Carnavel is like the Clearfield County Fair...

February 28, 2007
0830

Apologies for not having posted this sooner—I got lazy/sick/busy with schoolwork and inaction got the best of me. Brazil was amazing, another reason for the delay—I didn’t even know where to begin!

We docked in Salvador and Carnavel began the day we arrived. We went out that night and discovered the beer—Skol was real cheap… 2 reals for a pounder—no pun intended—which translates to about one US dollar. We watched Capeoira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art, which was happening in just about every square, circle and plaza. Formed for the purpose of self-defense and disguised as a dance, so that slave owners wouldn’t forbid it, the sport is very popular. The same is true of Candomble; Orixas were renamed to assimilate catholic saints into the voodoo practice. Salvador has a lot of African influence, as is apparent through not only Capeoira and Candomble, but Carnavel, too…

Carnavel is a celebration of lent, and all of the classes and races come together for the purpose of the party. The best way I can describe Carnavel is as the lovechild of Halloween and the Clearfield County Fair, amplified times ten million. The streets are blocked off and literally filled with over 2 million people—dancing, with rhythm that I’ll never know, singing and jumping around like crazed maniacs. So, obviously, I loved it. People dress up like different Orixas, in drag and just in general. Even little kids dress up like clowns, animals and Orixas. Huge trucks move at an elephants pace down the cobblestone streets, blasting music from whatever band or performer is on top of them. The areas around them—blocos—are blocked off and people with the band dance inside the ropes. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a spot just behind the rope—they tend to not be as crowded as in between two blocos. It’s amazing how the people stay out all night long—literally the party continues from noon (really picking up in early evening, at five or sixish) to seven a.m. The energy is ridiculous, when they say this is the biggest party in the world, they aren’t kidding.

If the street is too much for you to handle, there are a few options, one is don’t go out (boo), because you’ll have a panic attack. Or, you can buy tickets to a camarote, which is like a viewing booth above the street, which we did one night. Or, find a side stage, which we also did a few times—they tend to be a little less hectic—the crowd is more family oriented and in general less raunchy. Usually we would take the elevator up to Pelourinho, which is a district of Salvador, find a side stage for a few hours, drink a little, and then proceed to go out into the parade, getting trampled and groped and loving every minute of it! The camarote was fun, too. You get a bright colored shirt and have access to a bar and food court. The parade is played on a big screen as you watch it from above the street, too. There are security guards and not as many people, so you can relax a little and not worry about your money belt getting snatched from underneath your souvenir t-shirt.

Moving away from the energy of Carnavel, I went on a city tour and saw the favielas, which were amazing and in their own way so full of life. The facades of the houses are bright. There are people on the sidewalks—laughing, hanging out—listening to music as colorful as the houses, fast and loud. Each little neighborhood has its own butcher, with hunks of raw meat hanging in the doorway, its own fruit market, its own bar, its own garage. They are relatively self-sustaining, albeit crowded. Favielas are technically illegal, so after they are established the government comes in to provide sewage and water (electricity comes in sooner—private contractors). But, when they start as a small outcropping of a few families moving in from a more rural area, they are very basic. Called “invasions” by Brazilians, they are built from the inside out. The façade is the last part to be erected. There are no real roads through the favielas. Instead, there are steep and winding dirt and stone alleyways that sweep underneath clotheslines and past kids sitting on steps or playing soccer.

People migrate to the city in search of a better life—and are then reduced to living in the slums, because it’s what they can afford. And, while it looks like a destitute lifestyle, like I mentioned before, it’s actually bright and lively, they have a better life together in the slums than isolated in the countryside. The current political issue surrounding land distribution is tri-fold. Landless workers are using slash and burn techniques to clear new farm lands, decimating the Amazon, because rich landowners—30% of the farmable land is being unused—refuse to distribute their land. The other party involved is the native tribes of the Amazon, whose homes are being destroyed during the forest clearing.

I got to visit an MST settlement, to talk with the Landless Workers Movement, on a trip to Cachoeira. They have such a true sense of justice and life. For instance, the MST land pastoral states basically that every single Brazilian has the right to raise their family off of the land. No one in MST village’s goes hungry, education is mandatory, so is participation by women. When we first arrived, kids hesitantly peeked out from doorways at us, but it wasn’t soon before they were following us around handing us flowers. We were welcomed into a woman’s home—Donna Bebia, who showed us coca fruit, how she made cocoa powder and chocolate products from it. Mules, horses and cows were tied up to graze around while their owners stopped in the bar for a quick drink and some conversation. This visit provided just a quick glimpse of real life in the settlement, and then we were off.

