la boca, buenos aires
continental airlines and a dwindling bank account are telling me that i have to leave south america tomorrow. with my departure imminent, i only think it appropriate to run through a few of the reasons why i bother to dust off that backpack and forsake the middle of baseball season for foreign lands. entonces, before i leave you with a little radio silence, why i travel.....
to reread your passport after every stamp.
to snap pictures of the sunset from the top of a dune at jericoacoara, then decide to leave the camera in the bag when you return the next day.
to laugh as a gringo makes a fool of himself on the 33 bus, forgetting that you did the exact same thing a few weeks ago.
to find a tangoistas contra gauchos chess board to add to your collection.
to take yourself less seriously.
to speak spanish to a brazilian, have them speak back to you in portuguese, and to understand one another perfectly.
to feel a sudden vested interest in the argentine national soccer team.
to look at a stinky mattress on a shaky bunk bed in a drab, windowless cordoba room and say to the hostel employee, ´perfecto!´ before unloading your backpack.
to return to total ignorance.
to arrive after an all day bus ride and wish that you had one more hour to stare at palm trees from that window seat.
to buy cheap sunglasses in ipanema, only to break them in salvador.
to find the biggest smiles in the poorest of places.
to hear a joke about uruguayans and ´get it´.
to talk with cab drivers about argentine politics.
to kiss on the cheek.
to see a wave and tell yourself, ´this one is mine´.
to be recognized by the acajare lady.
to know which choripan guy in plaza italia is the best.
to say, ´yeah, i´ve been there´.
to be an ambassador for your country.
to jam to creedence clearwater revival and the doors as the cab driver takes that turn on the paseo colon just a little too fast.
to run into a friend on the streets of montevideo.
to be hungry, tired, unshaven, and broke and realize that these may be the best days of your life.
to love.
to be told by a local that you have a porteño accent.
frequent flyer miles.....holla!
to acquire the taste of maté.
to see a two dollar bottle of wine and tell yourself it´s too expensive.
to memorize maps.
to pretend that you understand whatever the hell that person is saying to you.
to return home with a new purpose.
to eavesdrop in another language.
to be frustrated, angry, and discontent; and then to realize that you´ve been wrong all along.
for the kids.
to know that you have a better story but will keep it to yourself.
to splurge.
to finally throw away that green towel.
to learn that forearm is translated as antebrazo. i mean, how cool is that?
to see fortaleza, brazil and instantly be reminded of windhoek, namibia.
to say, ´that´s not what i thought i ordered´, and then eat it anyway.
to have emotional goodbyes with people who were no more than strangers a few days/weeks/months before.
to receive an open invitation to a chilean ski cabin, just for sharing your peanut butter and crackers.
to recognize the difference between pagode and samba.
to stare out a plane window as the ground of your newest home recedes and disappears and pledge to yourself that you will never stop traveling, you will never stop traveling.
....but, really, if the question has to be asked, the answer will never be known.
buenas noches y buena suerte, hasta entonces......
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
ondas e vales
jericoacoara
hard to think of a better place to end one's travels than jeri. rolling sand dunes, soaring palms, cheap caipirinhas, and, of course, mother ocean. this is definitely one of those places where your stay often exceeds its anticipated duration and you seriously consider contacting that black market kidney dealer to see if it would be enough to let you stay for six more months. but, alas, the bus ticket to fortaleza has been purchased and 2 pm tomorrow we'll be bidding adeus to the praia. at least we will have been well acquainted.
i met zio [sic] on monday and arranged for our first surf lesson that afternoon. i first tried it last year in mancora, peru, and was able to get up after my second day with help from victor, my teacher then (sorry, victor, i'm seeing someone new and he treats me well). however, the ondas were smaller and i was greatly assisted by pushes before each attempt (see, victor, i still remember the good times). this time has been a different story.
both days of lessons have consisted of one hour of in-water instruction and a second hour where he would watch me from the shore (or chat up chics in bikinis). he gave me a quick dry land run-through: chest lifted, hands gripping the sides, push up and have your legs planted slightly more than shoulder length apart. fácil? não. measuring close to two meters affords many opportunities for changing light bulbs and grabbing rebounds, but is not very advantageous when it comes to trying to prop oneself onto a plank being propelled by aquatic fury.
então, my days in the ocean have more or less consisted of seeing an onda and having to decide between 1) face the wave and let it smack me in the face or 2) attempt to surf the wave and let it throw me to the sea floor. i feel like i've managed a healthy balance between the two, though i have not been my only victim.
met a fellow american in the water today. happened when i attempted a wave, saw the fellow traveler ten feet away, tried to stand up anyway, fell back, and finally sent the board directly into his stomach. pretty sure he was american, at least he definitely spoke english, it's just hard to decipher accents when the person is keeled over grimacing. minha culpa.
still, i will categorize the entire experience as a success. i rode a couple waves and even turned the board on one of them (big deal for yours truly). but the biggest may be that zio took a liking to me for some reason and offered me a free hour amanhã de manhã. he said that the waves are just as good and that the wind doesn't have as much a presence (which i will hereafter blame everything on).
