The Muddy-Pants Diaries

21 June 2005 (Tuesday) – Paraty to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

The streets of Paraty are strikingly lined with huge round stones that are tricky to walk on properly without looking. Yesterday, my thoughts had been – “Oh dear, I can’t really appreciate the architecture or look at the souvenirs hanging outside the tourist shops coz I have to pay attention on what I am stepping on, lest I twist an ankle or two.”

Today, after talking to José Efigênio about ‘The Way of the Gold’ last night, my thoughts on the same stones were somewhat different – “These are the stones laid down by the slaves…” and I appreciated them better.

Funnily, when I paid Aecio another visit at his studio, he brought up the same topic of ‘gold’ as well, and said, “Whenever I walk the streets of the centro historico of Paraty, I RESPECT the stones… they are built by blood and sweat of the slaves. Many, many, many slaves died because of them.” I raised my eyebrows at the coincidence.

He later related a story of the ghosts of Paraty. A friend of his had repeatedly dreamt of a slave telling her about a hidden treasure. For a while, she ignored the dream, but the dream kept recurring. Finally, she roped in a friend and they drove up to the mountains and hiked to the said place of the treasure… and FOUND the treasure!!” Thereafter, she was no longer disturbed by the dream anymore, and of course, she was also rather well-off by then. Amazing!

Then, Aecio went on to tell me how he came to Paraty. He is from a town up north. He had always wanted to move to Paraty, it was like a dream, although at that time, he had never been to Paraty before. Whenever he made plans to move, he would encounter some ‘road-blocks’ and he would postpone his plans.

Then, one evening, he was brutally attacked by someone with a knife. I would not go into the details, but basically, he remembered that he saw something very white, very bright, so bright it was blue… he felt so light, so clear, so happy, so free… and he did not feel much pain and was ready to let go… Then, he heard one cry from his friend nearby, telling him not to die… so somehow, he mustered his last remaining strength and pinned the attacker down.

He had been knifed 9 times, deep mortal wounds, all the while protecting his paintings. The hospital crew rushed to sew him up and somehow, he pulled through the ordeal.

Later, while still bandaged up, he took a bus straight to Paraty. Within 24 hours of arrival, he had arranged his art exhibition. That was 6-7 months ago, in November 2004.

When he finished with his story, I was in tears. I was very, very moved by his strength, his dream. And now, he is like the most cheery person in the world! He advised me that one should live one’s dream before it is too late. He was given a second chance in life, and that made him get rid of his ‘road-blocks’ and live his dream! And now, he is truly a very happy man!!

I was also very spooked by his description of the white light.

In 1999, when I was robbed in Peru, the guy had grabbed my neck with his arm and knocked me unconscious. For a while, what I saw was a beautiful white light, so so so bright… I felt like I was flying, spinning, floating… and I felt tremendously happy, problem-free and very, very light. It was a feeling that was utterly indescribable and it felt WONDERFUL!!

Then, I saw something blue spinning around, before a square of the sky came to a stop. I had regained consciousness. At the first instant when I got up, I still felt really happy and light. Then, slowly, the memory of being robbed came rushing back and soon, I was in tears.

I only recalled this ‘white light’ experience some time later, but I didn’t talk about it until a few years later. When I did, my friends asked, “Did you die and come back?” I don’t know. How would I know? I didn’t have anyone to share or check this experience with.

And now… Aecio described the SAME experience that he had. OK, I was not knifed 9 times. But, what I mean is… my heart nearly popped out when I heard his description of the ‘white light’, something that I had experienced myself, and which I had not been able to share with anyone.

I was utterly speechless when he finished his story. I think I must have looked like a fool. I was choked for words, and finally, I managed to tell him I had experienced something similar before. He was surprised by it, and winked at me, “You don’t cheat death. Death cheats you… you know, it is so easy to let go… so beautiful, so free… but we fought to come back.” I thanked him for everything, everything, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g… and said I would come back later to say ‘good-bye’. I walked away, almost like in a dream.

Anyway, that aside… I spent the rest of the morning popping into art galleries. I really loved many of the displays, like mirrors or wall-hangings, etc… spectacular… but they cost like R200 to R1800 for the pieces that I fancied. If I buy them, I guess all I need now would be an apartment to go with them.

I wandered up to the fort of Paraty, which was not very interesting but on the way down, I spotted some bamboos. I stopped to admire them and took some photos. The photos did not look very nice, but still, I just felt that I wanted to keep them.

