What did I say? Burning Man with a beach and lots of Brazilians. Maybe it´s the wide open space, the sand of the broad flat beach and the surrounding dunes, the strolling couples and groups scattered across the mirage inducing flatness, the palm trees (yes burning man does have palm trees), the lights of yet to be discovered social zones twinkling seductively, the music carrying across the openess. It´s all of those things and more. One thing I´ve discovered that these brazilian beach paradises (paradii?) have in common is that they all began as fishing villages, and thusly are all clustered around a beach that is good for parking boats. As it turns out, these beaches are usually the least attractive to bathers. Who knew? The fisherman like a broad muddy tidal flat that will strand their boat at low tide, and float it off at high tide. This isn´t usually where you want to spread your towel and go for a swim. Generally, and thankfully, the reason these fishing villages have become tourist destinations is because the beaches immediately adjacent to town are of exceptional beauty, or there is some other environmental or social attraction, be it good waves, good hikes, waterfalls, sand dune mayehm, wind for kite and windsurfing, or whatever. Just an observation.
As I mentioned before, Jericoacoara is at least a hundred miles from any pavement whatsoever. Oh, and once you get to the pavement you are still hundreds of miles form any place you would want to be. While many travellers cite Jericoacoara as one of their favorite places in Brasil, as we neared our destination and the landscape got bleaker and bleaker, I began to prepare myself for disappointment. Now after having spent almost a week, I can say that Jeri is one of my favorites too. Though bleak for many miles, just as you near Jeri the landscape becomes quite dramatic. Immense white sand dunes share space with palm oases, fresh water lagoons, cliffs of startling red and yellow rock, long stretches of uninterrupted beach, and the endless open Atlantic tickling the shoreline with wave after wave.
Jeri itself is nestled into a palm oasis between dunes and cliffs. It is extremely cute. All sand streets, with a fantastic selection of restaurants, bars, boutiques, ice cream and snack shops, and accomodation options. Everyone walks around barefoot and shirtless, and any desire is moments away from satisfaction. The town fronts a beach which like I said is and immense tidal flat, with the waves usually quite a ways off. It´s not your stereotypical white sand paradise, but it is not ugly by any means. Various sailing vessels at anchor litter the sand, keeled over at low tide. People stroll about, in groups large or small, kids and dogs in tow. From the beach to one side another beach stretching towards picturesque cliffs and a sandier area for bathing. Looking back at town palm trees sway and rows of open air restaurants, bars, and shops beckon with outside tables, beach chairs, hammocks, music and soft light. To the other side an immense and picturesque dune of pure white sand.
Called the Duna do Por do Sol ( sunset dune), it is a point of congregation every evening. As the sun dips, the pilgrims spill out of town and trudge up the giant dune of fine soft sand. On three sides the dune is a long gentle slope of powdery white. On the third side, the ocean facing side, the dune forms a sharp cliff, which provides all sorts of entertainment, as well as a place to dangle your feet over while the sun goes down. Sand boarders velcro their feet to modified snow boards and carve down the slope, trying not to end up in the lagoon at the bottom. Kids roll their play trucks down and giggle as they flip end over end through the sand. A tiny dog playing stick with someones thong flies down and eventually makes it back up with its prize. And once in a while someone feeling playful will run down and try not to spill in a cloud of sand, which depending on the beer intake can be hard to avoid. Jeri is one of possibly only two places in Brazil where you can watch the sun go down over water (excluding islands I guess).
After sun down the next activity is usually underway, the capoeira roda on the beach. I´ve mentioned the brazilian martial art of capoeira before. Players and spectators circle up, the musicans begin to play and sing and every one else claps and sings responses, as players two by two engage in improvised sparring and acrobatics. In every town I´ve been to capoeira and rodas (circles of play) have been a fixture. The play ranges from showy to serious, though usually of very high quality. Capoeira is a serious martial art, coming from a serious period of history, and in my mind and the mind of serious capoeiristas, it demands a certain amount of respect, from spectators but especially from the players themselves. Unfortunately many players today seem to emphasize the showy aspects of the game over the true art form. In other words they focus on acrobatics and showy maneuvers at the expense of really learning the deeper physical language of the art. This has proven to be a great way to get money and attention from tourists, so it is hard to blame the (often poor and uneducated) players. However, when I see a game seriously played I am always moved.
The level of play at Jeri was completely off the charts. Throughout brazil I have seen players capable of truly incredible maneuvers, standing flips on one leg, barrel rolls through the air, all types of gymnastic hand springs and cartwheels, sustained hand and head stands while kicking and twisting, break dance like spinning maneuvers on the ground, etc. Despite all the high level capoeira I have seen throughout brasil, Jeri posessed at least ten players if not more who kept my jaw dropped everytime they played. And on top of this probably three players who seemed to really not be bound by any laws of gravity of physics that I am familiar with. And the best part about it was, all these players could integrate this level of gymnastics with true sparring, always defensively and offensively active, never leaving themselves exposed, and exploiting exposures of their opponenets. In other words, playing for real. I saw many take downs, which you will rarely see in the states and even in many areas of brasil, especially if the roda is more of a show. This makes the game much more exciting, and much more real, because anything can happen and a player showing off had really better have his game together or he will be taken down. Anyway, it was great.
The games would last until it was really too dark to see, players virtually using the force to keep from getting knocked in the head as they spun and threw kicks at light speed. With the last note of the drums the crowd would quickly disperse as every one headed to their favorite dinner or beer spot. The night life really didn´t get going til midnight, and then lasted towards 4am and later, but you could always sip a beer, watch the moon, talk to travellers or shoot some pool while you waited for things to heat up.
I decided to indulge myself in Jeri and went for a slightly up market pousada. Really I only ended up paying about 5-10 more than I usually do, but for that I was pretty close to the middle of town, while not right in it, second story with uninterrupted ocean view, hammock, all wood balcony and private stairs, AC, hot water, fridge, and the works. It was called Vila do Ipe if anyone is interested, and I paid 60 reais for a room for one with a double bed. Breakfast is usually included and the spread is often huge, fresh fruit, juice, coffee, bread and cakes, yogurt, granola, etc. They had a special second story open but covered area as a common eating area. I loved swinging in the hammock by my table looking at the water and dune through the palms while waiting for my breakfast. Jeri proved to be a real highlight despite the trek, and I would definitely recommend it. While anyone is up north Praia da Pipa is worth a look too. I am now in the airport in Fortaleza, getting ready to fly back to Salvador and meet friends for 10 days on Morro de Sao Paolo, one of my all time favorite spots in Brasil- Ate mais- Miguel.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Friday, March 23, 2007
Golfinhos
For my first two days in Pipa I´ve chosen to nurse my sprained ankle by walking ten miles a day over sand dunes, down beaches, along cobble stoned streets, and through potholes. My third day I decided to give nature a fighting chance (not) and rented a bicycle, and proceeded to cycle (kind of accidentally) something like twenty miles over same said terrain. It was great and I got to see some beautiful scenery, and some beaches I wouldn´t have made it to. Bit of body surfing, chilling, and fresh mango juice mid day on praia some such. My therapy routine must be working because my ankle is doing better.
Sunset was spectacular and unique. A nice and brand new wooden boardwalk has been built along the sea wall in one part of Pipa. Apparently the engineers weren´t from the area, because the seasonal high tides are tearing it to bits. And in typical brazilian fashion, there is no warning that you are walking on a structure about to collapse. One moment you are enjoying your walk, then next you are stepping over a huge gap in the floorboards, the next you are teetering on a huge section of deck that is ready to drop right into the sea. The waves smash against the sea wall and spray straight up through the floorboards and the gaps in the structure, which is really exciting and fun provided you are standing on the solid ground part of the board walk. Where stairs had led down to the sand, and now waves surge and rebound off the sea wall, a group of kids are having fun doing flips off the railing into the surf. I´m ready to cool off and it looks fun so I join them. I ask if there are rocks and then fly off the railing. Well there are no rocks but the water is 3-6 feet deep, depending on the wave surge, and I find the sandy bottom with my butt. Soft landing though and the water is refreshing. After a soak and scrambling up the broken stairs between waves, I see a restaurant at the end of the boardwalk that is surround by pounding surf. The stair and path I had seen the night before are completely under water. I consider swimming over to have a beer as the sun sets. Luckily, a fisherman tells me I can climb up and around the sea wall to get to it.
