Garulhos Airport : The End of a Blog

As I sit waiting to hop aboard an American Airlines flight home boarding at gate 24 at São Paulo’s Garulhos Airport I’m in a sentimental mood about my 11 months in Brazil. The first time I came to Brazil I came on a Temple University study abroad program for 6 weeks in Bahia. I came for a musical experience and because it was a part time program and I was planning on being a member of the elite jazz band program therefore I wouldn’t have been able to make a long-term semester long commitment. I saw lots of Salvador but it wasn’t on my own terms, the professor was an egotistical baby sitter who didn’t allow us to travel on our own during weekends and insisted that we jotted down every single word he uttered in and outside of the classroom. So sitting at the Salvador airport 3 years ago I felt I had a great experience in Brazil but that the country was so vast and I had only experienced a thimble of what the nation had to offer. I left feeling disillusioned; I ended up partying so much on the program I didn’t exactly reap all the benefits of the rich music in Bahia and I became frustrated and discontent with my major at the same time. I went back to school, studied Portuguese--at times feriociously, and others lazily. I began dating Joice, my girlfriend for two years, whom I met in Brazil and coincidentally moved to my home town to be an Au Pair babysitter. I graduated college as soon as I could, not exactly sure if I wanted to be a musician. I moved back home to Maryland, worked random jobs from Phone interviewer, temp staffer, caddy, and even to spy. I was offered a job at a bank and it was then I had to decide if I wanted to stay where I grew up working a job I wouldn’t like making money, getting myself into a 30-year mortgage always kicking myself in the back for not going back to Brazil. When my great uncle Harold passed away in September 2007, sitting shiva at my Great Aunt Helen’s house she said some powerful words along the lines of “If you want to have memories when you’re old make those memories now.” The message really rubbed off on me as I was spending the afternoon telling the guests of the shiva I didn’t know what I was doing in life. So when Joice invited me to come back with her to Brazil as she needed to renew her Visa I accepted but on the conditions that I would live there for 6 months to a year. This wasn’t exactly the response I imagine she was hoping for. I booked my tickets, padded my resume and got a job teaching English at a local school. I taught there for two months while researching and applying for jobs in Brazil. I eventually found a guaranteed job in Jundiaí, São Paulo where I would go on to make many friends but hate my employer. I left Jundiaí for Florianópolis after 3 months on a conviction that there were greener pastures out there. After a few weeks of struggling and desperately regretting for a day I adapted to Floripa and eventually florished. I debated staying there to study but I ended up deciding I needed to come back to the states. (strong job market…) I began planning a great trip around the country and my friends from High School asked if they could come along. I gladly accepted and we made the preparations to do so. I resigned from my job on good terms with my boss, despite the fact I had unknowingly made out with his girlfriend and he found out about it. I recruited an English friend from Jundaí to resume the life I had made for myself there, my friends arrived and we traveled around Brazil for 3 maravalous weeks filled with inside jokes that were told out of the sides of our mouths. It was a pleasure playing ambassador to them in this captivating, idosyncratic, puzzling, eccentric, hospitable land. They helped me see Brazil in a new light that I hadn’t seen after living here for 10 months. They noticed quirky habits, arbitrary rules, salty food, gorgeous women, delicious fruits that I wouldn’t have noticed traveling on my own. The trip was a great success traveling to nearly a dozen cities without losing anything more than a jacket and a few hundred thousand brain cells. So now I’m back at Garulhos reflecting on my trip. I feel I’ve gotten the Brazil I needed to experience out of my system. I achieved most of my goals, I lived in Brazil for a year, I learned Portuguese, I worked in Brazil, I learned guitar, I took dance lessons, I played capoeira and soccer making sincere friends along the way. I came here a Brazophile and I’m leaving an even greater one. I’ve learned to love Brazil for its foibles and hate it for its arrogance. (As of writing this I just found some sand behind my ear.) Anyways I’m grateful I could live this experience now, however I don’t really have any solid idea as to what I’m going to do when I get back. I’m returning to a United States vastly different from the one I left. We’ve got dirt cheap houses, and loads of people not living in them, we’ve got an economy in the toilet and a job market that is flushing down with it, we’ve just elected a black president and the world is proud of us again, and I also think we changed the name of the country if I’m not mistaken. (I still need to clarify this) Anyways lots of challenges await me and I’m not necessarily any more directive in terms of career than when I came 335 days ago. I’m going to miss writing this blog and I thank all of my readers for their participation. I’m going to miss Brazil and their wacky rules, wild parties and kind people. Well I guess that’s it. In 12 hours I’ll be landing in Washington D.C. chocolate city and this year will be little more than a blog, pictures and a sunburn that will completely peel in a few days. But it will be so much more than that, it will be a broken computer, a pile of stories and at least some interesting ammunition for the upcoming holiday season cocktail party banter. In closing, O Brasil, eu te amo!

