WHY DO WE TRAVEL?

From time to time, I feel like my body, my brain, my moral were asking me to wander.

About four times a year my limbic system screams for never-ending roads, unexpected glances, unintentional beauties, intimate strangers.

Why do we travel?

The bug bites you, or the addictions starts in the first long trip, in the first path taken with your own feet, in the first personal and unique decision you make between turning left or right, in a foreign country, in a street whose name you cannot pronounce.

But what really triggers the addiction are the epiphanies. The constant, multiple epiphanies about the human condition.

To glimpse at the lack of importance of the everyday matters which corrode us, such as professional success, material purchases, personal image… When we travel, all those things lose their very sense of existence, they lose their importance, they lose the capacity to burn us up. The question about if they really mattered one day makes us restless, and then soothes us… No, they never really mattered.

Another epiphany is the notion of your own culture in a way you never experienced before. The conscious and reflection on your own culture is much more intense when you compare it to others. It is outside Brazil that I feel, irreversibly, Brazilian.

But the most important epiphany there is, the one that makes me spend all my money and free time in a way my family disapproves of is the realization of my own smallness.

Traveling, learning new languages, knowing new cultures, meeting new people and the way they face life, death, troubles, that’s what makes us feel so small.

I feel truly useless and unnecessary in the world when I travel the world. I understand that the world functions without me and, at times, better without me. I remember Fernando Pessoa saying “The reality does not need me”… In fact, it doesn't.

I see people so much more content than me, or not. More artistic than me, or not. So much more human than me, or not…

I feel unimportant. It reminds me that I will never do anything truly timeless, I will never be able to change the Earth’s rotating shaft, because the world is infinitely bigger than me, more important than me… And that is liberating!

The peace that comes from having no pretensions, of not claiming anything, and still having the privilege of wandering this Earth and witnessing its crudity, its beauty, its imperfection… That is why I travel.

RIO DE JANEIRO

Landing at Santos Dumont Airport is an adventure, but also a delight. Be it for the fear or for the beauty, there will be shivers down the spine. To see, from up there, such unique geography promised by the television is memorable.

Seeing how such natural beauty walks side by side with such urban occupation is impressive. More impressive still, is observing the banality with which cariocas treat such beauty.

We, outsiders, think that there can’t possibly be sadness in a place like this, that a long face would be a true sin when you look outside the window and see the Sugar Loaf. However, cariocas allow themselves long faces and bad moods, especially if they need to serve others. Cariocas were not born to serve, not a piece of bread, not even lobster.

Nature is, without a doubt, the city’s protagonist, but the carioca also thinks s/he is worthy of an Oscar. The mountains are astonishing, and they are always there, like a frame, being the beach the center of the masterpiece. There will always be someone exercising by the shore in this artistic performance which is the carioca and his/her landscape.

The beaches have their own personality. Every attitude of the tide, of the sand, of the breeze, brings a different type of visitor. However, every local knows where their friends meet. And they meet there every day. “Weekday” is just a term, right?

A boteco, cold beer or a caipirinha make every bohemian happy. Add something deep fried to that mixture and you get a tourist who doesn’t want the night to end.

The sun sets on the mountain this time, not on the ocean. Earth’s rotational dance makes every sunset unique. The lights of the houses at the favela turn up and shed a light on Ipanema. Or is it Ipanema that sheds a light on the favela?

Rio is like a Bossa Nova song: a careless joy, because it is really unnecessary to complicate life.

EGUISHEIM

Eguisheim ended up in my travel guide in the best way: an article on the Internet classified it as France’s most beautiful town and chosen by French people themselves as their favorite town. And this all happened weeks before our trip: what a happy coincidence.

However, arriving in Eguisheim exactly on their Annual Winegrowers Festival (Fête Des Vignerons d'Eguisheim) without any previous planning: that is, in fact, a happy coincidence.

On the way from the parking lot to the town center, I noticed something that made me smile on the inside: every street was named after a type of grape.

Passing by the local houses, we observed that nearly all of them had a vineyard on their backyard. And I kept wondering how it must be to live there. You make good wine, so does your neighbor. Having friends over for dinner must be memorable!

Downtown we could watch the whole parade which kicks off the festival. Marching bands played, and everybody wore ancient costumes. Bottle corks were thrown on the crowd and white wine, their specialty, was served freely to anyone with a glass on their hand. Was that paradise? Certainly, yes.

Right in the middle of the town there was a small church and, on top of the church, a stork in its nest. I had never seen a stork before, and it was huge! So, I realized the legend about storks bringing babies had traveled hundreds of years and thousands of kilometers to reach that little Gaucho girl in the mountains of southern Brazil. How could a culture so different from mine had, somehow, make part of me?

Going up the mountain we saw bigger vineyards and we stopped to taste some of the grapes. Every grape with a different color had a smell and a taste which was completely unique. On top f the mountain, there were the ruins of three castles. And from up there, a surreal view of the vineyards which draw on the ground designs in shades of green.

Even today, months later, I still make mental calculations of what it takes to quit my life here and go live in Eguisheim. That is always followed by a sigh.

...

Photos by Meiry Peruchi

For the Portuguese version, please go to Meu Diario Lirico de Viagem

COLMAR

On a journey that had already embraced beautiful cities such as Paris, Reims and Strasbourg, I certainly did not hope to be blown away the way I was in Colmar and Eguisheim. But let’s leave Eguisheim for the next round.