Eventually I make it and I am glad I did. There is an exciting atmosphere as the few patrons, owner, and bar maids weather each heave of the surf. The bar conssists of a wooden deck set on tree stump pilings right in the sand. An open railing and steps down to the beach. Only thing is, where there was beach the night before, now there is heaving sea. The level of the water is less than a foot under the deck, and each rolling wave spits spray up through the cracks, with the rogue waves drenching the legs of whichever table it pases. Occasionally a big wave will strike the adjacent sea wall and blast back into the restaurant full force, drenching everyone with excitement and spray, and then drip down through the thatched roof for the next several minutes. We hold our hands over our beers to keep them from becoming too diluted. The owner paces the deck like a sea captain, determined to go down with his ship. The bar maids roll their eyes at each other, that these tourists and the owner would care to sip a beer under these conditions, and futilely wipe the bar as the spray rains down. Amid this excitement, the sun did set, and I met a very entertaining couple from Joao Pessoa/Paris.
Cedric from france is an international freelance chef who apprently does quite well for himself, professional kite surfer in his spare time and married to Ana, brasilian from Joao Pessoa, expert on local entertainment, and aspiring interior designer. As the tide abates, the crescent moon sets, and stars begin to shine, we leave our bar/ship to its fate and head for dinner. I had a nice (and long, we closed down the town, which is hard in brasil) evening with them and another german brasilian couple, plus a wacky english guy (they´re all a bit wacky so far, those english). Though I had planned to leave in the morning, they talk me into staying to go the the beach and swim with the dolphins. Hard to refuse.
The next day we set out bright and early down the coast. The ocean is a murky greenish turqouise, the sand fairly sand colored, the scattered rocks brown to bright rusty red, the steep cliffs light pink and orange, and the foliage a reliable emerald. Fantastic backdrop for a hike down the beach. As we near the praia dos golfinhos (dolphin beach), we can see perhaps fifteen bathers scattered throughout the large cove, quietly bobbing in the gentle swell. As my eyes focus on a plump scandinavian tourist, a dark fin cuts the water right by him. Then another. My adrenaline pumps before I realize that, wow, there are actually dolphins at dolphin beach. I´ve been to a few dolpin beaches around the world and even on a dolphin cruise, as well as whale watching trips, and what I´ve learned is- sea creatures do their own thing, they don´t show up just because you payed your fare, and just because they are somewhere one day is no guarantee they´ll be there the next, or ever again. Despite this, there are actually dolphins at dolphin beach, apparently all the time. Cool.
As we got closer we could see the pair of them working their way lazily between the bathers, making slow circles around the cove. As we neared the water at the center of the cove a fish broke the water with an exciting splash. Directly after that an entire dolphin came flying out of the water right by us in the shallows, jaws snapping after its prey. At that point the dolphin was surrounded on four sides by humans, seeming not to care in the least. We eagerly hopped in the water. We floated and body surfed for almost two hours, accompanied the entire time by the dolphin pair. At times they would surf the waves with us, others swim right up to check us out, and others flip through the shallows after fish, once breaking the water three times in a row. Despite scoring my first real sunburn of my trip, I was glad I stayed.
Saying bye to my friends, I embarked on my 48 hour journey to Jericoacoara. Two hours to natal, eight hours to fortaleza, arrive midnight and overnight at hostel, six hours to nowhere, pile out in rainstorm to trade bus for open air four wheel drive passenger contraption, 1.5 hours over dunes, through sand and deep puddles, and straight over miles of deserted beach, past the bleaching bones of abandoned boats and homes, and here I am, in legendary Jericocoara. Many peoples favorite spot in Brazil, I´ll confess I had my doubts a few times on the journey. Having just arrived, I´ll say on first impression its kind of like burning man with a beach and lots of brazilians. In other words- really really good. More later-
Sunset was spectacular and unique. A nice and brand new wooden boardwalk has been built along the sea wall in one part of Pipa. Apparently the engineers weren´t from the area, because the seasonal high tides are tearing it to bits. And in typical brazilian fashion, there is no warning that you are walking on a structure about to collapse. One moment you are enjoying your walk, then next you are stepping over a huge gap in the floorboards, the next you are teetering on a huge section of deck that is ready to drop right into the sea. The waves smash against the sea wall and spray straight up through the floorboards and the gaps in the structure, which is really exciting and fun provided you are standing on the solid ground part of the board walk. Where stairs had led down to the sand, and now waves surge and rebound off the sea wall, a group of kids are having fun doing flips off the railing into the surf. I´m ready to cool off and it looks fun so I join them. I ask if there are rocks and then fly off the railing. Well there are no rocks but the water is 3-6 feet deep, depending on the wave surge, and I find the sandy bottom with my butt. Soft landing though and the water is refreshing. After a soak and scrambling up the broken stairs between waves, I see a restaurant at the end of the boardwalk that is surround by pounding surf. The stair and path I had seen the night before are completely under water. I consider swimming over to have a beer as the sun sets. Luckily, a fisherman tells me I can climb up and around the sea wall to get to it.
Eventually I make it and I am glad I did. There is an exciting atmosphere as the few patrons, owner, and bar maids weather each heave of the surf. The bar conssists of a wooden deck set on tree stump pilings right in the sand. An open railing and steps down to the beach. Only thing is, where there was beach the night before, now there is heaving sea. The level of the water is less than a foot under the deck, and each rolling wave spits spray up through the cracks, with the rogue waves drenching the legs of whichever table it pases. Occasionally a big wave will strike the adjacent sea wall and blast back into the restaurant full force, drenching everyone with excitement and spray, and then drip down through the thatched roof for the next several minutes. We hold our hands over our beers to keep them from becoming too diluted. The owner paces the deck like a sea captain, determined to go down with his ship. The bar maids roll their eyes at each other, that these tourists and the owner would care to sip a beer under these conditions, and futilely wipe the bar as the spray rains down. Amid this excitement, the sun did set, and I met a very entertaining couple from Joao Pessoa/Paris.
Cedric from france is an international freelance chef who apprently does quite well for himself, professional kite surfer in his spare time and married to Ana, brasilian from Joao Pessoa, expert on local entertainment, and aspiring interior designer. As the tide abates, the crescent moon sets, and stars begin to shine, we leave our bar/ship to its fate and head for dinner. I had a nice (and long, we closed down the town, which is hard in brasil) evening with them and another german brasilian couple, plus a wacky english guy (they´re all a bit wacky so far, those english). Though I had planned to leave in the morning, they talk me into staying to go the the beach and swim with the dolphins. Hard to refuse.
The next day we set out bright and early down the coast. The ocean is a murky greenish turqouise, the sand fairly sand colored, the scattered rocks brown to bright rusty red, the steep cliffs light pink and orange, and the foliage a reliable emerald. Fantastic backdrop for a hike down the beach. As we near the praia dos golfinhos (dolphin beach), we can see perhaps fifteen bathers scattered throughout the large cove, quietly bobbing in the gentle swell. As my eyes focus on a plump scandinavian tourist, a dark fin cuts the water right by him. Then another. My adrenaline pumps before I realize that, wow, there are actually dolphins at dolphin beach. I´ve been to a few dolpin beaches around the world and even on a dolphin cruise, as well as whale watching trips, and what I´ve learned is- sea creatures do their own thing, they don´t show up just because you payed your fare, and just because they are somewhere one day is no guarantee they´ll be there the next, or ever again. Despite this, there are actually dolphins at dolphin beach, apparently all the time. Cool.
As we got closer we could see the pair of them working their way lazily between the bathers, making slow circles around the cove. As we neared the water at the center of the cove a fish broke the water with an exciting splash. Directly after that an entire dolphin came flying out of the water right by us in the shallows, jaws snapping after its prey. At that point the dolphin was surrounded on four sides by humans, seeming not to care in the least. We eagerly hopped in the water. We floated and body surfed for almost two hours, accompanied the entire time by the dolphin pair. At times they would surf the waves with us, others swim right up to check us out, and others flip through the shallows after fish, once breaking the water three times in a row. Despite scoring my first real sunburn of my trip, I was glad I stayed.
Saying bye to my friends, I embarked on my 48 hour journey to Jericoacoara. Two hours to natal, eight hours to fortaleza, arrive midnight and overnight at hostel, six hours to nowhere, pile out in rainstorm to trade bus for open air four wheel drive passenger contraption, 1.5 hours over dunes, through sand and deep puddles, and straight over miles of deserted beach, past the bleaching bones of abandoned boats and homes, and here I am, in legendary Jericocoara. Many peoples favorite spot in Brazil, I´ll confess I had my doubts a few times on the journey. Having just arrived, I´ll say on first impression its kind of like burning man with a beach and lots of brazilians. In other words- really really good. More later-
Monday, March 19, 2007
Praia da Pipa
Noronha wrapped up with watching spinner dolphins jump out of the sea and do their spinny thing, a few more giant iguanas, some radical maneuvers on the motorcycle, and then the plane. I landed in Natal, where I spent the night and part of the day. It has a bit of a bad reputation, which I´ve decided is totally unfounded. It wasn´t the best place I´ve been, but it was totally comfortable, scenic, with good infrastructure and nice vibes. In fact, as I was cruising through in my taxi, I almost felt like I was in Santa Barbara. Natal was more like southern California than any other Brazilian city I´ve visited. Then I realized, that´s because Americans built it! Natal is the largish city it is due to FDR, who decided he liked the location for launching air strikes on Africa during World War II, so we came in and built air bases and infrastructure and the local economy boomed as a result. I stayed in a youth hostel built to resemble a medieval fortress, drawbridge, moat and everything. The adjacent bar, the dungeon or somesuch, was having live disco night that night- lucky me. Anyway, Natal was not really my destination so the next day I got on the bus for Praia da Pipa, a few hours to the south.
