One Mango at a Time

by Aaron Fumarola (United States of America)

Making a local connection USA

I love mangos. To me, the color, flavor, texture, and juiciness of a perfectly ripe mango are almost preternatural. In 2010, a former boss of mine – and perhaps the most impactful teacher and naturalist I’ve ever known – told me: “The only real way to eat a mango… Is sitting naked in a stream.” Years later, I would learn first-hand that this maxim is not only a truism but is self-evident, too. In 2014, I had the immense honor of traveling to Brazil for four weeks – still my longest travel stint to date – through my local Rotary Club. As part of a now-defunct exchange program for young professionals, I was selected among my peers to participate in an all-expenses-paid journey to the southern state of Paraná, which is bordered on the north by São Paulo, on the east by the Atlantic Ocean, on the south by Argentina, and on the west by Paraguay. Of course, mangos are traditionally a tropical fruit, so my first reaction after learning I was accepted into this program was to daydream of my beloved. After all, I’d never before traveled anywhere tropical, no less south of the equator. A few weeks later, I embarked on an immersive journey into the heart of South America with three of my peers and a Rotarian chaperone. Throughout our stay, we visited schools, factories, non-profits, and local Rotary clubs across Paraná. In a word, it was sublime. Of course, I could elaborate at length on the astounding hospitality of every Brazileiro we met along the way; I could fawn over the sumptuous meals our ever-gracious hosts prepared with love; I could even wax poetic on the natural beauty of this sub-tropical climate and its colorful flora and charismatic fauna. While I reveled in each one of these experiences – through which I learned to open my heart, expand my mind, and leave my comfort zone behind – none were as impactful as my time spent with an elderly woman that could have doubled as my Brazilian grandmother. Rosa, the live-in mother-in-law of one of our Rotarian host families, was 93 when I met her. Immediately upon our arrival, and before we exchanged more than a simple greeting, she scurried off to her kitchen and returned a few minutes later, bearing freshly made smoothies. Whether she was tipped off by my avowed love of mangos or possessed a keen, borderline mystical intuition, I’ll never know. I smiled from ear to ear as I accepted her gift, savoring the fresh, sweet taste of what – to me, at least – was edible bliss. Over the next five days of our stay, in the small town of Curitiba, Rosa made sure that every breakfast was served with various drinks made from different cultivars of local mangos. Each of her creations was a true revelation. Never before had I experienced such an outpouring of love – a union of natural sweetness and human affection – that both my stomach and my heart were satiated in toto. Culinary and spiritual fulfillment aside, it was on the morning of our last day that I would come to learn a lesson that I’ve cherished ever since. Just as my fellow travelers and I were climbing into the van that would take us to our next destination, I heard a loud but tender pronouncement from Rosa, which our guide immediately translated from Portuguese as: “Remember, Aaron; you can only eat one mango at a time!” In life, as in travel, we can only take things as they come. Too much of any good thing – even the best fruit in the world – can lose its value if we value quality over quantity. Instead, we must try and savor every sweet moment as best we can, trusting that the world around us is replete with simple pleasures that can change us for the better in even the smallest of doses. After all, the whole point of eating a mango naked in a stream is to enjoy it on a visceral level – uninterrupted, immersed in its sensual pleasures, and absorbed by the aesthetics of our world, all while the pulsing waters of life literally and figuratively rush past us.