Salvador, Brazil, Days 1-3 (Jan 12-14th)

I spent my last morning in Iguazu sleeping in. I awoke at 11:30am, packed my bags, and caught the free shuttle to the airport. My flights went off without a hitch, and soon I was nibbling on my first acaraje (a Bahian bean pastry stuffed with shrimp) while waiting for a bus outside the Salvador airport. On the ride into the city, I met a big group of friendly Argentinian guys who invited me to share one of their cabs from the bus to the hostel area since the neighborhood was looking pretty sketchy.

A few of the roads were closed, and the cabbie couldn't seem to find even the most famous street in Salvador, so we spent a good half hour driving around. They let us off outside of the guys' hostel, and one of them walked me down the street to mine. They said they's swing by to pick me up and take me out later.

I checked in to Hostel Cobreu, got myself settled, and headed down to the bar below.





There I met Marcus, the awesome bartender, Hector, the owner of the bar and hostel, and Gustavo, Hector's little brother. (Plus the two crackhead next-door neighbors, one of whom is an influential artist and the other of whom has been wearing the same bizarre rubber costume for years in protest against the government. Protesting, what, you might ask? No one seems quite sure.)

We danced samba in the bar until 1am, at which point, Hector decided to close the bar and move the party to Largo de Santana, the largely local bar area. Since I hadn't heard from the Argies, I went along and had a great time.

The next morning, I slept in and then spent the early afternoon reading on the balcony and looking over the fantastic views of the Pelourhino, the square where slaves were once auctioned and which now serves as the hub of the historic district.





I then headed out into Salvador on my own, and the first thing I saw was a group of pranksters knocking a port-a-potty down the historic staircase outside of our door. (That's the hostel on the left.) Their buddy emerged from the potty, angry as hell, ass hanging out, but fortunately unscathed.





For a while, I just wandered around the central historic areas.





I stopped into a museum of old Salvadoran postcards and dropped in and out of shops until the pounding sun became too much for me.





Later that evening, my roomie Fabian and I decided to head out to for dinner and stumbled upon a great place called Zulu, where I had a delicious grilled fish with rice and veggies. Gotta love fresh seafood. For some reason, I still felt knackered, so I headed to bed shortly thereafter, asking Fabian's apologies for my constant yawning despite his excellent company.

The next morning, I had planned to head north to the beaches of Praia de Forte with Marcus the bartender, but inclement weather put a kibosh on that. Instead I went exploring with Stefan, another of my roomies, through the local churches, which proved largely unremarkable other than the hysterical use of one of the ornate balconies as an office, file cabinets and all.





Stefan got bored quickly and headed back to the hostel, while I continued to wander through the main square.





An impromptu street concert sprung up. A group of local men set up a folding table and chairs, pulled out instruments and beer, and began to play. The crowd sang along and danced for almost an hour. I loved every minute!





As the party finished up, I headed into the most famous of the Salvadoran churches: Sao Francisco.





Nearly every inch of the apse (__?__) was covered in gold leaf. Slaves had crafted all of the artwork, and as revenge for their forced labor, they made many of the cherubs pregnant or hugely endowed. Many of the giant phalluses had actually been chopped off of the statues, they were considered so indecent!





On my way back to the hostel, I caught a capoeira show in the street, and the dancers/fighters invited me to meet them in the square that night to go out to hear some music. I told them I'd think about it.





When I returned to the hostel, Stefan and Teo, another hostel-goer invited me to walk down to the city beach in the neighborhood of Bahia. But ten minutes in, I realized I had left my wallet behind for the second time that day and Stefan had left his computer out on the bed, so I boomeranged back and let the guys go on without me.

I decided instead to venture out to JAMatMAM an outdoor Jazz night at the Museo do Arte Moderno. Fabian wound up coming with me, and we had an incredible time running in and out of the tents to escape the intermittent showers and bopping along to the music on the waterfront.





We then figured we'd see what we could get up to with the capoeira guys I had met earlier in the day. Pantera, Raol, and their friend, whose name now escapes me, were waiting on the square, and they took us to a cool little dining spot, with an amazing carne de sol.





Afterward, Fabian abandoned ship, but the rest of the boys took me to the excellent and funky Sankofa Bar to dance some samba and listen to some Afro-Brazilian soul.






We got such a good workout on the dance floor that I knew that when my head hit the pillow that night, I would sleep soundly.

