Just to clear up some misunderstandings. This blog was mostly written in APRIL, is is NOT current, it is WAY out of date.
Bah Humm-bus
Curiously, nothing functions on this bus and as we head into the green interior, the speakers, at first intermittently, then with all guns blazing, start squealing right above my head. Then the dvd player screws up over and over again…ugghhh. I don't really have any food, and there's no in-flight compliments. It's the tourist trap buffet restaurant stops for us, complete with weigh-and-pay checkouts and pay toilets.
ass.
As we ride, I eventually start talking to the cuckoo beside me…..look at him there…..staring out the window- oh- LOOK! he does't even care…..sitting in my seat. Anyway turns out he's real friendly and kind, and speaks some Enguese so we get along.
As we sit outside a diner, I get to chatting with a smoker as our mutual banishment pushes us approximate. Mine is money, his, smoke. We chat about…well, I can't remember really, but I guess I was distracted by the fact that a whole bunch of people are chowing down behind me while my stomach rumbles. mmmm
Afterwards I think it was, in the bus, there's a little girl behind me who jumps and jives and at some stage touches my hair. It is of infinite interest to people here. Conformity is sooooo strong in Latin countries. There are so few exceptions. You either conform to the majority, or conform to the minority. The hippies all conform to the hippy style, metallers to the metal and the others to whichever magazines they buy each week. So, I stand out - and the honesty of children is like a window into what everyone else isn't saying. I think she actually caresses it a little, and after catching stray eyes a few times I say something and get fired upon in babbling Portuguese. I understand nothing, but we start to play. I show her some hand tricks (you know the only I do with the two hands making a face) and we start to talk a little. She's about 7 or 8 and learns english at school, so there is some ability to communicate, but her mother is whispering most of it in her ear.
It's quite fun and as the ringing of the speakers grows stronger, I shove my comb into the speaker grill, depressing the diaphragm and quietening at least this one to a whisper. Of course this means we cannot hear the film so loud but curiously, it's actually clearer. The wee girl finds this just the funniest thing in the world and giggles at the scene. I get to talking to her Mother, Luciana who starts teaching me portuguese by writing out verbs and conjugations. Problem is, everyone writes in some crazy script here, being from NZ, I have no idea how to read it. This, I'm sure, just tickles pink the little one. The daughter's name is Milena which takes me an age to figure out even after they've written it down for me. We have a great time chatting and playing until the night wears on past bed time and they all fall asleep.
At this stage I have not yet learned to sleep on a bus and find it impossible to be comfortable. All the curtains get closed and I spend the night in the windowless box, eye's closed most of the time, occasionally glancing at the clock. I don't know why, I have no idea how long this trip is supposed to take. The night's highlight is the boarder crossing where we all stay in the bus, which stops for about 30mins as I see some grey buildings through the window between a crack in the drawn curtains while we're parked. We wait for quite a while, then it's all back on again (or off I should say) and we're shaking away once again in our temporary grand coffin hurtling down the road.
Dawn, late and belated, finally rouses my companions and seats are re-positioned, the odd curtain opened to let the horizontal amber rays of the sun flash in our eyes. We stop for breakfast and slowly drain out the door.
We are in Brazil. I am in Brazil. win
All I can think of is that sentence Deo' (my Brazilian mate from Invercargill) taught me years ago:
Bah Humm-bus
Curiously, nothing functions on this bus and as we head into the green interior, the speakers, at first intermittently, then with all guns blazing, start squealing right above my head. Then the dvd player screws up over and over again…ugghhh. I don't really have any food, and there's no in-flight compliments. It's the tourist trap buffet restaurant stops for us, complete with weigh-and-pay checkouts and pay toilets.
ass.
As we ride, I eventually start talking to the cuckoo beside me…..look at him there…..staring out the window- oh- LOOK! he does't even care…..sitting in my seat. Anyway turns out he's real friendly and kind, and speaks some Enguese so we get along.
As we sit outside a diner, I get to chatting with a smoker as our mutual banishment pushes us approximate. Mine is money, his, smoke. We chat about…well, I can't remember really, but I guess I was distracted by the fact that a whole bunch of people are chowing down behind me while my stomach rumbles. mmmm
Afterwards I think it was, in the bus, there's a little girl behind me who jumps and jives and at some stage touches my hair. It is of infinite interest to people here. Conformity is sooooo strong in Latin countries. There are so few exceptions. You either conform to the majority, or conform to the minority. The hippies all conform to the hippy style, metallers to the metal and the others to whichever magazines they buy each week. So, I stand out - and the honesty of children is like a window into what everyone else isn't saying. I think she actually caresses it a little, and after catching stray eyes a few times I say something and get fired upon in babbling Portuguese. I understand nothing, but we start to play. I show her some hand tricks (you know the only I do with the two hands making a face) and we start to talk a little. She's about 7 or 8 and learns english at school, so there is some ability to communicate, but her mother is whispering most of it in her ear.
It's quite fun and as the ringing of the speakers grows stronger, I shove my comb into the speaker grill, depressing the diaphragm and quietening at least this one to a whisper. Of course this means we cannot hear the film so loud but curiously, it's actually clearer. The wee girl finds this just the funniest thing in the world and giggles at the scene. I get to talking to her Mother, Luciana who starts teaching me portuguese by writing out verbs and conjugations. Problem is, everyone writes in some crazy script here, being from NZ, I have no idea how to read it. This, I'm sure, just tickles pink the little one. The daughter's name is Milena which takes me an age to figure out even after they've written it down for me. We have a great time chatting and playing until the night wears on past bed time and they all fall asleep.
At this stage I have not yet learned to sleep on a bus and find it impossible to be comfortable. All the curtains get closed and I spend the night in the windowless box, eye's closed most of the time, occasionally glancing at the clock. I don't know why, I have no idea how long this trip is supposed to take. The night's highlight is the boarder crossing where we all stay in the bus, which stops for about 30mins as I see some grey buildings through the window between a crack in the drawn curtains while we're parked. We wait for quite a while, then it's all back on again (or off I should say) and we're shaking away once again in our temporary grand coffin hurtling down the road.
Dawn, late and belated, finally rouses my companions and seats are re-positioned, the odd curtain opened to let the horizontal amber rays of the sun flash in our eyes. We stop for breakfast and slowly drain out the door.
We are in Brazil. I am in Brazil. win
All I can think of is that sentence Deo' (my Brazilian mate from Invercargill) taught me years ago:
Mais gordurosa que o pao do açougueiro
roughly translating to:
Greasier than a Butchers cock
(thankyou Clelia for your apt description of Deo's guitar strings all those years ago). hmmm. Not really appropriate. I wonder what will be in store for me here.
The bus does give us the odd snack but they never have vegetarian options and you get pretty hungry on a 20 hour journey. Especially when everyone else's chowing down. Of course the big food shacks for the bussers are grossly overpriced and the food is terrible. I tell myself.
Back on the bus, I decide I have found the recipient for my Dr Seuss book. I really love it, and don't wanna see it go…but I'm traveling, and NO-ONE knows Dr Seuss here. No-ONE! I think It's basically abuse to raise a child without the Dr, so, even though I still haven't read a lot of the stories, I give it to her to read. Turns out she loves it (what a surprise) and after a few hours, tries to hand it back. Anticipating this move I have my dictionary open to 'regal' - gift (spanish) and she is really quite amazed. She hugs me immediately almost as if part of a well established protocol and I wonder if she really doesn't want the book but is humoring me. After all - who the f**k (keeping the sentence PG for the littlies in it) could read it to her? Funny how I worry about this. Funny how it is possible - how fast we learn etiquette. I fuckin' HATE etiquette. Hating is stupid…but there you go.
I go back to looking out the window at the greenery, and maaaan, it IS GREENery. I have to say it, Brazil is even greener than I remember NZ. It's lush, overflowing, greeny greeness and smells like humid pot. Mmmmmm. Actually - this place REALLY looks like NZ. Funny how so far, South america has looked a hell of a lot like NZ. So much for uniqueness. Mind you, just how different is land ever gonna look? Well, it looks more like NZ than Oz does.
After a fair while, I can't hold any longer and go to the bus toilet. Now Bus toilets are messy. They are rank as fuk to be honest. Imagine public toilets, and then add unexpected motion and all that comes with it, motion-sickness, the effects of which are intensified by being in a small room without windows or fresh-air. Decidedly without fresh air mind you - and a complex flushing system it seems is beyond the comprehension of everyone. Including the location of where to put your wipings. Ugghhh, this place is more soup than toilet. Anyway, in my 2-days-without-sleep state, I manage to lay a clumsy brown trout and actually get the flush to function…although admittedly I had practice from when I first entered and had to rinse clear the last patrons offering. I did however manage to mistake a towel dispenser for the wipings bin….err….sorry guys…. I get myself together and try to leave inconspicuously. Damn door wont open. Ahh a red button, that must be the door release, *clunk* (with a clumsy drunk hand) oops! that's the 'I'm-locked-in-the-toilet' emergency switch, FUK! I quickly see the latch and remove myself with rapid directness to my seat and play innocent. Damit!
