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.

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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).

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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.

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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.
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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.

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

LISBON

The first strange feeling I had in Lisbon was its familiarity. None of the European cities I had been before, and none of the cities I visited afterwards, was as familiar for a Brazilian as Lisbon.

The avenues with a garden line in the middle, the smell of the ocean… Forget the pigeons, seagulls rein here. They are so important that the Portuguese sing about them in their ‘fados’, and they even say they are seagulls themselves.

The language, however, is strange and familiar at the same time. Sometimes, it makes you sigh, sometimes it makes you laugh.

The city is steep, very steep. You are either going up or down. Flat surface only by river Tejo or the Atlantic. In Lisbon I saw “staircase-sidewalks” for the first time. If you get too tired, take the cable cars… Anywhere.

Tiles, townhouses, the green grass. Art is everywhere. But the most surprising: poems at every step. Fernando Pessoa would be so proud… And on we go: a sigh for every step.

Praça do Comércio has a path towards the sea, and Saint George’s Castle does not belong to the saint, it belongs to the cats, so many cats… The saints, by the way, are plenty. But the humbleness at the Sé Church must be the one that makes them more content.

Fado Vadio is one of those things that hook you since the first try. And watch your heart, Portuguese know how to be melancholic, which is good for art, and has always been. As a matter of fact, I always enjoyed self-derogatory people, the ones who can laugh at themselves. Being able to laugh at oneself is, by itself, an art. Yet, take the warnings seriously, even if they are too obvious, or too hilarious.

There is nothing like something sweet to heal a broken heart, and do they know how to make sweet things! There are the obvious pastries, the one you must fall in love with, but there are also the unimaginable, non-traditional, which can even heal old traumas.

In case the sweets can't manage to heal your broken heart, try the wine.
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For the Portuguese version, go to Meu Diário Lírico de Viagem

AMSTERDAM

The wind seems perpetual, and as usual, I’ve picked the best time of the year to visit: cold and rainy.

I like rain, but for touristic purposes in hasty journeys it’s not as pleasant as it is with tea on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon.

High expectations in the suitcase… I should have known better. Expectations are highly priced these days.

The canals are a near-endless maze and are content to confuse and disturb you.

Never mind, after all there are women for sale in tacky shop windows and handily narcotics on the way.

Flat countries are always good for walking and for having the horizon as a clear destination.

It always puzzled me how some countries, even rich or bearing glorious pasts, weren’t able to develop their own original, and complex cuisine. It is as if thousands of years weren’t enough to measure your culture up to the kitchen. Not a total fiasco, though. However, it is always reassuring to know that there is an Italian Restaurant just around the corner.

There is no shame in living by the glories of dead artists if you do it gracefully.

And we must always give merit stars to a place which has a museum with real cats in it.