Last night, Alef (a friend from Fortaleza) and I packed his car full of milk and crackers and drove around Salvador to hand out to the misfortunate. To kids who are born into a lifetime of struggle in the street… My idea of christmas is simple: It is too love others and to be with people that you love. And most likely you are loved in return…
André and Itacaré. And André tried to convince me that Itacaré had become so touristy that I shouldn’t go. But I had to see it for myself. My romantic vision of picturesque beaches, Virgin Atlantic rainforest, surfbreaks, mellow hippies & surfers and a beautiful little village could only be dismissed by me… I’ve heard that you can’t force a donkey to do (or avoid) something (s)he doesn’t want. Hrmfff… So I went. And allthough nature and surfbreak remains the same, with many true souls, it is a feeling of a dense energy and a forced hippievibe here. Some are just a bit fake.
And hey, is there a Bob-Marley-look-alike-contest going on? Competing under the parole: “We’ve turned our backs to the shitty society, and wanna stay backpacked, dreadlocked and unwashed 4-ever!”
The touristy Bob Marley’s are surfing, skating, zip- and slack-lining. Talking about life, love, vegan food and ecofriendly stuff, allthough they flew inn with carbon-dioxide-emissioned longhault airbuses. But it is definitely a mix here, between these cliches and the real deals. And a lot of good things happens here too. For example yesterday’s reggaefestival at one of the beaches… After my swim, I was hanging out on the beach as the sun was about to set. I listened till I was musically content. I read my book till I was read and then I went to a baiana (Bahian aunt) who feeded me till I was fed, with a local dish rhyming with André, Itacaré and cliché: Acarajé (bean and shrimp fritters).
I’ve started to get a cold, so I praise thy lord and Bob Marley that I’ve been the only one around in my 8-bed-dorm-room during the two previous nights. Now, off to some new destination… But what is the lesson #14 learnt today? Well, I’d better listen to André.
We’ve been completely out of wifi. But now back in Taiba we’re finally connected, so here’s my update from the downwinder. And oh man, I’m sore, sunburnt, stiff and superhappy…
We, 4 kiting “spice-girls”: Nina, a flight attendant at Norwegian who has also taken a leave from work to travel the world. Monika, a Swiss girl who quit her officejob to start a downwinder-business over her. And us, Maggie and I. This was the first time also for Monika downwinding this stretch, so it was more an exploration than an organized trip. We didn’t know in advance how the conditions were for kiting or where we could spend the nights. Also this excact stretch is quite undiscovered by kiters in general, so it was all pretty exciting. Day 1: We kited the whole day, passed the fishingport Camocim, till we reached a tiny village, Marceo, where we had bonfire on the beach and stayed the night. We crashed early and shared beds with cochroaches and frogs. Day 2: I had something wrong with the bar-setup (appearantly), so I was really struggeling to make it fly.
The car couldn’t follow us on the beach, so I couldn’t change the kite either. It was a nightmare with big waves and a non-flying kite, but we finally reached a remote beach-house (Robinson Crusoe-style) where the car met us. We had a lovely fishmeal amongst cows and hens before we headed to Barra Grande.
BG is a supersweet little spot with a few pousadas and one main road lit up by lanterns, creating that cozy vibe so uncommon in Brazil (they usually prefer flouresence). Day 3: We decided to kite at Barre Grande and do a downwinder to a lagoon nearby, with two options on how to get back (the car couldn’t follow here either): Upwinding or donkey-riding. We decided on the first option, which turned out to be a decicion resulting in a battle between us and the wind and waves. But the fantastic big lagoon with no other kiters, was absolutely worth the fight… Back at the beach barraca in BG, the little old japanese hippielady had made her famously dangerous space cake, which was strangely enough sold openly from the bar. And the people there who were all fine earlier in the day, were at this time completely out of it after only a few bites. Scary stuff… Day 4: Downwinding to Parnaiba, a major stepping stone on the coastline stretch, but ugly as hell. We were straight back to flouressence and restaurants in the middle of the highway (ironically enough with the best meat any of us ever had in Brazil). Day 5: We took a boatride down the Delta of the Rio of Parnaiba, a 2700sq-km delta of channels, sanddunes and mangrove forests, teeming with wildlife.