Milena eventually hands me a piece of paper with a smile, folded with her name on it. I open it and it's a picture of me and her complete with speech bubbles saying our names and a note:
GOOGLE TRADUCION
Obrigada pelo livro, gosta muito! Vocé parece meu amigo Cunthew, porisso gostei de vocé
which comes out as:
Thanks for the book, like a lot! You seem like my friend Cunthew, that's why I liked you.
er….. Cunthew? - I wonder just what this means for a long time before I realise she's not referring to me and the word is Arthur. Now that I look at it, it looks just like Arthur. eep. Cute as hell she was. And apparently there's some guy called Arthur who's just like me. My friend in the other seat leaves and I wish him all the best. Luciana and Milena are going on north, but tell me when we get to Florianopolis. At first it looks like a dive - like the rest of the brazil I've seen from my window, then we turn onto a motorway ramp and suddenly the buildings all change. As we round the huge arc up to the overpass I can see huge buildings of large retailers - one with a model of the Statue of Liberty! (all beit with arms grossly out of proportion) standing about 9-10m high. I think. yeap, it seems to be a furniture store. This is the first time in South America I've seen anything that looks first-world. Then we drive up and onto one of the 3 parallel bridges linking the mainland to the island, and I am treated to a harbor vista full of colourful boats and sparkling ocean. This is a beautiful place, and very rich I notice immediately. Nice. I never though I'd welcome that kind of description!
With some excitement, although I have completely mis-judged the arrival time, I am positive about this place already
Florianópolis
The bus station is a big grey concrete building kind of like a wort surrounded by an otherwise beautiful landscape. It's an island town, wealthy and manicured, surrounded by hills, trees and ocean.
The people here are just so instantly different, even the guy hustling at the bus station offering cheap accommodation takes the time to smile and chat after he' realized I don't need his offerings. I find a seat and go on the net to see about my couchsurfing contact. A couple I saw on the bus come up to me to make sure I have a place to stay. That's real awesome.
I ask a Brazilian woman where I can go to catch the bus to the university and not only does she take the time to explain even though we share no common language AT ALL, but there's no hint of gringo hate - and the directions she gave me are correct! hmmmmm this is stange.
So I decide to take a little walk into town. As usual, my priority is to get a functioning sim-card for my phone. Its so useful to be contactable when you're travelling, having a working phone can really change your life, people can offer you a place to stay, meet up and inform you etc. I get one after spending some time trying to understand a clerk babbling at me in a small electronics store before giving up on communication and walking out. I soon realize I cant get it to work and eventually find someone in another shop who informs me that you can't register a sim card here without a number from a personal ID card (it's like a passport that everyone has to carry around in these parts - documente), so they suggest I get a friend to do it. But it's my friend I'm trying to contact seeing as my Uruguayan sim doesn't work here (so great they haven't sorted that detail - I mean, I'm on the same hunk of dirt y'know).
Anyway I find my way to the bus station and take another look at Ana's directions…UFSC Semi-directo…ok and I get on the bus. Then all of a sudden something is said and everyone gets off. I just follow. Maaaaaa. Another bus parallel parks in front of us at lightning speed, (ever seen a bus parallel parking?) and just as fast I'm jostled to the rear of the line. I once had a seat, and nobody, NO ONE thinks to offer me one even though I have a HUGE backpack, bag and guitar. Thanks guys. I guess this IS still South America. I find my way to the elbow joint thing (articulated bus) and put my gear down. The bus then pulls out and I hold on with white knuckles as it proceeds in it's attempt to set a new land-speed record while rounding a hairpin WITHIN the bus station and tears off down the highway launch-ramp like…well….like what? what can I possibly reference to show you what 60 utterly indifferent faces, all hanging on fiercely yet as if its normal, while the bus engine roars like a baritone Ferrari and we approach mach 1 looks like? I mean it was up to like 60km/hr In the station, booming round with people hopefully standing clear enough not to be sucked in by the vortices I can only imagine are being sent off as small hurricanes out the back of this rocketship. Now it's probably about to bust the pressure wave and join the concord as one of only 2 kinds of mass transportation capable of seeing the sunrise in the west. Madness.
Good new is a friendly guy named Igor ( yes, really) on the bus speaks really good english through his braces and turns out he's going to the university (where I plan to meet Ana). He also he lets me use his phone to call her. What a great guy. He even helps me find the library (Biblioteka). My sunglasses fall onto the road and a motorist picks them up for me, but then the traffic moves, ah fuck it who cares. I bit farewell to Igor and sit and watch the students pass by. I knew Brazil has all races, but, it's really very different then I though it would be. Even in town, there is no majority, I mean, there is no race or look thats more common. They have EVERYTHING here, and I do not stand out at all, racially that is. It's really quite surprising. Where are all the hot Amazon women? haha….just kidding…but not really. Eventually I see Ana coming walking her bike with a spritely and friendly face she's easily recognisable from her photo.
….and here it comes…as I sat waiting….the sigh….ahhhhhhhhh…I can finally relax.
I soon learn that foreigners are not hated here, and we discuss the image of brazil as opposed to the reality as we walk to her house. Florianópolis, though I am told it has slums, is 1st world and at least as wealthy as any NZ city - actually it looks more. Not really what I expected, but I never thought I'd be so happy to be in a developed world!
Ana's place is a huge while apartment block amongst 4 others surrounded by a high fence complete with coded gates and security guards. Actually this is how almost everyone lives here. Inside her house I'm welcomed by Ricardo, her flatmate, a big burly yet surprisingly gentle guy with black hair and glasses. I quickly find my way to a toilet -that works? wow (really well actually) a shower (single tap - 1 set temperature!), a meal and a bed which, after exchanging niceties, I crash on until the third flatmate gets home while the others are out and we fumble an introduction. His name I don't understand but he's african and extremely friendly. They made me feel so welcome, I just am so wrapped. Montevideo was harsh for me, this is f@#@%n great!
I go out that evening I head towards the huge mall just around the corner from Anas place and I assue easily viewable from space. It just has the word BIG written on it. Guess that's accurate. I venture into the gigantic supermarket and buy the most expensive beer I can (I don't know why, I guess it spoke to me) which I am told when I get back, has a name that roughly translates to "Slut" (Devassa), and comes in 3 varieties: Blonde, Brunette, and my choice "Red Head". Must have been F$%^n inspiration. I also buy 3 things I've never seen before which it turn out are a yummmmmmmmy melon and a giant avocado (which they eat sweet here, mixed with sugar and milk….ugh!) and peanuts.
Things just look a little different here. I mean they got the same shit here they got everywhere, but here, it's just a little different…etc.
As I get back into the complex I realise I have no idea which place is Anas. I go to the wrong flat several times, knock on doors etc. People here don't answer the door unless they know you, so I wait for ages thinking they must be busy before I realise I'm at the wrong place. Eventually Ana comes out and I follow her back to the right place.
After a solid round of Uno (yes thanks I won… snigger snigger) I write this and hit the freak'n hay. Bueno…er…Bom
I sleep like a log…some nightmares.. I dunno, but well. The next day around early afternoon Ana and I head off to a beach in the south. Back on the F1 Bus circuit to Mataderio, a small surfing/fishing village. It's really beautiful and we grab a $15 Real (currency) meal which includes pasta made from potatoes, some bean thing served with a toasted flour/egg powder (…basically toasted flour) and a whole bunch of other stuff. And with this stuff, I stuff myself. I also get a drink flavoured like some Amazonian fruit. I dunno what the hell it was, but it was nice.
As we walk we invite a following of local dogs which seem to really enjoy to pack-attacking cars (then proudly walking off in congratulation to each other for a job well done) and generally jump and play. Surprising how much better natured they are to NZ dogs who are locked up in their houses and/or on leads. Not surprising actually.
We walk over a small bridge surrounded by lush forest with the odd house nestled in bast a small tor )island thing) to some surf beaches. This is where many foreigners live I am told and we sit a while at a place which translates to "Skinning Bay" or something, with 2 other adjacent beaches called "Gutting" and "Slaughter". This was once a whaling locale. I guess it was a kind of open-air processing line. Ugghh.
We talk of life and the ocean. Ana is really nice, a political/social science and anthropology student, she's got some cool ideas and ways to see things. The seaside fishing village with real fisherman fishing by hand and colorful boats is also really lovely. Despite the pungent odour from time to time of Fish death, it's pretty amazing. Mountainous lush forested landscapes with rounded old world style rocks jutting out, beautiful beaches and waves, fishing boats and circling seagulls….mmmmmmm
We walk onto the tor on our way back to find a tethered pony braying in the drizzle. People are harsh with horses here, I don't know why. I have seen so many tied up Equines, heads down, not moving...in the middle of dank fields. This poor junior starts getting harassed by the dogs that are following us....not really pretty. After a brief look at the waves and talk of camping we move on.
Eventually we decide to catch the bus back, but Ana gets a phone-call as it arrives and it drives past, to the dead end 6m away, so we signal it on its way back…no success. It just drives right past at full tit. What IS the rush? "no, we only pick people up when we're going this way past the stop" we saw you, but you need to learn the hard way.
