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[[bold]] Santos Ships Coffee by Tons, But Cup Is Hard to Find [[/bold]]

[[bold]] Sau Paulo, 3,000 Feet Up, Is Modern City of 1,200,000 Population [[/bold]]

[[handwritten]] May 9th [[/handwritten]]

Bearing gifts for South American zoos, Dr. William M. Mann, director of the National Zoological Park, is en route to points in Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay to collect birds, reptiles and animals. Among those accompanying him is William H. Shippen, jr., feature writer of The Star staff, who here presents the 14th of a series of articles about Dr. Mann's expedition.
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[[bold]]By W.H. SHIPPEN, Jr., [[/bold]], Star Staff Correspondent.

  SANTOS, Brazil. - Seeing three such cities in two days - Rio, Santos, and Sao Paulo - one collects impressions and jots down a few facts for future reference. The impressions come to mind, and the facts can wait. "Hasta manana," as they say - "until tomorrow." Sometimes tomorrow never comes. American go-getters down here are sure it never comes. 
  Anyhow, "the Sleeping Giant," as the sailors call the long, jumbled mountain that lies on the starboard side of ships going south out of Rio, looks strangely life George Washington as he must have appeared on his funeral bier.
  There is the same rugged nobility about the head. The body is less clearly defined, crumpled - that of an old man who has served his time - "doffed his wrinkled gear." The whole length of the giant is 4 or 5 miles. His toes are the pinnacle from which projects the high statue of Christ. As we went out of the harbor in the dusk the giant's purple figure was lined at the base with a row of twinkling lights along the bay drive. 
  The tiny dwindling Christ statue, lit by floodlights, was the last we saw of Rio.
  In Rio we seemed a long way from the news of the world. The papers were printed and hawked in Portuguese ... airmail took a long time, it seemed, to get through. A matter of days, of course, but it seemed a time. Yet, later - in an auromobile winding down a jungle-grown mountain - the driver turned on his radio. To my ears cane "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" through the courtesy of a breakfast food company. Then followed a resume of the United States news, including the latest Hollywood divorces, marriages, rumors, etc.
  In Rio they have 7 1/2 miles of almost vertical, cork-screw roadway, called the "Devil's Springboard." Each year motor drivers from as many as 15 different countries race local contenders up and down seven times for such prizes as they survive to collect. There are many hairpin turns (a better engineer could have widened them, North Americans say) which are nothing but an invitation to eternity for racers. A German holds the one-way record - 7 1/2 miles in 7 minutes and 55 seconds.
  A German also designed the "highway" for commercial purposes. 
  The Brazilians say there has been no race without its casualty. The "best" races have several fatalities. Great crowds assemble. 
  "It is magnificent, Senor!" exclaimed our host.
Incidentally, no driver from the United States has entered the race to date.
  But enough of Rio. 
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       [[bold]] But Not to Drink [[/bold]]
When we arrived off Santos yesterday morning, very early, just after daylight, I awakened to a fragrant smell of coffee. The shore breeze brought it to my nostrils. I rang for the steward to ask for coffee. I learned that the coffee was't quite ready, since it was so early. So I went back to sleep, still sniffing coffee - our ship was docking at the world's biggest coffee pot. 
  I slept so heartily and well I didn't awake until after the shore trippers had gone down the gangway. I rang for coffee, but the dining room had closed. (Please understand that this is no reflection on the service of the ship, which has been more than excellent in every respect - don't let a propagandist tell you different.) I went ashore in search of coffee. I walked through a mile of warehouses, all loaded with beans for that good american drink. I couldn't find a cafe in walking distance of the docks which sold coffee - partly, no doubt, because I didn't know where to go, but mostly because the citizens were too busy storing coffee. 
  After that we went to Sao Paulo, about 60 miles across the mountains. I was so busy following Dr. Mann about the snake farm there I never had a chance to get my coffee.
  Coming back, our driver was delayed by coffee trucks en route to this port. When he arrived back on board, the dining room was closing.
  "Can I have some Brazilian coffee, please," I asked.
  "Sorry, sir, but I can bring you some American coffee - some Java, that is. Most of our cooks, you see, have gone off duty!"
  Meanwhile, from the docks just outside, I could hear the funny little locomotives, whistling, huffing and puffing, pulling carloads of coffee and the creak of two-score derricks loading coffee.
  P. S. - I don't like coffee much anyhow. 
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        [[bold]] Heading Into Fall [[/bold]]
  Getting to Sao Paulo is worse than climbing one of Rio's dizzy mountain roads. The highway 4,000 feet or so up the coastal mountain between Santos and Sao Paulo is one of the world's steepest grades for motor cars, with reverse turns every 100 yards and several right-angle turns between. Coming down this highway in the darkness, with the lights of Santos almost immediately below, duplicates a view from an airplane banking into Washington Airport. 
  A plateau extends beyond the coastal mountains, and Sao Paulo lies at some 3,000 feet altitude. It is a city of 1,200,000. The American consul advised us to have lunch at the city's leading department store, a modern building with stocks, personnel and prices about on a par with Washington's best. 
  The comparison held good in the store's lunchroom on the top floor, except that more men than women were lunching, and the crowd was such that the head waiter was quite unable to find tables. Another difference was the service was slow, very slow - and those at luncheon remained over their drinks and conversation for a long time after a Washington crowd would have gone elsewhere. 
  The people at luncheon were dressed in fall attire. Our summer clothing seemed out of place, although the day was decidedly on the summer side. Fall flowers decorated the tables. 
  (I'm only just beginning to believe we've headed into the fall while spring blooms in Washington.)
[[italics]] Tomorrow: A hero tends animals [[/italics]]