The Amazon
The Amazon was one of those fantastic places that exceeded my expectations. You hear so many horror stories about people on discounted Amazonian tours (Really? That´s where you want to cut costs: In the jaguar, anaconda-infested jungle?), so I red-eyed in and out of Manaus, and booked the good booking to go into the Great Selva, hassle free. The way it worked at my lodge, each booking gets assigned one tour guide with a bit of overlap depending on when you arrive. I was assigned to Cristoval, and though he was still assigned to Barry when I arrived, and a family of four when I left, the ´overnight in the jungle´ part of it, I was alone. It didn´t occur to me that this was unusual until the family told me that when they were booking and feeling nervous about sleeping in the middle of the jungle, the Travel Agent told them, ¨You´re worried and there are four of you? There`s a girl out there right now, all alone!¨
Of course, once Cristoval and I were canoeing out to our campsite and I attempted to landmark our route, I realized how impossible it would be to ever chart my way back, especially at night. You start landmarking by memorizing things like "wobbly tree, with crook to the right of the fork", and then (being that it´s the Flooded Forest) you see a million other trees that look like that. There are anacondas slithering through the Flooded Forest, though you can´t see them as you paddle through the oil-slick black water. I said to Cristoval, " I hope you realize that if you get hurt out here, I`m going to be of no use to you! I have no idea how to get us back to civilization." I asked Cristoval if he was carrying the antidote on him for tarantula bites, and he told me they keep it back at the camp. What good is that? Sure, he can paddle back in an hour, but what about me?
Setting up camp was cool. Cristoval has his campsite set up with rudimentary forked and shaved wooden posts, for setting the tarp canopy and hanging the hammocks. He made spoons and spatulas by carving the bark off sticks, and we gathered huge leaves to use as plates. Despìte the fact that I had two caipirinhas at the campfire, I didn`t dare go to the bathroom once all night, as we could hear the jaguars crooning. When I asked Cristoval how far they were, his response was "far away" (which he later clarified as being 500 metres!) Actually, twenty years ago Cristoval`s Dad was in the jungle at dawn (6 am) cutting rubber trees, when a jaguar attacked and killed him. So I made sure I stayed mummified in mosquito netting and hammock until 7 am.
During our stay we went piranha fishing, sometimes setting long lines roped between two trees like a clothesline, with baited lines hanging down from the central line like pendants. Sometimes we just did free fishing, in a little enclave in the Flooded Forest. I was so anxious to catch a piranha, I tried and tried, improving my baiting and casting techniques daily, but, although I did kiss one, I never got to catch one. The bait for pirhana fishing is (believe it or not) raw chicken and beef. So for vegetarians who only eat fish...beware! You might actually be eating an entire cow. These pirhanas are smart; they know just how to nibble around the hook and despite my attempts to wait it and bait it, I was never able to snag one. Every single other guest at the lodge caught at least one, if not five, but I was like the Anti-Pirhana. Thankfully this aura also extended towards the mosquitoes as I didn´t get bitten once, though other people looked like they had the chicken pox. So, every evening before the sun set, we tossed the residual bait overboard. The fish must all have been spreading the word about the six p.m. buffet.
Cristoval was telling me about an extreme adventurist he took on a ten day Jungle Safari. She insisted on doing it Survivor-Style, eating only what they caught, so they had to do the whole Lord of the Flies thing to get food. They saw about ten jaguars, and they learned to sleep high in the trees (she had to learn to pee standing up, from the fork in a tree.) Not the vacation for me! Another couple of French girls went on a tour with a fly-by-night guide who got them lost in the forest for six days and five nights, before they were randomly found by a hunter. Their feet were completely swollen and they were bitten to bits by the time they were found.
Another danger of the Amazon are the huge tarantulas which tiptoe about at night. We went on a day walk and Cristoval coaxed one out of its cave with his stick. I wasn´t expecting to see something so huge and furry, like the Yeti´s knuckles, creep out of the earth. Suffice it to say the Amazons deserve their reputation for being fiercely brave (that and the fact that they succumb to full body hair removal once every 15 days, something I tried once and will never ever repeat!)
Rocinha and the Favelas
One fascinating aspect about Brazil are the favelas. These are huge shanty towns whose houses shingle the hills of Rio. They say that 20% of the population of Rio live in these favelas, and Rocinha is one of the biggest of the 750 favelas in Rio. It was featured in the movie "Ciudad de Dios" with actual residents from the favela appearing in the movie. Though a large aspect of the favela is crowded, dirty and poor, it still hosts a network of fast food, cyber cafes, banks, cable services, pharmacies, and electronics shops in addition to the huge drug trade. The number of inhabitants in Rocinho is somewhere between 60 and 160 million inhabitants. The narcotrafficantes operate out of a "boca de fumo" where they not only sell drugs to the locals but to the rich and wealthy inhabitants of Sao Corrado and la Barra da Tijuca. There was a big bust on the drug trade in the favelas recently, (which some people who live in the favelas say was ´´all show and no go") because the traffickers were using kids as messengers, drugs and arms carriers and between 1979 and 1989, the number of children killed by small arms fire increased 306%. That said, most of the members of the gangs are under twenty and the favela lords are about thirty. Even the youngest and lowest ranking favela members (between 12-16) earn about five times Brazil`s minimum wage (260 Rand or $162/month), so you can see why the trafficking continues.