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Location:Salvador de Bahia, Brazil

Iguazu Falls, Day 2 (Jan 11th)

In the morning, I woke up at 6am to the dulcet tones of JP's alarm clock going off every 8 minutes, despite the fact that JP had not yet even gone to bed. He finally ambled in around 7am, turned off the alarm, and crashed. But by then, the time had come to wake up anyway.

I collected my laundry from the barn-- yes, from the barn, because that's where the washer was-- and met the Haitian crew to head off to the Argentine side of Iguazu. The hostel helped us arrange a van pickup where the driver would handle all of the formalities at the border and take us directly to the park entrance.

We had started off a bit later than originally planned and the border crossing seemed to take an age. Then we had to obtain pesos once we reached the park, when of course there were no ATMs at the entrance, despite the fact that tickets could only be purchased with cash. Gracie had to run in alone, withdraw the money for the tickets, and have the rest of us reimburse her in reales.

At this point, we were running so late that I had started to worry that we might have lost too much of the day for me to see everything I wanted to see. But as we walked toward the park's internal train to head to the Devil's Throat, we realized that we had crossed time zones and gained an hour in the park. As we boarded the train, the skies cleared and turned cian, as if to teach me a little lesson in patience.


A group of raccoon-like coatimundis greeted us as we got off the train, and despite warning signs all over the park, Chris couldn't resist sticking his finger in their mouths. He got bitten, of course, but at least they didn't break the skin.


After a mile-long trek on a metal catwalk that stretched over the water and out to the falls, we arrived at the mouth of the Devil's Throat.


My mouth dropped open. I was absolutely flabbergasted Never have I seen anything so astounding. The sheer power of the thing! Truly humbling.


A fog arose as the water pummeled the rocks below, obscuring the waterbed below.


And the walkway allowed for such incredibly close access that we all got soaked by the spray.


Of course, fittingly my final reaction to the magnificent force of the falls?? "I have to pee." So after taking a final turn around the lookout and simply taking it all in, I headed back to the starting point of the catwalk to find a restroom, where even there something beautiful awaited:


As I emerged from the restroom, I ran into the same tour group I had met the previous day. I chatted for a bit with their James Franco look-alike guide, who mysteriously wore a name tag that read 'Eduardo' despite the fact that his name was Guillermo. Then I hopped the train back to the main section of the park to see the other trails. The Haitian group and I had said our goodbyes back on the walkway since they had another day in the park and wanted to take things slower.


As I came upon the first view of the falls from the Lower Circuit, I involuntarily gasped, "Heaven."


Each view surpassed the last, and soon I had reached the bottom where the under-the-falls boats departed.


The boat ride began with a ride toward the Argentinian side.


We were able to take pictures at this point from our own boat and of the ones ahead of us.


As we veered toward the Brazilian side and the Devil's Throat, we saw what awaited us as the boat in front of ours went in under one of the smaller falls.


The crew then gave us waterproof bags to put our belongings in, and it was our turn. We drove right under the falls on both sides, laughing hysterically, as the water pounded down, onto and around us.


The bags had done their job and kept my things dry, but I was soaked. Somehow everyone else on the boat seemed to have known just how wet we would get and had worn bathing suits, but I was too exhilarated to mind my clothes sticking to my skin.


Refreshed by my waterfall shower, I decided to use the rest of the day to tackle the Upper Circuit, starting with a fantastic close-up view of one of the falls from below.


As I walked through the inner trails between the falls, I glimpsed a bit of the diverse wildlife on offer within the park.


One particularly curious monkey entertained a group of us by coming down onto the path and dancing around.


And yet another spectacularly-colored butterfly landed right in front of me then climbed onto my finger for a spell.


Eventually, I reemerged above the falls once again.


Even after seeing so many jaw-dropping vistas, I had not grown immune to their over-powering beauty.


But nothing could have prepared me for my first view of a full rainbow.


I couldn't have asked for a more perfect ending to my time at the falls.


I headed back, but arrived too late for the free shuttle from the bus to the hostel. Fortunately, I ran into Alessandro, another one of the hostel workers, and he took me on a shortcut through a bunch of moonlit fields. Gorgeous.

I ended the day with some dinner and drinks with a great group of Aussies and a snuggle with the precious hostel puppy. Then it was lights out!


