The Fate of a Bean

Many days I have left you in utter suspense about the fate of our dear Bean. So to resume where I left off: We arrived back at Centro, trying desperately to remain optimistic. Maybe Bean has super-kitty ears and he’ll hear Carminha’s pot banging (signifying meal times) and come racing down from the hills? We left a spit trail all the way back so that perhaps he would smell his way back. We couldn’t help but think about the territory he would have to cross, guarded by vicious farm dogs that have been known to bite even humans (we often carry sticks with us to ward them off). Noon came around. Carminha banged the pot. We ate rice and beans, but there were no feline beans. The sun set behind the hills. Carminha banged the dinner pot. We ate rice and beans. No Bean. Night fell, we went to sleep. No Bean. We dreamt of ferocious mountain lion attacks and pouncing wild jaguars. Morning came. No Bean. That afternoon, Dani decided to hike all the way back up to see if she could find any traces of Bean’s livelihood or demise. When she reached the top, she found one little orange kitty meowing and trembling with fear. Overcome with emotion, Dani lunged at Bean to try to hug him. This startled Bean, and he scampered into the bushes. Eventually he came back out and let Dani carry him down the mountain. Celebrations ensued upon their return. For a few days, we didn’t even mind Bean’s annoying mealtime meowing. Even though he pounces on our faces during the night and torments us during mealtimes, we are glad to have our gatinho back.

Bean joins our morning yoga sessions

Bean pushes me to stretch further

Making mischief in a tree

Kickin' it with Brasileiros

Ever since Max arrived and bought a soccer ball in Muriae, we’ve been playing around with it on the lumpy grass patch next to Centro (at Iracambi). When we kick it too hard (no pun intended, trust me, I already used that one up in the title), it goes off the edge and into the forest below, which always makes for exciting bushwhacking ball-retrieval adventures. While this added exploration component adds an enthralling twist to soccer, we longed for the real thing. When Claudio (the owner of the bar in town and the son of Carminha, our beloved cook/savior) told us that we could play indoor soccer with him and his friends in town, Max, Georgia and I were determined to go. It finally worked out for us to go into town last night (they play on Monday), so we gave ourselves the Neymar do (to fit in) and walked for 2+ hours, arriving in Limeira around 7. We devoured many delicious meat skewers (complete with farofa and garlic sauce) and ate various other snacks in lieu of dinner. We watched from across the street as our fellow players arrived and chilled at the bar. They all looked to be in their twenties to early-thirties, and they were all men. Our thoughts were along the lines of, “well shit, prepare to get clobbered and lose a little dignity.” We combatted our intimidation and wandered over to introduce ourselves and practice our Portuguese. When we asked Claudio, “do girls play?” he answered, “Yeah. Tonight.” Well, at least their expectations of our skills would probably be pretty low, so maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal if we got creamed.

We headed over to the field, which was an indoor concrete surface surrounded by a chain-link fence. They play 5 on 5 for an hour straight. Aside from the players, there was a substantial crowd there to watch and socialize. We got there a little early, so we stretched a bit while scoping out the players in the previous game. They looked good. They had moves. They were fast. Their game ended at 9 pm and we split into teams. Max and I were on one team, Georgia on the other.

I was a little timid at first but then I got into the groove. Scored a nice goal and all the Brazilians went wild. Playing with them was the most fun I’ve had playing soccer since I went to Chile in 2008. Everyone was playing for sheer enjoyment. After every eventful play, outrageous noises were squawked by the crowd. Everyone was a great sport, but not for lack of friendly teasing (also hilarious). Our teammates had no problems passing to girls. Botched moves drew guffaws from the crowd, but no one actually cared. There was no pressure, but everyone played hard. I found myself grinning while playing.  I can’t really pinpoint why it was so much more fun than playing pick-up in the states, or why I played so much better.

Scored a couple more goals and megged a dude (they went WILD for that one!), and when I scored a fourth goal from my half (I honestly got pretty lucky), they stormed the field. I clearly reached the zenith of my Olympic-bound career last night, so I end on the best note possible and kiss soccer goodbye. Just kidding, we’re playing again next Monday (maybe I can get 5??).

After we finished playing, we all headed back over to the bar and had some nice Brazilian cool down (literally) beers. Can’t say I’ve ever had a beer right after playing soccer, and damn was it refreshing! When we got back to Centro everyone was asleep. I felt cool. Today I feel sore. But still cool. The end. 

