Days 94 – 98: Brazil

It’s my last country post, dear readers! Our incredible journey together is nearly coming to a close. I’m sad all over again. But on with the fun.

Day 1 – Arte Consciente

There wasn’t much Nick and I could do in the morning, as we were both going on a SAS trip which left at 1pm. Erika, my digital storytelling (SeaTV) Professor, was leading us into a favela, which is the title given to extremely impoverished areas in Brazil. Though I’ve told you all, dear readers, about wandering into poor areas earlier in the voyage, I wouldn’t dare do it in Brazil. We were half-heartedly warned about the township areas in South Africa and Ghana, so, naturally, I ignored it. But we were told sternly by multiple people, including by Sophia, the smart and stunningly gorgeous interport student, not to go to favelas. They are apparently often run by local drug lords, and you’re just asking to get mugged when you’re a white tourist wandering around alone. So this trip to visit Arte Consciente was my only opportunity to see a favela. When Erika sailed in Fall 08, she’d led the same trip and described it, simply, as “fantastic.”

But since we were cleared for disembarkation at 10am, we sure as hell weren’t just going to wait around on the ship. So we left with three hours to kill and three simple objectives: get cash, get food, and find a cool spot to come back to when we’ve got more time.

As we were leaving the ship, we were pleasantly surprised to see members of Arte Consciente. Teachers and students were greeting the ship with a drumming and circus show. It was a lot of fun to watch, and totally pumped us up for our afternoon trip.

Once we exited the port, we set out to conquer our first task, an ATM. We saw signs for a bank, so, naturally, we went there. Nick and I were both immediately struck by how empty the area was; the only people around were SASers. Turns out, it was a National Holiday (the specific name of which unimportant, obviously, because it’s not an American holiday, goddamnit). The lack of people actually increased the danger level significantly, and lots of people ended up getting mugged. But more on that later.

Anyhoo, turns out the bank had a functioning international ATM, so that was sweet. And with task 1 accomplished, we set off to conquer numbers two and three. We ended up completing them at the same place: Mercado Modelo. Mercado Modelo is a huge market geared for tourists with souvenirs of all sorts. It had t-shirts, instruments, artwork, and, of course, hats. We just did shelf shopping (there weren’t any windows), vowing to get our shopping done our last day. There was some cool stuff, though, and a huge stand dedicated entirely to hats!

As for food, we ended up eating with Jake, Nancy, and a few other kids from Chapman at a restaurant just outside the market. I got a beef dish, if I remember correctly. It wasn’t anything special, though, as I only mentioned eating in my notes, not the food I ate. I did have some epic meals in Brazil, though, which I’ll get to shortly.

Once we finished our meal, we headed back to the ship to begin our FDP to Arte Consciente. Loading on to the bus, I knew it was going to be an incredible afternoon. So many cool people were on this FDP; Connor, Emma, and Michael and Marcus, just to name a few.

The ride to the favela was uneventful, though it was enjoyable to take in Brazil’s scenic landscape. It was also pretty surreal to see the poverty. I suppose I should have become used to it by now, as we’d seen similar (if not worse) poverty in Africa and Asia. But it was still really impactful to be seeing beautiful, classic architecture nestled in the lively, green vegetation one second, and then seeing shanties crammed together on a hillside the next.

When we arrived in the favela we were met by Alex, in inspirational young man who founded Arte Consciente. Though it was the first time I’d seen him in person, I already thought very highly of Alex. We’d seen video of him from Erika’s visit on the Fall 2008 voyage, and she told us, many times, that Alex is her hero.

It was pretty apparent from the beginning the incredible affect that Arte Consciente has had on its community. You can’t walk a block without seeing murals they have made all over the city.

Once we arrived at the Arte Consciente building, a small, two-story place with open windows (built in structurally with no glass, just square holes in the wall) that got very hot very fast, we were given a brief history lesson on the organization. Like most favelas, the area has previously been run by drug dealers and plagued with violence. Sadly, the majority of the violence was between street children. It was founded (I don’t know the year – sorry) to give these kids an opportunity to pursue constructive, creative outlets and, thus, get them off the streets. Our tour guide told us their motto is “drums not guns,” but I don’t believe him, because I don’t think that rhymes in Portuguese.

But from its humble beginnings, Arte Consciente has blossomed into an unbelievably successful and inspirational organization. The streets are significantly safer. Violence and crime has gone way down, particularly among children. And a year ago, Arte Consciente was given an award from the UN, naming it the 2^nd best children’s service project. In the world.

With our jaws dropped and battling an overwhelming urge to cry, the performance began. First the kids put on a circus show, complete with tightrope walking, flips, human pyramids, and even mimes. Then we watched a percussion performance, which is Alex’s specialty. It’s unbelievable the energy he brings to what he does. Plus his smile, which never comes off of his face, is contagious. Finally, we were given a boxing demonstration by Arte Consciente’s prized fighter. After making his coaches hands pop with powerful jabs, the kid brought out a huge trophy. He’d won it at a recent national event, where he’d placed third. This is pretty miraculous for two reasons. First, he’s only been boxing for four years. Secondly, he’s competing against kids who have access to the finest trainers and equipment. He just trains in Arte Consciente’s small, hot building, and the only equipment he has to speak of are a jump rope, a set of gloves, and punching bag.

To return the favor, Erika’s world theater class performed Little Red Riding Hood in Portuguese. I didn’t get much out of it, but the kids loved it. And that’s the important part.

After we performed for each other, everyone began drumming and dancing. It was like spiritual dance on crack – so much happiness was in that room. Once we’d danced ourselves silly (and sweated obscene amounts), we ended the trip by taking a group photos with Erika hoisted on the shoulders of some of our shipmates. Definitely one of my favorite photos from the trip.

Though we were all sad to leave such a happy and inspirational place, the ride back to the boat was festive. Everyone was just in a fantastic mood.

Back on the boat, Nick and I each took a quick shower before heading out to a steakhouse. We went with our neighbors Blake, Alan and Mark, plus Earl, James and Todd (Tolan must have been with the girlfriend), and some girls. There were 10 of us in total, so arranging transportation wasn’t easy. But Earl was able to talk to a van service who would take us there for 10 real each roundtrip.

