The Brazil Experience

In honor of the late King of Pop, please take a moment to remember THE internationally adored child molester and glove wearing tenor of the century before continuing to read.

With my holiday in Spain coming to an end and my 8:00 am flight to Rio de Janiero looming over me, I decided the best option was to pull an all nighter--a late meal followed by several bottles of wine with some travelers, a quick shower, and a dance-off at a local club that lasted until 5:30 am prefaced the endless flight across the Atlantic. But I am getting ahead of myself. Though the brief flight from Barcelona to Madrid passed without incident--most likely because I feel asleep the moment my butt hit the seat and did not rouse again until the wheels struck the runway--my next flight to Rio de Janiero would be the most memorable of my life. Smelling of booze and sweat in the airport caused a few too many people to turn and stare at me, but not nearly as many people who gawked at the gang of Hell`s Angles gathering around our gate. Wearing leather jackets from countless cities across Europe, more than 75 men from the infamous motorcycle club (read: gang) congregated by my gate. I froze. I had never seen a Hell`s Angle before. Keeping my distance, I prayed that I would be seated next to a small Asian women or an old Jewish grandmother who would not only let me use both my legroom and hers, but who would also offer me her inflight meal. This was not the case. As I settled into my seat, so too did the biggest, meanest looking HA. As I looked across the row of seats for another place to sit I noticed that I was surrounded: there were 9 in my row and another 6 in both the row behind me and in front of me. I felt like a book stuck between two bookends--except the bookends were large motorcycle riders known for violence, and I was a ballet-dancing Jewish boy from NJ. I could barely muster a whimper.

I tried to close my eyes and ignore the smell of BO emanating from the HA next to me, but he turned to me and introduced himself. Speaking first in German, followed by French and finally English, my seat mate tried to find a suitable language. I guess the look of surprise on my face coupled with the fear that oozed from my pores along with last nights drinks was not something I hid well. Our HA decided to have a little fun. He played nice, at first, but when I asked to go to the bathroom, he gave me the meanest stare I had ever seen. I shrunk into my seat only to hear both he and his buddies erupt into laughter. "I am only playing," he yelled as I inched by him (dreading the moment when I would need to return to the seat). Upon my return, he turned to me and said: lets get drunk! At which point, he got up, headed to the back of the plane, and returned with close to 10 beers and enough shots of gin to throw a frat party. He and his buddies started throwing them back. I considered my two options, and the lesser of the two evils was certainly the inevitable hang over I would experience in Rio. "L´chiam!¨" I cheered. We toasted. The moral of the story is: when a gang of killers offers you a shot, you show them what 4 years in a frat taught you about drinking.

Rio de Janiero...is dirty. It smells like piss, there are homeless people everywhere, you aren`t supposed to use the buses for fear of death, and the beautiful women that the world raves about are exceptionally good at hiding. However, the beaches are beautiful, Brazilians are extremely outgoing and kind, and they party even better than the Spaniards to the most intoxicating music. Verdict: GO to RIO, but stay in a nice hotel, avoid public transport, and guard your purse. Though Brazil is still considered part of the developing world, its currency is very strong and the prices resemble NY. This "situation" meant skipping lunch and feasting on the hostel`s all you can eat breakfast complete with papaya, mellon, jamon y queso, coffee, etc. FIlling up on complimentary breakfast is how we "avoid going over budget."

We went on a favela tour on our first full day. Using the local transport (motorcycles) to climb from the street into the heart of the favela was one of the best parts. The favela was a mixture of what I expected (City of God and personal research) and things that shocked me. The smells, sewage, trash, crowds, and level of poverty didn't surprise me, but walking by houses with cable TV and video games in what is supposed to be Brazil`s poorest area does not compute. This is the same place that Rio`s police force refuses to enter because the level of corruption caused by the drug gangs and the utter lawlessness is so extreme that executing authority is futile and in most cases a death sentence. We, however, walked around with little more than a few stares from the local kids.

The view from the favela is one of the best in the city. Though the houses are stacked on top of each other like cards in a deck, the poorest people are granted the most amazing views of downtown Rio, the water, and the mountains. More than 200,000 live in poverty in the favela we visited; more than 1/6th of Rio`s total population find themselves in some of the world`s worst slums only blocks from some of the world`s best beaches. Strange.

We found the best restaurant deal in Rio, a local place, recommended by our favela tour guide, called Brasiero. For $15US each, we ate more beef than necessary, stuffed ourselves on delicious traditional sides liked fried bananas with egg, and drank 4 beers each. After dinner, the entire restaurant spilled out into the street along with the rest of the local spots for what was essentially a college party. About 200 college-aged Brazilians walked around drinking, smoking cigarettes, and greeting each other with kisses. We stared at a few attractive groups without the courage to try communicating--this would change over the next couple of days even though our unintelligible Portuguese would not.

