“It’s interesting how we treat volitile emotions as natural pitfalls but positive sensations of happiness and peace like things to be diligently cultivated.” – Old Sean
Holidays in Blumenau
I haven’t had a properly snowy Christmas in an age and a half. The last time I was in a part of the world where snow and Christmas coincided was in 2019 during my quiet, debt-escaping few months in Hohhot, China.
Since then, I’ve largely stayed close to warmer climates, consciously choosing to follow the flow of summer, as this is where COVID has shown itself weakest. Lockdowns have largely left me untouched in a world of contention and shutters.
Currently, I lounge in the southern hemisphere, darting from Ecuador, to Peru to the deep and strange lands of Brazil. It’s here, in Blumenau, where I settled in for work and Christmas.
The Entire Brazil
Brazil is one of those countries that does a commendable job at defying restrictions, definitions and expectations. The land is so vast that the diversity compounds with each passing mile.
The coastal regions, wild rains of the Amazon, large coastal deserts to the north, vast tracts of charred and chopped land robbed from the rainforest, multitude of European, African, Native and Japanese communities and somewhat fluid political reputation makes easy classification a vanishing proposition.
Super states, that is, countries too large to contain a single culture are generally hard to put into categories. China, despite a compelling narrative of being a monolith, holds dozens of cultures, a churn of ethnicities and unique foods and styles across it’s ancient boundaries. The United States is similar, with an even more diverse culture sphere which actively contends with itself.
Russia, despite stereotypes being powerfully entrenched on the world stage, also has a veritable smorgasbord of cultures across tundra, oceans, woods and wetlands. India boasts such a range of cultures and history that a simple accounting would take a full day. It would be fair to say that each of these nations (all notably region or global superpowers) can be considered five or six regional countries and cultures all smooshed together under a single federal banner, with undercurrents of sub-cultures interwoven throughout.
But then there’s Brazil.
Brazil is a solid ten or fifteen distinct cultures with European, indigionous (or the politically charged title, Amerindians), or African roots with strong Portuguese influences binding it all together. That’s to say nothing of the purist native tribes and uncontacted tribes secluded deep in the Amazonian Basin.
Currently, I’m in the most Germanic region of Brazil, the far south where the architecture is made from steep, slanted roofs and tiny, intricate windows and perfectly strong roads crossing the nation. The state of Santa Caterina is an exercise in stereotype dissonance, with prevailing northern European architecture appearing in strength alongside tropical mountains, deep, vined rivers, flowering blossoms and notoriously gorgeous tropical beaches.
Life in Blumenau
Blumenau is perhaps one of the stronger German-influence strongholds. It’s downtown area is famous for it’s Vila Germanica Park, which hosts many shops, pubs, beer gardens and buildings in the German style.
Famously a location for the city’s Oktoberfest, the village is a sight to behold nearing Christmas, as lights, decorations, fake snow, children’s rides, indoor ice skating and other features abound. At night, in the daily influx of tropical rain, there is little else so beautiful in town. Best of all is the German culinary points of pride, leading to excellent twisted pretzels decorated in odd combinations of spices and salts and heaping, somewhat heavy tubes of sausage.
Much of my time in Blumenau is spent working, but spare evenings lend themselves to long, safe walks through the streets when the oppressive heat of the day vanishes and rain falls straight down without a stirring breeze.
Blumenau is in a bowl of air and mountains, preventing strong winds, making it hot in the midst of the day. However, during rain the city lacks tossing gales makes an umbrella a virtually impenetrable shield.
My long walks almost always cut over the gorges and brownish rivers of the city, where drab fish drift lazily against the current and capybaras can sometimes be spotted, munching placidly on greenery while other wildlife (such as birds) crowds around in a state of absolute security. There’s no creature with eyes more Zen on this earth than the capybara.
The people in South Brazil consider themselves somewhat colder and more formal than many of their northern countrymen, but I’ve found them to be largely wonderful, considerate and helpful people.
One returned fifty Brazilian Real to me (which had fallen from my pocket without my notice) with a nice shoulder pat. Though English is basically non-existent here and locals have a ton of trouble dealing with illiterate foreigners, I’ve been granted a wealth of patience despite my struggles.
Better yet, I’m granted small shoulder pats, treats, tiny, friendly nods and smiling eyes with nearly every interaction, no matter how befuddling. The people in town are generally on the young side (since a university stands nearby) and the number of gyms and fitness centers and people jogging is somewhat impressive.
Attractions in Blumenau
Other than physical fitness facilities, Blumenau also hosts a fair number of decent food stops. The Best Acai is a great little dessert shop which specialized in a local gelato created from the famous acai berry. Balburdia Cervejeira has quickly dominated as my favorite stop for a pint. Pastelaria Carmen has absolutely spoiled me with legions of Christmas-themed pastries and dense chocolate-strawberry concoctions.
The small snack carts around Parque Ramiro Ruediger are a welcome sunset snack, even as people endlessly jog around the track looping the lake. Popcorn is suprisingly popular in Brazil and Neumarkt Shopping Mall serves a nice bundle at a couple of it’s restaurants. (It also had Spiderman No Way Home playing in English, giving me an extra couple of hours to lounge in the theater. Great film).