So far Praia da Pipa has been one of my favorite spots in all of brasil, which is weird becuase very few people told me to go and some siad don´t. It´s kind of like Playa del Carmen/Bali meets Brasil, which for me is great. There´s beaches, surf, the usuall brazilian nightlife, along with great restaurants, xique hotels, and a cute main drag full of bars , boutiques, restaurants and pousadas. It´s great. And guess what happenend? At this point I am sort of daring the universe to keep providing great coincidences, and it obliged. First night on the town I am walking down the street and what do I hear? Mike, is that Mike? Everyone in Itacare got a great kick out of the cosmic coincicence of me and Amy being in the same place at the same time. I kept telling everyone it happens everywhere I go. Well Pipa is no different. Brook and her husband, long time friends/acquaintences from Santa Cruz happen to have a house in Pipa, and visit for several weks each year, and just happened to be in town. We kicked it for a little bit and swapped notes, and they introduced me to the local capoeira teacher, who happens to know Papiba (my Brazilian music techer from SC and a capoeira teacher), and they have the same mestre, who I have met, named Ralil. Small world getting smaller. I´m in a rush to see a few more spots in the next week before I go back to Salvador to meet friends, so I think just one more day here. Got out in the surf today but due to a sprained ankle couldn´t get on my board, looked fun though. Tomorrow more beach and exploring, maybe rent a bike, then back on the bus to Canoa Quebrada. More to Come- M
So far Praia da Pipa has been one of my favorite spots in all of brasil, which is weird becuase very few people told me to go and some siad don´t. It´s kind of like Playa del Carmen/Bali meets Brasil, which for me is great. There´s beaches, surf, the usuall brazilian nightlife, along with great restaurants, xique hotels, and a cute main drag full of bars , boutiques, restaurants and pousadas. It´s great. And guess what happenend? At this point I am sort of daring the universe to keep providing great coincidences, and it obliged. First night on the town I am walking down the street and what do I hear? Mike, is that Mike? Everyone in Itacare got a great kick out of the cosmic coincicence of me and Amy being in the same place at the same time. I kept telling everyone it happens everywhere I go. Well Pipa is no different. Brook and her husband, long time friends/acquaintences from Santa Cruz happen to have a house in Pipa, and visit for several weks each year, and just happened to be in town. We kicked it for a little bit and swapped notes, and they introduced me to the local capoeira teacher, who happens to know Papiba (my Brazilian music techer from SC and a capoeira teacher), and they have the same mestre, who I have met, named Ralil. Small world getting smaller. I´m in a rush to see a few more spots in the next week before I go back to Salvador to meet friends, so I think just one more day here. Got out in the surf today but due to a sprained ankle couldn´t get on my board, looked fun though. Tomorrow more beach and exploring, maybe rent a bike, then back on the bus to Canoa Quebrada. More to Come- M
Friday, March 16, 2007
Under the Sea
Touched a sea turtle today. I was going for a long walk on my favorite stretch of coast, when the high tide turned it into a short walk. I couldn´t hop from cove to cove any more because the water was over the rocks. I saw some snorkelers getting pounded by eight foot waves and figured why not? I had already checked out two other different beaches today. Luckily I had my swim goggles in my fanny pack, so in I went. Getting out was pretty exciting, lots of rock and coral and really big waves breaking in the shallows. I put my goggles on and stuck my head under in between big waves. Nothing but churned up sand and air bubbles. I stroked hard. A big wave smashed over me and I found the bottom, or it found me. The water cleared for a second and I discovered I was in three feet of water over a bed of coral, and in some places it stuck up kind of like knives. Hmmm. I stroked really really hard, and pretty soon was in deeper water. Because of the heavy surf, the water was a bit murky and kind of crazy to be snorkeling in. Each heaving swell would pull me fifteen feet out to see, then throw me back towards the beach abruptly. It was happening to the fish as well, which were all pretty big in this area. I had some fun swimming to the bottom, rolling over, and watching the huge breakers roll by from underneath. As they swept past I could see them break in a loud swirl of bubbles and turbulence. After one of these I looked around to see two sea turles cruising by. Their backs were covered with sand from the crashing surf. I chased one around for a while but lazy as they are they never let you catch them. A little bit later I saw one again. I crept up on him and realized I was hidden from his peripheral vision. Right on top of him I gently stroked his shell from front to back. That spooked him pretty good and he was off- cool though.
Earlier in the day I had found myself in the middle of a giant roiling school of tiny silver fish. It was just like on TV, 1000s of shimmering bodies moving as one, yielding to my flailing body, always just out of reach, encircling me and above me. Noronha is a destination for the rich, for package tourists, for couples, and for a few very serious divers and surfers. It is not much of an international travelers destination or a stop on the backpackers trail, so the social life here has been a bit thin. I haven´t minded, with days full of natural wonders, and my motorcycle. Tomorrow, however, it´s back on the plane. Touching down in Natal, I may stay the night or bus immediately to Praia da Pipa, we´ll see.
Earlier in the day I had found myself in the middle of a giant roiling school of tiny silver fish. It was just like on TV, 1000s of shimmering bodies moving as one, yielding to my flailing body, always just out of reach, encircling me and above me. Noronha is a destination for the rich, for package tourists, for couples, and for a few very serious divers and surfers. It is not much of an international travelers destination or a stop on the backpackers trail, so the social life here has been a bit thin. I haven´t minded, with days full of natural wonders, and my motorcycle. Tomorrow, however, it´s back on the plane. Touching down in Natal, I may stay the night or bus immediately to Praia da Pipa, we´ll see.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Two Wheelin
Wooohooo! Got my bike today and I forgot how fun that is. I got a big honda off road bike, all black and rough lookin. I pretty much rode all day and night. I forgot I was supposed to be looking at beaches and stuff, I was having so much fun. This was my first time on a bike with a clutch, so I was a bit nervous at first. My first and only other motorcycle experience was in Bali. Vanessa inspired me to get a motorbike, since she had one and then we could ride around. The cool thing about those bikes was that there was no clutch. There were gears but most people just rode around in third all the time, even started in third. It was a piece of cake. Well excpet that in Bali we ride on the wrong side of the road, and we are in asia. That means, chickens, dogs, kids, old ladies, bicycles, tricycles, with and without motors, other motorcycles, small cars, big cars, and really really big tour buses that take up the whole road and don´t slow down for anyone. Once I got on I couldn´t get off. I would wake up in the morning excited- not that I was in bali, but that I got to ride my motorcycle around all I wanted.
Since I´ve been in brazil the opportunity has presented itself, and since transportation is usually an issue it would have been great, but so far I´ve chickened out. Today I went for it. As I stared at the bike as if it was a foreign object, the guy asks- you ride motorcycles right? Yup. Doubtful, he asks if I have my drivers license. I try this line- It´s been a little while, can you show me how it works? Luckily he´s a nice guy and turns out to be a musician too. He takes me to a flat spot, shows me how your have to pull the thingy, twist the other thingy, step on that thingy, and be careful with that thingy, and we're good to go.
On Noronha I´ve been to all the spots I could walk to, as well as a couple that a reasonable person wouldn´t try to walk to, but I 've been hearing about some other places, and today I saw almost all of them. You may recall me mentioning that most of the vehicles on the island are dune buggies, or bugres as they call them here? Well that´s because the roads here are pure crap. There is one main paved road across the island, then all other roads are basically muddy ruts on steep slopes, with boulders strewn about to control erosion. I don´t don´t know if they control erosion or not, but these are some big, slick stones, making for some highly technical riding. I stayed on the road at first, building my confidence and keeping it simple. Soon my confidence was hugely inflated. This is easy. What could go wrong, anyway. About then a bumble bee hit my right eye at about 50 miles per hour. Or it would have, if I hadn´t just flipped down my visor because my helmet was wanting to blow off. OK, so, there´s one thing that can go wrong.
