In Brazil you would say, ‘Universo Paralello’ In Brazil you would say, ‘UNIVERSO PARALELLO’ 1 Bryce W James Copyright C Intellectual Property Rights Bryce James Wilson 2011 The right of Bryce James Wilson to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998 2 In Brazil you would say, ‘Universo Paralello’ Special thanks To all those who contributed to and supported me throughout the long process of piecing together the jigsaw of my memory. Taught me grammar and offered useful constructive criticism. The Author’s whose style, word’s and scope of imagination provided me with the insight required to put together a book like this. The Beautiful Justyna Shahna Carina Roberto And of course my Brazilian Princesses, Ana Carolina and the ever smiling Melissa. And finally all those who I mention in this tale, allowing me freedom of prose where required and an acute accuracy where able. 3 Bryce W James Part 1 When Cultures Converge 4 In Brazil you would say, ‘Universo Paralello’ A PARALLEL UNIVERSE We hit the tarmac with the usual unnerving bounce, screech of tyres and rapid deceleration that pulls you tightly against the seat belt. The sense of adventure and now limitless possibilities ahead of me seemed daunting, but I left that shit at the door and stepped outside into that hot muggy soup of a day. Check out was simple enough as we hadn’t crossed any borders. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulders, passed the official looking people and made my way out the airport into the shimmering heat on that beautiful sunny Brazilian morning. Typical! I’d just missed the bus! What was this, fuckin London?! There was a young couple waiting for the next coach, which as it happened turned out to be over an hour away. Fuck that. ‘Do you wanna’ share a cab?’ I asked. Did they fuck, I shoulda’ known from the dreadlocks and the Thai fishing pants, that it would be easier getting water up a frog’s asshole than a hippy to part with his cash. Oh well, I’d pay for a taxi on my own and fuck them. I had over three thousand pounds to spend during the next six weeks here in Brazil, so what the fuck did it matter. Just over the road from the bus stop I hailed an old creamy coloured cab, a Ford Mondeo I think, and left my hippy friends on the side of the road. Enjoy ya bus ride dudes, when it finally gets there. Fuck that, I’ve never really been able to be one of these travellers that lives on ten dollars US a day. Trust me I’ve tried, but I s’pose I get caught up in the moment and the experience, and any idea that I have of a budget seems to just fly out the window. Hey last time I managed to spend five hundred pounds a week on Koh Tao island in the gulf of Thailand whilst trying to live on thirty pounds a day, but that’s for a different story. There are two sides of Salvador Bahia, the massive beach side which is referred to as ‘Down town’ due to the fact that it’s in the valley, or the Districto Historico up on the hill. I never made it to the beach. In fact, I left Salvador the next morning, my tail between my legs, strung out, fucked up and one hell of an experience later. I’d searched all through the internet for a guesthouse – or Pousada as you would – off the main beat. One more likely to have a bit of distance from the everyday happy go lucky travellers and clean cut students on a gap year. I had other motives for being in Brazil; I was looking for a place more likely to have smokers, drinkers, movers and shakers. I guess you could say, I prefer my guesthouses to be a little less well to do and tidy. And after hours of trawling websites and forums I came across a guesthouse that seemed me all over. It was called ‘The Nega Maluca’ – The Crazy Black Lady. There was a little controversy over the name as some people on the forums claimed it to be racist. The Israeli owners had strongly denied this, and had put through a decent argument explaining that racism was the last thing on their agenda. Otherwise why would they have decided to build a Pousada in that mainly black state of Brazil? Besides hey, they had a fun website and I’m all for a bit of controversy. I thought, like in South East Asia, I’d walk through the door and find hippies lazing about the place smoking weed, and fingers crossed, being South America, a supply of the highest quality Cocaine around, hopefully, on tap, fingers and toes crossed. 5 Bryce W James If you stick with me you’ll find out that good things never come easy. But hey, such is life, as with that Pousada you can't always judge a book by the cover. So after two nights in Sao Paulo and not having the free access to drugs that I presumed would be everywhere – apart from of course, the two grams I had scored at the Jazz bar and the joint Melissa and Ana Carolina had sweet talked outta’ the two guys at the skate shop – I’d landed in Salvador Bahia full of promise and expectant hope. Like I said; it was a fabulous Brazilian morning, and I’d left the blight of the English winter behind – it was actually snowing when I got on my plane from Heathrow. Just like in Bangkok I’d had to leave my jacket and everything in Sao Paulo. Those of us who’ve travelled on their own to a foreign land know the feeling of anticipation, excitement, fear and doubt that swirl through your stomach when you first touchdown. It's all wrapped up in a ball that seems to nestle itself deep inside, sending tremors of warning through your body. What if something goes wrong, who's gonna’ be there to help, or even to know if something’s gone wrong? All these thoughts rush through your mind but you can’t let it stop you; you can’t not have this adventure. People always have a reason or excuse to not go. I just choose to block out the reasons and ignore the excuses. On my own I haven't got someone to rely on, to reassure my doubts, to talk me out of doing something stupid. On my own, I can put myself into situations where I don't have to worry about another’s actions getting us deeper into the shit that I sometimes find myself in. When a situation is starting to go noticeably wrong and it’s time to quit and bail, it's only my own mouth I’ve gotta’ contend with, my own actions. When to rely on that sense to – how did Kenny Rogers put it? ‘Know when to walk away, know when to run.’ It was on my drive into old town Salvador Bahia when I got my first taste of the real Brazil. Less the side they put in the adverts and more the side they put in movies like City of God or Carindiru. Carindiru is a film set in Carindiru prison Sao Paulo. It’s based on the tales told to the doctor of the prison at the time, by about ten different prisoners. It’s a heart breaking story and if you want to get a better understanding of the lies and corruption in the Brazilian politics of the day, there can be no better reference. As we were heading down the long motorway towards Salvador we slowly passed in to more built up areas; houses were made of orange-red brick and cement. None were plastered or painted, just the bricks and cement stacked on top of each other with a corrugated grey asbestos roof. This seemed to be the style of dwelling that I saw the majority of Brazilians living in, and as we got closer to the city it was on an ever growing scale. The houses became as stacked upon each other as the bricks themselves were. We pulled into a gas station, the worn out suspension jarred us as we lurched over the small curb onto the forecourt. The driver got out to pay for the gas before filling the car, something that is generally only required at night in New Zealand. I was trying to take in what was around me. We were under an overpass bridge, with what looked like a shopping mall on the other side of the road. Although I didn’t recognise any of the shops names, I guess the style of advertising is recognisable anywhere in the world. A billboard visible from the motorway, a guy with his 6 In Brazil you would say, ‘Universo Paralello’ welcoming smile, and a thumbs-up. I imagined the slogan read something along the lines of ‘Trust me’ and ‘Spend your money here,’ same thing different country. I was sitting there on the old torn brown leather front seat smoking a cigarette with shades on and window down. The warm breeze blew on my face while the cabbie filled up the tank; I noticed a black armoured security van pull in behind us. It had a thick wire mesh grille over the windscreen.