Visited the Christo and a beautiful beach in Prainha. Met some locals who took us dancing in Lapa to a 15 piece band until close to sunrise. Met a girl from Patagonia, whom we named Patagonia because we couldn't understand her name or about 30% of everything else she said. She turned out to be insane. We avoided her. Saw a futbol game. The underdogs (the local team) won. We joined the celebration.

Goodbye Rio, hello Pantanal (after almost two days of driving). What has been aptly titled "The Journey," began as a discussion in our hostel about the merits of a single 23 hour bus ride as opposed to two shorter bus rides (6 hours/18 hours). However, what followed was a 23 hour bus ride in moderately comfortable seats, a three hour break in the bus terminal in Campo Grande where reps for various tour companies tried to convince us that "orphenage level" conditions were really quite tolerable, a 6 hour bus ride deep into the Pantanal, and finally a 45 minute trek on the back of a pickup over dirt road. 33 hours after our departure, we collapsed on our beds only to wake up six hours later for breakfast and our first day with Pantanal tour guide Paulo.

The Pantanal tour included a whole lot of bird sightings, close encounters with caiman (lame crocodiles), and water pigs (giant rodents). I rode a horse for the first time, and galloped around mosquito infested marsh lands. I wore long sleeves and long pants everyday, and I still got eaten alive by those bloodsucking monsters.

Met some French people over dinner; when we tried to talk to them, they responded by saying, "is it really necessary to speak in English (insert haughty french accent)." Later, they insulted our music tastes, and asked us to turn down the awful music blasting from our table--we were listening to Michael Jackson in honor of his passing.

We left the Pantanal and headed for Bonito, known for its waterfalls and caves--supposedly one of the best places to snorkel. This involved another long ride, this time in the back of a small van, which spent most of the time hitting potholes on dirt roads. We were fortunate enough to spend a night in town during the annual festival honoring Saint Pedro, the patron saint of the town. There was a massive gathering at the church with very inexpensive food, dancing, and BINGO! Everyone from Bonito was there, and everyone was staring at us. We would like to think they were admiring our dashing good looks, but I must conclude that Bonito does not see too many white people.

Before leaving Bonito, we paid for what Lonely Planet calls a trip to Middle Earth and the locals simply say is THE Bonito experience. After repelling down 300 feet into a cave with minimal safety gear, we found ourselves in the Abyss. Surrounded by water and interesting rock formations, Abismo claims to have the largest under water rock formations and the biggest lake in the world. We snorkeled in 1/2 inch thick wetsuits in freezing waters, and explored stalactites that have been forming over many 100,000 years. Our cab driver to and from the cave blasted American techno. Odd, but awesome.

Another overnight bus, and we were in Iguazu, a waterfall wider than Niagara and higher than Victoria. It was absolutely incredible. The most beautiful natural phenomenon that I have ever seen.

Still to come: Buenos Aires, Mendoza, Maipu and more...

Fiesta y Siesta: in no particular order

HOLA AMIGOS! After a few days of silence, I am prepared to delineate my holiday in Spain. Let´s begin with Thursday, the eleventh. I got up early with my new hostel friends, Shelby, Ariel, and Laurens (pronounced Lawrence) to explore Park Montjuic, a beautiful public space on the south western edge of the city. The park has a castle and a tram along with more typical Barcelonian flair—fountains, plazas, and ice cream!! We spent most of the day strolling through (read: uphill) the park. I should add—most of Barcelona´s parks are constructed on the small mountains that surround the city, and thus, visiting these parks involves long upward climbs. Do not think that I spent my holiday in spain leisurely lounging on beaches and plaza benches, eating tapas and drinking vino. My days are more akin to the life of a quarry worker; under the blistering sun, I fight against the elements, the pain, and the exhaustion. Then, I return to the hostel to drink myself silly and party until 5am in las discotecas. Truly, it is a difficult life.

The people I have met are incredible. Their lives and their opinions interest me immensely, and the best parts of my day are spent discussing religion, politics, law, philosophy, and nonsense with other travelers. I still believe that capitalism is the system best suited for me, but I am slowly allowing the idea that life on the road with minimal possessions is not only exciting, but also practical and rewarding.

I was sad to see a few of the friends I had made leave on Thursday evening, but I quickly became friends with a group of gents from Ohio, a young couple that just moved to Colorado, two Texan girls, an Australian, and a Canadian fellow.