I stuck to the main road and saw some sights, then while I was taking in the view at Bahia Sueste, and waiting out a light rain, I saw a dirt track leading to Ataleaia, another beach of note. I putted down it. Before I knew it I was fish-tailing through slick mud, bouncing over boulders, careening up and down hills, and slipping in and out of deep ruts, on my way to this beach. After some time, and realizing going back was probably worse than continuing on, I got to a locked gate. Oops. Anyway, I was getting a decent feel for this stuff, and decided to take the scenic route out, ie another dirt track that led who knows where. I spent the day getting lost and seeing sights, and at the end wound up at the best spot ever.
Called Praia Sancho, this pristine cove is completely ringed by 200 foot sheer cliffs. Lizards crawl about, big birds wheel above the beach but below me. All sorts of jungly trees and vines grow up to the cliff edges and down their faces, roots wrapping sinuously around rocky outcrops. Below a pristine sandy cove, with scattered rocks and coral, excellent visibility, no people, and no access. At either end of the cove the rock juts out to sea. After circling the cliff top and snapping some shots, I follow some people down a trail hoping they know something I don´t. We meet a group of goats on the trail and they turn around. I guess they are afraid of goats? Maybe I should be too? I ask them if I can get down to the beach and they say yeah, follow us. As it turns out there is a big crack in the rocks that leads to a fissure, a cave with some steel ladders welded into it, and that is how you get down. Cool. Like pirates we file into the secret entrance. After a 100 steps or so we are on the sand, and it is even better from there. Perfect waves break in the cove, birds dip and wheel and roost in tall trees. Turtle tracks criss cross the sand. This could be the set for Jurassic Park, or The Land of the Lost. The animals are acting like they´ve never seen humans before, unafraid, slightly curious. My companions have snorkels and fins, and start geting ready. I just happened to pack my handy swim goggles, so I pull them out and wade into the surf.
As I stand waist deep, getting smacked by the odd wave while I try to spit in my gogles and get them on, I notice how clear the water is. Looking down, I can see everything with perfect clarity, the grains of sand, pieces of shell, the ray by my foot. Wait, there´s a ray by my foot! It´s beautiful, kind of bluish grey, gracefully floating over the sand with its long tail. It´s a sting ray, you know like the one that killed Steve Irwin, maybe two and a half feet long, and it´s really barely two feet from me, getting swept about by the surging tide. About then a wave churns the water up and I can't see anything. I resolve to stop walking and start swimming. I pass a nice 45 minutes diving with the trigger fish, looking under rocks for morays, and exploring the cove. As I wade out of the surf, I think again about my friend the ray, and how he was in an awkard spot. Turns out he still is, right there by my feet again! Rays are generally harmless, unless you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. In life I tend to believe everything will be OK, and of course it was. My day wrapped up with a sunset from the cliff tops, and a short trek over to the neighboring bay, Bahia dos Porcos, another amazing vista. Oh and then a long muddy bounce home on my new toy.
Since I´ve been in brazil the opportunity has presented itself, and since transportation is usually an issue it would have been great, but so far I´ve chickened out. Today I went for it. As I stared at the bike as if it was a foreign object, the guy asks- you ride motorcycles right? Yup. Doubtful, he asks if I have my drivers license. I try this line- It´s been a little while, can you show me how it works? Luckily he´s a nice guy and turns out to be a musician too. He takes me to a flat spot, shows me how your have to pull the thingy, twist the other thingy, step on that thingy, and be careful with that thingy, and we're good to go.
On Noronha I´ve been to all the spots I could walk to, as well as a couple that a reasonable person wouldn´t try to walk to, but I 've been hearing about some other places, and today I saw almost all of them. You may recall me mentioning that most of the vehicles on the island are dune buggies, or bugres as they call them here? Well that´s because the roads here are pure crap. There is one main paved road across the island, then all other roads are basically muddy ruts on steep slopes, with boulders strewn about to control erosion. I don´t don´t know if they control erosion or not, but these are some big, slick stones, making for some highly technical riding. I stayed on the road at first, building my confidence and keeping it simple. Soon my confidence was hugely inflated. This is easy. What could go wrong, anyway. About then a bumble bee hit my right eye at about 50 miles per hour. Or it would have, if I hadn´t just flipped down my visor because my helmet was wanting to blow off. OK, so, there´s one thing that can go wrong.
I stuck to the main road and saw some sights, then while I was taking in the view at Bahia Sueste, and waiting out a light rain, I saw a dirt track leading to Ataleaia, another beach of note. I putted down it. Before I knew it I was fish-tailing through slick mud, bouncing over boulders, careening up and down hills, and slipping in and out of deep ruts, on my way to this beach. After some time, and realizing going back was probably worse than continuing on, I got to a locked gate. Oops. Anyway, I was getting a decent feel for this stuff, and decided to take the scenic route out, ie another dirt track that led who knows where. I spent the day getting lost and seeing sights, and at the end wound up at the best spot ever.
Called Praia Sancho, this pristine cove is completely ringed by 200 foot sheer cliffs. Lizards crawl about, big birds wheel above the beach but below me. All sorts of jungly trees and vines grow up to the cliff edges and down their faces, roots wrapping sinuously around rocky outcrops. Below a pristine sandy cove, with scattered rocks and coral, excellent visibility, no people, and no access. At either end of the cove the rock juts out to sea. After circling the cliff top and snapping some shots, I follow some people down a trail hoping they know something I don´t. We meet a group of goats on the trail and they turn around. I guess they are afraid of goats? Maybe I should be too? I ask them if I can get down to the beach and they say yeah, follow us. As it turns out there is a big crack in the rocks that leads to a fissure, a cave with some steel ladders welded into it, and that is how you get down. Cool. Like pirates we file into the secret entrance. After a 100 steps or so we are on the sand, and it is even better from there. Perfect waves break in the cove, birds dip and wheel and roost in tall trees. Turtle tracks criss cross the sand. This could be the set for Jurassic Park, or The Land of the Lost. The animals are acting like they´ve never seen humans before, unafraid, slightly curious. My companions have snorkels and fins, and start geting ready. I just happened to pack my handy swim goggles, so I pull them out and wade into the surf.
As I stand waist deep, getting smacked by the odd wave while I try to spit in my gogles and get them on, I notice how clear the water is. Looking down, I can see everything with perfect clarity, the grains of sand, pieces of shell, the ray by my foot. Wait, there´s a ray by my foot! It´s beautiful, kind of bluish grey, gracefully floating over the sand with its long tail. It´s a sting ray, you know like the one that killed Steve Irwin, maybe two and a half feet long, and it´s really barely two feet from me, getting swept about by the surging tide. About then a wave churns the water up and I can't see anything. I resolve to stop walking and start swimming. I pass a nice 45 minutes diving with the trigger fish, looking under rocks for morays, and exploring the cove. As I wade out of the surf, I think again about my friend the ray, and how he was in an awkard spot. Turns out he still is, right there by my feet again! Rays are generally harmless, unless you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. In life I tend to believe everything will be OK, and of course it was. My day wrapped up with a sunset from the cliff tops, and a short trek over to the neighboring bay, Bahia dos Porcos, another amazing vista. Oh and then a long muddy bounce home on my new toy.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Fernando de Noronha
I´ve arrived in Fernando de Noronha, paradisical island one hour off the coast of Pernambuco, Northern Brazil. The plane made a complete circle of the fairly small island before we landed, I think I took twenty pictures. Landing at the tiny airport I soon discovered that 90% of the vehicles on the island were dune buggies? This includes all taxis and tourist rental vehicles, as well as most family cars. I should stop being surprised. At the airport in Recife I noticed all the janitors were skating around on roller blades, sweeping up trash with speed and style. Things are fairly expensive here. Right off the plane you are assessed with an "ecology tax". This amounts to about 16 dollars a day, but gets more expensive the longer you stay? Also there is supposedly a cap on simultaneous tourists of 420. Following this everything else is expensive too, but when I finally made it to the beach I decided it was OK. The beaches are gorgeous, expansive, undulating coves backing up to black cliffs and jungly overgrowth. Giant stones with sheer cliffs jut out of the sea, covered similiarly in vines and green. Huge birds that look like pterodactyls swoop through the air, with forked tails and long neck and beaks. I watched a brave local hold sardines in the air as they swooped down for them, trying to keep his fingers in the process. The waves are fantastic. Huge, double overhead, perfect hollow barrels, one after the other for miles of beach. The water a crystalline turqouise except where the pounding surf has churned the sand. The light haze, huge expanses, dearth of humanity, and the whirling dinosaurs lent a mythic air to the place as I hiked from one cove to the next.
