Back to the Beach

Well, carnaval came and went, and there´s some stories to tell, however I have left town for some beach time and decompression, so I´m going to tell those stories first. First stop- Arembepe. Arembepe was put on the map by none other than Janis Joplin and Mick Jagger, in the 60s. A small coastal village, typically brazilian and unremarkable, has, since that time, gained an interesting, summer of love "aldea hippy" as a neighbor. Where the road ends at the edge of town, the sand dunes begin. A fresh water lagoon, sand paths, swaying palm trees, white sand dunes, and long stretch of beach has become the site for the "hippy village". No electricity, no roads, no vehicles, no running water. Grass shacks, built of drift wood and palm fronds, dot the dunes. Some walls are built of mud and plaster, with glass bottles built into the walls for light. Courtyards contain fanciful tilework or child like paintings of flowers and rainbows. The pousadas have wells for dredging water, candles for light. It was pretty much great. At night the stars shown so bright they seemed to be bursting out of the sky. A brilliant half moon shone off the waves and silhouetted the palms, rustling in the warm breeze. Soft voices could be heard in the moonlight, laughter, a guitar. We lived on the second floor of one such grass shack, palm fronds for walls, wood slats for floor, a triangular door, and a plank window lowered by a rope to reveal a perfect view of the beach and the waves. Called Manga Rosa, or pink mango, the pousada was run by a french woman who had lived there for twenty one years. She uses the money she makes to help house and educate orphan children, and she was super sweet. We spent a few days here, and the time passed quickly. Trod down the sand path to the lagoon and cool off in the fresh warm water with the locals. Walk past the grazing mule to the lunch spot for a sandwich and some fresh juice, then a long walk on the beach. Life was good.

We could also walk into town for some variety, where a completely different parallel world existed. Town square was always full of activity, adults and kids of all ages out all night long, live music, impromptu dance competitions, lots of sitting and sipping beer, snacking, talking, people watching, and a little dominoes. Here I discovered a new and delicious food. Pastel de banana. A light flaky pastry in a rectangular shape and filled with fresh banana, quick fried and dusted with sugar and cinammon. Yes! Pastels are common throughout Brazil, but they usually contain chicken or meat, this new fruit option is quite fantastic. I´m looking forward to some other fruits- maybe mango or pineapple? Mmmmmm. That reminds me of another fantastic food I´ve discovered. By now you are probably getting clear that every where you go people are on the street selling whatever, all types of snacks, drinks, and trinkets. Generally that´s great, until you find a pushy one. Anyway, common here are guys pushing around giant boiling vats of fresh corn. As I´ve discovered, they have somthing else in those vats. Called pomonha, its basically a coconut tamale. Sweetened cornmeal with shredded coconut, boiled in a corn husk and served with light butter and salt, its my new favorite thing. Its also a trip. Its fun having something in your mouth that is totally unlike anthing you´ve ever tasted, and totally delicious at the same time.

So back to the beach. After a few days we were ready to change things up to we headed a bit further north to a town called Praia Do Forte. This area was put on the map by the TAMAR Sea Turtle project. Funded by the Brasilian oil giant Petrobras, the organization has undertaken to conserve endangered sea turtles in the area and educate the locals about the issues. There is a great exhibit with some huge sea turtles and other marine life. Primarily however, the area is a prime breading gournd for many species of sea turtle. As you walk down the beach plastic stakes mark sea turtle nests, one every five to ten feet for miles up and down the beach. On one of my walks I came across a fresh nest. First I found a curious track, as if someone had dragged an irregular object through the sand. Then I realized it was the track of a mama sea turtle flapping through the beach sand. I followed the meandering trail. At one point it turned back toward the water and I though she had given up. Then I came to a disturbed area where she had exhaustively flippered a whole in the sand, laid her eggs, and then returned to the sea. Pretty cool. I got some pictures. I guess the tamar workers monitor the nests and ensure when they hatch the tiny babies all make it to the sea. In other areas they also buy eggs from fishermen, to keep them out of the fish soup.

Just like Arembepe, Praia do Forte sports the same white sand, tall palms, warm breezes and undisturbed, deserted beaches. The comparison can end there however. From hippy village to eco resort. The main avenue in Praia do Forte is clean, broad, tree lined, and car free. Block after block of fine restaurants, posh boutiques, clothing outlets, jewelry stores, souvenirs, and bars. On the neighboring streets some of the most expensive accomodations in all of Brasil. It was nice, but there was something of a disneyland vibe to it. It just didn´t feel like Brasil. The people strolling the avenue were all tourists, all wandering about in that tourist daze that comes from being in a new place.