Anyway it'll be a while until our next bus so we take a walk. On the way I see a sign I wish I could have taken a picture of. Its for a restaurant, that obviously specializes in chicken. The picture is of a roast chicken, with a bikini tan line. That is, as if it was roasted with a bikini on. I don't know what the hell they were thinking, but have you seen "Something About Mary"? the old woman? Like that, in chicken form. It was so ugly, but funny as hell. I have no idea who would enjoy seeing that. There's an easy joke in all this, but frankly I don't even wanna bother.
It was raining all day and we got quite cold, so at home Ana makes a hot chocolate and with that I am pretty freak'n happy. Funny how strangers can be sooooo much nicer than friends. Says a lot about personal history
We drink local drinks (alcohol here is SOOOO cheap - like $4 for a litre of (terrible tasting) 40%, around 70c/beer at the supermarket). I also join Ana for a world dancing group one day - we do Greek dancing (I have some booze to get me in the mood before I go) in circles. Now I don't understand a thing, but it seems I just have to copy them. And it's fine. Makes me think about how unnecessary speaking is, but people want to hear a voice, to reassure…some think it's rude not to. Funny I'm the one saying all that.
It's also interesting thinking about cultural dances. These dances seem to foster a lot of good feelings between the members. You get a sense we're not so different. I think about the people who started each tradition off. About their personalities, I reason they were the organised types, you know the ones. The kind that make the sports lunches and speak up with bad ideas in the PTA, or the quiet ones who do tapestry and wonder why everyone else isn't as exited about as they are. Strange they may be, but, they're great to wrangle people into action…but I also think of the softness of the dances…I think of people in communities who need to remember to get along together. And to remember to be human. When was the last time your community got together to foster quiet respect and goodwill towards each other in such a peaceful way?
The Greek dances progress into ever more soft and yoga style movements. Really, I was surprised too. Bowing and moving your hands through the air around a partner as if to move energy, then touching prayer hands on chakra.
I think of how dance could be used to heal our society. How it reminds us of things the media tries to make us forget.
Anyway we trundle off to eat and spend the evening chatting and laughing - well somehow I manage it, though I don't understand a damn thing, the dancing has helped me remember my humanity - and silliness. Thank christ I can still be silly. The day i loose that its time to die. We sit with Leticia and eventually Leo arrives, one of Ana's friends (her ex) and we drink and laugh. He keeps asking for more alcohol and talking about the drugs he's been taking, and his lack of sleep. I find him personable but suspicous.
At some point he slumps on the table and complains he must sleep at her house as he cannot ride his motorbike home. Its an interesting watch, and I observe this poor guy who's like myself. Desperate and strung out, hoping any trick at all will get some comfort...and he is clearly in need of it. Though I grumble in my head at the dishonesty, I think now, was it really? I'm not sure. I don't think so now. We go back to the flat, he walks his scooter with us and upstairs Ana puts him to bed.
It's at this point I find myself distracted by my present surroundings and entrenched in a feminism debate on facebook. Oh how did I come to this? oh right…yeah , that's how. I chose to. Turns out a friend of mine put up some feminism doctrine and, like a feminism march on my screen I don't like it, take exception to it.
Though they claim to fight for equality, I've not seen it. What I've seen in my experience is a bunch of people fighting oppression, unfortunately, usually, with oppression. Though it seems they are unaware of it, I get into trying to point out the irony. Maybe a hint at equality and humanism could grease their mental wheels? But no…they just decided to try to insult, ego battle and grandstand. It's always the way, people say they're standing up to aggression, oppression, racism, and proceed to be exactly what they're fighting.
Though I wrote nothing personal, of course I am insulted in triplicate and the ideas I put out are twisted and warped until they convince themselves I mean something else. Uhhhh people don't ask, they assume - then it's up to you to prove them wrong.
Its easier to get power in a debate by pretending your opposition says something they didn't - ever seen 'Thankyou for Smoking" or whatever it's called? basically that principle. Tell me dear readers, is having a different opinion a bad thing in any way? Ever? Does it really matter what the opinion is?? Do you make your friends and enemies based on that? Are our opinions really anything to do with us?
From the time of first learning you had your information based on interpretation of stimulus occurring in the 'non you' - the outside world. Outside of you. You formed beliefs on it. So how much of what you believe is really a choice? You could say all you like that we have a choice to learn, and change what we know. But before that choice comes a choice to do it, think about it etc. And that is based on experience. So how much of our beliefs are ours to be judged upon - are they under our control at all? I bet you think yes. I am unconvinced. In any case, a different opinion is no basis for hatred, violence or ridicule.
So I find myself trying to word an answer honest to myself and without the ego battle to which they beckon me. As I think, queue Leo, stage left, unable to sleep, he asks for alcohol - no wait, he doesn't ask for alcohol, he just asks where it is. The speed he's on is keeping him up, I should know what it's like, and he finds the liquor bottle and lays it back straight.
I worry and judge. Oh how I do that judging so much…it's almost as if I was raised in some kind of religious community…..oh wait… Anyways I see this poor gent is in pain somewhere in there. I can say for sure drugs aren't the answer, but I also know a certain amount can smooth the wait. Really, it actually can. So he goes to bed only to get up a couple of times more…actually it was the other way round, but who cares, you get the point.
Anyway I just cant get to sleep. This feminism thing…..I hate the battle, and it reminds me of the world I don't like. The "IF" poem, and how they're loosing their heads….but I cant loose and start again from my beginnings without a word. Conclusion - I'm not a man, I accept that.
The next day I plan to go to buy a ticket to Rio with Ana, but she encourages me to buy a car instead. I can hardly believe it's possible to afford, but she's quite certain it could be. The idea fills me with delight. A car would change my life soooooo much.
So I wander around the centre looking at the markets. I go to the museum (don't bother, just old furniture) then we come back home and I try to do some Maori study. I hope to be a week late on my first asignment if I can get it done in time. Spanish I've pretty much given up on as I have no textbook. This has become a stress, and I guess I can choose to worry, or do the work, or not. But lack of sleep makes me tired and I retire.
Now Ana and I don't always see eye-to-eye…really because we are very similar, and passionate about similar issues….. Arrogant as it sounds, I know it's an indirect relationship, but…well, if you don't know what I mean, it's a the kind of style of belief system. Actually you can have it at any age, but I believe it's formed out of lack of contemplation and experience, so it's less and less common the more of each you have. She is also feminist. Feminism, with it's ideals of promoting humanism and equality, well, as I see it, this ends up being cheap talk when you read the literature and talk to the activists. It's like religious types (I include science as a religion), they say they believe x and y, but look at it, do THEY? I openly think feminism is equal to misogyny, and I will happily answer questions on the subject.
That ends up really being our point of difference. I will happily talk about beliefs…Ana doesn't actually like that. There's a lot of frustration in her, and though she doesn't wanna hide her opinion, she doesn't wanna hear a different one. I love Ana for who she is, I'm not trying to insult at all, but she does get very annoyed by people's opinions simply because of something we all do (Unless I've never met you and, turns out you don't). We attach our sense of identity with our opinions.
This is trained into us from the beginning not just through imitating our parents who do it (perhaps the biggest reason why we do too) but also because we are asked "what do you like? Chocolate or Strawberry", and "what sort of person are you? Sporty or Arty?" and attention is given to those with answers. "I like strawberries!, I like Sports!" , "wow do you? That's cool, what else do you like?"….just watch the kid try to think of an answer…they don't have one dude!…maybe Mum says "You like trains, don't you Michael" "uhhhh….yeeeees" -he didn't realise he was making a permanent comittment when he said he liked trains the other day at the Toy store. Kids don't take ages to answer or do so coyly because they're young and muddled, no way, they do it because it's freakin' weird to be asking such a question and they're trying to figure out just what the hell is going on. We're so used to it, it's become integral with our thinking - we don't even notice.
At first you just pick an opinion, later, you use these as a basis to form your sense of self and extrapolate 'who you are' by forming other opinions (identity markers) from the original statements and memories of who we are. Attention is love. If you don't understand that, I don't wanna have to explain it, but it's true, and if you think about what attention for each other is, -creating connection, you will see what I'm getting at. Since defining an opinion gets us more sense of self and attention from others, we see it as extremely important. Anything of value needs defence - we learn that too as we grow. If someone shows my opinions to be illogical, then I will be ignored. That is the ultimate punishment. You may receive short-term negative attention, but we know all too well what comes next. That's why we hate it so much.
So if you attach your ego to opinions, you will do the same for other people. So then if you think certain points of view to be illogical, and that illogic tends to have a negative effect on your life (this gender is oppressing me), when a person hold those opinions you believe lead to what you don't want, then you get frustrated, gathering all the frustration you feel about the subject and directing it at who?…?..yep, the person with a different opinion. Then what they say results in your violence - because we all learned violence was how to control people from the first moment we were hit, or yelled at, or even saw someone yelled at.
Showing anger, yelling, this is violence. I would go a step further and say showing a lack of attention is violent too, but that might put you off, for now, lets keep it clear, showing anger, yelling and ridiculing are violent. This is an attack, this is disconnection from the person and exactly the worse type of thing for us as living beings. We really hate disconnection. The Irony, is that disconnection and hate are the same thing. Disconnection is the result, Hate, it's force. This is everything we are always trying to avoid…by doing it! I hate oppression, so I will fight for my rights = I want love, so I will share fear
fear=hate=lack of love=disconnection=ignoring - feel free to interchange any of these words here. Does not work, can not work. I do it all the time too.
