Days Four/Five/Six

Three-in-one: because Day 5 was kinda meh and I don’t want to spend a whole blog writing about it, and Day 6, today, is completely a travel day. (I finish this on a seven-hour bus, en route to a plane to Ilhéus, where, if we’re lucky, our beach chalet proprietor will still be present to let us in when we arrive at 8 PM.) Let’s go back to Day 4… 

I'm writing this in: a hammock on a covered patio. At night. The rain is pouring down on the roof over my head. A group of Brazilian friends drinking beer and playing cards are talking animatedly at the table across the courtyard, and a quieter contingency is examining the map on the wall. Matt is trying to upload pictures on a bench next to me, but his computer is about to die. The resident tortoises are in hiding, and the wet foliage under the jambó tree is glistening in the lantern light.

And I am sore. Or at least, I think I will be tomorrow. I’m resisting the lull of the hammock, fighting off the sleep I need, to write this up because WOW did a lot happen today! We went spelunking! We went cave snorkeling! We climbed a high mountain with a 360 degree view of this enormous national park! We made friends with Brazilians! We dipped our toes in a rushing, rust-colored river, 

...we ate delicious food, and took plenty of photos of all of the above.

Me at the entrance to Lapa Doce

We woke up this morning at 7:30 AM (that’s 3:30 AM to you, California friends). It was pretty miserable, but we were promised the Best Breakfast in Brazil at this guesthouse, and we were being picked up for our day’s adventures by our guide at 8:30, and we weren’t going to miss anything. The breakfast WAS pretty spectacular, and there was not TOO much I could not eat. Only one egg dish and one little plate with some kind of sausage…everything else was breads and oat bars, granola and fruit salad, squash cakes and tapioca, guacamole and tiny fresh tortillas, sweet potato with coconut, incredible French-press coffee from the plantation just over the hill, and whatever else I don’t even know. Things made of various flours with various spices. Baked apples with cardamom. Etc. Alcino, our proprietor, has a staff of two ladies who work on the following day’s breakfast all day long. Jimmy Page has stayed here on multiple occasions and marveled over this breakfast. See?

Matt at the bottom of the climb down to Lapa Doce

We ate under a roof in the courtyard (where the Brazilians are now reveling in their card game), gray mist all around us. Mist so gray that, unfortunately, our guide told us that rather than doing the scheduled swamp tour, we were going to do an alternate itinerary. Turns out, this schedule was not so much for beginners as the other---there was to be a LOT of uphill climbing (and thus, downhill climbing). Climbing is scary for me—I get anxious about falling, and I have terrible knees that creak and groan their protest all the way. But climb I would do, since it was required in order to do anything worth doing here.

Heading deeper inside the cave...

Our first stop was Gruta de Lapa Doce, an incredibly impressive and enormous cave, the likes of which I have never before spelunked in my life. (spell check says “spelunk” is okay, but “spelunked” is not. So HOW DO YOU SAY THAT?? “The likes of which I have never gone spelunking in before in my life”???? That’s just clunky and unnecessary.) The array of stalactites and stalagmites was incredible (shaped like: a nativity, an umbrella, an owl, a “tit” and Bob Marley, among other things), and the sheer enormity of the cave made me feel like I was walking in some kind of magic tunnel of air deep on the floor of the ocean. We all had flashlights, and I loved shining mine directly overhead at all of the swirls, imagining the water that carved this magnificence however many millions of years ago. One stalagmite even looked like a giant jellyfish!

Huge jellyfish!

At one point the guide had us all sit and turn off our lights so we could sit in total darkness and silence. I started to have really deep thoughts about being in the womb of Mother Earth et al, when the other group behind us started closing in, their flashlight beams slipping through the cracks…oh, the joys of the guided tour. Get in and get out, $20 each, please. Still, it was one of the most unbelievable experiences I’ve had in Brazil so far. I won’t say it defies my abilities as a writer, but it would certainly take longer to do it justice than I’m going to give this blog. I have a lot of ground to cover here, folks.