My friends decided they were going back to salvador after having to pay 10 reais for a bowl of acai, and finding the cheapest bed in town was a shared room at a hostel for 35 reais. I stayed for two nights and was glad I did. Long walks on the beach, good food, chance encounters, good music. I liked wandering around getting a feel for the place a discovering the hidden spots. I found that just off the main drag the real brasil returned and locals were there, enjoying their evenings as usual. On my last day I walked for hours south on the beach. The previous day I had walked north. After hours of walking I finally came to some signs of civilization. What I like about brasil is that you can walk for miles on a deserted beach and eventually you are going to run into a human being and he is going to have a cooler full of cold beer, water, and maybe even sandwiches. In fact, if you can't do that you´re not in brasil. However on that northward journey the civilization turned out to be an exclusive resort, and I couldn´t even get a drink from the bar, or even wander the grounds, because it was all inclusive and only open to guests. Lame. On my southward journey I was finding myself a bit thirsty. I came to my second river crossing. Things got a bit surreal.

Maybe it was dehydration, maybe it was sunstroke, but suddenly I felt like I was in the middle of some mythical greek tale. I had seen no one for hours, just endless beach and palms. Then ahead beach broadend signifcantly and I could make out some old driftwood stumps. As I approached the stumps turned into human figures waving their arms and gesturing strangly. They were like mirages shimmering on the beach sand in the distance. I walked on. I was coming to the outlet of a biggish river, with a large sand bar beside. The men turned out to be fisherman untangling their net, one with a single arm, and both moving with this timeless grace and lack of haste. The scene could as easily have taken place a thousand years ago as today. Their backs to me, I walked past them to check out my crossing. It looked deep. And fast. And full of rocks. But... On the distant shore there were chairs, tables, and... beer! I mean water, or sandwiches or caipirinhas, or whatever. I needed a drink.

I waved to the fisherman and asked if the water was deep. They laughed and nodded yes. I gestured like "up to my shoulders". The one with two arms laughed and waved high over his head. Then he said- the boat man can take you. I turned and sure enough and ancient gnarly figure was waving from the other shore and pointing to a decrepit hull pulled up on the sand. Charon was offering to ferry me across the perilous river styx. And if I made it to the other side, what? And what would the price be? Strangely, this very morning I had received an email from my mother, warning me about a premonition she had had in a dream. She has these occasionally and they often prove uncannily relevant and timely. Long story short- she said don´t get on any boats- it could be very dangerous for you. OK. Here he comes, slowing pushing his craft through the current with a pole, dark with the sun behind him, a bent figure not unlike gollum. The water stained dark red from the bahian soil. The boatman's sinewy, leathery shoulders bunch and strain with his pole against the current. I could turn back, walk another two hours in the sun to get back and have a drink. Or I can take a short ride, in a little boat, with the mythic ferry man, through the turbulent dark waters. The boat touches the shore by my feet, the man gestures.

I got in the boat. We crossed in no time, I paid 5 reais, a beautiful bahian girl in a black bikini handed me an icy caipirinha, and some nice french blokes struck up a conversation about how brasil rules. I settled into my beach chair, and enjoyed the view and the company. The boatman winked and said- "it´s all good here". I couldn´t agree more, and I´m glad I crossed that river.

Carnaval is Coming

Eventually I get in touch with my friends, and the next day I move in with them. They have a house in the old town, an area called santo antonio. Their funky green house has ten rooms, kitchen and bathrooms, and no furnishing whatsoever. We are also definitly in the hood. Bars on every window and door, narrow winding streets, 100-300 yr old stone buildings crammed right agains each other with no yards, all in need of some love or at least some paint. Everyone seems friendly though, if a bit curious at the out of towners. The price is right. We get the whole house for same price I was paying for a one bedroom with bath and kitchinette in Floripa. Also a shopping district is a few blocks away and the essentials like mattress, sheets, pillows, fans are quite cheap. My friends have been plnaning a weekend trip to a national park for some weeks, and have finally settled on leaving that very night, so after some brief hello´s and reacquainting, they´re off and I´ve got the place to myself and Salvador to reconnect with. This turns out to be just fine. Our hood is 5 minutes walk from the historical district, a center of action for carnaval and an entertainment destination year round.

