedly quirky writing style!
You have a good writing style that inspires. I’m travelling to Middle-America next year, and this report makes me even more exited.
Hi Adam. I’m glad you enjoyed your coming to Brazil. Even with the mess of S?o Paulo Center. You are crazy of going there… 😀
I hope to see you next time you come here and maybe you can visit Minas Gerais State. 😉
And I agree with Linda: I love your writing style.
Take care guy… :-*
Hope you do come back soon. Thanks for the kind words.
Just outta curiosity: why do I keep getting the German flag instead of my country’s. Nothing against the German. Just made my head tick.
Bram, Marcella, really glad to have you posting here and pleased that you enjoy my writing style!
Fabio, that’s a great question. Do you have any German ancestry? 😛 Okay, seriously… it may be that I’m using a very old IP-geolocation database (in fact, I haven’t updated the underpinnings my blog in forever; I keep waiting for ExpressionEngine 3.0 to be released “any day now.”) Sorry for the confusion!
Nevermind, but me German??? Not even close. Geotagging can be tricky at times, pal. Nothing to be sorry for. Take care.