The Astounding Travel Adventures of a Miraculous Fellow

Brazilian Conclusions
September 29, 2008, 8:29 pm
Filed under: Brazil


Sniff…sniff.  I left Brasil.

It’s not you, Brasil.  It’s me.

I had to do it.  After seven glorious weeks, it was time to go.

As I drove across the border, overlooking the Paraguai River that divides Brasil and Argentina, I nearly opened the door of the car, flung myself overboard, and swam back into the waiting arms of a friendly Brasileira, who would, undoubtedly, nurse me back to health.  Maybe, even “naughty” nurse me back to health, if you know what I mean…wink, wink.

Alas, I stayed in the car.  It was time to give Argentina a chance.  So, upon arrival in this non-Brazilian country, I wandered off into the wilderness to think about my experiences in the tremendous Eden that is Brasil.

As I started to ruminate about Megafox and the water buffaloes of Ihla do Marajó, I began to softly weep.

When I thought of frolicking on the sand dunes and crystal-clear lagoons of Parque Lençois Maranhense, the trickle of weeping quickly turned to sobs, and a stream of tears began to form on the nearby ground.

As I pondered the refreshing, ice-cold beer and Caipirinha-induced hangovers with whom I frequently found company, the stream of sobs turned to a small river.  And the river runs through it…not totally sure what “it” is, but the river definitely runs through it.

Upon musing about Salvador’s crazed African Candomblé religious ceremonies that we enchantedly watched while church members were put into a deity-induced trance and I was cleansed of my sins by a cigar-smoking, cachaca-drinking priest, the river of tears began to flood the plains.

While reflecting upon the magical Happiest Farm on Earth, its tiny houses, and delightfully obese dog, the tears began to flood Argentina’s lands, and form a giant flowing mass of water.

Finally, upon thinking about the friendliness of Brazilian females and their love of Samba, Skol beer, and foreign blond-haired men, I had enough.  The sobs were continuing unabated from my eyes, and little did I know, that downstream, a great event was occurring from the river of tears — one that would be my final homage to this great, great land, known as Brasil.

The local indigenous people have come to name this phenomenon Las Cataratas de Iguaçu, or Iguaçu Falls. These sob-induced falls now cross the borders of both Argentina and Brasil.  I have even heard that there are now full national parks, complete with tourist facilities, in both countries as a monument to a gringo’s seven breathtaking weeks in Brasil.

So, that is it.

Goodbye Brasil.  You’ve taught me to dominate the sport of Paddleball, to inhale Caipirinhas, to be a frenzied futébol lunatic, to run-in-place or “dance” the Samba, to unconditionally love Megafox, to ride water buffalo, to clandestinely snap photos of bikini-clad, beach bunny Brasileiras in Ipanema, to speak Portugunol, to never, ever, ever swim in the alligator- and piranha-saturated waters of the Pantanal, and, most importantly, you’ve taught me that you are a phenomenal country that should have its secondary national anthem be:

“And Iiiiiiiiiiiii eeeee iiiiiiiii, will alwaaaaaays looooooove yooouuuuuuuuuuuu…”

Thumbs up, Brasil.  Thumbs up.

You’re up Argentina, but you’ve got a lot of work to do.  I’d suggest starting straight off with…oh, I don’t know…maybe a foursome to get you set in the right direction.

I’ll be waiting.


1 Comment so far
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I fear that Argentina cannot compare to Brazil (as the ladies here are used to being pursued, not doing the pursuing)…but I hope you remember to mention that in Argentina you’ve got a free place to stay for a month with free access to internet and the kindness of a sister-in-law who has let you maintain a death-grip on her laptop so that this blog may continue going strong.

Comment by rlwilson78

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