São Paulo

So after a 20 hour bus ride we arrived in São Paulo with our new Japanese friend Ryo who has been traveling around the world for months. We went to lunch at an all you can eat BBQ place where Ari was confident one of the staff members was a tranny. Ryo's friend arrived and Ryo instantly exclaimed how old his friend looked and how he had aged since they last time they saw each other. We got some açaí a Brazilian super fruit that we have become addicted to since traveling around. We got back to the hostel asked what was going on that day and because it was Black Consciousness day there was a huge concert in Praça da Sé, a famous square in front a huge church in São Paulo. We arrived in time for a DJ to start playing all the famous Brazilian hits, "That Thing" by Lauren Hill, "Don't Stop til you get enough" by Michael Jackson, and "Hip Hop Hooray" by Naughty by Nature. Then a band came on and played the best of the music of Tim Maia. It was a great concert and Thomas realized that Tim Maia ripped off the Ohio Player's brickhouse. Then Seu Jorge played, Seu Jorge is a burgeoning actor featured in City of God as Knockout Ned, and also in The Life Aquatic. He is also a famous Brazilian singer. As the sun set and people started lighting up marijuana joints. Seu Jorge plays a hybrid of samba and rock which is in the genre of samba rock. As Thomas and Ari wandered off to get some booze I made friends with some people who were in the same section as us and I charmed a young lady with my dancing skills. (dance lessons are totally worth it.) We met some girls after the concert winded down and they offered to take us out to a happening strip. We stopped in for a mediocre overpriced dinner and then went to a club. The club was named Vegas and it was featured in a Brazilian movie called Magnata. There was a crappy rock band on the top floor and a great DJ spinning house music on the bottom floor. The club was packed and lots of beautiful women were thrown in the mix. Ari met a girl who was dressed in a Moo-Moo, Thomas met a girl who we were convinced was a tranny, she had a tattoo that said Axl Rose, and she was quite disappointed when we told her it wasn't spelled that way, I met a girl who turned out to be a bit of a bigot. I got home at 11 Am. We easily spent over $75 a person. We woke up late and Ari wanted to buy some "sweet" T-shirts so I asked the front desk for some recommendations and we were off. As I stopped to buy some abacaxi, pineapple on the street a woman catwalked down the street wearing nothing but flip flops and pink panties. She looked to be strung out, and she had the hairiest ass I've ever seen. As she passed by men changed directions to follow her, stopped and cracked up, or started discussing the possessed creature. She instantly had a large parade trailing behind her. Anyone who can walk down the 3rd biggest city in the world nearly naked is ok in my book. We then went to a shopping center to look for said "sweet" t-shirts. Each floor was a different theme, Thug attire, Goth/Hard Rock Attire, Emo attire. No "sweet" t-shirts were found. We then went walking looking for the huge fruit market in São Paulo. When we finally found the market we were in a sketchy part of town, the streets were littered with cardboard boxes and derelicts, and the market was closed. We went on the metro to a mall and Ari bought some "sweet" board shorts. Got back home, took a power nap and then met up with my friend Luanna to get some drinks. We went to a trendy hipster bar, (yes there are hipsters in Brazil) then went to a dance club in the Jewish neighborhood of town. We were hoping it would be a Jewish singles night but we were deceived. We danced, drank and left at 6 am to go and get some overpriced hamburgers. We managed to spend $R400 without even trying. We got home at 6:30 planned to sleep for an hour and then catch a bus to Ilha Bela on the São Paulo state coastline, but I didn't turn on the alarm so we over slept and had to catch a later bus. We met a beautiful girl on the bus and her cousin. Arrived at our hostel at 3:00 and the rain is raining. However our hostel is the nicest we've stayed at so far, with a Polynesian theme, plush couches and an ocean side pool. Going to relax, I come back home in 3 days.