On Thursday evening, I returned to the plaza at the base of Montjuic to watch the fountains. I went to the grocery store, purchased some meat, cheese, baguette, and two bottles of wine, and watched one of the most impressive light shows I have ever seen. The fountains put what the Bellagio does to shame. The colors are magnificent, the water choreography, mesmerizing.

Upon returning to the hostel, a large group of us joined up and headed to the beach to dance and drink. We partied in discotecas that reminded me of Miami (equally pricey and sleazy), but decidedly foreign. Our hostel danced until around 5am at which point we returned home, sweaty, exhausted, inebriated, and smiling. The Spanish party better than any other people. This is a fact.

On Friday, I woke up around noon, had a small breakfast, and took the train outside of Barcelona to Sitges. This is a beautiful beach town with an awesome boardwalk-like scene. I spent the day working on my tan, and bathing in the Mediterranean. The water was perfect.

I cooked a nice dinner with the girls from Texas. We made chicken fajitas with all the fixings. The girls chopped and kept my wine glass full while I slaved over rice, beans, and chicken. We went to another dance club.

I woke really late on Saturday, made some breakfast, and took a siesta immediately following my meal before finally rousing around 2:30. I took a walk to the Gothic Quarter via Las Ramblas, one of the most interesting streets in Barcelona. Las Ramblas blends tourism with prostitution and poverty in something that can only be called uncanny. The mix of people es muy extrano y el peligro—real. I returned again with a group on Saturday night to watch the prostitutes work and eat some ice cream.

I made dinner with a few travelers again. I cooked chorizo, bistec y pollo. We made a tapas dinner for three that included a corn, mango, and pineapple dish, grilled peppers and onions, chopped tomatoes, and a few other sides. La comida en Barcelona es mas fina!

Tomorrow, I am either going to rent a bike and travel the coast on wheels or visit the Picasso museum followed by a stint on the beach.

Will write again when the feeling strikes me….

Ciao!

Adventura Espana

This morning I was still feverish, but I popped a few Tylenol, took a cool shower, and pushed through. While I was drying off from the shower, the entire window (frame and all) came off the wall and fell on me. Fortunately, I stopped the falling debris and existed calmly as screams from all the hostel workers asking if I was ok. I am fine. They gave me a free night stay. The cleaning lady, a dark skinned Spanish women told me I should hit them up for money and women. She spent the next tour trying to convince me that the owner of this hostel is very rich and I was silly to accept only one night free when I could have had so much more. I declined, ate some breakfast, and headed into the city with my new friends: Tony, Ariel, and Shelby.

We went to La Sagrada Familia, a church designed by Antoni Gaudi, which began construction in 1882 and still has an estimated 30 years before completion. It was the weirdest church I have ever seen. It looks like something out of Dr. Suess. I took lots of pictures, which I will include if the internet permits. Basically, the Spanish are lazy. They wake up at 10, do a little work until 2, eat a long lunch followed by an even longer nap, and reconvene around 6 to close their shops. This is why La Sagrada Familia has taken over 100 years to complete. Obviously, America would never stand for this. We would simply higher more workers at lower wages to finish it.

After the park, I took the train to Park Guell, another space designed by Gaudi. Everything in the park also looks like it´s straight out of Dr. Suess. Truly an incredible site. We saw the house where Gaudi lived for 20 years. It´s bright pink and pretty strange. You have to see it to understand what I'm talking about.

I cooked again tonight. I made tomato sauce with onions, peppers, and sausage—all fresh. On the side, I prepared cheesy garlic bread.

Day Two with the Queen

About the past few days in London. I got up super early to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham palace. It was kind of a let down. They don´t let you get closer than 10 feet from the guards, and the ceremony was pretty short. I tried to snap some good photos, but they yell at you when you try to walk close to them or stop in the middle of the street. It was also pouring rain—I grabbed an umbrella from my buddy, but I was still soaked within ten minutes. Fortunately, the rain let up quickly and the rest of the day was sunny (for London).

After visiting the Queen, I took a walk to Convent Gardens. This is one of the main shopping/market centers in London. It looks alot like the West Village except with MUCH older buildings. I had a nice cup of coffee, and I talked to this weird 40 year old musician from North London who preceded to hit on me for the duration of my cup. Then, she asked me to match her staff while she went to the bathroom. She must have dropped a deuce given that she went missing for 10 minutes; she blamed it on the queue like a good British dame.

Later the same day, I went to the Portrait Museum. The paintings there span hundreds of years. The modern photos/works of recognizable celebrities were particularly interesting. They also have this room of several hundred portraits of the same woman (all copies of an original work, which was lost many years ago). Created by the internationally acclaimed artist Francis Alÿs, Fabiola is an installation of hundreds of portraits of a fourth-century Christian saint. Very eerie to look at. The National Portrait Gallery = Mini history lesson plus art depicting predominately dead aristocrats.

