Brazil! Changing planes in Sao Paulo. Heading down to Curitiba. And . . . tah-dah: Everyone is Brazilian. Or at least I assume they are. That face looks vaguely Iberian. That women is an African mix with something. This kiosk offers up something I can’t quite discern, I just get the ethnic assignation: The Nutty Bavarian. This airport has more Nutty Bavarian’s than a U.S. airport does Starbucks. What the hell do they serve at The Nutty Bavarian?
My client suggests I head straight to the office, when I land in Curitiba. Uber works. That’s good. I assume I can trust my man and relax in the back, nervously working my China Mobile, mobile data. Suburban landscape that reminds me of San Jose, Costa Rica or Playa Del Carmen in Mexico. I’m reading in my Lonely Planet miraculously procured in O’Hare airport that this town was a model of urban planning in the seventies when the mayor of the time, Jamie Lerner undertook to overhaul the city.
Thirty hours of travel en route can’t but take its toll. I stand behind my chair in the meeting and labor to remain awake. More coffee? Yes please. And indeed, another, yes. But dinner? It’s a twenty minute ride then back to the Four Points Sheraton in Curitiba. That’s a nineteen minute power nap for me. I hope I didn’t snore as submitted to oblivion's pull.
I show my host one or two of the restaurants the Lonely Planet recommends and one is close to the hotel where we rendezvous and head out from to this lovely Italian restaurant. The woman sitting behind me is vaguely Asian, vaguely Amerindian, clearly distracting. The food is splendid and we enjoy wine from Argentina and a conversation that helps me to anchor precisely where I am in the midst of this enormous continental country. I am so glad to be here.
Tuesday 3/19/19
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