🇧🇷 Weekend at Bernie's

Hello Adventurers,

This issue of the newsletter may seem light, but I assure you that my week was heavy: I had two all-nighters, flew nearly 10,000 kilometres, did some marathons, and was summoned to Mexico by a lawyer (more on that next week).

Because of how whacky things have been, this issue of the newsletter focuses exclusively on Brazil. I got there last weekend then did two marathons in coastal Florianópolis and one marathon in inland Brasília, the latter of which sucked — until a surprising turn of events.

I'd be remiss if I didn't give a shout-out to my old colleague Bernardo. Last year I messaged him about his huge homeland, and he replied with a bunch of thoughtful recommendations that informed where I went in Brazil. Obrigado Bernie!

My brain is still scrambled from Brazil's scorching sun, flipping between timezones and from Spanish to Portuguese (and back again), and so little sleep — so hold on tight 'cause the storytelling herein is turbulent at best! Sawry!

- Ben Pobjoy

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 10

• Flights taken: 20

• Kilometres flown: 27,883

• Marathons completed: 30

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 1,375.7

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 64,467

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: Standing in front of the recently stormed Congresso Nacional in Brasília, taking a selfie with the Brazilian president, and just thinking about how strange it is that the Right is now anti-government and the Left is now pro-war 🤔

• The Biggest Obstacle: Taking a red eye flight to Brasilia, spending only 14 hours there, doing a marathon, then taking another red eye (with a connection) to exit the country and land in another one...all in 36 hours 😵‍💫

• The Lesson Learned: It's not a lesson, just an embarrassing admission: it is inexcusable that I haven't made the effort to learn Portuguese. My wife and her family constantly speak it in earshot of me, and being unable to verbally communicate in Brazil was a humbling kick in the arse to learn the language 😓

FIELD NOTES: FLORIANÓPOLIS, BRAZIL

Totally obscured by the openness

We naturally want bang for our buck. And in funky-shaped Florianópolis, one can gangbang lots of nature on the cheap. I'd never heard of this place, so I was late to its orgiastic outdoors, but others have long professed their love for this place. And it's good to come, for a visit.

An island located on the south east coast of Brazil, Florianópolis is full of beaches, blue lagoons you shouldn't visit with cousins, waterfalls, trails and more. This makes it ideal for outdoorsy types, specifically hikers and runners. Sure, you can just plonk yourself down on the beautiful beaches and have a wicked time, but the trails make this place special: they give way to an incredible amount of natural variety.

When I first arrived to Florianópolis, it seemed like a bust. I'd chosen to stay in the suburbs, and that coloured my first impression. My logic from afar was that being situated in-between the city and the countryside made a greater range of things accessible by foot...and I seriously questioned my decision as soon as I got there.

However, I soon learnt that everything worthy here is hiding around the next bend: obscured by winding roads that cut through densely tree'd hills that verge on being mountains. Patience is a virtue and my impatience is my vice. And Florianópolis quickly upended my first impression. Phew!

I had two days to do two marathons, and wish I had more time in Florianópolis. My dumb ass made some navigational mistakes, and I only cracked the code on this place with just a few hours left in my stay. But like a musical headliner, it's my opinion that the best places leave you wanting more versus wanting less — or worse, wanting to leave before the encore. And Florianópolis, well, I'd be glad to do it again someday, and next time better order my time to properly hit all the trails.

Yes, I beefed it in Florianópolis, but the following was tasty:

Mercado Público de Florianópolis: I did my due diligence and marathoned downtown on my first day. As a city lover, I couldn't resist. In hindsight, it was a mistake; I should've prioritized nature over everything else.

That said, I did enjoy trekking alongside the Ciclovia Beira mar Norte into town at sunrise; seeing fish jump out of the waters of the Baia Norte as well as seeing the lingering moon hover over the hills of São José, a city on the other side of Ponte Hercílio Luz.

With respect the city centre here, there's not much reason to visit it, because the surrounding area offers so much stunning nature. If anything, hit the market to load up on grub, then get yourself into the beauty of the island's outdoors.

The market is surrounded by some pedestrian-only streets full of shops. They seemed charming, but I was there at like 8AM before everything was open...so what the hell do I know?