I also went to the Tower of London, a medieval castle in the heart of London´s financial district. King Henry VIII´s armor was impressive, and the crown jewels look cool. I think the jewels are replicas because the security didn´t seem impressive enough to guard the world´s second largest diamond and some of the most precious royal regalia in the world.

After a long day of walking, I took a good nap, ate a burrito at shop similar to chipotle, but with less side effects, and headed for the pubs. We went to a swanky club called Home House. It is similar to SoHo House in NY. Very expensive. I took a nice leather coaster with the club´s alligator logo.

On Sunday, I finally booked my around the world ticket. I had decided to hate British Airways for making it basically impossible, but when I flew them today, they served me good scotch and a sandwich. For now, I will forgive them.

I cooked dinner on Sunday night. Steak with pan fried onions, garlic and butter, risotto and asparagus on a bed of salt. It was received well.

This morning, I headed to Gatwick for my flight to Barcelona. Nothing to report. Landed safely, napped the afternoon away, had some middle eastern food, and spent time in the hostel. I felt too tired to go out, but I am planning a day sightseeing, beach, and drinking for tomorrow.

First Stop: London

I got up relatively early and navigated the tube (their homo name for subway) to Trafalgar Square. This is about a 5 minute walk from Buckingham Palace and Big Ben/Parliament. I didn't see the queen's place today, but I plan to go tomorrow. The weather was dreary; grey skis all day with rain off and on. Yesterday, it was bright and sunny, but oddly neither hot nor cold, which meant I couldn't regulate my temperature and spent half the day with my jacket on and the other half holding it.

London is the most alcoholic city in the world. There are two pubs on every street and a third on every corner. You cannot walk more than 20 feet without running into a stumbling English person. The English also believe that drinking alcohol is acceptable at all hours--this morning, on my way to breakfast, I was almost trampled by a drunkard, and yesterday at around 4:00 pm, I saw another depositing the contents of his stomach in the Regents Canal (I am staying in a flat on the canal, fyi).

So, back to today. In Trafalgar square, there was a large black man wearing all spandex from head to toe, dancing in front of the National Gallery. I arrived in the square around 1:00 pm to find him using his hands as a microphone, and lip syncing to music playing in his head; as such, I did not hear him sing and could only watch him dance. I went into the Nat'l Gallery and saw amazing paintings. It was ArtHum all over again. Monet, Leonardo, Velazquez, Rembrandt, Goya, and Van Gogh. My favorites by far were the water lilies by Monet and sunflowers by Van Gogh. I also saw some Picasso sketches. After several hours in the museum, I exited into the square and guess who was there??? The black, lip syncing, homeless, dancer in spandex. He was sweating at this point and repeating the same three dance moves as tourists photographed him. His endurance (2.5+ hours) surprised me, but what surprised me most was his weight. How is he so heavy if this is his gig? 

I spent the rest of my day walking from Trafalgar Square, across the river to the south side, and down to London Bridge. I crossed the London Bridge and took a great photo of the Tower bridge (the one that raises up). The south side of the river is basically like South Street Sea Port. There are a bunch of over priced restaurants and shops, dirty water, and street people trying to make a buck. I met this homeless artist from the states who stole a set of oil crayons from another homeless person as he was getting arrested. He lays out these huge sheets and lets tourists from all over the world add to them--it's a twist on the traditional quilt. I wrote: From NYC to London on a great metal bird. Next stop: The World. Cheesy, yes, but it was all I could think of. Then, I gave him 50 pence because I valued the service he provided as such (and I want good karma for my trip).

There is a bridge called the Millennium Bridge that runs across the river. It is pedestrian only and super modern. It drops you off in front of the Tate Museum. I think I'll attach a picture.

I sill have not been able to pay for my ticket to Barcelona--so I'm a bit freaked out about it.

London people are kinda weird. They all have this London look and the black ones speak in funny accents that make you think your watching a movie. The lower class English are my favorite. They have these intensely strange accents that sound very out of place in the city--like a southern accent in NY. They talk about inane stuff like parties they didn't go to and plans they didn't keep. When you listen to them, you would think that all they do is sit around at the pub talking about what they could have been doing when they were getting hammered on cheap beer. Judgement is still pending on the validity of this hypothesis. 

Last thing! I went to Starbucks. There was a nice Polish girl behind the counter who got so excited when she heard my American accent and incredibly jealous when I told her I was from NY. She literally could not stop gabbing to me about how much she wants to go there. It was funny. Best part was, she told me which buses to take where. Super helpful.