So Ana becomes annoyed at many conversations. Who hasn't done that? If anythingour similarity make me think, "I would get much more violent then she seems to". Haha, I would get REALLY violent…when I'm in that frame of mind….. Violence was passed down to me, and has been so to us all because all our society and systems. Our cultures and customs are descendants of VERY violent times.
In the end, though I know I piss her off, I can't lie, hide or be dishonest with her, and be her friend…and maybe somewhere she knows that, because though we argue, and she gets very annoyed..she seems to find it in her to still like my company. This isn't just her words, I can see it's true. That is what makes her such a good friend. I say this now, because we have been great friends since then. I think the arguing helped a lot! Funny. There's an honesty in violence. Maybe that's why so many people get annoyed at hippies and so many people become friends after fighting.
The Party and the Girl
Ahhh…Leo. Leo the crazy lionheart. He's having a party and we all decide to go. It'll be at Leo's friends house and we roll on in at some hour, I have no booze but the cachça flows. Or caipirinha or whatever it's called. Here, everyone's all musicians and there's me, Ana, Ricardo (pronounced hicardo), Leticia (Ana's friend I met in circle dancing) and Leo with all his friends and friends of friends. We play and sing on into the night. I look over now and then at Ricardo, who seems to be getting quite friendly with Leticia. Nice, I actually was thinking of making a move on her myself (it's been a while, and she seems ok) but that's cool, there's loads of lovely girls here.
I play guitar and sing and jam with the musicians. A really flash musician gets on bass and he is TIGHT. Whatever I do he follows just fine and we have a grand old time playing. I go to sit down after and drink and there's a very attractive young Brazilian girl from the north near my gear so I get to talking to her. She seems very keen and her english is good. We chat on into the night and I'm pretty glad about the situation. Her name is Bianca. I'm not a Latino though, and I still don't want to be like they are, no, I'll just be me, and if she likes it, she can let me know.
Ana, Leticia and Ricardo leave and I stay on. Bianca says she will drive me home. It's fair to say at this stage I think I'm in. It's about 4am and she drives me home while we chat in the car. Turns out she's had NZ boyfriends before and actually lived there…and she doesn't understand or like their behavior….hmmm…I feel doom loom….I get quite nervous in my heavily drunk and tired state, I try to say that she may be intimidating due to her beauty….but it's all over. I was too drunk, and she was prejudiced I guess…fail. She drops me off and gives me her contact details. She never returns an email. Oh well.
Hard-ass Brazilianas
I go up to Anas apartment…after some serious indecision as to exactly which building it's in, and knock, but no-one answers. I send a txt, but no reply, then knock again. Eventually I call Ana, and she's not home yet….oh yeeeeah….I got in a car didn't it? Anyway I wait for them, they won't be more than a few minutes. As I wait I think about how I could have walked Leticia home instead…mmm…I could have said I was a safety issue…actually it really is, I hope she walks home with the others.
As I wait I hatch a plan to freak them out by jumping out of the bushes. I look up the road periodically and eventually spot them. It's just Ana and Ricardo. Aha! I briefly wonder about Leticia and her walking home alone. I sit and wait quietly behind a bush by a vehicle exit. When they're close enough (but not so close as to actually make them die of fright) I quickly jump out and "GRRRRRRRRAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
well… ….lets just say I learned that in this country, where mugging is so frequent, they reacted quite strongly. I don't think Ana actually peed her pants, but she may have been close …..and I can't be sure. Both were visibly shaken and it took a while for them to calm down. hehe..er…I mean oops!.. … hehehe
As we walked in through the gate I ask about Leticia and Ana gets a call. I don't know if it was just because I was thinking about her before but I guess what it's probably about. Yep, she's been mugged. I find out 2 months later a man grabbed her from behind and put a broken bottle to her neck demanding her bag. That makes 5 people I know who've been mugged, and I've only been in South America 4 weeks! What really trips us out as Ana points out is that the moment I jumped out of the bushes, would almost certainly have been the moment she was attacked. At least she still had her phone.
We decide to go see her as she has no keys, no money, and can't get into her apartment and doesn't wana walk anywhere more. It was just at the wrong time. A few hours earlier and people would have been on the street. As we get closer, people start to emerge from their houses…I wouldn't have even happened even 15mins later. As we walk Ana assures me I don't have to come, but I find that weird. If someone you know gets mugged, and you're going to where they got mugged, the more people you bring with you the better no? And what would be the other option? Oh hey, I heard you got mugged the other day, ..yeah, I had Ana let me in before she came to rescue you 'cause I needed my sleep. …. nah, Not cool. I guess for me, I've never been mugged or even met someone who has in NZ. Except at school - not to say it's any different, but I think we all know someone in that category. So for me, it's a big deal. Here, it's just part of life.
Testament to that, Leticia is standing on a Hotel porch …yep, out on the stairs….is it just me who thinks in NZ you'd be in the hotel with a cup of coffee while the receptionist reassures you and the cops get called? Not here dude, she just had a broken bottle to the throat and she's casually waiting on the steps, not a tear, not a sign of being shaken, just a look of disappointment as if her wallet fell down a drain. For such a quiet little person, she's hard as nails.
I try to stay awake, but I keep falling asleep on my legs while the others talk. I sit on the road and lean against a car in the soft morning twilight. I cannot keep my eyes open for love or money. I want to be there, for Leticia, but I am clearly not necessary. I see why the others said I didn't need to go. We all walk off and at the roundabout by the Military school, the girls decide to walk off toward the Police station. Is it also just me who finds that weird? I mean, it's less than 1/2 an hour since she was mugged, and she's like, "see ya guys, we don't need you here". weird. So Ricardo and I head home.
The Joke that Kills
Living at Ana's was really great. She never had much food or money, but was generous with all she had and appreciated greatly the fruit I would buy (and cachça). I gave her the odd guitar lesson and we had our fun. She has this way of laughing at everything…literally everything. I think she laughs because of self-consciousness, but, thinking about that, what is it that's funny?
I think what's funny is that you are aware of yourself, and someone else, and whatever it is that you're doing, doesn't mask the fact that you are here and no-one knows why. I would say that this kind of laughter comes from the implicit knowledge that this situation we call life is ridiculous - and when you are self-conscious, or if you call it shy or awkward or embarrassed, you are hyper aware of the absurdity of it all. Not consciously mind you. I think this, but I don't expect anyone to describe it this way. I'd say all she knows is when people say things, it all seems so funny…or simply that she laughs when embarrassed. But she laughs at everything else too.
One day she brings out her harmonica and I try playing…at least I think it was me who did it first, and I start laughing with her and simultaneously discover the worlds most deadly - and pleasurable, weapon. The perpetual harmonica laugh. Once you laugh into a harmonica, unless you take it away from your mouth, you will laugh yourself to death - of this I am sure.
I also believe it represents a universal paradox, because when you take it away from your mouth, could you then say you are choosing to not be as happy? I would say yes. In fact I would say this is a mirror to the eternal soul, your higher self and how the fabric of the universe is created. We are in the universe of the relative where existence is measured only relative to other things. The dreamtime where it's only real because it's real. So to be happy we must be sad, to laugh, we must put the harmonica up, to continue our lives, we must remove it.
There it is. My universal field philosophy re: the harmonica.
Or maybe I just laughed into a harmonica and it sounded funny.
Another funny thing that happened was directly afterwards she sneezed so hard she bashed her neck into the rim of the guitar. hehe. guess you had to be there. (It was hilarious though).
These sorts of things I think, if you could record them, make a film including them, would not only make it so much more real, but also more funny. It's just the kind of stupid, nonsensical thing that you'd never think of had you not seen it - and certainly not if you were writing a joke. The kind of…huh? what the hell was that?
…This needs to be done. Take my idea, give me royalties)
If Your Fond Of Sand dunes And Salty Air
The next day Ana and I want to head out to Lagoa, which she calls the lake. Turns out it's a lagoon (surprise). She wants to save money by hitching, and I think thats a fine idea. But like everything around here, the plan in the morning becomes a rush in the evening as simply no-one actually does anything. Apparently there's an italian movie on there and in my mind that means a kind of drive in (but walk) situation. Like at lake Rotoroa near where I grew up. So we stand and wait at the Hitching spot for quite a while before giving up and deciding we'd like to see this place before sun-down and walk to the bus station.
At the bus Station Ana decides to stand and hitch. This puts me in an uncomfortable situation. If we hitch, right beside those people going to the same place by bus, I feel awkward, not just because they're like normal bus people desperately trying to pretend they have nothing in common as they await the same bus going to the same places, but also because they'll know that we don't want to pay for a bus, and should we be forced to get on, they'll know we failed.
Because I like to think I don't worry about people's opinion in that way, Ana's hitching catches me out, as I don't want to stand next to her, but if I don't then when a car stops and I get up, not only is it a surprise to the diver, but it's also like the guy (me) is using the girl as bait....and I hate that. So As I don't even know where to get off the bus, or even if I have to change, and I don't speak a word of Portuguese, I have to get up and hitch. I don't want to.