9 am never looked so good.
hard to think of a better place to end one's travels than jeri. rolling sand dunes, soaring palms, cheap caipirinhas, and, of course, mother ocean. this is definitely one of those places where your stay often exceeds its anticipated duration and you seriously consider contacting that black market kidney dealer to see if it would be enough to let you stay for six more months. but, alas, the bus ticket to fortaleza has been purchased and 2 pm tomorrow we'll be bidding adeus to the praia. at least we will have been well acquainted.
i met zio [sic] on monday and arranged for our first surf lesson that afternoon. i first tried it last year in mancora, peru, and was able to get up after my second day with help from victor, my teacher then (sorry, victor, i'm seeing someone new and he treats me well). however, the ondas were smaller and i was greatly assisted by pushes before each attempt (see, victor, i still remember the good times). this time has been a different story.
both days of lessons have consisted of one hour of in-water instruction and a second hour where he would watch me from the shore (or chat up chics in bikinis). he gave me a quick dry land run-through: chest lifted, hands gripping the sides, push up and have your legs planted slightly more than shoulder length apart. fácil? não. measuring close to two meters affords many opportunities for changing light bulbs and grabbing rebounds, but is not very advantageous when it comes to trying to prop oneself onto a plank being propelled by aquatic fury.
então, my days in the ocean have more or less consisted of seeing an onda and having to decide between 1) face the wave and let it smack me in the face or 2) attempt to surf the wave and let it throw me to the sea floor. i feel like i've managed a healthy balance between the two, though i have not been my only victim.
met a fellow american in the water today. happened when i attempted a wave, saw the fellow traveler ten feet away, tried to stand up anyway, fell back, and finally sent the board directly into his stomach. pretty sure he was american, at least he definitely spoke english, it's just hard to decipher accents when the person is keeled over grimacing. minha culpa.
still, i will categorize the entire experience as a success. i rode a couple waves and even turned the board on one of them (big deal for yours truly). but the biggest may be that zio took a liking to me for some reason and offered me a free hour amanhã de manhã. he said that the waves are just as good and that the wind doesn't have as much a presence (which i will hereafter blame everything on).
9 am never looked so good.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
o belo jugo
jericoacoara
not one to like imbalance, after this morning i can now claim to have watched a high stakes argentina v. brasil futbol match from the terra of both countries. well, watched them on television from the terra of both countries. that counts, no?
today's olympic semifinal and the world cup qualifier from june were definitely representative of my impressions of these countries. it is remarkable to fathom the diversity that these two paises have, within their own borders or taken together. to think of villas and palermo, ipanema and rocinho, bahia and ceará is to see that these countries need to be painted with broader brushes than the estados unidos (not to mention all the places i will not go to: são paulo, patagonia, amazonia, etc.). but what ties everyone together, all these descendants of italians, spaniards, portuguese, slaves, and indigenous populations (those that weren't exterminated, of course), has to be the beautiful game.
there are about as many snowball fights on the beach of copacabana as empty soccer pitches in both of these countries. most volleyball games are played without hands. perhaps the most rewarding has been to see two of the world's (if not the world's two) best teams on television on the same day as a pick-up game on the pampa or praia. it is to see the dream and the dreamers, and to have the clearest perspective on both.
for the record, argentina got a 3-0 victory and will play nigeria for the gold medal. one might think that being the best, and being neighbors, these two would have bad blood. instead, (at least as i read it) there appears to be nothing but respect between them. you hear that, auburn and tuscaloosa?
a previsão de bola de cristal:
if you are only a casual futbol fan (watch the world cup, maybe the euro), you will know lionel messi's name in 2010, just as i was introduced to zinedine zidane in 2006 (when i first payed attention).
not one to like imbalance, after this morning i can now claim to have watched a high stakes argentina v. brasil futbol match from the terra of both countries. well, watched them on television from the terra of both countries. that counts, no?
today's olympic semifinal and the world cup qualifier from june were definitely representative of my impressions of these countries. it is remarkable to fathom the diversity that these two paises have, within their own borders or taken together. to think of villas and palermo, ipanema and rocinho, bahia and ceará is to see that these countries need to be painted with broader brushes than the estados unidos (not to mention all the places i will not go to: são paulo, patagonia, amazonia, etc.). but what ties everyone together, all these descendants of italians, spaniards, portuguese, slaves, and indigenous populations (those that weren't exterminated, of course), has to be the beautiful game.
there are about as many snowball fights on the beach of copacabana as empty soccer pitches in both of these countries. most volleyball games are played without hands. perhaps the most rewarding has been to see two of the world's (if not the world's two) best teams on television on the same day as a pick-up game on the pampa or praia. it is to see the dream and the dreamers, and to have the clearest perspective on both.
for the record, argentina got a 3-0 victory and will play nigeria for the gold medal. one might think that being the best, and being neighbors, these two would have bad blood. instead, (at least as i read it) there appears to be nothing but respect between them. you hear that, auburn and tuscaloosa?
a previsão de bola de cristal:
if you are only a casual futbol fan (watch the world cup, maybe the euro), you will know lionel messi's name in 2010, just as i was introduced to zinedine zidane in 2006 (when i first payed attention).
