tysontrips

9, September, 2005

Don't Mine Me

Ouro Preto (Black Gold), Minas Gerais, Brazil -- A trip up into mountains where lie the wonderfully preserved, colonial, gold rush boom towns of the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais (General Mines) is probably not complete without a visit into one of the three hundred year old, dusty and crumbling mineshafts. But I am not going in. I don't think I can. The towns themselves are fantastic. Tastefully colored houses, which maintain the air of antiquity throughout the town, line steep, narrow cobblestone streets. Mountains covered in tropical forest ring the city, whose skyline is dominated by the towering steeples of 23 omnipresent churches. But underneath those sublimely constructed and gold plated churches lie ancient hollowed-out mines of despair which shake the literal and figurative foundations of the very churches which are built upon them.

Above: Unbridled beauty shrouds immeasurable suffering

In order to understand the greed which led to the mining in the gold rush towns and, ultimately, the mass suffering which was endured by black and native slaves in Brazil in the 18th and 19th centuries, I don't think I need to enter the labyrinth mines below. I don't think I need to know anything more than the town's name, Ouro Preto (Black Gold). The name itself tells me enough without even setting foot below ground. It tells me that, over centuries, hundreds of thousands of forced laborers were stolen from their homes in Africa or transferred from the sugarcane fields in northeast Brazil and forced to live and die in the subterranean and subhuman conditions of the mines. It tells me that the greedy colonists whipped and chained entire tribes of Africans in order to extract 'black gold' from the surrounding metal-rich mountains, much of which was sent to the already bloated Portuguese throne and church. The name reveals to me that, when pulled from the earth, the gold was black like the slaves who were forced to provide the back-breaking labor which harvested the mountains. And that the soul of the gold is dark and evil, like the hearts of the slave masters, many of whom beat the slaves into submission and raped their women. I don't need to wander blindly, underground, in a black hell-hole of injustice to know these things. I don't even want to think about them. After seeing the unbelievably cruel conditions of the mines 2 years ago in Potosi, Bolivia, another exploited area of land home to another exploited group of natives (almost to the point of eradication), I don't know if I can ever enter another mine again. It's too dark and damp and deep and damn depressing.

ouro preto
Above: Colonial Architecture, Schmolonial Smarchitecture

It's much more simple for me to ignore these awful historic realities by staying above ground and capturing photographs of the old bright and beautiful colonial churches which were built on backs of the slaves, the mountains, and the wealth of the gold extraction. It shows: They are fabulous. And it's easier to think more pleasant thoughts while just sitting and sipping a dirt cheap, locally produced cachaça (a lethally strong sugar cane spirit) and digging into some hearty comida mineira (miner's food) such as feijoada (bean stew with huge chunks of pork and beef). It's not difficult to forget about the atrocities which where committed here in order to adorn the altar of these ornate churches with hundreds of kilograms of gold and silver (one church has over one thousand pounds of gold in its museum!). These incredibly gaudy cathedrals exist throughout the city of Ouro Preto, the Minas Gerais State, Brazil as a whole, and even Portugal (there are a few churches in the Portuguese Algarve region I have seen whose insides are entirely gilded in gold). But it's easy for me just to write about something else.

Now That's A Transition

I have immensely enjoyed traveling in the Minas Gerais State, chaperoned luxuriously by my good friend, American expat and, more than likely, future Brazilian citizen, Adam Hoffman, and his wonderful girlfriend, Adriana, exploring the state capital, Belo Horizonte.

hoof
Above: Hoof(s)

I have spent days lazily wasting away time at the local private club (Brazilian Independence Day included), eating endless amounts of mouthwatering Churrasco (Brazilian barbecue), washing it down with ice cold beer, laying in the sun, playing a sport called peteca (essentially badminton using only your hands instead of a racquet, see video here), and glimpsing, albeit superficially, into everyday life in inland Brazil in a non-touristy non-resort town. It's a final taste of reality, though, because not long from now any sense of the real-world and real-life scenarios will come to an end for me.

Sorry, I Can't Resist. I will get mine in hell (after living in heaven)...

...but once I hit the beach towns of the Bahia State of Brazil next week I - here and now - make a promise to you that I will do nothing but swim in the ocean, surf its waves, work on my tan and Portuguese, eat and drink only fabulous fare and fantastic fruit juice, and make no effort of any sort except in pursuit of relaxation. I owe it to myself, I think. But more importantly, I am certain, my fine reader, that you are owed a fabulous tropical vacation much more than I. Therefore, for the next several months I will be vacationing in the name of your leisure. Good friend, I will be sipping coconut laced mango juice for your enjoyment, laying on the perfect white sand beaches under palm trees in your name, and enjoying fresh, all-you-can-eat seafood buffets in your honor.

Please accept this altruistic gesture on my part as a symbol of my commitment to your enjoyment of life. As a sacrifice, I will be living vicariously through you as I enjoy the undisturbed, ridiculously cheap life of pure, unadulterated pleasure. No, of course not. There is no need to thank me. My altruism pays for itself when I see the happy look of enjoyment in your eyes as I snack on spicy shrimp and avocado appetizers for a dollar in a reggae-bumping sand-floor beach bar or play a game of soccer on the soft, sandy beach with some buddies - a view of a spectacular Brazilian sunset in the background. I am willing, dear friend, to make the sacrifice of living jobless, without the remote possibility of gainful employment for even one hour a week, without a definition for the word stress, without an alarm clock, a phone, a television, a computer, a car or a credit card, as a meager gesture to you; as a symbol of my utmost respect of your adoration of leisure. It's the least I can do. Really, it is. Truthfully and vicariously yours, tyson@tysontrips.com