We saw croccodiles, monkeys and iguanas, and at the far end of the delta, at the rivermouth to the sea, we pumped our kites. As our Italian driver would say: “perrrfect conditions! One of ze best in Brazil!” And it WAS the best! We were only a bit scared of the croccodiles…
Day 6: We had a kitefree day in order to get to the national park of Lencois Maranheses. This adventure included: 4WD-drive to “nowhere” through the sanddunes, then a ferry, a looong boattrip through more mangroves (and plenty of animals), a carride, another ferry, then lastly a horrible rollercoaster of a drive through the forest. The lencois (meaning bed sheets) are immense expanses of sanddunes with usually crystal-clear pools and lakes between the dunes. But at this time of the year, the pools were not so impressive. It was definately more of a “been-there-done-that” sort of place, rather than a “I-definately-have-to-come-back-here” kind of spot… But by getting to the Lencois, we reached our goal. Although we didn’t kite the whole way. The mission was completed anyhow.
Driving back in the non AC’ed sweaty car, we stopped a few places, ate another meal in the middle of the highway, kited again in Barra Grande, played games, listened to music, sang christmas songs and lastly reached Jeri where we had our little farwell-party. Thanks Monika, Nina, Maggie and Francesco for an amazing adventure! I think I’ve learnt from this #12 that the scary stuff usually is the most rewarding. It’s easy to avoid the hard option and go for the easy ride, especially when your on your own. But rememeber that girl (note to self): You can do the long route…
The following day (yesterday) we picked up Scott back at Ilha do Guaijiru and drove back to Taiba. And now, we’re about to be seated for the final dinner with mummy and Maggie. Buhuu..
Driving further up the coast, we headed towards Jericoacoara, known as “Jeri”. A magical place without any paved roads or cars, but plenty of sand and bare feet. The city is built right into the sanddunes of a far-flung nationalpark and you can only arrive here with a guided buggie, 4WD-car or by the seaway. Many obstacles; near flat-tires, a near-to crash, adrenalined sanddunesafari and a crookish teeny bobby driver/guide later, we finally reached Jeri. And probably partly because of the hard-to-reach location, it magnetizes Brazilians, other South-Americans, hippies, surfers, windsurfers and kiters from all over the world. Musicians and musiclovers are also attracted to this isolated place, and right now the Jeri jazz-festival is on. The small town is on fire. Cozy restaurants, small street-bars, charming pousadas, surfshops and arts&craft-stalls (occupied by majorly tattooed-rasta-pierced hippies) are bursting with good vibes. And music… Brazilian jazz, bossa nova, a blend of American cool jazz, European advanced harmonies and Afro-Brazilian heartfelt seductive rythms and lyrics, is everywhere you turn your ear… Another music- and dance-form extremely popular in Brazil, is the forro. The dance is a mix of slowdance on speed and sensual salsa. I must say it seems like the couples are getting it on on the dancefloor, allthough they usually don’t know eachother and mostly part (after the dance) like nothing ever happened between them. Maggie and I joined the forro-party last night, after the final jazz-concert. Starting at 02:30-03:00-ish at night, to steaming rytmhs of live music, the hormons were floating all over the place. We joined in on the dance, but oh boy after some 18-year olds quite intensily tried to get little kissies from mommas, we ran home… No way no toyboys for the old ladies! Anyhow, it was fun and interesting to experience the true Brazilian forro: “your pulse, your heartbeat, your breathing, the rhythm of your life, the expression in time and movement, happiness, joy, sadness and envy.” Brazil is not merely a romantic place, but a sensual one. Both guys and girls are extremely direct if they like someone. They will tell it, show it, dance it, feel it -at any time of the day. We Norwegians kind of seem stiff, non-humorous, apathic and cold in comparison.
Let’s learn (#11) from our sensual friends in the Latin Quarters of the world, and shake it up a little. So let’s all go for a bossa-forro-nova-salsa-steaming-hot friday night guys!
