Morro De Sao Paulo (really)

Laecee doesn't like bugs. She doesn't like many foods. She doesn't like small animals. She doesnt like snakes, caterpillars, millipedes, frogs, cockroaches, flying buzzing things, lizards, mice, rats, scurrying sounds or darkness. She doesn't like jungles and vines and creepers. Oh and she doesn't like boats. I think she said she doesn't mind bats though? Well, Brasil's got it all. Oh wait back to boats. So we're catching a boat. Or we catch a boat, and motor off towards Morro De Sao Paolo. I love this boat ride, but I love boats. You just bob around, enjoy the view, watch the wake and the receding shore of Salvador, and then the oncoming shore of Ilheus Island, it's great.

I guess the bobbing is the trouble for some. Laecee stared at disappearing Salvador for dear life. "How long is the ride, Mike?" "45 minutes." "How much longer?" "10 minutes" "Can you see the island?" "Yup" "How much longer now?" "Um, around ten minutes" "Can you really see the island?" "Yep, now I can." "Now how much longer?" "I think it's really ten minutes now." And so on. Eventually Salvador disappeared altogether, though for a while Laecee substituted a cloud on the horizon I think. I think the ride was an hour and a half to an hour and forty five. Laecee was right on the edge the whole time. I could tell by the funny things her throat was doing. I have some theories about motion sickeness. One is the more you think about it the sicker you get. So I held her hand and said things like,"So how are the kids back home?" "How's work going" etc. Kelly wasn't with my program. "Are you feeling sick Laecee?" "She's fine" I interrupted. "I feel a little sick too." "I think that woman over there is feeling sick" "I hate being seasick" "I remember one time when I was sick..." "OK Kellie so anyways?!" Jeez.

My other theory is it's good to have an end in sight. Thus the creative construction of time on my part. Laecee later said she at first hated me for it then thanked me, so I guess that's good. Eventually we made it with no mishap. Laecee eventually turned to fixate on the approaching island. It was gorgeous. Golden cliffs, green jungle, blue water, a crumbling Portuguese fort with coconut palms growing from the cracks, canoes and fishing boats bobbing, and our dock- dry land in sight!

If you've been following, you'll know that I spent the last five weeks searching for the spot to bring the girls. It had to have everything. Beach, food, lodging, nightlife, Brazilian flavor, foreign comforts, natural beauty, easy access, entertainment options, outlying areas to explore. I had already been to Morro twice on previous trips, and I knew it was a contender, but I had to check out some new spots to be sure. After my survey, I won't say Morro is my favorite spot I have seen, but for people who have never been to Brasil and only have two weeks, and want to relax and go to the beach, it's hard to beat. So there we were. On the concrete dock. It wasn't moving but we still were a bit. There are no roads or vehicles on Morro, and all paths are beach sand. Thus transportation consists of wheel barrow (here), and there is always a mob of wheelbarrow extortionists waiting at the dock for the boatload of tourists. Only now it seems they have really incorporated, Mafia style, and have matching orange t-shirts and will not undercut each other, so you're totally at their mercy. After accepting defeat (well I got it down from 30 to 20, but it used to be 3 to 5 a bag) we loaded up a wheel barrow and began our march through the sand.

It's a great walk. You begin hiking up a hill and walk through a tremendous colonial arch. When you reach the top of the hill you are in the center of town, in a small sandy palza with paths leading out in three directions. From here you head down the sandy path, and see the whole town, all the restaurants, pousadas (lodging), bikini shops, travel agents, internet cafes, coffee shops, bars, etc. Eventually you get to the bottom and you are at first beach. Each idyllic cove leads to the next and they are conveniently named 1, 2, 3, and 4. We headed for third beach, the last beach with dense accommodation and my favorite. Since I knew our rip off taxi guys would get a commission once we chose a hotel I tried to get them to drop our bags and dismiss them by paying them, they weren't having it however. We were in front of a pousada I had always loved the look of but assumed was out of my price range. It is smallish, with several large palms in its front courtyard, two huts with palm roofs, and a hammock. The structural columns of the main building are just polished tree trunks, with hammocks slung between each and in front of every room. The doors and window are all arched and the whole place has a very nice jungly, organic feel. The owner, who turned out to be Portuguese, told me, you don't speak portuguese, you speak brasilian! We got our rooms, fully fitted with hot water, fridge, AC, and hammock, for thirty bucks each, with free breaksfast included. Woohoo. At high tide, the ocean lapped the low sea wall in front of our courtyard, so that when we looked out our second story doors in the morning all we saw was blue through coconut trees. Paradise.