The actual town of Cachoeira is in a steep valley, alongside the Paraguacu River. Getting to all of these places was a far-out experience in and of itself—the roads, which some of were major highways, are narrow—flanked on each side by sprawling bamboo, sugarcane and in some cases just scrub. They wind precariously through farmland and dive bravely into valleys and over hills. Cachoeira was slow—everyone was on vacation for Carnavel, so shops were closed. Likewise, because of the sweltering heat most people don’t start hopping around town until around four in the afternoon. Even the dogs wandering around town were sluggishly panting. The houses were vivid and bright as well, with spiraled wrought iron balconettes and intricately designed doors. We stopped for lunch in an old convent, and ate outside in the breezeway—at a long row of old wooden tables, with heavy chairs and beautiful white and sapphire lace table coverings.

As we arrived, driving through all of these places in a huge orange tour bus—which people could see in, I felt guilty. It is with the best intentions we want to peer inside these peoples lives. But, sometimes I just feel we are so intrusive. At one point I almost cried out of embarrassment, because some of my peers are so painfully unaware. What does it say about our views and perceptions of others when it is no big deal to snap a picture of another person without their permission, as if they exist simply and only for our viewing enjoyment, like a statue, a tree, an inanimate object? This behavior lends itself to the awful stereotype that we are.

I was unsure of what to expect of Brazil. Never being here I had only a stereotype of what it was like. Don’t make the same mistake I did, picturing in your mind an image of a beachscape in Rio, taken from a documentary on the worlds “ten best beaches” on the Travel Channel. That’s not Brazil—not that I’m proclaiming myself an expert on the state. Brazil is a huge country, with diverse cultural influences. It has farmlands and beaches; it has scrubby plateaus and the Amazon. Some people live in mud houses. Others live in the favielas, some in high-rises, still others—though just a small percentage, live in estates only to be reached by helicopter. Brazil is a country that has one of the biggest disparities between the rich and the poor. It is also a leader in environmentally friendly fuel and some social issues. There are all women’s police barracks, strong public schools. Rich culture from the days of Portuguese colonialism and emergent black pride create a distinct Brazilian culture.

In a quick conversation I shared with a Brazilian who had studied in the United States, and come back to Brazil to start a business, I had a revelation. He asked me if I liked Brazil, I told him “Yeah! I could live here!” Our cheap but polite conversation ended with him saying “You know, once you are an America, you are always an American” shaking his head in a disapproving way. I danced off into the crowd, moving on to a fast paced night. In reflection, though, I beg to differ and dare to think. I am not “stuck” with any limits but those which I place on myself. What I think he was saying is that Americans have a distinctly American way of seeing the world—a paradigm influenced by our world-order-top-dog status. I have realized, and can appreciate, being on top is not the best. In so many different ways being “below” (what I’ve been socialized to think is the standard) opens many more possibilities for exploration.

South Africa in 2 days.

Peace Love.

Two Guys with Guitars in a Beat-up Buick....

February 16, 2007
1953


Two Guys with Guitars in a Beat-up Buick…

Supposedly this is how one of the trios of carnival began. Guess who the third member was? The driver.

Anyway, if I forgot to mention it we crossed the equator a few days ago. Today I was out on the seventh deck, trying to get some color, and never in my life have I felt such sweltering heat. There was not a breeze in sight and it literally felt like the sun’s rays were burning my finger and toenails off. With that said, tomorrow we will be in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil. Hopefully there will at least be a breeze moving around.

My plans for Brazil include going to Cachoeira to talk with the landless workers, partaking in Carnival celebrations in Salvador (the second biggest part, next to only Rio), Bicycling in Pitaucu Park (for my sustainable communities class) and going to the North coast of Bahia in search of a supposed hippie village, the beach and some groovy handcrafted items.

We have logistical pre-port in a few minutes, where the staff will hopefully (for everyone else’s sake) inform us about the dangers of drinking alcohol after being in the sun all day and then partying in the streets and alleyways of a foreign country. Some of these kids are dumb. Mr. Bob is playing his guitar for us, gotta run!

FYI I will also be purchasing a phone card, hopefully sometime tomorrow, so keep your phone lines open!

Nothing important, just some shipboard gossip...

