An Inconvenient Two

Look. Salvador, it’s a beautiful place. From the emerald sway of the palm trees that line the All Saints Bay, to the soft pastel colored churches that fill the Pelourinho—Salvador is a city of light, a place infused with the energy of a Northeastern sun. As you sit at Porto do Barra sipping a chilled coconut with your feet tucked in the sand, the light breaking through a clear and honest blue sky will change you, inspire you, lead you to move, to dance, to sing. It is a place of escaping energy, where the people become a creative machine, filtering the weekend sun into movement, and bright eyed Portuguese that seems to float in the air. It is the land of the morena, her full lips and dark smile, an allure drawn out in the samba, as she sways, her braids flying through the air. What a place this is, its colors, its cobblestone streets, lighthouses, and walkways by the sea. Bela, ela, this city, what a place to be.

* * *

Look. Salvador, it’s an ugly place. From the dark stains of sewage that line the All Saint’s Bay, to the prostitutes, thieves, and wicked intentions that fill the Pelourinho—Salvador is a city of darkness, a place dried and cracked by a Northeastern sun. As you sit in Rio Vermelho, sipping a chilled beer with your feet stuck to the pavement, the night breaking through a dim and dishonest sky will change you, strike fear into you, lead you to watch, to cringe, to cling. It is a place of unrealized dreams, where the ex-slaves scrape to survive, of political misalignment, where the whites build their walls, smiling, eating their sushi from behind. It is the land of the branquinho, his thin lips and snide smile, a power drawn from generations, he plays, sharp cracks of a whip flying through the air. What a place this is, its colors, its trash filled streets, potholes, and corruption by the sea. Feio ele, this city, what a place to flee.

The Itinerary

Sorry for the lack of posting yall. I may not officially have a job, but somehow I keep myself overly busy. With only a month left until my trip, I have so much planning to do, tickets to buy, and places to be. Unfortunately, my Brazilian citizenship documents will not be ready in time for my trip. That means that I have to pay the overstay tax on my American passport, a whopping $400 just to exit the country, and then figure out a way to get back into Brazil. A silly thing these bureaucracies, if only I had a bat and a pocket full of cash.

So, to preview the summers coming activities I am making a list of must do’s. The next three months will be a whirlwind of activity and I feel it prudent to keep things organized.

So here we go:

1. Start preparing Dragon’s course.


2. Pay the Policia Federal their bullshit tax. Pay rent, parking, electricity for next three
months. Swear as money disappears.


3. Rock out the Masters course starting May l1. Get A’s. Try not to go crazy.
4. Get on plane and say bye, bye Brazil. It still seems so surreal!


5. Land in Oklahoma.


6. Hug dogs. Hug parents. Wonder at the mysteries of back country living.
7. Enjoy the fact that rural life is so…chirp...chirp…quiet.
8. Eat chips and salsa. Eat cinnamon life cereal in vanilla soy milk.
9. Go to Meers. Eat famous Meers burger and fries.


10. Laugh at how big Americans are.
11. Go to Taco Bell and eat nacho cheese chalupa.
12. Go to cheap Chinese place and eat cheap Chinese food.
13. Marvel at the fact that I equate an American diet with fast food.


14. Jump on dual-sport motorcycle. Drive adventure riding style to Eagle Nest, New Mexico.
After a year and a half driving a bike 24/7, easy breezy bacon greasy.


15. Peak over the edge of the Cimarron Valley. Feel the butterflies in my stomach as I see my
home and Eagle Nest lake.


16. Drive to elevation 9,000 feet above sea level. Park in the gravel by my cabin. Smell, smell,
smell the ponderosa pine.


17. Merry make from June 5 – 14. Keep up with dragons. Finish Masters degree assignments.
Party with friends who are flying down.
18. Bonfires! Barbeques!


19. Eat at Pizza Outback in Taos—best Pizza in the Western United States.


20. Sit in the hot springs off of the Rio Grande gorge. Get naked and play hippy.
21. Say goodbye to Boulder folks and friends.
22. Motorcycle 14 hours back to Oklahoma.
23. Pack, flight to L.A.
24. Meet Dragon’s folks. Grab new expedition equipment and head into the Sierra Nevada
mountains. Play with cool people. Get certified in Wilderness Response medical
techniques.


25. Camp, play, work for 11 days.
26. Hop on flight to Miami, Sao Paulo, Salvador.
27. Get back, ahem, say hello to girlfriend.
28. Start trip, travel, teach. Express my love for Brazil to homesick teenagers.
29. Travel around Salvador, Arembepe, Diogo, Toucano, Chapada Diamantina, Manaus, and
various locales upriver on the Amazon.