Monday, August 18, 2008
vindicação e vingança
jericoacoara
alright, salvador: you win. something tells me you always do. with mere hours remaining in our stay before a morning flight to fortaleza, the final judgment on salvador had pretty much been determined: glad to have seen it, but not up to expectations. still, with a free evening, why not go out and see if the place could redeem itself?
primeira paragem: acajaré lady. there's a feeling of attainment when you're able to walk up to a big black woman, dressed in full west african garb, in the middle of a busy plaza, and not only tell her 'the usual', but to have her know what that means. wanting to stretch my reais a little further, i opted out of dinner and instead went for an acajaré: a fried roll of manioc/flour, stuffed with a paste of okra, pureed beans, hot sauce (si!), and then topped with small, boiled shrimp. i'd been having them more or less every day, so what better way to conclude this leg?
segunda paragem: that noise. you know, that noise that was coming from somewhere over there. since you always hear the drums first, we walked towards where we thought we'd encounter live music, and found it in one of the pelourinho's narrow streets. turned out to be drums and then more drums, part of a corps consisting of one teacher and about a dozen students between the ages of 11-18 playing the full gamut from three basses to a pair of snares. even better, found a gent with a styrofoam cooler and a tall skol for 3 reais. also a fitting conclusion: walking among centuries old portuguese architecture, drinking a tall boy (or 2) and watching kids play bahian beats through the streets.
terceira paragem: felipé. following the drum procession to the largo do pelourinho, we stopped at a corner and met a bahian friend. he didn't so much approach us as just appear, and assumed our proficiency by speaking portuguese really fast. what followed was an forty-minute conversation about nothing and everything: (of course) how dangerous places are, favelas, mardi gras, beaches, soccer. maybe he thought we were cool (likely), maybe he was just really stoned (definite possibility), but he came up and talked to us, in the place full of beggars, touts, and prostitutes, just as people. not that anyone should be blamed for seeking something out of a gringo, but it was just nice that he didn't.
quarta paragem: capoeira. we had seen it before, this bahian traditional artform that descends from slaves. capoeira consists of two participants who simulate combat in the middle of a roda, whose members alternate playing instruments, singing a hypnotic chant, or taking their own turn in the middle. when we had seen it before, the participants may as well have been competing in beijing for all their muscles, flexibility, and acrobatics. this time, it was a bit slower, more melodic, and definitely more genuine. the sembe, playing the berimbaus, was a healthy dreaded man in his 60s. when two of the fighters got a little too combative, he chastised them saying that that business had no place in angolan capoeira. thus, we were able to walk back to our hostel in a little more of a happy trance that we had been nights prior.
quinta paragem: toilet, our room, in the middle of the night. either salvador was taking its mystic revenge for what i had said about it earlier, or my stomach was not agreeing with the dende oil from the acajaré. my guess: a little of both.
alright, salvador: you win. something tells me you always do. with mere hours remaining in our stay before a morning flight to fortaleza, the final judgment on salvador had pretty much been determined: glad to have seen it, but not up to expectations. still, with a free evening, why not go out and see if the place could redeem itself?
primeira paragem: acajaré lady. there's a feeling of attainment when you're able to walk up to a big black woman, dressed in full west african garb, in the middle of a busy plaza, and not only tell her 'the usual', but to have her know what that means. wanting to stretch my reais a little further, i opted out of dinner and instead went for an acajaré: a fried roll of manioc/flour, stuffed with a paste of okra, pureed beans, hot sauce (si!), and then topped with small, boiled shrimp. i'd been having them more or less every day, so what better way to conclude this leg?
segunda paragem: that noise. you know, that noise that was coming from somewhere over there. since you always hear the drums first, we walked towards where we thought we'd encounter live music, and found it in one of the pelourinho's narrow streets. turned out to be drums and then more drums, part of a corps consisting of one teacher and about a dozen students between the ages of 11-18 playing the full gamut from three basses to a pair of snares. even better, found a gent with a styrofoam cooler and a tall skol for 3 reais. also a fitting conclusion: walking among centuries old portuguese architecture, drinking a tall boy (or 2) and watching kids play bahian beats through the streets.
terceira paragem: felipé. following the drum procession to the largo do pelourinho, we stopped at a corner and met a bahian friend. he didn't so much approach us as just appear, and assumed our proficiency by speaking portuguese really fast. what followed was an forty-minute conversation about nothing and everything: (of course) how dangerous places are, favelas, mardi gras, beaches, soccer. maybe he thought we were cool (likely), maybe he was just really stoned (definite possibility), but he came up and talked to us, in the place full of beggars, touts, and prostitutes, just as people. not that anyone should be blamed for seeking something out of a gringo, but it was just nice that he didn't.
quarta paragem: capoeira. we had seen it before, this bahian traditional artform that descends from slaves. capoeira consists of two participants who simulate combat in the middle of a roda, whose members alternate playing instruments, singing a hypnotic chant, or taking their own turn in the middle. when we had seen it before, the participants may as well have been competing in beijing for all their muscles, flexibility, and acrobatics. this time, it was a bit slower, more melodic, and definitely more genuine. the sembe, playing the berimbaus, was a healthy dreaded man in his 60s. when two of the fighters got a little too combative, he chastised them saying that that business had no place in angolan capoeira. thus, we were able to walk back to our hostel in a little more of a happy trance that we had been nights prior.
quinta paragem: toilet, our room, in the middle of the night. either salvador was taking its mystic revenge for what i had said about it earlier, or my stomach was not agreeing with the dende oil from the acajaré. my guess: a little of both.