Historically, Salvador was the primary port of entry for trade in african slaves for all of brazil. This fact permeates modern culture in Salvador. The richness of the local music, art, and culture derive from these african roots. And the people are dark. I´m noticing it this time more than ever. Even the italians and argentinians with their dark tans stand out as tourists against the local ebonies and mochas. Maybe its because I just came from Floripa. Everyone there is dark too, but they have tans, and the hair is often light and features european- swiss, german, dutch, and portuguese. The port district, or Cidade Baixa, as its called, backs up to a long cliff throughout the dowtown areas. At the foot of the cliff is the Mercado Modelo, the building where slaves were auctioned, a modern day tourist trap of trinkets and souvenirs, with the holding cells in the basement preserved as a museum, a grim historical reminder.

Atop the cliff is where the Portuguese built their city. Here windy cobblestone streets and ancient buildings share space with broad plazas and renaissance chruches. The streets wind up down and around, and there is music around every corner. Centuries ago the Jesuits built an elevator of wood to carry goods and people from the lower city port district, up the several hundred foot cliff to the shining colonial commercial district above. Today a modern concrete structure juts from the cliff and whisks thousands a day between the districts. In modern times, this area, called the Pelourinho, has some of the feel of Havana, with the crumblingly authentic architecture and atmosphere. And like in Havana, the locals are leveraging it to the tourists for all its worth. Its fun, but being my third time here, the hustle and show are wearing a bit thin. The bahianas are set up on every corner selling their acaraje, all day and night. Dressed in huge bustling white skirts in colonial style, they prepare a deep fried local delicacy, which amounts to some kind of fritter, deep fried and sliced open, and served with savory paste called vatapa, some onion/pepper salsa, and little spicy shrimps. I guess I should do some research on what that stuff all is? Anyway, right next to them are stacks of brightly painted berimabaus, musical instruments made for the tourists, facsimile´s of a very real instrument, and another artefact of the slave era.

(Side story here: The slaves developed a secret martial art. They were able to train and develop their skills under the noses of their captors, by disguising the art as music and dance. They would form circles and spar one on one, taking turns, accompanied by song, hand claps, light drumming, and especially the berimbau. A uniquely brazilian instrument, it consists of a piece of wire stretched across a bow, pulled taught and bound to a small gourd. Played with a small stick, rattle, and a flat stone, this haunting rhythmic/melodic instrument formed the basis of the music surrounding capoeira, the brazilian martial art. I´ve heard as well the instrument could double as a weapon, of the bow and arrow variety, though this may be myth. The martial art itself can be seen as a dance. Usually iniated slowly and building in intensity, contact is rarely made, while players flip and spin and spar primarily with kicks and footwork. End side story.)

A step further and a few more ladies fan themselves in colonial bustles and gowns, apprently serving the purpose of entcing the tourist in the souvenir shop they stand in front of. Next up we´ve got the amazonian indians in their grass skirts, funny hairdos and facepaint. Selling indingenous handicrafts, this is a real stretch as we are miles from any jungle or amazonian culture. Moving on there are the usual hawkers with beer, barbecued cheese, gum and cigarettes, trinkets. Their are the beggars, the spare changers, the street kids, the drug addicts, hustlers renting apartments, drug dealers, girls in the doorways, and tourists tourists, tourists.

Oh and there´s music! Everywhere. Drum ensembles parade throught the streets. With membership of 10 to 100 (so far, carnaval has not even started yet), they thread through the throngs playing samba reggae, frevo, samba, and other styles. The frevo ensembles sport full horn sections. The samba reggae bands feature acrobatic performances by the bass drum players, drums over their heads, standing on each others drums, juggling sticks, passing sticks, choreographed movement. Bars hire singers to entertain their drinking patrons with tables and chairs set up in the streets. The singers play six hour sets, accompanying themselves with great skill on guitar, leading sing alongs for hours on end. As a frevo band passes one such player, he recognizes their melody and begins to sing along into his PA. The ensemble stops and the artists play through several tunes together, while people dance in the streets in the rain and sing along. And if perchance there is nothing live going on for a few moments, every bar has its own sound system and DJs, to entertain revelers between roving acts. Its loud, its showy, its touristy, even a bit sleezy, its awesome. Its carnaval.

