The Return Leg

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Manaus, AM -

In what is probably my last entry, I find myself, once again, pounding out words in an internet café. Travel weary, I now await my flight to return to the states, to the city of my birth, to another great unknown (an excellent opportunity to wax philosophically about life,
changes, and the future).

We arrive into Manaus, as usual, by riverboat. While the concept of travelling down the Amazon River may sound exciting, it is relatively relative (perhaps a native Amazonian would sense the same excitement of traveling by Greyhound bus down I-5) and loses it's appeal quickly, leaving one pacing the decks. The smart, seasoned travelers aboard the
two day journey rely on the magnificense of alcohol to dull the perception and turn even the most mundane into a slurred rambunctious affair. The boat has three decks. The primary is loaded with cargo - wooden boxes of bananas and limes, large fiber sacks of rice and
sugar, even an orange flowered couch - and interspersed with swaying hammocks. The engine presents as a steady drone. These are the cheap lodgings. The second floor is just people, yet is filled to such a degree that we alternate the height in order to lay down (which is fine, unless you happen to forget where you are and step on someones face). It is sometimes difficult to sleep as we are floating on top of eachother (my french traveling companion is constantly awoken by screaming child and develope a method of staring relentlessly at the tot until he quiets out of fear). The third deck is open, and a potentially tranquil place to view the river, read a book, have a conversation, meditate, were it not for the continous barrage of high decibel forró music. There would be no silent contemplation here.

And why not? Brazil, as a culture is not a solitary one. In my one year here, I am rarely alone unless I purposelessly seek it out. There is little sarcasm. Rare are the moments of 'mocking' the dominant culture for the sake of expressing individualism. What might be called nationalism, but without the loyal obendience to the government (of which not a single Brazilian will deny is rife with corruption). In any case, the ability of the Brazilians to exist as a social unit is what saves us - I tell a fellow boat passenger that if the boat were full of Americans, they would have killed eachother minutes after leaving the port.

Manaus is a port city. The waterfront is filled with crumbling turn of the century architecture built by the wealth of rubber barons who highly idealized Europe and attempted to create their vision along the banks of the river. After the rubber monopoly was crushed, the seeds
stolen by the British and planted throughout their East Asian colonies, the city went into decline. In the 1960s, the city experienced a resurgence. An area of free trade was established to stimulate the local economy and turn Manaus into a manufacturing hub.
While today many electronic parts are manufactured here, they are sold abroad and reimported at a higher price. Yet still, Manaus still retains that spirit of bustline consumerism. Wandering the city streets by day, one is accosted constantly by people lurking in the
store fronts to buy anything from gold to bootleg DVDs (conversely at night the products are bbq, stolen goods, and sex). The center is crowded and seedy, yet breathing with commerce. It is like wandering through the mind of a schizophrenic capitalist; a million voices and a
million products.

...

Update, three days later.

I sit in the airport, awaiting my return - anticipating what I hope will be a brisk interview with the Federal Police, and minimal searches of my belongings (and being).

I try to reflect now; what have I learned from a year in Brazil, and six months traveling? Why I would like to write something poetic, the only thing that comes to mind is the following:

- you will never regret buying toilet paper

- the word "exotic" is not always in reference to something good, for example "exotic rash"

I'm indebted to all those I met in my journey, and I thank life for allowing our paths to cross. I am similarly thankful to those who helped me to do this thing, whatever it is - I miss those who I didn't or couldn't stay in contact with and hoping that our paths cross again.

Até mais,

Chris(topher)

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Comments

[Eric Roberts]

Chris, I will miss reading your reports from the road. I have sat by like a fly on the wall. It has provided me with both motivation and inspiration. Now all I need is action. Here is to your safe return! Cheers. Eric Roberts

[Scott Young]

Thank You
Chris, thanks for giving us the opportunity to look through your window into your travels and tribulations. Your candid commentary and wonerful pictures made it feel like I was there. Perhaps someday I will be there (after the kids go off to college). Stop by and visit if you make it back up to Seattle. Ciao, Scott