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Location:Foz de Iguassu, Brazil

Iguazu Falls, Day 1 (Jan 10th)

I awoke the following morning to the wrap of knuckles on the door of the guest bedroom in which I had slept. Mosquito's son let me know that my ride to the airport waited downstairs. I had overslept. I leapt up, tended to only those personal hygiene issues of absolute necessity, and was out the door in five minutes. Unfortunately, Mosquito's door remained closed, so I had to assume he was still asleep. Not wanting to wake him, I didn't get to say goodbye.

Once I had found him, Mosquito's friend dropped me off at the airport. I slept through most of the flight, and after touching down, I hopped on a bus for the 10-minute ride to the entrance of the Brazilian national park of Iguassu, threw my bags in a locker, and was off to see the falls. Within the park, I had to take another bus to the first viewpoint; I rode on the open-air second-level and promptly lost the hat I had bought only two days previously. Ironically, I had bought it because it had a fastener in the back, and I thought it more likely to stay on my head, but it had never fit quite snugly enough on my gigantic melon. One size fits all, my ass. Oh, well.

It wasn't until I got my first glimpse of the falls that I noticed the perfect sapphire sky above; my luck seemed to be changing. The falls themselves were picturesque, but not overwhelming. I figured the views would become more impressive as I progressed down the path...


... and indeed they did.


As I crossed the walkways, coming closer and closer to the view at the bottom of the Devil's Throat, where the waters come together in a deafening and fantastic deluge, I fell into step with a tour group led by a cheeky young Argentinian who looked like James Franco. My path intersected with theirs for the rest of the day, and I acted as their informal group photographer, while they helped me get the pics featuring me that my mother so often requests.


As we came around the final bend of the walkway, my breath caught in my throat.


Dozens of the most powerful of the falls cascaded down in two perpendicular rows...


... which then bent and crashed together to form the magnificent Devil's Throat. As I stood in awe, watching the furious progress of the water from the calm waters above to the cataclysm below, a rainbow formed just below my feet.


The scenery was so spectacular that all I had to do was raise my camera and shoot to obtain the most stunning pictures I had ever taken. Had I not gotten myself in a few of the shots, I'm not sure anyone would believe they were real.


Their perfection seems almost artificial, and yet the real thing outshone even these images.


I worked my way from the catwalks to the visitor center perched just over the falls, said goodbye to the tour group, and climbed aboard a bus back to the entrance.


There, I grabbed my backpack and hopped a bus into town. I picked up a few groceries, then boarded one more bus and transferred to another, and finally arrived at the beautiful tree-lined entryway to my hostel an hour before sunset.


Hostel Natura did not resemble any other I had ever seen. The open-air reception area with its bar, kitchen, and lounge area opened out onto a large rolling lawn with a small swimming and fishing pond and a horse paddock behind it. Hammocks and tree swings hung from the trees, and a small camping area with adjacent bathrooms stood just around the corner.


After checking in, I indulged in a dip in the pool while sipping from a delicious mate, which the receptionist, Auscao, shared with me as we chatted.


I fixed dinner while still in my bathing suit and had my meal on the deck, watching the sunset and humming along to the strains of the trance-inducing French jazz music Auscao had put on the sound system.


The day went out with as glorious a finish as I had ever seen.


That night, I hung out around the pool table with a large group of aid workers who had intermittently spent the last two years in Haiti. Gracie, JP, Chris, Sierra, Deb, and Sean each hailed from a different nation, but they had formed quite a bond and had decided to travel together for a few months around South America. They had just come from the Pantanal, where a shaman had allowed them to paint themselves with a natural sort of invisible ink that had since manifested into hysterical and sometimes obscene scrawls across their skins. Chris, in particular, hadn't realized that the paint would be irremovable for two weeks when he had smeared it like war paint across his face.

As they worked further through their smelly bottle of "tuna wine", as they called it, they began to tell me their stories. Some seemed outlandish, but all my doubts were put to rest when, true to their word, they began tattooing each other as we sat on the couches. Seriously. Gracie, Deb, and JP each voiced interest, Chris drew the designs, and Sierra taped a sewing needle to a pen, took out some tattoo ink, and went to work.


Only Gracie went through with it that evening, but each of them showed me the tattoos Sierra or Chris had given them previously. I was thoroughly entertained.


A funny and fitting end to a near-perfect day.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Foz de Iguassu, Brazil