Friday, August 15, 2008
pensamentos e fios
praça da se, salvador da bahia
the past couple days of radio silence were a factor of our stay on the tropical ilha of morro de são paulo. two hours south of salvador by boat, it was a breath of fresh air for a couple weary travelers, and even inspired a few pensamentos:
filmadoras e da praia
seriously? you're going to film people (that you don't know) laying on their backs, doing nothing, on the beach? you are either about to bore the shit out of everyone at your next dinner party, or should not live within 500 yards of a school. perhaps both?
agora contratar
one of the least desirable, though perhaps most respectable and necessary, of occupations must be that of boat puke-bag collector. those two hours between salvador and morro de são paulo, e então the island and salvador had to be among the most miserable for a considerable number of our fellow passageiros. on our return earlier today, the boat mostly rocked from bow to stern, while starboard and port joined in on the action for our first trip. standing there, the calm in the eye of the storm, was our trusty puke-bag collector. he would occasionally stand there and survey the thirty odd passengers to see who needed fresh air, who had filled their bag, or just to put the luggage that had been thrown across the cabin back where it had been originally.
sugestões
next time you are threatened with a case of seasickness, remember that chewing gum or sucking on a lime can be of assistance (the former helped me wednesday). however, watching olympic highlight montages featuring gymnasts, divers, or anyone else who spins, twirls, jumps, flips, rotates, etc. may exacerbate the situation. sejam cuidadosos, my friends.
almoço
finally! found a reasonable deal for lunch. on the main drag, leading down to the beach, were a handful of establishments serving 10 reais platos. my dish of choice: moqueca do siri. basically a flavorful west african stew, this variety served with crab, mixed with tomatoes and various vegetables and spices, served alongside rice, manioc, ensalada, and feijão (bean and meat stew) on the side. add the spicy (really) green stuff.....yum.
assinar
if the thumbs-up display has the same translation as it does in the states, these are some of the nicest people on earth. if it translates to the equivalent of showing the middle finger, i pretty much hate everyone in brasil.
chuva
while noone likes it when it rains on vacation, i can't help but remain upbeat despite many consecutive days of the damp stuff. it has never really fallen consistently, but yesterday (our only full day on the praia) was one of the only ones that was nearly entirely dry. even when it did fall, its composition was less than drizzle and it descended from a sunny, cloudless sky. i'm alright with that.
barco, novamente
to death and taxes, we must now add a third reliable entity: i will see a humpback whale when off the coast of a former portuguese colony during the summer olympics. on our return today, i just happened to be looking out the portside window when a huge humpback emerged, then re-submerged about 15 meters away from the boat. i got a glimpse of torso, a tease of tail, then ran out to the back deck but was not treated to another glimpse. four years ago, i got to see a pod flirt with our scuba boat off the coast of moçambique. então, if you're dying to see one from the water (and you really should), follow me to angola in 2012.
until then, boa noite e boa sorte
the past couple days of radio silence were a factor of our stay on the tropical ilha of morro de são paulo. two hours south of salvador by boat, it was a breath of fresh air for a couple weary travelers, and even inspired a few pensamentos:
filmadoras e da praia
seriously? you're going to film people (that you don't know) laying on their backs, doing nothing, on the beach? you are either about to bore the shit out of everyone at your next dinner party, or should not live within 500 yards of a school. perhaps both?
agora contratar
one of the least desirable, though perhaps most respectable and necessary, of occupations must be that of boat puke-bag collector. those two hours between salvador and morro de são paulo, e então the island and salvador had to be among the most miserable for a considerable number of our fellow passageiros. on our return earlier today, the boat mostly rocked from bow to stern, while starboard and port joined in on the action for our first trip. standing there, the calm in the eye of the storm, was our trusty puke-bag collector. he would occasionally stand there and survey the thirty odd passengers to see who needed fresh air, who had filled their bag, or just to put the luggage that had been thrown across the cabin back where it had been originally.
sugestões
next time you are threatened with a case of seasickness, remember that chewing gum or sucking on a lime can be of assistance (the former helped me wednesday). however, watching olympic highlight montages featuring gymnasts, divers, or anyone else who spins, twirls, jumps, flips, rotates, etc. may exacerbate the situation. sejam cuidadosos, my friends.
almoço
finally! found a reasonable deal for lunch. on the main drag, leading down to the beach, were a handful of establishments serving 10 reais platos. my dish of choice: moqueca do siri. basically a flavorful west african stew, this variety served with crab, mixed with tomatoes and various vegetables and spices, served alongside rice, manioc, ensalada, and feijão (bean and meat stew) on the side. add the spicy (really) green stuff.....yum.
assinar
if the thumbs-up display has the same translation as it does in the states, these are some of the nicest people on earth. if it translates to the equivalent of showing the middle finger, i pretty much hate everyone in brasil.
chuva
while noone likes it when it rains on vacation, i can't help but remain upbeat despite many consecutive days of the damp stuff. it has never really fallen consistently, but yesterday (our only full day on the praia) was one of the only ones that was nearly entirely dry. even when it did fall, its composition was less than drizzle and it descended from a sunny, cloudless sky. i'm alright with that.
barco, novamente
to death and taxes, we must now add a third reliable entity: i will see a humpback whale when off the coast of a former portuguese colony during the summer olympics. on our return today, i just happened to be looking out the portside window when a huge humpback emerged, then re-submerged about 15 meters away from the boat. i got a glimpse of torso, a tease of tail, then ran out to the back deck but was not treated to another glimpse. four years ago, i got to see a pod flirt with our scuba boat off the coast of moçambique. então, if you're dying to see one from the water (and you really should), follow me to angola in 2012.
until then, boa noite e boa sorte
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
lamento
praça da se, salvador da bahia
for those of you that: 1) know me and 2) have been to salvador, will you kindly allow me to kill your buzz?
for all that i heard about this tropical city, this home of capoeira, this birthplace of bahian culture, i was expecting a go-and-never-come-back type destination. instead: eh. before you indulge me in my negative elaborations, keep in mind that i have only been here for three days and don't really know any locals.
for one, we are staying near the pelourinho. the architecture is wonderful and the history is soberingly fascinating, but it fits every definition of a tourist trap (my definition definitely includes any place that sells t-shirts with cheesily localized top ten lists). each block offers a multitude of capoeira pant purchase opportunities and the restaurants where staff beckons you to dine at their establishment in full costume. add the street kids and you have a sick version of disneyland.
