a hearty serving of burnt pita and pasta sauce

Last night I came home and almost caused a fire. I didn’t know that until I woke up this morning and found a kitchen turned upside down, with scattered burnt crisps of pita and a pan full of pasta sauce.  Apparently I had tried to cook pita bread directly on my stove and intended to spread it with tomato sauce, but never got that far. I don’t remember any of it.

Just that the night started in a bar named Mud Bug. In true South American fashion, there was less standing and more sitting, which suited me fine since I was meeting a group of people.  We had a few beers and I poked a pregnant woman’s stomach.  She was at the table too, with a beer, and a cigarette, and she assured everyone she was fine.  Her friends didn’t protest and I wondered whether should I.

We went on, to a nightclub in Gavea.  We were lured by the promise of a cheap cover and all-you-can drink booze, but found something much more pricey and set within a strip-club type of a decor.  We had fun just the same- It just cost a lot more than we wanted.

Several caprivodkas later and I was happily dancing to some techno.  Everyone expects me to be an amazing dancer because of my videos.  I had the same coversation I always have when it comes up, that I was just the producer, not the instructor.  Most people don’t understand. I made a mental note to take dance lessons when I come home.

The rest gets pretty hazy. I time travelled back to my apartment and awoke to the disaster that is my kitchen today.

It wasn’t the first time I tried cooking while black-out drunk.  There was that time in Geneseo when I left a piece of meat in the Geroge Foreman grill all night to the dismay of my housemates.   I’t happened several times on this trip as well, once with Danny in Buenos Aires when I left a pot of boiling water and went to sleep and once in El Calafate, which I don’t remember at all.  Hey, there’s worse things to be done while black-out than get a little food in your belly.

rio’s subway system, how cool

I took Rio’s subway once before, with a beer in hand on the way to a soccer match, and I rode it again yesterday with no beer, but with Fernanda instead.  We headed downtown to Rio’s biggest bootleg market.  It looked like a chinese container ship had been robbed and transplanted to Brazil.  Fernanda spotted a tee shirt with a condom enclosed by a square window of plastic. The slogan advised to break it only in case of emergencies.  I bought fake headphones and we left almost as quickly as we came.  It was crowded, cheap, and rowdy, and there wasn’t much really to buy.

We headed back the way we came.  Fernanda seemed annoyed at all of the people, I don’t think she was used to riding the metro on a regular basis.  She was an upperclass girl with an upperclass mentality, and I took pleasure in showing her the other side of the tracks.  The platform was crowded and we jostled for space.  She pointed out a vending machine that sold books instead of candy, including a Portuguese-English dictionary.

We looked for the yellow markings that indicated where the subway doors would stop and Fernanda showed me an area where the markings were pink, not yellow.  Apparently Rio had set aside a few train cars just for women.  It protected them from wandering hands, made anonymous by the packed cars.  I tried to board the pink cars, but a security guard was posted at it’s entrance.  I wondered what the feminists back home would think of it all.

Rio’s subway was fast. It was efficient and air conditioned and it looked very new.  Compliments to the engineer.  Some of the larger stops featured two platforms, one side for boarding the train and the other for leaving.  The actual cars, wider than ours back home had bilingual robotic voices that announced each stop.

Rio’s pink and yellow platforms were not the only things color coded that day; each car had a row of brown seats that were reserved for the elderly. Beware of deadly looks if you choose to ride into town in a brown seat without passing it up to someone older, or more pregnant than you.  You won’t get fined but you’ll be the disdain of everyone on the train!

We grabbed dinner when we got back into Copacabana.  Rio’s subway system is a straight line with less than a dozen stops, and to get further to Ipaname, which is where I live, we needed to transfer to a shuttle bus for the rest of the way.  It reminded me of late night subway transfers in New York, riding the metro home drunk and dreamy, forced to wake up to transfer on chambers street.  Rio’s subway system might change soon enough though. The city is trying hard to court the 2016 Olympic bid and is in the midst of several construction projects already.

There’s a dark grey gloom around Rio

There’s a dark grey gloom around Rio.  And it’s not in my heart.  It’s all around me in the air, around buildings, behind buses; enshrouding the city with a veil of secrecy, distorting it’s otherwise heavenly glow. Beautiful landscapes lie dull, beaches and sunsets seem distant.  Strange for a city with no permeating smoke stack factories.  And yet it’s there, and it sits like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.  Perfect really for the city that has much to hide.

Protected: Carnaval’s Most Memorable Song

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taxi cab confessions

A working glass dish.  That’s what Fernanda called the massive portion of beans, rice, chicken, and cornmeal I’ve been having on a regular basis.  She almost seemed embarrassed for me.

