No cops, no report, no exchange of license
numbers, no fight, no profanity, no nothing. It was a bit
discouraging.
At noon we gathered at the head office, collected some more
officials and our host took us to lunch at the Jockey's Club. . .
With the aid of all present I ate those things for which Rio and
Brazil are most noted. Some most excellent, some so-so. The
famous coffee at the Jockey's Club, and elsewhere for that
matter, must have bitter root and paint remover in it.
That afternoon, we drove to Petropolis, the summer capitol, about
40 odd miles up in the mountains over one of the few good
highways. The paved highways of Brazil, a country larger than the
U.S., have a total mileage of 450 miles. That wouldn't reach from
Greencastle to Topeka, Kansas. Petropolis must be a half-mile
above sea level. At places, where the highway ran near the
cliff's edge, you could look down and see where you had been some
15 or 20 minutes before, but you'll never know how you got from
there to where you are now.
CAVERNOUS EX-CASINO
On the way is the Quintandinha (or some such spelling) Hotel--the
biggest I ever saw. Here is where the Pan-American Conference was
held. There it was on the mountain side, all quiet, no one about
and just beginning to look a bit like our cattle barn east of
Russellville, or "Happy" Cal's derby hat.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303