the history of the peculiar institution makes this place even more uncomfortable. as i remarked in my previous post, i am glad that it is not pushed under the rug. but still, do the waiters and waitresses need to wear head garments while standing with their hands behind their backs? i know that capoeira originated here, but does the town center really need five studios and performances in every public space? i also haven't missed the irony that at a place where people were once bought and sold, there are people who are being bought and sold. that, or else the beautiful, young, local women i see at all these bars lust after middle-aged, potbellied, balding gringos. stranger things have happened, i suppose.
to get to the grande questão: is this the local culture, or just the local niche within the global order? if there were not cameras and gringos, dollars and reias, would you still be banging the drums in the praça da se? do you really want to make replications of beautiful paintings and wood carvings all day? i wanted to come to salvador to see all these things, but not to be clubbed over the head by them.
to avoid being entirely negative, there have been some peaks as well. the olodum show (dozens of young percussionists, dozens of vibrant line-dancers, hundreds swaying to the beat) was out of this world. the são joaquim market (you can buy a peacock!) was a trip. and, i have moderate-to-high expectations for what's going to go down in the terreiro de jesus tonight.
yet, all the praise i have heard for salvador is developing an insecurity within me: do i not know how to travel? am i not cool? why don't i get it? or, did i just come a little too late? i'll let you judge that one and chalk it all up to staying in the wrong part of town. anyway, i'm glad that there are so many others who have enjoyed themselves here, except those who have purchased humans for the fields or the bed, depending on the era.
atenção gringos com dreadlocks: i don't care how long they are, how many hemp harvests it took to make that shirt, or that you made your own jewelry; you look like as much of a tourist as a middle-aged japanese businessman in a sun hat with a ten-inch superzoom lens on his nikon.
for those of you that: 1) know me and 2) have been to salvador, will you kindly allow me to kill your buzz?
for all that i heard about this tropical city, this home of capoeira, this birthplace of bahian culture, i was expecting a go-and-never-come-back type destination. instead: eh. before you indulge me in my negative elaborations, keep in mind that i have only been here for three days and don't really know any locals.
for one, we are staying near the pelourinho. the architecture is wonderful and the history is soberingly fascinating, but it fits every definition of a tourist trap (my definition definitely includes any place that sells t-shirts with cheesily localized top ten lists). each block offers a multitude of capoeira pant purchase opportunities and the restaurants where staff beckons you to dine at their establishment in full costume. add the street kids and you have a sick version of disneyland.
the history of the peculiar institution makes this place even more uncomfortable. as i remarked in my previous post, i am glad that it is not pushed under the rug. but still, do the waiters and waitresses need to wear head garments while standing with their hands behind their backs? i know that capoeira originated here, but does the town center really need five studios and performances in every public space? i also haven't missed the irony that at a place where people were once bought and sold, there are people who are being bought and sold. that, or else the beautiful, young, local women i see at all these bars lust after middle-aged, potbellied, balding gringos. stranger things have happened, i suppose.
to get to the grande questão: is this the local culture, or just the local niche within the global order? if there were not cameras and gringos, dollars and reias, would you still be banging the drums in the praça da se? do you really want to make replications of beautiful paintings and wood carvings all day? i wanted to come to salvador to see all these things, but not to be clubbed over the head by them.
to avoid being entirely negative, there have been some peaks as well. the olodum show (dozens of young percussionists, dozens of vibrant line-dancers, hundreds swaying to the beat) was out of this world. the são joaquim market (you can buy a peacock!) was a trip. and, i have moderate-to-high expectations for what's going to go down in the terreiro de jesus tonight.
yet, all the praise i have heard for salvador is developing an insecurity within me: do i not know how to travel? am i not cool? why don't i get it? or, did i just come a little too late? i'll let you judge that one and chalk it all up to staying in the wrong part of town. anyway, i'm glad that there are so many others who have enjoyed themselves here, except those who have purchased humans for the fields or the bed, depending on the era.
atenção gringos com dreadlocks: i don't care how long they are, how many hemp harvests it took to make that shirt, or that you made your own jewelry; you look like as much of a tourist as a middle-aged japanese businessman in a sun hat with a ten-inch superzoom lens on his nikon.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
pelourinho
praça da sé, salvador da bahia
what do chocolate, sugar, coffee, and tobacco all have in common? besides a presence on every corner in brussels, these agricultural products and the waves with which they flourished help produce a city, region, and a colony. their dark side goes beyond diabetes, stained teeth, and emphysema: they are also the reason that african slaves were brought to brazil in staggering numbers.
the estados unidos infamous current president remarked to the brazilian president, 'i didn't know you had black people here, too' on a state visit years ago. well, for anyone about to take the reins of the world's largest economy, or who just has general interest, it does.
salvador is a bitterly intoxicating city. this was the location where slaves were unloaded, held, sold, and punished (the nearby district, pelourinho, is portuguese for whipping post). it is also the home to cobblestone streets, beautiful plazas, and gorgeous baroque architecture. underneath all of it is that easily detected something-happened-here presence.
but unlike charleston, which does everything to bury this history in its veneer of fort sumter shot glasses and refrigerator magnets, salvador doesn't even really try. for one, the city and region are still host to west african languages, religious rites, wear, and food among other cultural customs. the presence of these has been used to attract travelers to the region, which has somewhat alleviated the dearth of other industry.