Next we went to Pratinha, where we had a chance to go cave snorkeling…this was REALLY cool, as we got to swim under a really low cave ceiling into a series of large chambers, guided only by our waterproof flashlights. (Well, and our guide.) There were bats trying to sleep, including one adorable family of four all huddled together, collectively reviling the light we were shining on them, the poor things. The water was crystal clear, but at one point the bottom disappeared under the beam of our lights and the guide explained that the water there was either 150 feet deep, or deep beyond measure, depending on mine or Matt’s interpretation of his Portuguese. Still, it was really cool/creepy. Again, we turned off our flashlights for a dark moment of silence, which was probably even cooler—just floating in water, deep in a dark cave.

Pratinha entrance

When we swam out, we snorkeled a little in a sheltered area with some fish and greenery, and then hopped out for lunch, which by that point (did I mention there was a lot of climbing in addition to the walking and swimming?) felt very well earned.

Buffet lunches here in Brazil are common, and are sold by weight. In a lot of the country, if you want to eat total vegetarian, you will be living on white rice and salad, but this buffet was a vegetarian delight…potatoes, some unknown green vegetable (maybe cactus), pumpkin and summer squash, rice, beans, arugula (again!), chickpea and potato salad. We stuffed ourselves silly.

We chatted some more with the Brazilian couple, Irena and Sandro, who were sharing our guide, Roger, with us. They were from Salvador, a little older than us, and we had a lot in common. They were also a second marriage couple with a son (his) from the first marriage. They also loved and owned cats. We shared photos via iPhone. They spoke decent English, being a lawyer and professor, and were really good company—very helpful with translating for us, but not treating us like stupid Americans—they seemed to understand that we wanted to respect the country and language, and felt free to speak to the guide in Portuguese and translate the gist of it afterwards, which we actually really appreciated.

After lunch, we took a little walk down to the water’s edge where there is a swimming area, and rested for 45 minutes or so before walking down to yet another cave for yet more pictures, before driving to yet another wondrous marvel of natural beauty and mystery.

We stopped at this beautiful area before our final stop to climb the Big One—Pai Inacio.

 There was a rainbow! See?

Then: The Climb. Please don’t cue Miley Cyrus, as much as I want to. Okay, so I just cued Miley Cyrus. God, she’s annoying.

So when we pulled up, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. I was thinking this might be one of those times I was going to have to lose, you know? It looked really rocky and steep, and my poor Robbins knees were so sore and crackly-creaky after the day already. But…it was The Climb. It was the Main Thing to do at Chapada Diamantina. If I couldn’t do it, I was going to feel like I was 90, 60 years ahead of schedule.

So I climbed. And climbed. And climbed. It was scary, I’m not going to lie. The seemingly inevitable fall would have been long and probably fatal. (Though, come to find out there has only been one fatal accident in the history of the park. Come here and you’ll find that as unbelievable as I do.) More deep thoughts about the nature of life, and how we’re all climbing slippery rocks on the edge of a thousand foot precipice every day, whether its visible or not (and it’s usually not—more on this later). And then we had made it! Picture/video  time again, because again, there are no words (that I have time to write).

Second day in Lençóis: every honeymoon, I think, has to have one bum day and I think I would count this one as ours. Sure, we lost a day in Brazil due to the missed connection, but we were stuck in Miami Beach! I can’t cry too much about that. I count it a sweet surprise. But this day… so remember the rain I started writing this in? It turned out to be so much hard rain that Roger again canceled the swamp trip and instead hauled us way the heck out to these caves that you usually only go to on overnight trips. I won’t linger too much on this day because there is not a lot I want to remember about it.

We spent a LOT of hours driving. We spent about 25 minutes total seeing really cool caves, Poço Encantado being the especially impressive one, Poço Azul being the really, really cold one to swim in and the scariest downward climb yet. I learned to play Bad Piggies and lamented not bringing a book; began Jane Eyre yet again, which Matt thankfully had on his iPhone Kindle. Roger didn’t make enough bathroom stops before bumping down a dirt road for half an hour, resulting in considerable discomfort. I got mad. Both caves had large groups before us, resulting in more waiting. I got cranky. I considered having Roger fired, except I don’t think he works for anyone but himself, which made me even crankier, since, upon calculating his paycheck, he probably makes at least as much as an entry-level lawyer.

