Breakfast in Brazil

-

SP, from space (a cool setting on my digital camera)

-

I managed to go a full 9 days in South America without making a serious mistake. I avoided dangerous areas, kept most of my money & valuables in my hotel safe, and was not tempted by street meat from the appetizing food stands and carts throughout the cities I visited. However, on the morning of my final day in Sao Paulo, I let a false sense of traveler's confidence get the best of me. Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let me start over at the beginning...

There was a live person inside this inflatable suit, I swear.

He/She waved at me.

I left my group of fellow admissions travelers in Lima, and arrived in Sao Paulo alone. It was cold and overcast, much like the other cities I visited, but this time it was cloudy in Portuguese--harsher and more intimidating.

I have no idea

-

Sao Paulo is a big city that looks like most any other big city--many tall buildings, crowded streets, crazy traffic. Suffering from severe travel fatigue after too much time in hotels, taxis, airports, and airplanes, I decided to wander around the Paulista area of the city, looking at people, shops, and restaurants.

Only 59 more beers and I win a Heineken 5L mini-keg!

-

It was the travel fatigue that led me to the mall and the travel fatigue that made me choose Japanese food over Bob's, but it was the food court sukiyaki that made me feel kind of ill. While it was interesting that the one thing that would make my stomach uneasy after over a week spent eating guinea pig, raw fish, and unidentified pastries from the hotel breakfast buffet, was simple Japanese food from a mall, this was not my mistake.

On my first night in Sao Paulo, I had a nice, simple steak with a delicious horseradish sauce. On my second night, I went to a mediocre Churrascuria near my hotel. They had a meager salad bar and you had to go over to the guy at grill with your plate in order to get your meat. On the third night, I went to an awesome Churrascuria--the type where they walk around to your table and slice many different types of meat (mostly beef on giant swords) onto your plate until you tell them to stop. I had way too much meat in Brazil, but this was not my mistake. Not exactly.

I awoke early on my last day, as I needed to pack, find someplace to have coffee and a quick breakfast, and get back to the hotel in time for a few last meetings. I had intended on going to "Bella Paulista"--a bakery/bodega/restaurant down the street from my hotel where I had eaten 2-3 meals over the past few days--but instead I stopped at pastry shop/cafe on the corner, as I was in a hurry it looked less crowded.

Brazil in giant Legos

-

I looked at the pastries behind the glass counter and noticed, what I confidently assumed was, the doughnut-like thing I had eaten the previous morning--a doughy cylinder covered with cinnamon and powdered sugar. As they were small and I wouldn't be able to have lunch until after 2 PM, I ordered two--by pointing enthusiastically and giving the peace sign--and a cappuccino. All was well with the world.

Sao Paulo Museum of Art (MASP)--I even went inside

-

Then, I took a bite. Have you ever put salt in your coffee accidentally or consumed something you expected to be sweet when it was really savory? Have you ever bitten into something without filling, only to discover that your expectations had tricked you and it was full of jelly, cream, or something else? Have you ever taken a bite of a cinnamon covered doughnut only to realize that it was actually a Brazilian corndog? Coated in a thick layer of dough, deep fried and covered with something that looked like cinnamon (but, I assure you, was not cinnamon), was a hot dog...and I had ordered two. That was my mistake.

A leafy, green park near MASP

-

Later that evening, as my Japanese-Brazilian taxi driver blared samba music and talked about Obama, McCain, and China, my stomach was still uneasy (I had taken only a few bites, but I hadn't completely recovered from the early-morning hot dog surprise). Churrascurias lined the highway to the airport (along with everyone's favorite place to buy pets, the "Marginal Pet Shop"), their neon signs taunting me with their promises of more meat and no disguises. No, not this time--I already gave you three nights. The fourth night belongs to my fish and vegetable-loving wife.