Belleza

So far, an amazing weekend- to the point where I have to document some of it before it runs away from me. Friday we went to a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band, and after it finished danced to 80s and 90s pop tunes until 4am. It was an amazing little find, and the same bar is having a series of cover bands and even actual American bands coming to play soon. Post performance, the drummer came to talk to us because he was from Australia and spoke English, while the rest of the band were Sao Paulo natives.

Getting home at sunrise, I almost slept through my 8am boat trip. A group of friends- Brazilians, Americans, and Europeans, rented out a boat for the day and made a trip to Ilha dos Frades. A few of us swam to shore and conquered the abandoned beach, even went so far as to don war paint (clay). Throughout the day it really felt like we were in Pirates of the Carribean, exploring untouched earths and forging our own reckless way. It began to rain for some of the day, which actually only escalated the adventures and made the experience all the more incredible. Diving off the boat, floating in the ocean and just listening to the rain slap against the waves was one of the most relaxing, beautiful experiences I've ever had. We pulled back into port just before sunset, and saw a full-arc rainbow welcoming us home- bringing us into Saint Patrick's day.

Thus far, I've started off St. Patrick's day well. Unnaturally woke up at 6:00am, and opted to try out a new chapel for 7:30 mass. It was kind of tucked away, hidden from the street and lay in the middle of a cemetery so I hadn't really noticed it before. Had a lovely all-white interior, and a very friendly, close-knit community.

I followed the mass with varied levels of comprehension, but when it came time to make peace, the community suddenly turned into a Notre Dame dorm mass: everyone hugged everyone, welcomed everyone, smiled and laughed and talked to everyone. Including the gringa sitting in the back in full St. Patty's Day gear. It was amazing. The awkward tension of not completely understanding what was happening, and clearly not belonging in their community, was gone.

After mass, I started to explore the cemetery, and was just amazed at all the beautiful artwork. Before long, a 75-year-old man, Eladio, who worked in the cemetery and chapel started to talk to me, and eventually gave me a tour of his favorite pieces- including some of which he had worked on. He talked to me about his life working here, the interesting transition between different pastors, and the politics of burial- how the governor of Bahia had a simple, somewhat hidden grave while a poet had an elaborate spot of honor. He showed me the grave of a surgeon from the 1800s who had died while operating on someone, whose grave was a marble portrait of the operation and the audience's horror.

The cemetery was a sunny, happy, safe place to be. The post-mass community wandered around the graves and chipped in with stories about different statues, rumors about their deaths, or even memories about the most recent deaths. There was prayer, there was reverence, but there didn't really seem to be any sadness. Although my translation will probably botch the beauty of this, I had a great conversation with an older woman who was praying there. I marveled at how beautiful and intricate different statues were, and how realistic and soft the marble work appeared. She smiled and said, "Something beautiful to remind us of the beauty they now have."  In no language could I properly respond.