The next two weeks were a bit of a blur. We slipped into an easy groove. Sleeping in, enjoying the free breakfast spread, lazing in the hammocks, strolling to the beach, bit of snorkeling or swimming. As the afternoon moved along we would start in on the caipiroskas, lounging in the sand and watching the capoieira boys do flips and tricks in the sand. We made friends with a few (easy to do when you are travelling with two pretty foreign girls). Early sunset sometimes included a capoeira roda on the beach, after which we soon discovered one of our favorite spots. A beachside bar next to a pool with comfy lounge chairs became the spot for early evening drink sipping, people watching, and smoking (none for me). Laecee and Kellie discovered that whisky may be a potential substitute for tequila while in the tropics. After a couple rounds, back to the hotel to wash up change clothes, maybe swing in the hammock, then head to town for food. Somewhere in those early days we befriended an Irish couple which kept us laughing for days. They were great fun and fun to listen to. They'd spent years working in Australia and were taking the long way home to Ireland, six months in South America.

Anyway we'd trudge up the sandy hill into town to pick a food spot. We'd made friends with a local bar owner so it was hard to get past that spot without some drinks and chat, which was all good. Eventually food, people watching, digesting, wandering, dessert, causal shopping or internet, and before long it was time for nightlife. The nightlife on Morro is extremely consistent, if a bit bland at times. One of three clubs hosts a party on second beach every night. A ring forms of fruity drink vendors in front of that club, forming a dance floor of sand in between. They crank up the tunes, and the night is on. Being low season and there being about twenty to thirty independent drink vendors, they are not shy about getting your business. Smiling and waving- "Amigo! Amigas! Caipifruta, Caipirinha, Caipiroska! Oh Amigo!" They've each got an impressive pile of fruit on their stand, a gang of booze bottles, an umbrella, a bright light bulb, a white tablecloth, and a blender. The watermelons and goiabas are cut sculpturally, beckoning with their green skins and pink flesh, while the other bright and foreign fruits beam their own seductions. As the night wears on the ring of sand fills with folks getting their groove on, usually right through to sunrise. My favorite nights were when they played brasilian music, instead of the lame techno or rock nights. On those nights more locals came out and they would really get down, forro, axé, pagode, samba, whatever.

Once in a while something different would happen. Saturdays involved a special party on another beach, that you had to catch a late night boat to. The boats started running at 11 pm and ran through sunrise. We were taken to Gamboa, a twenty minute trip on a small covered vessel with about thirty other well lubricated party goers. Dropping us into the surf(literally, we arrived to the party quite wet) we found ourselves beachside where a sound system and a few palm covered bars had been set up, a rave in full swing. Music was a bit shit as the british would say, but the scene was great, and we didn't get on the boat home til the sky was getting light. As we motored, then walked back to our hotel, we watched the sky change from one fantastic color to the next, the rising sun reflecting off of the morning clouds. I retired before it fully rose, somehow sunrises depress me, but the girls stayed up well past.

Another night the party was well into the hills at "O Teatro". That was a fun trek. We'd had our own pre party and headed out around midnight, the standard time to go to a party in Brasil. Each person we asked how to get to the teatro kind of flung their arm in the same general direction, so we went that way. We really hadn't gone far when we decided to ask if we were on the right track. We weren't, in fact almost every step we had taken was wrong. Go back to the sign that says Teatro. We acquired a tag along which I wasn't happy about at first but when we walked right by the sign that was only printed on one side, the other side, he thankfully pointed us in the right direction. We climbed straight up a jungly mountain side. The path was dark and overgrown, steep and narrow, with some crazily windy cement stairs, each step too small to really get your foot on and as high as two normal steps. This led to a sandy path through some farms and houses, an area I never knew existed. Once again we were rescued from a wrong turn by a tag along who just happened to have tickets for sale. Anyway we made it eventually and it turned out to be pretty cool. An actual outdoor theater, with a sloping seating area of cement, a stage with curtains and backstage area, a big make-shift tent of canvas and drift wood thrown over most of it, and a few bars set up. There was a band set up, and a DJ booth, and we had arrived just in time for the capoeira demonstration. Standard fare, but good entertainment, capoeira, a live reggae band, and DJ spinning carnaval hits from salvador.

Me and Kellie proved to be the snorkeling team, getting out almost every day. The quality was not high, there is a lot sediment in the water now due to rains and a lot of algae on the coral due to ecological problems, but there are fish. We in fact saw eels and jelly fish and even a sea snake. Kellie found a really cool under water cave that we took turns swimming through and tearing our flesh on. Kayaks proved to be a good time too and we all got out a couple of days on those. We kept our eyes out for the Micos- cute little shaggy monkeys that inhabit the isle that I photographed in 2002, but sadly for Kellie they never showed up for us. At one point her and I snuck off road into the forest and walked around leaving banana tidbits around and making monkey noises, to no avail. We also invented a crepe, sundried tomato, quiejo minas, basil, and shredded smoked chicken. Frikkin great.