But: Poço Encantado is really a sight to see:

 
This dog was incredibly sweet and loving.

Our fancy dinner back in Lençóis consisted of the best ravioli I have ever tasted in my life, and the wine glasses were filled to the top, much like my life in general.

Me with Salsicha

Also, when we got back to Alcino’s for the night, his little cat, Salsicha, made friends with us. We later discovered she was deaf, which explains why, though very sweet, she never seemed quite certain about her decisions. I can’t imagine an animal life, so dependent on the senses, without one of them. She startled easily, and seemed always on guard against the next thing that might frighten her. So we were charmed that she took such a liking to us—she followed us up the stairs to our room, where we coaxed her in and she curled up between us in bed as we lay reading. It was very homey and cozy.

Last Day in Lençóis, or: When You Get To The Edge of the Cliff, You Jump, Damn It. To neatly put a bow on our experience here in Lençóis, on our last full day we ditched the guide and hiked ourselves over the mountain to another river, where there is a natural rock waterslide.




We were hoping to give it a try ourselves, but as the sky was gray and the water freezing (and having decided to get in anyway the day before, much to our later regret), we decided against it. So we relaxed on the rocks instead, enjoying the view with our books and a paltry picnic lunch of yesterday’s leftovers.

There was a Brazilian family, however, living it up out in the water. After a few turns down the slide, they turned to a small cliff which, as one of the men proved by example, was perfectly safe to jump from. A young boy, maybe ten years old, climbed to the top of the cliff as we watched. He went to the edge, looked down dubiously as his family cheered him on, and over the course of the next fifteen minutes, thoroughly psyched himself out.

Then he sat down. “Oh, he’s not going to do it now,” Matt said. “The window has closed. He’s talked himself out of it.” I agreed. This has been my experience as well. When people spend too much time deciding whether or not to do something, they usually don’t end up doing it. I felt this sadness for the kid; I had gotten the sense of watching a boy standing on the precipice of manhood and opting out. His cousin climbed up and jumped, his uncle climbed up and jumped again. His dad was cheering him on, his mom stood with the camera in wait.

Then, when it became evident that he really was not going to jump, something really awesome happened. His mom put down the camera, stripped down to her bathing suit, and climbed the rock. After sitting there with him for another twenty minutes or so, she stood up, looked down doubtfully, but ultimately: jumped.

She surfaced, swam out, rejoined the boy’s father and both continued their efforts at cheering him down. Not two full minutes later, the boy stood, went back on the rock in order to get a running start, visibly psyched himself up for a few seconds and: ran. Jumped.

Of course we onlookers couldn’t help cheering and clapping along with his family; it felt as much the entire gathered community’s victory as it was the boy’s. His parents looked across the water at all of us cheering and waved in victory and relief.

Why was the outcome so different from what Matt and I predicted? Probably, I realized, because we are so very American. American parents have some pretty excellent advantages in their arsenals, which we should all be grateful for. But cheering their ten-year-olds to jump from rocky cliffs into dark and rushing river water below? Not so much a strength of ours. “He’ll do it when he’s ready,” we tell ourselves, secretly hoping he will actually never want to do something so dangerous in a world where, preposterously, children can and sometimes do die.

But these parents didn’t only encourage their son—it was evident that they considered it their responsibility to support him all the way through this. They knew what we like to ignore—that we are always standing on the edge of a rocky cliff with uncertain footholds and slippery rocks. Illusions of safety—helmets, fences, seatbelts, harnesses, cars—are just that. Illusions. Life is full of cliffs to jump from, and they are usually the kind you can’t actually see. I know far too many people who were never taught to take a deep breath, run, and jump off the damn cliff.

As I progress further into adulthood (which is weird to say), I know to be incredibly thankful for having a mother who ran and jumped off cliffs and showed me how to do it. It’s so much easier to get in the habit of doing scary things before you start cementing into yourself in your thirties. I continue to reap the benefits from the big, scary choices I made as a college kid. They shaped me and made me fearless. I know that when you get to the edge of the cliff, you jump, because the only way forward is down.