30. Back to Salvador. Exhaustion. Back to semi-stable city life.
31. Hope to dear god that my work documents are ready. Start work at Panamerican school.
32. Continue with Masters.
33. Save world.
34. Breath.
35. Rise & Repeat. Rinse & Repeat.

Across the Horizon

People….I am super excited. You know how, sometimes in life, good things just drop out of the sky. Like, you are walking down a road, silently thinking to yourself, “I could really use a new harmonica”, or “I need a new boyfriend”, or “Wouldn’t it be cool to…” and suddenly that person, place, or thing just plops right down in front of you. It almost feels meant to be, as if you knew it was coming, and it was just a matter of time.

Well…plop…lookee what I have here.

I am now the new course instructor for the Where There Be Dragons Sustainable Future Course in Brazil. I’m heading to the states, off to California, and will be traveling for six weeks through Bahia, Chapada, and the Amazon!

Holy Jiminy Crickets Batman! How did this come to be?

Well, two years ago before heading off to Brazil, I happened to run across this travel company while I was living in Boulder, Colorado. The Latin American program director hopped into my Capoeira class, full of stories of far away places, and adventures traveling through the wild. At the time, I was studying heritage tourism and was searching for a way to combine my love for travel, Brazil, and education. When I finally got a chance to sit the director down, I was more than impressed by the companies mission—its focus on experiential education, third world programs, and creating superbly whole human beings. At the time, there were whispers of creating a Brazil program and I really wanted to be involved, but due to a lack of funds, interest, personnel, etc., nothing came of it, and I returned to my normal job and life.

Fast forward two years. Last week, out of the blue, I get a phone call from the Latin American director, enthusiastically telling me that they had created a Brazil program, that it would launch in a few weeks, and that they needed a male guide to help lead the expedition. Well, having just lost my job at the travel agency, and with free time until the spring semester, the call couldn’t have come at a better time. I interviewed, wrote an eight page application, interviewed, interviewed, and interviewed some more, and silently waited to see if I stood out above the competition.

The answer came today and I’m officially in. In the next few months, there will be lots of planning to do. The course needs to be polished and curriculum developed. In June, Dragon’s is flying me for a 10 day training program in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California, “marked by community-building, engaging trainings and workshops, decadent international meals, late night hot spring dips, and play in the glistening peaks and gorgeous high desert of the Sierras.” I’m hopping to leave in early June to maybe see the folks before heading to L.A. After that it’s back to Salvador, where our group will start the journey.

Sometimes life is like that, it drops shiny objects from the sky. Funny, if the call had come one month earlier, I would probably have refused because of my job. If it had come six months earlier, I would have refused thinking my Portuguese wasn’t up to speed. If it had come two years earlier, I wouldn’t be able to assume the role of guide that living a year and a half here in Brazil has made possible.

Yes, fortuitous indeed. For the next leg of the journey, I hope you stay tuned.

End of Summer

Leo got jiggy on a magical tropical isle.

Here is a few more dashes of paradise to make you Eskimos jealous.

I white and I eat you!

Bahiana mysticism.

Salvador across the Bay. Mission: Itaparica. Visit the first city on the island.

Mission accomplished. Large abandoned colonial churches. Squares full of children. Chocolate eggs and cigars. Ahh, life on the tropical isle.

Jesus saves, read the bible, candomble, God condemns spiritualism.

Mmmm....beer.

Stairway to heaven? This is my friends backyard.

Itaparicas spring of life. The only freshwater spring on the island. It is supposed to make one 3 years younger. And I now happen to be 24!

If I only had a monkey and a dozen pirate ships.

Island flora.

And beach buggies.

Shades across the Bay.

And my favorite street.

Azul blue. Fisher, sands. And a youth that lives forever.

Blanka is...

not an accurate representation of the Brazilian People.


"Immortalized in the arcade game Street Fighter (and it's sequels), Blanka proved to be one of the most powerful and versatile fighters a player could choose. He was also from Brazil.

For an entire generation of bright-eyed youths, Blanka stood as the sole cultural representation of the Brazilian people. A country of shirtless, green-skinned, bioelectrical beasts - truly this was a paradise...or a hell on earth. Zangief may have had the piledriver, Dhalsim may have had obscenely long arms and legs, and Chun Li had that cheap-ass fast kick, but they paled in comparison to Blanka's merciless scalp chewing technique.

Even Blanka's "home stage," set in Brazil, was nothing short of bizarro. Another Blanka fan writes:

"Blanka's official stats mark him as hailing from The Jungle, Brazil. Cute. If any of you readers out there from foreign nations wonder why North Americans are afraid to travel overseas, here's your answer. The only things I have to gauge Brazil on are Blanka, cocaine, and monkeys in suspenders."

