The girls in Rio De Janeiro don’t wear makeup and the mountains slide straight into the waiting ocean. As if by magic, I had a 30-hour Rio adventure that stirred my soul and restored a sense of childlike wonderment that had been flagging.

Sao Paulo is gargantuan, overwhelming and nondescript. Its packed subway cars, high prices and air pollution have lately been causing me to wonder aloud if I left New York at all. Rio de Janeiro is one of the world’s few special places; passionate and delectable, known for it’s raucous Carnival, iconic beaches and gorgeous people. It is simply unique, a gem in Brazil’s crown.

The hostel where I was staying threw a delightful dance party and afterwards, I went to Lapa with an Australian named Dave. Lapa is a strip of bars just outside downtown Rio bisected by a Roman aqueduct that acts as a bridge for the overhead trolley tracks. By the time we arrived, at half past 4 in the morning, the Lapa crowd, which was in the upper hundreds, or even thousands, was disintegrating into a drunken melee. At home, in the States, these bars would be closing in a matter of minutes, but it’s quite possible patrons here continued to samba and sing on the street until the sun came up after 6.

The long bus into town and the subsequent week of late nights left me content heading home as 5 approached. There’s something about Rio though, with it’s sticky climate, soaring hills and the energy of 6 million souls that could have made me push through the exhaustion to find another thrill.

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I have been told that Rio de Janeiro and Cape Town, South Africa were once joined when Africa and South America were a single land mass. The geology of the two areas, Cape Town’s Table Mountain, besides Pao de Açucar in Rio, makes me think that this could be true. But while Rio is unlike any city I’ve visited, it somehow conjures the best: The lawlessness and hedonism of New Orleans, the architecture of Buenos Aires, as well as New York’s addictive cocktail of grit, hustle and filth that one only has to smell to understand.

Tell me more …

I’ve been experiencing an existential crisis ever since I left New York. It’s only been a few days on the road, but I often find myself wondering, aloud, “What am I doing here?” To date, the hardest thing for me to stomach has been leisure time. Although I graduated two weeks ago, I’m not on pleasure trip. If anything, I consider this a hybrid “workation,” where I am chipping away at a task while simultaneously exploring a new city. Inactivity feels like failure and sitting still is terrifying.

There are ways in which such  a reaction is to be expected; there is no road map for what I have set out to accomplish, and those whose journeys inspired me, had to wrestle with their own doubts either publicly or privately. With meetings and interviews with founders set for early next week, I’m starting to hammer away at my objective, but I can’t shake the feeling there is more I could be doing.

For whatever reason, I accomplish the most when I’m not at my computer. After last night’s rousing introduction to Paulista pub culture, I went with Joao to meet Roberto and Bruno at their house near Villa Madalena. Bruno, who is Debby’s nephew, and my age, is a musician who recently returned from a master course in Barcelona. When I arrived at the house, Bruno was out buying guitar strings, so Roberto and I watched the Roland Garros French Open and talked about sports. Soon Bruno came back and we ate the most delicious beans I’ve ever tasted, followed vine-ripened figs no American unknown to the American palette.

After lunch Bruno and I took the Metro to the Pinacoteca, where we visited the Museum of the Portuguese language. While the idea of creating a museum to honor the language of a colonizing power seems odd, the facility itslef was an homage to the dexterity and richness of Portuguese spoken by Brazilians themselves. The bedrock of Brazilian Portuguese is the European mother tongue, but its influences include other continental languages such as France as well as languages spoken by slaves kidnapped from Angola and Africa’s Southwest coast. The motivation and execution of the museum were brilliant and it’s the third museum I’ve visited where I feel I must go back.

We headed back to Jardins at the height of rush and  I’m inlcuding this short video because I can’t remember the last time I saw a train station this crowded. It’s very possible that more people pass through Grand Central Station during peak times, but the flow of bodies in Luz station was tremedous. At the same time, however, even a full subway car was not that full and if we missed a connecting train, the next one arrived no more than three minutes later.

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Back at the ranch, several of the emails I had been waiting for arrived.  In just a few minutes I was was able to set up interviews for next week when I get back from Rio de Janeiro on Monday. Today was also special because I celebrated Shabbat for the first time in months, or years. While it seems that things are moving along quickly enough here, it’s easy to lose sight of how incremental actions will lead up to a big finish when this trip is over.

It’s approaching 3:30, which would normally be early, but part of me wants to be on a bus to Rio that leaves at before 9 am. It might happen, but I’m already feeling warn down from sleepless nights, hurried days, schizophrenic winter weather and air pollution. If you have any suggestions on how to stay healthy, I would love it if you drop some comments below. I was told that commenting was non-functional, so if this is the case, you might have to email me so I can take the appropriate action. Perhaps I will even cut myself a little slack and cease the crisising for now.

Excusing the adapted quote from Tom Jobim, I’m now fully aware that while Brazilians are warm and welcoming to guests, nothing gets in the way of business. I finally found an “office” and was able to grind out several hours of serious work.

