Landward-Ho

Brazil, is the world’s fifth largest country in terms of land mass (In order of rank: Russia, Canada, United States, China, Brazil). It’s crazy to imagine traveling through the US all by bus, from Los Angeles to San Francisco, to Denver, to Chicago to New York to Miami, but that is roughly the type of path that many of the sadist lemmings take, while in Brazil.

With my severe change in plans since leaving Salvador, I was now looking for some interim stops to break up the potentially 70 plus hour bus ride from Itacare to Iguazu and Argentina. And with Beau as a traveling mate, I had another person to give me the much needed 2 cents, in selecting the best route. Beau eventually convinced me to tag along to Belo Horizonte, a large commercial city in the central and southern half of Brazil, with really little tourist value. The upside was that it is close to Ouro Preto (which  I had wanted to visit on my way up north, but was too out of the way), which is suppose to be one of the more beautiful places, in terms of architecture, to visit while in Brazil

Ouro Preto, translates directly to Gold Black, but really as Black Gold, is a colonial town, that at first glance appears to have been stuck in time, based on the buildings and it’s cobbled streets. Sitting on a hilly terrain, the town is as picturesque, as it gets. There are churches with tall bell towers scattered throughout the town, and many buildings with white trim, finished with soft eye pleasing pastel colours. The streets are often steep and mostly cobbled, with little if any portion, ever meeting ADA (American Disability Act) Requirements, from back home. To say that this town is charming, would truly be an understatement, but on the flipside, the town is also very quite, with almost nothing to do after the sunsets. After checking into a locale hostel down the road from the bus station, I dropped off my bags, and walked down hill into town. I did the obligatory visits to a couple churches, and walked the main tourist circuit around town. In the afternoon, the early wake up call for my flight that morning, finally caught up with me, and I returned to the hostel, for a much needed nap. An interesting thing that I have noticed about traveling long term is the cycle of sleeping patterns, at least for myself. Most of the time, I am the first one up in the hostel, and find that I can’t sleep much past 8 or 9 am, but the desire for taking naps comes and goes in streaks. There are periods in excess of a week, that I take a good hour plus cat nap everyday in the afternoon. This is one of the most treasured luxuries of the long term trip, as you don’t feel like you are sleeping your holiday away. Okay, enough rubbing it in, about the fact that I can take a nice welcomed nap, after a long filling lunch sitting outside while basking in the glow of the warm sun.

A couple hours before dusk, I ventured back into town, for some more sightseeing, and to grab some food. As, I was finishing my circuit through town, door after door, restaurant after restaurant, store after store, started closing, and it was only around 7 pm. So I grabbed a couple misto sandwiches (ham and cheese that is cooked like a grilled cheese sandwich), and returned back to the hostel for the evening.

The next morning, I headed back down the hill, to visit the bigger and more well known churches of the area. And for the first time probably since Rio, I finally broke out the camera and took more than ten pictures in one day. I also managed to purchase the most popular souvenir in all of Brazil, a pair of Havaianas (flip flops). The pair I bought back in Cambodia (just a couple months back) already met their fate, further proving how great my friends/mates Righty and Leftie really were.

Initially I planned to stay in Ouro Preto for a couple nights, but as I saw most of the main sights, and there are very little things to do at night, I hopped on the afternoon bus back to Belo Horizonte to chill out a couple days before heading south towards Florianopolis aka Floripa.

In Belo, I stayed in Santa Teresa, located just a few metro stops from the centre of town. On that first afternoon, I walked through town, and quickly realized that Belo was a great working big city to live in, as an analogy the size and comfort of a Seattle, but has the tourist value probably more similar to Bakersfield. The next day, I visited the area of Pampulha, and one of the most famous landmark of Belo, a church designed by Oscar Niemeyer, commissioned by a past Belo Mayor, in the 1940s. Based on the pictures from various tour magazines, I had set the bar fairly high, as the church was considered as a piece of contemporary art, a locale/city treasure. When I arrived, I was a bit disappointed to find that the church was not actually being used as such, and the size was much smaller than I expected. The area and church is worth a visit, as it has a nice setting, and is very tranquilo (a commonly used word, meaning tranquil, chill, laid back…), just don’t set the bar too high, like I had. In the afternoon, I met up with Beau and his locale friend, as he wanted to make a few last minute purchases for the wedding that evening, including the wedding present and a tie to wear. His plan was to stay a good few days beyond the wedding, for some sightseeing, to veg and to watch a soccer game. He invited me to join his friends the next few days, but as I had seen the main square/Parca and the famous church, for the second town/city in a row I decided to reduced the length of my stay, and hopped on the midnight bus, back for the beaches: Rio.

Simply, Amazing

The plan was to chill out for a few days at Itacare, and sign up for some surf lessons. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to explain to the locales as well as the foreigners, that it is actually possible to live in Southern California, and still not know how to surf. To make it worse, when they asked me: how far I live from the beach, I would have to tell them that I lived only a short bike ride away from Newport and Huntington Beach, and they would just shake their head in disappointment. Itacare is known as one of the best places to surf in Brazil, especially for beginners, as they have multiple beaches with surf, ranging from fast larger waves, to slower cresting waves that give the beginner an opportunity to get caught in the current and to stand up.

What started as a quoted four hour journey first by ferry, than by bus, became a seven hour trip. Have I mentioned how much, I don’t trust travel agents. Seriously, if they told me that it was going to take seven from the start, I/we would have been fine with it, other than constantly wondering how much farther and longer. The mini-bus pulled into town just as dusk was setting in, and what I found was a charming little main street, that was lined with restaurants, shops, posadas (hotels/guesthouses), and mercados (markets). The crowd walking up and down the street, were generally younger, many with dredlocks, braids, tattoos, and in some cases walking barefoot while carrying a surfboard, it was a cross between reggae, hippie and the surfing culture.

