German Food

Years ago I discovered that Pennsylvania Dutch immigrants were actually Deutch - Germans - whose ethnicity was altered by sloppy pronunciation in the New World. Germans came to South America in droves and Brazil got its share. Germans, not Dutch.

Sunday started at the beach in Pontão de Paraná (Paraná Point as we were on a peninsula) and we were planning a long day ending up in Deutch country at 3300 feet. Jean our Swiss neighbor turned us on to Colonia Witmarsum three hours inland. 

Jean is an interesting guy, still very European even after forty years in Brazil. He likes Trump for his immigration policies and for attacking Muslims whom he thinks are overwhelming Europe’s weak leadership. His is not an unusual point of view among Europeans, if not their leaders obviously. I found him very enjoyable to talk to at the campground, even if I had to talk French, which is not generally a useful language in the land of rapid fire Portuguese. 

“Travel enriches the soul”

“Travel is my therapy.” 

Whatever. 

We bugged out at eight o’clock Sunday morning, and I should note we are now only one hour ahead of Eastern Time since daylight saving came into effect in the US.

We buzzed through town and took the road connecting the beach to the freeway which would get us back once more to the city of Curitiba. 

But the freeway was blocked by an accident and Google Maps sent us into the back country on Paraná State Highway 410 into the mountains. The unknown! Adventure! Oh dear. We were forced to follow the red line to avoid the blockage.

It turned out to be a delightful discovery, a Sunday drive through glorious rainforests climbing up past restaurants and through villages filled with Brazilians enjoying their day off: it was a great drive. 

Mountains ahead. Not sure what sort of Sunday this dude was enjoying: 

Sunday exercisers in spandex were everywhere, and on the winding hill road with no sidewalks we met plenty of suicidal Brazilians walking and cycling among the curves. I’m pleased to report we killed no locals on our gasoline powered hill climb. 

When we got to the other side of the hills we stopped for gas and the attendant thinking we were planning to drive there  said we couldn’t possibly complete  the route as our van was too long. Little did he know we’ve seen plenty of far more gnarly roads. 

Only cars buses and vans on this road the authorities say prohibiting commercial truck traffic. We met lots of tour bus Sprinter vans so it was really no problem for us. 

It all reminded me a bit of Smuggler’s Notch in Vermont, a winding road we drove in September 2022.

Protection is respect for life and our future. 

When the road got twisty there wasn’t much opportunity for photography but I did get a chance to highlight a few miserable miles of Roman road in the middle of the drive. 

I hate this stuff as it makes GANNET2 bounce so I drive below twenty mph as cobblestones are as bad as dirt road surfaces for us. 

That involved lots of pulling over to let others participate in the destruction derby. 

By eleven we were at our first stop, a second visit to the Niemeyer museum in Curitiba. This time we knew where to park near the ticket booth, and we knew to carry no bags, and we knew where the entrance was, and we knew we old farts (“Idoso”) got in for free. We had it down. However once inside we found this much desired museum was not what we were looking for, which was art  relating to Curitiba or Paraná. 

Teaching kids to draw: 

But the problem was there was no explanation to speak of, no biographies no way to understand how this art related to Curitiba. It just seemed all random. 

African art, Asian art, beautiful stuff displayed beautifully but it all just flowed over us with no real idea of what we were looking at or why. Plus the typically quirky Niemeyer architectural style we had learned about in Brasilia was not at all apparent on the inside of the museum. 

There were quotations from the artists but no biographies, no stories or connections to place. 

Asian art. How or why it got here I have no idea. 

Tiny mirrors:

Random modern art: 

Cotton wrapped on a bungee cord. I kid you not. 

An Afghan rug depicting a map of that country. How these rugs got here until never know. 

Chinese statuary. 

A row of rocks. Very cool looking I thought. 

African statuary from various west African nations. 

A door from Mali: 

At least we finally got to it for ourselves and now do have you. We left at two and got driving to Colonia Witmarsum, an hour out of Curitiba, a place in the country where German immigrants landed, Anabaptists, refugees from revolutions in Europe, and though the people we met were thoroughly Brazilian the traditions live on in this little community.

The best and most prize winning cheese factory of Paraná… we bought plenty. 

Lunch:

The food was excellent as was the beer but we got leftovers and plenty of them from our sixty dollar meal. Pretzel to start: 

Lunch for two (hundred): Schnitzel, roast pork, sauerkraut, cabbage, mashed potato, apple sauce, sliced sausage. Phew! 

Ordered through an iPad on the table. Weird. 5.3 Reals to the dollar. 

It started to pour but we made our way to the cheese shop where Layne went shopping while I went with Rusty under the drizzle. 

And we camped out after the employee said it would be fine. We skipped dinner and listened to the rain. 

Sleeping in Germany. 

Beach Day

It was not a swimming beach really, full of surf which was a pity as the water wasn’t cold, but it felt good to at least walk in sand and feel slightly damp and sticky from the sea air. It has been a long time since we saw a beach, never mind one on the Atlantic Ocean. 

Rusty came with us but he doesn’t like beaches with crowds.

I’m not sure this rates as crowded, but he wasn’t too keen. 

He went so far. 

And no further. 

Layne tested the water and found it warm meaning we will move on from here and head south looking for a swimming beach. It’s heading towards autumn here in the southern hemisphere so warm sea water is a prize.

I looked around enjoying the Saturday evening beach scene. 

And so we went back to the campground across the street.

The campground entrance:

Layne paid our bill for two nights, 180 reals (US$34).  

We had a reminder of Mexico here on Saturday afternoon when a food seller stopped by with some mysterious packages.

He had hearts of palm things or chicken and cheese things at a dollar each. When we unwrapped the package it looked like this: 

I was staring to wish we had got more than one. Then we tasted it.

And the shame of  it is the pie seller never reappeared. We walked but did not see him and his delicious packages. 

The campground was just fine when all was said and done. 

If you think Brazilians don’t enjoy big RVs this country might surprise you. 

Our neighbor has been a pleasure to meet. He’s name is Jean and he came to Brazil 40 years ago from his home in French speaking Switzerland, a country that made him feel cramped. His grandfather died and a couple of old friends from Brazil came to his funeral. They invited Jean to come visit them but he did better than that. He brought their furniture with him. 

He tangled with a tiny suitcase and a container full of furniture and after a couple of months with them he looked for a job and got hired by a Swiss company and settled down.

He told Layne about a German village near Curitiba and as a storm is predicted bringing rain we’ve decided to go back to the city, do the Niemeyer museum properly and then visit Colonia Witmarsum where we can check out some German culture including Jean says some excellent cheeses. It’s been a nice couple of days and we want more beach time so we will come back south toward Brazil’s most famous southern beach town Florianopolis. 

Our home once again drew some curiosity. Brazilians are really nice people. 

We are ocean people.