It’s after 4 and I’ve just returned pickled from a nearby saloon. I feel like I never left New York because the pace of activity is so feverish. I took a bunch of photos at a street fair this morning, spammed/contacted over a dozen potential interview subjects and somehow found time to ride a bike on Paulista Ave. In spite of everything, I wish I had an extra six hours to get everything settled. Outstanding errands include booking a bus and flight to Rio for the weekend, uploading photos and getting some sleep. This is hardly a vacation, but I feel stuck between two very different modes of activity; reporting and reposing.

I’m thrilled to finally visit Rio (pronounced Chhe-oe) pending the purchase of a ticket, of course. From what I am told, it’s the most Brazilian of cities, which just leaves out the other 8.5 million square miles of land to be explored. Subtract Alaska from the land area of the U.S. and Brazil is the larger country. Whenever I leave here, there will be that much left to explore. Gonna think on that for a little bit…

My hair and clothes smell like smoke. Last night I jiggled the key into the lock a tad before midnight, but it’s almost 3 AM and I’m just getting started. We watched Corinthians and Curitiba play a 0-0 draw, then I headed out with Patrick, the son of Debby and Jose’s close friends who live down the street. Patrick heads to Buenos Aires tomorrow, but he was gracious enough to show Paulista nightlife tonight.

Kia Ora bills itself as a “Down Under Experience,” and who am I to judge it. Patrick, who Couch Surfed in New Zealand said that it wasn’t like any bar he had been to, but it’s safe to say that very few people there could point out why Kia Ora was or was not authentically New Zealand. As we paced through the joint, I heard English spoken nearly as often as Portuguese, but I only noticed when I head English. So far, I’ve been getting by on my Spanish, but I would much prefer to speak and be understood in the native tongue.

I was, however, pleasantly surprised by my abilities to comprehend Portuguese at a rally to protect teacher’s salaries this afternoon. I had little trouble understanding the plight faced by Sao Paulo’ public school teachers and professors at universtity who were having their salaries and benefits slashed. As they hurled their complaints at the bureaucrats inside the provincial government building, it was clear to me they were upset about wages that were laughingstock of Latin America in spite of Brazil’s relative wealth. Unlike during a casaul conversation, I felt as though understood 4 out of 5 words being shouted by the speakers. While those teachers and thie union may have to wait for result, I knew that I had instantly made progress.

After a busy day like yesterday, I was happy that today was relatively chilled out. I went to to the Museu Afro Brasil, a collection of contemporary modern and historical artifacts of Brazilian culture. I was especially moved by the display of a slave ship that sat comfortably inside a single room. Only the ribs of the vessel remained, but on every wall hung wood blocks of conditions aboard the ship as well as maps detailing what types of Africasn could be expected from each country. I’ve never been so close to a remnant of the New World’s slaving past. What struck me most was the tight, unforgving experience a sailor would have topside and out to sea. To be crammed below deck for a trans-Atlantic passage would be a horrible fate I can’t begin to imagine.

Beyond the shocking nature subject matter, the Brazilian slavery exhibition struck me because of how close the experience was for slaves in the U.S. As I grapple with how similar my slice of Sao Paulo is to New York and other world cities, it’s instructive to recognize the legacy of slavery in creating Brazil, the U.S. and the nations of the Americas.

Beyond this macabre comparison, I have been underwhelmed by Sao Paulo as the industrial heart of a such a mighty nation. Anyone urban explorer would instantly peg Sao Paulo as a major metropolis, but there is little that makes it unique. Buenos Aires, Beijing, and Bogota vary in their food, language and climate, but they greatly resemble Sao Paulo in the ways that matter. My litmus is whether hot water pours from the tap once the knob is turned. Any product can be obtained a short distance from the front door and the lights work 24 per day. I’ve been told that Sao Paulo is not the real Brazil and I’m inclined to believe it. I do, however, think that Sao Paulo is the model capital of the 21st century. It’s no surprise that TechTrotting shuold drop me here.

And while the entrepreneurs are out there somewhere, I have thus far found the experience to be more challenging than I would have thought. Just carving out the time to research and write has been difficult and I haven’t connectd with key sources as quickly as I would have liked. People in this city are as busy as New York, with worse traffic and armed robbers afoot. To simply pack up and talk to willing entrepreneurs would be a challenge in the states, but coupled with a language issue and the knowledge I’m leaving so soon maks my time limited, and infringes upon my time to meet the entrepreneus I wish to see.

What do Brazilians love more than meat? More meat. I love it too!

After a good’s night’s rest–and through the morning–I awoke refreshed and ready to explore. The first stop was VideoImagem, a full-service, vertical multimedia agency started by Debby’s brother, Roberto. VideoImagem was started as one of the first firms in Brazil to handle internal corporate communications, and today their largest accounts are some of the world’s biggest companies, such as Microsoft and AmBev, the brewing giant that recently purchased Anheuser-Busch (maker of Budweiser) for a paltry $52 billion. As we toured the editing bays, archives and video production studio, Roberto told me that while his company was learning to cope with the economic crisis, it was important to “dance with the music,” he said.

