“I am going to phuck you up” he tells me…

December 25, 2011:  At night while Cecile and I sat on the stairs outside a church, this man came up sitting close next to me requesting money for food.  With the size of his eyes, looking as if he was missing his eyelids, the money was probably going to feed something, just not his stomach and more like a habit.  The addicts are so creative to get a fix that I read they will sell the food you buy them, so that they can purchase more drugs.

Since asking nicely for the money didn’t work he decided to be more aggressive by doing an air punch towards my face saying, “I am going to phuck you up” making it clear that he wanted money.  I was for certain that there were police officers close and said loudy, “ahhhhh, you want the policia – policia?”  Grabbing my arm, it was obvious that he didn’t want me to go to them, perhaps permenantly banning him from the plaza where just yesterday my pocket was picked.  Breaking it free, I shuffled Cecile off as I pretended we were going to get the police.

People can at times be so predicable.  It is dogs that are unpredictable.

Unknowingly a hand slides in my pocket…

December 24, 2011:  Seeing some temporary friends after a failed attempt to go to a midnight mass, Cecile and I sat down with them for a drink at these makeshift bars in the Praca da Se in Salvador.  Not going over my two drink limit, yet I failed to realize the power of a Caipirinhas - a popular yet potent drink here in Brazil.

While sitting in the Plaza, the sharks (thieves) were circling us sardines (tourists).  It started with a kid walking up to the table and casually grabbing someone’s cigarettes and walking away…assuming that nobody was going to do anything – and, nobody did.  Next it was a dirty drug user asking for money standing around the table.  Oddly she leaned over my shoulder as she was reaching for some object on the table – remembering that I was happy at that moment that I don’t have hair in case she had a nice colony of lice living in her crusty unkempt hair.

Later that evening after getting back to the hostel, I was laying there replaying the night in my head and something accrued to me.  I normally don’t carry money in my top shirt pocket but tonight was the exception, holding it for Cecile when we went out.  Getting up and going to my shirt, I reached into my pocket and no money was in there except for perhaps the fecal residue from the woman’s fingers as she quickly slid them into my pocket.  I could do nothing but smile and say Merry Christmas because she was good.

I have not been so fortunate the past month.  It all started with my camera, then my computer and now this.  Even though events like this will add to my water cooler stories when I am working again 10+ hours days under the florescent lights, I just I hope this doesn’t become a new trend. 

I need more junk in my trunk

December 23, 2011:  Having something like vacation #8 within the past year, Cecile decided to visit me in Salvador during her two week Christmas break rather than fly back to France.  Picking her up at the airport she looked more like a mule going through customs than a tourist, as she was transporting candy, Christmas presents, Christmas movies, electronic equipment and 2 new cameras to name just a few things.  Looking at her backpack, 2/3 of the stuff she brought was mine and the other 1/3 was her traveling basics.

Shortly after her arrival, we left Salvador and spent a few days at Chapada Diamantina National Park.  Anytime spent in a national park in any country could not possibly be poor time or life management.  Not having a car and being at a National Park surely has its obvious drawbacks, restricting our plans to be organized and packaged.  Seeing some great rocks, trees, waterfalls and some amazing viewpoints, it was a refreshing and well needed break from the urine stained cobblestoned streets of Salvador.

On our last day, we spent the remaining time and little energy that we had left hiking to a natural stone waterslide.  Once there, we saw a pack of locals showing off as they quite effortlessly leaped into the dark blackish brown water from the large rocks that sat on the side of the river.  There was also an older guy in his Speedos that was quite entertaining as he would do pushups almost everywhere it seemed, trying to attract attention from the ladies – getting more discreet laughs than women ogling him.  Right after one of Mr. Speedos many pushup sessions, a tourist half his size mocked him doing some porn star like pushups, dropping his head up and down as he simulated humping the ground.  It would have been worth a few friendly punches from Mr. Speedos, but it was taken well. 

Watching everyone all afternoon sliding down the natural rock slide made it look easy – look easy.  Walking up to the top I became confused on where to go down.  Losing my footing, I began to slide toward a small but rocky pit – the only one on the whole entire slide.  Spreading my legs as wide as a dirty whore, my feet couldn’t catch the sides as I dropped into it banging my toe pretty badly.  This was not a good start but when I actually did begin moving forward, I sat on my hands to make up for the lack of junk in my trunk as I launched it down the slide and into the water.   It was fun, but only a “one time” fun. 

Traveling to Hell by bus? if so, bring a jacket.

December 15, 2011:  I had a decent game of human pinball going on this morning as I bounced from the right to left side of the bus, attempting to get photos of Chapada dos Diamontes National Park while passing it at over 110+ km per hour.  There were so many nice rock formations and lush green foliage that covered hill after hill, it excites me that I will be coming back here in a few short days to explore it more fully.

The farther I traveled into the Brazilian interior the past few weeks, the more I noticed that the leg room on the buses have been steadily decreasing.  Surely I am not getting taller, so I am wondering if it is because the people are getting shorter or if the bus companies are simply trying to fit an extra row of seats in.
 
This 27 hour bus ride from Perinopolis to Salvador was another trip to strengthen my thoughts about why a conductor of a bus keeps the interior temperature so brutally cold.  When you no longer feel your hands and the bitter air in the cabin is clouding your thoughts, you’re obviously not going to have as much energy to be unruly when you are on the borderline of suffering from hypothermia. 

Mental note #273:  Bring jacket, hat and gloves for all future bus travel…no matter if I am traveling to the equator or to even Hell itself - the ride there would also be just as cold.

I am already hated and it has only been a mere 3 hours

December 12, 2011:  Right after arriving in the beautiful colonial town of Perinopolis, I grabbed my camera and went out to explore.  As I approached the outskirts of town, I noticed that the yellow brick road was transforming into a questionable looking path as it was consumed by the forest of the unknown.  With plenty of time to explore this part of town tomorrow, I chose to turn around. 