In the hammock again, in the sunrise… Listening to my goodstuff-playlist naturally remixed with the sound of waves. When facing the sublime immensity of the ocean it gets me thinking of the tiny unimportant space I occupy on this planet. And how little I know of the rest of the spaces, and how little these spaces knows of me. And why do I carry this particular space and not another? Or why now, and not then?
Being so little here compare to the grand sea kinda makes me feel the need for believing in a greater force that also minime can be a part of. An infinite pool of energy for all of us to float in. So that we’re not just single creatures who eat shxx and die after 80/90-some years…
For some reason this urge to believe in something, hardly ever crosses my mind in the city. As if I somehow feel more “on-top-of-it” in the trivialities at home. Maybe it’s because we can understand better the manmade world, as oppose to the unsolved mysteries of nature. But here with the ocean as inspiration #10 I am feeling a combo of humiliation and awe…
So, Ms Ocean/ Mr.Nature/ Mrs.GF (Greater Force) you are one cool dude, black woman, Asian kid or whatever you are. I hope I can be part of you when I grow up.
Btw, this is the only picture I have of me (after one month travelling). And this is Henriette’s photo. I have to take more pics of people. I see that…
I have gotten a passion for a sport that I began flirting with only a few years ago. But I’m wondering what it is about kitesurfing that makes me wanna chase the wind and be directed by tide for much of this trip. Well, trying to put words on to it… I am fascinated by the fact that the sport depends fully on the elements. After rain, light wind follows. During times of full moon and high tide, nice flat-water conditions rise in the tidal-lagoons. And strips of coastal reefs, creates (shallow) pools at low-tide… You need wind, and preferably not off-shore, not too strong nor light, and not too gusty -wind. Pluss water, not choppy or too wavy -water. And a spacious non-rocky spot for launching. In one way all of this fuzz could be regarded as cons rather than pros. But I think it’s sweet (most of the time) that the elements dictate, and you patiently stick around. And when conditions are good, like often here in Ceara, North-East Brazil, you can jump in it and interact with the playground of nature. It is a pretty amazing feeling moving fast, fast, fast forward on the ocean-surface solely moved by Mr. Windguru. I am definately still a beginner in this sport, and that’s maybe why I like it so much (allthough I’m really frustrated at times). I feel that childish joy by trying something new. By falling, falling again, being bruised, hating and retrying. And then master it -allthough with babysteps. It also feels meaningful to be travelling for something sporty and healthy for body and mind, that I can combine with culture. Rather than just culture. Sporty destinations also tends to attract good crowds. Drunk, pale tourists won’t necessarily stick around… So still soul- and wind-searching, with hardly no drunken non-sporty tourist around. My bruise is ducktaped and I’m trying again. Today’s lesson: Jumping!
Btw; at sunrise before morningwalk and breakfast I started and finished the easily-read book Jonathan The Seagull. A tale of a seagull who learnt how to fly high and take his own route, hence being turned off by his flock.Thanks Hanne for the sweet and enriching book! I wanna continue to push myself (#9) and stick with this sport and other tasks that sometimes seems frustrating and unreachable. I don’t have to be good at whatever-it-is, but there is something really rewarding with staying with it and then finally progress.
Photography is an attempt of trying to posess the beauty in a moment. An attempt of actively and consciously capturing what it is in that excact time & place that moves us, and makes us wanna owe a squared piece of it for our albums. But photography can also be the alternate of paying attention to the surroundings, as the camera shoots them anyway. I have allways been crap at taking pics, but pretty good at seeing, smelling, feeling, tasting and posessing them for my inner-harddrive. But since these capturings have only been stored in my mind, I don’t know which of them has, or will fade… So I’m working on it (to take more photos) and I’ve gotten better. This morning Maggie and I assigned ourselves to shoot details in the beachwalk, and try to capture a bit of the totality.
By actively looking (#8) for details and visually describing them, we saw many new shades in the morning-routine, also in the neighboring “hood”.
