Saudade: what I missed about Brasília

Saudade is an untranslatable word, often described as being homesick, missing or longing for something or someone. It means all these things, and more, and sometimes less. Coming back to Brasília to visit family after an absence of almost four years due to the pandemic and other stuff, I definitely had saudade. What surprised me was the mix of things that triggered my memory and affection for this beautiful and complicated country and its modernist capital.

When Brasília and I first met thirty years ago, it struck me as too much reinforced concrete and not enough soul. I appreciated the miracle of its construction, completed in just three years, and its bold architectural innovation, but it took many years for me to learn to love it. Getting off the plane and driving home from the airport, I looked at Brasília with fresh eyes.

The huge sky of Brazil’s altiplano or high plains, with towering clouds riding above the immense plateau covered with high rises and humble dwellings. The residential areas with apartment buildings of only six floors, an original plan to make neighborhoods livable and walkable. The huge main roads with multiple lanes designed for the future that was all about the automobile. The green swathes of earth with plantings of mature trees, including mango, jaca, and other fruit available for the picking.

Samba and caipira (a kind of country) tunes as background music everywhere. The inescapable red dirt that clings to everything, turning white sneakers and white cat paws pink and staining the light tiles in the black-and-white sidewalks. The smell of diesel and smoke from stuff burning. The ubiquitous words derived from indigenous languages such as Tupi-Guarani.

The aroma of lunch cooking everywhere in the neighborhood as I went for a walk in the late morning. Meat frying, chicken roasting. A huge lunch as the main meal of the day, always with rice and black beans. The people always laughing and kidding around, because as my mother in law says, “You have to laugh or else you cry. And laughing helps us get by.”

This curious mix of things I miss reminds me of Antônio Carlos Jobim’s classic song, Águas de março or Waters of March. The lyrics can be translated but don’t make a lot of sense to those outside the culture. It’s about the beauty in everyday things.

                É o pau, é a pedra, é o fim do caminho

            It’s a stick, it’s a rock, it’s the end of the road

Brazil, such saudade. I missed you.