The dogs I passed earlier who gave me a little backtalk decided to be more difficult upon my return.   Walking past them I looked straight ahead, trying not to look at them while attempting to ignore their growls and savaged barks.  Coming at me quickly with their full set of exposed teeth –  I separated us with my camera bag as one came a mere few inches from sinking its teeth into my ankles.  I yelled “No – No – No” as I side stepped trying to get away, hoping that someone would call off their dogs. 

Leaving my camera bag on the ground between us gave me an extra second or two as I lunged to grab a farming tool, that I ironically remembered was there from the first time I passed the area.  About 5 feet long, this tool was transformed into an unofficial dog bat.  I now had the reach like Michael Jordan and a potential swing like Babe Ruth.  “Batters Up” I thought, as I was now the one in control of the situation…in which the dogs also knew. 

The dogs didn’t deserve a whack to the head, but it was my turn to put a little fear in them since I was at my breaking point with bad dogs.  Doing a check swing I went after one of the dogs as he peeled out, trying to get away.  Hiding between some loose farming equipment, I stuck the tool in between to fish him out - crying as if I hit him. 

A group of spectators from inside a nearby house wearing kung fu outfits, pleaded for me not to hurt the dog, looking at me as if I was the bad person.  I yelled at them to watch their dog in English not caring if they understood what I said.  Picking up my camera bag, I began to walk back up the street.

While walking away, a woman who must have just seen the end of the drama that took place approached me speaking so fast that I could not translate very well.  She was clearly not happy with me telling me to go back to my country while doing this jester, making two V’s with her fingers and smacking them together (later researching this jester, comfirming my thoughts that it was an insult).  I apologized and tried to explain what happened in Spanish, but I am assuming that she only saw me cornering the dog and heard the dog’s cry. 

The whole time walking back, I can see how living in a small town could be a small problem.  I am already hated and it has only been a mere 3 hours. 

If you want breast milk…meow

December 12, 2011:  While on this train heading to the main bus terminal in Brasilia, I noticed a Brazilian woman sitting in the corner with her husband and their adorable 4 year old daughter.  Wired on sugar she was waving around her toy bubble gun being cute, saying something in Portuguese that I didn’t understand.  Climbing all over her mom like she was a jungle gym she got a smackdown – immobilizing her for only a few brief minute or two.

Dropping into her moms lap, I saw that the girl was imitating a kitten.  “Meooooow – meow – meow,” she goes.  Then I noticed she was trying to pull up her mom’s shirt, thinking that the girl is now pretending to be a kitten being fed.  But…seconds later, her mom’s shirt goes up as the girl goes under, attaching her mouth onto her mom’s breast for a refreshing mid-morning drink of warm milk at body temperature.

Once finished, the little girl seemed to quickly crave chocolate, grabbing a big chuck of it from her father on the floor next to them.  Now this is my question:  Don’t you think the girl should have eaten the chocolate before drinking her mother’s breast milk, instead of after? 

Hard lesson about computer security

December 11, 2011:  When traveling to Sao Jorge, 220km north of Brasilia, my intent was to see the Chapada Dos Veadeiros National Park for a few days.  I was not interested much about the falls or the canyons even though they were beautiful.  I came in search for maned wolves and giant anteaters.  I never thought that my trip here would also involve an unsuspected crash course about computer security.

I happened to give someone access to my computer for under 30 seconds which changed everything.  I can’t blame it on him…I gave him everything he needed to be breach my privacy, so it was purely my “lack of thinking” on my part.  After I realized what was happening, I then remembered that I had items on my computer that I didn’t want people to see besides the obvious such as journals and a small collection of donkey porn. 

My mind ran like an engine with its throttle stuck wide open and an unlimited amount of fuel.  I seemed to spend days deleting files and changing passwords staying up until the wee hours of the morning.  I mentally play out 1,020 scenarios on what might happen with what I had on my computer and 345 of them were not good.  I learned a lesson…when you give someone something, don’t be mad if they take it.

When at the national park I tried to enjoy being out in nature but mentally, my mind was not 100% there – not even 20% there.  Only behind the camera I was able to forget – explaining the loads of photos that I took of nothing.

Meeting a group of amazing people at a pizza place in town, they seemed to take me in for a few days - which was a perfect distraction to this temporary issue.

Perhaps driving a local bus in not his true calling

December 5, 2011:  When you have so much grass and open areas between the buildings, this gives the public bus drivers the opportunity to get up to great speeds.  Today I was showed how a full-sized Mercedes Benz bus could take a corner at high speeds without flipping.  The angle that the bus reached was beyond normal…thinking that we were going to flip as I grabbed onto the bar and instinctively got into a wider stance as the people in the aisles became a human wave going to one side of the bus grabbing what they could to prevent a human bus pile.  Within this spilt second or two or three…I had my whole emergency plan worked out when I thought the bus was going over.

My smile was big as I scanned the bus after successfully taking the curve, observing the others reactions to see if that was a normal turn or an extraordinary turn. They too were smiling looking around in amazement with the buses performance and driving skills of the mad man behind the wheel.  Even the hardened military boys in their uniforms that I thought might not be able to smile, cracked a big smile.

I think there are bus races somewhere in this world…perhaps driving a local bus in not the true calling for this man.

Drive by shooting in Brasilia

December 4, 2011:  Is there such a thing as a city having too much grass?  I always thought not since once a park is gone and a building takes its place, there is no getting it back.  But after my visit to Brasilia…I might have to rethink that thought.