Trilha do Poção Córrego Grande: After my total fail in the Galápagos (where — for the life of me — I couldn't find a waterfall in some dense finca lands), I was super skeptical that a supposedly killer waterfall was only three kilometres from my Airbnb in Florianópolis. Yes, I could see a nearby jungle-y hill, but I was in a residential neighbourhood with loads of streets and strip malls...so its existence didn't seem plausible. I had nothing to lose so I hiked up the hill to search for the water — and found it! I'd highly recommend a visit: the waterfall creates a gorgeous pool you can swim in, and it's surrounded by these rocky yet wide and smooth ledges that you can suntan on. Locals were drinking beers on the rocks post-swim, and were super friendly. The whole thing is 'Grade A' good vibes so go vibe there and have a good time.

I then continued upwards and onwards to the somewhat nearby Mirante do Morro da Lagoa da Conceição — up kilometres of a steep mountain — to this lookout point over a lagoon which had a Lake Como-y feel. It was a good five minute experience, but I wouldn't recommend going out of your way to see it.

That said, people were skydiving over it when I was there, and it was cool to observe. Oh, and I did get up-close to the lagoon the next day...but it just looked like a lake when I was standing beside it. So, if you do trek to see it, remember the lookout offers the better view.

Mirante Morro das Pedras: On my last day in Florianópolis, I decided to get up at 4AM to trek 25 kilometre out to the Lagoinha do Leste Beach (in the dark to partially beat the heat), and then do 25 kilometres back to the Airbnb.

I made it to the trailhead (which leads to a lagoon and a secluded beach) but the trail went over a steep and jungle-y mountain to get to both. I made a game-time decision to opt out and reverse because I had to catch an important flight later that evening. I didn't want to tempt fate — and risk injury — in a place where I couldn't speak the language, and on a remote part of the island.

My backtracking wasn't all for naught; I veered off to a stunning vista called Mirante Morro das Pedras. Here, I watched surfers ride 10'-15' waves in rough waters. All had big cojones because the surf spot was right beside whirlpools and riptides in front of a really rocky shore.

From there, I got down onto the beach and trekked alongside the ocean for kilometres through Praia do Campeche to somewhere near Praia de Joaquina. Overall, there's some really killer beaches on the eastern edge of the island. I totally recommend them all: fine yellow sand, turquoise waters, Ilha do Campeche in the background which makes for a tropical backdrop, and very choppy waters amongst it all that make for some wild and dangerous fun.

As an aside, I have a wavy relationship with beaches, full of undercurrents of physical shame as it concerns my body. Over the course of my lifetime, I have been fat and I have been fit, and all the shapeshifting has left indelible marks on my body. Regardless of where I've been in my weight, I've always loved the feeling of sand, sun, and salt water on my body. But getting shirtless has always weighed on me. Like you, I'm blinded by my own physical imperfections, which no other person would likely ever notice when we're all in our swimsuits together, because they're focused on their untrue physical imperfections too.

Anyway, what I really admired about Florianópolis is that everyone seemed to be at physical peace with their freaky deaky selves: as evidenced by so many people in banana hammocks and/or bum-hungry thongs, regardless of age or body type or scars or cellulite or our stupid conventions about beauty or our unsaid and often self-crippling rules about what types of bodies are most suitable — or best deserving — of those types of skimpy swimwear silhouettes.

And just to be dead honest: I am skinny right now, but I have stretch marks from once being obese, and have really loose skin at the moment from rapid weight loss in January, which all makes me look like scraps of bones in a too big — and rippled — garbage bag of skin. So I remain shy to be shirtless, but would be comfortable to do it on the beaches of Florianópolis.

I know Brazilian beach culture has this reputation for being 'sexy', but that wasn't my hot take of it in the hot sun. Yes, there were babes and hunks — with the country's signature waxed buttholes and waxed surfboards — but what I dug most was that everyone went skimpy because everyone seemed to want to feel as many of the elements — like water, wind, and sun — on as much of their bodies as possible. And isn't that what going to the beach is really all about?

Anyway, for me, it was just so refreshing...and that's coming from someone who — at the time — was dying for a refreshment because I was parched as hell.

The most important takeaway is that people here don't give AF — they're so physically liberated — making Florianópolis one of the most non judge-y, 'body positive' places I've ever been to. Anyway, I don't know what the Portuguese word for modesty is, and I doubt Brazilians do either...because the beaches here are truly one size fits all, warts and all!

Oh, but everyone is golden and sun-kissed like the California Raisins. So if anything, you'll merely feel insecure because you likely pale in comparison!