Unfortunately, it seems that the large majority of Brazilians are in fact not brutish, bipedally challenged green man-beasts. This group is out to set the record straight for that entire generation raised on video games deluded into thinking every Brazilian is like Blanka."

Source

Donald Duck in Brazil

Wouldn't you know, the long billed, fluffy tailed, speech impaired duck actually came down to Brazil. Thought this was a cute little addition from our good pals at Disney.

Emotional Roots

I started rereading old posts of my blog this morning, and what a surprise they were. I can’t begin to tell you how odd it is to take a look back—to glimpse a snapshot of myself in the not so distant past. Even though I’m still me, that old me seems like another me, like some shell of myself floating around in a vacuum of time, just waiting for the future to happen. On some level, it is gratifying to relive the experiences, to rise and fall on my own wave of progress, a quest that I embarked on but four years ago. Stranger still, I am starting to see patterns in my emotional wiring. It seems that about every year and a half, the routine that I establish for myself seems to get dry. Every time I get comfortable with my living space, I get depressed, I feel lost, I feel like moving on. This seems particularly salient to me, to notice this pattern, because I have been falling into this very rut in the past few weeks, feeling depressed, bored, and wishing that I was heading towards some new horizon, “really living”. It is odd to become conscious of this. Is this a vagary of youth, a psychological misfire? Do I have a gypsy’s soul? I don’t have the answer, nor the justification to keep on running.

The Pororoca

Also know as the "onda da floresta amazonia", "the phenomenon", the worlds longest wave.

I caught a t.v. show a few days ago about this crazy surfable wave that sweeps once a year into the Amazon. Apparently, it's created by lunar tides and travels miles up a tributary in North Eastern Brazil. When I saw guys actually surfing this thing my jaw dropped because a) I didn't know it existed and b) who knew that one can surf for 35 minutes at a time.

Wow. Props.

A Rant

[Warning - Rant ahead!!!]

This post contains references that will only make sense if you have been to Bahia (sorry).

Well, I don't want to get off on a rant here [insert Denis Miller voice] but let's just get one thing straight. Pagode is the DEVIL.

I understand this notion of cultural imperialism, this ego-centric view that one art form is more relevant than another. It's easier to pass judgment on others, especially when we think our cultural heritage is somehow more salient, when we stand in the middle of "mainstream" and denounce the poor mans art forms whatever they might be. I have run across a number of Brazilians (usually white-er-ish) who frown and say "ewwwww" when I tell them I play Capoeira. Go figure.

That said, Pagode is still the DEVIL. (did you hear the ominous background music when I said that?)

Why? Because for f*@ks sake, it's just about the most annoying music that exists...

...like ever.

Sure, it's easy to give Psirico street-cred when he's sitting on top of his trio during Carnival, but dear lord, try living in my neighborhood for 24 hours. Try sleeping when three of your neighbors are having a "Who's penis is bigger" battle with their sound systems.

On an artistic level, Pagode is...hack...hack...for two reasons:

1. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. Repetitive sentences. (see I bet you didn't read all of those) As much as I love glue, and really appreciate the work of the rope guys in carnival, there is really only so many times that I can "cole na corda".

2. Pagode sells fake happiness. Ok, maybe not for the average fan, but there's just something about same doo doo doo doo doo that you here in the songs that strikes me as corny, errr, irritating, errr, shining happy chords that make you want to gag. Pagode is like xuxa. It smiles way to much and you now there's something strikingly odd hiding just beneath the surface. Sure, your teeth are white, but how many children have you molested (ahem, I go to far)

In my head, Padoge plays a little something like...Sobe do chao, yeahhh...SOBE DO CHAO, yeah, cause it's fun to SOBE, mas rapaz rapaz, porra velho, NO, stop sobe-ing. Go back to bed! How many Nova Ruims can you drink at 3 in the morning? Why do you have to yell all the damn time! PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR STEREO!

Now don't get me wrong. I know that this all comes down to a matter of taste. I happen to be a huge fan of Carioca Funk. But in my most humblest of opinions, Padoge is like a repetitive flick to the groin. It won't kill you, but it certainly won't make you stronger.

Hack. Hack. Devil. Devil.

Exactly.

What's a gringo to do?

Truth: Brazil is starting to change me. The cultural winds of this country are whipping up around me. I have begun to dream in Portuguese. I am becoming more rhythmic. I feel like “real food” has to include some form of beans and rice.

Last night, I had a dream that I was running around some nameless Brazilian shopping mall. In the middle of the mall, there was a Volkswagen Beetle that customers could get in and sit inside. As I passed this shining symbol of the Brazilian automobile industry, a group of pimple faced teenage boys, who were sitting inside the car, starting leering at me and calling me “gringo”.