Because (and this song literally just came on the radio on the bus): baby, there ain’t no mountain high enough, there ain’t no valley low enough, there ain’t no river wide enough, to keep you from getting to yourself.

So, these three days were scary and intense, and every night I had bad dreams from the anxiety and my knees hurt and also I’ve had an awful cold sore on my lip and can’t even kiss my husband (on top of having to make a fool of myself in a Brazilian farmacia, trying to describe my need in Portuguese). But I would never undo these days. They were a vital part of this experience, and a vital reminder at the beginning of our marriage.

Still—I’m ready for the beach now.

(Matt wants me to add something about Brazilian Time, but I am too tired so here: Matt Speaks!)

A word about “Brazilian time.” The guidebooks mention it, but nothing can fully prepare you for its pervasiveness, or the radically altered state of mind that it demands.  As valiantly as you’ve tried to relinquish your gringo uptightness, it’s awfully hard when your bus, on which the rest of your trip is utterly contingent, is leaving at 7:30, and your driver (self-appointed after he happened to be hanging around your pousada flirting with the staff when you checked in) has promised to show up at 7:20 to get you to the station, and at 7:15 as you are importuning your host for the second time to let you settle up and check out he is still mildly insisting that you sit and eat, and you’re not even entirely sure what you’re settling up for since by now there have been several services casually rendered (by several vendors) with no apparent concern about when or how you’ll pay, and at 7:23 as you’re finally checking out and wringing your hands and he’s throwing in a bag of coffee for free, he mumbles something by way of amused placation about how it’s market day and nothing runs on time anyway, and at 7:31 your driver finally shows up and you schlep your stuff across town and throw some money at him which, after briefly refusing, he accepts with a shrug, and the bus leaves mere seconds after getting your suitcases loaded. As for tonight, will you get to your hotel on time? Will anyone be there to greet you? Will they have any record of you staying there? I don’t know, but by now I have an uneasy faith in the probability that things – even if they’re not quite the things you had in mind – will turn out OK.

The Brazilians have mastered a way of being in constant, mutual flux, adapting rhythmically to each other in the moment; you can hear it in the friendly tootling of car horns and the casual squeal of brakes on every thoroughfare. It’s valuable medicine for us Americans with our delusions of order and independence, our fantasies of eliminating every threat and inconvenience. A few more weeks here, and who knows? Brazilian time might even start to feel pretty comfortable.

Brazilians even go to church on their own time. Which may be why services are several hours long.

Day Three!

I am now a day behind on account of lack of internet access out here in the Brazilian wild of Chapada Diamantina National Park, but maybe that’s for the best. These blogs take a long time! It’s really worth it though, to have this record of our time spent here.

I thought that today, mostly being  counted in my head as a ‘travel day,’ would not be much to report, but I was wrong about that. Today was an unexpected delight. We made ourselves wake up early-ish (before 9, which hey, is before 5 California time!) so that we could beat jet lag for good, eat the hotel breakfast, and also so we would have time to visit the extremely gilded church of Sao Francisco. It was ornate. It was gold. There were many semi-frightening carved figures. This is a case where a picture says a thousand words etc. so here you go…feast your eyes upon this awesome/creepy Catholicness!

Creepy!

Awesome!

Adieus, Salvador!

Then it was back to the hotel and pack up to be in a taxi on our way to the airport by 11:30. We were heading to Chapada Diamantina - Lencois, and flights are only twice a week, so missing the plane would be disastrous. Our taxi driver reported back to headquarters via com that we did not speak Portuguese. I think the most novel thing about this trip is how very surprised people seem to see Americans. There really are not a lot here, people don’t speak much English, and it’s not Europe or Mexico where they see white people in sneakers and assume ‘Americans’.  We have heard many guesses (German? Argentinian?) and experienced all kinds of delighted reactions when folks find out we are from the USA.

Hotel pool, I hardly knew you.

“Oh, it is my dream to go to USA! I teach myself English because of, you know, I grew up with American media here,” an enthusiastic young man informed us as he rang up our souvenirs. “But oh, man, I would love to really go to America! To California, no?!” (It’s kind of nice not to be sneered at for once simply by virtue—or perceived lack thereof—of being born American.)

