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Olha que coisa mais linda, Mais cheia de graça,
É ela menina, Que vem que passa
Num doce balanço, Caminho do mar

(Tall and tanned and young and lovely,
The girl from Ipanema goes walking, and
when she passes each one she passes goes "A-a-ah!")

I remember the whole bus singing this incredibly melodic song and in that moment, something happened: the earth moved and I became entranced by the Portuguese language, these mysterious and beautiful people and their way of life.

So there I was on the plane, excited to be landing in Frankfurt in a couple of minutes because I would see my long lost brother (not by blood but by choice), whom I hadn't seen in 4 years. It was like having dessert before the main course, my special treat just before taking that big bite of Brazil. So we met, stood still in disbelief for a second and went straight to the Irish pub for a few pints and a little bit of conversation. The two hours just zoomed by like seconds and then the time came for him to leave.

A lot of aimless walking up and down Frankfurt airport and four hours later it was time to board. I started hearing Portuguese all around me; I was still in denial about where I was and where I was going and then I heard the flight attendant announcing, "Enjoy your flight to Brazil!"

I guess it sunk in then! If I disregard the fact that the first movie shown was an American film which was dubbed in - just my luck - German and Portuguese, the flight was relatively enjoyable.

I didn't sleep a wink, though. Guess I was too excited. Then, minutes before landing in Sao Paulo, I realized that even from air you could see no end to this city. I was ready to fall under its spell, and there was no time to waste!

I couldn't wait to get through passport control and see J and M. Just a few more minutes and I would see their smiling faces. I wondered if I would see a long line of Americans waiting for hours to get their photos and prints taken (while the rest of us from other countries just passed by quickly), but they must have given up on the idea of traveling to Brazil. I mean, you gotta admire the Brazilian sense of humor, you do it to us - we do it to you!

Finally, I saw J and M. We almost started screaming in delight! I instantly took over J's cell phone and started calling everyone and screaming, "I'm here, can you believe it, when are we going to meet up!"

The plan was to go to J's place, relax and take it easy - but I'm not your girl who can relax when there's so much going around. I was ready to experience Brazil and nobody could stop me! In situations like these my inherent urge is to go and check out all the museums, exhibits and learn about the culture. If I don't go through all the motions I start feeling guilty. Don't ask me why; guess it was imposed on me at an early age just like Catholicism.

And then there's my other - wild - side that just wants to party. So there I was with my split personality, dragging J and M to the Sao Paulo Biennale.

The interior of the building reminded me a lot of the New York's Guggenheim with its inner whirlpool-like structure designed to confuse you and make you go from floor to floor without even realizing it! The Brazilian Biennale Pavilion seemed even more complex, like a roller coaster image in white, ready to take you upside down except that somebody hit the pause button.

So there we were, three girls exploring the "Free Territory" Biennale theme, trying to understand all these various art forms and having fun with it even though we realized we were a tad clueless. Maybe, that was the whole point anyway!

The piece that held our attention the most was the hanging red Beetle (fusca, in Portuguese). At the time I had no idea that that car was a big part of Brazil's road culture (it's still produced in Brazil). That really amazed me because in Croatia Beetles are considered old-timers and are virtually extinct!
 

Afterwards we drove ourselves to a cool place for lunch. Only then did I realize how my concept of time, place and distance was all messed up. In Croatia to get from one place to the other might take a 20 minute drive tops, 45 minutes is considered a drag and, quite frankly, nobody would drive that far just for lunch. Here it's not as simple. Sao Paulo is such a horrendously big city and getting from one place to the other is like a road trip. Consequently, you spend half your day in the car.

I guess this is the reason you have a traveling market place everywhere you go - you're waiting at the lights and people are constantly trying to sell you something. Young and old, they just run around your car waiting for you to give them a nod. In Croatia this kind of business would never fly, least of all selling water in the streets. No way! But, with the heat and all, I can see how such swift access to the thirst-quenching goods and numerous snacks could be appealing to potential buyers.

The best part of Sao Paulo and Brazil in general was that everything and anything was so colorful that I immediately felt as if I had spent half my life being color blind and then all of a sudden I could see the true hue of everything. It was like being thrust into the digitally crafted splendor of What Dreams May Come when Robin Williams envisions his Heaven. But this heaven was the real thing, no computer alterations needed!

In fact, having spent half my life searching for "the place" I could call home, I wondered if this could finally be it. But I do know that, strangely enough, I felt at home driving through the streets of SP. Had I lived there before in some past life? Maybe it was time for a past life regression!

As the day was coming to an end my party side was ready to come out and play. We all got dolled up and headed to a club called Na Mata. Once there I was introduced to the clever payment scheme: at the door you got a menu-like card with all the possible drinks you could have so when the waiter showed up he just needed to tick off the ones he brought you. So you don't need to fondle with your money until you're ready to leave. The only thing that might be a problem is the long line you might be stuck in at the end of the night!

To get back to the evening... M kept telling me that this was the perfect place to find a beijista (a term I came up with back in Florida, which literally means a kisser; you get it, right?) Hm... A beijista? Maybe!, I thought. I was wearing my sex-in-the-city shoes which meant I would end up with pain and a superficial ( I can do it ) facial expression, which, in turn, meant no way I could think about guys while in such devastating pain. How did the Sex in the City gals ever pull that off, I'll never know?!

Still, I was dancing about, downing caipirinhas to ease my pain, and checking out the guys who were just a bit too young (even for my taste). All this roaming about got me to the conclusion that if you looked at a guy longer than 2-3 seconds he would come and talk to you. Great!, I thought. In Croatia when you look at a guy, he might look back at you, but there's no action. I mean, you could be dying in front of him yet he would still be hugging his beer bottle without any intent to move an inch .... And then some people have the audacity to ask me why I'm single?! Hey, I'm just living in the wrong country!

In the meantime, M. got herself a beijista. Me? I was just happy being there... My adventure was just starting... Rio in a couple of days ..., then Salvador... Could life be any better?

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