My only major regret in Blumenau is the sad, elderly decline of my faithful cell phone. The bastion and collection-facility for many of my point-and-shoot photos found on virtually all my previous blog posts, the device struggles more days than not. The camera app refuses to open most days. The battery degrades swiftly. The tiny chip on the corner of the screen has spiderwebbed over the last year. The charging point has degraded completely and now only a wireless charging platform breathes life into the device. As such, I’ve only managed to get photos when toting my actual camera around.
Balneario Camboriu
My days in Blumenau have passed somewhat quietly. I think I’m slightly rocked by the amount of travel I managed to cram into my month in Peru, and my body and mind want nothing so much as a bit of time to be a slug. And while I’ve made an honest, and somewhat decent attempt at this, I have managed to take a couple of small trips around the state.
On one such weekend, I went to the beach for a long-awaited chance at sea-breezes and sunshine. I took a bus to Balneario Camboriu to enjoy my weekend.
I should probably mention that while Brazil’s coastal infrastructure is notoriously solid, it’s bus system is an endless roll of time-dice. Buses arrive and depart at a somewhat random schedule, only loosely beholden to ticket times. I’ve boarded five minutes early and two hours late, on the proper bus first chance and I’ve been ushered onto the wrong vehicle twice. It’s best to get a bus with a route that starts at a departing station, as that will be the closest departure time to a ticket.
Regardless, I left Blumenau a week before Christmas to coast to the coast. Greenery rustled past and the sky remained vividly bright and clearly, a blue devoid of visual pollutants.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, the state of Santa Catarina is considered to be on the conservative side of Brazilian culture. But that being said, Brazil is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a conservative nation. Most of the humor leans towards blatant sexuality and Brazilians are pretty explicit when talking about their preferences.
The route from Blumenau to Balneario is a good example of this influence, since billboards and shops line the entire route. With very few exceptions, most of the ads feature scantily-clad women in lingerie, chiseled men in smoldering expressions or bright pink letters advertising sex shops.
There’s nothing shy about Brazil that’s I’ve seen.
A Bustling Shore
Regardless, I arrived in Balneario Camboriu and ducked across the street to see the impressive mall located there, borrowing Wi-Fi to get to my hotel. Unfortunately, my booking was canceled by a booking error. Fortunately, however, my hotel still had a room available and I just paid the hotel the same amount directly. It works admirably for the hotel since they didn’t have to pay a percent to the booking company and it works perfectly for me since the overall price didn’t change.
Win, win, win.
Delighted with my short victory, I started wandering the city. Balneario is an immense city in one direction: up. Clustered near the coast, the buildings are all in condo-styles, great, pale and narrow towers pricking the sky. So many towers have views of the ocean, the entire lodging situation is basically a continuous sunrise viewing platform.
Though I have a lot against the supercity, blocky apartment style that dominates so many modern cities, Balneario does it well. The buildings look somehow bright, clean and elegant against the sky and the streets are clean and supremely easy to navigate.
Balneario has a lot of tourist features to offer. Christo Luz sits atop a tall hill, bathed in colored light at night with it’s arms spread wide to emulate Rio’s Christ the Redeemer.
Along the southern bay, Barco Pirata takes dance parties onto the open water. These boats, replicas of pirate ships with masts, are amusing to behold. The main deck area is actually a fully utilized dance platform. The sails are always tied up and modern motors propel the vessel forward, making it look like a green-screen pirate party.
Praia Central (the Central Beach) defines the beach culture of the city. Hoards of people dip into the surf or scamper along the sand, which is a slightly glowing yellow and brown in direct sunlight. Bikinis with short jean bottoms are main choice for female attire, and exceptionally muscled men take any excuse within thirty feet of the beach to peel off their shirts.
Volleyball nets are set up everywhere and deep, fence-ringed pits are set alongside the roadside for bocce ball. Bike lanes are wild places, painted bright red where kids have trikes, and adults break out skates, skateboards and scooters. Street corn is a popular beachside food and stalls are generally swarmed with people. No part of the beach is empty, but the further south I walked, the more the crowd thinned.
Praia de Taquarinhas, located across the river and on the opposite side of a mountain was much more peaceful, but cluttered with rounded boulders that made it a bit more daunting to swim during intense tides. Molhe da Barra Sul also stood to the west part of Central Beach, a thin cement penninsula decorated in a grand line of red Christmas lights against a turbulent dark blue sea and white, reflecting sun.
Actual sailing ships and a few cruise ships often stood out around the bay, with the large Ferris wheel, Roda Gigante de Balneario Camboriu dominating the northern loop. Paragliders dipped in and out of the sky, often trailing behind speedboats in the north.
A Day Almost Relaxing
Most of my spare time was spent reading in cafes or lounging at the beach, but few eateries stood out aside from Art 2.0 Café Bistro, which was a truly excellent coffee, food and dessert experience, complete with a totally multilingual staff.