Pantanal

A few months ago I read a report about a fisherman who left his 19-year-old son sleeping in the Brazilian Pantanal, a marshy wetland, along the Paraguayan and Bolivian borders. The fisherman had left to go get some bait, upon returning he heard thrashing sounds and screaming and in terror he saw two grown jaguars shredding the tent his son was sleeping in. As he only had a knife and there were two grown jaguars he was helpless. I decided in my thrill seeking to go into the Brazilian Pantanal and to bring Thomas and Ari along as a diversion.
We woke up early Monday morning at 5:00 to catch a 6:00 bus. We paid for our tickets and I noticed a group of three white tourists who obviously weren’t from the region. I asked them if they were going to the Pantanal and if they had a place to stay. I gave them some information about the Fazenda (farm) we would be staying at, and if they came with us we could get a better deal. They agreed to think about it and we got on the bus. A majority of the 4-hour ride was spent on rumbling, bumpy, unpaved brick-red roads passing through small towns. I woke up at our final destination, Buraco das Piranhas, Hole of the Piranhas. Whenever you get out at a stop that has Piranhas in the name you know you are getting yourself into trouble. The people we met at the bus station had agreed to stay with us, they happened to be a trio of Dutch, a couple Mireca and her boyfriend Bert, and Bert’s father David. We, the Dutch, and others who were on the bus piled into a small pickup truck with all of our luggage and started out down a long dirt road seemingly towards no man’s land. Thomas, Ari and I volunteered to sit in the back of the pickup. Big Mistake. The pickup truck banged and buckled due to the uneven, unpaved, ahem…rustic road. With ever jostling bump our backs slammed into the bed of the truck. We bounced around on the deplorable road for what seemed like ages until we eventually arrived at the gate of Santa Clara Fazenda. We got out of the truck and I haggled a price with the administrator who looked like she had some gypsy blood, maybe it was just because she was driving a hard bargain. I had gone on some advice from my friend Peter, who had stayed at the fazenda for a week paying but a few dozen reais per day. I negotiated to stay 3 nights for 300 reais. Pete’s advice didn’t seem to play out. We ate lunch and were given our beads that served as currency at the farm. We were given $25 reais worth of currency in bead form, apparently to simplify payment, my theory is that the beads make people feel they aren’t using real money, Ari believes because they don’t trust people handling money so they designate one sole person to deal with the cash. We ate lunch and quickly realized 3 nights might be too much. We checked into our room which we were sharing with the Dutch. We hopped into the pool which had a thick layer of mosquitoes on the top. We took a nap in the hammocks sprawled across the grounds waiting for our afternoon activity. We met some other Dutch girls, who were both of Asian descent. We also started chatting with a cute young German girl, when suddenly mid sentence one of the workers on the farm came up and jammed his tongue down her throat. Conversation ceased to exist. This love affair between the 18-year-old German girl and the 39-year-old house painter became a talking point amongst the guests for the next few days. We got ready for our “Safari” wearing long sleeve shirts, pants, and shoes to deal with the bugs. We climbed into a large flat bed truck equipped with benches and barely enough room to fit all the people from the group. The truck got a flat within minutes of leaving the premises of the fazenda and we had to go back. Our guide Carlos, who looked like a professional wrestler recommended us to change into sandals, and shorts for our walk which was to replace our safari. We hiked into the brush painfully hopping over flesh eating anthills to see howler monkeys and toucans high above in the trees. After wading through muddy waters the hike was finally coming to a close. I was near the back of the group behind a Portuguese guy but in front of an Australian