After a fifteen minute ride we arrived. Minutes after being sat down at a table, servers started coming by carving meat from spears. It was absolutely glorious. They had some chicken, pork sausage, and so many cuts of steak. My lone complaint was that the meat was a tad salty, but, in all honestly, that’s just me being picky.

In addition to the tableside meat service, there was a buffet complete with salad, breads, seafood, pasta, and sushi. Now I don’t think that heaven exists, but, supposing I lose Pascal’s Wager, places like this are definitely where one dines.

Once we’d stuffed ourselves silly, we went back to our trusty van service. Only they weren’t trusty; they were some slimy bastards. Despite clearly telling Earl that we paid for a ride round trip, they tried to make us pay them again for a ride back. We refused and drama ensued, first with the driver and then with the owner over the phone. We ended up getting our way through two very effective and entirely ethical methods. First, we threatened to tell everyone on the ship not to use their shuttle service. Second, refused to leave the van, which was going back to the ship anyway. Victory was ours!

Back at the ship, most of our crew decided to call it a night. But James, Alan and I set out in search of a bar. We ended up finding one in the upper city (Editor’s Note: Salvador is uniquely situated with a lower and upper city. The waterfront area is the lower city, and if you walk inland from the coast maybe 500 yards a steep cliff leads to the upper city. To get between the two, you can go by taxicab or take the elevator, which is exactly what it sounds like; an enormous elevator. And though the walk looks enticing, it cannot be taken by tourists. The streets leading to the upper city are incredibly dangerous) which had about 30 SASers inside. There was a live band and big bottles of Skol for only a couple Real, so I couldn’t really ask for much more. But I did get more, because Tolan was there with the girlfriend and company. So I hung out with him for a while, played flip cup with fellow SASers, and overall had a flat-out dandy time. The only let-down was that, right when I went to join in the samba fun, the band called it quits for the evening. But that was okay, I was pretty wiped out from all the dancing I’d done earlier. So I got a cab with Alan and James and hit the hay.

Day 2 – Alagados Neighborhood and the Upper City

I awoke to my beeping watch alarm at 7:45. As usual when I’m in port, it felt as if I’d gotten in bed a mere five minutes earlier. So I wearily got out of bed, threw on clothes, and headed to the sixth deck to grab a quick bite. Then it was off to the gangway for my service visit.

The trip was a bit odd. Many SASers were either in Rio or on overnight trips, so the group on this trip was small. And no one on the trip was really friends; we all came from different social circles. Not to say I disliked the people on the trip, but we certainly weren’t friends. And Nick, my trusty safety net and quasi boyfriend, was gone to spend the night at a golf resort a few hours away.

Anyway, the first stop was at an orphanage in the Alagados neighborhood, a severely impoverished area of Brazil. Like the Osu Children’s Home in Ghana, I was pleasantly surprised to see the orphanage in such good shape. The children all seemed pretty happy, too. Particularly because we came bearing gifts; as Brazil was our last port we had tons of donations from students and faculty to bring on service visits. So I spent about an hour playing with cute little man of about six, conversing as best I could in broken Spanish. I’m pretty sure he understood the simple things I was telling him, but I could barely make out a word of his responses.

Unfortunately, around 10:30, we left. And, as with most SAS trips, it didn’t make any sense why. We left to a home for disabled seniors run by nuns. And there really wasn’t anything we could do for the residents; they were sitting around in wheelchairs, many of them in visibly poor health, looking at us skeptically. We were then given a tour of the facilities. And then we left. It was just depressing, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do. The entire ride back to the ship I wondered why we ever left the orphanage, where we were brightening the days of the kids living there. This was now my second experience as a tourist of a home for the needy on a SAS trip (first one being the orphanage in Xi’an, China). It’s exceedingly awkward and unpleasant.

Anyway, back on the boat I cleaned up and grabbed some lunch. As I mentioned earlier, lots of fellow SASers were gone on SAS trips or independent travel. Thus, the dining room was pretty empty. The person I knew best in the room was Kevin, from my SeaTV team. Unfortunately, I do not particularly like Kevin. But he had been on the morning service visit with me and invited me to join his table. So I was sorta stuck.

Already sitting with Kevin was a friend of his, who shall remain nameless. Mostly because I’m about to spend two paragraphs making fun of him. This particular friend had had a curfew since China, where he returned to the ship so drunk that he fell down multiple times on the gangway. He had also required medical attention in Japan because he drank too much. When the ship called his parents, they were totally unphased. Apparently this is a pretty regular occurrence. To top it off, this kid is ultraconservative and ultrareligious, and has a big tattoo on his forearm, in Latin, which, and I quote, “reminds [him] to live on the straight and narrow.”

A few things come to mind here. First, I don’t think Jesus would very much appreciate your binge drinking. Second, if you need a huge tattoo on your forearm to remind yourself that you’re ultrareligious, something that is supposed to be at the forefront of your mind at all times, then you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed. And finally, if you fail to notice said tattoo while pouring drinks down your throat, you literally may be blind.

Luckily, just when I was thinking how screwed I was for the rest of the day, Connor, seeming very dazed, wandered into the dining room. He’d just woken up and, luckily, had no plans. So the four of us, Kevin, Kevin’s exceptionally unpleasant friend, Connor and I headed out to explore the Upper City, also known as the Old Town.

Thanks to Connor, I had a great time. I mostly talked with Connor while Kevin mostly talked with his friend. But my enjoyment of the afternoon cannot be simply explained by the pleasant company; ample credit must be given to the stunning scenery. For starters, the view from the Upper City is simply majestic. You’re basically standing on a cliff a mere 500 yards of the ocean with a birds-eye view of the Lower City, the beach, the sparkling blue water, and small, coastal islands. In addition, the sky was just the prettiest I’ve ever seen. It honestly looked like the sky you’d put on a green screen. I think that effect was created by really high clouds, but I’m not really sure.