After checking in and going for a quick swim at Concha (Shell) Beach, where I witnessed the previously mentioned moonrise, I walked down Main Street to sign up for my surf class. At Brazil Travel Trip, I met my first semi-local, Pamela, who just started at the agency that day. Pamela is from Santiago, Chile, and after staying in Itacare a month during this trip (as she came to Itacare two years prior), she woke up on the day she was suppose to head home, and decided that she wasn’t ready to head home, just yet, so she got a job at the agency, to keep her trip going. I turned out to be Pamela’s first official customer at the agency, when I booked my 3 day surf lesson, with Gustavo my surf instructor. After having my itinerary set for the next few days, with the surf lessons, I grabbed some dinner and just walked to the end of Main Street and back, and headed back to the hostel to call it a night.

As I was ready to turn in, a dorm mate, told me that there would be a lunar eclipse tonight, and since I had just seen the moonrise earlier, I had no choice but to join the gang for the night to view the eclipse. This had to be one of the slowest eclipse of all time, as it took about two hours from when the moon started to get obstructed by the shadow of the Earth from the sun, to when the moon became a redish tint. The night sky was covered with clouds, and we constantly held our breathe, as the clouds blocked the moon, and we wondered if we would miss the actual full eclipse. But, sometime around 2 am, we were able to gaze into the sky at what resembled more like a foreign planet from a sci-fi movie than the Earth’s moon.

Early the next morning, I met with Gustavo, along with Amet to start our 3 day surf class. After giving us the once over and asking about our minimal surf experience, Gustavo asked if we were confident enough to speedtrack our class, so that we could attempt to catch some waves today. He said that normally, he just takes his beginners to the bay, where they practice safety precautions, along with swimming, getting on the board and paddling exercises. But, as it was only two of us, and we have both tried to surf in the past, he wanted to get us out into the waves and see what we could do. After a couple of hours on the beach, explaining the process and mimicking the form and process of standing on the board, we hit the water, with our absurdly long long-boards. What looked as manageable small waves from the shore, became strong crashing waves, out in the Atlantic. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had immediate success, as I was able to paddle out beyond the break into the safety zone of the forming swell, to watch and pick a wave. Than, on one of my initial tries I was able to catch the wave, and cowabunga, I was up on the board riding it all the way to shore (did I actually just use that word in a sentence?). That would be my best ride of the day, as most of the remaining day, I was constantly beat down by the waves, as I paddled out, or miss timed the waves, and went nose down and hard, as my body would be tossed every which way by the waves.

Over the course of the next few days, my schedule was relaxing and comfortable. Surf class in the morning, followed by one or two of the best and cheapest baguettes, EVER! Than, a chilled afternoon at one of the other beaches, Praia One or Two. When I had enough energy after surf class, I even joined the 4 pm Capoeira class, that goes on everyday at Praia One. Capoeira is a Brazilian style of martial arts/dance, it is a form of dance where the participants use kicks and body movements as if to fight, but no touching actually occurs, except when you acknowledge the opponent in the beginning and at the end. It is also a great form of exercises and stretching, as I seriously stretched muscles (or lack thereof) that I didn’t know existed. If you do Tai-Bo or some type/form of boxing for exercise, find a Capoeira class and check it out for yourself, I really think it’s a better work out for your whole body.

The nights, would usually entail, a walk down Main Street to the only real bars in town, at the Favela Bar and the one next door, as the crowd would hangout and discuss, the days events, and where the big parties are for the night. A funny story of how ignorant I can be: everyday right around dusk to well into the evening, this older guy, rides his bike up and down Main Street. Now, his bike is not a normal bike, as it’s rigged with huge speakers on the back, with a battery and microphone in the front. For a couple hours, he just rides his bike back and forth, speaking into the microphone. Not understanding Portuguese, and just based on past experienced, I just figured that he was tell all of us/hevans, to stop wasting our lives away, sunning, smoking, drinking and gosh knows what. I seriously, expected this guy to show up any night with a huge poster board attached to his bike, referencing: John 3:16. Well, everyday as we walked back into town with Gustavo, he would tell us where to go for the big parties for the evenings, and wanted to know if we wanted to meet up. After the second day, I asked him out of curiosity, how does everybody always seem to know where the parties are, even when they seem to change venues the last minute, like the night before. That’s when, he told me that the guy on the bike, tells everybody where the parties are at, and if there are any changes. When, I told Gustavo, what I thought the guy was doing, he laughed for a good five minutes. I thought it was pretty hilarious myself, especially the irony, I thought he was telling us to save ourselves and to clean up, but he is actually the one leading everyone down that shady road.

The remaining days in surf class, were good, as I learned from my multiple mistakes and was able to get up on the board a couple to a few times each day. Personally, I was a bit disappointed with my progress, as I set fairly high expectations, to be able to work my way through the long board to the fun board, and maybe even the short board. But, Gustavo seemed happy with our progress, and constantly gave us encouraging words, and told us that we had done well beyond above the average Joe. In any event, I am still definitely not a surfer, but am open to giving it a go, when I get back home, just not at Tressels or anything.

On my fourth day in Itacare, my bud Beau from MSP, came in from Salvador to kick it for a couple days. Beau, has been traveling overseas for about the same amount as I have, but this was not his first long-term trip. The two of us got along really well, and kept in touch after he left MSP, and we decided to hang together for a couple days, as we could kid around as crazy Americans and speak in ridiculous slang that no one else seemed to understand, something that the Ozzies and Kiwis seem to do all the time. Lets just say that Snoop Dogg would have been proud of all the -izzos that was added to the end of every sentence.