couple. I looked ahead and saw panic in the group as people swatted and ran simultaneously. I told the Portuguese guy to run, but he didn’t listen and the Wasps descended upon us. I batted at them for dear life but one landed on my eyelid and defended his nest, which had recently been built. I screamed in agony as more wasps began to surround me, I managed to swat them off and escape nearly losing my sandal in the process. I blame the Portuguese guy to this day, and I now understand why Brazilians think the Portuguese are stupid. I’ve added them to my shit list of nationalities along with Kiwis, Haitians and Ethiopians. Anyways I got stung on the eyelid, it swelled up and I felt a feeling of drugged euphoria. I got off easy the Australian guy got stung 4 or 5 times and it looked like he was allergic. We gladly returned to the camp, one of the guides saw my face and told me “Welcome to the Pantanal!” We ate dinner and got into our bottle of vodka that we smuggled into the camp. We chatted with the Dutch girls we’d met in the hammock that day, we relaxed in the hammocks for a while and then realized the jaguars might be out there and went to our room. We woke up the next day for a boat trip. We inched along full-grown caimans, a member of the alligator family close enough to peer into their cold and inhuman eyes. Our tour guide pointed out the various types of birds scattered in the trees. We stopped at a little bank where we were handed a bamboo pole with a hook and a piece of beef fat attached. We threw it into the water and within seconds a golden piranha was attached to the end. We spent thirty minutes catching piranhas, which were a little less than a foot long at their largest. Their razor sharp teeth clung to the hook as they gyrated after being taken from the water. We went back to the farm exhausted, lunched and napped in hammocks, (sound familiar?) We got ready for our second stab at the safari. We drove for literally hours down a beat up dirt road in the back of a shoddy pickup with a group of disgruntled Brits, our kind Dutch friends, and our charming Japanese friend with an immature sense of humor that was only surpassed by our infantile sense of humor. The ever-present caiman and bird selection became tiresome after the sun began to set and the group became agitated. We begged the driver to turn around and the Brits threw a hissy fit complaining that trip wasn’t what they expected. Thomas had long ago decided the Pantanal wasn’t his cup of tea; this 6-hour “safari” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We rode back with the bugs surrounding us, our guide using a spotlight to identify wildlife such as spiders and other eclectic beasts such as cows and capybaras, a large rodent the size of a dog. We got back to camp, ate dinner and looked at the stars while holding each other gently. The stars were beautiful and I’ll probably never see such a pristine collection of southern hemispheric stars again. We woke up the next day, took a horse ride through the forests and plains of the pantanal. Our guide Carlos singing Brazilian country songs about lost love. My horse, Buttercup got along well with Ari’s Molasses, Thomas’ horse was aggressive and was trying to bite everything and one. The highlight was when the horses came to a stop and all in unison they began to urinate, needless to say our Japanese friend Ryo laughed hysterically. We got back to the ranch after hours of singing the few country songs we knew, such as home on the range. We ate, hammocked and packed. We piled once more into the rickety pick up truck. We were halfway down the road when a man ran frantically towards our truck telling us to back up. Abelhas, abelhas! He screamed. Bees. The group gathered all protective gear we could find and suited up for the push through the bee’s territory. No stings. After we finally got to the end of the road we were all a little relieved. We got into a van for a 4-hour ride to Campo Grande traveling along desolate roads, passing through humpbacked mountain ranges and cowfields. We said goodbye to our Dutch friends and got on the bus for our journey back to relative civilization. São Paulo.