Anyway, our non-English speaking driver seemed to get the go-ahead to drive us two non-Portuguese speakers to the airport. We were a little nervous because we got a late start, but the worry turned out to be unwarranted. In addition to another fine example of go-or-die Brazilian driving (a language of horn-honking seems to be a natural extension of Portuguese; short taps and long leans communicate a la morse code)—the airport? As behind schedule as Brazil itself. Our flight was 10, 20, 30, 40 minutes late, the “ultima chamada” (last call) was on the screen before anyone had boarded at all, and chaos ensued. We were entertained by an adorable 3-year old boy who was delighted when a stranger provided him with a toy Lego knight.

Bom, ola la! Estalagem Alcino!

After an uneventful flight we were escorted to Estalagem Alcino, our guest house, by a rugged outdoorsy guy whom I was not surprised to learn works for one of the many tour companies here in Chapada Diamantina. He spoke English and told us about the adventures he’d had living for several months on the west coast of America, and mapped out our three days in Chapada for us, all within the space of the 25 minutes or so it took to get from the airport to Estalagem Alcino.

However, upon arrival, we met yet another guide who apparently works closely with Alcino, our host, and were told to ignore the other guide and go with him. We were like ‘whatever, man,’ because obviously competition around here is stiff so we will go with whomever our resident proprietor endorses. It also seemed like our driver worked for a company that does adventure tours that we may not be quite fit enough to comfortably complete, especially with my bad knees, so we are all set for an easy hiking and swimming day tomorrow, Chapada Diamantina for beginners, kind of.

Catching our breath in room #2 of the trip

Anyway, we were installed in our room by 4 o’clock and eager to check out the town of Lencois in this laid back free evening on our hands. We strolled hand-in-hand like a pair of honeymooners down a serene village street (a relief after the pedestrian warfare on the streets of Salvador), across a stone bridge over the creek and into the most charming neighborhood I have encountered since my days in Sevilla (where I favored the laid-back Triana barrio). More uneven stone roads, adorable restaurants, and open-front shops: gifts, groceries, produce, bakeries, bars (one tiny bar was dimly lit save an electric disco ball which flashed over the red plastic chairs), internet cafes. Here is one gorgeous storefront:

Downtown Lencois

We were starving, so before we explored all of this we had dinner at a lovely place with brags (in English) of its ‘slow food’ menu, which was indeed filled with surprisingly delightful choices. After Salvador’s underwhelming cuisine we are excited that this area, heavily influenced by ecotourism and environmentalists, has a better understanding of the existence of vegetarians. The waitress knowingly reassured us that she could make our pad thai without prawns. What the pad thai DID come with, though, were these mysterious nuts that looked and tasted just like tiny coconuts—they must have been some kind of palm fruit, but I ate them all so it was hard to ask and get a clear answer. We also had sweet potato gnocchi with pesto; both dishes were sublime. We left the plates completely clean. (By the way, who should approach to share our meal with us, but yet another friendly small black cat.)

MORE different cat!!

There is a village main market area, which is covered and had a few gift booths, but was mostly cleared and contained the local youth capoeira dance school students, putting on a show for the tourists.

At this point I pretty much died of cuteness and it’s inexplicable how I’m even writing this now. Again, this defies my powers of description. We took a video of the tiniest student showing off his skills, which really should not be missed. Look up some real capoeira on YouTube for maximum enjoyment, and then click here for our video. 

After that heart-melting display, we took another turn around the neighborhood, venturing out a little further. We ended up circling around back towards the center right where the capoeira kids, dashing back to their studio, were crossing the street, yelling and laughing and shoving each other all the way. A teenage girl was also kissing her boyfriend goodnight in front of her house.  “This is so quaint I’m going to die,” I said. Instead, I got a snack and we enjoyed the cozy crowd ambiance at the most popular pizza and crepe spot in town. (They had arugula salad! We have never been more excited to taste arugula, and I’m sorry if that makes me sound as elitist as Barack Obama circa 2008.)

At 'Cozinha Aberta,' gourmet slow food.