Gringo. What a derisive word. I have come to hate it even in a joking context, because it’s what people call me when they want to feel superior, when they want to steal, rob, or cheat me, and when they ultimately want to insist that I am not one of them.

In the dream, I grabbed the teenager and threw him out of the car. We eventually found ourselves outside the mall, running around parking lots and calling each other names. Eventually, I got a hold of his shirtsleeve and threw him into a line of traffic. He missed a semi-truck by just inches and I screamed. Carl Jung, unconscious world of symbols, repressed desires, call it what you will, that was my dream.

Truth: Sometimes it feels good to just fit in. If you ever travel to Brazil you may notice the strange phenomenon that everybody is wearing braces. In the States, braces are for the young, a sign of awkward adolescents, a torture device that parents force on their kids promising them a better future. When you first arrive down here it’s honestly hard not to laugh. People from 10 to 60 years old wear them—a kind of status symbol that says, “Hey look, I can afford better teeth!”

As a foreigner, it takes some getting used to. There’s something about watching your 40 year old boss try desperately to talk through his braces that makes it hard to take him seriously. Sometimes I feel like just nodding my head, screaming “No! Go to your room Mr. Bobby Mc. Boss!”, just to see what would happen.

Ok, but honestly, I started to consider braces a good idea. In the US they are about 5 grand a pop. Here, about $1000, if you go to a reputable place. I never had a chance to put them on in the States, because my parents were too poor and too aesthetically disinclined to consider them. Here, an adult can get away with wearing them and it’s often seen as a sign of beauty (think rap vids with guys showing their ghetto fabulous teeth).

So, without further adieu, after weeks of suffering the torture of getting these puppies installed, and sucking my food threw a straw, meet the new slightly more Brazilian Leo.

::shrugs::

What’s a gringo to do?

Carnalicious

I've been wanting to get some of these pics up for awhile. This was the first year that one of my friends had the balls to bring a camera into the multidão. Usually its bad news, but this year we snapped a number of incriminating photos without a single problem. Come visit me during Carnival and I can promise you more. Oh so very much more.

Not sure what look I was going for. But my friend and I need to have a sit down.

Então, cole na corda.

Mascaradas. A fun, free, but very gay bloco.

Sigh. Still white.

Hot dancers in private camarotes.

Bahian soul, and afro.

Give me more.

About the only time of the year I can stand to listen to Axe.

Chupa minha filha!

Beads. Helping ugly people have sex since 1956.

And the millions say what?

Dirty nights in the city that has no sleep.

Toca Armandinho

Currently my favorite Brazilian Song:



I don't care how many jedi's I have to kill, I'm going to learn this mother on my guitar.

Old School

Someone just sent me this photo of my highschool gang back in the day.

Two observations:

1 - I think I had more hair. Sigh.

2 - I hated highschool, but at the same time, I wouldn't trade my youth for anything. What an amazing time of your life it is. I'm still friends with pretty much everyone in the photo. Some remain my best friends.

Dear god, I think I'm getting older. Who knew.

Changing the Format

I'm thinking of running in a different direction with my blog. Seems that I haven't been
able to keep up the motivation lately to keep the onda moving. Usually, I publish longer posts with pictures--random events and thoughts that I plan out before hand. Well, the time just isn't there for me right now, and I figure it's better to start submitting small posts than no posts at all.

***

In that vain, I'm going to try and hop on at work when there's time, to throw a little blog tid bit your way. Think of it less like a full course meal and more like a twinkie (minus the cream filling).

So....hmmm....what's happening right now. Well, I'm at work. Things are bad here. I work in tourism and we arn't selling anything. That said, I have a habit of meditating for 10 min every day before lunch, to calm my nerves, to balance myself, to feel spiritual. I meditate in this little veranda like room out in the hall, on the 21st floor of my building. It is a public space that most people don't use, if only to occassionally smoke a cigarette. As I was meditating today, some lady came in a lit one up. Usually people freak out and run away when they see some random guy sitting there, with a bandana over his eyes, meditating. It is a little weird, I admit it. Anyway, the women continued smoking and clearly had no problem interrupting my session. I resolved to ignore her, but broke down when she decided to open up her cell and start chatting.

Kind of pissed, I got up and started to leave. I looked in her eyes and said "oi".

She said, "Eu te atrapalhou?", which means, did I disturb/bother you.

I thought, jesus, um yeah, your rude and I'm going away now, but I just said "no" and left.

I dunno, maybe the meditating is helping.

Thank you....ahem....that's your twinkie for the day.

Sometimes things just don't happen the way we plan them.