Over the course of the next three days, we meet many other semi-locals, and travelers, and hungout in town, as if we had lived there for months or weeks, not days. Itacare has a real cool and chilled vibe. It’s strange, but most of the locales are from somewhere else, and that is why I say: semi-locale. And once you meet them, you immediately acknowledge each other, everytime after that. By my fourth day, I could not walk down Main Street without saying hi or giving the Brazilian handshake to at least a handful of people. When I walked down the street with others, they would ask me, so how long have you really been here? I could have easily stayed there for a few weeks to a month.

On our last full day, a group of us went to spend the day at: the Secret/Special/Missing/Mystery/Jungle… Beach. There were so many names for this beach, but the real name is: Prainha. I would joke that there is nothing secret, missing or mysterious about the beach, as everybody knows about it, the only difficult thing was knowing it’s real name. After an hour walk and hike past town, we finally approached the infamous beach, and it should be named: the Amazing Beach, as it was beautiful, secluded and almost heavenly. Seriously the only thing that could have made the beach better, would be to have that special someone to share it with, and maybe along with a nice juicy steak or an In-n-Out burger. Have I really become that obsessed with food, since I have been away from home. If we had not booked our tickets to leave the next day, we would easily have stayed a few extra days, to go back to the Amazing Beach.

Fame or Infamy?

So, what do you think are my chances of making the newspaper(s) and potentially multiple news channels on St. Patrick´s Day in Argentina. One, I don´t drink; two, I am not Irish; and three, I don´t speak Spanish. Well considering I hungout with some wild, crazy, and great Irish girls, my chances were great. Check it out:

 http://www.clarin.com/diario/2008/03/17/um/m-01630593.htm
This was actually one of potentially many, as we were followed by TV cameras and journalists.

Happy St. Patrick´s Day!

Morro de Sao Paulo (MSP) with 20p

What up Playas and Playettes, this is 20p holla’n at ya. I’m checkin’ in to spit bout kickin’ it wit Reky Ricardo, down in MSP. First, MSP is a tight spot, both to chill and to get ya party on. It’s beaches, beaches, and ya, mo beaches. The real party spot is Beach 2, both day and nite. Beach 4 is tight, as it chill and bit out of the way.

In MSP, while rollin’ wit me, R met some real cool cats: Beau from the lone star state, and Cate and Isolbel, a couple of Brits, who will be playing the tin whistle and cello, when I laydown my rhymes. We rolled posse style through the dirt roads of MSP, and chilled at the beach bars at night. On the second night, our boy R, got straight blindsided and was shot down by Q, but he will have to give you the 411. Holla! Peace.

20p, out.

From Reky: Like Riogordo, 20p, was one of the personalities that I hungout with. 20p is short for 20 pence, which is still less than 50 cent based on today´s exchange rate. The question is, did you understand Riogordo or 20p more?

Change in Wind Direction

It’s funny, no matter how different things/people are around the world, you find just as many things that are similar. Throughout Southeast Asia and India, the taxi, rickshaw and tuk-tuk drivers sit around waiting for a backpacker to jump off a bus and follow them, for a chance to make a few bucks, by taking them to their hostel or in an effort to make a commission. The problem isn’t that they are trying to earn a living, the problem is that they have no idea where they are going, so they just nod their head yes, so that you will hop on and figure it out later. (Cambodia is notorious for this, so be warned.)

As, I got off the bus, and since Porto Seguro was a little off the beaten path, my LP book didn’t have a map, therefore I elected to hire a moto-taxi to my hostel. Armed with my Blackberry, I had a general description of the location of the hostel, and hoped that the moto driver can fill in the blanks. As we approached in the general area of the hostel, he kept motioning to me, if he should keep going, which to be honest, really frustrated me. Finally he pulled over and said that the place doesn’t exist, as he never heard of it, to which I asked him (in English, which he obviously didn’t understand) why didn’t he say that before he had me hop on and sped off. He than continued to ask other moto drivers, to which they all pointed in different directions. I checked the BB again, and was sure that it was still a km ahead, but he adamantly shook his head no, and said that we must have passed it, and so he flipped a U. After about half an hour, and calling for more information, we finally, oh I mean, I finally found the place, as he sped pass the hostel sign without looking, almost exactly, where I told him to go, initially. As the manager opened the gate, and I paid him his 10 Reais, and he started to complain. Funny how you can’t understand a foreign language, but know exactly what he is saying. The manager looked at me confused, as we were almost yelling in each other’s face, him in Portuguese, and I in English. I looked at her, and told her that this guy has the audacity to ask me for more money, after he got me lost, and wouldn’t follow the directions I gave him. She talked to him for a bit, and came in, and thought that I spoke Portuguese, as I knew exactly what he was saying.

My temperature immediately cooled down, when I entered the grounds, to find a pool, and a nice clean cabin to call home for the night. Reunited with Zoe and Nicci, we went back out for dinner, after I had a dip in the pool, and hungout with some of the hostel mates. Later that night, we went into town in search of something to do, but found the town somewhat sleepy, as they just wrapped up their Carnaval celebration the night before. Porto Seguro, for whatever reason, celebrates Carnaval for a couple more days, pass Ash Wednesday. Riogordo, did make an appearance that night, and again he was a hit, with a couple locals, asking to take a picture with him. Seriously, if I could grow out my hair like him, I would do it.