we are about to head out to hear a local gathering of percussionists, and am sure that the next few days may be able to yield some capoeira and maybe a candomble ceremony. vamos a ver. until then, i suppose we'll just relish a culture that doesn't ignore the elephant in the room. but still, that elephant's going to need a lot more peanuts.
post scripto. t-shirt seen today:
what do chocolate, sugar, coffee, and tobacco all have in common? besides a presence on every corner in brussels, these agricultural products and the waves with which they flourished help produce a city, region, and a colony. their dark side goes beyond diabetes, stained teeth, and emphysema: they are also the reason that african slaves were brought to brazil in staggering numbers.
the estados unidos infamous current president remarked to the brazilian president, 'i didn't know you had black people here, too' on a state visit years ago. well, for anyone about to take the reins of the world's largest economy, or who just has general interest, it does.
salvador is a bitterly intoxicating city. this was the location where slaves were unloaded, held, sold, and punished (the nearby district, pelourinho, is portuguese for whipping post). it is also the home to cobblestone streets, beautiful plazas, and gorgeous baroque architecture. underneath all of it is that easily detected something-happened-here presence.
but unlike charleston, which does everything to bury this history in its veneer of fort sumter shot glasses and refrigerator magnets, salvador doesn't even really try. for one, the city and region are still host to west african languages, religious rites, wear, and food among other cultural customs. the presence of these has been used to attract travelers to the region, which has somewhat alleviated the dearth of other industry.
we are about to head out to hear a local gathering of percussionists, and am sure that the next few days may be able to yield some capoeira and maybe a candomble ceremony. vamos a ver. until then, i suppose we'll just relish a culture that doesn't ignore the elephant in the room. but still, that elephant's going to need a lot more peanuts.
post scripto. t-shirt seen today:
20% indio
30% blanco
50% negro
100% brasiliero
Thursday, August 7, 2008
aleatória
santa teresa, rio de janeiro
pequeno mundo
monday, approximately 1900hs: lonely planet lists dozens of hostels, pousadas, and hotels in rio, supplemented by hundreds of other establishments not mentioned. there must be thousands of beds in rio, while rio hostel (our digs) has around twenty. it is up this winding road in santa teresa, far from the more common destinations of copacabana and ipanema, that a young man with a surfboard under one arm and broken portuguese on his tongue entered our place. gringo, for sure. he went to his room, came out, then looked at me and said, 'you look familiar'. that's cause we lifeguarded together at piney creek swimming pool in aurora, colorado eleven years ago. we didn't have much in common then and it took us all of fifteen minutes to catch up. still, i posit that if you're walking around rio de janeiro with a surfboard, you must be doing something right in the crazy game of life.
tuesday, approximately 1415hs: there is a beach not mentioned specifically in our 750-page guide book. you take the s20 bus to its terminus (or, perhaps, to a volkswagen dealership close to its terminus where you can do the awkward i-have-to-pee dance in the lobby while you try to ask permission to use the bathroom from the salesman, in portuguese, a language you don`t speak, of course). you then go under a highway for a kilometer, then turn at the fork in the road into a nature preserve, then another kilometer till you come across the most pristine beach you could imagine. i was walking along that deserted beach, sharing it with scarcely thirty other souls, in that isolated nature reserve twenty-five km from rio, when i heard my name called from the two lane road just behind. my good pal marc mousky, passing through on the scenic route.
barganha
for those of you looking to travel with your young'uns on a budget, rio may be a contender. the public buses have turnstiles that are only activated by a magnetic card that the cashier (yes, the buses have cashiers) holds. just as they are accountable for matching the turns of the turnstile with their register, they are not accountable for when it does not turn. então, in the past few days we have seen kids climb over the turnstile, others slide under, while many more (including a grandmother) held their not-so-little little ones through a waist-high turnstile on swaying buses going over cobblestone streets. or, you could just budget the extra 2,10 reias (us$1.50).
obrigado, george
our guide book, published in january of this year, lists the exchange rate between reias and dollars at just shy of 2:1. it has fallen by close to 25%. this is in large part due to the strength of the brazilian economy, blessed with verdant soils in times of high commodity prices and being by-and-large immune to the worldwide bursting of the mortgage bubble. additionally, they have found large reserves of oil off the coast (coincidentally, the us would like to increase its naval presence in these seas...hmmmm......) which should auger well for at least the next decade.
at the same time, the us economy (has anyone heard this?) is tanking thanks to many factors. então, the value of the host currency is appreciating while mine is six months away from turning into kindling. wonder why i'm hearing a lot more british accents and german in the hostels and restaurants?
pequeno mundo
monday, approximately 1900hs: lonely planet lists dozens of hostels, pousadas, and hotels in rio, supplemented by hundreds of other establishments not mentioned. there must be thousands of beds in rio, while rio hostel (our digs) has around twenty. it is up this winding road in santa teresa, far from the more common destinations of copacabana and ipanema, that a young man with a surfboard under one arm and broken portuguese on his tongue entered our place. gringo, for sure. he went to his room, came out, then looked at me and said, 'you look familiar'. that's cause we lifeguarded together at piney creek swimming pool in aurora, colorado eleven years ago. we didn't have much in common then and it took us all of fifteen minutes to catch up. still, i posit that if you're walking around rio de janeiro with a surfboard, you must be doing something right in the crazy game of life.