It may seem strange, but strolling the suburbs was a highlight of my time in Florianópolis. Everyone has such pretty gardens full of vibrant colours and overgrown gorgeousness.

If you like gardening and/or have an appreciation for flowers, then you'll love it here. Best of all, I saw hummingbirds on the street (not in some yard lured by a feeder) as well as loads of little lizards going to and fro.

The variety of flora here is truly wild, and seeing all the different plants growing on all the different trees felt Amazonian! So stop and smell the flowers! Your eyes and nose will thank you!

FIELD NOTES: BRASÍLIA, BRAZIL

Where the (c)architecture backfired on pedestrians

I had 14 hours in Brasília from the time I exited the airport to the time I re-entered it. As such, I'm mixing up my dispatch style as it concerns my time in this capital city; opting to give you the play-by-play.

Anyway, I was super pumped to go to Brasília because it is both a planned city and a UNESCO World Heritage site that was designed — in part — by legendary architect Oscar Niemeyer.

However, from a marathoning perspective, it was such an anti-pedestrian and paradoxical let down: literally the dumbest death-inviting urban design coupled with some of the smartest architecture. I present this as evidence. It looks fucking cool as hell, but as someone who was staying on the side with the hotels (which is on the left in the hyperlinked image), imagine the experience of crossing the Monumental Axis by foot which — if you study the image — you'll see has wide lanes, no cross walks, and few stop lights. It's Frogger IRL.

This place immediately makes it known that it was designed for cars. And if you want the gist of my experience, just watch this drone video, run across your local highway, and save yourself the hassle of a visit.

Here, the cars operate like they have the right of way. So crossing the road is a constant pain in the ass, many of the sidewalks are more creative than functional (and in many parts don't exist...so you're bipedal as vehicles blaze by you), and the drivers are super aggressive (e.g. they blow red lights, don't give you space, and — when turning — get so close to you that you can feel their draft).

I kid you not, the first 35 kilometres or so of this marathon was so aggravating...even though the architecture was so ace. But then things turned around at the end...and this is why I love freestyle marathons: they can be 99% terrible and 1% magic, and the latter ultimately eclipses everything bad.

Anyway, things started to improve when I visited the Templo de Boa Vontade, and entered its pyramid to walk the concentric circle path. Comically, I wasn't allowed to enter in my running shorts; understandable as it's a place of faith. I thought church staff were going to turn me away...but they loaned me a pair of church-branded, 40" waist-sized pants that had big vintage Adidas polyester tracksuit bottom vibes. And I entered the pyramid in them, and immediately saw that another visitor was in a tank top.

God sure has an inconsistent dress code. Exposed arms yes, but exposed legs no?

Anyway, after that, I closed strong: pounding the pavement along the famed Via S1 to ogle Oscar's oddities:

I first hit the Biblioteca Nacional de Brasília Leonel de Moura Brizola and couldn't deny the timeless cool of the modernist architecture under the hot sun, the white exterior of which beautifully contrasted Brasilia's blue skies.

Up next was the iconic Catedral Metropolitana Nossa Senhora Aparecida. It's no doubt a structural statement, but what shines most is the seamlessness of its design: you enter through a sunken tunnel...making the structure feel that much more total since the exterior isn't punctuated by doors.

The sunbathed cathedral is pretty incredible: the crucifix gives way to a stained glass egg which is underneath a trio of ceiling-hung sculptures of angels. It is very psychedelic, and I just love how this part of the world embraced Magical Realism like nowhere else, and integrated it into so much art and architecture.

And my grand finale, it was something of a personal coup d'état or a coup de grâce. Whatever it you deem it to be, for me — creatively — it was Magical Realism made real:

I just want to preface this final anecdote with a serious acknowledgement that my wife — who is an accomplished journalist who always operates with journalistic standards and ethics — firstly, cringes at this. Secondly, always condemns it. And thirdly, said that if I ever pulled this type of stunt in her presence would kill me on the spot.

Anyway, she's a newspaper editor, and — love is a process — so here's to hoping that she can re-write my wrongs. And I'm talking me, not my copy.

So here goes nothing:

I love news and politics and history and art, and love marathoning up-close to places where big world events happened; especially when all of the aforementioned have intersected there.

