In Brazil, Feeling Like a Hero from a Colonial Time Tale Brazil’s Paraná state offers natural beauty and historical interest By Kathleen de Azevedo In the state of Paraná, Brazil, the high coastal range of Serra do Mar twists and turns in its emerald green paradise, its unabashed cliffs and mountains turning a cold shoulder to trespassers. Rainforests in Brazil can play hardball: They sport piranhas, malaria, and thickets so impenetrable only beasts - real or imagined - can survive. Sometimes a traveler's only way through the jungle is to sit back and take a train. Welcome, then, to the Serra Verde Express. My husband and I have been to Brazil several times, but this time we decided to travel the lesser-known South. The Serra Verde Express train trip starts in Curitiba, the capital of Paraná and the next major city south of São Paulo. São Paulo is an incredible hulk of a place, with miles of modern buildings and throngs of industrious and not so industrious citizens flooding its streets; Curitiba is a gentler brother. Curitiba started off tempestuously, created by the flotsam from one of Brazil's many gold rushes. Later, the town served as the end station of a cattle trail that started in Rio Grande do Sul. In other words, Curitiba became the Abilene, Kansas of Brazil. Today, Curitiba is a mild-mannered, youthful city with more parks than skyscrapers. Palm trees in town squares, the egg-shell blue buildings and fin-de-siècle curly-cue ironwork blend perfectly with the modern Rua XV de Novembro (November XV Street) and its long pedestrian mall of flat polished flagstones. College students click away in cyber cafes. Nearby, bakery windows display cream cakes and foiled wrapped bonbons - a gift from German immigrants. Paraná's greatest treasure is its natural environment, and several regions are protected by UNESCO. The best known attraction is the massive Iguaçu Falls, but Serra do Mar competes in a more delicate way. ___________________________ Today, Curitiba is a mild-mannered, youthful city with more parks than skyscrapers. ___________________________ The Serra Verde Train was originally built in 1886 to transport goods from the interior to the coastal town of Paranaguá. Nowadays the train mostly brings tourists to a part of the Atlantic rainforest otherwise accessible only to birds. Our train left Curitiba on a cold sunlit morning. The smell of steamy coffee and hot chocolate emanated from coats and sweaters. From the wide windows in the special viewing cars, we watched the city dissolve into countryside. The Atlantic rainforest in Brazil runs along its eastern coast. In the southern region, because of a wide range of temperatures, cold-temperature pine trees coexist with tropical vegetation. The araucária pine, native to Paraná, is the most impressive. The trunks are straight and lean, and branches at the top curve upward, giving them the appearance of a candelabra. A grove of these pines looks like a canopy on stilts. An araucária may stand alone in the rolling hills, crop up in a cluster of banana trees, or hang out with the palms. The araucária pine cone, the size of a large cantaloupe, yields the pinhão, whose seeds are roasted and taste wonderfully like chestnuts. As our train moved toward the coast, the tropical forest grew thicker. Sun glittered between the airy palm fronds. Sprays of bromeliads, some with large blood-red flowers, sprouted in the crooks and elbows of thicker tree limbs. The bromeliads shared the trees with lianas, long vines that can straddle and snare other branches or wind around trunks or curl coyly into tendrils. Midway in our journey, the train stopped at the Nossa Senhora do Cadeado sanctuary, a small shrine and lookout commemorating the 80th anniversary of the railroad. We got out, not so much to stretch our legs, for we had been roving in our car to catch sight of the wonders on both sides of the train, but because the sanctuary gave us close-up views. We were not denied. On a bush right before me, three birds alighted, small florescent gems with green bodies, maroon throats, and turquoise blue caps. In the background, the pointed peak of Marumbi and the deep saddles of adjoining mountains were covered in green except for their sheer stone faces, where the rock had broken through the velvet skin. The train ducked in and out of tunnels, giving us the sight of silvery bridges straddling breathtaking gaps in paths cut from the side of the mountain. Then, at the most precarious spot, the train stopped. I felt like leaning back so as not to tumble the train into the ravine. But the train conductor seemed unconcerned, even as the passengers stuffed themselves into his cab for a better look out his wide front window. Down below, we could see the Véu de Noiva, the Bridal Veil waterfall, splashing on the nearby rocks, then finally, like a comet's tail, flowing full force down a wet and white abyss known as the Garganta do Diabo, or Devil's Throat. We arrived at Morretes with plans to stay only for lunch to taste the famous regional dish, barreado. Barreado is a stew that is part of an enormous Brazilian lunch. The main dish is a slow cooked meat that comes with wave after wave of side dishes: rice, beans, meat gravy mixed with cassava flour, plain toasted cassava flour, fried fish, fried shrimp, shrimp in tomato sauce, pickled mussels, potato salad, vegetable salad, and a dessert of orange and bananas. Like everyone else, after that kind of meal we needed a Sunday walk. ___________________________ Banana candy, banana jam, and banana cane liqueur sweeten the stalls of street merchants. ___________________________ Morretes is built along the Nhundiaquara River, which is bordered on either side with green lawns and decorative railings painted white and yellow. The Nossa Senhora do Porto church, freshly painted the same white and yellow, stands like a giant cake. White colonial buildings trimmed with blue or yellow or vermillion, garden boxes on window sills, the clusters of palm trees against the misty but jagged Graciosa Mountains on one side and the Marumbi Mountains on the other, all seemed to turn the modern clothes of the townspeople into lace and crinoline. A young girl played Andean flute near the gazebo on one side of the river. Bananas are business here, and the town is surrounded by banana plantations. It comes as no surprise that banana candy, banana jam, and banana cane liqueur sweeten the stalls of street merchants. Morretes' town square has not a statue of some great warrior like most towns, but instead a bust of Silveira Neto, their local poet who wrote of the "purple sunset that touches [one's] gaze like the nightfall of human existence." So inspired by the town and its promise of a purple sunset, we decided to stay the night. Out my pousada window, I could see the distant Graciosa Mountains beyond sprays of palm groves over red tiled roofs. I imagined myself the heroine of some telenovela, waiting for my soldier to return from one of the many regional battles fought in colonial southern Brazil. It would be hard to imagine conflict here, but yes, we noticed some. Down below, an elementary school was just letting out. A small disturbance broke out between two seemingly demure ten-year-old girls, and one hauled a punch at the other. There were tears and teachers involved, until eventually the two young ladies were joined by their respective groups of friends. They shot spurious glances at one another as they went their separate ways. I could almost imagine them gossiping and flicking their fans. This article first appeared in Brazzil Magazine at www.brazzil.com. Kathleen de Azevedo was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Her work has appeared in various publications including the Los Angeles Times, Boston Review, and Michigan Quarterly Review. www.kathleenazevedo.com. Samba Dreamers, her novel on Brazilians in Hollywood, was published this year by the University of Arizona Press. This website: Copyright © 2006 Dream World Media, LLC. / Urban Mozaik Magazine. All rights reserved. The opinions expressed in Urban Mozaik Magazine are not necessarily those of Urban Mozaik Magazine and the publisher cannot be held responsible for them. 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