I tell her this, and other things with no luck and I realise I just have to do it, as I cant live with myself caring that much about social conventions. I console myself with a thought that following paths of fear never reap the rewards of the paths of courage. Yes, that's right, all this kind of talk just to stand up and hitch. On another day I wouldn't have given half a toss, but that day I did.
Anyway no sooner do I stand but does a car stop and we get in to Joãos plush VW hatch, and I squeeze in the back next to his saxophone and guitar. Turns out he's a musician and after some friendly chat finding common ground, he invites me to go jam with him and his new rock-band sometime. Sweet.
The Lagoa is an amazingly beautiful place. You get a view of this paradisiacal looking isthmus on you way down the mountains between it an the city. As the road winds through the dense green forrest you're treated to seeing the small township, with a huge lagoon in front, circled by thin strips of mountainous land on both sides, and beyond that, the atlantic ocean. To the right are sand dunes (still with some trees and plants growing on them). They separate this area from another HUGE beach and circling back to the vantage point is more lush bush. To the left are mountains all of which rise up sharply with outcroppings of rock and the quintessential 3-4 birds circling in the updrafts just so you know it's the jungle. Jees Brazil, get a new theme, it's been done. No but seriously it is beautiful.
The township is very commercial like most of Florianópolis. There's a lot of traffic, very expensive cars and boy racers - and the guy who appears at every rich beach in a huge tricked out motor-quadsicle (this one actually had 5 wheels) about 5m long and he's a handlebar mo to finish off. nice.
We find the entrance to the dunes, perfectly positioned between 2 kiosks and roadside so we clamber up. It's like, "Here are the shops, and here's where you can go to the dunes…and here's another shop…" ,the small child explains to parents who chuckle at the impossibility of it all. We sit there and see the remnants of an amazing sunset hidden behind the western mountains and I imagine how the tundra of the dunes and lagoon would be without all these noisy humans destroying the peace of it all. I think about how much energy and tranquility you can get from nature, but only if it isn't in the middle of rush hour traffic.
We go into the commercial centre and get a juice at a juice bar and wait for Ana's friend to whom she wishes me introduces because she has been to NZ. The friend is either in the most boring mood of her life, or has had her interesting valve jammed off because she is dull as a hammer. The juice is also over-priced and flavourless. Still it's fun to be out and about.
We walk quickly to the theatre which is in a small quaint bare-wood building like a house behind many trees just out of the centre and we buy two tickets, like fare - style from an old gent behind a wooden box on the footpath.
We sit and wait until it's time to enter and go in with the 3 or 4 other patrons this evening. The film is all Italian, as I said and mostly tells the story through imagery, so it's not really important it's in another language...but it reeks like a diarrhoeic skunk. It's just fast scene after scene, flicking through, back and forward in some Italian guys life...scene-scene-scene bang bang bang...cool enough for 15 mins, it keeps this pace for about 3 hours. 3 fukin hours man...jeeeeeees are we glad to see the credits. So concerned about missing it or inconveniencing the other, we wait 'till it's over before confirming we wished we'd left 3 hours before it started. Oh Etiquette.
Still, Florianópolis is a nice change from my other tales of crazy times. It's nice to end a blog without any suspense, and I think it suits this period. I was there a while so part 2 up next time I get 'round to it.
roughly translating to:
Greasier than a Butchers cock
(thankyou Clelia for your apt description of Deo's guitar strings all those years ago). hmmm. Not really appropriate. I wonder what will be in store for me here.
The bus does give us the odd snack but they never have vegetarian options and you get pretty hungry on a 20 hour journey. Especially when everyone else's chowing down. Of course the big food shacks for the bussers are grossly overpriced and the food is terrible. I tell myself.
Back on the bus, I decide I have found the recipient for my Dr Seuss book. I really love it, and don't wanna see it go…but I'm traveling, and NO-ONE knows Dr Seuss here. No-ONE! I think It's basically abuse to raise a child without the Dr, so, even though I still haven't read a lot of the stories, I give it to her to read. Turns out she loves it (what a surprise) and after a few hours, tries to hand it back. Anticipating this move I have my dictionary open to 'regal' - gift (spanish) and she is really quite amazed. She hugs me immediately almost as if part of a well established protocol and I wonder if she really doesn't want the book but is humoring me. After all - who the f**k (keeping the sentence PG for the littlies in it) could read it to her? Funny how I worry about this. Funny how it is possible - how fast we learn etiquette. I fuckin' HATE etiquette. Hating is stupid…but there you go.
I go back to looking out the window at the greenery, and maaaan, it IS GREENery. I have to say it, Brazil is even greener than I remember NZ. It's lush, overflowing, greeny greeness and smells like humid pot. Mmmmmm. Actually - this place REALLY looks like NZ. Funny how so far, South america has looked a hell of a lot like NZ. So much for uniqueness. Mind you, just how different is land ever gonna look? Well, it looks more like NZ than Oz does.
After a fair while, I can't hold any longer and go to the bus toilet. Now Bus toilets are messy. They are rank as fuk to be honest. Imagine public toilets, and then add unexpected motion and all that comes with it, motion-sickness, the effects of which are intensified by being in a small room without windows or fresh-air. Decidedly without fresh air mind you - and a complex flushing system it seems is beyond the comprehension of everyone. Including the location of where to put your wipings. Ugghhh, this place is more soup than toilet. Anyway, in my 2-days-without-sleep state, I manage to lay a clumsy brown trout and actually get the flush to function…although admittedly I had practice from when I first entered and had to rinse clear the last patrons offering. I did however manage to mistake a towel dispenser for the wipings bin….err….sorry guys…. I get myself together and try to leave inconspicuously. Damn door wont open. Ahh a red button, that must be the door release, *clunk* (with a clumsy drunk hand) oops! that's the 'I'm-locked-in-the-toilet' emergency switch, FUK! I quickly see the latch and remove myself with rapid directness to my seat and play innocent. Damit!
Milena eventually hands me a piece of paper with a smile, folded with her name on it. I open it and it's a picture of me and her complete with speech bubbles saying our names and a note:
GOOGLE TRADUCION
Obrigada pelo livro, gosta muito! Vocé parece meu amigo Cunthew, porisso gostei de vocé
which comes out as:
Thanks for the book, like a lot! You seem like my friend Cunthew, that's why I liked you.
er….. Cunthew? - I wonder just what this means for a long time before I realise she's not referring to me and the word is Arthur. Now that I look at it, it looks just like Arthur. eep. Cute as hell she was. And apparently there's some guy called Arthur who's just like me. My friend in the other seat leaves and I wish him all the best. Luciana and Milena are going on north, but tell me when we get to Florianopolis. At first it looks like a dive - like the rest of the brazil I've seen from my window, then we turn onto a motorway ramp and suddenly the buildings all change. As we round the huge arc up to the overpass I can see huge buildings of large retailers - one with a model of the Statue of Liberty! (all beit with arms grossly out of proportion) standing about 9-10m high. I think. yeap, it seems to be a furniture store. This is the first time in South America I've seen anything that looks first-world. Then we drive up and onto one of the 3 parallel bridges linking the mainland to the island, and I am treated to a harbor vista full of colourful boats and sparkling ocean. This is a beautiful place, and very rich I notice immediately. Nice. I never though I'd welcome that kind of description!
With some excitement, although I have completely mis-judged the arrival time, I am positive about this place already
Florianópolis
The bus station is a big grey concrete building kind of like a wort surrounded by an otherwise beautiful landscape. It's an island town, wealthy and manicured, surrounded by hills, trees and ocean.
The people here are just so instantly different, even the guy hustling at the bus station offering cheap accommodation takes the time to smile and chat after he' realized I don't need his offerings. I find a seat and go on the net to see about my couchsurfing contact. A couple I saw on the bus come up to me to make sure I have a place to stay. That's real awesome.
I ask a Brazilian woman where I can go to catch the bus to the university and not only does she take the time to explain even though we share no common language AT ALL, but there's no hint of gringo hate - and the directions she gave me are correct! hmmmmm this is stange.
So I decide to take a little walk into town. As usual, my priority is to get a functioning sim-card for my phone. Its so useful to be contactable when you're travelling, having a working phone can really change your life, people can offer you a place to stay, meet up and inform you etc. I get one after spending some time trying to understand a clerk babbling at me in a small electronics store before giving up on communication and walking out. I soon realize I cant get it to work and eventually find someone in another shop who informs me that you can't register a sim card here without a number from a personal ID card (it's like a passport that everyone has to carry around in these parts - documente), so they suggest I get a friend to do it. But it's my friend I'm trying to contact seeing as my Uruguayan sim doesn't work here (so great they haven't sorted that detail - I mean, I'm on the same hunk of dirt y'know).