So, in Brasília, I was keen to see the Congresso Nacional because it wasn't just designed by Oscar Niemeyer but because it was recently stormed by Jair Bolsonaro supporters who — like Trump supporters — refused election results, and trashed the capital...copycat style like in Washington, D.C. 

IMO, it's proof positive that libertarians everywhere are self-defined free-thinkers that share a definitive hive mind. And contrary to Brazil's promise, here there are some are anti-order and un-progress types...so how can they even begin to wave the flag of their democracy?

Given the complex of buildings had been stormed less than a month ago, I didn't think I'd be able to get up-close. And this was confirmed on my approach: temporary accordion fences had been deployed to guard the whole perimeter, which was peppered with police.

But then three things caught my eye...first was what appeared to be the ending of some sort of big political announcement on the lawn (there was a huge banner on it as well as suit-clad politicians and handlers), secondly was the chaos of the media scrum that was unfolding in real-time as journalists fought to interview individual politicians, and thirdly was me noticing that a security perimeter gate was momentarily being opened for two black, secret service type cars to enter.

So I made my move...

I already had my camera around my neck from having just photographed nearby architecture, so I ran through the temporary security opening — acting like I was late for the documentation of the announcement — while pulling out my passport from my fanny pack (atypically having my passport on me because I had to catch a flight later...and had an irrational fear of being unable to access my passport back at the hotel), and flashing my Galápagos tourist visa — wedged in my passport, like it was some sort of credential. And security waved me through. Unbelievable.

Now, keep in mind I was in running shorts, a dirty Dri-FIT top, a brimmed bush hat, and big pimp sunglasses. One would think I didn't look like a professional photojournalist — but without outing anyone in specific, and using this doll as reference — you need to know that the going industry lewk is basically dated technical wear meets gone fishin' attire. However, I will acknowledge that some news writers — on the other hand — do show up to these things with drip; especially this pocket square Star back in Toronto. 

And that is precisely how I got to meet the president of Brazil, and then post a photo of us together on Instagram.

I know this all seems fabulist but it's the same trade secret I used in Washington, D.C. years ago when I got through a secret service perimeter to shoot Donald Trump being driven down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House after his inauguration...a photo of which appeared in my monograph Capital Punishment. I also gotta say I gave my book a prophetic title for how his presidency ended...given he encouraged his supporters to unleash punishment on the United States Capitol.

If I've learned one thing using freestyle marathons as a medium for photography, it's that those who need to be in photographs — e.g. politicians, athletes, celebrities, etc. — seem to unquestionably approve of any photographer willing to make an image of them.

And most importantly, that's the story behind how I finagled the access to make this image of the Congresso Nacional. It is a traditional portrait of architecture, and is my favourite image I've created thus far in my Marathon Earth Challenge project.

I dreamt of this image when going to Brasília...and I was glad to see it become real in Brasília. Magical Realism, once again.

Anyway, sore losers tried to destroy this stunning example of modernist architecture, and it doesn't surprise me because sm/art is always lost on the dumb.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

Look, I'm banana biased...but trust me when I say the mini bananas in Brazil hit different. They're starchier in density, less sweet, and more banana-y in taste than the big imported ones I eat near-daily back home. Furthermore, they have a kiwi mouth-feel where the near-gelatinous seeds erupt under the chomp of your jaw.

I loved this variety's taste, texture, and functionality because I could whip a bunch in my backpack, have them jostle around for hours on a marathon, and they wouldn't split and go all gooey.

Anyway, at just three-ish inches in length, they're BDE: bold, delicious, and enjoyable.

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Florianópolis and Brasilia (all prices converted to USD):

• Two 1.5 litre bottles of water and one 150 gram bag of raisins from a grocery store in Florianópolis:$2.87

• A 600 millilitre bottle of Coke Zero, a pack of 10 Oreo cookies, and an 85 gram bar of dark chocolate from a gas station in Brasília: $4.33

MARATHON MUSINGS

Harsh words for harsh winters

Over the course of my lifetime, I've endured my fair share of cold and snowy Canadian winters. Luckily, they have never impacted my mental health vis-à-vis seasonal affective disorder.

And while I don't partake in traditional Canadian winter sports like skiing, hockey or ice skating, I have made the most of my winters by marathoning through them.

I'm not one of those hibernating types that fears the deep freeze and hides indoors for months on end. Yes, winters are often cold, grey, slippy, and soggy, but staying outside year-round — and moving through all the seasons — consistently provides me with lungfuls of fresh air and the opportunity to observe near-daily sunrises...both of which keep me happy and healthy.

