I had intricately planned my road trip exploring the Italian and German heritage of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil’s southernmost state, to maximize immigrant cuisine, unsung wineries and villages with charming timber-frame buildings. I’d visit Antônio Prado, the self-proclaimed “most Italian city in Brazil,” drive along rural roads lined with hydrangeas, and explore Gramado, a town whose center this time of year resembles an Epcot version of an Alpine ski town, decked out with Santa statues and massive candy canes.

But while Gramado’s Christmas parade had its charms and Antônio Prado’s nearly 50 landmark buildings were mesmerizing, unexpected encounters would repeatedly steal the show during my five-day adventure.

Take the impromptu concert that started when I pulled my car over one day near a meandering river. A roadside event was clearly winding down — a woman wiped down a long table, a few stragglers drank beer by a makeshift bar, and a handful of kids splashed in the water. A friendly man told me I had just missed a party celebrating the opening of a bridge to replace the one that had been damaged by tragic floods in May.

As I explained in Portuguese that I wanted to learn “about the immigrant traditions of the region,” a man grabbed an accordion and gathered members of his musical group — Grupo Náni, slogan: “Keeping Italian Cultures Alive” — to belt out “La Bella Polenta,” an immigrant ode to a cornmeal dish with origins in the Italian province of Veneto. The town mayor, one of the dillydallying drinkers, joined in too, and all were singing in Talian, a language that evolved from Venetian and other Italian dialects that their ancestors brought to this region of Brazil more than 100 years ago.