Salvador

Since I missed my friends, and they don´t have my phone number, and they dont have a phone, email is the only option and I know it may take a day or so to find them. I head for Barra, where Santa Cruz represented in 2004. The taxi driver takes me to the most expensive pousada he can find, but at 6 am with no sleep I really don´t care. Its just a few blocks from my old haunts, and they have a room. I flop into bed, noticing dazedly that I am sharing my room with a bat and at least one very large gecko. I pass out.
Waking in the late afternoon, I step out and walk towards the beach, already tasting the acai I am about to have. It´s like I never left. (OK acai, pronounce ah sah EE, is this addictively tasty amazonian fruit served frozen and blended, garnished with fresh banana and granola. OMG). The city of Salvador sits within the great bay of Salvador, Bahia da Salvador. Where I am a sandy cove nestles between rocky outcrops, one with a light house, the other a portuguese fort. This is the best beach to chill- picturesque, clean, and well located. The broad sidewalk behind the beach is shaded by old trees, and the railing of stone balusters. There are people everywhere. It is close to sunset, and a band is playing on the stage at one end of the beach. Everything is for sale. Fresh coconuts, coolers of cold beer every five feet, meat barbecueing over coals. Activity and motion, music and color. The pickpockets are working the crowd, warming up for carnaval. As I thread through the throng towards the stage, an arm snakes in front of me and settles on the cell phone in a young girls back pocket. I gently cover his hand with mine- he melts into the crowd and the girl turns suspiciously. I smile and move on. I settle into a spot cliffside to watch the band and the scene. The orange sky fades to black, but swimmers still play in the light surf, jumping off rocks into the warm water, right next to the throng dancing in the sand, right next to the band rocking the stone stage and light show. Loving it.

Transit

I know that writing about my flights doesn´t make for the most exciting reading, but this one was so classic I had to share. Leaving floripa in the evening I expected to be in Salvador just three hours later, after one connection in Sao Paolo, picked up at the airport by friends and driven to their home. Nothing simpler, right? Well at check in it turns out the first flight is an hour late, which leaves me fifteen minutes to make my connection, never mind getting my luggage on that plane. However if I miss it they´ll give me a hotel and fly me in the next morning, so I decide to go for it.

The plane finally arrives an hour and a half late, and then we sit in it for at least another 45 minutes, so all hope of making the connection is gone. I am resigned to a night in sao paolo, and just hope I get my bags. We arrive and Sao Paolo and, lo and behold, my connecting flight is delayed too- this might all work out! Over the speakers I hear- final boarding call for Tam flight for Salvador! I rush through security, cut in front of everyone, muttering in english that my plane is leaving, and charge to my gate, to join about a thousand other delayed commuters milling about in confusion. People are asleep on the floor, under the stairs. One frantic woman starts yelling and tries to hit the security guard, to everyones great amusement. Again elbowing to the front, I get the attention of someone offical looking and they say my flight wont be leaving til 2 am. Oh. Well, that means my bags will probably make it. I settle into a chair and watch for three hours as the room fills and empties with poeple catching their delayed flights. Finally, its about 2 am, the room is almost empty, and there has been no mention of my flght. I wander over to the official and show him my boarding pass. Oh your flight is boarding right now at gate 5. Damn. About ten of us all figure out at the same time we are about to slip through the cracks, so we rush through the airport to gate five. Nobody there but someone eventually tells us- no its gate 7. More stampede. At gate seven all is quiet but the plane is still there. Relieved we board and then strangely wait another hour before leaving. It seems like I can finally nod off and wake up in Salvador, but when the engines start to rev we discover that the superstitioius grandmother in the seat in front of me has never flown before and is convinced we are all going staright to hell. She moans and cries "oh meu deus!, oh meu deus!", for the next two hours, while her daughter and the stewardess stroke her hands and she refuses the medication they offer her. When I get off the plane in Salvador, the sun is rising, my bags do in fact show up, and of course my friends are nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, I´ve made it to Bahia, and I´m excited.

Floripa Farewell

In my last days in Floripa everything came together beautifully. I came to know many people in town and on the beach, mostly local brazilians but some expats living in the area. Floripa had become familiar and comfortable. Marsana and I had our routine, breakfast at noon at our spot, where we often met travelers with plans of making floripa a home, at least part time. Usually the beach was next, where we had our spot, which we called our office. People we knew would stop by to chat, and we´d have our drinks and snacks, and swim. Usually try to meet our neighbors on the sand. One day Argentina, the next Canada, and always Brazilian locals walking by. Our office was next to a barraca, where our friend augusto works, but the best sandwiches were from three barracas down where Simone works. Shay was always walking by with treats for sale, albino would ususally come by to chat. After this Marsana would go home for shower and rest, I would go surf or hit up the internet cafe after a shower. One great evening I ran into Augusto down town and we shared a couple beers, and had a very Santa Cruz conversation about the psychic energy of musicians, the ancient music of the drum, the celestine prophecy, mayan calendar, and zodiac, to name a few topics- all in portuguese. After this start we hooked up with his housemates, Simone, Shay, and one other girl, picked up Marsana, and walked over two blocks to the live music bar strip. We settled into my favorite spot, where Jenny works, met a few new folks, and next thing you know the band is inviting me up to play with them. Had a great time playing congas to some brazilian tunes and hanging out with friends, no english spoken.