For lunch, I visited my first rodizio with Roberto, which is a Brazilian-style steakhouse. A colorful spread of starters is arranged on a central table, with sushi, sashimi, cheeses, deepfried poppers, green salads, pasta salads, hummus, taboule and plenty more. By flipping a colored wheel from red to green, a sumptuous  variety of barbecued meats was brought to the table on spits. I don’t know the names of anything, but I was too busy stuffing my face to care.

After lunch I took my first excursion on Sao Paulo’s subway system and arrived quickly in Liberdade, Sao Paulo’s Asian district. The world’s largest concentration of Japanese outside of Japan call Liberdade their home, and the first Japanese to arrive in Brazil were enticed to harvest coffee. The story of Japanese in Brazil and South America is fascinating and I would love to revisit it soon.

My next stop was MASP, the museum of art on Paulista Ave, where an exhibition of the Vik Muniz’s photos totally blew me away. I then met with a wonderful CouchSurfer for a beer and a chat, then I went to meet the emisarries of the Sao Paulo weekly CouchSurfer meetup at a bar called Genuino.

No wonder I’m so wiped out. Gonna hit the rack and update in the morning.

If Brazil is the Texas of South America, then Delta Airlines is an RV with wings. All I have to say about Delta flight 121 to Sao Paulo is that I arrived in Sao Paulo in one piece. Their one “unit” of alcohol on a nine-hour, transcon flight, along with the fact they played “Hotel For Dogs” earned them a big black “X” in my travel future travel plans, However, Upon arrival I learned that an Air France plane with 228 passengers disappeared en route from Rio to Paris. The sobering news put any gripes I had about cramped quarters to rest.

Guarulhos International Airport was relatively restrained for Brazil’s busiest air hub. The excitement was provided by a clutch of teenie-boppers camped outside the international arrivals hall waiting for reggaeton singer called Rebelje. You can see him in the blue hat.

After snapping some pictures of the hubub, I asked a porter who the guy was and he wrote down the name on a business card. Subsequent Internet searches haven’t turned up any info, and the group of kids who came to see him was small, but vigorous.

Out of arrogance alone, I neglected to write down the cell phone number or taxi confirmation code  I needed to connect with Debby and Jose, my gracious hosts. My assumption was threefold:

1. I would be able to connect my laptop to a wifi network
2. Once online I could retrieve the necessary information
3. Buying a phone card to announce my arrival would be a cinch

Although I was able to complete all of the aforementioned tasks, I should have saved myself the hassle with a little planning ahead. After 90 or so minutes lolligagging in the airport, I was in a cab and on my way to the center of town.

Airports are  almost the same as hotel rooms. Their purpose is the same and beyond the language being spoken inside, they are hard to separate. (When I get to Nigeria, I will demonstrate how this is not always the case, but just bare with me, aight?) To know a city, you have to see it from the street level and Sao Paulo’s streets have a grizzly reputation. There is more than one car for every four people, in this city of over 20 million people and while there is a subway system, surface transportation is the dominant means of getting around.

The interminable gridlock has given rise to innovation of its own. According to the Guardian, Sao Paulo has a fleet of over 469 helicopters, to help those with the means avoid “Traffic jams [that] often stretch to more than 130 miles in greater Sao Paulo.” There are  [Click here for more audio] A hotel with a helipad on the rood is just around the corner from where I now sit. However, traffic is just one part of the equation. Crime is also a major factor. In addition to the boom in helicopter sales, The New York Times recently reported how crime in Sao Paulo is leading to an explosion in armored car sales. Chances are very good I will be taking a ride in one tomorrow.

While street crime seems to have a lot of folks on edge, I haven’t seen anything yet. What should have people worrying is the way people drive here. Motorcyclists zip between lanes of stalled cars with suicidal disregard, and drivers are fond of fishing their front ends before oncoming traffic as a way of merging lanes.

Beyond the traffic, I haven’t formed much of an opinion about Sao Paulo yet. The vehicle culture has dominated my 14 hours in town.  The city is enormous, and garish concrete reach into the sky as far as one can imagine. After a lunch of eggplant parmesan, beef cutlets and salad, I went for a walk up to Paulista, and watched as the sun set just after 5:45. Although summer was getting under way in New York, winter in Sao Paulo starts in two weeks. It was somewhat chilly today, with a slight breeze.

I don’t know whether I like Sao Paulo yet, but once I start meeting more people, I’m sure it will grow on me. Thanks to Debby’s networking prowess and a little social media, I’m starting to get the ball rolling from a business perspective. Tomorrow night I will be meeting the Sao Paulo CouchSurfing group at a bar called Genuino nearby and from here, I am confident that interviewing will really get underway.