A note: every single table we have sat at in Brazil has been crooked. I mean, like, not the table, but the surface it has been upon. It’s bad enough that we have to put effort into keeping things from rolling off the table. Granted, we have eaten outside for every meal but one, but all tables have been on rocky, wacky road hills.

Enjoying the rainbow hammock before bed

Then we were tired and I wanted to write this before bed, so here we are back in our cozy room where I am prepared to very much enjoy my night’s sleep before tomorrow’s adventures. And with that, though you won’t be reading this until tomorrow at the earliest, boa noite. (Bo-a noy-chee. Told you Portuguese isn’t just Spanish. These nutty people.)

Day Two

Morning Noon from our window.

Today we slept later than we’d planned. Still, getting up at 11 after 2 weeks in California was like getting up at 7, so that’s not too bad! 

We woke up feeling like we’d slept both too much and not enough, so went out again in search of a delicious Brazilian espresso cure-all (tastes like liquid dark chocolate; so addictive!). We found both the coffee and an early lunch at a sweet little natural foods restaurant just a few blocks from here.

Surveying Salvador on the morning noon walk.

            A worker, seeing us closely inspecting the food, came up to us and asked “Vegetarian?” We told her “sim,” and she proceeded to point out all of the available vegetarian dishes (including ‘fishtables,’ bless her soul). We had a nice meal of tabouli, corn, potatoes, veggies, etc. and enjoyed the sun and breeze from the second story window. Seriously, the weather here is the kind of not-hot,-not cold that just makes you want to nap outdoors all day long. The breeze on your skin is ridiculous. Like Mother Earth is kissing you all over.

            Afterwards, we meandered back to one of the main square areas near our hotel and realized that the cardboard cutout Michael Jackson we’d been chuckling at yesterday was actually significant—we were standing on the very site where Jacko had filmed his 1996 video for 'They Don't Really Care About Us'. (Watch it; the entire video was filmed one block away from our hotel, and nothing at all has changed.)

So cool! And for $1, you can wander up to the balcony where he is standing for a few shots and take your own photos. See our photo?

We met quite the local character who gave us wish bracelets—they are the local tradition here in Salvador, for 200+ years. The legend goes that you have a friend tie it on your wrist in three knots while you make a wish, and when the bracelet falls off of its own accord, your wish comes true! “No charge, no charge, they are a gift!,” he insisted to us in Spanish. “Okay, thank you,” we said, and chose our colors. “Now!” he said. “I will give you special promotion!” He gestured to the beaded necklaces hanging from his arm. Caught! Of course now that we had accepted his “gift,” we felt obligated to buy his wares. But that was fine, as I easily found a necklace I loved (see photo at the end of me with Black Kitty). He even talked me into buying another for my mom by giving it to me half price.

He also sold us on paying the $2 to go up together into the Michael Jackson balcony and take the photos…silly, but fun.

When we gave him a $50 reais note for our total $34 purchase, he eyed the cash and said, “Look! I will give you another special promotion!” and at this point we were finally firm with our “Nao,” and reiterated that we would like our change. He obliged, finally. :) It can be frustrating being in a place like Salvador where you can’t so much as glance in a souvenir shop without being followed around by someone hocking their wares at "special prices," but I also understand that this is how people survive. So we do our best.

Orixás

After this sidetrack, we continued as planned onto the Afro-Brazilian museum, where we learned a little about the myriad orixás (deities of the Afro-Brazilian religions)—including 27 spectacular wood carvings.

The museum had a great collection, but information-wise, could use some improvement. There is little in the way of a foundation for understanding the religious faith, but we’re definitely glad we went.

After that, I wanted to head to the modern art museum in another part of town, so we ventured out of our pretty, touristy little neighborhood (Pelourinho) into a more gritty, urban side of town. Lots of crowds, shopping, and a little veg restaurant and snack bar called ‘Healthy Valley,’ that we specifically sought out. Also, this place where I took this photo.

We had just missed restaurant hours at Healthy Valley, but grabbed some juices and a mysterious something from the snack bar, which was a fail for me but Matt enjoyed it just fine.

