bites and boats

trusting that I will date this later
is how I trust I will never
stop writing
even if I take a break or two to
live life off the page
my swolen body hides from mosquitos
in my air-conditioned fazenda room
perhaps some time out on the hammock
would do me well
but I can't bare another bite if I can help it

three weeks in this country below the equator
on the other America
Salvador was not my favorite
the in your face poverty bothered me
the guilt I would feel
the anger and desperation they felt
the responsibility put on me
to give give give
because I am a rich American
but I'm not rich and I don't have much
and their attacks, their physical pleas,
the violations of personal space and oh!
what a luxury to even have the concept of "personal space"

-at the end of the day I am
terribly uncomfortable
I am empty because I gave
I am empty because I gave nothing at all

my hand is sore from all the bites on my arms




We did finally get out of Salvador and found refuge in the Pantanal. But before we left the state of Bahia we took one more trip from the city to a little island off the coast called Morro Saô Paolo. To get to this haven of white beaches you must take a 2 hour catamaran boat. However, the travel agency we were working with (who also arranged our Pantanal itinerary) decided to put us on a smaller more intimate boat. Ilha Bella was her name.

It is interesting how two hours can feel timeless. Marked by the beauty of the swells as the city begins to dissapear behind them. The wonder of fish the size of dolphins flipping out and back into the water while you sit beside that special someone out in the middle of blue. Then blue becomes white as your head hangs over the boat's edge and you are found throwing up your breakfast. And the return trip was much of the same beauty and horror. Except this time my special someone and me were on the Ilha Bella II and she has quite a cloud of smoke emanating from her back end making fresh air into pollution. A series of sessions over the edge for me as Miles anchored my legs to the boat. It was on this ride that I experienced riding a boat, throwing up, and my upper body being completely immersed under water due to the activity of the sizable swells to our little intimate boat.

The boat ride was worth the trouble. The island was gorgeous. It is unfortunate that we had only around 24 hours to spend there. The water was less than 3 feet deep even half a mile from the beach. It was the stuff of postcards and travel brochures. In the morning small colorful cargo boats would be marrooned in the shallow waters as the tide went out. In the evening, after making the days delivery, the tide would rise allowing them passage.

We took our passage back to Salvador and the next morning we were on a plane to the wetlands of the Pantanal.

not so wordly series

on this night in Buzios
if you are aware, take interest in
the great American pass-time
if you dare contain yourself----

while holding your tongue
you just might hear the better part of red white and blue

cheering, roaring with disbelief and awe
as he did, in front of a computer screen
glued to an internet feed of live baseball
watching a little team from his hometown dominate the inconceivable

in that moment of glory
he heard his childhood playground victories
dreamt up various friends' heads exploding from the excitement
his father j u m p i n g out of his skin

needing to share this moment
with much more than the tears that swelled in his eyes
much more than an internet cafe in Brazil or a cigarette
he allowed the salty water to run down his cheeks
he yearned to be, for just this night,
in a bar where people spoke the english
and they understood, really understood
how much this game means
not just to him
but all the "we will, we will, ROCK YOU" singers from coast to coast
he searched for the people who understood that
this game proved, anything is possible

just for this night he wished
not to be here, to be there
with the people who share his joy

and while he prayed
I think he just might have been quiet enough
that he knew he was not alone
for I was listening, too
we heard the better part of red white and blue
cheering, roaring in disbelief and awe
imagine that- all the way in Brazil
anything's possible

half full

BRAZILIAN BOX SCORE
# of days in Brazil: 14
# of days remaining in Brazil: 14
# of days spent during national and state election season: 14
# of banks on strike: all
# of percentage points crime rate has raised due to strike and elections: 25 (?)
# of dollars spent at Target on watch subsequently stolen in mugging: 10
# of football games seen: 0
# of times Miles has gone to an internet cafe to check MLB stats: 12
# of Brazilian residents inquiring on the status of the US elections and debates: 5
# of hours spent on buses (not including inter-city travel): 45 (more than your average part-time job)
# of missed stops due to sleeping: 1
# of bus employees laughing at us over missed stop: 4
# of live music performances seen: 8
# of live music acts playing the music most commonly associated with Brazil (ie samba, bossa nova): 0
# of awful meals: 2
# of exceptional meals: 26
# of starches included in every meal: at least 2
# of days Arianna has attempted to find good high-heeled shoes to better fit in: 10
# of high-heeled shoes bought: 0
# of shades darker skin is, due to equatorial sun: 6 (?)
# of times unable to make purchases due to cashiers lack of change: 35
# of times we've been astounded by the beauty of this country and its people: constantly
# of times we've had to remind ourselves to let go: many