Anyway I find my way to the bus station and take another look at Ana's directions…UFSC Semi-directo…ok and I get on the bus. Then all of a sudden something is said and everyone gets off. I just follow. Maaaaaa. Another bus parallel parks in front of us at lightning speed, (ever seen a bus parallel parking?) and just as fast I'm jostled to the rear of the line. I once had a seat, and nobody, NO ONE thinks to offer me one even though I have a HUGE backpack, bag and guitar. Thanks guys. I guess this IS still South America. I find my way to the elbow joint thing (articulated bus) and put my gear down. The bus then pulls out and I hold on with white knuckles as it proceeds in it's attempt to set a new land-speed record while rounding a hairpin WITHIN the bus station and tears off down the highway launch-ramp like…well….like what? what can I possibly reference to show you what 60 utterly indifferent faces, all hanging on fiercely yet as if its normal, while the bus engine roars like a baritone Ferrari and we approach mach 1 looks like? I mean it was up to like 60km/hr In the station, booming round with people hopefully standing clear enough not to be sucked in by the vortices I can only imagine are being sent off as small hurricanes out the back of this rocketship. Now it's probably about to bust the pressure wave and join the concord as one of only 2 kinds of mass transportation capable of seeing the sunrise in the west. Madness.
Good new is a friendly guy named Igor ( yes, really) on the bus speaks really good english through his braces and turns out he's going to the university (where I plan to meet Ana). He also he lets me use his phone to call her. What a great guy. He even helps me find the library (Biblioteka). My sunglasses fall onto the road and a motorist picks them up for me, but then the traffic moves, ah fuck it who cares. I bit farewell to Igor and sit and watch the students pass by. I knew Brazil has all races, but, it's really very different then I though it would be. Even in town, there is no majority, I mean, there is no race or look thats more common. They have EVERYTHING here, and I do not stand out at all, racially that is. It's really quite surprising. Where are all the hot Amazon women? haha….just kidding…but not really. Eventually I see Ana coming walking her bike with a spritely and friendly face she's easily recognisable from her photo.
….and here it comes…as I sat waiting….the sigh….ahhhhhhhhh…I can finally relax.
I soon learn that foreigners are not hated here, and we discuss the image of brazil as opposed to the reality as we walk to her house. Florianópolis, though I am told it has slums, is 1st world and at least as wealthy as any NZ city - actually it looks more. Not really what I expected, but I never thought I'd be so happy to be in a developed world!
Ana's place is a huge while apartment block amongst 4 others surrounded by a high fence complete with coded gates and security guards. Actually this is how almost everyone lives here. Inside her house I'm welcomed by Ricardo, her flatmate, a big burly yet surprisingly gentle guy with black hair and glasses. I quickly find my way to a toilet -that works? wow (really well actually) a shower (single tap - 1 set temperature!), a meal and a bed which, after exchanging niceties, I crash on until the third flatmate gets home while the others are out and we fumble an introduction. His name I don't understand but he's african and extremely friendly. They made me feel so welcome, I just am so wrapped. Montevideo was harsh for me, this is f@#@%n great!
I go out that evening I head towards the huge mall just around the corner from Anas place and I assue easily viewable from space. It just has the word BIG written on it. Guess that's accurate. I venture into the gigantic supermarket and buy the most expensive beer I can (I don't know why, I guess it spoke to me) which I am told when I get back, has a name that roughly translates to "Slut" (Devassa), and comes in 3 varieties: Blonde, Brunette, and my choice "Red Head". Must have been F$%^n inspiration. I also buy 3 things I've never seen before which it turn out are a yummmmmmmmy melon and a giant avocado (which they eat sweet here, mixed with sugar and milk….ugh!) and peanuts.
Things just look a little different here. I mean they got the same shit here they got everywhere, but here, it's just a little different…etc.
As I get back into the complex I realise I have no idea which place is Anas. I go to the wrong flat several times, knock on doors etc. People here don't answer the door unless they know you, so I wait for ages thinking they must be busy before I realise I'm at the wrong place. Eventually Ana comes out and I follow her back to the right place.
After a solid round of Uno (yes thanks I won… snigger snigger) I write this and hit the freak'n hay. Bueno…er…Bom
I sleep like a log…some nightmares.. I dunno, but well. The next day around early afternoon Ana and I head off to a beach in the south. Back on the F1 Bus circuit to Mataderio, a small surfing/fishing village. It's really beautiful and we grab a $15 Real (currency) meal which includes pasta made from potatoes, some bean thing served with a toasted flour/egg powder (…basically toasted flour) and a whole bunch of other stuff. And with this stuff, I stuff myself. I also get a drink flavoured like some Amazonian fruit. I dunno what the hell it was, but it was nice.
As we walk we invite a following of local dogs which seem to really enjoy to pack-attacking cars (then proudly walking off in congratulation to each other for a job well done) and generally jump and play. Surprising how much better natured they are to NZ dogs who are locked up in their houses and/or on leads. Not surprising actually.
We walk over a small bridge surrounded by lush forest with the odd house nestled in bast a small tor )island thing) to some surf beaches. This is where many foreigners live I am told and we sit a while at a place which translates to "Skinning Bay" or something, with 2 other adjacent beaches called "Gutting" and "Slaughter". This was once a whaling locale. I guess it was a kind of open-air processing line. Ugghh.
We talk of life and the ocean. Ana is really nice, a political/social science and anthropology student, she's got some cool ideas and ways to see things. The seaside fishing village with real fisherman fishing by hand and colorful boats is also really lovely. Despite the pungent odour from time to time of Fish death, it's pretty amazing. Mountainous lush forested landscapes with rounded old world style rocks jutting out, beautiful beaches and waves, fishing boats and circling seagulls….mmmmmmm
We walk onto the tor on our way back to find a tethered pony braying in the drizzle. People are harsh with horses here, I don't know why. I have seen so many tied up Equines, heads down, not moving...in the middle of dank fields. This poor junior starts getting harassed by the dogs that are following us....not really pretty. After a brief look at the waves and talk of camping we move on.
Eventually we decide to catch the bus back, but Ana gets a phone-call as it arrives and it drives past, to the dead end 6m away, so we signal it on its way back…no success. It just drives right past at full tit. What IS the rush? "no, we only pick people up when we're going this way past the stop" we saw you, but you need to learn the hard way.
Anyway it'll be a while until our next bus so we take a walk. On the way I see a sign I wish I could have taken a picture of. Its for a restaurant, that obviously specializes in chicken. The picture is of a roast chicken, with a bikini tan line. That is, as if it was roasted with a bikini on. I don't know what the hell they were thinking, but have you seen "Something About Mary"? the old woman? Like that, in chicken form. It was so ugly, but funny as hell. I have no idea who would enjoy seeing that. There's an easy joke in all this, but frankly I don't even wanna bother.
It was raining all day and we got quite cold, so at home Ana makes a hot chocolate and with that I am pretty freak'n happy. Funny how strangers can be sooooo much nicer than friends. Says a lot about personal history
We drink local drinks (alcohol here is SOOOO cheap - like $4 for a litre of (terrible tasting) 40%, around 70c/beer at the supermarket). I also join Ana for a world dancing group one day - we do Greek dancing (I have some booze to get me in the mood before I go) in circles. Now I don't understand a thing, but it seems I just have to copy them. And it's fine. Makes me think about how unnecessary speaking is, but people want to hear a voice, to reassure…some think it's rude not to. Funny I'm the one saying all that.
It's also interesting thinking about cultural dances. These dances seem to foster a lot of good feelings between the members. You get a sense we're not so different. I think about the people who started each tradition off. About their personalities, I reason they were the organised types, you know the ones. The kind that make the sports lunches and speak up with bad ideas in the PTA, or the quiet ones who do tapestry and wonder why everyone else isn't as exited about as they are. Strange they may be, but, they're great to wrangle people into action…but I also think of the softness of the dances…I think of people in communities who need to remember to get along together. And to remember to be human. When was the last time your community got together to foster quiet respect and goodwill towards each other in such a peaceful way?
The Greek dances progress into ever more soft and yoga style movements. Really, I was surprised too. Bowing and moving your hands through the air around a partner as if to move energy, then touching prayer hands on chakra.
I think of how dance could be used to heal our society. How it reminds us of things the media tries to make us forget.
Anyway we trundle off to eat and spend the evening chatting and laughing - well somehow I manage it, though I don't understand a damn thing, the dancing has helped me remember my humanity - and silliness. Thank christ I can still be silly. The day i loose that its time to die. We sit with Leticia and eventually Leo arrives, one of Ana's friends (her ex) and we drink and laugh. He keeps asking for more alcohol and talking about the drugs he's been taking, and his lack of sleep. I find him personable but suspicous.
At some point he slumps on the table and complains he must sleep at her house as he cannot ride his motorbike home. Its an interesting watch, and I observe this poor guy who's like myself. Desperate and strung out, hoping any trick at all will get some comfort...and he is clearly in need of it. Though I grumble in my head at the dishonesty, I think now, was it really? I'm not sure. I don't think so now. We go back to the flat, he walks his scooter with us and upstairs Ana puts him to bed.
It's at this point I find myself distracted by my present surroundings and entrenched in a feminism debate on facebook. Oh how did I come to this? oh right…yeah , that's how. I chose to. Turns out a friend of mine put up some feminism doctrine and, like a feminism march on my screen I don't like it, take exception to it.
Though they claim to fight for equality, I've not seen it. What I've seen in my experience is a bunch of people fighting oppression, unfortunately, usually, with oppression. Though it seems they are unaware of it, I get into trying to point out the irony. Maybe a hint at equality and humanism could grease their mental wheels? But no…they just decided to try to insult, ego battle and grandstand. It's always the way, people say they're standing up to aggression, oppression, racism, and proceed to be exactly what they're fighting.