Sexto, Sabado, Domingo
Despite Rio´s repute for being ´the marvelous city´, it also doesn´t have a lot going on during the week. I arrived pre-Carnaval and expected to see some rehearsals or pre-party parades. Though I did stumble into one parade in the Botafogo by fluke, I spent one night wild goose chasing on foot, on the subway, and in taxicabs in the rain, trying to find a parade or dress rehearsal in the Sambodromo. The refrain that kept getting parrotted to me was, "Sexto, Sabado, Domingo" (Friday, Saturday, Sunday), so if you arrive on an idle Tuesday, even at Carnaval time, I guess you`re out of luck. I finally asked the taxi driver to just drop me off at a good restaurant nearby, and he dropped me off at...McDonald´s.
Saudade
The Brazilians have this thing called ´saudade´ which, according to the guide books, is something particular to Brazilians and Brazilian culture. I once tried to translate it as "I miss" or "nostalgia" but got quickly corrected by Nem, who insists there doesn´t exist such a thing in English. Since the Brazilians are for the most part indominatable optimists, I guess it´s the closest they get to ever being depressed. I will say though that with the American music that got played in Brazil while I was there, I was feeling saudade. Saudade of the DeVinyls and Bizarre Love Triangle.
Brazilian Telenovelas
I didn´t really get to tune in while I was in Brazil, but they are infamous programming in Brazil. They run more like American mini-series, ending after about 6 months, but the plots are untoppable. There´s one that´s called Caminho das Indias (Indians´Road) which combines Indian characters´ emotional dramas in Brazil with the Taj Mahal tossed in. The telenovelas deal with issues such as land reform, the peasants´ movement, homosexuality, AIDS, and gun violence.
Uruguay
Uruguay for the long weekend. Gonna miss that. Funnily enough, when I was staying in Buenos Aires, jumping a ferry across the water to Colonia took the same amount of time as Catamaraning between Morro de Sao Paolo and Salvador during Carnaval in Brazil. When the hip and hype of Buenos Aires get to be too much, taking it down a notch in Uruguay is just the right dose of cure.
Colonia was a very chill little place where you could sit on a patio and mull with a beer and Chivito, one of these famous sandwiches crammed with Canadian loin, tomatoes, mayonnaise, peppers, onions and french fries. All the world carts around a thermos with a mate for their famous tea, to ward off the cold, and local bars play condombe music and serve amazing steaks. The people are very friendly. A little old man at this little diner called ´The Club` saw me pouring over my map, Pilsen in hand, and invited me to an asado with his entire family. He took me on a guided tour of the Rambla, and I think he saluted almost every person we met, by name.
Monte Video was a little different, and a little dead on the weekend, ironically. They do however have this crazy street market which overtakes an entire grid of streets, and sells everything from action figures, to aprons, brass numbers to brass instruments. There was even one stall selling an eclectic menagerie of electric fans, blender components, telephones, nunchuks and baseball bats. One stop shopping for inquisitioners and hitmen. When I was heading back from Montevideo to Colonia, I had to get to the busstop and had pre-ordered a cab. However, the concierge at my wallpaper-covered hotel informed me that the taxi drivers had spontaneously declared a strike. When I asked why he told me it was because a taxi driver had just been shot (In broad daylight. By a drug addict.) So, not so quiet on the weekend after all. I was happy to get back to Colonia, where you wait an hour to be served at any cafe, another hour to get the bill, and thus spend the entire afternoon people watching.
Such is the pace of Latin American living. I like.