The next day, we decided to pack up and move to the island, Arraial D’ Ajuda, as Porto Seguro was just to spread out, and it was not feasible to walk anywhere. Man, was that a great idea, Ajuda was a great little community, with a couple of squares and a bar/restaurant row, that poured out into the street, and you just chilled the night away, watching the crowds walk by. What made Ajuda more enjoyable, was the great hostel we stayed at, Republic das Bananas. Run by the owner Julio, the hostel was packed every night, we were there. Six of us showed up, only one with a reservation, but he wouldn’t turn us away. He asked us to drop off our bags, and to give him time to think, to work something out. Eventually he, he got us all in, and the bulk of us stayed four days/three nights, in Ajuda. On one of the days I didn’t even make it to the beach, as it’s a trek from the town, but the hostel had a great pool, overlooking the woodlands below and beyond. A couple of highlights of my days in Ajuda included, a day trip to the beautiful beach of Trancosso (only an hour bus ride away) and a Lambada dance class in town.

Next, the girls and I, along with Karen, headed of to Salvador on an overnight bus. Zoe and Karen, had become good buds after meeting in Porto Seguro, but to be honest, I didn’t really care for Karen. A very attractive girl, but I found her to be very selfish, and impolite. So, I was glad when I found out that I was on a different bus and hostel than them, although I would miss my comedic buddies, Laverne and Shirley. An example, of what bugged me about Karen: as soon as we got off our respective buses, Karen dropped her bags by my feet, and asked me where the girls went. I told her, they went searching for the ticket office, to find the departure times, and to buy their tickets for Recife/Olinda. She pointed at her bags, and told me to wait and to watch her bags. No please, no can you, just watch my bags. I told her, that I was going to the ticket offices as well, to which she gasped and asked why I couldn’t just stay there and watch her bags. She than in her animated self, threw her bags over her shoulders in disappointment and shuffled off. Doesn’t sound like much, but this was one of many little things that really urked me. A real funny story, was when Julio squeezed us into his hostel, he had to open a room that hasn’t been used for awhile, and as it had air-conditioning he had to charge 5 Reais more. The rest of us, just happy to have a bed, was good with it, but Karen complained and said that she didn’t want AC and wanted a cheaper bed. But as the room slept six, Julio wanted to keep us together. She said that she was traveling solo and didn’t want to pay more. Julio finally gave in and moved her to a fan room, which only cost 20 Reais a night. The punchline is: as the room had not been used for awhile, the bathroom was not as nice as the others, and there were a few more mosquitoes than the other rooms. As a result, Julio comp’ed us that night, and moved us into a sweet room with an awesome kitchen the next couple of nights. So after three nights, he only charged us 50 Reais, and charged her 60 Reais, for 20 a night. Karma baby! Okay, no more bitching.

Originally my plan was coincidentally very similar to Zoe and Nicci. Salvador, than Olinda, where they would head back south for Foz de Iguacu than home, and I would continue to Natal, Fortaleze; Jericoacoara, Belemfor a boat rife through the Amazon to Manaus, before heading back south to Foz Igaucu and maybe Florianoplis. But, upon arrival, at the bus station, something just told me to not buy the bus ticket just yet, and to see how the next couple days go. I had also heard from many others, that it was the wet-wet season at the Amazon, and the five day boat ride was intriguing for one day, but not enjoyable for five.

After checking into my hostel, I walked through Barra and did the obligatory sightseeing, with a visit to the nautical museum at the lighthouse. In the afternoon, I went to Barra beach, for some more sun, I know tough life. Than Zoe, Nicci and I went out for a nice dinner, where we toasted to the lonely hearts club, as it was Valentine’s Day. We than stopped at a local bar, but the girls were tired from the long bus ride, so we called it an evening well before midnight.

The next morning, I woke up feeling a bit down and out. My body was tired, and my throat seemed sore, as if I was coming down with a flu. More than anything else, I was frustrated with the constant warnings of walking through Salvador, outside of the Barra area. The hostel manager, a very pleasant couple, told me of all the places to stay away from, and to make sure that I take a taxi, instead of a bus. This really bothered me, as now I felt trapped, between all the places I was to stay away from. But it wasn’t just from them, it was in the books, other travelers, and it really just made me feel like, if I can’t walk here, or see that, than why am I here. That is when I decided that I am heading back south, and make my way towards Argentina, and that I was going to walk the city and just deal with it. The lady, told me to please take a taxi, so I did, and walked through the historic centre of Pelohurino. The Iglesa de San Francisco doesn’t seem like much from the outside, but the inside of the chapel, is exquisite and beautiful. Although small, the church is definitely worth a visit if you are ever in the area code. The city is separated into two general districts, the high and low, literally. Most of the city, is located on a higher plateau up the hill, while a portion, specially the maritime terminal is located on the lower half. As a result, the city has a couple ways for you to go between the two areas, one of which is a huge elevator, that transports you from up to down, or vice-versa. Hard to describe, but you enter a glass set of doors, pay your 5 centos toll, walk down a hall way, that is like a bridge over the slope, than reach two elevators, where the shafts act as columns for the walkway. Really not that cool, but very different. As I reached the maritime terminal, I pulled the trigger, and bought my boat ticket to Morro de Sao Paulo, two hours south, instead of heading north, for the next day. I than hopped on a bus, headed back to Barra for the rest of the day. When I got back, the talk to the hostel, was that three of the hostel mates, just got robbed at knife point, with one of the guys getting cut on his arm, and requiring stitches. Unfortunately the three of them all had backpacks with them, and as a result, lost many valuables, including: cash, camera and even a passport. In the evening, I gave the girls the news of my travel plans, and we went out to dinner one last time to celebrate our last night together. Unfortunately, this time I was the one that was tired and feeling under the weather, so I passed on their invitation to a Lambada club, and was fast asleep, sometime after 10pm. The next morning, I headed off for Morro de Sao Paulo.

Rio Real Rio

On the final official day of Carnaval, I got a late start, after the craziness and theatrics of the Sambadrome. Andres, stopped by my hostel, as he really wanted to visit the Macarna, in it’s heyday, it was the largest soccer/futbol stadium in Latin America, if not the world. It’s been home to some of the most famous athletes, past and present, including the Legendary Pele, and played host to many notable and historical matches/games, and still being used today. In comparison it is like Yankee Stadium and Fenway Park, all rolled into one, only on a global scale.