Also, the architecture was also really cool. It’s got a distinct classic style and is painted in a variety of vibrant colors. It’s almost San Franciscan. But that was really fun to look at, especially with the bright blue sky as a backdrop.

But I suppose I ought to get to what we did. We took the elevator up, then slowly made our way to the church Igreja do Nosso Senhor do Bonfim. It’s one of the most popular pilgrimage sites in all of Brazil. The church is probably a half mile away from where the elevator drops you off. On the way, we mostly just admired the architecture and took in the scene, stopping frequently to snap photos. The constant stopping for photos was infuriating Kevin, who values efficiency more than life itself. But the real comedy was that Kevin’s friend was the one who did the most stopping. Kevin never called his friend out, but he was pretty visibly fuming. I just sat back and enjoyed the show.

Anyhow, we eventually reached the church and went inside. It was a pretty church with a particularly impressive alter. And we were allowed to take photos inside, which was sweet. For whatever reason, many religious sites seem to have a problem with photos.

After we left the church, we decided to head back toward the elevator. Continuing the direction we’d been going seemed a bit sketchy, and word on the street was that 10 kids or so had already been mugged.

Once we got back to the main plaza, which is called Largo do Pelourinho, we decided to grab a beer at a bar and just take the place in. I suggested we bring our brews back into the plaza, but Connor was apprehensive. He figured we’d get hounded. And he was totally right. Right when we sat down, some guy came up and tried to sell us pot. It took nearly 10 minutes to get him to piss off. Then some other guy came up and tried to sell us trinkets. When he left, someone else came up. And so it went.

Just as I was about to lose my patience and suggest we head back into the bar, however, we met a man with dreadlocks down to the ground. Literally. And he was every bit as crazy as you’d expect a man with dreadlocks touching the ground to be. I wished I remembered his name, but, sadly, I do not. I do know three things, though. First, he is a capoeira master. Second, he teaches capoeira in Brazil and has taught abroad. Third, he loves banging women more than anything else in the world. Seriously.

He talked to us for almost an hour, and all he talked about was sex. He even got up a few time to demonstrate pelvic thrusts. And he referenced his “big cock” numerous times, estimating, with his hands, that it’s about a foot long. He talked about banging tourists, banging locals, banging abroad, everything. He was even kind enough to give us advice about the local hookers. He said that we should wear a condom and not pay any more than 30 Reals.

Anyhow, as entertaining as we found this delightful fellow, we decided to head down to the Lower City and catch the sunset from the water front. So we took the elevator down, grabbed some Skols, and popped a squat right by the water. It was a real pretty sunset, particularly with all the boats in the foreground.

Once the sun went down, we headed back to the ship and prepared to go out. While walking back, though, Connor and I noticed two gorgeous locals hanging out and watching the ocean. Connor doesn’t speak any Spanish, let alone Portuguese, but he was able to convince me to talk to them in broken Spanish. I started by apologizing for bothering them and for my abysmal language skills. I then asked where they were going that evening, and they told me that they were headed to a Reggae bar. I then asked if they would dance with us, provided we went to that same Reggae bar. When I sensed their apprehension, I told them that Connor, a football running back, looks good without a shirt. One girl motioned, with her hands to lift up his shirt. They loved the six-pack, and informed me that they would indeed dance with us at the bar. So Connor and I returned to the ship in high spirits.

After cleaning up, Connor and I met in the dining room to grab a quick, small bite before heading out. I wanted to save room for street food, so I didn’t grab much. Connor filled his plate, but he plays football and can eat like a horse. Unfortunately, a bunch of friends saw us at dinner and asked our plans. When we told them about the Reggae bar, they said they’d heard it was expensive and talked Connor out of going. They were going with a big group to Rio Vermehlo, a big nightlife spot, and invited us to come. I was skeptical as I hate big groups, but Connor was onboard so I went along.

As expected, it took forever to mobilize. That was frustrating, but we eventually got off the ship, into cabs, and to Rio Vermehlo. The epicenter of Rio Vermehlo, where we started, is a big plaza with restaurants, bars, and street food stands. There are also plenty of bars on the nearby streets.

But we grabbed a table in the plaza and ordered drinks. A nearby food stand smelled delicious, so, in broken Spanish, I asked a beautiful woman behind me to tell me about the food. Turns out she went to college in America (I forget where, exactly) and spoke great English. Her name was Natalya and she explained that the food was Beiju, a pancake/crepe-esque dish filled with savory (meat and cheese) or sweet (caramel and coconut, for example) fillings. She then walked over with me and helped me order.

While we waited for the food to cook, Natalya was totally flirting with me. At this point, I was pretty damn proud of myself. I was now 2 for 2 with regards to attempts hitting on women, and 3 for 3 with regards to the number of women. Once the food was cooked and we returned to our table, Natalya and I continued to talk, each of us turning our chairs toward the other.

And then, Eddy swooped. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, given his personality. But he introduced himself and then began talking to her. And when I say to her, I literally mean to her. Not to both of us. It was clear I was being excluded from the conversation. But, I figured, nothing was going to happen with this Natalya girl anyhow, so why waste my time fighting Eddy over her attention. So I just turned back to our group of friends. Numerous people made comments that I just let him take my girl. I shrugged and said nothing was going to come of it. But as the evening went on, Eddy continued to chat up Natalya and distanced himself from the group.

After a couple hours in the plaza, I wanted to relocate. Michael, who was part of the big group, agreed. We set off in search of a bar. The walk was pretty sketchy because the streets were so dark, but we found a cool bar without incident. It featured a live band a small dance floor. Maybe fifteen minutes later the rest of the group, minus Eddy, wandered to the same bar.

Though I couldn’t get Michael to dance with me when it was just the two of us, Connor agreed when he arrived. So we hit the floor. When we joined, the only other people dancing were three gorgeous women. Seemed like a great time to add to my streak. Unfortunately, my luck had run out. When Connor and I started dancing (and, I might add, we didn’t even try to dance with them), they totally moved away. Immediately. It was brutal.

Since we were repelling the ladies, Connor and I didn’t dance too long – maybe 20 minutes in total. And after a few more drinks I was ready to head back, so a cabbed back with a couple other people. Exhausted I fell asleep immediately.