Here I am, taking the field. They let me keep my number!

A Trilha Alta: Bean gets high

For Nanas

Author’s Note: I wrote this post on July 7, 2012 C.E., the day we embarked on our dawn adventure. Some of you already know what happens. Others don’t. At the time I wrote this post, no one at Iracambi knew what would happen (unless someone can secretly see the future).  I will do a follow-up post revealing the subsequent events regarding Bean, even though they have already unfolded. Right now I feel like J.R.R. Tolkien. Just as he knew the fate of Frodo and The Ring that followed their great adventure, I know the fate of Bean that followed his great adventure. So I leave some of you in dire suspense, sensations of power pulsing through my veins, remnants of beans running through my intestines (My new Iracambi motto: "Eat beans every day." Thank you, Dr. Dre [PhD in both sentence structure and botany], for the poetic template).

---------------------------

This morning we awoke at 2 a.m. with a mission: to conquer the Trilha Alta (High trail) by sunrise. We pulled on our adventure clothes, packed a hearty breakfast, and set off in the moonlight. The six of us hikers found ourselves to be seven when we looked behind us to see our trusty kitten, Bean (a.k.a. Feijão), following us. We tried to convince him (?) to turn back, but Bean had made his decision. He was coming with us to the top. Bean inspired us to press on, even when we found that our verbally given directions through the windy, hilly trails were quite unclear. We forded streams and climbed steep, rugged terrain. Signs of our elusive forest companions presented themselves in many forms: a pair of eyes here, a rustle in the trees there, the entrance to a burrow, poop. In certain parts, the trees began to thin and we could make out majestic silhouettes of hills and peaks bathed in the moonlight. During breaks to catch our breath, strip layers, and hydrate, Bean lapped water out of the cap of Sasha’s Nalgene. When we crossed raging rivers, he serenaded us with a chorus of meows from the opposite bank before finally sucking it up and crossing. Aside from this slightly annoying tendency, Bean was no longer our kitten. He was our faithful canine, trotting alongside us through the forest, embarking on mini adventures but always returning to graze our hiking boots. As we climbed higher and higher, our hopes of finding the actual High Trail diminished, especially when our path dead ended. Alas, we turned around and took the other fork. After hiking upwards for about two hours, clouds practically tickled the bugs in our hair when we saw the outline of a sign: “TRILHA ALTA à COMEÇO.” We couldn’t believe our eyes. Two hours of what we assumed was aimless wandering (exaggeration) had brought us to our destination. It was surely Bean’s stellar leadership and strong initiative that got us there. We silently marched along the sacred trail (with cat-like tread) until we reached our viewpoint destination around 4:45 a.m. In the dark we could see that we were perched on an exposed bit of mountain, looking down on layers upon layers of fog-bathed hills (all the hills in the region must be spotless by now, with all their bathing). We had an hour to kill before it started getting light, so we basked on the stretches of (seemingly) volcanic rock, stargazin’, spoonin’, snoozin’.

I awoke as the sky began to lighten, beckoning me to watch the constantly morphing view. The other day I learned that the rising and setting of the sun occurs faster in the tropics than in higher latitudes. This morning I noticed that the colors and brightness changed especially quickly, creating a dramatic effect. As we watched the sky’s performance, we unfurled and devoured our delicious breakfast of Carminha’s cake and homemade bread with guava jam and homemade cheese. We fed Bean generously (a rare treat for the kitten, who normally begs and begs at every meal without reward). This might have been our fatal (potentially literally) mistake. Contented and satiated, Bean ran off…and didn’t return. We ended up waiting on the rocks for two hours for our (not so) trusty gatinho to return, but to no avail. We returned as six instead of seven, and are desperately hoping Bean finds his way back before he gets eaten by the jaguar or mountain lion (we saw its menacing poo) that apparently dwell in those very hills.

More photos coming soon (probably)

Note: Wrote this post a while ago. This is actually what I was doing exactly a month ago. I’ll (hopefully) post about what I’ve been up to here at Iracambi after this.