Again, my buddy Riogordo joined us, and stole the show. As we visited the museum, stands, locker rooms, and gift shop at the stadium, many of the locals, and other visitors smiled, waved and even requested pictures with Riogordo. At one point, a gorgeous Brazilian girl took a picture with Riogordo, and when we visited the gift shop, the girl working at the counter, requested me to take a picture of her with Riogordo, with my camera.

On the flip side, Riogordo almost went crazy mad, when we were looking for Pele’s footprint and signature cast in concrete, at the walk of fame. As we searched and found Pele’s spot, an English bloak, jumped in front of me, just as I was about to snap a picture. He literally, stepped on my toes, and took a picture of his feet next to Pele’s. I scowled at the guy, to get off my toes, and to wait his turn, to which he said, chill I am only going to take a second. I seriously could not believe this guy, as he walked off, thinking he was in the right. Andres and I just looked at each other, saying, is this guy serious. I shouted at the guy, to get some manners, to which he responded, that he didn´t do anything wrong, but would apologize if I would accept his apology. To which I said, that I would. Than he shouted, as he took off, I am sorry A$$hole! Seriously, if I was just bit younger and just slightly more immature, I would have took off after him. It was okay, and long forgotten, after all the the attention, Riogordo got minutes later.

Next, Andres and us, went to Lapa, to visit the famous tiled stairs, that lead Lapa to Santa Teresa. These are the stairs that are showcased in the Snoop Dogg and Pharrell Williams music video: Beautiful. The stairs are colorful and ever-changing, as the artist is constantly changing the tiles from different ones he gets from around the world.

In the evening, we met back up with the gang at Botafogo, and ate at another kilo restaurant, and finished off Carnaval, at the largest street party in Lapa, by the Arches, formally an aqueduct.

Everyone in desperate need of some rest, got the perfect excuse, the next day. As the weather gods, brought rain. So, after a jog around the lake, I mostly just chilled with my buddies, Sarah and Bernardo, who both work at the Copacabana Wave Hostel.

With a lot more sightseeing left to be done in Rio, I set my last two days aside to squeeze it all in. First, I visited Sugarloaf, a pair of large hunchback rocks, tower into the air, deep in the bay, reached by cable cars, with amazing views of Botafogo to Copacabana. Next, I hopped on the metro for Santa Teresa, where I jumped onto the Trolley Car for a ride through the hilly artistic village of Santa Teresa. In the evening, I returned to Botafogo, to say a temporary goodbye to Gloria (Zoe) and Pinky (Nicci), also dubbed by me as Laverne and Shirley, who were headed for Porto Seguro, but I would see soon, as I would only be a day behind them. When I returned to their hostel, I found the place absolutely deserted, as the hostel went from full occupancy to just a couple people in the whole place. I than, hopped back onto the metro and returned to my hostel in Copacabana, and chilled with the gang until the wee hours of the morning, as we had the most strangest and interesting guy check in. This guy was a Brazilian from some where else, but his accent and build reminded me more of my governor, Arnie. Around 3 am, he decided that he wanted to teach us all self-defense so he asked for a guinea pig, to attack him. Knowing this wasn’t the smartest thing, I stayed quiet. One of the bigger guys volunteers, and immediately regretted it, as he got a chop to his shin, and was immediately immobilized. Than he asked for another volunteer, and we all looked away and scared. Than for some reason, he decided that I would be his favorite for the next half hour. He would ask me where I was from, and when I told him, he responded: I love the US, California surfing, catching waves, yeah man! Than he asked me, where my ancestors were from, and he would respond: China, I love China! China is great, I love Chinese people, my ex-wife was Asian. He than wanted to show me some of his martial arts move, to which I looked to Sarah for some help, and to save me. Eventually he found his next favorite of the hour, and at some point I disappeared back into my room for some zzzs.

In the morning, I joined a tour for a visit to the largest favela in Latin America, Rocinha. A favela, is essentially the ghetto/slums. Unlike other ones around the world, this community, is basically an accepted community of squatters, who now have rights (theoretical) to the property they live on. Generally located on hills/terrain which were previously unbuildable, the property is owned by the government, so they pay no property tax. In many cases, they illegally tap the electrical poles, so they pay for no electricity, as well. Rocinha, has a population of over 200,000 people, and includes public offices and resources, such as: schools, hospitals, post offices…, but not nearly the amount required to serve the size and population of the community. The issue with the favela is the rampant illegal activities, most dealing with drugs. As a result, it is not uncommon to see pistols and machine guns, even on kids that should be in primary school. We were told that, although it is not their intent to outright harm gringos/visitors, there are incident of bystanders getting caught in crossfire with the police, and they can not tell a visitor from an undercover officer or journalist, as they don’t want anymore attention. The key if you ever decide to visit a favela, is to ditch the fancy watches and jewelry, be respectful, and don’t take pictures of people unless you ask, and they agree, and never do it alone, preferably only with an official guide. The most amazing part of these favelas, were their locations. The views from these slummy apartments, were amazing, fantastic, gorgeous. Set on the hillside, you would look out into the distance at the ocean, and the world famous beaches of Rio. Equally as magnificent was the view of the stacks of cubes on top of each other, that is the favela apartments. All different sizes, and colors, each cube represents a living quarter for one or multiple families, and as time passes on and more room is needed, another cube is built, above or next to the existing one.

In the afternoon, I returned back to Copacabana for one last sunbathing session on this world famous beach, before packing my bags, for the 20 hour bus north to Porto Seguro.

