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I never would admit to myself that what I really wanted is what I found in Brasil. Brasil is a world that consists not of days and months, but of decisions and moments bound by the bronze perfection of beauty smiling the smiles of women painted by sun. And I a man hidden within himself, reluctant to accept the promises of reality TV and hypnotizing docudramas. Eventually the distance I created between myself and Americana was powerful enough to where I awoke in a small beach town called Ubatuba some 60kms from the world capital of happiness and violence, fabulous Rio. UBATUBA just typing these letter makes my eyes squint tightly and my stomach twitch with wanting. Ubatuba is where Brasilians go to relax, so in other words heaven on earth. The beaches are wide and endlessly filled with the adventure that makes a young man tightly grip his fists and beg for the tranquility of age. The nights oh please the nights of Ubatuba are as deep and intoxicating as the vodka colored sea during the penetrating days. My first night in Ubatuba and a pioneering glimpse of what was to come?/P> New Years Eve 2002. I was of course jet lagged and queasy from an endless day and night of travel from the desert Arizona winter and was understandably body shocked in finding myself sipping whisky on a Brasilian rooftop. “I just need to get a second wind.?I spoke several hours before the New Year arrived. “Que fue.?Marcello my Brasilian brother spoke in response. He was my in. He was my friend whom I worked with in the States teaching children soccer. I being the only American who can actually play the sport. Marcello was a dark gregarious man constantly high on the musk that rides on the back of every Brasilian breeze. He also spoke a ridiculously little amount of English for actually having lived in America for some time. But Marcello’s was not the mind burdened by the societal dead weight of language but full with the saturated possibilities of a Brasilian New Year. We drank and laughed and laughed and drank. We stood and walked back to the crowds of people dancing and shouting to others wishes of luck and happiness in the up and coming year. I shook hands with many people and kissed even more as the clock treaded closer and closer to midnight. My face feeling the red of a forgotten sun and one too many shots of whisky, and then I was approached by a handsome man with some 45 years. He began to speak to me in a hurried but friendly tone. I nodded continuously until he paused for a response. And my response was lamely (in Portuguese), “Sorry I don’t speak Portuguese.?He hesitated and then smiled a big toothy grin. He grabbed Marcello and implored him to translate. Marcello complied with a large Marcello grin, which gradually turned to a serious look of disbelief. I prodded him to explain but he listened intently ignoring my inquiries. “Dis man says that hes daughter wants to kiss you for New Year.? The man then spun around and pointed toward the corner of the apartment rooftop barbecue area. There, before me stood a girl of no more then eighteen years. Oh, the beauty, the simple and infinite beauty. She stood tall and brilliant in a white dress mirroring the warmth of the summer moon, I took her by the hand and we walked away from the crowd. This is travel and this the experience I share with others who know why some of us sell our cars and leave our girlfriends to see the world beyond television specials and the local pub. And now here I sit smiling at one of those simple and joyously perfect nights hidden deep within a life clouded by seriousness and progress. |
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