Amigos de Coração pt. 2

I made friends with a few girls whom I met outside of the club. I went inside with them as Thomas and Ari went to retrieve the rest of the cash. They never returned. I spent the night dancing with Indian descendant women in their early twenties grinding out to the Electro-Funk stylings of MC Negão and the Funkeiras. I figured Thomas and Ari spent the night by themselves listening to the rap stylings of Devin The Dude, as has been a popular pastime on our trip. I got home at 5 O’clock and was extremely soaked because of the heavy rains. I woke up at 8 O’clock with a knock on the door from the receptionist; our ride to go on one of the popular excursions would be there to pick us up at 8:30. I was just a little tired, as I didn’t drink because they didn’t accept credit cards and I had no cash, however because of Thomas and Ari’s vodka filled night, waking up proved to be easier said than done. We ate breakfast and then hustled to get into the van. We left the town center, rumbling down red dirt roads, the van packed with tourists from The Czech Republic, Italy, and Brazil. Our first stop was a huge hole called Buraco das Araras. It is as the guidebook says, forgettable. The sole highlight was the Red Macaws that flew from side to side of the enormous abyss. The hole was located on private property and was used previously as a car, trash, and even body depot. When they turned the hole into a tourist attraction and they cleaned out the bottom they found over 20 corpses. After the hole tour we went to one of the main attractions of Bonito, Rio da Prata. Rio da Prata is a river also located on private property that because of high levels of calcium in the water and riverbed the water is crystal clear. We all dressed in wetsuits, hopped into a truck and walked through the humid rainforest until we plunged into the water. They gave us snorkels and we explored the unique waters. We rented a camera for 50 reais and documented the entire experience. We floated down the 2 KM of river encountering various types of fish of all shapes and sizes, at times hovering inches above the river floor and at times having a deep bottom beneath us. The pictures say more than I can, but it was the closest I’ve ever felt to being a fish, (with the exception of that one time somebody slipped me that pill in my drink) We got back to the hotel and there was a raucous party across the street that I wanted to take pictures of. Before I could even cross the street and take out my camera, they were enthusiastically motioning for me to come to the party. Once I arrived I quickly realized that if they stopped drinking right then and I drank for the rest of the night I still wouldn’t be as drunk as they were. Thomas has described them as a bunch of hick Mexicans. The West of Brazil borrows and contributes a lot of culture from Bolivian and Paraguayan cowboys, which results as a hybrid hillbilly. The men wore cowboy hats and boots, the women wore inebriated smiles, and loud Brazilian country music blasted and blared out of a pickup truck parked in front of the house. They invited us to stay for dinner, we accepted and we went around to the back of the house. They entertained us with a charming pooch that leaped teeth first to clench on to a hanging tire, which one of the hosts boasted the dog could do for five or more minutes. The drunken grandmas insisted we dance with them. Thomas’ dance card was quickly filled and the host grandma took a strong liking to him. Her grandson, or some random relative told Thomas of her powerful crush and Thomas said he wasn’t interested in said Grandma. The guy called Thomas a homosexual and that if he ever comes to the United States he will have no qualms about having sex with anything that moves or breathes, young or old, skinny or fat, etc. He then told Thomas he would have sex with his sister, Thomas told him he didn’t have a sister. He ignored this comment and said he would get her pregnant. He then stumbled off and the grandma’s returned. One particular grandma would bash a bottle on the ground before drinking, pouring or moving. It was only a matter of time before she broke a glass. The grandma’s got drunker as we got more uncomfortable and we began to brainstorm exit strategies. The host grandma was passionately falling for Thomas; Thomas was desperately trying to leave as we figured their extended hospitality would perceive our exit as rude. One of the most drunken grandmas said she would feel so sad and depressed when we left; she called us Friends of the heart over 30 times. Eventually the party naturally ended. And we could leave, but not without breaking a few hearts in the process.

O Amigo Da Coração (Friend of the Heart)

So after a 20 hour bus ride from the city of São Paulo--which at times resembles a Chinese Megacity with all of the hazy pollution attached--We arrived in Bonito, Mato Grosso do Sul. We were delayed because of a faulty air conditioning system, which resulted in the entire bus being transferred much to the chagrin of the passengers to another working but visibly elder Bus. We traveled for hours until the earth's soil changed from brown to a dark brick red. It was at this point, where the landscape changed from buildings, skyscrapers and concrete, to cows, grass and everlasting horizons when our bus suddenly stopped for an hour to repair a wheel. We finally reached Jardim, Mato Grosso do Sul, we descended the bus and the thick humidity and heat immediately reached our pores. We bought our tickets for the next bus that would take us to Bonito 63 Km away, but had to wait 2 hours before it came. We ate lunch with a Japanese baker, who had been traveling around South America for 10 months out of a 3 year stint of world travel. She spoke little English, nearly no Spanish, and barely any Portuguese, however she was thriftier than us and seemed to have a love for travel and life. We kept a watchful eye on our bags across the street as we ate at a little lunch spot under shady trees. The bus came 1 hour late and we arrived in Bonito in the late afternoon. Bonito is an ecotourism model within Brazil. The city is blessed with amazing natural phenomena in its municipality which it charges tourists an arm and a leg to see. The town has boomed in the last few decades due to a popular soap opera that shot on location in the city. Because of the success of the show Brazilians have come in flocks, however most of the city's roads remain unpaved, and the location is very rural. We caught a taxi to the local swimming hole. A lazy moving river with locals mingling amongst themselves, it would have been a 14 year olds dream. We saw giant blue, green and yellow macaws flying and perching upon trees, as well as drunken grown men drinking cheap Brazilian hooch belting out country songs for which the area is known for. We partook in the drunken activities by buying some cheap booze, beer and heckling with the attractive owner of the bar to buy her establishment. She lived in the Netherlands for 9 years so she spoke English. We jumped, dove, and flipped into the refreshing water continuing with our trends from the trip. Our taxi driver picked us up as negotiated and he dropped us off at a restaurant that specialized in Jacaré, Alligator. We sampled jacaré cooked in various styles and left the restaurant well fed. That night we wandered the lazy city center looking for something to do. We eventually came across a funk party that only accepted cash. -To Be Continued...