Sambadrome with Riogordo

Ola. Mi amigo, Reky, ask me to write here. Sorry, me english, no good, hope you understand.

My name is Riogordo, I live in Rio, Carnaval is the best party of year. I meet Reky at a bloco, and we look like each other, than become friends. He is lighter color than me, and I have afro style hair and tattoos, other than that we same. But, I think I am more good looking than him, the girls think so too, don’t tell him.

We go to blocos together, than we went to Sambadrome, also. Sambadrome is stadium, by famous Brasilian architect Oscar Niemeyer, just for the Samba school parade, Carnaval. The stadium, has a road in middle, is 700 meter long, and have seats on both side. One side is the seats, where you buy tickets, that is where we sit. Other side is for VIPs, and companies that spend lots of money, with many gringos. The Samba schools, each have 80 minutes to parade down the road, with their thousands of people in bright shiny outfits, bands, dancers, big floats, fireworks. I most like the main female Samba dancer, who is in middle of parade, she has little clothes, but large shiny feathers, dancing Samba with high heels on. The floats, like Reky says, like your Rose Parade floats, but not with flowers, but very shiny and colorful, with many dancers on it. I think it strange that you have parade floats that are made by Roses.

Each parade, has 40 judges who give points, and the best is one with most points. The night we went, saw the Samba school that won 4 times in 5 years, they win this time, also. The parades start at 8 pm, and finish when all six schools done. This is Brazil, so Brazil time, we finished at 6 am.

I never been in the Samba parade, but it can happen, just need to pay money. The more money, the better you do in parade. A person says to me, that $250 US, you can be a parade person. More money, you can be a float person. Some gringos and Brasilian pay 50,000 Reais to be the highest person on the float. I think they strange, but one day, I like to be in parade.

The Sambadrome is fun, best party. The seats, have many gringos, but more Brasilian, we dance and sing for 80 minutes when the schools go the road. When you come to Brasil, you come at Carnaval, must see Sambadrome. Brasil very good, Reky says he likes, so visit me. Tchau.

Riogordo

Brasil, Brasil

Never knowing for sure, when I would finally make it to Brazil, if I ever would, I never made any plans or reservations for the biggest celebration in Brazil, if not the world, Carnaval. I arrived just four days before the start on the festivities, and of course the talk of the hostel, was: where are you going and staying for Carnaval.

During my two days in Sao Paulo, the third most populated city in the world, with over 17 million residents, I’d did at little sightseeing, which was hampered by intermittent showers, but mostly met some great and friendly backpackers, that I would continue to hang out with, during and well beyond Carnaval.

On my first full day, in South America-Brazil-Sao Paulo, I tackled the city by metro/subway and by foot walking through the heart of the city, from Parca de Republic to Parca Se, while yielding to the warnings of many others, to limit the items that you carry, to items that you could live without. This would be a constant cry that you heard from many of the guidebooks and hostel staff. Stories about being mugged, are almost a dime a dozen, and in a weird way, it is just an accepted risk of sightseeing in the big cities of Brazil. But, just by following a few precautions, such as, no flashy jewelry or camera, never take out more than a few small bills at a time, and don’t carry a large bag or backpack, the risk can be greatly reduced.

For most Sao Paulo, is like any big working city, with really little tourist value, unless you want to party all night. Luckily for me, I met some great people at the hostel, and as the showers grew somewhat intense in the evening, we all ended up hanging out in the common area and chatted the night away.

On the second day, most of the boys, metro’ed into the city for a visit to the MASP (Museum of Art, Sao Paulo, a great little museum with some masterpieces by Van Gogh, Picasso, Manet…), than to the bus station to buy our tickets to Rio. Yes, the other lemmings, convinced me that there is really only one choice for Carnaval, at least based on where I was, and that was Rio.

Earlier that morning, I had researched into some hostels,, to see what was still available, let’s just say, that one night during the nights of Carnaval was going for at least four to five times the normal rate, and they required a booking of the complete seven days of the festival. Based on that, and the limited options, I ditched my other alternative of see Carnaval in two different cities: Rio and Florianopolis, where I was going to meet, Andy, a friend of a friend who was traveling through Southeastern South America for his annual three week international vacation.

On the night of the second day, the whole hostel crew went out for dinner and drinks, and shortly before midnight, Andres and I (acting as designated walker) headed for the bus station, to catch our overnighter to Rio de Janeiro. We arrived bright and early to Rio, and caught a local bus, headed to Botafogo where I was staying for a night, and Leblon where Andres was staying at a buddy’s house. After checking in and getting settled, I walked the streets of Botafogo Rio. On my way back, there was a huge commotion, the street was packed with traffic, horns honking, people walking from all directions towards the traffic, and distant sounds of sirens, slowly approaching. As I walked past the traffic, which was now being detoured, I saw the cause of all the stir: a sewer explosion. A good number of the sewer manhole covers along the street was now blown meters away from the manhole opening, with pieces of pavement scattered throughout the street. And in the middle of the now blocked street, was one lone car, with it’s front headlights popped out, and a portion of it’s front tires lifted off the ground. At the exact moment of the explosion, this car happened to be directly center over one of the manholes, and was lifted off the street, now stuck with portions of the pavement and manhole stuck underneath it, and deeming the car inoperable. Thankfully, it appears that no one was hurt, as I saw the owner of the car, emptying out her trunk, as she got a lift from the police away from the site of the incident.

After returning to the hostel, I met Shany and than Tania, who told me about the various blocos (street parties) for Carnaval. Tania, said that there was a pre-Carnaval bloco tonight, and invited Shany and I to go with. I gladly accepted, and told her, that I would meet up back at the hostel later to go, as I wanted to walk some more of the town until than. When I returned, to my surprise, Tania was waiting for me along with Zoe and Nicci, my hostel mates/friends from Sao Paulo, to go to the bloco. When I entered the hostel, we hollared each other’s name and embraced in a welcoming hug, and Tania just blankly starred at us, as to say: how the heck do you know each other, they just checked in?