At one point a huge monolithic spire juts from the earth between two coves. As we circled in the plane this was the most striking feature of the island. Beneath it a huge rockfield tumbles into the water, separating two of the larger coves. A nice girl had assured me I could walk continously down the whole north coast, cove to cove, even past this rubble pile. A ways into my trek I was wondering if she had ever tried it. Boulder hopping tipsy rubble in my sandy havaianas (flip flops), I was once again far past anything that could be called a trail. The creatures were out to say hey. A huge crab and I faced off, then some big fuzzy brown bunnies that weren´t bunnies were seen hopping around. Lizards everywhere, which I like. Then there was that dragon thing. This was when I was about to turn back. No trail to be seen and really big boulders with sheer drops, or choking vegetation. Watching a boatload of tourists sail by out to sea, I considered my options. Thats when this velociraptor with a cool striped tail went streaking by! It was a really big lizard with a striped tail and an attitude. Small by velociraptor standards I guess but easily two feet long and moving fast. I followed it. Sure enough right around that boulder the trail resumed and I could see the next expansive cove, and best of all a barraca with cool drinks. Yay Brazil! Today I am going to get on my board and maybe a little snorkeling- sans snorkel. Beleza.
At one point a huge monolithic spire juts from the earth between two coves. As we circled in the plane this was the most striking feature of the island. Beneath it a huge rockfield tumbles into the water, separating two of the larger coves. A nice girl had assured me I could walk continously down the whole north coast, cove to cove, even past this rubble pile. A ways into my trek I was wondering if she had ever tried it. Boulder hopping tipsy rubble in my sandy havaianas (flip flops), I was once again far past anything that could be called a trail. The creatures were out to say hey. A huge crab and I faced off, then some big fuzzy brown bunnies that weren´t bunnies were seen hopping around. Lizards everywhere, which I like. Then there was that dragon thing. This was when I was about to turn back. No trail to be seen and really big boulders with sheer drops, or choking vegetation. Watching a boatload of tourists sail by out to sea, I considered my options. Thats when this velociraptor with a cool striped tail went streaking by! It was a really big lizard with a striped tail and an attitude. Small by velociraptor standards I guess but easily two feet long and moving fast. I followed it. Sure enough right around that boulder the trail resumed and I could see the next expansive cove, and best of all a barraca with cool drinks. Yay Brazil! Today I am going to get on my board and maybe a little snorkeling- sans snorkel. Beleza.
Ducha Electronica
Finding new meaning in the "hot" shower. As many who have travelled know, in many countries of the world the device known as a "hot water heater" does not exist. This is definitely the case in Brasil, where if you are heaving a hot shower it is thanks to a device know as the "ducha electronica". The electronic shower heats water electrically, right over your head in the shower head. Installed correctly, you will not see any wiring and may never know why the water is hot. Of the 100 or so showers I´ve stepped into brasil, just one was installed correctly. In the rest of the cases you´ll see a few wires dangling from the ceiling or snaking from the wall, with (maybe) a lazily taped connection of stripped wire right at the shower head. Sometimes the whole breaker box will be conveniently located right in your shower! Don't forget we are talking about 220 volts here, and we are standing naked in a puddle of water! I remember vividly my discovery of this is Thailand. Me and Marshall had just checked into our beachside hovel and I was thrilled to be rinsing off some sweat. The shower stall was small for me (as were most things in Thailand) with a low ceiling. I was flipping my hair about getting clean when I bothered to look up. Barely a foot over my head, the ceiling was coated in water and dripping back down on to me. Also up there were the exposed wires of my electric shower. Yikes. I stopped flipping my hair.
Anyway now I am in beautiful Fernando De Noronha, an hour into the Brazilian ocean off the shore of Pernambuco. Here due to the island economy, you pay a lot for a little, but the beaches make up for it. When I checked in to my pousada, the charming old lady whose house it was turned on the sink fawcett with pride. The look in her eyes said, not only do you get to use this sink, but theres water too! I guess they had been having a shortage. As I was taking my first shower and washing my hair, I figured I would respect the apparent water shortage and turn off the water while I washed. I touched the handle to follow through with this thought. A new thought came into my head. It was the slow recognition of a familiar sensation. I've felt this before- yes, I am being electrocuted! I let go. What now? What would be the intelligent thing to do in this situation? What would you do in this situation? Well, this story is not about you its about me and, well, I grabbed it again just to make sure! Yes that is definitly electricity making my hand get all clenchy on the shower knob! I let go again. Dilemma, how to shut off the shower without dying? Oh look, there´s the handy breaker box right there. I flicked the switch, shut off the water, and finished washing, then repeated to rinse. I thought I would change rooms but, don´t worry ma, so far so good.
Anyway now I am in beautiful Fernando De Noronha, an hour into the Brazilian ocean off the shore of Pernambuco. Here due to the island economy, you pay a lot for a little, but the beaches make up for it. When I checked in to my pousada, the charming old lady whose house it was turned on the sink fawcett with pride. The look in her eyes said, not only do you get to use this sink, but theres water too! I guess they had been having a shortage. As I was taking my first shower and washing my hair, I figured I would respect the apparent water shortage and turn off the water while I washed. I touched the handle to follow through with this thought. A new thought came into my head. It was the slow recognition of a familiar sensation. I've felt this before- yes, I am being electrocuted! I let go. What now? What would be the intelligent thing to do in this situation? What would you do in this situation? Well, this story is not about you its about me and, well, I grabbed it again just to make sure! Yes that is definitly electricity making my hand get all clenchy on the shower knob! I let go again. Dilemma, how to shut off the shower without dying? Oh look, there´s the handy breaker box right there. I flicked the switch, shut off the water, and finished washing, then repeated to rinse. I thought I would change rooms but, don´t worry ma, so far so good.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Spiders?
Today I had some fun. As it turned out yesterday´s moqueca set me back a bit and had to spend some extra time in the hotel room as a result. When I finally got out and felt good enough to get some excercise, I decided to try to get to the famous Prainha, a nice beach spot 40 minutes from downtown by trail. Sometimes I like to do things the hard way, so I began my hike on the beach itself. This worked fine for the first three coves, all very nice beaches I have seen before, some with great surf breaks and nice social vibes going on. I began my crawl over the next rocky promontory to the next cove, noting that no one else was doing the same. Whatever. Soon a beautiful cove came into view, with just one long boarder working the waves and few folks lounging on the sand. Sweet. As I approached I detected a problem. A river. Again, and no boat man this time. Checking it out thoroughly I figured it was impassible without complete immersion, which was not going to do my camera or anything else any good. I turned around but thought I saw a path up above through the trees. Ha ha. After some climbing I soon found myself past anything that could be called a path, obstinately thrashing through brush with long leaves that would grab my skin and tear at it. Then I remembered one of the local guides talking about poisonous snakes. Ok fine. I turned around and went back the way I had come to the previous beach, got on the road, and walked around to the next cove.
I was about ready for a pick me up, maybe just a coke or something, so I wandered over to one of the barracas. Also, I had been hearing about tapioca, a local specialty. To me tapioca is some weird pudding stuff- who cares? He had a sign up, so I had to enquire. He handed me his menu. Apparently it can be prepared as a savory thing- cheese, ham, etc, or sweet, coconut, banana cinammon. I went sweet. Five minutes later he handed a white taco. I guess they make some kind of flour from the tapioca, of a coarse texture, and then make a crepe or tortilla from it. It is thick and tasty. Inside he put fried bananas, shaved coconut, doce de leite, and cinammon, yummmm. Yet another totally foreign and totally great thing to eat. As I ate I watched an italian and israeli take on three local children at a game of small court sand soccer. One kid had a harelip, the other no hand. I am continually shocked by the prevalence of deformity and birth defect here. However, they were having a great time and were pretty good with their feet. I asked my chef how to get to Prainha. He said it was too late for that, and an Italian added that it was rather hard to find. The chef said he was a guide and he could take me, for a small fee. I´ve been discovering that everyone in Itacre is a "guide". I decided to ignore them both, and set off down the trail.
I had hardly gone 100 yds before there was a fork. How about left? I kept going. Another fork. Oh well, maybe I wouldn´t find Prainha but I would have a nice walk? Next thing I was walking under a suspended bridge flying off into the trees. Cool. I found the path leading to it and was soon swinging through the trees over a small creek. Who needs Prainha anyways? At the end of that were a few more forks, but I wasn´t much caring anymore. Soon I found a zip line strung through the trees. No one was around and the cradle was missing, so I had to skip that thrill. I had been seeing some signs about and was pretty sure I was trespassing at this point, but I was having fun. Who needs guides, and who´s scared of poisonous snakes? Rounding the next corner I saw a row of leaves on the ground. This wouldn't have been remarkable, since I was in a forest and there were leaves everywhere, except these leaves were... moving? They were leaf cutter ants! A long trail of them, carry little bits of leaves hither and yon, up the trunk of a tree and along the trail for 30 feet or so. Next thing I knew a lightning bug was flashing around my knees. This was really getting good. I heard waves crashing and thought I might find a beach after all. It was getting a little dark but I figured I had time. Right about then I thought to myself, they probably have spiders here? I had barely formed the thought when a strand broke across my bare chest. I smiled to myself, just a little nervously.
