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.

Please, don’t play with the live animals!

October 9, 2011:  I couldn’t find the fishing village named Punta del Jesus, so I settled for the small fishing village named Punta del Diablo.  The conglomeration of sand, garbage and dead corpses made this my favorite beach in Uruguay and might even make the list of one of my top beaches in South America.  A peaceful place that lacked cement roads, high-rises, human whales and large groups of people made it an ideal place to stop and relax before crossing over into Brazil where I plan to pick up my speed.   

The South American way of disposing trash where ever you please are obvious even here, on the seemingly infinite stretch of beaches as garbage speckled the beaches.  Intertwined between the remains of the trash, laid a large number sea lions…dead sea lions to be more specific, resembling the aftermath of a mass clubbing.  Stopping to record the carnage with my camera, at times, the smell of death burned my eyes as I was only a foot or two away from the bloody or leathered fly infested bodies.

Yes, it is true…a dead animal cannot balance a beach ball on its nose, nor will it listen to any of your commands or silly noises so it will look in your direction as you attempt to take “THAT” photo.  But, if you enjoy taking photos of sea lions, the dead ones can be a lot easier. 

Seeing a sea lion laying on the beach just as still as the other bloated, leathered or decaying seal loins were, I thought there was a pattern forming.  So in my mental calculations, he was also dead.  Happy to see that the vultures have not yet made holes in him, I was thinking it was my lucky day.  Casually walking up to him...he picked up his head - Rule #1: if you enjoy taking photos of dead animals…you must first make sure they are dead.  Turning around toward me there was an incredibly loud scream coming from deep within him as he turned on the juice coming at me at top speeds.  I levitated backwards as the sea lion successfully made me fall for his bluff as he made a break for the water. 

Not thinking – for the second time today…from the one being chased I now became the chaser as I ran to cut him off from the ocean – must be “middle child syndrome” missing the art of teasing.  The sea lion stopped…and was about to turn around to go back up the beach, but then I realized that he was probably ill, laying on the beach for a reason.  I tried to get out of his way so he could continue to lounge around the beach but it was too late as he made a speedy waddle for the ocean.

Punta del Diablo is my last stop here in Uruguay before crossing over into Brazil.  In two more days I will be completely lost in a language I have not yet begun to study.  Perhaps tonight…or tomorrow, I will learn the basics of Portuguese before making it to that imaginary line that cuts across an real piece of land.

Hunting for Gauchos

October 8, 2011: Taking bus after bus from one small town to another small town here in Uruguay, I have been hunting for Gauchos. A Gaucho is a term that is used for the South American cowboy.

After days of searching for some of dem Gauchos, I can see now why towns of Tacuarembo, Melo and Treinta Tres are not tourist hot spots. The Gauchos here do not seem to be dressing up for outsiders and they do not even ride horses around town. Yes, they ride horses but not of the flesh, they are iron horses…either a moped or dirt bike. I even saw an oversized Gaucho relocating a roped up living horse on his tiny beat up moped.

My trip to the countryside to see my stereo typical vision of Gauchos roaming the streets everywhere did not transpire. There were only a few men wearing high leather boots supporting gigantic leather belts similar to those worn by championship boxers and there were zero women in frilly dresses.

Next time I will do it the easy way and just take the $78USD tour to a Gaucho farm outside Montevideo, since on the advertisement outside the tourist offices; they were all playing dress up. The best part is that you didn’t need to travel about 15 hours on buses from town to town to see a measly handful of the Gauchos I came to see.

Please note: Photo pulled from Wikipedia at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Gaucho.png

Tried to kick a dog…in its head

October 6, 2011: While in the town of Tacuarembo, I found myself trying to get lost – which is typically not hard for me to do. Coming back off some dirt roads that lead out of the town, I notice some children playing soccer in front of a four walled structure they presumably call home. They stopped playing when I was passing them and just stared at me, following me with their eyes. Even in such a white country as Uruguay, I still seem to stand out. I smiled and said hello as I continued down the road – then it happened…

From the lower right hand corner of my eye I saw a dog coming towards me, being extra quiet…thinking that perhaps he wanted just a little sniff of my clothed sphincter or to maybe hump my leg some. When the dog noticed he was compromised, he reverted from stealth mode to attack mode. Coming at me faster, I thought that he was bluffing me. I started walking faster – suddenly confused about the basic rules of engagement with a dog, I just thought it was better not to look directly at him, using my extremely tooled peripheral vision and I continued moving forward.