After a quick stop in a baby shop for something cute for my sweet niece Kemper and another for some cheap Havaianas, we made our way solely by feel (we had lost our map) in the general direction of the art museum. Things here got a little dicey for me when we had to cross some busy streets (the driving here is incredibly awful), but passing through a quiet residential area was a cool experience and we grabbed some photos of that, of course.

The MAM itself was pretty much a disappointment—apparently in the same way that restaurants and bars are randomly open and closed in Salvador, the modern art museum apparently sometimes has art, sometimes it doesn’t. Today it didn’t. Bummer.

But, the building itself is the old customs house and is right on the water, so we got some great pictures. And marmosets!!! The first ones we've seen in Brazil! They were so adorable, swinging around and munching snacks and being tiny!

Also, there is a gorgeous café where we sat for a snack and glass of wine while the sun set. 

Then we grabbed a taxi back to our home square where we grabbed a couple more gifty items and some Brazilian music from a local record store. It is refreshing and exasperating at the same time to be traveling somewhere where very few people know any English. It’s nice to have to try, and push ourselves out of our comfort zones, and translate menus for ourselves, but it is not so fun to feel like you can’t make significant connections with people who seem really interesting and who are telling you cool things about the music you are looking at—things you really, really want to know! So we did our best, again. The woman in the shop happily blasted whatever disc we were looking at on the store speakers for our previewing pleasure, and I think we walked away with a few great records.

Then it was time for the Bale Folclorico performance—really a sight to behold.  I was very grateful that we had gotten something of a primer, however elementary, on the Afro-Brazilian religious traditions, as the dancers were clearly portraying the Brazilian people juxtaposed with the orixás, and it certainly would not have been clear at all had we not visited the museum that morning. It would have been more like, “Hey, cool, there’s some people in plain white suits and other people in wacky, colorful suits and hoop skirts.”

Some of those dancers were just beyond belief—the way some of the men performed aerial cartwheels and flips had me wondering if they really weighed anything at all. It got me going on all kinds of deep thoughts about wasted human potential, et al.

Then we headed back down to Bar Zulu—the veg friendly place that had been closed last night, but was open tonight. We shared salad, hummus and Massaman curry. I must say, that being vegetarian in Brazil, while not quite as difficult as anticipated, is very…white. I feel like I am living on white pasta, rice and potatoes, mostly. With a side of white bread. Pretty bland for the most part, too. It’s a little sad, feeling like we are missing out on a huge piece of (meat-centric) Brazilian culture. I was reflecting this morning on choosing your morals over a complete cultural experience…it is bittersweet. And white. (I will be on a green smoothie kick for at least a week upon returning home…)

CATS!

I am happy to report that Black Kitten joined us for a return engagement tonight, though she was spreading herself out a little more since the restaurant patio was fairly crowded. She wanted to give the love to all who asked (or didn’t) for it. She also wanted to chase a cockroach around. In closing, since I know you all love the cat stuff, here is Black Kitten and various other Salvadorian kitties we have come across. And with that, I wish you a tired goodnight. Forgive me for these blogs being very stream-of-consciousness; it’s more for my own remembrance than anything else, and I’m only giving myself an hour immediately before bed to write them, so they lack my usual flair. I’ll revise them extensively and write a book for you all to read. Later. Someday. Also, I wanted to put even MORE photos in here, but it's taking forever, so you'll just have to wait. But for now, CATS!

CATS!

A more different cat!

Another more different cat!! (More cats later.)

Day One

We arrived in Brazil more than a little disoriented—after a day’s delay and a slight sun singe from our ‘make the best of it’ party on Miami Beach, we were ready for a shower and a nap, and were too dirty and tired to say in what order. So of course we ended up realizing much too late (as in, after our shuttle driver had already arrived) that we didn’t have the cash we needed to pay him AND we had never told the bank we were leaving the country. So the ATM machine rejected us and we planned on fixing this at the hotel—the driver, of course, didn’t speak any English, and Portuguese is not really actually just Spanish with a slur, so communication was impossible.

