This weekend I traveled to a small town south of Belo Horizonte. This was not just any small town, it was a town full of crazy people and it was my host families home town. I cannot tell you how many times I heard ‘Sao Vincent tem povo louco’. How does the saying go, if only I had a R$ for every time I heard… So after a week of people hyping up this small city of 5 thousand I finally got on the bus destined for Sao Vincent.
The weekend was a crazy experience. The town was small, with no real downtown and only cobblestone streets filled with Brazils abundant amount of concrete homes. The one thing I do remember on arriving on Friday night was the air. After being in BH for a month I had forgotten what fresh air smelled and felt like. It was so welcoming that I almost stuck my head out the window, a thought that made me think of spec. Sao Vincent was nestled in a small valley surrounded by rolling hills covered with farms and tree plantations. From the looks of this place one would not think that it housed 5 thousand crazy people.
From the moment I arrived Girino was sure that I attended the festa de julho, a seemingly big deal. We left the house and he gave me the five minute driving tour of the town, stopping every other street to yell Portuguese cuss words at friends walking by. After the tour we parked and walked to a huge outdoor party that must have at one point in the night everyone that lived in Sao Vincent plus one, me. I felt like I was on a different planet. I was introduced as the American to everyone which seemed to make people look at me differently, and draw way to much energy and attention. Girino seemed to know everyone in town, old and young. I was good to see him so happy. This was a ‘real’ small town, where everyone knew everyone business and happenings. Crazy. We got home late, my head felt full of Portuguese and I was exhausted.
The next day was cold. We did nothing until about 4:00, when we embarked on to the churrasco (BBQ). Driving up the party I could have never prepared myself or know the craziness that lay ahead. It would be the defining moment that would prove this town’s true craziness. It started normal, beer, food people talking. It was a party to commemorate several kids who passed there exams and were now moving onto graduate school. The more people drank, the louder it got, and the more rowdy things got. The people of this town are very welcoming, making an effort to talk to me and teach me their language, including several young guys who would constantly pester me with dirty cuss words to repeat and repeat. By the end of the night there was a group of about ten guys that were beyond drunk, thanks to pinga. Then things turned crazy. The music as louder than loud, making thinking almost impossible and bottles of cachaca were being passed and thrown around. The next thing I knew, people started tackling each other while pouring beer and alcohol everywhere. Peoples clothes were getting torn, the ground turned to mud, and dog pile after dog pile consumed the next poor victims. Thank god I was outside and only a spectator. It was a whole different kind of male bonding that I had never seen before. The perfect word to describe it was, crazy.
The next day I left for Belo Horizonte, and sanity. I still felt overwhelmed, and realized that I would never make it with so much energy focused on me. Thank god I am not famous.
To end the journey I got into the car with a fat older man who spoke very fast and drove even faster. To start the half hour trip he proceeded to cross his heart and say a prayer in Portuguese, something that shot a pang of fear to my heart. The only thing I could do was say my own prayer and hold on as he speed around each corner like he was in a nascar race. Brazil definitely makes you appreciate life more. It was a good adventure, but I was glad to be home, in bed, with silence…