The bloco was held in the Centro part of Rio, and was more of a warm up for a larger bloco during the heart of Carnaval. The best way to describe a bloco, is a moving street party, that follows a band, like in a parade. There is usually a band, made up largely of various drum and wind type instruments, with a leader, who directs with a whistle and flailing arms and hands. Behind the band, is a large moving-type sound truck, with speakers all along it’s sides, and an open top, where the singers with mic in hand sing the words to the music preformed by the band. The director, instructs the band to play, and when to parade, while the truck follows closely behind, moving at a very slow pace, with constant stops. The parade route, is basically around a large city block, with officers closing the streets as the bloco moves along. Now, the party go’ers dance along: in front, behind, along side, and anywhere possible. The atmosphere is electric, and you can’t but help to smile and dance to the music, in any way that your body (rhyme) allows you to. As this was a pre-Carnaval bloco, the attendance was small compared to others that I would see over the course of the next week, and most of the participants were local Brazilians, or even friends and family members of the Samba School/Band. The four of us, were some of the only foreigners, and as a result got plenty of attention. This bloco, was much tamer than the others, but actually was my favorite off all the blocos that I would attend throughout Carnaval. It was not commercialized and packed with people just looking to hook up, or grope some random girl, instead it felt like a huge party of family of friends. Over the course of three hours, we circumferenced the block, and continued to see many familiar faces, and started to acknowledge each other with smiles and the Brazilian handshake. I was even asked by multiple locals to be in the picture with their family and friends, as it seemed that they were shocked to one, see an Asian participate in Carnaval, and two, one that would get jiggy with it. By the end of the night, I was even able to get on the back/top of the sound truck, and some of the guys pressured the guy holding the ten foot mascot/puppet, to hand it over to me to dance around with, apparently this was a big deal, as he would not let anyone else touch the holding stick the whole night.

The next day, I had to transfer to another hostel, due to my tardiness in making a reservation, but stayed in Botafogo, and met up with Zoe, Nicci, Tania, Samantha, and Martha, for a trip to the beautiful beach of Ipanema. Being from Southern California, I am spoiled by the beautiful beaches, soft sand, blue sky, and crashing waves from back home, but Ipanema was something else. It’ had all of that, plus large hunchback rocks shooting out of the ground in a distance, a site that would be hard to duplicate anywhere else in the world. Plus, the sound of the large crashing waves just meters from the shore were a marvel to watch, and awesome to feel, as you got tossed every which way, and felt the brunt of it’s mighty strength. Later that night, we hit a couple of the local clubs, which might as well have been a scene out of the OC. As, the nicer clubs are only attended by the affluent Brazilians and foreigners. It just so happened that at the first club, it was gay night, at first I never noticed, but than I realized that the ratio of guys to girl was more skewed than normal. I was having a decent time, as there were still plenty of girls to hang and dance with, as they weren´t being bombarded by guys. That is when Zoe (who I dubbed as Gloria, due to her resemblance to a certain Latin singer), said she wanted to go, as she wasn’t having a good time. Confused, and as I was talking to someone, I told her to give it another go, and to come back later. She came storming back, and said that she was leaving, as it´s gay night, and wasn´t happy that more guys was checking out my bum, than her´s.

The next day, was officially the start of Carnaval, so for the third day in a row, I moved my bags to Copacabana, where I would stay for the next week. After checking and getting settled in, I headed off to see the questionable Wonder of the World, that is Christ the Redeemer. Voted in as a World Wonder, the Redeemer doesn’t even make the list of must do’s for most people if you have only one day in Rio, such as cited in the Lonely Planet. I will admit that the statue and the view is amazing, but if anything, the geographic diversity of Rio, with it’s bays, beaches, and rock formations, including: Sugarloaf and Hunchback, is much more of a world wonder than the statue, itself. In the evening I met up with the gang and we headed off to dinner at a kilo restaurant. Brazil, would be the only second country, that I will probably leave gaining weight, rather than losing, thank goodness, as I really can’t afford to lose much more weight. A kilo restaurant is basically set up like a buffet, where your plate gets weighed, and you pay for however much you put on your plate. The main draw for me, was the huge selections of meat, with at least five different types of red meat rotating on skewers, you just point to the chef/butcher, and he slices the meat on to your plate. I generally passed on the other options of chicken and pork, saving room on my plate for beef. All in all, Brazilian food is good, but I find that they put a little too much salt and use to much cheese for my fancy. The night concluded with a visit back to Centro where there was a huge street party at another part of Centro with a bloco and a concert stage.

Saturday, was a chilled day. Adam from the States (Cleveland) and I jogged the boardwalk of Copacabana, the beachfront is 4km, we did 3/4 of it, each way. Than, I met up with Andres for lunch, and returned in the evening to Copacabana for another bloco, and chilled at the hostel the rest of the night.

The next day, was not just any Sunday, but it was Superbowl Sunday. Having not seen one game this whole season, I met Ryan in the morning, and being from the States (New York, too boot), he was dying to see the game. So, the two of us, made plans to meet back in the evening to find a place to watch the game, and get a little feel of home. During the day, I cruised the city, in search of an outfit/custom for the Sambadrome and the rest of Carnaval. In the evening, Ryan and I along with a Polish lad, ended up in Ipanema, at an Irish Bar, to watch the Superbowl on mute, as the signal was being jacked on-line from a Chinese feed. Of course, everybody at home caught the game, especially the fourth quarter. All I can say is, that scramble and completion was straight sick (in a good way), sorry if you are from Oz or elsewhere, as that made no sense what so ever. After the game, and celebration, as the New York fans clearly out numbered New England fans, the party moved onto the beaches of Ipanema, where the scattered showers, did not stop the thousands of party go’ers from moving to the beat of the blaring house and trance music.