My last full day in Rio commenced with an improbable reunion with an old friend. Turns out a friend I met when I spent a few weeks in Bolivia in summer 2009 lives in Rio and works 4 blocks away from my hostel, so we met up and spent the morning together. Got to catch up on life and learn more about what it’s like to live in Rio. Met back up with the others, grabbed a blended Açaí (a new food obsession), and hopped on the subway to Parque de Flamengo to check out Cupula dos Povos (The Peoples’ Summit), a Rio +20 event put on by NGOs and indigenous tribes and organizations from Brazil and around the Americas. I approached Parque de Flamengo expecting (not actually) to find a park full of flamingos. When we arrived, it seemed the anticipated flamingos had been driven out by gangs of cats. Not even a pink feather in sight. These cats knew their hood, stalking around like they owned the place. They seemed to have taken over a little corner of their park – probably their operation headquarters. Reminded me of the Aristocats. Despite witnessing this obvious center of activity, we proceeded to join the throngs of people surrounding the booths of the event. Many people wore colorful costumes, and music and dancing livened up the scene. We browsed different stands, some giving information about NGOs and environmental issues, others displaying and selling crafts made by the indigenous. We attempted to join The Peoples’ March that was happening in the area, but failed due to distance and cramped stomachs. Liz made it via taxi and reported it was awesome – tens of thousands of people marching, many dancing in costume. She also happened to run into the guy from Pomona who we’d been trying to meet up with. Further proves my point that Rio is actually a small town.

                When we finished exploring the booths, buying souvenirs/yummy things, marveling at the awesome trees in the park and enjoying the beautiful view of Pão de Açúcar above the water, we headed back to the subway station to return to the hostel. Just as Sasha, Carole and I were heading into the station, we saw Georgia and Emma (who we had lost hours ago) heading in at the exact same time. We deduced that there is a special magnetic field between the members of our little adventure group, because the rate of our convergence when separated was incredible (we didn’t have cellphones).

We got back to the hostel and I got to witness the most impressive bitch-out I’ve ever seen. A woman from São Paulo was frustrated with the hostel for changing her reservation and for the lack of hot water, so after ranting to us for a while, she called the hostel employee up to the room and went non-stop for about fifteen minutes. I didn’t understand much of her angry Portuguese, and I also didn’t understand how she could string so many words together for so long. I want to see this girl in a freestyle rap battle with Nikki Minaj. That evening we went to a delicious Brazilian Restaurant in Ipanema called Bartholomeu and met up with some friends, including Danny Schwartz! Always fun to see friends from home in different countries. It was a fun, delicious dinner. The Portugal vs. Czech Republic Euro Cup soccer game was happening, resulting in excitement and uproar in the restaurant when a goal was scored (Portugal won). We returned to the hostel and sipped some Guaranas at the bar, then called it a night because everything we wanted to do was too far away/expensive and we had to rise early to catch our buses back to Iracambi the next morning.

That night in the hostel there was only one bed left so Sasha and I sneakily shared it. We were moved to a coed room, which was significantly less pleasant. Snoring, stench, drunk men stumbling in late at night… At around 4 am some drunk dude came back and insisted that a bed that a woman was sleeping in was his. She produced her hostel card with that bed number on it, and he didn’t even have his hostel card, but he made a huge fuss and made her move beds (she had already been sleeping there for like 6 hours). In the process he woke up the whole room (and by “process,” I mean a half-hour argument). My clever alliteration for this day’s hostel events: Histrionic hostel happenings.

More on Cupula dos Povos:

http://cupuladospovos.org.br/en/2012/07/final-declaration-of-the-peoples-summit-at-rio20/

Day 5 – Até logo, Rio

We enjoyed our last hostel breakfast and caught a bus to the Rodoviária (bus station). Based on instructions from the hostel people, it would take 40 minutes to get there, so we had plenty of time cushion. Well over an hour had passed, and we were still on the bus. After enjoying classic waterfront scenes of Rio from the bus windows, we found ourselves winding through narrow favela streets. The bus stopped at the janky favela rodoviária (not the one we wanted), and we exchanged glances of horror. We (thankfully) decided to stay on the bus, and eventually ended up at the correct bus station (the hostel had sent us to the right one after all). We barely missed the earlier bus to Muriae, so we caught the later one, leaving us time to gorge on delicious pão de batata and pão de queijo (TOTALLY worth it).

The combination of my satisfied belly and the comfortable bus seats (they tip back impressively far) brought me to a slumber that carried me through the 7 hours of bus rides. I wouldn’t know if I missed 5 drug busts. The part you are all waiting in suspense for: We made it back to Iracambi alive.