Brasilia is the Federal Capital of Brazil that was created in the 60’s from scratch, taking a mere 41 months to build.  Since most of the interesting buildings are thousands upon thousands of big steps apart for me and 3 times that for someone who is vertically challenged, it was suggested by my friends that I take a tour bus.  Seeing a double-decker tour bus rolling around an empty parking lot, I paid the guide some money and that was all it took to become an official member for the next 2 hours, 3 minutes and 46 seconds. 

The speakers on the bus that pumped out factual recordings between stops could have put someone with insomnia asleep in 10 seconds flat.  Given about 6 - 15 minutes at each point of interest, we raced around Brasilia to take as many brainless photos as we possibly could in the limited amount of time given.  For the interesting spots passed without stopping, we would dash from side to side of the bus, hanging our cameras out the window, quickly shooting up the places as if we were doing a drive by shooting.

By the end of the tour I was showing signs of dehydration due to the unexpected mid-afternoon workout that entailed window to window sprints and stair climbers for every time I entered and exited the double-decker bus.  I knew that it was important to get hydrated as quickly as possible before intravenous fluid replacement at a hospital became an expensive necessity.  Lucky for me, we just so happened to be dropped off near a Burger King when the tour was over. 

Even though I am 108% against fast-food restaurants, Burger King is the only fast-food restaurant in South America that I am aware of that has free refills for up to 30 minutes after your purchase - so this was obviously the best choice for my health and well being.  In 30 minutes I downed 5 cups of soda looking as if I was an alcoholic stepping off the wagon – but in my case…a sodaholic stepping off the wagon.

For some very very very strange reason, it seemed that I had a problem with dehydration my entire trip in Brasilia, trying to visit Burger King at least once a day to help me maintain my fluids.  I would like to thank you Burger King for being there when I needed you.

I thanked God today for what I don’t have…

December 2, 2011:  Today I noted a pattern that I don’t seem to be thanking God enough for everything that I don’t have.  Instead I seem to be thanking him for what I do have, such as good health, a wonderful family, millions of pesos and other things.  So today I thanked God for my lagging sense of smell. 

I spent 20 hours on a bus to Brasilia that had a toilet that was either filled to the brim or hasn’t been emptied for days.  Only the women seemed to be the upset about it as the men just casually sat back letting them do the complaining.  This is could be because woman at a reproductive age are scientifically better than men at identifying specific smells in much lower concentrations…in this case being fecal matter.

Stopping at the bus company’s repair shop, a man entered the bus that had about half his butt crack exposed.  This had me thinking that he must have been a plumber, though I don’t know if he knew much about plumbing.  He was more like a magician as he waved the magic bottle of deodorizer spreading over half of it around the bus and walah – the smell magically disappeared for…20 minutes.

A Paparazzi and his trusty sidekick

December 2, 2011:  Hours before hitting the road to try to hitchhike to the Northern Pantanal, I happened to be at the perfect place at the perfect time.  This helped land me private transportation and a room that I didn’t have to share with perhaps mangier backpackers than myself at a lodge in the Pantanal.  The tour operator / posada owner originally quoted me 2,000 Reals ($1123 USD) for a 4 nights / 5 days trip, but I ended up paying 550 Reals ($308 USD) due to him needing money that he didn’t have to pay a debt in which a man was in-route to collect.  He had to make a choice and it was quite simple…perhaps two broken kneecaps or a happy backpacker.    

The lodge was great and it was a relief not to have a drunkard for a guide such as I did in the Southern Pantanal.  He kept me busy from sunrise to sunset exploring the surrounding area.  I was so exhausted by the third day; I was sort of disappointed that my guide didn’t know about South American time – meaning, showing up for an activity 30 – 45 minutes late.  If anything, he was showed up early for almost everything not letting me have a moments rest.  By just looking at my guide, you wouldn’t suspect it, but his eyes were like the Bionic Man – seeing everything.  Even though he did not speak English it was not a problem since he understood my Spanish well enough for us to communicate. 

Before arriving, I was determined to cross paths with a tapir and an anteater.  Seeing one of the two, I left satisfied.  In addition to seeing a Tapir, I even saw a Duggar sized family of Giant Otters, a king vulture, all sorts of different species of monkeys, some capybaras and birds of all shapes and sizes with impossible to remember names.

Having some time to myself my last afternoon at the lodge, I left and went for a hike with the owner’s dog who wanted to join me.  He was pure entertainment as I watched his vertical jumps of fear and how he would run away from every noise no matter the size.  On our hike we located some Capuchin monkeys.  The beefy one with no neck either didn’t like the dog and me being so close, or it was that he didn’t like his photo taken as he quickly made his way down the tree, looking as if he was some movie star ready to smack around a paparazzi and his trusty sidekick.  I felt at that moment that I should stop taking photos as I rapidly backed up.  Still coming down the tree, I was hoping he was going for the dog and not me, but his was looking directly at me.  Fortunately for…the…monkey, he stopping mid-truck on the tree – to be more specific, that was 3.23 feet from the ground.

I had not broken any of my personal records on this tour, for example such as for my biggest fish caught, or my fastest run on a midget horse, until I was able to visit a gigantic observation tower overlooking the Pantanal…alone. Here I broke my previous record for “highest pee” when I showered the trees below laughing as I was doing this and thinking, “When am I going to grow up?”

Cockroach on steroids!

November 27, 2011:  Sitting in my room in Cuiaba waiting for a group to form so that I can go to the Northern Pantanal at a group rate, not a private tour…I see a beast of a cockroach on steroids on the wall!  Running to my new bottle SBP insecticide…I didn’t have time to read the directions, cracking the childproof nozzle, spraying him as I was trying to shower him with love.  The beast was now on the move and seemed quite angry. With all of its legs pumping at full speed, he sprinted across the wall.  Following him as I prepared a shot when he was directly above me, I sprayed the son-of-a-snitch and there it went…the insecticide went right in my eye.  Not yet burning…I am figuring that I didn’t get enough in my eye to do and severe damage. 

