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.

Favela

The postcard image of Rio has traditionally been the lush, rolling, green hills, vast waters all blending together to become one of the disctinct urban landscapes to in the world. The 70 ft statue of Jesus perches over the city visable from nearly any spot you may walk. The beaches that stretch for miles laden with surfers, tanners and vendors selling nearly anything you could imagine. However in recent years that image has been tainted with the unorganized, precarious, sprawling favelas, or shanty towns. This reputation in no small part has been fueled by the massive international success of films such as Cidade de Deus, City of God. In Rio it is now possible to tour the favelas with a guide.
The biggest favela in Rio, and in Brazil is Rocinha; a towering, densly packed, city slum glued to the steep mountain hosting 300,000+ habitants and growing. Rocinha is one of the most visible and talked about and Ari,Thomas and I decided to get a tour. The company picked us up at our hostel and we packed into a van with 10 other tourists eager to see the other side of how Rio works, or maybe just to score some cheap pot. Our tour guide was a flirtatious, tatooed, energetic Carioca--A citizen from the city of Rio De Janeiro. She had been giving tours in the Favela for 6 years and got interested in the communities after seeing the film City of God. They escort the group to the bottom of the favela when the entire group is shuttled up to the top of the hill driven upon an individual motorcyle taxi. My driver was a mere 16-17 years old. He slomened around the well-worn roads, accelerating past buses, cars and pedestrians. He hurtled up the steepening roads, and shouldered into turns with little regard for the safety of the gringo who clung to the back of his motorcylce for dear life. ( let me just note that the one thing my Mom said she didn't want me to do this trip was get on the back of any motorcylces. Sorry mom, no choice.)
The group convened at the top of the hill and a few probably had to change their pants. The center of Rocinha is organized and commercial with a post office, a water company branch, clothing stores and moto-taxi hubs. There are massive electrical power sources overflowing with so many excess wires they resemble an urban pine tree. We entered the narrow alleys where people tried to pass around us carrying sacks of food, politely asking in English excuse me. The residents are used to seeing gringos on these tours so they speak enough English to be able to sell someone a box of cookies. We went to one of the higher points of the favela which is consequently the most expensive real estate. The reason the houses lower down are less expensive is because the sewage system runs down hill, trash is thrown obstructing the flow, when the heavy rains of March come, they flood the drain overflowing with trash and open sewage affecting the houses at the bottom the most. We trekked down the cramped walkways stopping to buy overpriced food and jewelery. How these particular vendors got the gringo contract must have been one of the fiercest bidding contracts in Favela history.
We passed through structures that had collapsed after their weak foundations were tested to the limit from story after story built ontop of the original structure of the home. The abandonded areas flooded with a thick, black sludge of trash where toddlers frocklicked about as if it were the sandbox in their backyard. There were kids who couldn't have been older than 10 smoking weed in back corners. However despite the destitute conditions the habitants of Rocinha live in the majority of the people passing by were jovial and cheerful. We finally got to the bottom of the 3 hour tour when the guide explained the economics of the drug trade within the favela. She said the gangs running this particular favela clear more than 4 million US dollars per month, most of the drugs being bought by upper middle class drug dealers who live in the city's wealthier neighborhoods. The residents of the favela starting popping up in hte 1930's when a great drought afflicted the Northeastern states of Brazil bringing them to cities such as São Paulo, Rio, and Porto Allegre amongst others. The populations have multiplied at an alarmingly unsustainable rate since. The favelas have formed due to the lack of job opportunities on the outskirts of the city. The residents of the favelas have moved to the hills because of the proximity to their employment.
The tour was meant to help break some of the notorious stereotypes about the favelas, however I feel the tour guide only reinforced some of the sexier images. It was an interesting experience to say the least and as we were leaving people were shouting Barack Obama! Barack Obama! as we piled into our van.

Rio

I'm in Rio and alive. I haven't been able to blog because of constant partying and tours and what not. So I'm being rushed to go to the grocery store now.