Anyway, this year was the first time that I've been able to escape the Canadian winter. It wasn't just a luxurious privilege, it was an eye-opening experience — through sunglasses, not rose-tinted glasses — regarding the possibility of new modes of living within the white collared world's new normal.

Winter never negatively affected my mind, but boy, avoiding it this year sure has made my body feel better...even as I simultaneously destroy my body with marathons. Gone are the cracked hands, the arthritic-like aches in my feet from the frigidness, and the full body stiffness from all the clenching to combat the cold. Right now, I'm a copper-toned loose goose, sun-ripened pamplamousse and ba da ba ba bah, I'm lovin' it.

And as I've marathoned through 10 warm countries this 'winter' — watching people surf in shorts or trek in t-shirts — I had the dumbest yet most profound realization: I don't actually like Canadian winters, and I have no desire to weather them ahead.

Yes, I have a 700 fill down jacket, but I've had my fill...I'm just not down with winter anymore. And I haven't been for a while, I just had to work...and work through the revelation.

Given what I demand of my body, my quality of living is honestly compromised by Canada's cold. Howbow dah?

To date, I've endured Canadian winters because I've physically worked in wintery Canada...and the standard operating procedure was for employers to require employees to be physically present in their three-dimensional cubes (as if one's labour wasn't already enough). IMO, it's chattel-ism on top of capitalism. But I understood it in the old normal; the price of admission — to the opportunity cost — was paid in your attendance, in an office that was in a place.

However, I've long made a career as a professional monkey hoo-hoo-haw-haw'ing words and ideas into a laptop...so this be-at-your-desk-in-the-office requirement was bananas to me. It just didn't compute. Especially because I can wrest creativity from my brain and then jam it into my laptop, on whatever surface my computer rests on.

But we know the corny chorus of the sad song that calls us all into work: the brass' blah blah blah about the in-person need for collaboration and the merits of company culture and the needed sense of community with colleagues. And it's just caca; the cacophony of control. I never took the bait. I'm too much of a hater: no private sector incursions into the private sphere. And definitely no workplace lectures on values and ethics either. That's our fundamental job to do as human beings on the pale blue dot.

Plus, capitalism doesn't create culture, it just tries to commodify it. And capitalism doesn't create community, it incentivizes competition between people. And real ones know that the lamestream mainstream corporate world wouldn't know cool even if it were bitch slapped in the visage by a copy of Monocle (or whatever your personal definition of cool is, which no externality is gonna top).

Anyhoo, the pandemic pantsed the protocol. And thank God. Because employers went from 'needing' all their lil angels slogging away in-house...to then telling all of satan's vectors to go to hell and work from home. Class-wise, it was the truest reveal of the but-tell-me-how-you-really-feel about workers by their overlords...everywhere and all at once. Like, once the c-suites risked getting ill, work-life balance immediately got healthier. Like at the snap of the finger. And for me, that was just too stone cold on top of the too cold Canadian winters.

But it is — and was — the silver lining of the pandemic. Well, for white collar workers at least. For us, it represents a new opportunity to be more remote (because we're finally trusted?), which is to say, less controlled...enabling us to throw the remote control out the window and become the stars of our own reality show, scripted or unscripted.

And my reality was to show that I wanted to bow out. No finale needed. Me, I was part of the Great Resignation. And I'm proud of it. Yes, from some day job, but more so from the unimaginative way I was living my life. And now having escaped both convention as well as the cold — of both winter and work — my imagination is finally starting to thaw.

I don't yet have a complete vision of the future — that'll be co-authored with the missus — but all I know is that I don't want to see cut flowers in some vase...inside some warm home...in some cold place that necessitates such. I prefer to envision a moving existence in the perennial bloom of the outdoors — in the real — and in the beautiful, year-round.

So yeah, moving forward I hope to engineer my life to be WFH — work from heat — and avoid cold winters at all costs. And like a metallurgist, I just have to figure out how to melt the silver lining into some form of silver to afford the cost of existing.

This feat may require alchemy, but if I can foot the bill by monetizing my feet — and my marathoning — then, like the bard Bhad Bhabie once quipped, "Cash me outside."

And that is the cold, hard work I gotta do.

Howbow dah?

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