At 2pm, I returned to Aecio’s studio to say ‘good-bye’ but he was not around. I hung around, chatting with his assistants in portuñol (portuguez + español) and finally, with no sign of him still… I left.

Exiting from Rua da Lapa, I heard my name. Spinning around, I spotted my other amigo, José Efigênio, waving. I hurried over to check on what he had been up to. He had not started painting yet, as he was still waiting for someone to fix up the canvas to a frame. I mentioned that Aecio wanted to meet him, and showed him where Aecio’s studio was located. The area around his studio was flooded as it was right near the sea and it had been raining the whole of last night and today.

I took out my camera to show José Efigênio the flooded streets. He then scanned through my photos and stopped at the shots of the bamboo. “¿Te gusta bamboo?” (You like bamboo?), he queried. Odd question and I fumbled for an answer. He said, bamboo changed the DNA of men who then became the Chinese. What? I bet your pardon? He went on to clarify, eons ago, after men left the African continent, some dudes went to Europe and others to Asia. Asia was full of bamboos and those guys who headed East ate the bamboos. As a result, bamboos altered the DNA of these guys and hence, the Chinese race was born. He was serious, so I guess this was not a joke. “Tienes bamboo en tu alma… por eso, sacaste las fotos del bamboo…” (You have bamboo in your soul… that’s why, you took the photos of bamboo.)

I was once again speechless. I marvelled at these thoughts and experiences of mine that appear almost random but yet somehow all connected in the end by these chance (or are they chance?) remarks by these two men. Wow, bamboo in my soul… I like it!

20 June 2005 (Monday) – Rio de Janeiro to Paraty, Brazil

I had found out the bus schedules to Paraty earlier – 4am, 6am, 9am, 12+pm, etc… Who in the world heads out anywhere at 4am or 6am?? I would aim for 9am. That meant waking up at 7am! If I miss it, then, I would just sit in the rodoviaria and stone for 3+ hours.

I made it, with 10 mins to spare. Yeah.

At a coffee-break stop, a Brazilian guy started chatting with me. His name is Marcelo. On learning that I am a Chinese, he decided to practise a few words in Chinese with me. What is going on here in South America? I just keep meeting people who are learning Chinese! I mean, it is great to realise that they are interested in the language and the culture. I just felt so surprised. His pronunciation was not that bad either, considering he studied by himself with books. I take my hat off to him.

I had hoped to stay in a nice little pousada upon arrival at Paraty but the price for pousadas was a lot higher than the hostel. OK, the musty-smelled hostel won.

With a light drizzle pattering away, I started my exploration of the Centro Historico (Historical Centre) of Paraty. No, wait… first, I had to eat something. I passed by a lanchonete and *groan* ordered a burger.

Lanchonetes are small snack bars, selling burgers, pastries and drinks. Their menus always have X-something, like X-egg, X-bacon, X-salada, X-tudo (everything). In my last trip here, I never understood what ‘X’ truly meant. Now, I know. In Portuguese, they pronounce ‘X’ as ‘shees’, which sounds like ‘cheese’. So, X-burger is cheese-burger. Actually, ‘shees’ sounds like ‘grease’ as well. Not surprisingly, my burger was dripping with grease. Gross.

The first few stores I popped into were all touristy little shops, selling touristy things like T-shirts declaring ‘Paraty’, or little souvenirs like wooden fish, ship-in-a-bottle, sea-shell whatever and other maritime or nautical items to remind you of the pretty sea-side port-town of Paraty. There were many hammocks and knitted throws for the couch as well.

I was getting bored by the 8th souvenir shop which sold the same things, when I started to stumble upon a couple of art galleries. Really interesting art galleries at that, some with amazingly creative and witty pieces of art. I was mighty impressed. I think Paraty might be a little town of artists.

At one point, I felt my pocket and realised I had dropped my map of Paraty. At first, I thought, oh forget it… I am not going to get lost in Paraty, it is so small and compact. Then, I felt bad having dropped a piece of litter here in Paraty, a protected historical site at that. So, I retraced my steps to look for the map. I walked back 3 blocks and spotted nothing. I nearly gave up, but then, I caught sight of something way ahead and went to pick it up. Yeah, my map.

Now, I walked back the same route and this time, I popped my head into an artist’s studio. I was captivated by the colours on the wall. The jolly-looking artist invited me in. Later, he asked me something in Portuguese, before trying English on me. We then got to chatting.