A month ago I was pointed onto a local restaurant serving up hearty meals for about 4 dollars.  I headed over and discovered an intimate looking eatery sitting on a corner a few blocks from the heart of Ipanema.

A line of taxis on the street revealed the small restaurant to be quiet popular with cabbies, a good sign considering taxi drivers know the city better than anyone else.

A small barricade separated two sections of the restaurant, the tablecloths from the bare wooden tables, the expensive dining room from the row of tables on the street, the expensive menus from the ones the cabbies coveted.

It turns out,the Prato Faito, the meal I’ve come to love, can only be had sitting at the bareback tables on the street.  It doesn’t come served with a smile at Paz y Amor, but its hearty portions will keep you stuffed and satisfied.  Trying their homemade hotsacuce, a chilli paste of sorts,  is also a must.

I didn’t realize how class conscious Rio de Janeiro is, but I suppose the signs are everywhere: the upper-class guy from Ipanema afraid to be seen on the streets of Lapa, Sticky and Mick’s response to the favela, the way Dee gave money to the jugglers.  The less than modest doctor in Salvador who made sure we knew his house was the most expensive in all the city.  There was that furtitive glance of Sarah’s, when she thought I wasn’t looking and she checked out my watch’s brand.  The long lines to get into the right nightclub.  Golf clubs.  County clubs.  Five start Hotels.  Sounds like a divided Rio.  Sounds like it rivals any other cosmopolitan city.

I’ll keep on vising my boys on the corner of blank and blank.  Of course, it’s easier playing the righteous role when you’re out traveling. But just how immaterial have I become?  Brief bouts of inspiration to lead an ascetic life, especially after watching movies like Into The Wild, usually fade as quickly as they come.  I miss my car.  I need the luxury of an apartment to myself.  I look on enviously when I see a shirt I can’t afford to buy in a nice shop.  I’d like incredibly loud ipod speakers and maybe a new watch too.

But I will return a different person, I know that much.  I won’t be pursuing the kind of life I thought I’d have just a few short years ago.  Money is not a priority.  Not right now.  I know that physical possessions will not make me any happier.  Now I just have to implement those ideas in a society that will surely pull me in the other direction.

three blocks from the beach, two blocks from the bar, and one from the favela

I’ve been bouncing around hostels since my trek on Ilha Grande, taking my time to decide where to go next, or whether to go anywhere at all.  And I’ve decided to stay!

I moved into a small studio yesterday, feeling what it’s like to live alone for the first time in ages.  I realized this morning, when I was in the bathroom with the door wide open, that I haven’t lived alone since the summer of 06′, when I rented an apartment in Geneseo for the summer.

It’s completly relaxing and I haven’t been able to pull myself away for long so far.  It’s located in Ipanema, by General Osario Square.  It’s a sweet location and the price couldn’t have been better!

Anyone need a place to crash while they’re in town?

P.S.

It gives New York’s small apartments a run for their money.

6 photos and a long way home

God created the world in 6 days. Stuart and I trekked Ilha Grande instead.  Day 6 of our hike around both hell and paradise..

we woke up to the sight of this!

We were well on our way, enthusiastic as ever to finally get back to civilization.  On the way was an old prison, imploded in 1985. cIt housed the state’s most dangerous criminals and left the island mostly uninhabited as a result.  It was only when the prison was shut down, that the island experienced a huge tourism boom.

We munched on some cookies sitting across the eerie prison.  I thought about how things change…,what was once the scene of unspeakable violence was now no more. 

We went on, feel blistered and hurting.  We had a long way to go, but somehow it felt easier, and Stuart and I talked more that day than we did all week.  I found out he was a media studies major though he dreams of opening up his own restaurant. He’s been working to that goal for his entire life, learning the tools of the trade inside and out.

On we went in that way, through talk of media theory and life’s plan for us all, our goals and our dreams and soon enough we were on a perch overlooking town.  The weather was tuning on us fast and we struggled to get back into town before another downpour.

We passed an old couple. They had been walking the other way but the weather and steep slope must have dissuaded them, and they turned back towards town.

We saw them again when we stopped for a break and more cookies.  We knew the going had been slow but we were determined not to lose out to a couple of old people, so we chased them down the mountain and when we finally caught up, we back into civilization, with people, and stores, visa machines and hot girls, and we darted for the nearest supermarket to pick up some water and acai.

Somehow the town seemed more vibrant.  Stores that seemed closed only a week before now brimmed with tourists.  We soaked in every detail as we walked.

Back at the hostel, we felt glorious and triumphant.  The girls at reception said they could smell us for miles.  They seemed glad to have us back.  After recycling through tourists on a regular basis, it must have been nice to see back some old friends.

