It is all about the middle of Point A and Point B

January 16, 2012:  Sand is sand and if you don’t look left or right when at an ocean or large body of water in the evening.  You could be on the Jersey Shore and it would look the same as the Bali – garbage and all.  Perhaps I am just getting “beached out.”

The past few places I have been such as Jeriocoacoara and Parnaiba, the middle of point A and point B has been much more exciting than Point B.  If I was to take out all the beaten up buses, jeeps, buggies, vans, taxis, water taxis, long boats, canoes, ferries, fishing boats, ships, motorcycles, bicycles, walking, crawling and hitchhiking I did the past few years…I wouldn’t have much of a trip.
 

At times I don’t have any idea on what I am going to see at the destination, only choosing to go there because I hear or read how exciting of an adventure it is to get there.  This is what happened when I recently went to Jeriocoacoara.  Here I thought I was going somewhere far away from the ocean and after over a 20 hour trip needing to take 3 buses and a mammoth 4x4 truck, Jeriocoacoara ended up being a beach town.  Staying here for a few days, I enjoyed the mediocre sunsets, long walks along the beach and blah, blah blah – that sentence was about to resemble an internet dating site if I didn’t quickly kill it.

When leaving Jeriocoacoara for the town of Paraniba, my driver was reminded the importance of leaving at low tide and not high tide.  This is especially important when in this region because the cement roads are limited, so there is a lot of travel that you need to cross open dunes and capitalize on the sandy beaches when the tide is low.  Since we left at high tide, there were some points our driver had to time the waves, going as soon as the wave would temporarily pull back into the ocean.  It got so bad at one point, that I could sense that the driver wanted to turn back…but there was no option due to being no place to turn the truck around.  I really do enjoy trips like this…as long as it is not my vehicle.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I can now see why a dog and single people complement each other

August 22, 2011: Arriving in Punta del Este, an international beach resort in Uruguay’s winter, I checked into my cold moist, mold coated 6 bed dorm. While I was in the lobby, I sadly ran into one of the most unhappy looking antisocial groups of Brazilians, for the second time. I don’t quite know if they ever smiled in their entire lives by seeing how highly underdeveloped their facial muscles were…not the slightest twitch when I said hello - a grunt would have been satisfactory. At least a grunt would have explained they might have come from somewhere in the depth of the Amazon.

Even Toilet Paper Girl surprisingly sat expressionless, saying nothing. You would think that she would have felt obligated to at least respond to my hello after saving her a pile of embarrassment in the hostel in Montevideo as she was walking out of the restroom…trailing a long piece of toilet paper – just catching her as she was about to walk out the door as I ran down the hall. If she wasn’t a beautiful face painted clown I would say that she was just shy or a tongue amputee…but sadly, I think she had a healthy tongue and was leaning toward the other end of the personality spectrum.

Doing some self photos of myself in front a buried giant on the beach…I had a bit too much time on my hands and began to think a tad too much about, “Stuff”. Not even 5 or so seconds after, a golden dog on crack came springing up to me with his tall going back and forth as fast as a windshield wiper stuck on high. He became my yapping happy friend for the day as I walked along the pleasant developed beaches. This dog’s tail nor did he himself show the slightest sign of exhaustion as he fetched a large pinecone without hesitation, not knowing the feeling of boredom.

Throughout my walk, I can see how some professional baseball players only throw for a few innings. Wanting to stop…the smile on the dogs face forced me into other innings. I was contemplating about throwing with my opposite arm to pull off an impressive girly throw but decided against it - just in case someone was watching from inside one of the deserted summer homes or condos lining the beach.

When it was time to leave the trailless sand shoreline and to enter the concrete maze of guidance…I tried to ignore the dog so that he would return back to somewhere. But…he didn’t, making me nervous as the cars horns would belch when would imitate a chicken dodging traffic, to those close encounters with mean dogs and those others that just wanted to take a deep breath of his butt. Whenever I thought I lost him, I would see him running along the side of me to mark some shrubbery or post with his bottomless bladder.

I can at times enjoy the company of other people’s dogs…but, I never really wanted one for my own to follow and pick up their steaming dog piles with a plastic bag – except for in the winter, where it becomes a small temporary hand warmer. But, today I could how a steamy pile on the sidewalk or the beach might be worth it…even in the summer.

I ‘m glad I am not the only one who hates puppies…

June 17th, 2010: Sitting on the beach in a nice piece of shade, reading a book by my favorite author, Paulo Coelho, my mind went off into the past that wasn’t so past ago. I was thinking about Point Reyes National Seashore in California and was remembering how much I loved that place and the memories that stain the sand with it. Looking up I saw a puppy peering from the top of a sand bank near me. Locking eyes, he ran down and wanted to play…perfect timing, arriving right before I was about to get homesick.

He was a white puppy…a white puppy with lots and lots of little specks, black specks. Looking more closely, he was covered with fleas, large cities of fleas perhaps the size of NYC. Not wanting to pet him any longer, I tried to ignore him but he wouldn’t have it, barking and barking with his tail wagging as if someone was winding it up since birth and finally letting it go. I just could not pet him and tried not to look at him since I did want anyone of his miniature friends to disembark. After about 20 minutes of giving NYC (the puppies new name thanks to me) the silent treatment, he eventually understood and thankfully decided to grab a feather and carry it up the hill to play by himself. Feeling bad…but, I had enough mosquito bites to deal with.

Later in the evening, I joined the hostel for a campfire of about 30 people on the beach. The fire was large enough that we were all able to get comfortable as we enjoyed the warmth as we listened to the ocean rubbing against the shore between sets of the drunken man on the guitar - not knowing one complete song so it seemed.

Popping out from behind someone, I saw the carrier, NYC. Not needing to tell anyone of his issues, since everyone seemed to already know and also tried to push him away and in some cases a casual toss him when all he wanted to do was play…and drink a little beer.

He was getting none of it. Getting frustrated he started to bite people in the arm and feet, even showing his high jumping abilities going up toward their faces for a kiss with teeth. I’m glad I am not the only one who hates puppies…with fleas. This should be a lesson for everyone, not just dogs…no matter how cute you are…if you have lice, crabs, scabies or other some other living thing enjoying the comforts of your hair follicles - clean or dirty, you will not be taken home.

The Beach

December 6th, 2009: Please note: “No gracias” translated into English means, “No thank you.”

Making it the tourist mecca of Colombia, I sit on the beach that rests beneath the shadows of the manmade structures that rise from the ground to great heights. Within the first 3 minutes I was swarmed by the walking salesman. No time to relax, I laughed as I heard myself say, “No gracias (no massage), no gracias (no bracelet), no gracias (no crab), no gracias (no oyster), no gracias (no freestyle personal rap session), no gracias (no whatever that is), no gracias (no painting), no gracias (no sunglasses), no gracias (no cigarettes), no gracias (no photos), no gracias (no necklaces), no gracias (no candy), no gracias (no beer), no gracias (no carved turtles), no gracias (no carved dolphins), no gracias (no hat), no gracias (no soda)…”

Overlooking the beach between the salesmen, 100’s of people stand like bowling pins lined up in the ocean, looking like a poor attempt of people trying to join hands across America.

Needing to consume so some required calories, I headed over to McDonalds for a Big Mac to complete my mental confusion on where I was, feeling as if I was no longer in Colombia.