February 12, 2007
0835

Exciting news: Today I received a packet of letters from a third grade class in Pittsburgh (this is a good time to reflect: have you sent me mail???). As part of the Vicarious Voyage program I am going to correspond with them over the course of the semester, sending them a packet of information about each of our ports. Puerto Rico’s packet will be sent out in two days, including a miniature Puerto Rican flag, a map of the island, the front page from a newspaper, a post card, some information about me (and SAS), and one interesting fact about Puerto Rico for each of the students to share with their classmates. One letter reads: “It is my dream to go to Australia and China”, another: “My grandparents live in Chennai.” Most mention that it was snowing when they wrote their letters and the majority ask “what is it like to live on a boat, what is it like to go around the world?” I don’t think I’ve quite figured that out myself, but the enthusiasm is welcome…so is the fresh and simple perspective these kids radiate, apparent by just reading their charming letters! Nothing like a group of twenty-some eight and nine year olds to keep me humbled.

In other news: I am a few hundred miles off the coast of Brazil, traveling southward in the Atlantic Ocean, towards Salvador, Bahia. Our current speed is 17.8 knots and the seas are choppy. It is dark now, but earlier the skies were overcast and it was raining sporadically. I would also like to add, as a fact, that the ship rocks more during my Climates and Vegetation of the World class, thus making it hard to stay awake for such interesting discussions of cumulonimbus clouds, the very clouds which I later found to hamper my tanning time. For any of you concerned about my academic performance, I happen to have quite the advantage after taking PoliSci 245 last semester (and any class at Allegheny, for that matter), and don’t worry, I read while I’m laying in the sun! As is quite obvious, I’m rambling on, and I want to catch “Boyz in the Hood” (being shown later tonight on our closed-circuit television system) so I would be well advised to go do some work.

Love you all, miss most of you.

February 11, 2007
0540

Just a quick post today, for a few reasons--First and foremost the ship is rocking like never before, we have to set our clocks forward again tonight, and I'm tired so I’m a grumpy. Secondly I used up all my internet time the night we left Puerto Rico. I bought more but at a hefty price, it cost-- $100.00 for four hours… (for those of you who are reading this and have access to my online bank account, feel free…). Also for this reason I will not be uploading anymore pictures, sorry but it’s just too slow and too expensive.

Today is our second night at sea, and we are heading towards Salvador, in Bahia, Brazil. Currently we are sailing through the Lesser Antilles. This morning while I was eating breakfast St. Lucia was on the horizon, and later we passed Martinique and Barbados. I saw Ron Popeil waving from the shoreline of Martinique. Go figure.

What is this I hear Anna Nicole died? People, I have no connection to the outside world here. FYI, I would give my right arm for a double che right now. Email is welcome.

Peace.

On to Brazil....

February 09, 2007

0900

Well folks (by folks I mean all four of you who read this), as Puerto Rico becomes a vague spot on the horizen--really I'm being dramatic, it's pitch black out here--time to make my last post from port of call numero uno.

I went on a "Bike Eco-Adventure" today. It was great to get outside. We biked about eight miles along the coastline, through palm trees and mangroves, and then stopped at the beach for awhile.

All animal cruelty issues aside--this isn't about being critical of another culture, it's about experiencing it--the cock fights were amazing. We went to the fight club of Puerto Rico--Club Gallistico de Puerto Rico, and actually got in for free because we were women (we paid the price later as we were eyed suspsiciously, and in a provocative way, like we had violated the invisible line of what was acceptable for our gender). The fights happen in this astroturf circle type pit, and all the men sit in bleachers around it. The roosters, whose underbellies are red and raw from having their feathers plucked, wear fiberglass talons and are lowered into the pit. Two bouncers take them out of the container they are lowered down in, weigh them and warm them up. They use toy roosters to ruff them up before putting them back into a different plexiglass box without a bottom, which is then raised so they can fight. One match is fifteen minutes long, though none we saw lasted that long. The men throw bets at each other from opposing sides of the arena--something that seems disorganized and chaotic to the foreign eye! They also scream at the roosters--like the birds can understand them!? It's a fight to the death, but the losing bird doesn't always win. More often than not they just fall over into a seizure and the bouncers break their necks. While they fight they don't make noise--which surprised me. They just kind of peck at each others heads and flog one another. At one particularly gruesome point the victorious rooster had it's fiberglass talon stuck in the other--dead--rooster's head. What an experience. Klee and I actually went out to dinner in Old San Juan with Professor Maniates this evening. Prof mentioned to the waiter that we had gone to the cock fights and in return the waiter told us that "la pelleo de gallo" were actually quite dangerous. Because of the way the gamblers haggle at each other in such a disorganized way there tends to be alot of fights... between the men, over the roosters. I guess we were just too naive to worry about that, but no matter.

