Ancient, Mystical, Black and Gold

I was expecting a peaceful and quiet old town, that’s why I came here. I found an insane student city, celebrating graduations all week end. The UNESCO city of Ouro Prêto is gorgeously old, its cobbled streets scent of jasmine, garlic, fresh bread, cachaça and some stuff I cannot identify but makes you want to eat the air…

I spoke to a girl walking in the street and she took me to her favourite Republica. I had a bit of a flashback of myself taking someone random to the Resi back in Maasi; entering a family made of friends who build a small community which works like a republic. That’s why they call them Republicas here.

This was not the last reminder of my dear Maastricht that I got from Ouro Prêto. This city too has a bloody and boozy history. A history of slaves mining gold, brave men risking their lives to save them, a history of invasions, a history of artistic demonstrations. And a history of Republicas, amazing massive houses where students live together in more than 300 fraternities and sororities, working better than republics and sometimes closer than families.

I just happened to arrive here on one of the week-ends when the graduation parties happen. I walked through a number of these celebrations tonight, picking up free cocktails full of tropical fruits and the national liquor, dancing to live bands and meeting the very excited students… I finally get to hang out with some gay students here in Minas Gerais, which was a lovely change. I can’t but make comparisons with the town where I studied, although I never attended a graduation party, not even my own…

Sunday in Ouro Prêto I finally find time and energy to visit the main attractions. Igreja N.S. Pilar, sitting right by the entrance of Republica Jardim Zoologico where I stay, may be the reason why I’ve been having heavy dreams. Propriety of the Vatican, 400 kg of gold were dug out by slaves from the mountain for its construction. The slaves built their own temple in a humbler but more tasteful style, under the protection of black saints, over pretty French tapestry added in the 1930ties. I feel much closer to God here than in the intimidating baroque gold conglomeration, but still...

I pop into the Casa de los Contos just before it closes for the evening to catch a glimpse of the massive mansion, for centuries symbol of fiscal power and originally the home of the Portuguese tax collector. I was allowed to visit the most morbid corners, the slaves’ kitchen and the dungeon with its interesting collection of different torture instruments and cooking pots…

I balance out the creepy feelings taking an educational tour around the Minas University Museum, which has an enormous collection of rocks. I remain disappointed with the lack of information on their spiritual and emotional proprieties, as I only got informed on the different domestic uses of the gems and minerals.

After an amazing “açaí do ouro” in the square, I meet Dim, a young local guide and history student eager to share his knowledge and love for his hometown. He takes me on a guided tour through the history and legends of San Francesco d’Assisi’s temple, built on inspiration of the crusades by Antonio Francisco Lisboa. The local artist, main exponent of Rococo and Baroque styles of Brasil’s Gold cycle, was given (like everyone in town) a pejorative nickname: “Aleijadinho” referring to his crippled condition of being a leper. Dim points out details such as the bandage around Mary’s arm on the façade as a biographic element, triangular shapes as masonry connotations specific to the high class which attended the church, and fascinating dynamisms. As I walk closer to the entrance, the large cannons draining water from the roof and bombs decorating the edges of the church disappear from my sight, in a metaphor to S. Francis’ spiritual voyage from war to God. After a macabre legend set in the ancient cemetery of the church, Dim told me of an old traditional house, ancient home of Aleijadinho’s father, selling a re-discovered liquor which ferments underground in African wood for 6 years.

Of course he already had my attention at the word OLD, we stumbled down the hill and into the souvenir house…

An old woman still lives here and allows people to walk around it if they ask nicely… there are fountains that open with a secret knob, there’s a dodgy secret staircase where gold used to be smuggled from the mine under the house, there’s a room with no outside windows where the daughters would be closed in when guests would enter the house… recent renovations brought the discovery of golden and plate coins inside the walls! Finally, there’s the delicious special cachaça in a stone bottle… Safra Barroca!

On my last morning in Ouro Prêto I woke up early and went to the bus station, there were no buses running that day to Morro São Sebastiãno, so Seringuero, my companion from Rep. Zoo and I shared a taxi up the steep hill with a chubby local girl who told us of all her experiences and tackles facing the daily climb up the morro (Brasilian hill). At the village square we took the red earthy road into the Municipal Natural Park da Cachoeira das Andorinhas. A 20-minute walk to reach a stunning view, which strangely reminded me a lot of Dartmoor, with its purple bush, horse shit, copper-coloured stream…

But the waterfall there was something you cannot find in Devon. Entering the cave were the stream falls about 15 meters, a have of adrenaline and excitement over-shook my lazy-feeling body. I felt a strong energy rushing across me, and the certainty that I was in a natural temple. I couldn't help but wonder why the villagers of Vila Rica, now Ouro Prêto, would feel the need to build 12 churches, to reach God, when they have this sacred place!

Seringuero needed to remind me of the amount of gold stored in Igreja do Pilar to kill my utopian concerns.