The cockroach was still on the run as it was now vertical, showing me that cockroaches will live till the end of time because they can drink and even bathe in poison and be unfazed.  Now above me bed, I was concerned that he was going to drop or jump into my unopened arms.  I was committed to killing him.  Following him again with the now broken childproof nozzle, he continued to build speed.  Still unscathed by the heavy dousing, he got closer, closer, closer to my bed then - POOF!  He disappeared.  What the?!  I looked everywhere…through my sheets, under my bed, everywhere.  With my can of insecticide drawn…I could not find him.  It was as if he was Harry Houdini and magically disappeared.  Then, I saw a little hole after some extensive searching along the floor boards.  “No way” I thought.  Could he? 

The Great Heist!

November 25, 2011:  Getting on my last bus of the 17+ hour journey to Cuiaba from Bonito, I pulled out my Kindle to study some Spanish…but, I then I decided to get some sleep instead.  After putting my Kindle under my jacket so nobody could take it out of my hands when I slept, I prepared my area to sleep.

Checking the under the seats there was about a 1.5 inch gap between the foot rest and  the floor of the people behind me, to prevent any wandering hands from entering my backpack.  This was good since it meant that I didn’t have to sleep with my all my electronic equipment on my lap, assuring a better night sleep.  I still slide a shoulder strap around my leg, dropped down the other leg ramp on the empty seat next to me AND I put my leg down on the side of my leg ramp to block side entry. 

All of this is not done due to paranoia, but it is to counter what happened to other backpackers and to reduce the odds of it happening to me.  South America is a war zone between tourists and thieves…we are the pray and unfortunately can easily be identified.

What happened next is still not very clear but this is what I can remember.  In the middle of the night, I had an awaken dream that someone was hovering over me and put something on my skin to put me into a deeper sleep.  I was so tired I could barely open my eyes and was unable to focus.  Wanting to come out of this middle point between sleeping and being awake, I couldn’t.  My body felt like every part weighed an unbelievable amount.  I felt so exhausted that I just wanted to go to back sleep but was also trying to fight it feeling that I was being robbed.  Not able to fight it any longer I fell back into a deep sleep.

Waking up in the morning, there was a beautiful sunrise.  Writing off what happened last night as a strange dream; I pulled my backpack out from under my seat to grab my camera I noticed my pack was on an angle and not directly underneath me.  With my strap still around my leg I assumed that I picked up my leg during the night.  Seeing that my bag was unzipped and after further inspection, my camera case was open - wondering if I left it open last night and it slide out of my backpack onto the floor.  I began to look under the seats for a loose camera I didn’t see it anywhere. 

After my thorough investigation…I accepted that I was stealthfully robbed from the seat behind me which was now empty.  The thief must have tried to fit it between the 1.5 inch crack while in its case, but due to it not fitting, they opened it up in complete darkness and then pulled it out.  They also got their hands on my international adapter to charge my electronics. 

I could only falsely smile since there was a lot more they could have stolen such as my SLR camera, computer and other items, but fortunately they were too big to fit through the cracks.  I still have 2 more cameras, but it is inconvenient and frustrating that I gave them an opportunity to steal my good midsized camera.  I even sewed some attachment on my backpack which 97% of the time, I have it locked.  But the day I didn’t do it…it happens.  They were good at what they do so in a way they deserved it because I feel I am also good as for keeping my equipment secure.

As for my strange dream…I thought about it a little more.  Could I have been drugged?  If so, why wouldn’t they have taken everything, not just what Mr. Tweezer hands could pull from under my seat?  Thus, I have decided that my awaken dream as just that.  I feel stupid for what I had happen, but I am sure there will be other stupid moments in my life.

Putain!

Coca-Cola Zero saves me from getting hypothermia

November 23, 2011:  If it wasn’t for the municipal park and the trip down the Rio da Prata, my past 6 days in the small town of Bonito might have been hard for me to justify if I only saw the mediocre waterfalls and caves.  I think a strategy of these tourist traps is to take some professional photos, invest in a good photo editor and then spend large sums of money on signage.

As we were driving away from my hostel to the Rio da Prata when it was too late to change my mind, I began to think…why am I paying to do the dead man’s float down a cold river for about an hour or two? What was I thinking? I HATE cold water and I am doing it without anyone pressuring me. I was relieved though when I arrived to the staging center, seeing that in addition to the goggles and snorkel, you are also given wetsuit.

I joined a group of 6 other Brazilian tourists, which were obviously not backpackers since not one person talked to anyone for the entire first half of the trip. I missed being with other backpackers today…I would do anything this moment to be asked the dreadful repetitive standardized backpacker questions.

A big big bottomed woman go to the fitting area for her equipment, I wondered if they were actually going to find something that fit her.  Exiting the fitting area a minute or two later, they actually had a wet suit over that gargantuan booty of hers.  Crazy on how elastic these wetsuits can be.

During the swim down the crystal clear Rio da Prata River, it was as if you were swimming in the world’s longest natural aquarium, being able to see hundreds and hundreds of fish for great distances.  I would have thought the water would have been safe to drink - if it wasn’t for what I did to prevent a medical emergency. 

I thankfully drank a whole 2 liter of Coke Zero the night before not knowing that is was going to help prevent me from getting a mild case of hypothermia today.  When my body began to uncontrollably shiver, I initially pushed out 0.75 liters of warm body fluid into my convenient urinal wetsuit following another 0.50 liters shortly after – saving the rest to regulate the interior temperature for the remaining swim. 

I couldn’t understand almost anything the guide said, so I lagged behind the others, playing a game of “monkey see monkey do.”  Since in Brazil, I am getting use to not talking very much – I suppose this goes for all of South America.  A lot of people that I been meeting lately don’t speak English or is just hiding it,  so I have been getting accustomed to being silent and for those who truly know me…I am a talking machine so this has been difficult. 

