The Road to São Paulo

Let me realize

that not being gifted with tasks and abilities

is gifted with freedom.

The dawn's muted light filtered through the cobblestone streets of Curitiba, casting long shadows and painting the city in a soft golden tone. Though a metropolis, the early hours bestowed upon it a serene calmness, with occasional footsteps echoing off the walls and the distant hum of an awakening city. As I stepped out of the Alberge, the cool morning air wrapped around me, bringing the scents of fresh pastries from a nearby bakery and the distant aroma of roasting coffee. The city, with its blend of modernity and history, whispered tales of countless souls who had walked its streets, each with a story of its journey.

Seeking Route 116, the road that leads to Sao Paulo, I wandered, occasionally stopping for directions from the sparse early risers. A kind stranger, wearing the lines of life on his sun-kissed face, extended an offer to drive me part of the way. The interiors of his old sedan didn't hide its age - worn-out seat covers, a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, and the soft tunes of Brazilian bossa nova playing in the background. There was an undeniable feeling of finality. Once we reached Route 116, I began walking and gazed upon the road ahead. "This road leads to São Paulo." I realized my travels were nearing their end. Embracing the day, I shrugged off my T-shirt, slung my bag over my shoulder, and welcomed the cool breeze against my skin, reveling in the sheer pleasure of the open road.

A petrol station appeared in the distance. An ideal spot for hitchhiking, I made my way there, only to be rebuffed by the station attendant, citing regulations against hitchhiking. Though momentarily disheartened, the splendid weather lifted my spirit and I continued walking, hoping for a better luck. Another petrol station emerged, smaller and more rustic. As I approached cars refueling, I encountered a mix of reactions. Some drivers, wary or just uninterested, waved me off even before words could be exchanged. Others engaged in brief conversations, but our paths weren't aligned. Yet, amidst these brief interactions, a silver lining appeared: a driver who had initially declined to offer assistance, returned with his girlfriend. They would be heading to São Paulo the next day and were open to having me accompany them. It felt like the universe was signaling to me to wrap up this chapter of my journey. I gratefully welcomed their offer. The man was on his way to drop his girlfriend off at work nearby before heading back to Curitiba. He generously offered me a ride back to the city, suggesting I could seek shelter for the night before our trip together the next day.

In the vast tapestry of life,

every thread, every person,

has its unique story to tell.

They introduced themselves once we were on the road: their names were Ricardo and Natalia. Natalia, with her bright eyes and joyful spirit, worked as an editor at a film school. She mentioned that her brother, André, was affiliated with the same institution, lending his creative flair behind the camera. Ricardo's love for films was unquestionable. Especially evident was his admiration for Korean director Kim Ki-duk. He excitedly shared that he had watched 'Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring' more than ten times and 'Bow' at least four times. His appreciation for a Korean filmmaker made me feel an instant camaraderie. Our conversation was so engaging that we arrived at our destination before I realized it. The bustling activity was evident: André and his crew and actors were setting up for a shoot. Cast of actors, adorned in an array of make-up and costumes, was a sight to behold. I exchanged greetings with them, even lending a hand with some of the equipment.

After a brief tour, Ricardo and I headed back to the car, bound for Curitiba. He mentioned plans for the evening to prepare Sukiyaki, a Japanese dish, with friends. He inquired if I knew how to make it and, upon my hesitant nod, cordially invited me to join them. We stopped at a market specializing in Japanese groceries and filled our baskets with ingredients we needed. En route to his home, we passed a vast park Ricardo likened to a zoo. We parked the car and strolled through, our conversations meandering as naturally as the paths we walked. Our discussion flowed with ease, perhaps thanks to an understanding that sometimes comes from shared passions and perspectives. We eventually sat down for lunch at a quaint eatery that didn't empty our wallets. As I footed the bill, a sense of calm washed over me. The fact that São Paulo isn't far off now eased my nerves. Over the meal, Ricardo shared a story of a friend who, after the passing of his parents, had traveled to Nepal penniless. This friend had since sold his house in Brazil, bought a vehicle, and now resided in the Amazon region. Ricardo added that this adventurous soul was of Asian descent, specifically a second-generation Japanese born in Brazil.

Upon reaching his home, Ricardo suggested that I spend the night and depart together in the morning. Our day's interactions had solidified a bond of trust. Settling in his living room, Ricardo played Kim Ki-duk's film 'Bow.' After so long, it was surreal to hear Korean, which sounded almost foreign. Ricardo later brought a classical guitar from his room and played a few tunes for me. His skill surpassed my expectations, and his performance was truly captivating. He showed me videos of his favorite performers and even played along, improvising with flair. He was clearly an artist dedicated to his craft, but his taste and style wasn't mainstream. At 34, he had devoted many years to his music, but it didn't always pay the bills. It led him to dabble in ad-making, where his talent was still evident. Still, he confessed the challenge of balancing creative integrity with commercial success.

The evening deepened as Natalia joined us, followed by André and his mentor, Professor Kodato. The latter was a revered figure in Brazilian cinema, an elderly second-generation Japanese with a reputation as one of the nation's top lighting and camera directors. The Sukiyaki, prepared meticulously by Kodato, was devoured with relish. My travel stories have now become a source of envy and celebration, even though they were once a cause for concern. The topic soon shifted to films: movie scenes on DVD were replayed, stories dissected, and passions laid bare. The joy of doing what one loves is insurmountable.

Reflections

The room was steeped in the tranquility of pre-dawn. As Ricardo drifted into slumber beside me, my thoughts began to wander back to that pivotal moment in Buenos Aires. The bustling bus terminal, the cacophony of announcements, and the sudden realization that my backpack - a lifeline of sorts - was no longer with me. Losing that backpack meant more to me than just losing material possession. It represented the links I had to my pre-travel life, my homeland of Korea, and the mindset I had left behind; it held fragments of my past. But as the pain of loss faded, I felt a sense of freedom. With all physical ties to my past gone, the future seemed full of limitless possibilities.

In these foreign lands, among strangers who became friends and challenges that turned into opportunities, I discovered resilience and adaptability I never knew I possessed. The backpack's loss, though initially devastating, was a blessing in disguise. It forced me to let go of the past, embrace the present, and look forward to the future with hope and anticipation.

Ricardo stirred beside me, his breathing rhythmic and deep. I thought of the bond we had forged in such a short time, the shared love for cinema, music, and the simple joys of life. Our paths, though different, were intricately intertwined, serving as proof of life's unpredictability. I realized that this journey was not about discovering new places, but rediscovering oneself.

As the first light of dawn squeezed through the curtains, a sense of contentment suddenly filled me. The backpack's loss, the memories of my family, the societal pressures in Korea, and the newfound freedom of this journey all converged, providing clarity and purpose. Soon, we would be on our way to São Paulo, my destination.