But it was a holiday weekend and the hostel was all booked up. It explained why we thought the town was bustling with energy we hadn’t noticed before.  They made a few calls on our behalf and we crashed at a dingier locale not too far away.

We had ambitious plans to celebrate our homecoming with a nice meal and a bottle of vodka we had trudged all the way around the island.  But truthfully, all I wanted to do was sleep and I after a delicious meal, I passed right out and got the first good night’s sleep in a week.

6 Days of Trekking…and rest on the 7th! My rabbi would have been proud.

5 seasons in one day

God created the world in 6 days. Stuart and I trekked Ilha Grande instead.  Day 5 of our hike around both hell and paradise…

Breakfast was delicious.  Leftover pasta and rain water.  Not too shabby for our 5th day in.  But although we solved the question of what to eat, we weren’t sure what we would drink.  Practically no money left and two days ahead of us, we tossed around the idea of ditching everything we had and making a b-line straight home.   We decided to play it by ear (not knowing our plans would fully be thwarted by a dessert like expansion of beach).  If we’d have the energy we would give it a try.  If not, then we’d settle down for one more night along the way.

In the meantime, we decided to see if a small shop on the beach would take everything we discarded (soups, meats, and a pair of mugs) in exchange for some water.

It worked!

Despite a language barrier and the fact that our meats were old and disgusting, the store clerk took most of our stuff and handed us two bottles of water and some cookies in exchange.

We set out, this time with a small dog in toe.  Whereever we went, he followed suit and soon enough, followed us all the way back home.  But before we left, we made sure to snap a few around the island’s famous palm tree.

To get to the next beach would mean we had to literally scale a wall of rocks, though as our little mut showed us, we could have taken a trail to get up there as well.  It was a somewhat nervous climb as it was free rock climbing at its best, though the ascent was no more than 15 feet high.  Still, it look a few minutes to figure out which nooks and crannys to use and it was made more difficult because we were wearing flip flops.

We walked at a snail’s pace along sharply sloped rocks that were wet from the waves crashing below them.  I found a faulty footing and lost my balance at one point, and the result was a slippery slide down into the ocean.  Stuart thought I was a gonner and so did I.  Luckily I was able to grab ahold of some  rocks and saved myself (and my stuff!) from a plumit into the water.  Needless to say, the rest of the walk was even more cautious.

The end of the rocks led us into an ecological preserve inaccessible for most of the season.  There are usually guards stationed at its entrance to thwart wanderers such as ourselves but we were fortunate enough to be there during the island’s low season.

It was still early morning when we set out across the beach but it didn’t stay that way for long.  And soon enough, the sun was out in full glory, making our trek across the beach seem endless and difficult.  Completing the rest of the island in one day was pretty much out of the question.

The beach, surrounded by rocks on one side, was surrounded by a lagoon/swamp on the other.

Our faithful dog, dubbed “doggie” by my British friend, came along for the ride.  But be it that we were worried about alligators in the marshy lands ahead of us, we made sure to let the dog go first, like an appetizer for any awaiting predators.

Luckily there were no gators while we were there and we made it past the marsh waist deep in water, but unscathed.

It was like a video game:
Level I: Rocks
Level II: The Beach
Level III: Alligators
Level IV: The Beach, Part Two
Level V: Jungle

The marsh brought us to another beach and another long walk across a “desert” ensued, but it was the jungle ahead that posed the biggest problem.

We embarked on a trail into the woods.  According to the map, we would be going north over a small mountain to arrive at our next location.  But the “trail” quickly became entangled in vines and trees and there was no obvious direction to go.

We contemplated using our machetes to hack our way through.  But we didn’t have  a compass so the decision was made to head back to the trail’s entrance and see if we could get some help.

Luckily, a few surfers were camped out nearby and in Stuart’s broken Portuguese, we learned we had gone up the wrong path.  Thank God!  Because taking our chances with the north star would have surely proved disastrous.  Not to mention that we were in the southern hemisphere, and I have no idea whether the north startwould even be the one to follow.

Again, doggie would take the lead on our next trail.  We were well deep in the jungle, and after our run in with a snake the day before, we were not taking any chances.  Doggie was proving to be quiet useful.

Then finally, after another grueling trek, we were on a mostly abandoned beach that registered as my favorite of the trip.  We set up camp and cooked up a huge fire, this time without using any lighter fluid at all.  We engineered another stove like we had done the night before and feasted on some more pasta.  The sky was relatively clear and it was the perfect way to go out.

And in full light of the moon, we even managed to get our tent looking pretty damn respectable.