As far as Eddy, turned out he slept with Natalya and spent the night at her apartment. I found out the next day. Needless to say, at that point I was pissed that he swooped.

Day 3 – Morning at the Circus and New Friends

Despite my exhaustion, I popped out of bed when my alarm when off at 8:00. The Sharks had played Game 5 versus the Colorado Avalanche the night before, and I needed to know the score. To my delight, they won 5-0! Great start to the day.

Just as I was washing my face and getting ready to go to breakfast, there was urgent knocking on my door. I was only wearing boxers, but answered anyway. You know what they say, if you’ve got it, flaunt in.

At the door was Nancy, Jake’s girlfriend. She looked at me quizzically (Editor’s note: but I think I also caught a hint of arousal). “What’s the holdup, dude?” she asked me. “What?” I responded, in genuine confusion. “Morning at the Circus! We’re leaving now, I came because I didn’t see you on the Gangway!” “Oh shit! Give me two minutes!”

So I put on a short, shirt, my trusty fanny pack and camera, and was out the door. I had confused the time of the trip; I thought we were leaving at 9:00. We were actually leaving at 8:30.

I was pretty excited for this trip. The trip was simple: we were going to watch a circus show, and then get taught some of the basics by the performers. Sounded like a grand old time.

On the ride over, our tour guide was talking to us about Brazil and Brazilian culture, and the subject of soccer came up. He mentioned that on Sunday, the day we were leaving, there was a huge game: the Bahia State Championship. He expressed sincere regret that we wouldn’t be able to make the game because, as he told us, “there’s nothing like Brazilian football!”

Wanting to know more details before giving up hope, I asked what time the game started. 4:00, he told me. I then asked how promptly they kick-off (in American sports, the game typically starts a good ten or fifteen minutes after the listed start time). He told me that if the start time is 4:00, kickoff is 4:00. Finally, I asked him how far the stadium was from the boat. “30 minutes, maybe 45 in traffic.”

At this point, the wheels are starting to turn in my noggin. Soccer is played with a continuous clock, then stoppage time. So if the game starts at 4:00, and we stay for half, we should be leaving by 4:50. Hop in a cab, and we’ll be back well before on-ship time (6:00). I make a mental note to talk to Nick about closing out our trip by watching a super rowdy soccer game.

Anyway, we get to the Circus and are shuttled to our seats. A bunch of schoolchildren arrived shortly after we did. They must have been on a field trip, I suppose. But it was cool; it made for quite the festive atmosphere.

Before any of the circus performers took the stage, a band, on a stage elevated behind the main circus stage, began to play. They opened with “Mas Que Nada” by Sergio Mendes. I knew it from playing FIFA. It goes “ooooohhhhh ayaaaaaaayyyy ooooohhhhh. Maa-oo maaaa-ooo maaa-oooo” (Editor’s Note: I’m sure you totally get how the song goes from my unbelievable talent with words). The band actually played for the entire performance, proving both music and sound effects. It was pretty sweet.

The circus show was pretty sweet, as well. There were talented groups of jugglers, acrobats, and clowns. There were two clowns I can still remember well, and I write this entry nearly three months after attending the performance. One was a tall, lanky guy, probably 6’6”. He had long hair and was just so expressive with his face. He also just looked like he was having a ton of fun. I really enjoyed watching him.

The other clown I distinctly remember was a man of probably 60. He was little person (hell yes I’m PC!). Like the other clown, he was just having a blast out there. And yes, fine, it was also funny to watch him run around. And not just because he’s a littler person! How dare you!! It was also funny because he’s fat.

The acrobats and jugglers were also fun, I distinctly remember thinking that they were very talented. But I can’t remember much beyond that I thought they were highly skilled. I guess that’s just what happens when you don’t have a little person as part of the team.

The highlight of the show, however, had to be when I was called onstage. I was chosen simply because I’m an athletic-looking (and extremely handsome!) male from the Semester at Sea group. Four fit men were called onstage, the three others coming from three of the school groups.

There was actually a bit of confusion when I got called up. I saw the hostess point at me and say “el,” but she was going so damn fast I didn’t know what was going on, other than the fact that I had been referenced. For all I knew she was just commenting on my athletic build and dashing looks. Only when I saw other people going onstage did I realize that I was being called up.

So I went on up, and the hostess asked us all our names. In retrospect, I should have said something outrageous, like “Testicles.” Since there were so few English speakers around, it would have been hilarious. But I failed to realize this at the time, and said my name was Max.

After giving our names, we were told to Samba as the band played some grooves. Not knowing how to Samba, I went with the trusty “turn around and shake what yo Mama gave ya (while occasionally spanking yourself).” It got a rise from the crowd, but it was one of those “I’m not sure if they’re laughing at me or with me” situations.

After the dance, it was on to our big finale. They set up four stools in a square, and directed us to sit so we were all facing out from the square. They then had us lay back, so each of our head/shoulder regions were on the legs of another person in the square (I hope my description is making sense). Then, one by one, they removed the stools so we were simply supporting each other. It’s a neat trick, and actually pretty easy to pull off.

Only in this case, it was a pretty short dude who was lying on my legs. His head didn’t reach my outside leg. So I was supporting all of his weight on my left leg. After about 10 seconds, my leg started to shake. Another 10 seconds passed and they hadn’t let us get up. My leg started to really shake, and the muscle started to burn. I was getting nervous that I was going to blow the whole thing.

Luckily, the hostess soon called on us to stand up. We failed miserably at that task, all tumbling to the ground. I maintain that we could have done it had we organized ourselves (i.e. “stand up on 3”), but, with no organization, we collapsed.

After the show, we got some circus lessons. We were taught how to walk the tightrope, how to juggle, how to climb a rope, and how to jump off a spring board. Tightrope was surprisingly easy. The guy instructing us had us give him a hand for support as we went out and back on the rope. On the way back, though, I didn’t need his hand. I kept my hand right near his, in case I lost balance, but I stayed up on my own the whole time.