A few steps further on a dead leaf hung motionless in the middle of the path. I waved my arm in front of me but met little resistance, the web was old and broken. I kept walking. The path turned downhill through the mud, and seemed to get darker. This particular fork seemed less well travelled than the others, but the ocean sound was getting stronger. If this was Hollywood, here is right when the audience starts yelling. "Turn around!" "Go home!" "You idiot!" Well I didn´t hear you. My left ear is still a bit funny from carnaval anyway. I carefully threaded my way down the slippery path, when something caught my peripheral vison. In slow motion, my head turned left and noticed, lazily and then in horror, a freaking tarantula one and a half feet from my face, above and to the left! From the angle of its body I could tell that I was already in its web. Sure enough nerves all over the front of my body were sending the message, there is something here! My legs, last to get with the program, skidded to a late stop while I whipped my head and torso back. Frozen in a back bend, I locked all eight eyes with a really big bug right over my head. Uuggghhhhhhhh! We both made our minds up simultaneously that we weren´t cool with this. In an acrobatic feat made possible only by sheer panic, I sprinted backwards up the muddy slope maintaining my back bend. Luckily the spider decided to stick with the remains of his web rather than come with me, and soon we were at a safe distance. I took a last look, decided I really didn´t like the way he looked creeping around up there, and decided I was done with this hike.
I retraced my steps quickly though it had gotten quite dark suddenly, and there were all those forks. Also I was not trusting the air in front of my face anymore, and how come there were leaves hanging around everywhere now? Something rustled over my foot while I scanned the trees intently for more webs. I jumped and something brushed my face. Moving quicker I tried not to decimate the leaf cutter ants on my way down. Things had gotten really loud too. The crickets were buzzing, birds were making all kinds of not very bird like sounds, and then there were all those weird screaming sounds and sounds from an african safari film. I couldn´t move fast enough. By the time I hit that swinging bridge I was running. I eventually made it out of the forest with near darkness and this time wasn´t minding being on the main road or the streetlights one bit. Just to round out the adventure, as I passed a cow pasture some birds started making circles around me, flying just a foot off the ground. Watching the streetlight shine off their wings, I realized these birds were... bats! Well they weren´t much interested in me anyways, and I like bats. Moral of the story- we´re not in Cali anymore, Toto!
I was about ready for a pick me up, maybe just a coke or something, so I wandered over to one of the barracas. Also, I had been hearing about tapioca, a local specialty. To me tapioca is some weird pudding stuff- who cares? He had a sign up, so I had to enquire. He handed me his menu. Apparently it can be prepared as a savory thing- cheese, ham, etc, or sweet, coconut, banana cinammon. I went sweet. Five minutes later he handed a white taco. I guess they make some kind of flour from the tapioca, of a coarse texture, and then make a crepe or tortilla from it. It is thick and tasty. Inside he put fried bananas, shaved coconut, doce de leite, and cinammon, yummmm. Yet another totally foreign and totally great thing to eat. As I ate I watched an italian and israeli take on three local children at a game of small court sand soccer. One kid had a harelip, the other no hand. I am continually shocked by the prevalence of deformity and birth defect here. However, they were having a great time and were pretty good with their feet. I asked my chef how to get to Prainha. He said it was too late for that, and an Italian added that it was rather hard to find. The chef said he was a guide and he could take me, for a small fee. I´ve been discovering that everyone in Itacre is a "guide". I decided to ignore them both, and set off down the trail.
I had hardly gone 100 yds before there was a fork. How about left? I kept going. Another fork. Oh well, maybe I wouldn´t find Prainha but I would have a nice walk? Next thing I was walking under a suspended bridge flying off into the trees. Cool. I found the path leading to it and was soon swinging through the trees over a small creek. Who needs Prainha anyways? At the end of that were a few more forks, but I wasn´t much caring anymore. Soon I found a zip line strung through the trees. No one was around and the cradle was missing, so I had to skip that thrill. I had been seeing some signs about and was pretty sure I was trespassing at this point, but I was having fun. Who needs guides, and who´s scared of poisonous snakes? Rounding the next corner I saw a row of leaves on the ground. This wouldn't have been remarkable, since I was in a forest and there were leaves everywhere, except these leaves were... moving? They were leaf cutter ants! A long trail of them, carry little bits of leaves hither and yon, up the trunk of a tree and along the trail for 30 feet or so. Next thing I knew a lightning bug was flashing around my knees. This was really getting good. I heard waves crashing and thought I might find a beach after all. It was getting a little dark but I figured I had time. Right about then I thought to myself, they probably have spiders here? I had barely formed the thought when a strand broke across my bare chest. I smiled to myself, just a little nervously.
A few steps further on a dead leaf hung motionless in the middle of the path. I waved my arm in front of me but met little resistance, the web was old and broken. I kept walking. The path turned downhill through the mud, and seemed to get darker. This particular fork seemed less well travelled than the others, but the ocean sound was getting stronger. If this was Hollywood, here is right when the audience starts yelling. "Turn around!" "Go home!" "You idiot!" Well I didn´t hear you. My left ear is still a bit funny from carnaval anyway. I carefully threaded my way down the slippery path, when something caught my peripheral vison. In slow motion, my head turned left and noticed, lazily and then in horror, a freaking tarantula one and a half feet from my face, above and to the left! From the angle of its body I could tell that I was already in its web. Sure enough nerves all over the front of my body were sending the message, there is something here! My legs, last to get with the program, skidded to a late stop while I whipped my head and torso back. Frozen in a back bend, I locked all eight eyes with a really big bug right over my head. Uuggghhhhhhhh! We both made our minds up simultaneously that we weren´t cool with this. In an acrobatic feat made possible only by sheer panic, I sprinted backwards up the muddy slope maintaining my back bend. Luckily the spider decided to stick with the remains of his web rather than come with me, and soon we were at a safe distance. I took a last look, decided I really didn´t like the way he looked creeping around up there, and decided I was done with this hike.
I retraced my steps quickly though it had gotten quite dark suddenly, and there were all those forks. Also I was not trusting the air in front of my face anymore, and how come there were leaves hanging around everywhere now? Something rustled over my foot while I scanned the trees intently for more webs. I jumped and something brushed my face. Moving quicker I tried not to decimate the leaf cutter ants on my way down. Things had gotten really loud too. The crickets were buzzing, birds were making all kinds of not very bird like sounds, and then there were all those weird screaming sounds and sounds from an african safari film. I couldn´t move fast enough. By the time I hit that swinging bridge I was running. I eventually made it out of the forest with near darkness and this time wasn´t minding being on the main road or the streetlights one bit. Just to round out the adventure, as I passed a cow pasture some birds started making circles around me, flying just a foot off the ground. Watching the streetlight shine off their wings, I realized these birds were... bats! Well they weren´t much interested in me anyways, and I like bats. Moral of the story- we´re not in Cali anymore, Toto!
Itacare
OK so long story long- I went back to Salvador to give it one last chance to seduce me. It didn´t so after about five days I hit the road. Almost on a whim I grabbed all my stuff and caught a taxi to the ferry terminal. I had this idea that I was saving time by catching a boat and then a bus? Well, I caught my speed boat (just barely, I was standing at the wrong spot even though there was a sign saying it was right and two guys said it was right; a nice cleaning lady came over and told me my boat was about to leave from another spot and she took me there) and made it to the island of Itaparica, across the bay of Salvador. Salvador is the only spot in Brazil where you can see the sun set over the ocean, what you are really seeing is it setting into the clouds over the island of Itaparica. My idea was that I could ferry to Itaparica, then catch a bus across the bridge and down to Itacare, my destination. Well the next bus left at 730 PM, and only got me to the exceptionally shady bus terminal in Ilheus at one am. I would have to stay the night and catch the 830AM, so much for saving time. It turned out fine, I found a reasonably nice pousada right on the beach, enjoyed the fading light from a barraca sipping a drink and listening to the rustling palm trees. The full moon came up through the clouds on the horizon. Some really crappy music was playing, but it fit somehow. I took a walk around town and became obsessed with having some ice cream. The local architects have found a great way to tell tourists from locals. Every twenty feet the sidewalk changes elevation slightly, which makes for some stubbed toes and near falls, if you don´t have it all memorized. I had seen a few brazilians trip over these spots and found it was worth a chuckle, until I started my quest for ice cream and fell victim a few times. In the middle of all this I glanced up at the full moon in the sky and something was a bit off. Actually something was totally totally off. The full moon was no longer full, it was more like half, but not the usual half either. It pretty much looked like Ms Pac Man in a wedding dress up there. Something fired in my skull somewhere; its an eclipse! I´ve really only seen one of those before, and never on such a clear night with such a bright moon. It seemed unreal. I promised myself to check in after I found my ice cream. Well I guess that was some good ice cream cause I didn´t think of it again until I was watching the news in my hotel room and they said it was the first full eclipse of the year. Apparently they are common down here? Anyway the next day I spent on a bus and now I am in Itacare!