Dinner was great, Professor Maniates found a great restuarant on a side street. It had alot of character--live music ( a man with a guitar and no microphone, how quaint!) and hand written menus. The waiter made fresh sangria for us and I had plaintans and pork...then we went to La Bombadera, a historic bakery, and had some cookies and coffee--Puerto Rican coffee is great, supposedly one of the Pope's used to have it imported because he adored it so!

As you can probably imagine, what I enjoyed here the most were the simple things; kids playing basketball and baseball in neighborhoods, visible as we drove down the highway, the old men playing chess in their straw hats at Colon Square, hearing music through the open windows of a car, wrought iron balconies and the colors of the stucco, the faces of the people.

Until next time...

Peace Love

Port of Call No. 1: San Juan, Puerto Rico

February 7, 2007 Port of Call: San Juan Puerto Rico:

Today we pulled into port around 0800. I, of course, was eating breakfast on deck 6 and watched the whole docking process over fresh fruit and coffee. Okay, enough bragging…we were all lucky enough to be greeted in the Student Union by the Governor of Puerto Rico, equivalent to our dearest Georgy. Desmond even attended the ceremony. Afterwards I went on a tour of Old and New San Juan, which I don’t recommend, because it was nothing but touristy sight seeing. We went to San Cristobal for some photo ops and then into Old San Juan. In the sake of time we skipped the New San Juan part of the tour, but I got to see it later this evening. I had a delicious Cuban sandwich in the town square (the name of which escapes me, four seasons square maybe???) and bought some post cards, which you all will be receiving shortly!

The tour was mediocre compared to hiking in El Yunque, the only tropical rainforest in the U.S.’s forestry registry (as Puerto Rico is a free associated state and Hawaiian rainforests fall under the Hawaiian registry). Unfortunately my camera's battery decided to die, so I have no pictures. Anyway, El Yunque lies inland, with the lowlands of Puerto Rico constituting the coastline. Also, while it usually rains in the morning and then stays hazy and muggy all day, we had sunshine! The flora was amazing--weathervane trees that turn the mountain white when it rains (the wind blows the silvery undersides of the leaves up), Candlewood Trees (a natural insect repellant, because it seeps this citronella type wax), banana and mango trees, giant ferns, red and pink ginger flowers, African Tulip trees, African Laurel trees that are over 200 years old, and 38 different kinds of orchids! The Cocqui frogs chirp constantly and water falls throughout the mountains create a kind of constant rush sound--the forest sounds like one of those relaxation tapes, only the real thing...

Driving up the mountain was an adventure in and of itself. The road was so narrow and wandering that to avoid being in a head on collision with the vehicles coming down it, the bus driver just layed on the horn for the 15 minute ride. Also, so that the vehicle we were riding in wouldn’t lose horsepower while climbing the mountain, we had to turn off the a/c and open the windows. I actually preferred the breeze, but the point adds character to the jaunt. Once we got there we hiked through El Yunque for about 2 hours before returning back to the pier. I had just enough time to shower and get back on a bus headed to La Universidad de la Puerto Rico, for a welcome reception. We were greeted by students and pina coladas! On the way there I saw the Roberto Clemente baseball field, Puerto Rico was playing the Dominican Republic... Go Buccos?! Anyway, the night was spent learning (or attempting to learn) how to dance the salsa, and eating delicioso Puerto Rican food.

February 8, 2007
0900

I am sitting in an Internet Cafe in Isla Verde, Puerto Rico. It's not actually an island, but rather a beachy neighborhood about fifteen minutes away from the dock. Cabs wait outside of the ship, and when K-lee and I tried to get one we had a little misunderstanding--keep in mind that my spanish (four years in high school) is a little rusty. We thought the cab driver was telling us that the ride would cost $89.00, and that there was not a bus from San Juan to Isla Verde--i.e. we were SOL. It turns out he was saying $19.00--with a thick accent, so we took the taxi! I tried to chat with him a little bit "eer mi llamo es Lidia", etc. I asked him where he was from--the Dominican...

We are going to relax on la playa here until around three this afternoon and then go to a pelea de gallo--a cock fight! Cock fighting is the national sport here, and I suppose it will probably make me sick to my stomach, but hey, when in Rome... Later this evening the students that we visited with last night are coming onto the MV Explorer, and it just so happens that the mascot of La Universidad de la Puerto Rico is a rooster! We had wanted to do the Bioluminescent Bay (Wikipedia that one) but all of the guide companies are booked.