Juggling was also fun, mostly because I got to be a showoff. I’m not even a talented juggler; all I can do is juggle three balls. Given how easy juggling is (I learned it in a few hours), it’s surprisingly that more people don’t know how to do it. But that’s cool with me; it makes me seem more impressive.

Climbing the rope was the hardest station for me. I only made it five feet up or so. Most of it is in the legs, and I tried to do too much work with my arms. Once we got up as high as we were going to get, one of the instructors spun us around. It was pretty exhilarating, and when I got down I couldn’t believe how much I’d beat up my hands. The wonders of adrenaline.

The spring board was fun. We worked our way up to doing a flip onto a mat, landing on our backs. One kid actually tried, successfully, to do a full on flip. He nailed it. I was too scared to try the same; yet another moment I regret.

Before we left, we got some great photos as human pyramids. Because, as I already mentioned, I’m so strong and handsome, I was on the bottom. It was actually pretty funny, getting that pyramid photo. My papa Steve and I were in the bottom middle (it was 4-3-2-1), and neither of us were complaining. But man, everyone else was just whining! “Your knee’s in my back!” “This hurts!” “Ugghhh TAKE THE PICTURE ALREADY!”

But once the pyramid fiasco came to an end, we bid the performers/instructors adieu and headed back to the ship. Fun morning.

After lunch, I took a shower and just unwound. The plan was to meet up with Nick and co. and catch a 2:00 catamaran to Morro de São Paulo, a small island with no paved roads or cars. It is supposed to be exceptionally beautiful and peaceful (the no car thing helps). The only things on the island are beaches, restaurants, hotels, and bars.

Unfortunately, Nick and the gang did not make it back until around 2:30. Mix up with a cab or something. And, because the catamaran takes 2 hours each trip, the 2:00 departure was the last one of the day. So we were screwed on that front, and never did get to check out Morro de São Paulo. Tolan and a few others made it, though, and said it was simply splendid.

Anyhow, with the island out of the picture, we needed to make some new plans for the evening. We decided to start by going to the local modern art museum, which, according to wikitravel, was the best place in Salvador to watch the sunset, and then see where the evening took us.

We got to the museum with the sunset ETA at roughly 30 minutes. Wikitravel also mentioned a small restaurant near the museum, so we decided to go there for a Salvador sunset with a side of beer.

Unfortunately, the small restaurant proved elusive. Perhaps it was a little too small. But fifteen minutes of wandering had done us no good. I saw a friendly-looking young couple and approached them in broken Spanish, starting with “lo siento, no hablo Portuges y…” But before I could finish, the woman cut me off and said “I speak English” (Editor’s Note: This was quite similar to an encounter my dad had years ago in Montreal. To this day, I make fun of him for said encounter. We went into a hotel, and the man at the desk said “Bonjour, hi” (as there is a large population of French speakers in Montreal). My father, in an attempt to seem like a local, said “Bonjour,” in the best French accent he could muster. Without missing a beat, the dude at the desk replied “Hi.” I do maintain, however, that the situations are different as I wasn’t trying to put on accent. I embrace the fact that I sound ridiculously gringo). Turned out she wasn’t even Brazilian; she was Canadian. Her name was Michelle and she was in Brazil with her Brazilian boyfriend Isaac. They had met in Canada, but Isaac’s visa expired, so they were spending six months together in Brazil.

Well we got to talking and hit it off, and we decided to go to dinner together. So we all squeezed into a cab and went to Rio Vermehlo, the place I’d been last night. We sat down in the same plaza, ordered drinks, and got dinner from the vendors. Nick got beiju, which I’d gotten last night. I went with acarajé, a local favorite consisting of fried shrimp, beans, and a deep-fried ball of peeled black-eyed peas (like the band!). According to Isaac, this stand had the best acarajé in town. It was pretty damn good. We also got some sizable blocks of deep-fried mozzarella, served with a tangy sauce and oregano. All-in-all some good eats. After a while, though, we all wanted a change of scenery, so we hailed a cab and had them take us to Club Madre, the biggest club in town.

Arriving at Club Madre, even the parking lot was crazy. There were so many beautiful, beautiful people (both men and women) just milling about. Vendors were selling cheap beers, and a few people were cooking food in the back of their cars. But because not everyone was feeling the club scene, we went to the bar right next to Club Madre.

As we were all drinking and talking, I became seriously distracted by all the gorgeous women around me. Filled with liquid confidence, I decided I just had to talk to them. And then it hit me. I’d thought up the greatest pick-up routine a tourist can use. Ever. I approached a group of women and said the following in broken Spanish, “Perdona? Lo siento, no hablo portugués pero hablo un poquito de español. Soy de los Estados Unidos, y estoy en Brasil en vacación. Cuado era en los Estados Unidos, yo dije a mis amigos que cuando era in Brasil, voy a sacar muchos fotos con las chicas muy bonitas. Quiero una foto con ustedes, por favor. Es posible?” (traslated: Excuse me? Sorry, I don’t speak Portuguese but I speak a little bit of Spanish. I am from the United States and I’m in Brazil on vacation. When I was in the United States, I told my friends that, when I go to Brazil, I’m going to take lots of photos with very beautiful women. I want a photo with you guys, please. Is that possible?)

I’ll tell ya, it worked like a charm. Definitely going to use it the next time I go to a Spanish-speaking country. The girls clearly loved the effort, and agreed to take photos. How could they say no to such a handsome, endearing tourist? Sadly, they all seemed to have boyfriends. Damn their handsome Brazilian male counter-parts! I only wish the Brazilian population was more like the Armenian population: gorgeous women, hairy and fat men.

Anyway, after a while we got tired and decided to head home. Isaac and Michelle gave us numbers where we could reach them, and Nick and I promised to hit the beach with them the following day. The rest of the group seemed somewhat interested in joining, but, honestly, Nick and I had been talking with Isaac and Michelle much more than anyone else had.

Before we could leave, though, I had to try the food from those backseat grills. I had a hot dog and a burger, both of which were fantastic.