Tomorrow I am thinking about making it to the Cuiaba, the city right before the Northern Pantanal.  If the price it right, I will take a tour to the Pantanal.  If not…I will show some leg and hitchhike.

Years of anticipation...

November 19, 2011:  In 2005 I tore out article in the National Geographic, August 2005 issue about the Pantanal titled:  “Brazil’s Wild Wet.”   It was eventually stored it in my future trip file with no real thoughts that it was ever going to happen.  But, since I set off on this trip back in April of 2009 and after years of anticipation…it finally happened.

During the 6 hours it took to get to the lodge, I was so excited that I talked and talked like a little kid without taking breathes for long periods of time to the poor French guy that so kindly didn’t shut me up.  Coming here for 4 days with the hope of seeing 2 new animals (that includes birds), it was a safe bet that it was going to occur since this area is the world’s largest wetlands. According to Wikipedia it contains about 1000 bird species, 400 fish species, 300 mammalian species, 480 reptile species and over 9000 different subspecies of invertebrates.  I also read that the pantanal has one of the largest and healthiest Jaguar populations on earth.  This explains on how I saw 2 Jaguars on the second day during a boat trip! 

My guides were a couple of interesting characters.  One guide was a professional drunk that would drink excessively and then attempt to incompetently satisfy the list of activities that was promised by the company.  Yes, there is nothing like having a drunken tour guide during a hike stating how he could kill you and not get in trouble for anything due to tribal laws.  I thought that if he wanted a tip…there are other ways to say this.

The Toucan is definitely my favorite bird.  One day we saw 9 of them in a 10 minute span.  It was great to see a Toucan doing a battle in the sky for air supremacy with the smaller birds before hitting a tree to snatch some babies.  He was like a B-52 vs. some modern day assault helicopters.

We went for a horseback ride and…it has been awhile for me.  This one Israeli wanted to gallop (later finding out he has never rode a galloping horse) but I suggested that we didn’t do my feet being so big; one of them didn’t fit well in the stirrups.  Though eventually, he got what he wanted.  Toward the end of our trip the horses knew they were almost finished.  I felt the energy of my horse shooting through him as he began springing on his toes, excited and perhaps even feeling some sort of joy, scaring me as my grip on the saddle locked and my thighs almost broke his ribs as I squeezed tightly.  Then it happened.  One horses started to run and then all the horses seemed to begin to run…in all directions.  There was no pattern so it seemed…off the trail we went and into a field.   Yelling, “stop – stop – stop,” the horse didn’t even flinch, only now I realized the horse must not have understood English.

When getting back to the barn we ran right past the manager of our tour company and even the boss of the stable.  There was a large sign posted in the barn yet seeing a little bit too late...clearly stating in Portuguese and English, “…no Galloping or Trotting.”  Our drunken guide gave us permission earlier in the trip…but I see that in his drunken state, he was clearly mistaken. 

After the Jaguar sighting, I really didn’t care if I saw anything else.  I was completely satisfied and then it was just day 2 of this 4 day trip.  But, it didn’t stop there.  Animal after animal, bird after amazing bird, this trip easily exceeded my expectations.  I would have liked to stay longer but the drunken guide was a little too much for me.  My high level of fakeness toward he was becoming harder and harder for me to achieve.

Awkward moment

November 16, 2011:  I was picked up from the bus station from a man at a local tour agency to talk about a trip to the Pantanal and to stay at a nearby hotel.  I would not have gotten in the car with him if it wasn’t for the lady at the tourism office that suggested I speak to him.  Supporting some frightening tattoos with an ex-thug look, he was trying too hard to come across as friends.

When attempting to see me the trip he said that “The trip includes BLD” – hahahahahah he laughs extremely loud and for quite some time.  I did a courtesy laugh and he got serious, looking at me…”do you know what BLD means?”  No, I said.  He responded by saying, “Then why did you laugh?”  Umm…awkward moment as silence struck the room.

I ended up booking a tour with him anyhow since the price kept sliding lower and lower without me having to say anything.  It reached such a low amount, it really didn’t matter what I did there.  The best part is that…it includes BLD – ha – hee – ha.

Large amount of blood loss…

November 14, 2011:  I was woken up at 3:30am at my hostel in Paraty by a mosquito that infiltrated my protective net, eating me as would a black widow would eat her loved one.  Taking a large amount of blood loss, it would be nice to now know my blood type in case I needed to make an emergency trip to the hospital.  I had just enough strength to turn on my headlamp to locate the son of a…beast.  After several failed attempts, I was finally able to smash her frail body between my two elongated fingers.

I don’t know if this is a precursor to what is about to come when I visit the Pantanal but later in the day I was again attacked by mosquitoes but this time it was in the bathroom as it seemed to be a kamikaze suicide mission of multiple squadrons.  About 30 of them went airborne coming at me from all directions.  Getting backed up into the corner it was either “shight” or “flight.” 

I needed to go to the restroom so there was no option but to stay, smacking my hands in the bathroom consecutively so many times, the people outside probably thought I was reliving a childhood nursery rhymes, “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man.”  At the end of the battle, my hands looked as if I got into a fight by when seeing all the blood that was on them - assuming this was the blood of the mosquitoes’ previous victims arses as they would sit down on the toilet and get sodomized. 

My new favorite city of South America revealed!

November 11, 2011:  The past week I have moved out of Rio, which I must say is now listed as my favorite city in South America.  From the mountains, forests, beaches to clubs…there is something here for everyone.  If it wasn’t for having only a 6 month visa…I might have stayed a lot longer.
 