His name is Aecio Sarti. He is such a great, happy guy! And my goodness, his works are truly original and absolutely stunning. My eyes were popping out as I stood around, admiring his colourful creations. I mean, there are some works of art that are really pretty, but others just stop you dead in the tracks and even others that speak to you. Aecio’s works are just those that you stop right away and gaze upon with your jaws wide-opened and you just see so many stories in them. At least, for me.

Take a look at his website:  Aecio Sarti Atelier Paraty

He himself could not describe his work. Some say it is almost cubist, others say it is like naif art (especially in the background). At the initial moment, I simply had the feeling that his art has some messages or a story behind and I stared at one painting and another, analysing the details.

Indeed, the paintings are related to a story which he had written himself. The story is ready for publication, but as the publisher wanted illustrations, and he is extremely busy now, preparing for an art exhibition, the book is still pending somewhere. He told me part of the story and I then appreciated the poetry behind the paintings more.

He mentioned that as a child, from the age 9 to 13, he was homeless and had to beg for food for these 4 years. I then asked if this was why the paintings he drew were all children of the age 9 to 13. He agreed. Wow. There is a distinct cross-bar across the forehead of each of the children. He said it represented ‘fraternity’. Wow again.

I ended up staying inside his studio for 2.5 hours, watching he and his assistants put together simultaneously 3 or 4 paintings. His assistants do not touch the painting unless he gives the go-ahead. Only he mixes the colours, and his assistants just paint the flat-areas or do some preliminary composition sketching. The ideas are all in his head, only he knows what colours he want, where this thing should go. I even posed for him briefly as he needed to sketch a hand placed on a shoulder. OK, I was ‘the shoulder’, not ‘the hand’, but how many of you can say that you have posed for an artist before? Huh?

I had an absolutely incredible time with him, just chatting, listening, learning, watching. Then, I realised, I dropped the map for a reason. I mean, I had already passed by this spot the first time without noticing the studio. Yet, dropping the map and making the decision to retrace my step, made me pass by the studio again. It is a kind of magic for me. It may not mean much to other people, afterall, it was just a chit-chat, but somehow, I felt really lucky, really privileged to have made my acquaintance with the talented Aecio Sarti.

I returned to my hostel, totally happy. As I am on Day 1 of my starving period, I sat in the living room watching a soap opera and munching away at my stale, tasteless bread when a guy in his 50s or so, muttered something in Portuguese to me.

Err… whatever he had asked, I figured the answer should be “Singapore?”. He continued on in Portuguese, before switching to basic English when he only drew blank looks from me. I answered each of his curious little questions simply as I realised that his English was not too strong. He finally asked if I spoke Spanish. “Sí. ¿Y usted? (Yes. And you?)”, I hazarded. Yep, he spoke Spanish as well as he had lived in Peru for a year. Phew!! “Hablamos en español entonces. (We speak in Spanish then.)” I suggested.

I drew a chair closer and we chatted for quite a while about this and that, before I found out that he is an artist as well. He is José Efigênio Pinto Coelho from Ouro Preto and he is drawing a series of paintings representing ‘The Way of the Gold’. I think he meant that during the Portuguese colonisation in 1700s, Brazil had a lot of gold. So, mining towns sprung up in the Minas Gerais province and a slave-route was established all the way to Paraty, the main port in those days for exporting gold to Portugal. He had completed about 40 paintings now on the towns and cities related to this part of Brazil’s history. So, he is now in Paraty to paint something.

[An update on his exhibition (in Portuguese) Cultura – Últimos dias da exposição Estrada Real de José Efigênio which I found later over the internet.]

We talked more about the cultures of South America and I mentioned I like South American literature and he said that he is also a writer. Wow! He went to his room to retrieve a little book called: José de Ali Baba e o Comando Vermelho (Jose of Ali Baba and The Red Commander). It is a romance with a different touch and about a guy who changed after he returned from his travels. “Como yo. (Like me.)”, I whispered. He heard me and smiled, yes, one does change after one has travelled. I read the first paragraph and to my surprise, although it was in Portuguese, I could more or less figure out what it meant… so far. Then, I was in for another surprise, he gave me the book! He wrote on the front page, a dedication to me and signed off ‘PARA TI’.

Paraty is also sometimes spelled as Parati. And in Spanish, para ti means ‘for you’.

Wow, for me…