After my 1000 calorie 2am snack, we grabbed a cab back to the ship. Holy Toledo, what a ride we got. It was like a roller coaster. I mean this guy was just FLYING. A ride that took 30 minutes every other time we went took 10 with this guy. Had I been completely sober I probably would have been terrified, but with a belly full of sweet, sweet Skol, I just thought it was awesome. Upon further reflection, however, it was not at all awesome. It was dangerous.

Day 4 – Capoeira School

Had to wake up early, yet again, for a SAS trip. I really have no clue what I was thinking when I planned so many. I suppose they were all pretty fun (a rarity), but independent travel is still the way to go.

Anyway, capoeira school visit was pretty cool. For those of you who may not know, capoeira is an Afro-Brazilian dance which dates back to slavery. It was concieved by clever slaves who wanted to practice how to fight. Capoeira is essentially simulated fighting, but it is done to music, which is why it is considered a form a dance. To the rhythm of the music, two dancers throw kicks and blocks from all sorts of angles. It’s quite fun to watch when the performers are talented.

We got there early before any of the students showed up, so the head of the school told us the history of the school (in Portuguese, our tour guide translated). That was pretty goddamn boring, to be perfectly honest. One SAS student actually fell asleep. I resisted the urge to do the same, as I didn’t want to be rude. But I would have much preferred to be sleeping.

It was a lot cooler once the students arrived. After everyone greeted each other and stretched out, some people grabbed instruments while everyone else sat in a circle. Our tour guide invited us to join, so Ian and I took him up on his offer.

The second students started dancing, though, I knew I was in for a world of trouble. Boy oh boy, these guys were flexible and strong. Unlike most forms of capoeira I’d seen, which is done rapidly, this school emphasized slow control. Which is actually a lot harder to do, because you need to keep you’re balance while you slowly windmill kick above your opponents head, balancing on only one leg and arm.

I went immediately after Ian, who actually did quite well. Ian had some break dancing experience, which he said helped a lot. I, on the other hand, was a clumsy mess. I had a few good moves, and was able to hold a few positions longer than I’d expected, but otherwise it was quite the poor showing. And man was it hot in there! After just a few minutes in the circle, I was drenched in sweat. Though Ian bravely remained in the circle and took a second turn, I just watched for the remainder of the afternoon.

I got back to the ship a little after noon. The first thing I did was shower, as I really was disgustingly sweaty from a few minutes of capoeira. Then I grabbed a light lunch and waited for Nick to get back. He spent the morning in the Upper City, which I’d done two days earlier. Once he got back, we set out to go to Villas Atlantico, a beach where we’d be meeting our new friends Isaac and Michelle.

Though we’d planned to save money on the bus, we were running a bit behind schedule and decided to hail a cab. After a 45 minute ride, we finally arrived. The cab driver graciously let us borrow his cell phone to try to reach Isaac, but we had no luck. So we thanked him and headed on to the beach.

The beach was phenomenally beautiful. The sand is golden, the water a sparkling, rich blue, and tons of tall, gorgeous palms just beyond the sand. But the first thing Nick and I saw when we walked on the beach was far more beautiful than the beach. It was a tall, stunning Brazilian woman, wearing a thong that was so small it was barely visible to the naked eye. And her top covered her nipples, but not much else. Nick and I looked at each other and gave each other a mental high five. It made a good sound; the secret is to look at the other person’s elbow.

Anyway, we stopped at a local restaurant and shared a beer, and then asked where we could find Villas Atlantico beach. We were at an enormous stretch of beach, and we were hoping Villas Atlantico was just a small section. To our delight, that was indeed the case. We had to walk about a half mile to get to the right place, but there were plenty of beautiful women in skimpy bikinis to admire along the way. Let’s just say I’m glad that I brought my sunglasses.

Once we got to what we thought was the right place, we asked a group of guys if we were at Villas Atlantico. One guy spoke English, and he confirmed we were indeed in the right place. We asked if we could possibly call borrow his cell phone to call Isaac, and he graciously helped us get in touch. Isaac and Michelle were literally arriving just as we called, so it worked out great.

We started by going to a restaurant along the beach for lunch. Nick and I shared a couple orders of shrimp balls and crab balls, which are essentially balls of seasoned ground shrimp (or crab) meat, which is then deep fried. Absolutely delicious. And, of course, seeing as we were at a beach in Brazil, more beer was in order.

After good eats and great conversation, we moseyed down to the beach and took our convo to the sand. Though I hadn’t planned on getting in the water, Nick started a movement that could not be stopped, and we all ended up getting in. I’m glad he made us do it, because the water was a phenomenal temperature. Cool and refreshing but not freezing. Take a lesson, Pacific, you icy son of a bitch.

Anyhow, Isaac and Michelle needed to get home for dinner, and we needed to get back to the ship. Before we left, though, we made a plan to go to the next day’s soccer game together. It had come up earlier that we wanted to make the game, and Michelle, who had yet to see a soccer game in Brazil, thought it sounded like a great idea. So before we left, she and Isaac talked it over and they decided to go for it. They would rent a car (we’d all split the cost) and pick us up for lunch, then we’d head to the game. The game started at 4:00, so we’d need to leave at halftime to get back to the ship on time. Because Isaac and Michele are gracious as hell, they agreed to leave at the half and drive us straight back to the ship.

Excited for our plans the following day, Nick and I hopped on a bus and headed back to the ship. The ride was pretty uneventful, except for when a Rasta guy on the bus got arrested. It was actually pretty hysterical; when the police cuffed the guy they took off his hat, and, to my surprise, off came the guy’s dreds along with his hat. The dreds, which looked totally realistic, were fake and attached to his hat! I guess it’s a Rasta’s toupee. I suppose I shouldn’t laugh, because the Brazilian police are supposedly pretty corrupt and I have no clue why the guy was arrested, but the hat-snatching truly made my day.

Once we got back to the ship, Nick and I showered and prepared to head out for the evening. Nick had made plans to get dinner with our neighbors and some other people, but I really wanted to go clubbin’ at Madres. Rocking out in a club was one of the things I had most looked forward to about coming to Brazil, and tonight was my last shot. Luckily, I was able to convince Alan to come with, so he ditched the rest of the group and grabbed a cab to Madres.