THINGS NOT TO MISS ON YOUR TRIP TO BRAZIL
EAT açai (made from fruit of the Amazon) Arianna's newest most favorite treat ever (which includes bananas and raisins, both of which she hated prior to Brazil)
DRINK Antartica Maltzebier, Miles's newest most favorite beer ever
EXPERIENCE a holistic "massage" from a spiritualized hairy french man, who believes his "contact-improv" sessions should be filmed and shown on television to rival Martha Grahm or Alvin Ailey
SWIM through an underwater cave in Chapada Diamantina, nick-named "the uterus", and be reborn through "the vagina"
SCREAM down waterfalls into natural pools
TREK "easy" nature hikes involving bouldering, rock climbing and slipping
HEAR saccrine-sweet pop sensation Djavan, Brazil's Michael Bolton, upstaged and drowned out by the audience of thousands singing along to every word
RIDE off-road in the back of a pick up truck for 2 hours, "safe" for human cargo
BALE water out of a canoe while sitting under midday sun for another 2 hours
SMELL rancid baby poop on a 6 hour bus ride with poor ventilation
LISTEN to mother claim, "Smell is from nearby factory."
TRY acaraje, a fried shrimp-patty snack bought from street vendors
BEWARE the sand-filled acaraje
INHALE water when your snorkeling mask is designed for Cyrano De Bergerac
WEAR sungas, the bathing suits for men that leave nothing to the imagination
SEE the bluest of blue skies and waters
WATCH in awe as a 6 year old rides a full-size horse, bare back
LAUGH alot. Because everything's funny when one is in a foreign country
ENJOY the company of people met along the way
SPEND 14 days not knowing what's coming next

between barra and pelourinho

two americans, lacking the portugeuse tongue
strolling down a street
between barra and pelourinho
pavement unfamiliar
unlike NY, the cobblestone sidewalks they walk over have patterns
...in examining the patterns of my life
the unexpected happened

not yet to pelourinho on a deserted street
stores closed
"amigo"
"amigo"
they ignore
a man dressed in white and his friend follow
"amigo,(blah, blah, blah) camere" meaning to eat
they continue to ignore
until ignoring becomes impossible
and violation inevitable

he begins to attack the american man
grabbing at his arms
taking his watch, snapping the band
a watch purchased to be stolen

she stands there
with minor screams of "eh, eh"
didn~t do any good
feeling paralyzed and out numbered

victoriously he runs away, a car screeches to a halt
but not to aid the americans
to share a laugh or two with the muggers friend
the mugger, long gone

a doorman on a stoop
he looks unstartled, unbothered
he glances at the americans in the eye with no apology
as if to say
"this sort of thing happens everyday"

so on the americans walk, calmly
head high, showing no fear

they never made it to pelourinho
retiring to the apartment they napped the pain away

the mugger didn~t look particularly unfed
nor was he professional in his actions, clumsy at best
nevertheless, after the loss of safety, the abandon of adventure,
i would like to think of it as a contribution

he must have needed that watch more than us
more than we needed to feel at home in a country that is not ours
we are just visitors taking in their everyday
taking in their patterns
I suppose we have now taken part
involuntarily

two americans taking in the good with the bad
my mind roams to the worst things that could have happened
but my soul dances to all of the wonder Brazil has already given me

just a day in brazil

Today started out well. We are now in Praia Do Forte and are leaving tomorrow to make our way back to Salvador. The trip from Salvador to here was a bit daunting because although it is only a 2 hour bus ride, the scenery was filled with small functioning towns, horses and fields. None of which I was prepared for. In the guidebook, Praia Do Forte sounded like a haven of activity and less populated beaches, shopping and restaurants... and it was.

Among some of the activities was visiting a place called TAMAR. Here, right off the beach, was a conservation to save turtles and other ocean friends. The turtles were amazing and some very large. They also had interactive pools where we got to touch sting rays (without the sting) and ocean slugs(?).

We then went down to the water and splashed around a bit before we moved to our next activity. Very fun and refreshing. The water here is not as warm as I remember Hawaii or the Philippines being, but nonetheless just as rewarding.

We came back to our pousada awaiting our guide for horseback riding. Of course we are trying to make the most of our trip and opted to ride for 2 hours. Miles asked me if I had ever ridden a horse before at which I replied yes. When he tried to dig for details I didn~t really reply. I actually beleive I only rode one once when I was in Mexico when I was very young with my uncle or something. Other than that maybe a pony or two at an amusement park.

With the best game face I have, I procceeded to mount the horse- and I made it! We began to move- oh boy. Miles gave me a quick crash course on riding and I tried to retain as much as I could between my anxiety and A MOVING HORSE. I pretty much got the gist and before long I was actually able to look up and take in some of the scenery. Palm trees, lush greens, strange creatures crawling around and then a strange smell... like manure... it was. The horse leading us was doing the ..2. That~s cool, that~s cool. I can stomach this. It~s natural! It~s nature! So on we went to a closed private area and followed the trail beside the gate. The trail was very narrow at this point and there were little hills in the road. Coming off one of these hills my horse began to wig out. I~m not quite sure what it wanted me to do but I was imagining that it wanted to stand on its hind legs and give out a neigh. Our guide calmed him down, who by the way did not speak the inglais. It was then I began to wonder why they had put me on this horse and not the one that Miles was on who seemed very calm, especially since they did ask us which of the two of us had more experience.