Crazy trees at Flamengo Park

Pão de Açúcar

Festivities

Sasha saving Flamengo Park by supporting this tree

Hostel bar with Danny, Euro Cup game in the background

Bidding farewell to Rio from the bus window

Resurrection: Bloggo Redentor

In the struggle between journal and blog, each of them vying for my attention, it is likely apparent to my faithful (and disappointed) readers that my trusty teal journal won the competition. I suppose the expressional niches (of journal and blog) were all too similar, so naturally one had to outcompete the other for the nourishment of my mind.

Yet I am the master of my thoughts and actions (I’d like to believe I’m not possessed), and although I do share initials with both Lotka and Volterra, I, Laura Consuelo Varon Muñoz, choose a different path for those feeding on my observations. This blog is not extinct; it was merely in hibernation. While studying the life history of this fledgling blog, I recently discovered fossils of old blog posts that never encountered the world wide web.

The point of the previous two convoluted paragraphs is: EXCLUSIVE UNPOSTED BLOG ENTRIES FROM THE PAST MONTH+ COMING SOON!

Sorry (not sorry) for all the ecology references (present and future)... I am living in the middle of a forest. 

Seis Garotas com Cristo: Rio dia três

Liz and I rose bright and early to start the day with bursts of energy. After reciting, “Today is going to be a GREAT day and I feel terrrrrrrrific!” Liz was ready to join me for a run and some yoga on Ipanema beach under the morning light. We pranced through the sand toward Dois Hermois, waves lapping at our bare feet, ocean breezes cooling our bronzed, muscular physiques. It was funny to observe the wide array of people who were on the beach at that hour. A team of little Brazilian boys practiced soccer. Women danced about the waves in their Brazilian bikinis. Old men speed walked in their skimpy swim trunks.  Young adults got their morning workout from soccer volleyball. A less fortunate man, burrowed in the sand, hadn’t yet awoken from his night’s sleep.

We finished our run, sweaty and exhilarated, and then attempted to do yoga on the beach. I thought of the Rodney Yee yoga videos that my dear mother used to watch. Turns out sand (especially when sloped) is quite difficult to balance on. I guess Rodney’s balance is even more impressive than I thought. Regardless, we still had a relaxing and invigorating yoga session. We quenched our thirst with a delicious, revitalizing coconut juice.

I watched longingly as a group of Brazilians played soccer volleyball, and I was determined to join in. I rehearsed with Liz multiple times, “posso jogar futbol tambem?” Finally, I worked up the courage to ask them. Rejection. Turns out they worked for a gym and were doing a private clinic. They told me I could play with them in an hour when the clinic was over, but unfortunately we had to leave to make it back for breakfast at the hostel.

The aimless, wandering escapades of Liz and Laura, pt. 1:

Liz and I both tend to get distracted sometimes. We had some really great conversations as we walked back to our hostel, located just a couple blocks away. There was also a tense moment when Liz thought she left her shoes at the beach, only to look down and find them on her feet. After learning a great deal about each other’s lives and observing many interesting aspects of the city, we realized we might have missed our turn. We turned around, asked a few pedestrians for directions and headed back toward the hostel. Turns out we had gone (more or less) a mile too far. Oops! When we finally got back, we had missed breakfast, but greatly enjoyed ourselves in the process (we decided that getting lost would definitely be worth doing again sometime)...

The six of us hopped on a metro bus across town toward Corcovado, with grand plans to conquer the mountain and chill with Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) at the top. We arrived at a station where a tram swooped us and scooted us up the rainforest covered mountain (located in the Tujuca Forest national park, in the middle of the city). Midway through the steep ride, the tram stopped and a Brazilian Samba band stepped on to serenade us tourists. Before we knew it, Sasha and I had been pulled up by the tambourine player to stand with the band while they sang The Girl from Ipanema. We stood there awkwardly cracking up to each other as 30 tourist cameras continually flashed at us. Finally we stepped off the tram to enter an even bigger sea of tourists at the top of Corcovado. We ascended the last sets of steps, passing all sorts of souvenir shops selling Cristo shot glasses, Cristo tanks… you name it. Finally, we stood before stunning panoramic views of Rio and Cristo Redentor himself (he was a little grey and bloated from 2000 years of decay, but he looked great). The iconic statue, sculpted from concrete and soapstone, towers thirteen stories over its human visitors. When dragons visit, they usually find themselves face to face with Cristo. I found it quite entertaining to watch tourists of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities take the exact same picture in front of the statue – mimicking Christ’s arms-spread-wide position. Liz and I took it a step further and incorporated Cristo’s facial hair (using grass) into our photo replication. As we waited for the tram to take us down, a monkey (macaco) decided to entertain us. We were far more amused than the other people, especially when the monkey shamelessly peed off the tram station.