Visa, accepted everywhere

God created the world in 6 days. Stuart and I trekked Ilha Grande instead.  Day 4 of our hike around both hell and paradise…

We woke up to a most uncomfortable morning, with cramps and knots and about fifty mosquito and ant bites all over my body.  It looked like I had chicken pox all over again.

And with that marked the beginning of day four, the hardest day of the trip for me.  With practically no sleep between us, we set out again hoping that our backpacks would be a bit lighter.  We’d eaten a good portion of our food and stopped that day to eat the last of the canned food (the heavy stuff)!.  But the bags never seemed to get lighter and it was only our shoulders which got sorer.

Day four also marked another visit to a fancy pousada.  We were short on water again and it was the only place in town to take cards.  It could have been a script for a visa commercial.  Short on water and on cash, over-heating in the sun and desperate for a drink, visa saved the day when we bought about 6 bottles of water each. We took a break there as well and shared a cheap meal between the two of us.

The owners took a liking to us as well and stuffed our pockets with much needed fruits, cakes, and crackers.

Afterward, we embarked on a long hike up a vacillating trail that would take us to the other side of the island.  Finally, after 4 days of working our way south, we would get to see the east side of the island.

Clearly it was not a popular route.  Tagged at over three hours, the trail was steep and full of spiderwebs and dense forest.  Just a few steps would drench us completely in sweat.  It was a tiring hike and eventually there is nothing to do but retire into your own mind, while your legs keep on moving.  I only snapped out of it when a tree branch in front of me revealed itself to actually be a snake.  I jumped back with my hiking stick in a spear-like stance, ready to thwart it away.  Happy with my reflexes, I carried my machete and walking stick side by side for the rest of the day!

The next beach we saw was beautiful.  One of our favorites for sure.  It was made even more so because it was at the end of such a grueling day.  The town was a fishing village set on the far side of the island.  It was small and simple, but quiet pleasant.

We knew we had to keep going to make camp before dark, but we couldn’t resist taking a prolonged break and ejoying the gorgeous beach.

On ahead we went until we got to Aventuriera, a beach at the end of the ecological preserve that proved to be just as beautiful.  As night set, we darted around the darkness in search for a stealthy place to pitch a tent.  We considered another rock but this time it was more like a cave than a den, and I wasn’t in the mood to be woken up by any wild animals five days into the trip.

I had a headache by now, probably from dehydration and over-heating.  I also got the idea that the headache might mean I caught dengy fever, an idea confirmed by the mosquito bites all over my body.

We wandered around for a while and finally settled on a plot of beach that seemed far enough away from the water to keep dry during high tide.  We hoped our tent would look like just another rock in the dark and we got to work.

We dug a hole in the ground, a place for our fire where we could keep it clandestine and hidden from view.  And we did it.  Somehow, two urban kids managed to build a pretty decent fire and we got to enjoy some pasta and sausage.  Carrying logs of firewood halfway across the island had finally paid off.

Tent building was still a catastrophe though and a gentle reminder that we were still two urban kids and no woodsmen.  That night would be an improvement from the homelessness of the night before, but only marginally as we were still freezing cold and somewhat wet as well.

Day Three

I woke up early on day three, around dawn, and went for a swim around the harbor.  It took me three tries, but I eventually made it to the boat I had my eyes on and back.  Meanwhile, the crsytal clear water shed light on a sandy bottom and even a few starfishes.

We would have some catching up to do that day.  The day before showed barely any progress as we spent most of the day waiting for the rain to end.  So we hit the trails hard and in full force and day three was a bad day for my trekking buddy.  I was in pain as well after we decided to collect dry firewood in case it would rain again.  We used our machetes to chop down some logs we found and the result was even more stuff for us to carry.

The third night was even worse than the day’s walk, especially for Stuart.  We found ourselves on a populated beach on which pitching a tent was definitly a no-go.  But trekking to the next town was out of the question as well since it was already dark and we only had one flashlight between us.  The next town was also about five hours away.

It began raining pretty hard, harder than it had rained the previous two days.  With no other options, we found a small shack with an awning beside it and decided to wait out the rain there.  But when it became clear the rain wasn’t ending, we pulled out the blankets in anticipation of a long night ahead of us.

We felt pretty homeless, and smelled like it too.  It was uncomfortable and cold and the rain was unrelenting.  I’ve got an uncanny ability to pass out anywhere but even I had a hard time getting through the night.  Stuart, the second Englishman I’ve met who had a distaste for crabs, was tormented by an absolutely huge one, which was apparently seeking cover from the rain as well.  Sometime in the middle of the night, it got so cold that Stuart made a fire though I bet it was also to keep the crab away.  It was a difficult night, but one we knew would eventually end.