Wherever I walked in Balneario, there was always a cloud wall on the horizon. Rain arrived and left without much fuss but always in an impressive downpour. Early morning sunrises and sunsets were the best times in the city, either softly lighting the rising sea or back-glowing the many buildings which split up clear-lined sunrays.
I finally returned to Blumenau after a brief weekend, joining my friend’s family for Christmas day. My weekend became a mess of bewildering Portuguese, lots of strange card games with opaque rules and mounds of food, culminating in Panettone (a sort of chocolate and gummy fruit cake). I spent the day after Christmas in a personal coma, where neither storm nor work nor bus rides back to my apartment woke me.
2021 Reflections
New Years is a mere few days away. I now lounge inside that strange time where one year has clearly ended by a new one hasn’t quite ushered in. My mind is flaky during these hours, goals slide away and I await for 2022 with a sort of placid resignation.
This year has been long and strange. I’ve lived through hurricane season and the subsequent sandy paradise in Yucatan, Mexico. I dived along the Mesoamerican reef, flung myself into timeless cenotes and saw the last of the Mayan ruins now claimed by skittering iguanas.
Returning to the states brought me through Texas and into the deep west, where I crossed the edge of the Grand Canyon, tumbled down gritty White Sands in high winds and slept in places of nowhere.
An extensive road trip traced up the rocky mountains with two of my oldest and staunchest friends from University, getting blasted by the sounds and colors of Meow Wolf, struggling up the largest sand dunes of the United States, wandering through devesting snow, ice and rain further north, following the immense herds of buffalo around and through Yellowstone, blinking at the precarious cliff dwellings of the ancient Pueblo peoples in Mesa Verde, dancing along the ridges of Arches National Park and sprinting along the vast salt fields in Utah.
Another road trip brought me up the East coast, visiting poetry in New Orleans, the great swamps of the Everglades, family in Virginia and the Carolinas and into DC and NYC.
It was only halfway through the year where I entered Costa Rica and stalked through thickets and mist in the cloud forests and dipped into a neon blue river near La Fortuna. I found scattered and lost lazy days on the coast near Uvita before overnighting in Guatemala and joining two more friends for a cave, sky, bay and island experience in Belize.
The bulk of my latter year was embedded in Ecuador, where I learned enough Spanish to manage, doing stunts in Banos, climbing the last highlands of the Andes and rolling gaming dice with friends in Cuenca.
The year was nearly closed with a month in Peru, tracing the Nazca Lines, crossing the rainless portions of that world and into the Incan strongholds of Cusco and the floating islands of Puno. My final month of the years was lodged in Brazil, collecting myself.
Mexico, United States, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Belize, Panama, Ecuador, Peru and now, Brazil
Cancun, Playa Del Carmen, Tulum, Siam Ka’an, Dallas, White Sands, Phoenix, the Grand Canyon, Santa Fe, Taos, Alamosa, Great Dunes, Casper, Wind River Reserve, Yellowstone, Bozeman, Salt Lake City, Bonneville Salt Flats, Arches National Park, Mesa Verde, Albuquerque, New Orleans, Fairhope, the Everglades, Raleigh, Lynchburg, Staunton, Richmond, Washington DC, Baltimore, New York City, Mattoon, St. Louis, Scarborough, Myrtle Beach, San Jose, Zarcero, Cartago, Monteverde, Bajos del Toro, La Fortuna, Volcan Tenorio, Quepos, Uvita, Guatemala, San Ignacio, Belize City, Ambergris Caye, Panama City, Guayaquil, Cuenca, Cajas National Park, Banos Canton, San Gerardo, Busa, Ingapirca, Puyo, Loja, Quito, Lima, Ica, Huacachina, Paracas, Nazca, Cusco, Puno, Arequipa, Sao Paulo, Balneario Camboriu and now, Blumenau.
2021 by location. City to city, country to country. Month to month, year to year. Somehow, one year. At what point does life become so active that the memories of it feel like a stranger’s experience?
Last Notes of 2021
It seems beyond my memories to completely encompass the activity of a single year. I’m grateful for these writings. They provide windows into my own mind that would dust over, mar and close without a record.
As I mentioned earlier, I’m fond of the few days between Christmas and New Year. For me, they always feel fluid, oddly disconnected. Too late to wrap the year, too festive to get a task started or finished, too pregnant with potential for the next age and too heavy with events for the past one.
Time for me has always felt stretched. My mind doesn’t register hours or moments well or easily. Instead, it’s landmarks are events and places. Mexico feels like two years ago. Yellowstone, half an age. I look at the month and feel shock that a year is nearly spent. But when I retrace it, I feel awe that it happened with such a slew of advents.
I feel so old with memories. I feel as though I’m cheating time and winning. For now.
I’m leaving Blumenau soon. Partially to visit another part of Brazil and partially to go celebrate the incoming New Year on the coast with friends, beaches and fireworks.
So until I’m somehow older,
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written December 29th, 2021
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Ten years ago, I abandoned my military surplus store backpack for a Farpoint 40 Osprey Travel Pack. I’ve never replaced my bag since. Two years ago, I bought two more Osprey Backpacks for my younger siblings on their first tour outside the country. I have nothing but praise for Osprey Products.