From Rio, I lugged it down to Isle Grande – reminding me how much I hate my backpack of bricks.  Making me look through it again for the 103^rd time trying to find something that I can throw out or give away – but I couldn’t find anything. 

Visiting an enormous amount of beaches, they all began to look the same as I took a boat around the entire island doing a beach marathon with a group of others, visiting each beach for about 10 -15 minutes - not even getting a t-shirt after completing.  With no cars being on this island except for emergency vehicles, I made it nice to be able to gorge yourself at the dessert carts then roll yourself to your hostel or nearest toilet without the worries of traffic.   

My inability to make plans landed me homeless after 3 nights since it was an unknown to me that a holiday weekend was approaching.  With a population of 3,603 people and with about 3,600 pousadas, there was no availability for mangy backpackers.

For 20 minute …me give you good time

November 4, 2011:  I didn’t think money could buy happiness…but today, it bought 20 minutes of short-term happiness.  I went hang gliding for my first time and it was an amazing bird-like experience.  Running off a wooden platform from a mountain, the air captured us and held us suspended in the sky overlooking the beauty of Rio, from the favelas to the beaches.  It was a surreal moment with my smile stuck onto my face like a detachable smile from the plastic toy, Mr. Potato Head…not moving. 

I needed to fill out a waver before sprinting off the cliff and I was asked about my blood type.  I am A+, or is it an A-?  Maybe I am B something?  If I need blood one day, I guess I could run into a problem giving them the wrong number.  It is sort of like the different types of motor oil I suppose.

After the hang gliding I felt like I could do anything – I did just run off a cliff and fly like a bird.  Still on my high, I thought I would explore the largest favela in South America on my own.  Not extremely smart from a potential insurance claim standpoint if I happened to get my camera or kindle stolen.

I did take some precautions, transferring my memory stick in my camera into a scrap piece of paper placing it into a pocket, them my credit card into a different pocket and finally I dispersed my cash into other pockets – yes, I have a lot of pockets on these pants.

I thought maybe, just maybe, I would look like a rare white local and blend in.  Sitting off to the side eating a pastel as I watch people go about their daily lives.  A little thugster not even 18 seconds later passes by staring at me with a big smile and gives me a big thumbs up.  Okay, either my clothes make me stand completely out or maybe there is just no such thing as a white local living in these favelas.

A one piece swimsuit is not necessary, but board shorts are a must

October 29, 2011:  Today was a full day of giving money to the caged trolls in the ticket booths so that I could visit some heavily marketed tourist sites.  I must say, the ministry of tourism did an amazing job, making me feel that I “HAD” to visit whole slew of places when here.  Jesus Christ and Sugar Loaf is just a few of the long list of places.  The rest of the international tourist must have felt the same due to the large numbers that flocked at each site.  Here I seemed to inadvertently have shooting competitions with the Japanese, on who could take more photos – I clearly kicked there pale arses.

I have always seemed to prefer mountains over beaches.  But after visiting the ever so popular Copacabana and Impanema beaches…I must say that lounging around on at a beach is not all that bad.  There was an uncountable amount of bodies here; baking their skin to various shades of brown and in some cases, red as they lay sprawled out on the beach.

Sitting here on my temporary piece of real estate, I was quick to notice something extraordinarily beautiful in Copacabana that I have never remembered seeing or perhaps never noticed before on any other beach.  It was that every female seemed to be wearing a bikini no matter the age, waist or cup size.  From beached whales to grandmas in g-strings who were almost ready to tag and bag…they were all enjoying the beach to the fullest. 

I will not go into detail about the plethora of male Speedos being worn by men of all shapes and sizes - which continues to be truly hard for me to digest.  It looks as if they are just walking around in a skimpy pair of underwear.  It is even more amusing when they are wearing the Speedo in combination with a t-shirt and tennis shoes.  Too bad I cannot temporarily loan them my eyes so that they can see what the mirror doesn’t show them.

On the beach I hesitantly but clearly needed to take off my shirt - not just because I was the only one wearing one – which is usually the case, but because it was a first step toward a feeble attempt to one day put an end to the unsaid “Powder” thoughts by others (A film from 1995).

With a list of place to see and things to do while here in Rio for the next 12+ days…I am going to be busy.

Give me your money!

October 29, 2011:  I was told the Lapa area in Rio was an amazing place to be on a Thursday night.  It is not the norm for me to go out drinking, but last night I bent the rules by an exuberant amount making it till about 4am.  I started off with consuming a few oversized cans of beer and after that, I will only say that it grew to great unimaginable proportions.  For someone who lacks poundage and typically has a two drink self imposed limit for certain but good reasons, I was dangerously drunk. 

At around 2am, I was seeing double and at times triple as I attempted to walk down the street with an Israeli man trying to find a local samba bar we visited earlier in the evening. I was completely oblivious to what was going on when we were approached by a 20 year old man who I originally thought was trying to start a fight.  He first pointed a thick wooden skewer in my face ranting about something in Portuguese that I could not understand.  He then turned away from me and toward the Israeli, after he saw that I didn’t understand anything and was having a difficult time trying to focus on what he was pointing at me.  

I can only guess that the guy was expecting to make some easy money – as he buried his chest into the Israeli, sounding like a broken Portuguese record.  It was quickly turning into a possible fight, knowing that I needed to get focused…which my body seemed ready, but my brain had an difficult time coming out of a drunken spin, as I began to calculate my impaired blows if the man crossed an unquestionable line.

With us both continuing to walk forward throughout the whole charade, the man eventually stopped repeating himself and spun away.  Asking my friend on what he was saying, he told me it was something in the effect of, “give me your money.” Oh…maybe I need to make sure this two drink rule doesn’t get broken again. 