Then he ended up bringing us to the wrong hotel (there are two Pestana chain hotels in Salvador) and was frustrated and annoyed—not with us, he seemed to understand the error was not ours, but still we felt bad. Thankfully he got a translator to explain the mistake to us, and we had the chance to tell her our fare predicament and she took a credit card for us--one crisis averted. FINALLY we arrived at Convento do Carmo, a seventeenth century convent renovated into this beautiful, beautiful hotel. We are very convinced it is haunted. How could it not be?! The floors are wide, worn wood boards and I like to hum nun music in the halls with their high, high ceilings and incredible acoustics. And by 'nun music,' I mean the melodies I remember Maria's cohorts singing while at prayer in 'The Sound of Music'.

We took a one three hour nap (the AC was too high on the plane last night for decent sleep) and got cleaned up before heading out to explore (and find Matt some coffee). Such an incredible city! Cats are everywhere—at the coffee shop across the street from our hotel, a cat was napping lazily right on the dining table where a man was eating and having coffee. Another cat lounged on the floor, tableside. Delightful. We found several other very friendly and adorable cats as we walked around the neighborhood, most more than willing to talk and settle in for a petting. Good thing, because we needed to catch our breath, with the uneven stone roads winding up and down hills, the gorgeous array of rainbow painted row houses and shops and all of the fantastic people watching. Green coconuts, produce vendors greeting us with a good natured "Hello, my friend! How are you?!," beautiful women dressed in traditional 'baianas' (Google it!), lots of Brazilian tourists--not at all the threatening atmosphere we were warned about. It didn’t take us long at all to feel comfortable slipping into the pulse of the city and by night’s end we were samba-ing with a drum crew down those same winding alleys. (So fun!)

Tuesdays are apparently party night here in Salvador (dating back to an old tradition in which the Church handed out alms after Tuesday evening mass), so it was awesome to get to hear lots of live music and see amazing drumming and dancing. And Brazil is by the looks of it pretty equally African, native and white in terms of racial descent mixture--plenty of people a mix of two or all three of those. And racial divides, though I'm sure they exist,are not immediately evident--on a night like tonight, everyone was dancing and drinking and listening to music all together, and groups of friends seemed not to be harshly divided by racial lines. Of course this was striking to us, and hopeful to see.

Dinner was surprisingly easy—though we were disappointed to find the Happy Cow recommended veg-friendly restaurant closed, the neighboring restaurant had some vegetarian options as well, so we had a really nice salad, bread and pasta dinner—pasta had a really good tomato sauce (not spaghetti sauce, but thinner and more savory…hard to describe) with mushrooms and peppers. Delish! The weather here is perfection, so of course we opted to sit outside. A black kitten came wandering into the square and jumped into Matt’s lap the second he called it over. She spent the course of the entire meal napping happily snuggled up to him as we both petted and loved all over her. As it got darker we heard the drum groups and singing starting up from all around the neighborhood, and a smattering of fireworks at one point.

We bought a few souvenirs on the walk back to the hotel after dinner, and came back to our room to leave them and have a drink at the completely empty and very luxe hotel bar. We chose 'caipirinhas,' the "national cocktail" of Brazil--it's kind of a cross between a mojito and a margarita. Tons of lime, and totally delicious! We went to dip our feet in the (also empty) pool and the bartender brought us roasted cashews to snack on...after a few minutes we got up and spread out on a big double lounger and took in the few stars we could see in the light of the full moon, and complete with the garden ambience of the pool/bar area, it was total bliss. Then it was back into the madness, which was by then in full swing and very fun to watch and join in, but tired us pretty quickly, so here we are, now lounging in our comfy bed with computers.

Oh, and one last anecdote--before dinner we stopped in at an electronics shop to buy a power adapter--the guy in the shop spoke very little English but was very excited that we were from the states (we have not noticed any other Americans here so far), and was SUPER excited to see the last name 'Smith' on Matt's credit card--he ran to get his own and pointed out that one of his last names was also Smith! He could not seem to believe it! "We are cousins!" he exclaimed joyfully. "My brother!" Apparently there are not many Smiths here in Brazil. We didn't have the heart to tell him that "Smith" is the #1 last name in the USA...

I’m very tired and want to fight the jet lag and head to bed now, but hopefully tomorrow’s digest will be more densely detailed and I can find words other than “awesome” and “beautiful” to describe the experience. 

Love,

Mandy and Matt (Smith)