The Amazon was one of those fantastic places that exceeded my expectations. You hear so many horror stories about people on discounted Amazonian tours (Really? That´s where you want to cut costs: In the jaguar, anaconda-infested jungle?), so I red-eyed in and out of Manaus, and booked the good booking to go into the Great Selva, hassle free. The way it worked at my lodge, each booking gets assigned one tour guide with a bit of overlap depending on when you arrive. I was assigned to Cristoval, and though he was still assigned to Barry when I arrived, and a family of four when I left, the ´overnight in the jungle´ part of it, I was alone. It didn´t occur to me that this was unusual until the family told me that when they were booking and feeling nervous about sleeping in the middle of the jungle, the Travel Agent told them, ¨You´re worried and there are four of you? There`s a girl out there right now, all alone!¨
Of course, once Cristoval and I were canoeing out to our campsite and I attempted to landmark our route, I realized how impossible it would be to ever chart my way back, especially at night. You start landmarking by memorizing things like "wobbly tree, with crook to the right of the fork", and then (being that it´s the Flooded Forest) you see a million other trees that look like that. There are anacondas slithering through the Flooded Forest, though you can´t see them as you paddle through the oil-slick black water. I said to Cristoval, " I hope you realize that if you get hurt out here, I`m going to be of no use to you! I have no idea how to get us back to civilization." I asked Cristoval if he was carrying the antidote on him for tarantula bites, and he told me they keep it back at the camp. What good is that? Sure, he can paddle back in an hour, but what about me?
Setting up camp was cool. Cristoval has his campsite set up with rudimentary forked and shaved wooden posts, for setting the tarp canopy and hanging the hammocks. He made spoons and spatulas by carving the bark off sticks, and we gathered huge leaves to use as plates. Despìte the fact that I had two caipirinhas at the campfire, I didn`t dare go to the bathroom once all night, as we could hear the jaguars crooning. When I asked Cristoval how far they were, his response was "far away" (which he later clarified as being 500 metres!) Actually, twenty years ago Cristoval`s Dad was in the jungle at dawn (6 am) cutting rubber trees, when a jaguar attacked and killed him. So I made sure I stayed mummified in mosquito netting and hammock until 7 am.
During our stay we went piranha fishing, sometimes setting long lines roped between two trees like a clothesline, with baited lines hanging down from the central line like pendants. Sometimes we just did free fishing, in a little enclave in the Flooded Forest. I was so anxious to catch a piranha, I tried and tried, improving my baiting and casting techniques daily, but, although I did kiss one, I never got to catch one. The bait for pirhana fishing is (believe it or not) raw chicken and beef. So for vegetarians who only eat fish...beware! You might actually be eating an entire cow. These pirhanas are smart; they know just how to nibble around the hook and despite my attempts to wait it and bait it, I was never able to snag one. Every single other guest at the lodge caught at least one, if not five, but I was like the Anti-Pirhana. Thankfully this aura also extended towards the mosquitoes as I didn´t get bitten once, though other people looked like they had the chicken pox. So, every evening before the sun set, we tossed the residual bait overboard. The fish must all have been spreading the word about the six p.m. buffet.
Cristoval was telling me about an extreme adventurist he took on a ten day Jungle Safari. She insisted on doing it Survivor-Style, eating only what they caught, so they had to do the whole Lord of the Flies thing to get food. They saw about ten jaguars, and they learned to sleep high in the trees (she had to learn to pee standing up, from the fork in a tree.) Not the vacation for me! Another couple of French girls went on a tour with a fly-by-night guide who got them lost in the forest for six days and five nights, before they were randomly found by a hunter. Their feet were completely swollen and they were bitten to bits by the time they were found.
Another danger of the Amazon are the huge tarantulas which tiptoe about at night. We went on a day walk and Cristoval coaxed one out of its cave with his stick. I wasn´t expecting to see something so huge and furry, like the Yeti´s knuckles, creep out of the earth. Suffice it to say the Amazons deserve their reputation for being fiercely brave (that and the fact that they succumb to full body hair removal once every 15 days, something I tried once and will never ever repeat!)
Rocinha and the Favelas
One fascinating aspect about Brazil are the favelas. These are huge shanty towns whose houses shingle the hills of Rio. They say that 20% of the population of Rio live in these favelas, and Rocinha is one of the biggest of the 750 favelas in Rio. It was featured in the movie "Ciudad de Dios" with actual residents from the favela appearing in the movie. Though a large aspect of the favela is crowded, dirty and poor, it still hosts a network of fast food, cyber cafes, banks, cable services, pharmacies, and electronics shops in addition to the huge drug trade. The number of inhabitants in Rocinho is somewhere between 60 and 160 million inhabitants. The narcotrafficantes operate out of a "boca de fumo" where they not only sell drugs to the locals but to the rich and wealthy inhabitants of Sao Corrado and la Barra da Tijuca. There was a big bust on the drug trade in the favelas recently, (which some people who live in the favelas say was ´´all show and no go") because the traffickers were using kids as messengers, drugs and arms carriers and between 1979 and 1989, the number of children killed by small arms fire increased 306%. That said, most of the members of the gangs are under twenty and the favela lords are about thirty. Even the youngest and lowest ranking favela members (between 12-16) earn about five times Brazil`s minimum wage (260 Rand or $162/month), so you can see why the trafficking continues.