The evening continued to get more and more memorable as the minutes ticked away.  I read in my travel guide that prostitutes tend to visit normal establishments and blend in with the normal clientele.  With this said, when any girl would speak to us, I would lean over to my friend and whisper, prostitute.  A few were more obvious than others…and others just got the label because I was well past my two drink limit. 

When two model quality girls that asked if they could sit next to us and then asked for us to buy them some drinks, I feel this was one of the times I correctly identified their profession as I leaned over and this time I accurately said prostitute.  My friend then gets up to go to the restroom - nice move I thought...leaving it up to me to deny them a free drink.  Once he was gone, I apologized and told them that he has my money. Feeling really awkward since they didn’t speak English, nor do I speak Portuguese - but more importantly I was not interested in being a future recipient for some new herpes cream.   I excused myself as I got up and stood a little bit away hoping my friend was going to quickly come back so we could leave.

Today I woke up quite earlier given that I went to bed so late – or early…it depends on what time zone you live in.  I wanted to wake up earlier but the guy in the bunk bed across from me who told me he was going to set his alarm on his iPad to wake me, was just laying there with his eyes wide open - not at all in a rush to wake me up.  Once getting off my bed I saw the reasoning why…it was the tall slim blonde woman from Belgium who was on the bed below me, with her legs gaping open as she slept in her underwear.  I am going to have to label her as a good girl…she was not sleeping bottomless.  For those that have been following my blog…I wrote a post on June 16, 2010 labeled, “Do good girls sleep bottomless…in a hostel?”  According to Google, this is still the most visited post on my blog…sad, but numerically true.

In true man form

October 27, 2011:  While tramping around the UNESCO World Heritage site of Ouro Preto, I found myself climbing on a lot of steep stoned streets clinging to the hills sides.  With a miniature map that didn’t make sense and was probably created by a 3^rd grader for a school project, I would visit some of these hills more often than I cared to.

My strategy when approaching these hills was different than the locals.  I would put my head down and go straight up without stopping, passing people along the way of all fitness levels who also had the same objective.  When reaching the top, I would feel as if I was about to die from exhaustion – pretending I was not out of breath, as I would wobble a bit from side to side, hoping I would not pass out as I attempted regained full consciousness.  This all played out in true man form.

A required shower before entry

October 25, 2011:  While queuing up on the side of the bus heading to the former colonial mining town of Ouro Preto, I noticed something that was quite concerning.  There was a man that had such a wretched odor that was not seeping from his pores, but more like stuck in his pores waiting to get onto the bus.  He smelled as if he might have been on a shower strike that past month – maybe two.  There are showers in most of the bus stations here in Brazil so it would have been nice if he bathed before putting on his fresh clean clothes – as I might be sitting next to him for the next 11.5 hours.

Occupying my seat there was nobody next to me…yet.  Calculating the number of seats and the number of obvious couples and families…I had a strong possibility that he was going to be my neighbor.  “Oh…nooooooooooo,” I thought.  I can just see his ripeness clinging to me for the next few days and here I too just put on fresh clean clothes.
 
As he entered the bus, he began his way down the aisle passing empty seat after empty seat looking at his ticket.  Closer and closer he came…each step taken was that of a snail being filmed in slow motion sliding slowly across aisle.  Approaching my seat he pauses, looking up at the seat numbers.  He was educated enough to thankfully match numbers as his ticket and the open seat next to me was not a match!

That was so close…so - so close as he sat two rows behind me next to a different sorry son-of-a-snitch.  I could still smell his ripeness…but at this distance, the odor will be somewhat bearable after my noises desensitizes.  It would be a wonderful policy at the bus terminal that would require you to shower before entering a bus, similar to how you are required to shower before entering a public pool.

Si, mother phucker

October 24, 2011: “Cappichino traditional por favor” (opps – Spanish), I said to the server. “Cappichano” he says back to me as if he was impersonating Frankenstein. “Si” (opps…Spanish again), I replied, giving him a huge smile because he seemed to need it. Not one muscle moved in his face. It was like he carelessly self injected 5 times the recommended dosage of Botox.

As he was walking away,“Si, mother phucker” seeped out between my lips in a low tone, thinking that if I said it too loud and he understood me, I would get more than just a cappachino – so so so sorry…I mean,“Cappichano.”

Photographs and Prostitutes

October 21, 2011: Today’s I was at the Luz metro station experimenting with shutter speed on my camera as the trains would come and go.  As this was taking place, I noticed a large number of sketchy looking guys around me – causing me to wrap the strap of my camera a few more times around my hand just in case they might be out shopping for a new camera.  

Not long after, I realized why there was such a large group of men…people watching.  They were not interested in my camera or photography or people watching, they were more into interested into dancing horizontally with the freelance entrepreneurs who were working the area - not that the vertical dance won’t be performed by the more creative and stronger men and flexible women.

These entrepreneurs were not your normal scantily dressed prostitutes who wore tattered clothes as they lurked around the station.  If the station was a junkyard these women could be classified as junkyard prostitutes - ones with much too much junk in the trunk and under the hood…with more than likely some mold in the interior.

Now, as I was looking around the metro station with a new set of eyes, I noticed that there were immediately available women everywhere.  They stood in doorways, on the stairs, walking around cat calling the men and making obnoxious noises to get the attention of potential plumbers.  Being approached by an old Grandmother I didn’t quite understand what she was saying, but I didn’t need to know nor need to translate what she was saying…it was obvious.  Serving more men than some small town McDonalds, she wanted McLovin at the value menu price. 

Sao Paulo…home of George Jetson

October 19, 2011:  Making it to the top of the Edificio Itialia on the 44^th floor – it was one of the most amazing surreal sights – reminding me of the cartoon The Jetsons when I was a child.  The buildings would continue as if was a sea of cement going beyond the horizon.  I can see why Sao Paulo falls into the top 10 biggest cities in the world, depending on what website you look at.  With about 20,900,000 people you need a lot of concrete to accommodate its people.