A guy who has been around the bruised block quite a few times before, scared me off this morning by saying I’ll probably get a “man-scar” if I don’t get my wound more healed. I saw this as my sign to take yet another day out of the S.E.A. So instead: Reiki is a Japanese spiritual practice that uses a palm healing technique to transfer universal energy (reiki) that is meant to bring self-healing and a state of equilibrium. Hideoshi, a Japanese-Brazilian, offers surflessons, hot stone massage and Reiki. He comes around with aloe vera leaves (for my wounds) and fresh mint (for tea) from his garden, and does his third degree Reki-practice on me. I can feel the warmth of his hands long before he first touches my forehead, so it’s pretty Buddhalicious. But I’m not sure if it’s special reiki-power or if it’s purely the gentle touch of anyones hands that are making that healing feeling. For sure I believe that some simple energy-sharing and touch can do wonders, also in the non-spiritual citylife. Remember that girl (#7)! So thanks for your healing hands Hideoshi. And dearest, O thy Windguru, please give me a healed bruise and fun times in the waves tomorrow. Amen & Namaste!
This weekend: Roadtripping with Katie, a girl who owns and runs the kiteschool and “Pousada Revolution”, the most chilled hangout in Taiba. It has that special welcoming feel to it, and so has she. A really fun(ky), laidback chick from the UK who seems to be taking care of everyone that passes her way. And she’s definately drawing up her own trails, with good genes. Her father was the bassplayer of the Animals and a musicproducer.
Get this one: He was the one who discovered Jimmy Hendrix and made him a star. How supercool is that! Cool cat, with a cool dad.
The two of us filled up her boogie with kitegear and drove south to a larger buzzier Taiba, Cumbuco. It was a big kitesurf competition there with lots of smily windaddicts hanging around. We kited ourselves, watched the pros and joined the party. Skinnydipping, pool bathing and dancing all night long. It turned out to be a pretty damn good legendary party this one. Jeeez.
Katy, has for allmost 6 years now, created a place with so much charm and good vibes that I would say it’s the heart and soul of Taiba. And she is only 29. Inspirational (#5) this one… I give her a big fat “like”.
Oh, and by the way -all good roadtrips gets at least one flat tire, no?
Alone-time finished, for now. Henriette aka Henry, Brus, Brusen, Basse, Brusebass, arrived and will stay for the next few weeks. How sweet is it to have an old friend in my Taiba! Also I’ve gotten to know a group of kitesurfers that rents at Matthiew’s. They are all very independent; One, an Indian liverspecialist in Toronto, one American having a shoe factory in Italy and another being a healthcare-investor circulating between three homes in NYC, Tahoe and Switzerland. We figured she knows my friends J.C in Verbier and Mikkel Bang (the snowboarder)! What a teeny boppy tiny world we live in, which never ceases to amaze me. Matthiew, a frenchman who owns for the 15th year, the biggest kiteschool in Europe, Tarifa Spain, hence being the Godfather himself. Then there is a group of pro kiters, riding for the international teams of BEST and Liquid Force. They call themselves the NA-blends, as they’re mainly North Americans. They travel around the world but are staying in Taiba for a few months filming “The moustache rides”. Two days ago all of us were at a Halloween-party at the Pousada Revolution, dressed up. An avatar turned out to be a poledancer and gave a full-on demonstration, while Salvador Dali spinned the music. I tried to take over the DJ’ing for a while, but got totally dismissed. It came to be a late night. But we were all invited for dinner at Matthiews last night, and lobsters and fresh fish was sizzling on the grill. Yummy… For the tummy. Pluss I won a bet with one of the pro’s, appearantly one of the worlds best, Brendan Scheid. Therefore, today he’s giving me some pointers. Hiiihaaaa!!! So going for that now. But before I “hang up” -purple thought and a new inspiration (#4): My new friends seems to share the identification of being “men/women of the world”, rather then to the limited geografics of a land inside a scattered line on the map. We’re all, by the wind or the stork or whatever, set by birth into a country, a city, a hospital, a street. But in adulthood we’re all granted with the freedom of choosing the place in which we are most alligned. I definately believe one part of me belongs to a place close to the ocean, somewhere warm (but also in the mountains). I get soooo much positive energy from being here! Loving it <3