That evening, we attempted to go to a Churrascaria (traditional Brazilian BBQ) but ended up at a nice restaurant instead. Following our delicious meal, we took to subway to Caraoca for a night on the town in Lapa. Our posse, GarotasMau5 was officially born. We ended up walking the wrong direction from the Subway and found ourselves in a seedy part of town. Let’s just say an unpleasant and slightly scarring (yet harmless) event happened and we decided to take a cab the rest of the way. We safely made it to our destination, where Caipirinhas took off the edge. We entered the Samba club as planned, and low and behold, the Samba band playing contained our favorite tambourine player from the Corcovado tram! Again, it turns out Rio is a miniscule town. We danced the night away, surrounded by people of many ages and nationalities (because of the conference). GarotasMau5 made it back to the hostel intact, with all six unscathed members. 

Prática do futebol

Rodney Yee in Ipanema!

Bridge over Dois Hermois

Ironic (apparently Cristo can't watch over everyone...)

Our beloved tambourine man

Segment of view from the top of Corcovado

Perfect emulation of Cristo

Hawks circling Cristo

Macaco!

Samba band (find tambourine man)

Seis Garotas em Ipanema: Dia dois

Sasha and I woke early and transferred our stuff to the hostel where everyone else was staying, now that there was free space for us. We grabbed some hostel breakfast and coffee then all headed to the fruit market down the street. We swam through a sea of vibrantly colored fruits, vegetables and fish, some recognized, some alien to our previous food knowledge. Brazilian men shoved the sweetest of strawberries into our mouths, wiping off our faces with napkins afterwards. Walking down the fruit market street was definitely “café da manhã, parte dois” (breakfast part two), because we were forcibly (and enjoyably) stuffed to the brim with more and more fruit samples. 
One fruit merchant greeted me, Sasha and Liz by saying “bom dia,” “bonjour,” “good morning,” (respectively) as we walked by his fruit stand together. I’m still proud of this. A man who called himself “Big Ricardo” (he was actually smaller than me) sold us cherimoyas (known in Brazil as pinhas) and avocados the size of my head. He also insisted that Liz take a picture of the two of us together (see below…) and that I tell everyone in sight that he was my Brazilian boyfriend. He was relentless. This got old really fast so we turned our backs and moved on. 
Soon we headed to the famous and magnificent Ipanema beach. We frolicked in the waves, bought sarongs from a beach vendor (classic tourists), admired expressive street art murals, sipped juice from young coconuts, gazed at the Dois Irmãos mountains, people watched…  It was carefree and glorious. We ended up walking all the way to neighboring Copacabana beach, where we sat on some rocks and ate our lunch (mainly consisting of the fruit we bought that morning). Every piece of fruit was exquisitely delicious and juicy. 
We walked into town toward our intended destination, the Rio +20 Humanidade exhibit at the Copacabana Forte. We discovered the line to be several blocks long, but decided to wait anyway. After about an hour, silliness ensued. Said silliness consisted of beatboxing, boom-chicka-boom, funny noises and voices, unique sarong styles… We finally made it into the exhibit, which was awesome and totally worth it. 
The whole exhibit was built in about ten floors of scaffolding, connecting thirteen different rooms with ramps. The ground level consisted of a garden of many plant species from different Brazilian Biomes, as well as thought provoking quotes and facts about the rainforests and biodiversity of Brazil. All of the rooms were incredibly innovative and artistic, all with different sustainability related themes. One shared interpretations of development throughout the ages, another embraced Brazilian human diversity, and another was dedicated to the topic of biodiversity and sustainability. The “Rio de Janeiro” room was completely 3-D (we were given glasses when we walked in) and communicated many different dimensions of progress.  If you want to learn more about the exhibit or read more about the different rooms, visit this website: http://www.humanidade2012.net/en/o-evento/exposicao/ . I’ll also post a few (shitty) pictures below. 
After the exhibit, our jelly-legs managed to carry us to a quick, filling supper and back to the hostel. Liz, Sasha and I decided to grab a low-key drink, so we headed to a nearby bar. Low and behold, we walked in and ran into our friend who had visited Iracambi the previous week for her organization, which works with Iracambi. We ended up having drinks with her, her coworkers and some other people who were in town for the conference.  We got to hear more about the actual happenings of/surrounding the conference (which they were all in town for). Ended up doing a fair amount of enjoyable networking (who knew!), which was pretty chill and the last thing I expected from our Rio adventure. Thanks in advance, Rio +20, for possibly helping me to find post-college employment. 
More importantly, I had my first Caipirinha (a day in history). A Caipirinha is Brazil’s national cocktail. It is made of Cachaça (sugar cane rum), lime, and sugar. It reminds me a lot of a Pisco Sour, which means it is absolutely DELICIOUS. If any of you faithful blog readers ever get the chance, please order a Caipirinha!
After our little bar excursion (which proved to us that Rio is actually a tiny city, despite its population of 6 million people), our satisfied taste buds (accompanied by the rest of our bodies, luckily!) wandered back to the hostel and into our top bunks. 