Sampa

We planned on leaving for São Paulo early yesterday morning, however we missed our bus. SO we rented some bikes and climbed a steep mountain chasing waterfalls. (TLC had warned us against this but we were sick of the rivers and lakes that we were used to.) After nearly giving up because of the great incline this hill challenged us with we came across a man who smelled of early morning liquor, sweat, and work. He asked us if we were looking for the waterfalls and he said he would show us where they were as he was walking that way anyways. We pushed us bikes up the nearly vertical turn and he pointed us in the right direction. We locked up our rented bikes and stumbled upon a group of onlookers gawking as a teenaged showman scaled up the slick rock which water trickled down only to surf back down on his bare feet plunging into the water with little to no regard for the rocks that sat in the water. He invited us to do the same only sitting on our butts. We all went down and all reached the same feeling of panic, as the rocks seemed to imminently loom in the water waiting to bust a skull. We all survived. We walked up further chasing waterfalls and found a precarious suspension bridge. We crossed the bridge and dove into the cold, pristine water. We jumped off the top of another waterfall back into the water. We rode our bikes back down the hill, took showers and caught a taxi just in the nick of time to catch our bus. After a white knuckled bus ride through curvaceous mountain passes--coincidentally spent sitting next to the lovely receptionist from the hostel, we made it to São Paulo, the biggest city in Brazil. We said goodbye to our smoking traveling partner and went off to find a cab. The Hostel had told us that the cab should cost no more than 25 reais so when the cab driver started talking about 40 reais I knew he was trying to screw us. I started negotiating, telling him the hostel had told us one thing and he couldn’t charge us more. He was a middle aged black guy with glasses and his shirt unbuttoned half way down his chest. He haggled until he eventually agreed to 30 reais. We shouldn’t have paid a dime; he was quite possibly the worst cab driver I’ve ever had. It turns out he was from Bahia, a state in the northeast of Brazil. I started to ask him where some good Bahian restaurants were and where we could find some exciting nightlife. He got extremely distracted by my questions, crossing over lanes of traffic, swerving at the last minute to catch exit ramps, and dancing while driving. He finally dropped us off at our hostel, after a slow and nerve-wracking journey. We only had a 50 and he only had change for 35. Insufficient change is a common occurrence in Brazil. In fact we almost missed our bus from Paraty to São Paulo because of this exact same phenomenon. We checked into our hotel, went across the street to get a cheap meal of steak, beans, rice, greasy French fries, and manischevitz-esque wine. The middle-aged waitress seemed as if she could be out of a Jewish deli in Philadelphia or NYC. We wandered around looking for a bar the receptionist had recommended and gave up after the directions he had given lead us on a wild goose chase in a dark and sketchy neighborhood. This was our third night in a row without partying substantially, something is amiss.

Paraty Time

After realizing we stayed one day too long in Rio we planned to leave continuing on with my itinerary. Next stop Ouro Preto, Minas Gerais! Only problem was I looked at the bus schedule wrong the night before and we didn't want to wait around all day, so we left for the bus statoion and took a bus to the first beachside town. We winded up in Paraty, a colonial town where most of the gold the Portuguese extracted from the mines of Minas Gerais left for Europe. Only the bus ride was significantly longer than anticipated. We checked in that night, got a salty but delicious dinner (for Brazilian standards) and played cards in our idlyic garden patio, drinking overpriced wine. We all fell in love with the voluptuous, stunning beauty of a receptionist only to have our hearts broken last night to find out she has a motorcyle racing boyfriend. We woke up the next morning and prompty bought 3 cases of beer for our boat scuna trip. The boat ride was spent, sleeping, swimming, getting unconciously burnt, and jumping from the top of the boat into the deep aqua marine water. I was made fun of for my diving skill which was compared to John McCain. My friends, I never learned how to dive, but Thomas is much too experienced to make the plunge. We got back to the hostel and the sky looked ominous. We went to buy some meat for a BBQ which proved to be 3 times as much as we needed. The sky opened up and rained the rest of the night. We are planning on leaving Paraty today for São Paulo, moving into the direction of the Pantanal wetlands. I got really burnt yesterday. My collarbone aches.