Across the street, there was a Brazlian steakhouse which Isaac had recommended. Like the last steak house, it was all-you-can-eat, and they had everything. I still sometimes dream about having meat carved onto my plate from a spear.

Once we’d completely stuffed ourselves, Alan and I headed across the street to the Madres parking lot. There was a pretty big group of SASers in the parking lot, so we joined in the cheap Skol action.

After some solid work pregaming, we decided to go into Madres. Now it’s a weird situation getting into this club. Without a ticket it’s very expensive. But guys are just selling tickets in the parking lot, which essentially gets you in at half price.

One particular guy was selling tickets cheaper than the rest, and it also looked different. Skeptical, I took the ticket to a bouncer, asking him if it was legit. He confirmed that it was, so about 8 of us bought tickets for 25 Real a piece.

About 10 minutes later, once we’d all finished our beers, we headed into the club. Only the bouncer wouldn’t let us in. It was a different guy now, and he said the tickets were no good. I asked to speak to the manger, who was a real jackass. He, too, would not let us in. And this didn’t make any sense, because having more people in the club is only good for business; at least some of us were going to buy drinks.

I was devastated; I didn’t have enough money to buy a legit ticket. And the rest of group seemed resigned to our fate. Oh well, I suppose I’ll just have to go back to Brazil sometime soon, if for nothing else to go clubbing.

So I dejectedly stayed in the parking lot, taking comfort in that sweet, sweet Skol. Unfortunately, the night would soon take an even sharper turn for the worse. First, a SAS girl came out of Madres incoherently drunk. She was kicked out of the club after passing out, and I had to physically carry her into a cab. Unbelievably, her friends were reluctant to leave and help her back. Luckily, Hillary the Bagpipe Girl (Editor’s Note: who is incredibly awesome and I can’t believe that I have yet to mention her!!) called them out their shit. “Hey! Are you her friends?” She yelled at them. “Get your asses in that cab and take her back to the ship. This is your responsibility, so GET IN THAT CAB!!” It was awesome. I was aroused.

Things rapidly deteriorated from there. Multiple people puked in the parking lot. One kid knocked over a vendor’s stand. It was embarrassing. Definitely the dark side of Semester at Sea; jackasses behaving like jackasses in foreign countries and making all Americans look like jackasses.

Eventually I’d had enough and wanted to leave. It just so happened that a kid had become incapacitated from drinking and need a ride back to the ship. I looked at his friend on the ship and said, “yo he needs to go back. You coming?” “Naw,” his friend said. “I’m trying to watch the sunset.” “You’re an asshole,” I replied, and headed to the cab. Luckily, my buddy Carl, a really cool dude from ASU who was in my painting class, volunteered to help me out. It’s a good thing he did, because I would have had a lot of trouble getting this kid back myself.

Anyway, we made it back to the ship, got the kid some medical attention (Editor’s Note: poor Dr. Mort!! He was up every night babysitting drunken idiots), and I went to bed pissed off. Quite the bummer that my last night in port ended on such a sour note. But dem’s da breaks, I suppose.

Day 5 – Soccer and Solitary Confinement

Ominous title. But I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning. Nick and I took some time to sleep in a bit this morning, leaving the ship around 10. We were meeting Isaac and Michelle around 1, and the plan was to get some shopping done beforehand.

I got some cool stuff at the market. I got four hats in total; two baseball style hats, each of which said Brazil on the front, a goofy Brazil sun hat, and a cap with fake dreds. I also got a really cool piece of wall art made entirely of yarn wrapped around nails. Because I’m really original, that also said Brazil. I also bought a Vitoria soccer jersey (as a keepsake for the game we were going to) and traded my digital watch for a coconut drum-thingy and a whistle.

While we were at the market, we decided to tell fellow SASers that we were going to the soccer game and that we might be a bit late to get back. Like I said, we expected to make it back to the ship on time, but, just in case things went wrong, we wanted to people to know our whereabouts. Whenever people were late to make it back, an administrator would come on the loudspeaker and ask if anyone knew of their whereabouts. We figured it would be good for people to know our whereabouts.

But, as things tend to with Semester at Sea gossip, the news spread like wildfire. People kept coming up to us asking if we were really planning on going to the game. When we confirmed that yes, we were planning on going to the game, they would then warn us that we might be late. At first, we explained that we had a ride back at halftime, and, with the game starting at 4:00 and the stadium a half hour away, we expected to be back on time. But as people kept asking, we stopped explaining and just said “yup, we might be late.” You’ll soon see why this is important.

Once we’d gotten our goodies, we planned to drop our stuff off on the ship before meeting Isaac and Michelle. But they actually arrived at Mercado Modelo just as we were finishing shopping. So instead of dropping of our goodies, we just tossed them into the car.

Just as we were about to take off, Connor saw us leaving and asked if we were going to the game. We told him we were. Apprehensively, he inquired if he could join. We told him that he could absolutely come along. Almost immediately, though, he changed his mind, saying he didn’t want to risk coming back late. But we convinced him to come along anyhow.

So we hopped in the car and headed out to lunch. Because we figured our arteries were actually too open and, thus, making things way too easy on our hearts, we ate at yet another Brazilian steakhouse. With three steakhouse meals in five days, I sure made my heart earn its keep.

After our delicious lunch we headed to the game. Though we got there around 2:00, Isaac still had to park nearly a half mile from the stadium. The second we got out of the car I could hear the crowd, and the roar only got louder as we approached. Then, when we turned the corner, we saw it. A sea of people, decked out in jerseys, facepaint, and yelling their team’s fight songs. Vendors sold beer, water, and food. Friends sang and hugged. Opposing fans got in shoving matches. This was going to be a good game.

After mingling around and drinking a few beers, Isaac got us some scalped tickets. As we walked to the stadium, I started hooting and hollering, getting into the spirit. All of a sudden, the group of Bahia fans we were walking with started booing. I figured they were booing Vitoria fans, so I joined in. Next thing I knew, I had a nightstick in my face and a lady cop was shouting at me in Portuguese. I gave her a “I don’t know why you’re yelling but I’m scared look,” so she let me pass. As I walked away, a stout cop with mustache, who stood all of five feet tall, shoved me. Apparently, I had not been booing Vitoria fans; I had been booing a police precession. This was going to be a really good game.