Strolling along in front of Dois Irmãos

Sasha eating a maracuja, me stabbing something in the background

Liz and my child: Ricardo Jr.

Outside Humanidade exhibit

We <3 lines!

Some Girls in Ipanema: Dia um

Day one of our Rio de Janeiro excursion:

We rose early Sunday morning (June 17^th) to begin our thrilling journey into Rio de Janeiro, a cidade das maravilhas. The journey was pretty uneventful. Sasha and I listened to a Pimsleur Portuguese Lesson on the bus and repeated the phrases as we were directed. As we said in unison, “Eu sou brasileiro. Eu sou Americana,” in our flawed, robotic accents, we looked up and noticed an old Brazilian woman laughing at us. LOL literally, all three of us. We arrived in Ipanema and checked into our hostel. I met an Israeli girl who was staying there – she was in the midst of her post-IDF world travels, which is a common tradition (as I learned during my winter trip to Israel). Her next destination was New York, where she would stay with friends that she met on the birthright trip she went on as a soldier. This warmed my heart as I fondly thought of my Israeli birthright friends (shout out!).

As soon as we got settled, we met up with Liz, Emma, Georgia and Carole, who had arrived earlier in the day. We explored the streets and watched some lively Brazilian senior citizens work out on the exercise contraptions in the public park (why don’t they have these in the U.S. – it’s just like a playground for adults, and we saw them everywhere!). Eventually we settled on a pizzeria to satisfy our hungry tummies. Turns out Brazilian pizza is very different from American pizza, and it’s quite delicious! Following our banquete saboroso, Liz, Sasha and our lugged our satiated bellies to Ipanema beach. The sound of the waves was mesmerizing, and the outline of Dois Irmãos (“Two Brothers,” the two mountains on the western edge of the beach) loomed in the darkness. We frolicked along the sandy shore, getting hit with huge waves that made us feel like we peed our pants for the rest of the night. But we didn’t care. It was magical. We spied on a passionate couple far down the beach and yelled “paixão!”, practicing the Portuguese nasalization of the “ã”. We carved it in sand and pranced around it as the waves slowly washed it away. A magia do Rio had hit us.

The three of us had our hearts set on Bossa Nova for the night (we opted out of the Favela Funk party that was advertised at our hostel), so we searched for a Bossa Nova club/bar. Unfortunately it was a Sunday night, so we weren’t as lucky as we had hoped. We found a really nice one but the cover was pretty steep. The bouncer let us check it out, so we enjoyed about a minute of lovely, live Bossa Nova and then decided that was enough (a.k.a. we were feeling stingy). It was a delightful one minute, don’t get me wrong. We explored some more and found a cute little café/bar with a live guitar player, and we enjoyed drinks and brigadeiros (described by Wikipedia as a “Brazilian chocolate bonbon). Highly enjoyable. After a while we noticed that the guitarist was actually singing in (heavily accented) English, covering many songs we knew. How’s that for a cultural experience!

At this point, we found ourselves droopy eyed with exhaustion, so we headed back to our hostels and slept like angels under the protection of Cristo Redentor (you’ll hear more about this dude later). 