While waiting for the concert at a theater, I noticed some street cleaners with the brooms and buckets starring at something.  It made me curious so I to needed to walk over to see what was behind the umbrella.  I should have known.  It was a girl crouched on the ground exposing the tiny triangle from her thong.  Those street sweepers cleaned the same spot for quite some time.  By the time she left that spot was probably the cleanest spot in the city after all three of them walk by her while performing, the “sweeping” trick.

1st Annual Noisy Roommate Competition.

October 17^th, 2011:  I decided to participate in 1^st Annual Noisy Roommate Competition last night at about…3:30am.  Yes, I may not have had as much experience as my three Brazilian roommates since it was there 3^rd night in the row of practice as they again came in the room turning on lights and talking as if I was not even there.

Once they were finished, it was my turn.  Not long after the lights went off I had a chance to display my skills.  Getting out of bed at around 4:00am, I turned back on the lights as they tried to sleep and packed my backpack, banging around, dropping my locker door and repetitively pulled my backpack in and out.

It was laughing so hard inside but also aware that they might retaliate.  Three verses one is never good.  Yes, I am counting the woman too because she seems as tough as the other two guys.  In the morning, nothing was said about our competition last night as we did our usual pleasant greetings as if nothing happened.

A 300 pounder in his tighty whities doing a spread eagle

October 16, 2011:  Passing by a room in my hostel that seemed to have a lot of activity, my curiosity pulled my eyes inside.  I happened to see a 300 pound fat man on his back in his tighty whities doing a spread eagle with a tattooed man from Holland hovering over him.  The vision still makes me snack on whatever I might have previously eaten.

The backpacker from Holland was giving him a giant body tattoo.  People travel with strange things, but a tattoo gun?  I wanted to warn the man getting the tattoo not to fall asleep or he might get 56 stars on his face like the girl from Holland did a few years back.  But, I was told that someone already said it - and here I thought it was an original thought for a brief second or two.

The Brazilian Wax…does everybody have one?

October 15, 2011:  I am here on Santa Catarina Island which is somewhat of human magnet for those who are looking for a tan or a nice burn.  With all of these people in bikinis, it makes me wonder if the majority of people in Brazil proudly support a Brazilian wax.  Maybe the Brazilians enjoy getting the boring American wax or is it the ever so painful yet exotic Chinese wax – whatever that might look like…if there is even one.  I never did an internet search on this subject and truthfully, I am scared to see what the search will pull up.

Okay, I had to do it.  I just did a search on Google for “Is there a Chinese bikini wax.”  There is no such thing as a Chinese bikini wax, but I did learn that there is a French bikini wax…interesting.

If I put my head down, nobody will talk to me…I hope

October 13, 2011:  I took for granted the past few years on how easy things were traveling when you have a general idea on what people are trying to tell you.  It is also nice to be able to speak to people if you wanted to even if it was only basic conversation.  Now since I am in Brazil, I am stuck speaking Spanish to people who speak Portuguese. 

These past few days reminded me of my first day in Bogota, Colombia…looking down as I walk, afraid that someone was going to talk to me.  Give it some time and I will have the basics in Portuguese though I won’t be an overachiever and go beyond the basics in Portuguese - being from the United States and knowing more than two languages might scare someone.

What is the purpose of a mirrored ceiling?

October 13, 2011:  Arriving in the big port town named Porto Alegre in the wee hours of the morning, I did one of my, to date…most impressive museum marathons, visiting 8 museums and saw a few other cultural points of interest in only one day.  I was focused on getting out of this town, due to not making a reservation before arriving; I was forced to stay in a room outside my budget.
 
There were other options on where I could stay…such as the hotel that has an hourly rates and daily rates.  But the weekend was approaching and I thought it would be wise to pay a few extra dollars to help minimize the late night musical choir of moaning and groaning coming not from my room, but from the rooms above, below and the right and left of me.  Also, what is the purpose of a mirrored ceiling when all you can do is look at yourself?

Feeling the price shock of Brazil…I am currently trying to do what I do best…adapt.  The food and accommodations are so expensive, no wonder why certain tribal people in the Amazon region live in huts and eat McHumans!

I am in Chuy or Chui

October 11^th, 2011:  I continue to extend my track record on fumbling another border crossing.  As in Paraguay months ago…the bus once again passed immigration without stopping.   The countries are separated by only a busy street…one side being Chuy, Uruguay and the other side being Chui, Brazil.    There was nobody standing in a tower of supremacy with the mirrored aviator sunglasses and a shotgun overlooking a tall wall resembling that of Israel or the US Border in which only superman can leap in a single bound or a Mexican jumping bean.
 
I didn’t understand the border crossing till now, as I write this.  It wasn’t until I bought my bus ticket to travel to Porto Alegre in Brazil when the woman at the ticket booth looked at my passport and told me that I needed to get an exit stamp.  “Huh?” I thought.  I didn’t even notice passing a border crossing.  She pointed at what direction I needed to start walking as I shuffled out of the building beginning my couple kilometer journey to get that magical exit stamp. 

Walking through the city, I made it to a road leading out of town looking as if it was leading to nowhere.  Eventually there was nothing but flat lands finally taking me to the friendly immigration troll.  Opening my passport, I don’t even think he looked at it – I could have pasted a photo of Mickey Mouse over my stellar photo and he would have still stamped it.
 
Confused about what country I was in, I ended up buying my bus ticket in Brazil and didn’t even know it – explaining why I didn’t know about the time change.  I stood outside an empty building waiting for my bus to arrive at any given moment as my big backpack lay safely locked up inside, hoping someone was going to open up the office.  Thankfully, I gained an hour instead of lost an hour.

Yes, I continue to dislike border crossings, especially when there are no truly defined borders.