After being onboard for a few days, and almost getting used to the ship moving, stepping foot on land produced a new problem, which I will call land sickness--it still feels like I'm on the ship, which is causing me to wobble around and look like a goofball. So I haven’t acquired my sea legs yet....

For now I'm off to the beach!

Bahama Mama and Embarkation...

Day of Embarkation, February 4, 2007/February 5, 2007—
Nassau to Puerto Rico
2000

The past four days Mom and I have been in the Bahamas, we stayed on Paradise Island, but most enjoyed Nassau. Atlantis is the most awful creation South of Cape Canaveral… we had the most fun riding the buses and talking to our taxi drivers. Experiencing a place in the most real way possible is so much more remarkable. Seeing what the people who work at the resorts go home to, where they shop and hang out, even the cars they drive and the way they talk is really in some odd way wondrous. I like to imagine being part of a place, what it would be like to really live there. I like to taste the local flavor by absorbing details into all the buds of my senses. Bright hats stuffed with dreadlocks, dirty t-shirts “thug religion”, a newspaper on the floor of a bus, the voices, the sun and breeze.

We rode the water taxi across the inlet every day, and watching the ferry workers was a highlight—I even had a love affair with one of the ferry boys—ok, I’m exaggerating, but I swear he had a thing for me. Conch is okay, chewy like clam, not much flavor but supposedly it is an aphrodisiac—which the ferry boy liked—I’m exaggerating again. Guava Duff is wretched. The music was really captivating also. Driving with the windows open, a sea breeze blowing my hair back and the local reggae/rap/calypso music on the radio was almost sensory overload, but I craved it. The straw market was dense—hot and full of lots of tangible things nobody needs—we caved and bought awful knock off purses. More worthy of notice than the Channel knockoffs were the people, the old lady with a beautiful and gracefully aged face in a bright apron, the woman at the stand next to her who said to me “hunny, oohi’ve gawt a sayle for you today, suweety.” The people here are fun and happy. Hiding beneath the way they pimp themselves out to the tourists are intriguing characters.

Today I boarded the MV, which was a little stressful. Mom got to come on board for a little while, to see my room and wander around. We ran into the Archbishop, which was surreal and unexpected! I think I said in some sort of guffaw “huuuullllloooo” and then mom made the comment “you know most of these kids probably think he belongs in port.” Her flight left at 3:50, before we embarked. I know it was hard for her, which makes me sad, but I have so many other things on my mind that at that moment it was like every other “bye love you.” Lots of parents stayed to wave us off, which was uneventful for me. It seems like when there is such buildup to things, going to the high school, getting a drivers license, going to prom, graduation, college, they end up being a little disappointing. Or, maybe I am just silly and idealistic—say what???—and saw somewhere a whole wharf full of parents waving their beloved children out to sea. Regardless, standing on the top deck, at the front of the ship, as we slowly pushed away from the wharf, then through the inlet, and out to sea, I had a moment, to myself with my eyes closed, the rough ocean breeze blowing against my body and the sun fading but not set on my face. The waves are gentle but steady and a deep gray blue, so peaceful. The ship is gorgeous but too extravagant, I hadn’t expected such luxury, though I’m sure others had. There is a spa, a sports deck and pool, a bar, two dining halls—the food is delicious and healthy—a library, computer lab, etc. White lights chase the lines of the ship and really set the atmosphere. I am sure the stars will be unbelievable without the light pollution of cities.

What I’ve noticed the most, and early today, standing in line outside of the ship and what not, is that I really do appreciate this experience, and recognize it, as much as I can right now, to be a true opportunity to see and be part of, even if just for a moment, the world. I think there are handfuls of my contemporaries on this ship that are great people and as awed by the whole concept as I am. But, so many others seem to be caught up in socializing and competing for attention, their clothes and their hair straighteners, and it doesn’t seem like they are here for the same reasons I am. Their conversations and introductions—that won’t matter even three days from now—make up a constant whirr around me. I’ve never needed that whirr to feel sure; really it seems like a dangerous and false sense of security. I can feel the boat moving now, which makes me feel worlds away from home and everything familiar, but I feel sure of myself and person I am, and know that while I may not have a “direction” I do have a sense of self and an idea of life. Dissonance is crazy.

Classes start tomorrow, and tonight before I go to bed I have to set my clock ahead one hour, which will happen between most every port.

I miss you all, but I’m so thrilled to be where I am right now—I can’t even type the words to explain. It just feels right and necessary. In the words of a dear, dear friend—rock it, anchors away!

Spread your little wings and fly away…