Curitiba

We woke up at 7:00 Am which Ari and Thomas said easily beat the earliest they’ve woken up over the course of the trip. We took our respective showers and partook in the mediocre breakfast which the hostel had provided. We ran outside found the first cab we could and rushed off to the train station. Our cab driver hopped out of the cab midway to grab his car stereo faceplate which was stored in the back of the car. I noticed he had a Brazilian Portuguese dictionary in the front of the dashboard. We paid the cab and rushed in to buy our train tickets for the Serra Verde Express a train that leaves from Curitiba and goes all the way to the coastal port city of Paranaguá. The train has three classes, and we chose to sit in the cheapest. We chugged along at a slow pace leaving the urban landscape for greener pastures, literally. We passed through rural farms, moving on to rushing rivers, crossing over teetering bridges, bisecting pitch black tunnels, and emerging upon stunning canyons and valleys all complimented by the frequent waterfall or banana tree. Ari ooed and awed at every turn mocking the magnificent views that after 3 hours can become a little tiresome. The highlight of the train ride was when a bushy-eyebrowed German tour leader chastisied the inexperienced trainee tour guide the train company had assigned our section of the train. We got off the train at the city of Morretes, bought the next bus ticket out of town and found the closest restaurant to grab some lunch. We paid 8 reais for steak and an all you can buffet which was lackluster in quality. We got on the bus and all took a well deserved power nap. I sat next to a friendly youthful mother and her adorable but cranky baby girl. I assisted her by placing her duffel bag in the overhead compartment of the bus, but erred when I ripped the edge extracting at the end of the ride. We got back to Curitiba, and wandered back to the hostel passing through the construction/ Christmas district of the city. We got to the hostel and asked for tips as to what there was to do in the city. The staff was unhelpful and acted as if they were bothered by the fact we were asking for information. They were incompetent throughout the entirety of our stay there, knew little about the city’s restaurants, bars and attractions. Not to mention I’ve never stayed at a duller, less youthful hostel in my travels. We left the hostel and found a busy promenade to spend the afternoon drinking beers out of steiners. We watched an untalented clown shout remarks at passerbys much to the dismay of the clients of the establishment and the passerbys themselves. He tried to sell us a DVD of his work which we promptly declined. After more or less than a hour we all came to the conclusion that Curitiba had one of the ugliest populations we’d seen to date. Ari went off to get a set of cards and when he returned we began to play rummy only to be told minutes into the game that playing cards was prohibited at the restaurant because it gave the impression that there was gambling going on. Just then behind us the crowd broke out into a sound which I had only since heard in middle school the taunting of a man attempting to convince a portly woman to eat an olive out of his hand. Check please! We went back to the hostel and Ari and I played backgammon in the park across the street. We quickly noticed that we were the only ones there who were not either smoking/rolling a joint, making out, or both. We got a cup of sugar cane juice. Ari and I walked around the shopping mall sipping on the cup and Ari convinced me to get an estimate on the price of Viagra for his Mexican co-worker. 12 dollars a pop! We got a mediocre but expensive dinner at the same mall, when we received a call from Mozar, a friend of one of my students. He invited us out that night to grab some drinks with two of his lady friends. We went back to the hostel and pre-gamed by shotgunning many a beer. (translation, we started getting drunk by poking a hole in a can of beer, popping the top and chugging the liquid out of the gaping hole.) We met up with the girls passing by hobos smoking crack in the street on the way to the bar. We had some laughs at the bar, after they closed we attempted to go to a gay friendly bar, but to no avail. Then we walked back to the girls’ apartment. It was more comfortable than any apartment I'd been to here in Brazil, which may have been facilitated by the fact they worked at Tok &Stok, the Brazilian IKEA. We remembered the election results may have been in and we checked on the outcome to be pleasantly surprised. We thought the Brazilians would have been keen to discuss the conclusion of the disputed historic election but they were too immersed in their country music DVD to even notice. We left the apartment but one of the Blond girls who Ari and I dubbed “The Joker” had made eyes at Thomas and we ended up ditching him. Ari tried to grab a few paintings as souvenirs but was caught in the act and had to return them. No hurt feelings. We left the apartment and Mozar ended dragging us around the empty town that evening looking for late night love. He convinced us to go to a seedy go-go club which included a drink. Ari got a great picture for his facebook profile. We eventually found our way home and Thomas was sound asleep with my computer turned on emanating the soft unmistakable sound of internet porn. We woke up the next day, at 11 AM for checkout and wondered if we had imagined that Obama truly won. We searched around for a sushi restaurant which the guidebook had recommended, resisting cheaper unhealthier alternatives along the way. We got some bento boxes and or a la carte buffet. After lunch we took the unique bus system of Curitiba to go and get our bus tickets to Rio leaving that evening. Thomas forced me to call my newfound friend Mozar to get the number of the blond girl from the night before. We got the number and went off to find where the Joker worked. As Thomas worked his magic Ari and I drank away our lonely misery. Thomas somehow set up a date with the girl and we went off to play pool to kill time before she got off work for the date. We went and played some pool and Thomas went off to meet his date and Ari and I went off to have our own romantic evening. We got some tapioca as the rain started to fall, and then found a unique local bar that served great pork roast sandwiches and the local delicacy of carne de onça, jaguar meat. (not really jaguar meat) it was basically uncooked raw beef served on an open slice of white bread topped off by sliced green onion. It was interesting. We went back to the hostel, collected our belongings and waited for Thomas to arrive. He arrived 15 minutes late with his hair out of place and a smirk on his face. We caught the bus with a little time to spare thanks to our hard of hearing taxi driver who was either messing with me or needed aids when he incorrectly repeated destinations after I told him where we wanted to go. We got on the road and left Curitiba but not before I saw the first corpse I'd ever seen in my life. The lifeless covered body of a pedestrian who had been hit by a car.