Though I wrote nothing personal, of course I am insulted in triplicate and the ideas I put out are twisted and warped until they convince themselves I mean something else. Uhhhh people don't ask, they assume - then it's up to you to prove them wrong.
Its easier to get power in a debate by pretending your opposition says something they didn't - ever seen 'Thankyou for Smoking" or whatever it's called? basically that principle. Tell me dear readers, is having a different opinion a bad thing in any way? Ever? Does it really matter what the opinion is?? Do you make your friends and enemies based on that? Are our opinions really anything to do with us?
From the time of first learning you had your information based on interpretation of stimulus occurring in the 'non you' - the outside world. Outside of you. You formed beliefs on it. So how much of what you believe is really a choice? You could say all you like that we have a choice to learn, and change what we know. But before that choice comes a choice to do it, think about it etc. And that is based on experience. So how much of our beliefs are ours to be judged upon - are they under our control at all? I bet you think yes. I am unconvinced. In any case, a different opinion is no basis for hatred, violence or ridicule.
So I find myself trying to word an answer honest to myself and without the ego battle to which they beckon me. As I think, queue Leo, stage left, unable to sleep, he asks for alcohol - no wait, he doesn't ask for alcohol, he just asks where it is. The speed he's on is keeping him up, I should know what it's like, and he finds the liquor bottle and lays it back straight.
I worry and judge. Oh how I do that judging so much…it's almost as if I was raised in some kind of religious community…..oh wait… Anyways I see this poor gent is in pain somewhere in there. I can say for sure drugs aren't the answer, but I also know a certain amount can smooth the wait. Really, it actually can. So he goes to bed only to get up a couple of times more…actually it was the other way round, but who cares, you get the point.
Anyway I just cant get to sleep. This feminism thing…..I hate the battle, and it reminds me of the world I don't like. The "IF" poem, and how they're loosing their heads….but I cant loose and start again from my beginnings without a word. Conclusion - I'm not a man, I accept that.
The next day I plan to go to buy a ticket to Rio with Ana, but she encourages me to buy a car instead. I can hardly believe it's possible to afford, but she's quite certain it could be. The idea fills me with delight. A car would change my life soooooo much.
So I wander around the centre looking at the markets. I go to the museum (don't bother, just old furniture) then we come back home and I try to do some Maori study. I hope to be a week late on my first asignment if I can get it done in time. Spanish I've pretty much given up on as I have no textbook. This has become a stress, and I guess I can choose to worry, or do the work, or not. But lack of sleep makes me tired and I retire.
Now Ana and I don't always see eye-to-eye…really because we are very similar, and passionate about similar issues….. Arrogant as it sounds, I know it's an indirect relationship, but…well, if you don't know what I mean, it's a the kind of style of belief system. Actually you can have it at any age, but I believe it's formed out of lack of contemplation and experience, so it's less and less common the more of each you have. She is also feminist. Feminism, with it's ideals of promoting humanism and equality, well, as I see it, this ends up being cheap talk when you read the literature and talk to the activists. It's like religious types (I include science as a religion), they say they believe x and y, but look at it, do THEY? I openly think feminism is equal to misogyny, and I will happily answer questions on the subject.
That ends up really being our point of difference. I will happily talk about beliefs…Ana doesn't actually like that. There's a lot of frustration in her, and though she doesn't wanna hide her opinion, she doesn't wanna hear a different one. I love Ana for who she is, I'm not trying to insult at all, but she does get very annoyed by people's opinions simply because of something we all do (Unless I've never met you and, turns out you don't). We attach our sense of identity with our opinions.
This is trained into us from the beginning not just through imitating our parents who do it (perhaps the biggest reason why we do too) but also because we are asked "what do you like? Chocolate or Strawberry", and "what sort of person are you? Sporty or Arty?" and attention is given to those with answers. "I like strawberries!, I like Sports!" , "wow do you? That's cool, what else do you like?"….just watch the kid try to think of an answer…they don't have one dude!…maybe Mum says "You like trains, don't you Michael" "uhhhh….yeeeees" -he didn't realise he was making a permanent comittment when he said he liked trains the other day at the Toy store. Kids don't take ages to answer or do so coyly because they're young and muddled, no way, they do it because it's freakin' weird to be asking such a question and they're trying to figure out just what the hell is going on. We're so used to it, it's become integral with our thinking - we don't even notice.
At first you just pick an opinion, later, you use these as a basis to form your sense of self and extrapolate 'who you are' by forming other opinions (identity markers) from the original statements and memories of who we are. Attention is love. If you don't understand that, I don't wanna have to explain it, but it's true, and if you think about what attention for each other is, -creating connection, you will see what I'm getting at. Since defining an opinion gets us more sense of self and attention from others, we see it as extremely important. Anything of value needs defence - we learn that too as we grow. If someone shows my opinions to be illogical, then I will be ignored. That is the ultimate punishment. You may receive short-term negative attention, but we know all too well what comes next. That's why we hate it so much.
So if you attach your ego to opinions, you will do the same for other people. So then if you think certain points of view to be illogical, and that illogic tends to have a negative effect on your life (this gender is oppressing me), when a person hold those opinions you believe lead to what you don't want, then you get frustrated, gathering all the frustration you feel about the subject and directing it at who?…?..yep, the person with a different opinion. Then what they say results in your violence - because we all learned violence was how to control people from the first moment we were hit, or yelled at, or even saw someone yelled at.
Showing anger, yelling, this is violence. I would go a step further and say showing a lack of attention is violent too, but that might put you off, for now, lets keep it clear, showing anger, yelling and ridiculing are violent. This is an attack, this is disconnection from the person and exactly the worse type of thing for us as living beings. We really hate disconnection. The Irony, is that disconnection and hate are the same thing. Disconnection is the result, Hate, it's force. This is everything we are always trying to avoid…by doing it! I hate oppression, so I will fight for my rights = I want love, so I will share fear
fear=hate=lack of love=disconnection=ignoring - feel free to interchange any of these words here. Does not work, can not work. I do it all the time too.
So Ana becomes annoyed at many conversations. Who hasn't done that? If anythingour similarity make me think, "I would get much more violent then she seems to". Haha, I would get REALLY violent…when I'm in that frame of mind….. Violence was passed down to me, and has been so to us all because all our society and systems. Our cultures and customs are descendants of VERY violent times.
In the end, though I know I piss her off, I can't lie, hide or be dishonest with her, and be her friend…and maybe somewhere she knows that, because though we argue, and she gets very annoyed..she seems to find it in her to still like my company. This isn't just her words, I can see it's true. That is what makes her such a good friend. I say this now, because we have been great friends since then. I think the arguing helped a lot! Funny. There's an honesty in violence. Maybe that's why so many people get annoyed at hippies and so many people become friends after fighting.
The Party and the Girl
Ahhh…Leo. Leo the crazy lionheart. He's having a party and we all decide to go. It'll be at Leo's friends house and we roll on in at some hour, I have no booze but the cachça flows. Or caipirinha or whatever it's called. Here, everyone's all musicians and there's me, Ana, Ricardo (pronounced hicardo), Leticia (Ana's friend I met in circle dancing) and Leo with all his friends and friends of friends. We play and sing on into the night. I look over now and then at Ricardo, who seems to be getting quite friendly with Leticia. Nice, I actually was thinking of making a move on her myself (it's been a while, and she seems ok) but that's cool, there's loads of lovely girls here.
I play guitar and sing and jam with the musicians. A really flash musician gets on bass and he is TIGHT. Whatever I do he follows just fine and we have a grand old time playing. I go to sit down after and drink and there's a very attractive young Brazilian girl from the north near my gear so I get to talking to her. She seems very keen and her english is good. We chat on into the night and I'm pretty glad about the situation. Her name is Bianca. I'm not a Latino though, and I still don't want to be like they are, no, I'll just be me, and if she likes it, she can let me know.
Ana, Leticia and Ricardo leave and I stay on. Bianca says she will drive me home. It's fair to say at this stage I think I'm in. It's about 4am and she drives me home while we chat in the car. Turns out she's had NZ boyfriends before and actually lived there…and she doesn't understand or like their behavior….hmmm…I feel doom loom….I get quite nervous in my heavily drunk and tired state, I try to say that she may be intimidating due to her beauty….but it's all over. I was too drunk, and she was prejudiced I guess…fail. She drops me off and gives me her contact details. She never returns an email. Oh well.
Hard-ass Brazilianas
I go up to Anas apartment…after some serious indecision as to exactly which building it's in, and knock, but no-one answers. I send a txt, but no reply, then knock again. Eventually I call Ana, and she's not home yet….oh yeeeeah….I got in a car didn't it? Anyway I wait for them, they won't be more than a few minutes. As I wait I think about how I could have walked Leticia home instead…mmm…I could have said I was a safety issue…actually it really is, I hope she walks home with the others.
