Notes From Everywhere

Before leaving for Brazil, I had one small mission.

I wanted to bring home a souvenir I would actually use.

Not something that would sit on a shelf collecting dust, but something that would remind me of the trip every time I saw it. After a little research, I decided that if I was going to find it anywhere, it would probably be at Ipanema’s famous Sunday Hippie Fair.

Under the shade of large trees, dozens of white market stalls stretched through the park, each one filled with something different. Colorful fabrics swayed in the breeze, paintings leaned against wooden displays, handmade jewelry sparkled in the sunlight, and every few steps something new caught my eye.

Walking through the market felt more like wandering through a park than shopping. There was no rush. Visitors stopped to chat with the artists, music drifted through the trees, and every stall seemed to hold another little surprise.

One stand in particular immediately caught my attention.

It was filled with unusual wooden objects unlike anything I had seen before. Curious, I picked up a flat wooden piece with little bars running across it and gave it a shake, wondering what it was.

The woman behind the stand smiled, picked up a small wooden stick, and motioned for me to rub it across the grooves.

Suddenly the instrument came to life.

She nodded with quiet approval as I laughed and started picking up one instrument after another. There were colorful rattles, hand-painted birds that turned out to be whistles, spinning toys, and all sorts of fascinating little creations, each making its own unique sound.

For a moment I was tempted to buy one.

But I kept reminding myself,

“Don’t buy anything yet… we’re here for sandals.”

So I wandered on.

Leather belts carved with beautiful patterns.

Small handmade purses.

Dreamy paintings of Rio’s beaches with soft, faded backgrounds.

Jewelry.

Textiles.

Every stall had something different, and every artist seemed to bring their own personality to the market.

I passed two leather stalls selling sandals.

Nice…

But not quite.

Then I saw them.

Sitting quietly among dozens of other pairs were exactly the sandals I had imagined before leaving home.

Simple.

Beautiful.

Wonderfully comfortable.

The search was over.

To this day they’re still one of my favorite souvenirs from Brazil.

Not because they’re sandals.

But because every time I put them on, I’m back beneath those shady trees, wandering through colorful market stalls on a warm Sunday morning in Ipanema.