tuesday, approximately 1415hs: there is a beach not mentioned specifically in our 750-page guide book. you take the s20 bus to its terminus (or, perhaps, to a volkswagen dealership close to its terminus where you can do the awkward i-have-to-pee dance in the lobby while you try to ask permission to use the bathroom from the salesman, in portuguese, a language you don`t speak, of course). you then go under a highway for a kilometer, then turn at the fork in the road into a nature preserve, then another kilometer till you come across the most pristine beach you could imagine. i was walking along that deserted beach, sharing it with scarcely thirty other souls, in that isolated nature reserve twenty-five km from rio, when i heard my name called from the two lane road just behind. my good pal marc mousky, passing through on the scenic route.
barganha
for those of you looking to travel with your young'uns on a budget, rio may be a contender. the public buses have turnstiles that are only activated by a magnetic card that the cashier (yes, the buses have cashiers) holds. just as they are accountable for matching the turns of the turnstile with their register, they are not accountable for when it does not turn. então, in the past few days we have seen kids climb over the turnstile, others slide under, while many more (including a grandmother) held their not-so-little little ones through a waist-high turnstile on swaying buses going over cobblestone streets. or, you could just budget the extra 2,10 reias (us$1.50).
obrigado, george
our guide book, published in january of this year, lists the exchange rate between reias and dollars at just shy of 2:1. it has fallen by close to 25%. this is in large part due to the strength of the brazilian economy, blessed with verdant soils in times of high commodity prices and being by-and-large immune to the worldwide bursting of the mortgage bubble. additionally, they have found large reserves of oil off the coast (coincidentally, the us would like to increase its naval presence in these seas...hmmmm......) which should auger well for at least the next decade.
at the same time, the us economy (has anyone heard this?) is tanking thanks to many factors. então, the value of the host currency is appreciating while mine is six months away from turning into kindling. wonder why i'm hearing a lot more british accents and german in the hostels and restaurants?
Monday, August 4, 2008
rocinho
santa teresa, rio de janeiro
200,000 people call it home and for two hours rocinho, rio de janeiro`s largest favela, called me its guest. we were participants in the latest wave of slum tourism, where locals guide westerners through the neighborhoods where they live. we obviously stand out, we obviously don`t belong, and the merits of this travel trend are highly debated. from my one experience today, and from previous experiences staying in other slums, i think i side on its defense.
marcelo picked us up at our hostel around 9 and drove us and about ten other hungover gringos to the rocinho entrance. from there, we hopped on the back of our personal motorcyclist to wind up to the top of the favela. we were provided a little background, a little overview of the tour, and advised not to take pictures until we had descended at least half the way. por que? because the masked man with the walkie-talkie and the guys sitting with automatic rifles are a little camera shy. ok, works for me.
we descended past maskie, and one gunman, through the top-half of the favela. we made a couple requisite stops to see an artists work, smell the baker`s creations, and see young kids drum on buckets and oil cans. all impressive, sure, but the real show was just being there. we snaked through the favela on a concrete path no wider than a meter which was never straight for more than fifteen meters. it wove past shops and homes and barbershops and bars and anything you could imagine. people walked by, or were chatting nearby, and though they never exactly welcomed us, you could say they were tacitly open to our presence. all of it was a sensoral, if sobering, feast.
as for the myths and legends, i cannot really confirm or deny any preconceptions based on a short, arranged trip. what is known is that the people live there because they have been priced out of the rio real estate market and maintain a codependent relationship with the cities economy. rio`s restaurants, shops, and basic services cannot be run without the denizens from the hills. at the same time, the lucrative drug trade is run out of the favelas, to profits that run in the billions of u.s. dollars por mês. this money goes into the hands of gangs, who redistribute some of it to reside in the goodwill of its residents. these residents include children, who usually grow up to lionize gangs and their members because it is the gangs, not the government, that they perceive to receive protection from. this is partially from their propagandist advertising and sloganing, but also because when the policia storm the favela, it is the gang that is behaving as the protector.
we descended past maskie, and one gunman, through the top-half of the favela. we made a couple requisite stops to see an artists work, smell the baker`s creations, and see young kids drum on buckets and oil cans. all impressive, sure, but the real show was just being there. we snaked through the favela on a concrete path no wider than a meter which was never straight for more than fifteen meters. it wove past shops and homes and barbershops and bars and anything you could imagine. people walked by, or were chatting nearby, and though they never exactly welcomed us, you could say they were tacitly open to our presence. all of it was a sensoral, if sobering, feast.
as for the myths and legends, i cannot really confirm or deny any preconceptions based on a short, arranged trip. what is known is that the people live there because they have been priced out of the rio real estate market and maintain a codependent relationship with the cities economy. rio`s restaurants, shops, and basic services cannot be run without the denizens from the hills. at the same time, the lucrative drug trade is run out of the favelas, to profits that run in the billions of u.s. dollars por mês. this money goes into the hands of gangs, who redistribute some of it to reside in the goodwill of its residents. these residents include children, who usually grow up to lionize gangs and their members because it is the gangs, not the government, that they perceive to receive protection from. this is partially from their propagandist advertising and sloganing, but also because when the policia storm the favela, it is the gang that is behaving as the protector.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
pagode
santa teresa, rio de janeiro
nested in the hills above the business district, santa teresa seemed like a perfect fit with its cobblestone streets, trolley cars, and bohemian roots. while guide book-fueled aspirations and reality are usually different beasts, i must say that tonight, the latter exceeded the former to the greatest extent i`ve ever experienced.
it was a simple walk up a hill. a hill that would lead to some sort of food, some sort of ambiance. maybe there`d be a candle, maybe some cool new type of tree. who would know? halfway up that hill we discovered an intersection that was hosting the kind of spontaneous backyard samba party straight out of central casting. picture a politically correct mcdonalds or coca-cola commericial featuring people too cool to ever patronize either globalized entity. there were white bearded guys (my people!), black people with `fros (with you in spirit!), and just about everyone in between. all ages were present, and if they were too young to groove they were sent to that universal place that means i-don`t-care-what-you-do-just-don`t-interrumpt-me-while-i`m-groovin.