He approached me quickly with a sharp set of heat seeking missiles that lined his mouth in a disorder fashion. He went doggy style and came up from behind, telling me something that I didn’t understand nor care to understand. The dog’s behavior showed me that he was obviously not interested in sniffing a grown man’s butts or humping a strange male.

The “flight mode” in me was no longer an option. Turning toward him, I give him a few air kicks to the head. My adrenaline spiked as his smiled at me showing of his pearly whites. The other dogs that were at the house next door were much larger and began to go crazy, beginning to sing as if they were members of a Baptist church choir.

My vision was not crystal clear due to the quick unexpected spike of adrenaline, but since I remembered the other dogs being tied up the first time I passed by when leaving the town, so I focused on my current situation.

After a few more football punter style air kicks, I am glad the dog eventually turned back and stopped following me, going to wherever he came from. I was actually happy today to not be prepared for a confrontation with a dog, rather than a person or persons with not the best intensions. It has been awhile since I was caught off guard. While coming off a substantially large adrenaline spike, I was a tad shaky and a bit dizzy.

Hindsight…I thought, “Why didn’t I have a rock in my pocket?” This is because when typically bad dogs see rocks, they have had prior experience with them being thrown at them, knowing that they hurt. This tactic has a 93.966666% success rate. I wonder if this was the true origin of pet rocks.

So I suppose it is time for me to start traveling with a pet…a pet rock.

Uruguayan boys are all a bunch of crossdressers!

October 4, 2011: I have noticed that the boys in Uruguay seem to be taught to crossdress at a very young age – to be more precise…from my understanding, it starts the first day they go to school. The uniforms seem to be universal: A white doctor looking coat with a large loose bow around the neck – NOT a bow tie…but a bow.

How did this come about? As you are well aware…working women’s wardrobes have changed over the years, capitalizing on the behavior of men and their monkeylike behavior desiring to hump more than the common dog. Minimizing a large amount of needing material which resulted in shorter skirts and more ventilating tops…the large oversized loose feminine bow slowing worked its way out of the fashion industry for the modern day woman.

So what do you do with the surplus bows, which once represented the Woman’s Revolution? Well, for starters, you can use them for the holidays to pin or tape to some special present when giving dogs, horses, donkeys or even something like a bike or new Lexus.

Now…what do you do when you still have a surplus? It’s easy…you give some politician an untraceable “gift” and before you know it…it will become a required item for the public school systems uniform policy, recycling the never ending surplus while creating a country of crossdressers.

Even Polo, Banana Republic, Abercrombie & Fitch and other larger clothing companies have been scared to capitalize in this market without yet placing their brands on this stylish bow.

FYI: I so wanted you to see this bow, I had to take this photo in a child molester-like fashion from a park bench outside a mall. What I do for this blog at times amazes me.

Tickity tickity tick tick tock…click

October 4, 2011: My backpack is ready to go. On Thursday morning, I will be leaving on a stretched bus as it takes me north, into the interior of Uruguay. To do what? I don’t quite yet know, though I would like to see where the cowboys and cowgirls live.

Perhaps in my free time, I will do a little research and see if the men in Uruguay lose their virginity with donkeys such as the young folk do in most other South America countries. I said I would stop my research many posts ago, but…I am curious only from a business standpoint. When my feminine donkey condom starts selling in stores throughout South America…it might be wise to also sell them in Uruguay.

In southern Uruguay, I have been continuing to do an enormous amount of people watching, going to almost every museum, park, McDonald’s and even a scantly clothed street functions while waiting to make an almost perfect entry in into Brazil. Since my Visa is limited with only a possibility to extend - not a guaranteed extension, I need to actually have somewhat of an imaginary trail when I cross the border.

With a rough plan on what I want to see, it looks like I will be exploring Brazil in a snake like fashion – meaning I will be going up, a little right, up, way left, up, way right, up, a little right and then way way way left. With all of these ups, rights and lefts…who knows…maybe I will get a little dizzy and find myself somewhere completely different.