What you see now when you go to Rocinha are the new sports complex with pool, and a Smarties coloured housing complex with secure playyard bookending the simple, ramshackle structures with split cement walkways, broken CDs and used condoms littering the pavement.
It´s an oxymoronic place with cozy houses, tiled, with running water, beside rusting corrugated structures with dripping roofs. The telephone posts are nested with wires that people have snipped and rearranged to augment their access. We arrived up the mountain by motorcycle, and as we climbed up the streets were rewarded with a spectacular view of Rio, forests and beach and city. Though the poverty seems extreme, one woman was apparently not even willing to sell her house for a million dollars, because she loves the view.
On the tour I was on, we walked past an unsmiling guy holding an AK 47, while barefoot children raced underfoot of vendors carting produce through the streets.The favelas are run paramilitary-style. Jorge Selaron, a Chilean artist who tiled an entire staircase with tiles from all over the world (I bought one of his paintings!), sums up the rules of the favela like this: The art of living in the slum: no one steals, no one hears, nothing`s lost, dictate those who can, obey those who are wise.
Some of the things that are not permissible in the favelas (and are controlled by a quid-pro-quo system of juistice) are theft within the community, physical fighting between residents, rape, sexual abuse of children, wife beating, speaking to police and owning a gun without informing the local traffickers.
Sexto, Sabado, Domingo
Despite Rio´s repute for being ´the marvelous city´, it also doesn´t have a lot going on during the week. I arrived pre-Carnaval and expected to see some rehearsals or pre-party parades. Though I did stumble into one parade in the Botafogo by fluke, I spent one night wild goose chasing on foot, on the subway, and in taxicabs in the rain, trying to find a parade or dress rehearsal in the Sambodromo. The refrain that kept getting parrotted to me was, "Sexto, Sabado, Domingo" (Friday, Saturday, Sunday), so if you arrive on an idle Tuesday, even at Carnaval time, I guess you`re out of luck. I finally asked the taxi driver to just drop me off at a good restaurant nearby, and he dropped me off at...McDonald´s.
Saudade
The Brazilians have this thing called ´saudade´ which, according to the guide books, is something particular to Brazilians and Brazilian culture. I once tried to translate it as "I miss" or "nostalgia" but got quickly corrected by Nem, who insists there doesn´t exist such a thing in English. Since the Brazilians are for the most part indominatable optimists, I guess it´s the closest they get to ever being depressed. I will say though that with the American music that got played in Brazil while I was there, I was feeling saudade. Saudade of the DeVinyls and Bizarre Love Triangle.
Brazilian Telenovelas
I didn´t really get to tune in while I was in Brazil, but they are infamous programming in Brazil. They run more like American mini-series, ending after about 6 months, but the plots are untoppable. There´s one that´s called Caminho das Indias (Indians´Road) which combines Indian characters´ emotional dramas in Brazil with the Taj Mahal tossed in. The telenovelas deal with issues such as land reform, the peasants´ movement, homosexuality, AIDS, and gun violence.
Uruguay
Uruguay for the long weekend. Gonna miss that. Funnily enough, when I was staying in Buenos Aires, jumping a ferry across the water to Colonia took the same amount of time as Catamaraning between Morro de Sao Paolo and Salvador during Carnaval in Brazil. When the hip and hype of Buenos Aires get to be too much, taking it down a notch in Uruguay is just the right dose of cure.
Colonia was a very chill little place where you could sit on a patio and mull with a beer and Chivito, one of these famous sandwiches crammed with Canadian loin, tomatoes, mayonnaise, peppers, onions and french fries. All the world carts around a thermos with a mate for their famous tea, to ward off the cold, and local bars play condombe music and serve amazing steaks. The people are very friendly. A little old man at this little diner called ´The Club` saw me pouring over my map, Pilsen in hand, and invited me to an asado with his entire family. He took me on a guided tour of the Rambla, and I think he saluted almost every person we met, by name.
Monte Video was a little different, and a little dead on the weekend, ironically. They do however have this crazy street market which overtakes an entire grid of streets, and sells everything from action figures, to aprons, brass numbers to brass instruments. There was even one stall selling an eclectic menagerie of electric fans, blender components, telephones, nunchuks and baseball bats. One stop shopping for inquisitioners and hitmen. When I was heading back from Montevideo to Colonia, I had to get to the busstop and had pre-ordered a cab. However, the concierge at my wallpaper-covered hotel informed me that the taxi drivers had spontaneously declared a strike. When I asked why he told me it was because a taxi driver had just been shot (In broad daylight. By a drug addict.) So, not so quiet on the weekend after all. I was happy to get back to Colonia, where you wait an hour to be served at any cafe, another hour to get the bill, and thus spend the entire afternoon people watching.
Such is the pace of Latin American living. I like.
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