Itacare is sweet. I´ve been hearing about it for years so its nice to finally be here and check it out. It has a lot in common with some other spots I´ve been in brazil, and I´m still exploring, but does have a unique vibe. Surfers, international hippies, rastas, baianos, moneyed brazilians, little bit of everything. This is the first place I´ve been this trip where I knew no one and was going with no one. So one hour after I hit the street what happens? "Mike! Is that Mike?!" This has happened to me in every corner of the world, from downtown Bangkok, to the Gulf of Mexico, to remote islands in Brazil, London Heathrow, to forest retreats in Bali. It just goes to show, you can never really leave Santa Cruz, because Santa Cruz is everywhere. It turned out to be Amy, an ex tenant of mine, of all things. We had talked about her trip to Brazil months ago and she promised to get in touch for some travel tips. We didn´t get in touch but boom, three months later there we were on the same street at the same time on the same continent!? We hung out for several days and I met some of her local friends, including a capoiera mestre of exceptional talents and a local singer who entertained us all night long with samba and forro.
After that second night with her and her friends, which lasted until 5 am, I woke groggily and hungover at 10 remembering I had promised someone to go on a canoe excursion the next morning. I thought about it for a second and threw myself into the shower. Sleep when your dead, right? The guide showed up right on the dot and from the smirk on his face I figured I looked just as bad as I felt. As we walked down the main drag to pick up the others and get to the harbor, I asked sarcastically if his canoe had a motor. He laughed and punched my bicep- "just that motor!" The four of us piled into his canoe, including Amy who also rallied, amazingly. The harbor in Itacare is a tidal flat, twice a day a vast mud flat, then a deep harbor. At this time of day it was mud. We trudged through the mud in the heat of the day and set off paddling. As it turned out there was only one paddle, and he got it, so we got to sit and admire the view. As it turned out, for the first bit anyway, the view was of the docks and the industrial district. As the midday sun beat on my hangover and I watched the garbage float by and the rotting boats on the shore, I began to question my decision to get out of bed.
However things turned around before long. Soon we left civilization behind and the river became quite picturesque, bank bright green with mangroves, coco and cacao plantations, and the occasional brightly painted fishing boat, canoe, or tourist speed boat. After a while on the expansive main river, we took a turn up a creek. The mangroves and trees closed over us, so paddled through a green tunnel. I almost felt like I was on the bayou in Lousiana. We passed locals fishing with line from the banks or from canoes, and a woman and her children pulling clams and crabs from the mangrove roots. After a while of this we stopped at a grassy spot for a short hike to a waterfall. Waterfalls are plentifull in Brasil and always refreshing. The water is cool and fresh, but not cold, and the hike through the jungle always puts you in the mood for a swim and a little high pressure waterfall massage. A dry-off nap on a rock and we were ready to head home. On the way back we stopped for a bite, some fresh fish moqueca (yummy fish stew with palm oil broth sweetened with papaya) and bahian traditional foods. After lunch I made good use of the hammock to catch up on sleep and digest, lazily watching boats motor past. We finally arrived back home to a filled bay, and a sandy landing on the beach. Amy, a competitive volley ball player in school, couldn´t pass up a chance to play in one of the matches going on on the beach. So I wrapped up the daylight watching their game and trading time on the pull up bar with some Israelis. All in a days play, right?
Itacare is sweet. I´ve been hearing about it for years so its nice to finally be here and check it out. It has a lot in common with some other spots I´ve been in brazil, and I´m still exploring, but does have a unique vibe. Surfers, international hippies, rastas, baianos, moneyed brazilians, little bit of everything. This is the first place I´ve been this trip where I knew no one and was going with no one. So one hour after I hit the street what happens? "Mike! Is that Mike?!" This has happened to me in every corner of the world, from downtown Bangkok, to the Gulf of Mexico, to remote islands in Brazil, London Heathrow, to forest retreats in Bali. It just goes to show, you can never really leave Santa Cruz, because Santa Cruz is everywhere. It turned out to be Amy, an ex tenant of mine, of all things. We had talked about her trip to Brazil months ago and she promised to get in touch for some travel tips. We didn´t get in touch but boom, three months later there we were on the same street at the same time on the same continent!? We hung out for several days and I met some of her local friends, including a capoiera mestre of exceptional talents and a local singer who entertained us all night long with samba and forro.
After that second night with her and her friends, which lasted until 5 am, I woke groggily and hungover at 10 remembering I had promised someone to go on a canoe excursion the next morning. I thought about it for a second and threw myself into the shower. Sleep when your dead, right? The guide showed up right on the dot and from the smirk on his face I figured I looked just as bad as I felt. As we walked down the main drag to pick up the others and get to the harbor, I asked sarcastically if his canoe had a motor. He laughed and punched my bicep- "just that motor!" The four of us piled into his canoe, including Amy who also rallied, amazingly. The harbor in Itacare is a tidal flat, twice a day a vast mud flat, then a deep harbor. At this time of day it was mud. We trudged through the mud in the heat of the day and set off paddling. As it turned out there was only one paddle, and he got it, so we got to sit and admire the view. As it turned out, for the first bit anyway, the view was of the docks and the industrial district. As the midday sun beat on my hangover and I watched the garbage float by and the rotting boats on the shore, I began to question my decision to get out of bed.
However things turned around before long. Soon we left civilization behind and the river became quite picturesque, bank bright green with mangroves, coco and cacao plantations, and the occasional brightly painted fishing boat, canoe, or tourist speed boat. After a while on the expansive main river, we took a turn up a creek. The mangroves and trees closed over us, so paddled through a green tunnel. I almost felt like I was on the bayou in Lousiana. We passed locals fishing with line from the banks or from canoes, and a woman and her children pulling clams and crabs from the mangrove roots. After a while of this we stopped at a grassy spot for a short hike to a waterfall. Waterfalls are plentifull in Brasil and always refreshing. The water is cool and fresh, but not cold, and the hike through the jungle always puts you in the mood for a swim and a little high pressure waterfall massage. A dry-off nap on a rock and we were ready to head home. On the way back we stopped for a bite, some fresh fish moqueca (yummy fish stew with palm oil broth sweetened with papaya) and bahian traditional foods. After lunch I made good use of the hammock to catch up on sleep and digest, lazily watching boats motor past. We finally arrived back home to a filled bay, and a sandy landing on the beach. Amy, a competitive volley ball player in school, couldn´t pass up a chance to play in one of the matches going on on the beach. So I wrapped up the daylight watching their game and trading time on the pull up bar with some Israelis. All in a days play, right?
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
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-
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-
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Florianopolis
For anyone wondering if I made it past the Bermuda Triangle and what I´m doing if I did, I´m happy to report my landing in Brazil has been a soft one. I did get a little stuck in the Sao Paolo Triangle, but thats another story. The air travel itself was predictably arduous, with over twenty four hours in transit, flight delays, etc. The highlights however were my midnight hours in the airport in Lima Peru. For those who don´t know, I spent three years there as a child, and played for many years in an Andean (Peruvian) folk music band in Santa Cruz. Though travel weary, I passed a most excellent hour having a beer, watching and listening to some live andean folk music right there in the terminal, songs I´ve played myself, and enjoying a dish of lomo saltado, a dish everyone in my family enjoyed immensely while we lived there, and have lamented a thousand times that we never brought the recipe home with us. Mom and Jen, that one was for you.
Anyway, eventually I touched down in Florianopolis (sounds like some sci fi utopia, huh? It is, without the sci fi). I had hardly thrown my bag on a bed and wandered to the nearest internet cafe before my buddy Brian is rolling up with a car, five surfboards, 5 weeks on the island under his belt and a great "let´s do this" party attitude. That first day we did get into the surf in the late day, my first taste of brazilian surf and my first time on a short board that I can remember. The water and beach sand- simply luscious. The waves, well, different. As I am learning, though Brasil is famous for its surfers and beaches, it doesnt get the greatest surf. Most breaks are beach breaks instead of the point breaks of Santa Cruz and Cali, which means short rides, and the waves are steep and smallish, depending on swell of course. It doen´t mean there aren´t a million surfers down here, and novice as I am I´m sure the water has plenty to teach me.