As I wait I hatch a plan to freak them out by jumping out of the bushes. I look up the road periodically and eventually spot them. It's just Ana and Ricardo. Aha! I briefly wonder about Leticia and her walking home alone. I sit and wait quietly behind a bush by a vehicle exit. When they're close enough (but not so close as to actually make them die of fright) I quickly jump out and "GRRRRRRRRAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
well… ….lets just say I learned that in this country, where mugging is so frequent, they reacted quite strongly. I don't think Ana actually peed her pants, but she may have been close …..and I can't be sure. Both were visibly shaken and it took a while for them to calm down. hehe..er…I mean oops!.. … hehehe
As we walked in through the gate I ask about Leticia and Ana gets a call. I don't know if it was just because I was thinking about her before but I guess what it's probably about. Yep, she's been mugged. I find out 2 months later a man grabbed her from behind and put a broken bottle to her neck demanding her bag. That makes 5 people I know who've been mugged, and I've only been in South America 4 weeks! What really trips us out as Ana points out is that the moment I jumped out of the bushes, would almost certainly have been the moment she was attacked. At least she still had her phone.
We decide to go see her as she has no keys, no money, and can't get into her apartment and doesn't wana walk anywhere more. It was just at the wrong time. A few hours earlier and people would have been on the street. As we get closer, people start to emerge from their houses…I wouldn't have even happened even 15mins later. As we walk Ana assures me I don't have to come, but I find that weird. If someone you know gets mugged, and you're going to where they got mugged, the more people you bring with you the better no? And what would be the other option? Oh hey, I heard you got mugged the other day, ..yeah, I had Ana let me in before she came to rescue you 'cause I needed my sleep. …. nah, Not cool. I guess for me, I've never been mugged or even met someone who has in NZ. Except at school - not to say it's any different, but I think we all know someone in that category. So for me, it's a big deal. Here, it's just part of life.
Testament to that, Leticia is standing on a Hotel porch …yep, out on the stairs….is it just me who thinks in NZ you'd be in the hotel with a cup of coffee while the receptionist reassures you and the cops get called? Not here dude, she just had a broken bottle to the throat and she's casually waiting on the steps, not a tear, not a sign of being shaken, just a look of disappointment as if her wallet fell down a drain. For such a quiet little person, she's hard as nails.
I try to stay awake, but I keep falling asleep on my legs while the others talk. I sit on the road and lean against a car in the soft morning twilight. I cannot keep my eyes open for love or money. I want to be there, for Leticia, but I am clearly not necessary. I see why the others said I didn't need to go. We all walk off and at the roundabout by the Military school, the girls decide to walk off toward the Police station. Is it also just me who finds that weird? I mean, it's less than 1/2 an hour since she was mugged, and she's like, "see ya guys, we don't need you here". weird. So Ricardo and I head home.
The Joke that Kills
Living at Ana's was really great. She never had much food or money, but was generous with all she had and appreciated greatly the fruit I would buy (and cachça). I gave her the odd guitar lesson and we had our fun. She has this way of laughing at everything…literally everything. I think she laughs because of self-consciousness, but, thinking about that, what is it that's funny?
I think what's funny is that you are aware of yourself, and someone else, and whatever it is that you're doing, doesn't mask the fact that you are here and no-one knows why. I would say that this kind of laughter comes from the implicit knowledge that this situation we call life is ridiculous - and when you are self-conscious, or if you call it shy or awkward or embarrassed, you are hyper aware of the absurdity of it all. Not consciously mind you. I think this, but I don't expect anyone to describe it this way. I'd say all she knows is when people say things, it all seems so funny…or simply that she laughs when embarrassed. But she laughs at everything else too.
One day she brings out her harmonica and I try playing…at least I think it was me who did it first, and I start laughing with her and simultaneously discover the worlds most deadly - and pleasurable, weapon. The perpetual harmonica laugh. Once you laugh into a harmonica, unless you take it away from your mouth, you will laugh yourself to death - of this I am sure.
I also believe it represents a universal paradox, because when you take it away from your mouth, could you then say you are choosing to not be as happy? I would say yes. In fact I would say this is a mirror to the eternal soul, your higher self and how the fabric of the universe is created. We are in the universe of the relative where existence is measured only relative to other things. The dreamtime where it's only real because it's real. So to be happy we must be sad, to laugh, we must put the harmonica up, to continue our lives, we must remove it.
There it is. My universal field philosophy re: the harmonica.
Or maybe I just laughed into a harmonica and it sounded funny.
Another funny thing that happened was directly afterwards she sneezed so hard she bashed her neck into the rim of the guitar. hehe. guess you had to be there. (It was hilarious though).
These sorts of things I think, if you could record them, make a film including them, would not only make it so much more real, but also more funny. It's just the kind of stupid, nonsensical thing that you'd never think of had you not seen it - and certainly not if you were writing a joke. The kind of…huh? what the hell was that?
…This needs to be done. Take my idea, give me royalties)
If Your Fond Of Sand dunes And Salty Air
The next day Ana and I want to head out to Lagoa, which she calls the lake. Turns out it's a lagoon (surprise). She wants to save money by hitching, and I think thats a fine idea. But like everything around here, the plan in the morning becomes a rush in the evening as simply no-one actually does anything. Apparently there's an italian movie on there and in my mind that means a kind of drive in (but walk) situation. Like at lake Rotoroa near where I grew up. So we stand and wait at the Hitching spot for quite a while before giving up and deciding we'd like to see this place before sun-down and walk to the bus station.
At the bus Station Ana decides to stand and hitch. This puts me in an uncomfortable situation. If we hitch, right beside those people going to the same place by bus, I feel awkward, not just because they're like normal bus people desperately trying to pretend they have nothing in common as they await the same bus going to the same places, but also because they'll know that we don't want to pay for a bus, and should we be forced to get on, they'll know we failed.
Because I like to think I don't worry about people's opinion in that way, Ana's hitching catches me out, as I don't want to stand next to her, but if I don't then when a car stops and I get up, not only is it a surprise to the diver, but it's also like the guy (me) is using the girl as bait....and I hate that. So As I don't even know where to get off the bus, or even if I have to change, and I don't speak a word of Portuguese, I have to get up and hitch. I don't want to.
I tell her this, and other things with no luck and I realise I just have to do it, as I cant live with myself caring that much about social conventions. I console myself with a thought that following paths of fear never reap the rewards of the paths of courage. Yes, that's right, all this kind of talk just to stand up and hitch. On another day I wouldn't have given half a toss, but that day I did.
Anyway no sooner do I stand but does a car stop and we get in to Joãos plush VW hatch, and I squeeze in the back next to his saxophone and guitar. Turns out he's a musician and after some friendly chat finding common ground, he invites me to go jam with him and his new rock-band sometime. Sweet.
The Lagoa is an amazingly beautiful place. You get a view of this paradisiacal looking isthmus on you way down the mountains between it an the city. As the road winds through the dense green forrest you're treated to seeing the small township, with a huge lagoon in front, circled by thin strips of mountainous land on both sides, and beyond that, the atlantic ocean. To the right are sand dunes (still with some trees and plants growing on them). They separate this area from another HUGE beach and circling back to the vantage point is more lush bush. To the left are mountains all of which rise up sharply with outcroppings of rock and the quintessential 3-4 birds circling in the updrafts just so you know it's the jungle. Jees Brazil, get a new theme, it's been done. No but seriously it is beautiful.
The township is very commercial like most of Florianópolis. There's a lot of traffic, very expensive cars and boy racers - and the guy who appears at every rich beach in a huge tricked out motor-quadsicle (this one actually had 5 wheels) about 5m long and he's a handlebar mo to finish off. nice.
We find the entrance to the dunes, perfectly positioned between 2 kiosks and roadside so we clamber up. It's like, "Here are the shops, and here's where you can go to the dunes…and here's another shop…" ,the small child explains to parents who chuckle at the impossibility of it all. We sit there and see the remnants of an amazing sunset hidden behind the western mountains and I imagine how the tundra of the dunes and lagoon would be without all these noisy humans destroying the peace of it all. I think about how much energy and tranquility you can get from nature, but only if it isn't in the middle of rush hour traffic.
We go into the commercial centre and get a juice at a juice bar and wait for Ana's friend to whom she wishes me introduces because she has been to NZ. The friend is either in the most boring mood of her life, or has had her interesting valve jammed off because she is dull as a hammer. The juice is also over-priced and flavourless. Still it's fun to be out and about.
We walk quickly to the theatre which is in a small quaint bare-wood building like a house behind many trees just out of the centre and we buy two tickets, like fare - style from an old gent behind a wooden box on the footpath.
We sit and wait until it's time to enter and go in with the 3 or 4 other patrons this evening. The film is all Italian, as I said and mostly tells the story through imagery, so it's not really important it's in another language...but it reeks like a diarrhoeic skunk. It's just fast scene after scene, flicking through, back and forward in some Italian guys life...scene-scene-scene bang bang bang...cool enough for 15 mins, it keeps this pace for about 3 hours. 3 fukin hours man...jeeeeeees are we glad to see the credits. So concerned about missing it or inconveniencing the other, we wait 'till it's over before confirming we wished we'd left 3 hours before it started. Oh Etiquette.
Still, Florianópolis is a nice change from my other tales of crazy times. It's nice to end a blog without any suspense, and I think it suits this period. I was there a while so part 2 up next time I get 'round to it.