On my last night I left my house to head down town in the evening. The jugglers and unicyclists were in position in the park. It reminded me of a moment earlier in the day as I was entertained at a stoplight by a man in a top hat juggling three giant shiny machetes. Through the park, I strolled by the side of the lagoon could hear and see a huge drum circle down the shoreline just a bit. As I approached I could see it was my favorite group from before- Rasta Ilha. A fullish moon was rising and peeking through some clouds over the mountain on the horizon. The group finished their music and invited everyone into their circle for a group hug and mutual appreciation. It all felt so familiar yet there was no english spoken. As the group leaders spoke about their next rehearsal and preparation for carnaval, part of me was ready to hop on board, rehearse their music, and make floripa my carnaval spot. And in so doing, get to know some members of what looked to be a really nice community of local musicans and dancers. However, I knew my destiny for this carnaval lay north, in salvador, so I quietly backed away to prepare for my journey.

Mais Ainda de Floripa

Well, I´ve eased back on the partying just a tad and have been exploring more. I´ve seen a great deal of the island at this point and its all good. LIke I mentioned before its a long skinny north south land mass, with the long east side exposed and the best beaches there. In the middle is a huge lagoon. The vegetation is thick, green and tropical, and the topography is fairly extreme, almost like rio, with the steep small hills falling away to beach and lagoon. Many of the beaches feature picturesque rocky points. I had a lttle too much fun with my camera at one of these today. (That one boulder was just so photogenic) I´ll get those photos up soon. The views are great. The town I live in is in the middle of the island, on a sand spit dividing the lagoon in two. At twilight the sky, mountains, and city lights reflect off the water, as the fishermen cast their nets into the still waters from rickety wood platforms just off shore. In the day time the lagoon is a popular alternative to the beach, expecially for families. There are paddle boats shaped like giant geese, kayaks, windsurfing, wading in warm shallow water, little shoreside volleyball, little mini pirate ships moored to rickety docks, you name it.

I live right next to the town square, and things are heating up in preparation for carnaval. On the weekends a craft fair dominates the plaza in the evenings. Weekday nights, around nine oclock, just after sunset, a different escola de samba has their moment to rock the plaza til midnight or so. The other day I walked out of my house to catch a great maracatu ensemble (think drums, lots of big drums). They had songs and arrangements they had written, 15 macasao, dancers, and two singer chicks who between verses would dance around and play chekere at the same time, tossing the chekeres into the air. I love that. As I watched them, my eyes refocused to the other side of the plaza, where an impromptu circus act was going on, I caught the silhouette of a unicyclist juggling, poi spinners, and various other jugglers and freaks. Really not too bad for walking out your front door on a wednesday night.

Surf picked up a little bit, and never mind about that thing before of the waves being smallish. I went out twice that day, at two different beaches and in the second session in particular, I wasn´t surfing, I was surviving. In fact, once I had made up my mind I was in over my head and better get out, I was scared to paddle back in because that meant moving back through the punishing overhead surf I had spent so much time punching through. I made it though. After a few days solo I have found a tour/party guide. Marsana from the amazon is brazilian moved to miami at age 22. She is here on three month vacation and her pick up line is- its so hard to meet people here I don´t have any friends- lets hang out. Since we´ve been hanging out I´ve discovered she in fact knows everyone on the island, and meets about ten more every single day. She´s been great company and introduces me to good people to know, fun locals as well as expats working business angles or real estate. On top of all this she´s pretty easy on the eyes, its good to have a friend.

Speaking of business as we were having breakfast this morning one thing led to another and before I knew it four different tables had come together to swap stories about moving to floripa, buying property as an expat, and the best place to move to in brazil (floripa was the consensus). Fun to get the input since my mind has been moving along those lines, and so like, cosmic, dude? I´ve just got a few more days here before the salvador leg begins, so I´ll be making good use of my time at the beach. Also, the Sao Paolo connections are coming together so that may be a destination in coming months, when I´m ready for the urban experience.

link to some photos here: http://flickr.com/photos/65236019@N00/sets/72157594562759825/
excuse the duplications and lack of editing, I´m bad that way. There´s a couple gems, try the slideshow option on full screen if the interface is killing you-