The world started falling apart during my one-and-only stay in Santos two years ago. I can assure you both events are, however, completely unrelated—I can’t prepare a freaking box cake following step-by-step packaging instruction, so I definitely didn’t engineer a virus and started a pandemic.
Anyway, in February 2020, I had found Santos quite grim, which may have been an unfair assessment because I was feeling gloomy at the time. I was waiting for a week of Carnival party in São Paulo, I should have been excited, but instead I had this weird sense of impending doom. Oh, I know, easy to say in hindsight, it’s not like I actually knew how bad things were going to get. After all, it was still a couple of weeks before my sister, an early adopter, caught a mysterious virus in Paris and was so sick we all worried about her. It was also a few before the COVID-19 pandemic reached South America with Brazil confirming a first case of in São Paulo. It was a month before lockdowns worldwide, two months before my grandfather passed away.
Still, I remember being worried at the time, more than usual, for sure. My grandfather had just been admitted to the hospital and it didn’t look good. I had been following the news as well, mostly because I know Wuhan, we’ve been there to meet Feng’s relatives. My mum was stressed out about my grandfather. Feng had just stopped taking Mark to McDonald’s’ playground—don’t judge, it’s a classic activity during harsh Canadian winters—because of a virus going around. I remember laughing when he reported my in-laws had advised avoiding Chinese supermarkets in Ottawa because of possible exposure.
To top it all, Santos wasn’t what I thought it would be. It was older than I had expected, which was a surprise because São Paulo is next door and very modern. It was colder too, but that was probably just me because I was coming from Salvador.
So why on earth am I stopping in Santos again?
Well, this time, my stay in Santos is a strategic move. This is the end of the trip, I’m flying back to Canada from São Paulo very soon. And when I checked the weather back in São Sebastião, I realized it was going to rain the first few days of April. Like, every day. Like, everywhere from Rio to São Paulo. This was before Ilhabela and the night from hell, but after the power outage in São Sebastião. Staying in Ilhabela or São Sebastião for three of four rainy days felt like masochism—small towns, beach towns, nowhere to hide indoors. Same with any of the towns along the coast to São Paulo. São Paulo was an option, but it’s usually the “coldest” place when it rains. So the one option left was Santos, only two hours from São Paulo, a bit warmer, much bigger than São Sebastião—think shopping malls, museums, etc.
In a way, it may be time to go back to Santos, for… I don’t know, closure.
It was predictably rainy and “cold” (i.e. 20⁰C) when I finally made it to Santos. The Airbnb smelled vaguely familiar, a bit like the family house in Saint Michel actually, a mix of old wood furniture and dampness.
The transition to city life was brutal.
This wasn’t the kind of rain you can handle with a swimsuit and a pair of Havaianas. I quickly rediscovered forgotten feelings—soaked jeans against my legs, cold wind, the need to be indoors because being outside isn’t very fun nor comfortable.
For the first time in months, I closed all the windows. It was cold… colder, I mean.
It rained non-stop for two days. Eventually, like half of Santos, I ended up in shopping malls. Unlike half of Santos, I didn’t buy anything. It didn’t rain much yesterday so I walked on the beach. It’s not like I would have gone for a swim anyway—Santos’ many canals all end up in the ocean so the water can’t possibly be clean.
I’m still not a big fan of Santos. It feels old and grim with endless residential streets. I don’t regret stopping for a few days, though. The Airbnb was comfortable, I completed a few assignments and I got mentally ready for São Paulo, my last stop.
No feeling of impending doom, this time.
But Feng and Mark are pretty much the only reason why I’ll board the plane.
> But Feng and Mark are pretty much the only reason why I’ll board the plane.
No, not only. You forgot that you’ll be able to vote for our Great Leader Moncon if you are in Ottawa the 9.
For the first time ever, I don’t think I’m going to vote: apparently my only option is going to the Lycée Claudel on Saturday and I don’t know if I’ll have the time to make it. I was going to set up a procuration but ah ah, I’d have to go in person to the consulate or embassy. Merde.
Are you voting?
I don’t even know who I’d vote for… Poutou, I guess. I don’t like Mélenchon.
IF I’m here saturday, I’ll probably go. I leave tomorrow for Gillette, Wyoming, so not very far, and I don’t know what I do after that. Possible that I’ll be here saturday, but nothing certain. I’ll see.
Macron, Pécresse, Zemmour et Le Pen font plus de 70% chez les plus de 60 ans ; quand on sait que Moncon veut passer la retraite à 65 ans et que les 3 autres ne sont pas mieux, c’est assez rageant (voir le journal de campagne de Pierre-Emmanuel Barré d’aujourd’hui à ce sujet, il était déchaîné).
Je voterai Poutou. Si il y avait une chance que Méluche soit au 2nd tour, je me poserais la question, mais voilà. ’fin bref, c’est que du bonheur …
Ah, pis de toutes façons, je serai pas au Canada samedi.
Ben finalement, effectivement, j’ai pas voté pour la première fois de ma vie. Je verrai au second tour…
Si c’est Moncon-Le Pen, je vois pas l’intérêt. C’est à cause des politiques capitalistes de types comme Moncon que l’extrême droite est à ce niveau.
《 Oh, attention, derrière toi ! Un arabe va te faire les poches ! 》
Et pendant ce temps, les banquiers comme Moncon nous font effectivement les poches.
C’est quand même effarant de voir les scores de l’extrême droite quand on se souvient du séisme de 2002 :-/
Hey, juste un petit mot pour dire que j’ai lu ce billet (ainsi que quelques autres), et que la lecture de ton blog m’avait manqué 😉
Hey, ça fait plaisir de te retrouver! Où en es-tu de la vie?