I told the girls they haven't been to Brasil unless they experience a water shortage and a power failure. Sure enough, we had to wait an extra half hour to rinse off the salt one evening, and on another night power for the whole island went down for about four hours. That was great. Everything just got quieter, but business set out candles and kept going, it was really beautiful. We stayed at our poolside bar for a while, the one place with backup power, and watched the scene, but eventually we wandered up into town and it was great to see everything lit by candle light, and see how quiet and excited everyone gets when a whole town goes back to candles. Me and Laecee also got to participate in another unique third world tropical experience, this one not terribly desirable. I'd had this splinter in my toe that had been bothering me for a few days, and then Laecee had a similar irritation. Just a few days earlier our bartender friend had been telling us about the dreaded Bicho do Pe (Beast of the Foot). A parasite that lives in the sand and bores into the soles of feet, there to release eggs and fester miserably. Our pousada owner took one look at our toes and smiled broadly- "Yep, Bicho do Pe, we will needed the help of the natives." Yuck. He looked at mine, clapped his hands, and said "whoooah, grandao (big one)." I guess I should be glad that by the time I knew what it was it was removed within a few minutes. Laecee, growing reluctantly accustomed to the cockroaches, centipedes, flying cicadas, and noisy nighttime jungle, also took this all in stride. One of the cooks at our pousada was called in as bush doctor. She walked to a cactus growing in the courtyard and plucked a spine. I couldn't watch but Kellie was fascinated and told me what happened. With the spine she poked a series of holes in the skin around the critter, breaking the skin, then stabbed it right in the head and pulled it out. Yum.

Of course I had my usual experience of running into someone random from Santa Cruz while I was there as well. Vanessa Mellet, Santa Cruz jeweler and dancer of Peruvian descent, turned up with brother and boyfriend. She recently bought some property between Trancoso and Arrail DAjuda, a beautiful area of southern Bahia. I expected I might see her there, but here she was on Morro with us. Vanessa has the distinction of starting this whole trend with me almost ten years ago, when I ran into her on the island of Bali, my first time there with Samantha in 97 or so.

For our final days Laecee was determined to blow some cash and stay someplace really posh, so we all packed up and moved into Minha Louca Paixao, for some high living. We had wanted to move into our poolside bar, but it had become easter weekend and prices had all doubled- hitting 360/night for that place. As it was we paid somewhere over a hundred for our new rooms. Ocean view, wood paneling, landscaping, personal deck, hammock, fancy bathrooms, the works. As it turned out a sunset capoeira performance took place right off the deck of one of our rooms the night we moved in.

The weeks had gone by too fast, and it was time to leave. Of course, we weren't getting back on that boat- so time for something far more dangerous, the brazilian island hopping prop plane! The travel agent said a cabbie would pick us up at eight to take us to the airport. Sure enough, on the stroke of the hour, a little guy trundles up with a wheelbarrow painted yellow with the word "taxi" painted across it in black. Perfect. He bounced our bags down the beach and a sand path to the "airport" Our departure gate consisted of two benches under the shade of a coconut tree, the security checkpoint a barbed wire gate made of palm tree posts. There were no buildings and not much of a runway. Despite this our flight was still delayed almost an hour. We finally boarded a tiny twin engine propeller plane with eight seats, my surfboard taking up the entire aisle. The pilot was fairly old, with thick glasses and a way of mumbling to himself.

Time to go. But... one propeller isn't spinning? Time and again he cranked the ignition, like trying to get an old lawnmower to run. It did sound just like a lawn mower, sputtering, then nothing. There was a guy on the ground standing uncomfortably close to that propeller, looking like he was considering giving it a spin himself. Finally it sputtered to life, just like in that Indiana Jones movie- I could hear the music- dun dadun dun, dun dadun... We taxied to the end of the runway. The plane didn't seem to handle very well, or maybe it was the driver. We were all over the place, each correction an over correction, our nose weaving wildly. Maybe that's just how these planes are? I hope so. We turned around and faced the sea. The moment of truth. The passengers exchanged nervous smiles. The pilot gunned the engines and held the brakes, then left go and we were off. Careening down the runway and gaining speed, and headed straight for the water. If I thought he was weaving before, now it was really all he could do to stay on the runway at all. Just when we ran out of asphalt, our nose picked up and we sailed out over the water, banking sharply as we flew by 4th, 3rd, 2nd, and 1st beach, the lighthouse, the fort, and the dock.

The flight was short, the views were great, and the landing was even more exciting than the takeoff. The pilot banked hard left suddenly and bore down steeply. We rocketed earthward toward the airstrip and it was like a video game. As we came in for our landing, not only did our nose weave side to side, it weaved up and down and the wings twisted us right then left. The image of the runway through the cabin windows bobbed crazily. I watched the steering wheel thingy heave about in the pilots hands. We bounced and fishtailed down the runway, eventually coming to a stop. I glanced at Laecee to see if she thought that was any better than the boat trip. Her face was a mask of pure serenity, I don't think she had watched any of it.

I helped the girls kill a few hours in the airport, then it was time for goodbyes. It was great to have the company and see friends. It was strange too though. After months on my own, when they showed up in airport in salvador it was like they didn't fit in the picture somehow. And now, the moment they walked away through the security doors, it was almost like they had never really been there at all, it was just a dream. Any way, time to go back to Salvador and regroup.