Sao Paulo and the Vehicle Monsoon

Sao Paulo is the definition of a city. If you look up 'city' in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of me, stuck in a two-hour traffic jam from the International airport, mumbling, “ugh, Sao Paulo is the definition of a city.”  Below, you'll see: 2. (noun) a mind-numbing mass of people crazy enough to live in one area. See also, Tokyo, Mumbai, and giant African ant hills.

Denilo, a German descendent, Brazilian raised, entrepreneur, model, and part-time driver stood waiting for me, with a sign at the airport - 'Kevin.'
“Were you sitting on the wheel?” he asked after I shook his hand.
“Huh?”
“You got here fast.”
“Ah... Ha.” Was that Brazilian humor, or regular humor on three hours of sleep?

Denilo was outgoing and talkative. We had a forty-five minute conversation about cars. My knowledge of cars goes as far as hearing the model of a car, and instantly knowing whether it's funny sounding or not. Silverado, not funny. Saab, funny (I'd Saab if I had that car). Car conversations must be ubiquitous here, as Sao Paulo has more than 8 million vehicles trickling down the streets. Yes, 8 million. Imagine staring at a highway, non-stop, for two months, and never seeing a break in the cars honking by. That's about 8 million. In Sao Paulo though, it never stops.

Later in the week, I explored the city by foot – which is like admiring a two-story mural with a magnifying glass. For a thirty minute stretch of walking down one road, I saw nothing but car dealerships. Most cars were slightly out of my price range: Mercedes, Jaguar, BMW; they may as well have had the bat mobile. Not to mention, all the cheap cars, the Hondas and Fords. Every conceivable make or model of car is bought here or brought here. Basically, Brazilians make American car lovers look like Amish car mechanics.

If it weren't enough to flood the city with vehicles, Sao Paulo also has the largest fleet of helicopters. They can be heard throughout the day, circling the city with the rich and powerful. I'm thinking of opening a business of helicopter taxis – although, the altitude and the fare could easily be mixed up.

Despite Sao Paulo's infestation of four-wheeled smog producers, the city is so immense that calm streets can still be found throughout the metropolis. I walked down the wealthy streets of Rua Brazil and Rua Groenlandia to find tree-covered mansions guarded by barbed wire, security cameras, and private security guards lazily watching TV on the boxy 6-inch screens. I'm almost positive they were watching a show about cars.

Off Paulista, the main strip lined with immense skyscrapers, a small sanctuary of greenery hides from the traffic. A recreation of the amazonian jungle penetrates the earth of several blocks, reclaiming it's once lush home. The clustered maze of different palms, vines, leaves, and branches block out nearly any view of cement highrises. In fact, trees are sneaking around all over the city, grasping onto concrete walls and wiggling through sidewalks. However, If I were a tree here, I would definitely sell my body to get a Ferrari.

Although intimidating, Sao Paulo was growing on me. I saw why so many people could live here. An aliveness and foundational respect for plants helps the city bloom. However, while hugging the trees, a drop of water hit me on the head like Newtons apple and I remembered that all this green needed water. Lots of water. I estimated a monsoon's worth. Which is exactly what dropped out of the sky five minutes later. Meanwhile, I had no umbrella and no taxi, which went perfect with my no sense of direction.

As I waited under an awning, examining my map, a guy ran up with a cardboard box over his head, tossed it into the trash and ran inside. This man knows his city. I grabbed the cardboard box and braved the weather. Soon, I was walking calf deep in puddles, my shorts were soaked, and my shoes squished like sponges. By the time I reached the apartment, I looked like I'd swam there.

Sao Paulo still has much to offer me, but next time I go out, I'm taking my helicopter taxi.