Fotos:

 Get a workout while you watch your kids on the playground at the park. Novel idea! (Elliptical trainers on the left, weight-like machines on the right)

 Frolic in the waves of Ipanema!

Bebidas e brigadeiros

Chegada

Although my multitude of blog groupies are probably dead with suspense by now, I will venture back 9 days to the occurrence of a certain *spoiled* event.

To continue where I left off… Sasha and I bought our tickets to Muriaé and lugged our bags to the platform to wait for the bus. While we were waiting, an elderly Brazilian man spoke to us in a long string of animated Portuguese and chuckles for about 5 minutes straight. We smiled, nodded and played along the entire time, and he showed us pictures of his grandchildren (presumably) on his cellphone. When he started asking us questions, we finally had to blow our cover that we hadn’t understood a word of whatever he had so excitedly told us about. We boarded the bus and made friends with a Brazilian guy sitting next to us who seemed about our age. We chatted and laughed in a combination of English, Spanish and Portuguese. Incredible how funny things can be when people don’t really understand each other. We gazed out the windows at rolling green hills, thick, varied stands of trees, eroding chunks of red earth…zZzzZzzzZz

I awoke to Sasha’s gentle, repeated pokes, and finally opened my eyes to see a few policia boarding the bus. I looked outside and noticed we were stopped in the middle of nowhere. Next thing I knew, the young gentleman from the back of the bus was being led off in handcuffs. Soon, the policia were searching the bag of the old woman across from us. They took her bag and led her off the bus as well. Sasha and I had no clue what was going on. Everything was strangely quiet, but we were dying to know, so we attempted to ask our friend. This is what we gathered: DRUG BUST! The young man in the back had a bag full of drugs, we think Marijuana and Cocaine. The old lady had drugs in her bag too, but she was soon let back on the bus. Apparently there was a padlocked case of drugs in her bag that she had not put there, and I thought I heard her muttering about her sister afterwards…

Anyway, as exciting as the idea of a Brazilian drug bust is, the whole ordeal was surprisingly calm. Despite our 30 minute delay, we made it to Muriaé just in time to catch our last bus to Rosário da Limeira, the small town that is closest to Iracambi. We were immediately greeted by Claudio, the owner of the bar where we were dropped off and the son of Carminha, the cook at Iracambi. He hooked us up with a taxi, and we began the last leg of our long, exciting journey to Iracambi. The taxi ride reminded of of the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland: Dark, windy, rattly, hilly, surrounded by nature noises, nearly getting stuck in the dirt multiple times… One miniscule difference arose when the cab driver pulled out a pop out video screen and inserted a DVD of Brazilian pop music videos. Sasha and I were amazed as he successfully delivered us to Iracambi in one piece while simultaneously watching the scantily clad women dancing around on a little screen.

We arrived at Iracambi and everyone seemed a tad bit confused. Turns out they all thought we were arriving on Friday (it was Wednesday). Oops! Also, I later found out from Liz that Carminha thought I was a Brazilian soap opera star from one of the shows she watches. We brought our stuff into Centro (where we stay), met everyone (except for Jaim, whose head/ face were busy exploding), and then headed to the “restaurant,” “Sabor de Serra,” for our first Iracambi supper: rice, beans, and some other delicious accompaniments. We also met Bean, the last remaining kitten (the others went to other farms).

The next few days we familiarized ourselves with Iracambi. Emma showed us around the trails and the hills, and we explored on our own for quite a while. We hiked the nature trail and the medicinal plants trail. We marveled at fungi of all shapes and colors. We admired leaves of all textures and sizes. We traced winding mazes of vines up the trees.  

We are especially intrigued by the Dragonsblood tree, which oozes a blood-red sap. When smeared on bug bites or other itches, it works better than any store-bought anti-itch solution any of us have ever tried. Over the course of our stay, dragonsblood application has been multiple times mistaken (by visitors) for bloody skin gashes.

We explored more, talked with Robin about our projects, went on Robin’s famous Iracambi jeep tour (some great stories to come) learned a lot of things, and spent an afternoon/evening in Limeira. Perhaps (hopefully) I will not forego details of these occasions; however, Iracambi happenings must make way for the enthralling details of our recent, spontaneous 5-day excursion to Rio de Janeiro!

Centro, where we all live, is the small building in the middle

Funkay fungus