I already considered myself a connoisseur of Germany and German culture, and in that trip I had just become acquainted with the French bon vivant way of life. Parisians certainly know how to wander the streets or read newspapers in the park as if they are meant to be part of the scenery. As if you were meant to photograph them… Or envy them.

Germans, on the other hand, besides knowing how to make beer, are also very fond of punctuality, and why not say they are actually proud of their bureaucratic, yet efficient routine.

By the time in my life I had discovered the previous two pieces of information, and had enough time to certify and digest them, I arrived in Colmar. As if dreaming about living in, at least, three other countries I had visited before hadn’t ruined my brain enough…

Colmar is so well-kept, so well decorated with flowers, has such intact half-timbered buildings and clean streets that it looks like it is part of a fairy-tale story, just like the Brothers Grimm’s style. But at the same time, the sensation that you are still in France is undeniable: gourmet food, amazing white wine, the “waiter ritual”…

It was a Sunday, when most of stores and restaurants close, but I had the joy of witnessing the preparation and tasting the best Brezel I had ever tried in my life, completely changing my opinion about that dry weirdly-shaped bread.

The canals, the lanterns in the houses and on the streets, climbers giving the buildings even a more rustic air, the typical shutters, the competition of which city has more flowers… That makes the place look unreal, as if the traveler were immersed in a dream that seemed too real to believe.

That piece of land where the German organization meets the French self-indulgence: true perfection! Certainly “the best of all possible worlds” (Voltaire).

...

Photos by Meiry Peruchi

For the Portuguese version, please visit Meu Diario Lirico de Viagem

Confessions of a Compulsive Traveler

My backpack sits beside me

and an endless feeling of not belonging

seems to surround both of us.

Waiting is not an art,

Bishop would have agreed.

And we wait on,

for vacations which look so far away,

for bonuses that will enable those trips,

for bosses’ benevolence,

for good weather, soft bed, comfort food.

The gaps in-between

do not contain life on its fullest.

They are just a sort of limbo

separating you and what may come.

I observe the passers-by.

They look like they have everything covered:

A destination

and strength to get there.

...

For the Portuguese version, go to Meu Diário Lírico de Viagem

DRESDEN

Germany is, for me, a long time love. One of those solid loves built in time and observation. It was hard to choose a German city to start with, and possibly I am making some injustice, but I am going to try… Let me tell you right now that this is a longer text than usual, but please understand that Germany is my home away from home.

I would visit every city I have been to again, be it for the sense of longing, be it to change the perspective. Dresden is the first city I mention here that I, indeed, visited more than once.

In Dresden I saw European snow for the first time. It was very different from the “gaucho” snow from my childhood. And after witnessing that snowflakes, in fact, have each a unique shape-as people do-, I put my tongue out and tried to catch some flakes.

Dresden has suffered a lot: wars, bombing, genocide… However, it has been beautifully restored and it does not resemble its cruel past. Dresden is located in the area known as East Germany, which was socialist. Yet, it does not look like most of East German cities. Dresden holds all of the great historical European cities’ characteristics: Baroque cathedrals, ancient buildings, monuments…

Dresden is so organized that it looks like a small town, and not the big city that it is. Clean streets and punctual transportation are things Germans know too well.

German food is plentiful and pleases, mostly, the carnivore types. Few people on the planet know how to prepare pork as Germans do. Throughout Germany, you will eat well, and a lot, paying very little. Each meal is a delight for the tired tourist, a caress for the homesick heart.

German beer is like music: hundreds of different types so that everybody can have their favorite. Forget your Brazilian experience with beer: they are so good you will not even notice they are not extremely cold. And just as the French have their eccentricities with their wine, Germans also have them. Leave your compunction at home! Pilsen beer with Sprite is called Radler, and it is great for a hot summer day. Weiss beer with banana juice is much better than it sounds!

Speaking of compunction, do not get shocked knowing that it is very common to hit the sauna naked in East Germany.
...
For the Portuguese version, please visit Meu Diario Lirico de Viagem

PARIS

I arrived in Paris without any expectations: I had already learned not to take expectations in my vacations, they are way too heavy.

The monuments are countless; however, do not fool yourself thinking they are as close as they seem. They are so impressive that they seem to be 10 meters away, when they are actually 5 kilometers away. But none of them will be empty, or urine free.

Watch out for the cars, and your ears. French people seem to search for the horn even before searching for the seat belt. The noises are plenty, voices, laughter, silverware clinking.

The food is a revelation. And it’s not even necessary to look for it, it is possible to find good food nearly everywhere, even in less attractive places. Stick to restaurants with a small shop attached, as odd as this may seem.

If the food is a temptation, the wines are what it takes to your complete downfall. Ice cubes in rosé glasses? Never mind, I did not dare to ask. I think that the people who make the best rosé (and white!) wines in the world can have their share of eccentricity.

Yet nothing compares, and will ever compare to that feeling of a lump in your throat when you see that piece of art you have been admiring since you were a child right in front of you. Be it Rodin, in a kiss, or be it Monet, in a lake.

The Tower? Yes, she is beautiful, but not as omnipresent as one may think. Either way, it is reassuring to see her lit up between the buildings when you turn the corner. It is good to know she is there.

...

For the Portuguese version, go to Meu Diário Lírico de Viagem