We moved on to even narrower areas. Like, I was ducking and brushing up, practically running into plants. My horse kept looking back at me, I wondered what he might be thinking. I began to ponder the relationship between animal and man, how special it was and unique with each different person to animal. The friendship that grows. Maybe the horse thought, "This girl is not my friend". Which might explain why he seemed to have his own agenda. Despite my tender nudges with my feet to the sides of his body (afterall how would you feel if you were being kicked especially if you didn~t know your attacker) he decided to stop and eat. My guide hurried him along. This made me nervous. It occurred to me that this horse is much larger, much stronger and much faster than I could ever imagine wanting to go. It reminded me of my roller blade accident and not having the control to stop, but much worse, this was a living, breathing HORSE. I calm myself. I think of other things... life, love, leaves, the horse in front of me is shitting again, and where is Miles? oh there he is-good, wow, I~m horseback riding--- what is my horse doing? coughing, sneezing, choking? Okay, he~s fine, the guide doesn~t seem too worried... but he~s still doing it. Alright the guide calmed the horse down.

It was about this time that I remembered what Miles had told me right after we had arranged for this ride. He was telling me about the time he and his mother went riding in Barbados and they were really bummed because they were lead by a man walking along side the horses. He was hoping that we wouldn~t have the same dilema. Well, we didn~t. Nope, it was just us on horses.

We stopped for about a half hour to check out this castle. Left the horses and our guide while we roamed the grounds. I was pretty excited and Miles was proud about how well I was holding up. Miles was having a great time as he wants to have a ranch someday (or at least a pinto named Hidalgo). He wanted to just let the horse run full speed- and I, well I am just happy to even be on one.

When we came back I was ready to take it all in again. We started to approach a sandy area. There was no preparing me, the horse had its own agenda. Riding along and all of a sudden I begin to sink, or feel like I~m sinking or shrinking- no the horse is sitting down,maybe? yes oh my god, what is he doing? I need to get my leg from out under his body because now he is rolling on his back like Giant in the sand. This gigantic animal kind of pushed/nudged me, rather surprisingly, off of his back to, I don~t know, play? in the sand. Do horses do that? Nobody elses horse did that. In fact nobody elses horse did anything but walk and poop.

After mounting the horse following this debacle and demounting it because the horse was OUT OF CONTROL, we did a little switch-a-roo. Miles got the guides horse, the guide rode my horse, and I got Miles calm horse. Calm being the operative word here. So calm he did not want to move. Miles and the guide motioned me to kick harder. First of all, as I mentioned earlier I~m not comfortable with harming an animal especially one I don~t know and is bigger than me, and second, my legs just didn~t seem long enough to get a good kick. The guide came over and took a crop from the saddle and showed me how to hit the horse. No go. He finally took the rope and guided me while riding his horse. Meanwhile Miles was having a grand time because his new horse was very peppy and seemed ready to run at anytime. By this time we were on a beach and it was pretty incredible.

However, discomfort began to grow on me. Because my horse was now connected to the guide, he could go as fast as he wanted and we were definately going faster. Walking became trotting. Miles and I believe that the guides horse was still walking, but faster, while our horses opted to trot. We could tell because we were bouncing up and down like two jack-in-the-boxes and the guide just sat on his horse enjoying his ride. The rest of the ride back we bounced up and down. In some cases, in my opinion, violently. I began to feel sick. Miles, coping with these sudden earthquakes by applying his cantering skills, was still trying to ask me about the debacle in the sand when I had to ask him to refrain from speaking to me as I was concentrating on a spot, much like dance class while doing turns across the floor. After waiting near a dead carcass full of buzzing flies for someone to undo barbed wiring for us to pass, riding along the busy road and other plants running into my face, all the while bouncing and returning smiles and waves to the passing cars, we finally got to GET OFF THE HORSES.

We had a late lunch while discussing the events of the day and most importantly asked ourselves- why? I want to live life, but does life want me to live it? For those of you who may not be familiar, I am not the luckiest person when it comes to such activities as swimming, climbing mountains, roller blading, or just being outdoors at times. I am not what one would call "a natural" at activities involving nature.

When we woke it was time for dinner. Instead of having our normal meat served with potatoes AND rice diet (that~s right, you get both with practically every meal) we opted for Italian. I couldn~t wait to have some ravioli. We got to pick a sauce and stuffing: cheese, spinach, or carne. As tempting as the latter two sounded I couldn~t resist that good ole classic filling. When our ravioli arrived I was very excited because every meal we had eaten so far was delicious. When I cut into my succulent ravioli it was cheese- but not riccotta. Cheddar? Monterey jack? Melted no less. Two starches for dinner, okay, but why would anyone put any other kind of cheese in a ravioli?