We soon settled into a groove which began each day with- sleeping. Depending on the damage done the night before we of course had to recuperate by sleeping through most of the morning. After this necessary step of course breakfast, a little cafe com leite, a little suco de acai, and the omelete completo, pao integral on the side. If you know what I´m talking about here, then you know, if not let me just say its brazilian for the lumberjack breakfast. A little internet to keep up with friends and family, then its beach time.
Florianopolis, or Floripa, is a long skinny island of 400,000 inhabitants, and I´m going to guess somewhere around 100 miles of beach, including many of the most beautiful in Brazil, a country known for its beaches. Every beach a perfect crescent of white sand nestled between blue waters and green jungle, with a smattering (is that a word?) of barracas or restaurants with hammocks, umbrellas, wood decks, and sound systems. Between the hours of 10 am and 6 pm, a majority of the population is on the beach, turning every white sand strip into a riot of colored umbrellas and extremely fit, tanned bodies. The waters team with swimmers, the waves with surfers, the shoreline with walkers and fresco ball players, and the outside with small craft.
In between walk the vendors. If you need it on the beach, you can get it on the beach. From the comfort of your beach chair, any type of food, drink, jewelry, clothing, footware, hammocks, tattoos, trinkets, cold beer, whole wheat sandwiches, grilled mozarella, pineapple daquiri, bowl of acai- you get the picture. You really dont need to get out of your chair, except to cool off, and the people watching is the best. Since the swell died soon after I arrived, me an Bri have been doing a lot of people watching, drink sipping, and swimming. Its usually pretty easy to get to know your neighbors as well, and we´ve had lots of opportunities to practice our portuguese, as well as a little spanish, with the large argentinian tourist population. A few days ago we met a pretty wacky pair of argentinian sisters on the beach, along with a few of their friends. They talked our ears off all day with their castillian spanish, then we gave them a ride to their place where they made us a shrimp dinner and a weird alcoholic drink that was kind of like root beer. They were pretty fun, the younger one especially sassy and they definintely stretched our language boundaries as the night wore on and the drinks flowed.
This brings me to the next step in the routine- the night time. After the beach of course there is the shower, maybe a trip to the market or bank, a little internet, then dinner. Somehow dinner usually starts around ten or eleven. A few blocks from our lodging is a strip of restaurants all crammed against each other on both sides of the street. Its the strip. Theyre all open to the street and to each other, and many have small bands playing. People sit and drink or eat and the sidewalks are clogged with people hanging out or milling from one spot to the next. Again, great people watching (OK girl watching) and always a chance to practice some portuguese (OK chat with the ladies). This gets the evening started and then its off to a club or bar somewhere to catch a show or some dancing.
Ive seen some great bands since I´ve come here, in particular a forro group one night and a pagode group on another. The trend I´ve seen at these shows is that there are many more girls out than guys, and that girls just wanna have fun. So I´ve been working on my moves for forro and samba. So far the forro is much better. I at least had some practice from Santa Cruz, but its been great to see Brian hopping around with the ladies. I mainly know him from doing construction work together and as a surfer, so to see him getting down to a little accordian and triangle has been pretty cool. The pagode band was really great, and I got the number of the cavaquinho player, in case I want to start playing a whole new instrument!
So lifes been pretty good. In the last week my skin and the tropical sun have reached an agreement, wherin my color shall thencforth be red. Somehow I´ve avoided a painful burn, while spending most of my time in the direct sun, but I am not white any more, or brown. I put Brian on a bus last night for Foc de Iguacu (that really big waterfall), after that he´s off to chile for more surf. He left me a surfboard (so much for travelling light) which is cool, because I have 10 more days of being a south shore brazilian beach bum before I head north to salvador to play some drums, and get crazy for Carnaval! Updates to follow- maybe I´ll even get my camera out. Ate mais (until later) Mike.
PS ignore that gmail address above, the usual cruzio address is good or commenting here- ciao!
Anyway, eventually I touched down in Florianopolis (sounds like some sci fi utopia, huh? It is, without the sci fi). I had hardly thrown my bag on a bed and wandered to the nearest internet cafe before my buddy Brian is rolling up with a car, five surfboards, 5 weeks on the island under his belt and a great "let´s do this" party attitude. That first day we did get into the surf in the late day, my first taste of brazilian surf and my first time on a short board that I can remember. The water and beach sand- simply luscious. The waves, well, different. As I am learning, though Brasil is famous for its surfers and beaches, it doesnt get the greatest surf. Most breaks are beach breaks instead of the point breaks of Santa Cruz and Cali, which means short rides, and the waves are steep and smallish, depending on swell of course. It doen´t mean there aren´t a million surfers down here, and novice as I am I´m sure the water has plenty to teach me.
We soon settled into a groove which began each day with- sleeping. Depending on the damage done the night before we of course had to recuperate by sleeping through most of the morning. After this necessary step of course breakfast, a little cafe com leite, a little suco de acai, and the omelete completo, pao integral on the side. If you know what I´m talking about here, then you know, if not let me just say its brazilian for the lumberjack breakfast. A little internet to keep up with friends and family, then its beach time.
Florianopolis, or Floripa, is a long skinny island of 400,000 inhabitants, and I´m going to guess somewhere around 100 miles of beach, including many of the most beautiful in Brazil, a country known for its beaches. Every beach a perfect crescent of white sand nestled between blue waters and green jungle, with a smattering (is that a word?) of barracas or restaurants with hammocks, umbrellas, wood decks, and sound systems. Between the hours of 10 am and 6 pm, a majority of the population is on the beach, turning every white sand strip into a riot of colored umbrellas and extremely fit, tanned bodies. The waters team with swimmers, the waves with surfers, the shoreline with walkers and fresco ball players, and the outside with small craft.
In between walk the vendors. If you need it on the beach, you can get it on the beach. From the comfort of your beach chair, any type of food, drink, jewelry, clothing, footware, hammocks, tattoos, trinkets, cold beer, whole wheat sandwiches, grilled mozarella, pineapple daquiri, bowl of acai- you get the picture. You really dont need to get out of your chair, except to cool off, and the people watching is the best. Since the swell died soon after I arrived, me an Bri have been doing a lot of people watching, drink sipping, and swimming. Its usually pretty easy to get to know your neighbors as well, and we´ve had lots of opportunities to practice our portuguese, as well as a little spanish, with the large argentinian tourist population. A few days ago we met a pretty wacky pair of argentinian sisters on the beach, along with a few of their friends. They talked our ears off all day with their castillian spanish, then we gave them a ride to their place where they made us a shrimp dinner and a weird alcoholic drink that was kind of like root beer. They were pretty fun, the younger one especially sassy and they definintely stretched our language boundaries as the night wore on and the drinks flowed.
This brings me to the next step in the routine- the night time. After the beach of course there is the shower, maybe a trip to the market or bank, a little internet, then dinner. Somehow dinner usually starts around ten or eleven. A few blocks from our lodging is a strip of restaurants all crammed against each other on both sides of the street. Its the strip. Theyre all open to the street and to each other, and many have small bands playing. People sit and drink or eat and the sidewalks are clogged with people hanging out or milling from one spot to the next. Again, great people watching (OK girl watching) and always a chance to practice some portuguese (OK chat with the ladies). This gets the evening started and then its off to a club or bar somewhere to catch a show or some dancing.
Ive seen some great bands since I´ve come here, in particular a forro group one night and a pagode group on another. The trend I´ve seen at these shows is that there are many more girls out than guys, and that girls just wanna have fun. So I´ve been working on my moves for forro and samba. So far the forro is much better. I at least had some practice from Santa Cruz, but its been great to see Brian hopping around with the ladies. I mainly know him from doing construction work together and as a surfer, so to see him getting down to a little accordian and triangle has been pretty cool. The pagode band was really great, and I got the number of the cavaquinho player, in case I want to start playing a whole new instrument!
So lifes been pretty good. In the last week my skin and the tropical sun have reached an agreement, wherin my color shall thencforth be red. Somehow I´ve avoided a painful burn, while spending most of my time in the direct sun, but I am not white any more, or brown. I put Brian on a bus last night for Foc de Iguacu (that really big waterfall), after that he´s off to chile for more surf. He left me a surfboard (so much for travelling light) which is cool, because I have 10 more days of being a south shore brazilian beach bum before I head north to salvador to play some drums, and get crazy for Carnaval! Updates to follow- maybe I´ll even get my camera out. Ate mais (until later) Mike.
PS ignore that gmail address above, the usual cruzio address is good or commenting here- ciao!
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