Once we entered the stadium, we had to choose if we’d be entering the Bahia side or the Vitoria side. We consulted with Isaac, and he informed us that Vitoria is the better team. So we decided to root for them. Screw the underdog.

I cannot describe in words how pumped up I was walking to our seats. The roar of the crowd had an energy I’d only felt at NHL playoff games. But, while the Shark Tank holds 17,496 (didn’t need to look that up), the stadium in Salvador can hold 60,000.

Once we found a spot, I tried to join in with the rowdy crowd. One thing I just love about soccer fans is the organized cheering; it really is unmatched in any other sport. Unfortunately, these cheers were in Portuguese. The only once I could really join was a chant that went “VI-TO-RIAAAAAAA-AAAAAAA-AAAAAAA, VI-TO-RIAAAAAAA-AAAAAAA-AAAAAAA, VI-TO-RIA!” But my absolute favorite was a cheer that, on the last line, the Vitoria fans pointed to the hated Bahia fans and yelled “chupar meu pau.” Isaac confirmed my suspicions as to the translation.

Just before 4:00, riot police marched onto the field along with 4 police dogs. This was going to be a great game.

Unfortunately, the great game wouldn’t start for over an hour. Around 4:15, we started wondering where the heck the teams were. Isaac asked the guy next to him about the delay, and Isaac was told that game time had been changed to 5:00. The change had been made that morning. It was then we learned that we’d probably be late. However, since we’d come so far, did not want to ask Isaac and Michelle to take us home before the game started, had no other means of getting back, and, let’s face it, wanted to watch the game, we put that out of our heads and vowed to book it back to the ship come halftime.

Around 5:00, the teams made the way on to the field. The place exploded. The Bahia fans held up a team flag that was probably 50 by 100 feet. It was crazy. The only downside was kickoff didn’t happen until about 5:10.

The half of soccer was terrific. The action was end-to-end, the play was crisp, and the fans were rowdy. The only thing missing was a goal, as the half ended 0-0. But it was really unbelievable how invested the fans were. One guy kept yelling at Connor in frustration every time Vitoria made a poor play. Another woman shrieked in fear every time Bahia came close to scoring. It was fun to be a part of.

The second the half ended we bolted out of the stadium. Rather, we tried to bolt. Instead, we hit a wall of people traffic. If I remember correctly, there were only three exits for our section of 20,000 fans.

Due to people traffic, we didn’t get to the car until around 6:30, and we got back to the ship shortly before 7:00. We rushed our goodbyes and ran back to the ship, happy because the day was awesome but fearful for what awaited due to our tardiness. But we could never have imagined the wrath we’d face. Read all about it…in the next entry. DUN DUN DUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!

Reactions to Brazilian Culture

It’s actually quite difficult for me to write about Brazilian culture in good conscience. But before I expand on why, let me say this: hot damn the people in Brazil are beautiful. Men and women. The beaches were just filled with beautiful people frolicking around in scantily-clad clothing. I was nearly as happy to see the men in Speedos as I was to see the women in thong bikinis. OK that’s a lie, but my point stands that the men looked good wearing said Speedos.

Also, I loved the cultural emphasis on music and dancing. Though I never experienced life inside a Brazilian club (which is one of my biggest regrets of the trip), I’m told they are nuts. Club-goers dance until 3 or 4 in the morning, and this is during the off-season. Carnival is a non-stop party for an entire month. This starkly contrasts the reserved Asian cultures which we saw earlier in the trip, as wild partying is the thing to do in Brazil, and you go as long as your body can handle it. Natalya, for example, was out with her mother and aunt, both of whom were drinking well past midnight.

But on to why it’s hard for me to evaluate Brazilian culture. In my experience, the culture was exceptionally warm and friendly. Strangers helped with directions and let us borrow their cell phones. Isaac and Michelle, who we met the third night, went out of their way to ensure that our last two days in Brazil would be unforgettable. And Natalya, the girl I met on the second night, was reeeeaaaaal friendly, particularly to Eddy.

However, I can’t ignore the fact that nearly 20 of my fellow SASers got mugged. Many were “snatch and run” type situations. But Jake’s girlfriend Nancy was threatened with a broken wine bottle (luckily, Jake was around and fought off the mugger with a metal water bottle). Another SAS student was robbed at knifepoint. And a group of students was beaten by police after they refused to pay a cab driver who’d driven in circles, running up the meter. One of the guys was pistol-whipped during the beating. Because I never saw the brutal, violent side of Brazil, it’s tough for me to draw a fair conclusion on Brazil’s culture.

But, as I said, the Brazil I saw was welcoming and hopeful. Arte Consciente was one of the most inspiring programs I’d ever seen, as we were witnessing a community pull itself together after years of decimation by the violent drug trade. It was only a few years ago that the streets of Saramandia, the community in which Arte Consciente is located, were ruled by gangs and drug lords. But thanks to Arte Consciente, children are getting off the street and out of the drug trade, and the streets once again belong to the community. The impact Arte Consciente has had on the Saramandia community is overwhelming, and their UN recognition is well-deserved.

I suppose the best conclusion I can draw is that Brazil has two significant, polarized influences on its culture. The first comes from the Latin values of being laid-back and emphasizing community and friendliness. The second, uglier influence is desperation stemming from poverty. This is what fuels the drug trafficking, muggings, and corrupt police. Luckily for me, the closest I came to seeing the second side was when the lady cop shoved a nightstick in my face. And didn’t hit me. I guess the short cop shoving me also technically counts, but his mustache looked funny and, thus, I didn’t take him all that seriously.

So that’s what I’ve got in Brazil, in a nutshell. Laid back and friendly on the surface, but violence fueled by desperation lurks just out of view. Stay tuned, dear readers, as I gots to tell ya about the administration’s iron fist. An iron fist which punched Nick, Connor, and myself square in the balls.