Curitiba

So this morning I woke up still extremely inebriated from last night's festivities. I threw a party for 200 reais. I had my student Tulião help me purchase what we needed. Meat and Booze. I had invited and planned for about 10 people to come. We got ready to start the party at around 7:00 PM. I quickly put all my friends to work. Thomas was making a mix for the party, Ari cleaned out the fridge, Tatiana made caiprinhas, Vinicius started the BBQ, and I simply mingled. We had a great turnout with about 20 people in attendance. I made a speech thanking everyone for attending but really had an ulterior motive of collecting money for the party. I received a total of 23 reais. The party continued until the security of the condominium kicked us out. The party continued from there to my friend Marcos' house. We dubbed Marcos an insurance salesman named Bob who was visiting from Ohio. We partied at Marcos' until late and then went back to the Condominium. Ari, Katherine and I continued drinking beers until late in the morning when the security once again asked us to shut up. We continued being obnoxious until I fell asleep on the bench outside of my apartment. Thomas came back early in the morning as he had met a young lady who Ari and I entitled a Bug's life. We got up the next morning still inebriated. We packed our stuff and called a taxi to take us to the bus station. We left the apartment like a bomb went off. I should have cleaned but I wasn't in the right mindset to really handle the cleaning. I forgot lots of things such as socks, boxers, and my battery charger. Shoot. We got to Curitiba and caught a cab to our hostel. The cab driver dropped us in the garage and the door had a sign hung on it that said glass door. I thought it was funny and I commented about it. We entered the lobby, Ari closed the door behind him and with a thunderous crash the door shattered into a million pieces. Our jaws dropped, we were speechless. I looked to the cab driver who was flabbergasted. It was the best entrance and we've decided that every hostel we go to from now on we have to break the door there as well. We got some dinner at a mediocre Mexican restaurant, played some pool after giving up looking for a place to watch the Redskins Monday night game and finally came home. We've been partying pretty hard so tonight we took it relatively easy.

The Gringos Arrived...

So long ago I hatched a plan to do this big trip around Brazil. I mentioned it to my friends Thomas and Ari and they expressed interest in coming. Weeks went by they dropped out and I started liking my job and I gave up on the trip. Months went by and they simultaneously wondered if it was too late to do the trip. I said no and we started making plans. The culmination of all those plans came together yesterday when I picked them up at the bus station.
I got back in from a refreshing bike ride and saw that I had received an e-mail from them saying that they'd been waiting at the bus station for my "booch ass". I hustled down there and there ensued a heartfelt reunion. We went back to my place I introduced them to my roommate Ramon, who remained relatively quiet, and my friend Peter who will resume my "lease" and job. Peter, Thomas and Ari hit it off quite well due to the English charm of my friend whom I met in Jundiaí.
We got some lunch at an all-you-can eat feijoada restaurant I frequent, however they didn't have feijoada. My friend Kathrin from Germany tagged along. After the filling lunch we caught the bus, and then another bus and then another bus all the way to a beach on the south of the Island called Armação. Armação was a former Whale Blubber processing plant. I'm not quite sure how one would go about processing blubber these days. From Armação we trekked along the beach called Matadeiros where I assume many of the whales were slaughtered. From there we hiked along a rocky trail to the secluded beach cove of Lagoinha do Leste. We marched along the trail being poked by plants and slipping down a well walked trail. We arrived at the beach and immediately plunged into the frosty water. The waves tossed around leaving our bodies purple from the forceful surf. We took a few shots for our upcoming 2009 Best of Silver Spring Hunks calendar and got dressed. Along the way to the exit trail we encountered dead penguin after dead penguin and even the impressive skeletal cage of a large fish of some sort. We meandered finding the trail exiting to the neighborhood of Pantanal do Sul. I received flack that I didn't know where I was going but my keen sense of direction eventually lead us to where we needed to go. The trail leaving the beach was much steeper, aerobic and direct. At the height of the trail we stopped at a miranda and too some more goofy pictures. We finally were spit out at the bottom of the trail and the mosquitos annihilated us.
We went to a legendary restaurant of the Island called Bar do Arante. Arante is some guy and this is his bar and restaurant. We ordered some beers and looked out upon the ocean as the sunset. We decided to get some fish dishes complimented by salad, rice, beans, pirão and lots more beer. They brought complimentary shots of cachaça, (Brazilian rum.) We got ourselves more beers by quizzing the waitstaff about world capitals. They in return quizzed us about Brazilian State capitals. It was a draw. Our waitress told us about the witchcraft legends of the island and the stories they inspired. We were given scraps of paper to leave our mark upon the massive collection of notes written and posted to the walls ceilings and any other spare spot available.

Thomas wrote
Dawg,
The Food Was Mad Good Dawg.
-Cooney

Katherin drew,



We took our elaborate system of buses back to my apartment as the wind started picking up. We showered up and got ready to hit the town. We were about to go to a college party but got word it was weak. So my friend invited us to go out to one of the biggest clubs in Floripa to dance the night away listening to thumping house music courtesy of a German DJ. We accepted, I braced the gang that my friend Marcos drives like a maniac and he did not disappoint. We all sighed with collective relief when we finally got to the club in one piece after many close calls along the way.
We danced, hit on girls and drank some beers. Most of us were rejected except for Marcos who escorted a young lady back home leaving us without a ride. We had to take a taxi back home and I fell asleep on the way. As I write this entry at 1:45 I'm the only one awake and they are loudly snoring.