there was an eight-piece band, nearly everyone sitting, and a crowd that seemed to sway with every subtle note. the guide book says that we stumbled upon pagode, a mellow version of samba that was derived in the 70s. picture elevator music from africa. it was the kind of music that you rotate your shoulders to, maybe your hips on the faster numbers. nearly everyone sang along in a gentle yet passionate hum to the majority of the songs. basically, it was the kind of neighborhood barbecue or family reunion where even the teenagers are dying to be present.
rioisms:
if rio were a person without arms, it would wear a tank top.
rio takes the last bite of your food, then tells you how good it tasted.
if rio were a woman, it would be a very tan helen of troy.....with a 3-inch scar from a knife fight on her left cheek.
if your sister or daughter brought rio home, you would never approve. but he`d make a pretty cool uncle.
rio sings (and dances) in line at the bank.
rio smokes a joint at the company picnic.
rio swerves his motorcycle through the 30-car pileup, without batting an eye.
rio spikes the punch at parent-teacher night.
if rio were an eighth-grader, it would steal your lunch money and then share the doritos it bought with you.
rio wears a tubetop to court and walks away with only a fine.
rio is the loudest person in the room without saying a word.
if rio were in the u.s. it would be........brooklyn (fort greene)!
nested in the hills above the business district, santa teresa seemed like a perfect fit with its cobblestone streets, trolley cars, and bohemian roots. while guide book-fueled aspirations and reality are usually different beasts, i must say that tonight, the latter exceeded the former to the greatest extent i`ve ever experienced.
it was a simple walk up a hill. a hill that would lead to some sort of food, some sort of ambiance. maybe there`d be a candle, maybe some cool new type of tree. who would know? halfway up that hill we discovered an intersection that was hosting the kind of spontaneous backyard samba party straight out of central casting. picture a politically correct mcdonalds or coca-cola commericial featuring people too cool to ever patronize either globalized entity. there were white bearded guys (my people!), black people with `fros (with you in spirit!), and just about everyone in between. all ages were present, and if they were too young to groove they were sent to that universal place that means i-don`t-care-what-you-do-just-don`t-interrumpt-me-while-i`m-groovin.
there was an eight-piece band, nearly everyone sitting, and a crowd that seemed to sway with every subtle note. the guide book says that we stumbled upon pagode, a mellow version of samba that was derived in the 70s. picture elevator music from africa. it was the kind of music that you rotate your shoulders to, maybe your hips on the faster numbers. nearly everyone sang along in a gentle yet passionate hum to the majority of the songs. basically, it was the kind of neighborhood barbecue or family reunion where even the teenagers are dying to be present.
rioisms:
if rio were a person without arms, it would wear a tank top.
rio takes the last bite of your food, then tells you how good it tasted.
if rio were a woman, it would be a very tan helen of troy.....with a 3-inch scar from a knife fight on her left cheek.
if your sister or daughter brought rio home, you would never approve. but he`d make a pretty cool uncle.
rio sings (and dances) in line at the bank.
rio smokes a joint at the company picnic.
rio swerves his motorcycle through the 30-car pileup, without batting an eye.
rio spikes the punch at parent-teacher night.
if rio were an eighth-grader, it would steal your lunch money and then share the doritos it bought with you.
rio wears a tubetop to court and walks away with only a fine.
rio is the loudest person in the room without saying a word.
if rio were in the u.s. it would be........brooklyn (fort greene)!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
primeiras impressões
santa teresa, rio de janeiro
keep in mind that all that follows is based upon less than 24 hours of observation.
geografia: if the geographical entities that are cape town and san francisco were to have a love child, it would be rio.
forma urbana: if miami were to impregnate the urban sprawl of los angeles, it would roughly produce rio.
linguagem:
keep in mind that all that follows is based upon less than 24 hours of observation.
geografia: if the geographical entities that are cape town and san francisco were to have a love child, it would be rio.
forma urbana: if miami were to impregnate the urban sprawl of los angeles, it would roughly produce rio.
linguagem:
- senhoras: take a female from the most remote province of china, teach them spanish until they attained fluency, and they would roughly sound like a brazilian portuguese speaker.
- homens: take a native finnish speaker, teach them spanish until fluency, and you would rouhly have the male equivalent.
pessoas: if the world`s beauty were to have a greatest hits collection, rio would be on the cover.
outro: if miami were to undergo reconstructive surgery (i.e. execute everyone in south beach, wrecking balls, hand title of land to residents of little haiti/little cuba, etc.), it could potentially become rio.
mistério: knowing a little about world history, one can`t help but wonder why a country filled with descendants from every continent, many of whom are living in poverty, haven`t had a massive uprising/sectarian violence?
resposta: because they`re so damn beautiful, they inhabit the most beautiful land, and have a healthy supply of soccer balls.
praia ipanema: take waikiki beach, put it next to ocean drive, enforce the alcohol policy of las vegas (minus the age restrictions, of course), and add an endless venezualan flea market.
if rio were a fourth grader, it would be the boy that has dated every hot chic in school, smokes cigarettes, and dominates field day.
if rio were a mixed drink, it would be a guava capirinha: you couldn`t quite describe its ingredients or where it came from, but you do know that it knocks you off your ass. and you`re thinking about ordering another.....
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