The next day, I took it slow during the day, as I now had tickets for the Sambadrome. Never really knowing what it was all about, many of the fellow lemmings, were trying to figure out how much they wanted to spend, as depending on the day and the section of your seats, you could get in for as cheap as 30 Reais ($1 USD is equal to 1.78 Reais) to as much as a thousand US dollars. The Sambadrome is a stadium built just for this Carnaval parade of Samba schools, which showcases the best 12 schools, six on Sunday, and six more on Monday. There is a parade of the B-list schools on Saturday, where you can get the highly touted Section 5 or 7 seats for only 100 Reais, whereas the same seats the following days will cost in excess of 400 Reais. Ready to settle for Section 13 for 60 Reais, with the rest of the backpackers, I had let word out, that I would also be willing to spend some more for a respectable seat. A hostel mate, heard this and said that a friend was in a predicament, and needed to sell a ticket in Section 5, but as she was asking for 450 Reais, but had no takers. I told him, that I would be interested, but it would have to be a good and fair price, as I didn’t want pay that much, and didn’t want to give a low ball offer. He offered to negotiate a price for me, and asked if 250 was fair, and I gladly accepted, and was off to witness the marvel of the Sambadrome with my costume in hand.

Nine Months

It’s been three seasons, equivalent of a full-term pregnancy (since many of my friends have had baby(s) or have found out that they are now expecting), nine whole months since I left home. At times it seems like a lifetime ago, and sometimes it seems like two lifetimes ago. Just think, if I averaged a two week international holiday each year, it would take me almost twenty years to do this trip, and most likely, I still couldn’t realistically do or see as much as I have, when accounting for the jet-lag, and the lost days counting the days until you go home.

Being on the final leg of the trip, and somewhat of the home stretch has been interesting. Gone are the detailed itinerary of week after week, and day after day, listing where I will be each night, or where I need to be, by a certain hard and fast date. Or maybe it is more attributed to just having been on the road for so long and no longer caring if your three day stay, suddenly becomes a week, and just wanting to see where the wind takes you.

My most recent self imposed return date was around mid-June, giving me a few days to clean up before a good friend’s wedding. But, as crazy as it sounds, June just seems too close and tight, as it´s just around the corner and I still have so much that I want to see and experience.

Having been in Brazil for 5 weeks now, I could easily see traveling through this country for many more months, but than again, I am ready to leave tomorrow, for Argentina, where I can learn more Spanish and use it for the remainder of my trip. With Argentina, maybe a weekend trip to Uruguay, than Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, and Columbia, the timing is truly up in the air. Although I would love to keep going awhile longer, there a lot of things that I miss about my life back home, and I constantly remind myself that it will be there when I get home, so just enjoy the ride. So the answer to the question, of when I will be home, is: I am not sure, but targeting for mid-June.

The plan now is, to be in Buenos Aires, Argentina in about a week from now. I will then, find a place to set my bag, enroll in an immersion Spanish course, and establish a temporary home for approximately a month, all the while, eating as much steak, as humanly possible. If weather permits, I would love to go south to witness the natural beauty of Patagonia, than cross into Chile, and work my way up to and through Bolivia, Peru to see my last remaining Wonder of the World, Machu Picchu, to stand on the equator in Ecuador, than eventually fly home from Colombia. Of course, the other alternative would be to go overland through Central America to get home, but that would likely take me the rest of the year.

So, there you have it, my remaining plans are as clear as mud, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hope all is well, and wish you were here

Things I miss, of course not including people:

• Feeling: so fresh and so clean clean, aka feeling pretty, sounds funny, but dressed for a nice night out, with a pimp shirt, maybe even with some cuff-links, and that new fresh out of the box new pair of kicks.
• Being able to have laundry service at your disposal without having to worry about pick up, and if you have fresh clean clothes until it is ready.
• Playing hoops, and that feeling you get when you release the three pointer and know it’s nothing but the bottom of the net.
• Knowing that you won’t have to repack your bag in a day, or two or three.
• Knowing that you can sleep through the night, without being waken by some guy snoring, people walking in all times of the night, bug bites, too hot, or just because the bed is nothing more than a thin mattress on a sheet of plywood.
• Going to the gym.
• Knowing its okay to eat like a pig, and to get stuffed, as you have your own bathroom to go home to, and can just lay in bed the next day feeling like you ate too much. 

Some of most memorable memories, as if it happened just yesterday:

• Handing over my car keys to my buddy Mario, so that he could take care of her, while I am gone, than heading off to LAX.
• Standing in the Red Square, and in awe of Saint Basil´s.
• Touching the few remaining portions of the Berlin Wall.
• Looking to the right and seeing the Blue Mosque, than to the left and seeing Hagia Sophia.
• Standing looking at the Sphinx with the Great Pyramids, just in the background.
• Looking up as the sun bounces off the redish stone face of The Treasury building.
• The power and mystery of the Terracotta Warriors.
• Watching the prostrations and the debating monks in Tibet.
• The chill and bite of the morning air, at EBC.
• The adrenaline pumping, while whitewater rafting in Nepal.
• The beauty and majesty of the Taj.
• The marvel and massiveness of Angkor Wat, along with staring into the faces of Bayon.
• The comfort of food from my childhood, and the plate after plate of food, that my grandmother and aunt would push in front of me, and retracing my steps from my house to my grandmothers from a lifetime previously long forgottened.
• The extravagance and opulence, that is Dubai.
• The lights, sounds, energy and electricity of the Sambadrome, at Carnaval.