A South American Paradise

As stated before this 'B.A. run' was all any seaman
could wish: getting home regularly, lovely adventures
in those wonderful Latin countries. Brazil was my
favorite, and among ports Santos was the best of the
Brazilian ones:

Santos was the coffee port (probably the greatest
single importer of coffee in those days). Right at
the foot of the escarpment that leads up to Sao Paulo,
which at that time was a faster growing metropolis
than any other in the world. But Santos was relaxed;
the elite lived along the beach. You could swim, but
there were usually more exciting things to do.

At 20 I was still something of a reclusive, innocent
of most of the habitual pastimes in which seamen
engage. But like most young men I was interested
in a relationship.

I was in the radio shack one morning when the phone
rang; a young woman spoke; apparently she thought I
was someone else. I couldn't figure out who to direct
her to. But lo and behold you wanted to talk with me.
More than talk, she invited me to meet here at the
beach. I met her, and she was upper-class!!

Well this may sound very conceited-- until you
understand the circumstances. Believe it or not,
this was the sort of thing that upper class young
women in Santos did in those days.

Maria (I won't give her middle name) introduced me
to many of her friends (boys and girls). We had
wonderful times at the beach. My favorite activity
was to sit with some of those friends in the sidewalk
cafe of the main hotel watching the paseo.

(The paseo was the every evening social: people went
around in a circle: the boys counter clockwise and the
girls clockwise. Oh joy!)

These were idealistic and (very) literate people (I
had never met anybody like those Santistas). Most of
them spoke three or four languages; they were musical;
the girls generally went to 'normal' (even in my day
normal meant, even in the good old U.S.A., a
teachers' school).

It was the thing for these young women to go to
teachers' school, maybe teach a year or two before
taking up 'real life'.

ITEM: Strangely enough to these girls American boys
were just like movie stars. I can't explain it: maybe
we were war heroes (BTW Brazil had the only Latin
American expeditionary force in World War II).

But I think the real reason was deeper; I once asked
Wanda, my second girl friend there, why they thought
so highly of American boys. Her answer was revealing:
because they're not malicioso.

For my part they make wonderful companions. With no
duties on the ship while in port I spent a lot of time
on the beach. I thought seriously about settling down
there. I got a room at a pensao on the beach. Now
this was something else: $7 a week for a room,
breakfast, and two six course meals. I was eating
irregular hours by Brazilian standards and often the
only one in the dining room.

The waiter would bring me the first course and stand
there near my table. I would finish it and push back a
bit; he was right there ready to fill my plate again --
with the first course. I learned to say no mas! no
mas!. Then he would bring the next course. Oh my.
I've never seen (before or since) anything like that
pensao.

There's lots more to say about Santos and S.A., but it
will have to await another post. Thanks for reading, if
anyone has.