The tell-tale twang of the berimbau.

I popped my head out of the supermarket and heard it, and after seeing five different limbs flailing in the air, I was certain: Capoeira. The berimbau is the instrument that accompanies it, and is basically just a taut wire on a stick, with a coconut shell attached for resonance. The local school was putting on a show, so myself and James settled ourselves in for a watch. It started off with some good kids, and if you'll excuse the sexism, some good women too, but then came the stars of the show, two big lads that seemed too tall to be bending and jiving the way they were. What a great spectacle it is. What was even more amazing was the dreadlocked guy who was playing the berimbau. He jumped in the ring and we initially thought that he was doing something incredibly flexible with his left leg, but it turned out it is just backwards. You heard me: backwards. It faces the wrong way. I was impressed that he was soing some light stuff with the kids, and condescendingly thought 'that's great for him', but he then took on one of the tall guys, and moved better than I could ever dream of. What. A. Spectacle.

This was James' final few days, so we packd him off to my brother's recommendation in Pipa, Pousada Zia Teresa, run by the fantastic Renato. It really is one of the nicest in Pipa, and although we couldn't make it, Renato invited us for dinner one night. The hammocks are to die for, and I had a happy sleep one night, rocking like a baby on the treetop. I was introduced to an engineer from London, Dan, and his girlfriend, whom Renato correctly called the Princess of Maranhao. It was nice to have a bit of 'shop talk', and reminded me that I do have to do something with my life at some point, but not yet.

We got ourselves out to the ranch for a horse trip during the week, and wandered along through the forest and sugar cane fields with Chuck America from Texas and his girlfriend. We immediately forgot his name when he told us, but Chuck America is the perfect moniker. Trotting along the trails was great fun, and literally not one question or bit of advice was given to ride the horses, or a helmet for that matter. The horses were well trained though, and when myself or James got up a bit of a canter, they seemed to look at eachother and say 'not today gringos, back in your box'.

I love living with biologists. We have a constant stream of turtles at the house that get washed up on the local beaches, sick after eating rubbish, or caught in nets, and are nursed back to health. The current fella is a lovely little loggerhead, and it looks like he'll make it. We get a constant stream of different bugs and creatures up at the house. Last time I was in Brazil, I encountered a big gruesome fella, and thought, 'oh dear, another one'. My attitude changed when  Armando called him 'Barata': cockroach. He then became an object of revulsion, so I was surprised the other day when Daniel stopped me giving one a close-up of my flip-flop. He picked it up, and said in Portuguese 'Don't kill him, he's a creature of the forest, smell him'. I blinked a few times but didn't move.
'He only eats wood and leaves'. He was right of course, it was only the name that caused me to treat him any differently to other bugs, and its not the same species that are dangerous, smelly and creepy. Don't know what I'll do if I spot one and they're not around though.
We also made a vegetable patch the other day, I still contest nothing will grow in that sand, but they seem confident. When I left the house earlier we seemed to have procured a house kitten; I'll keep you updated. The only creature I have no respect for here are the mosquitos. I firmly believe I am an important part of the local food-chain for them.
I would love to wax lyrical about all the fruits here, but you might have other things to do, like me. Anyway, if you're reading Hal's blog  it might take you a full day this week, I think he saw a dog that looked funny or something. ENJOY!!!

The TAMAR beys.

Vixe Maria. That's my new OMG phrase. It makes me seem like a local, unlike my blonde hair and my general lack of Brazilian coolness. Although I did get a 'oh you don´t look like a Brazilian' response recently after a nice spurt of Portuguese from me. I couldn't say I'm a local yet, but the owner of a cheap restaurant recognised me from my last visit, shouting 'meu filho, meu filho', I'll be popping my head in there again. The other recognition was slightly more nefarious: one of the local dudes came up and said hello, we shot the breeze for a couple of sentences, and then he was like ´man where's the drugs?', ready to shrug him off, I replied 'no idea buddy', but then came the quick response 'I have them'. The smile was gone from his face, so I gave him an all purpose 'beleza' and wandered off. Steer clear says I.
I never did explain Pipa kitesurf, the blog name. Pipa means kite in Portuguese, I am currently surfing the internet, and a recent blog I read declared that learning to kitesurf would most likely slove all his problems. There you have it.
The TAMAR group up in the house are a bunch of surfers too, but the cool kind, not tucked away in a cafe like myself. I already mentioned Daphne, working with the blood samples, but Lourival, Rodrigo and Neto are there too. Rodrigo and Neto are from Piaui in the north and replaced Edelaine who was here for the first week. We had a leaving/birthday party for her the other day, and the cold beers and carne do sol went down just as easily as the evening sun. Lourival, James and I have decided, is what every man should aspire to be. He's incredibly laid back, a fantastic surfer, and of course works with sea turtles. When he told James that doesn't like removing barnacles from the turtle's shells, because they are living creatures too, James nearly fainted there and then.
James and I did a kayak trip over in Tibau yesterday, but after celebrating the patron saint of Pipa the night before, I was feeling really ropey. The kayak trip up the mangrove lagoon is great, and enjoyed 90% of it, but at one point, my stomach pains becalme unbearable. Readers of a nervous disposition might want to skip to the next paragraph. I was hanging back from the main group, not sure what to do, but eventually decided I
had to jump into the lagoon behind a mangrove. James guarded the entrance for me, chuckling all the while, and helped me back into my boat after all was said and done. My biggest fear was the kayak guides would paddle over to help me back in and discover my antics. I debated long and hard whether to include this story, but James and I eventually agreed that it was too funny to exclude. He wasn't going to let me forget in a hurry anyway. Feeling much better, we enjoyed the rest of the trip, sneaking stealthily through the mangroves. You felt certain you were about to discover an ancient tribe around the next bend, that somehow all the other previous daily trips had missed.
A hearty meal in tibau was followed by a trip to the house of Valdenir, the general manager of the sanctuary. The whole family are absolutely lovely, and even though he didn't understand what they were saying, James expressed my own feelings towards them succinctly, when he declared afterwards 'well, that whole family has a one-way ticket to heaven'. Valdenir plied us with drink, and Paula, his wife, gave us bags and bags of garden fruits to take home. Lovely stuff altogether.
Just being doing bits and bobs at the recption so far, and a small bit of guiding, but hopefully I'll get my hands stuck into some good old-fashioned physical labour soon.
Cheerio Gringos.

First Forays

First of all, I think my number is as follows; 0055 84 9691 0686. I´ve got Brazilian SIM card, but who knows if it works for you gringos.

I´m safe, happy and set up anyway. I´ve lodged myself in a nicely air-conditioned internet cafe, and a fizzy guarana working on my insides, so here goes with the aul blog.
I presume anyone reading knows what happened with my previous attempt to enter Brazil, and I really don´t think I could go over it again, but there was no problem this time other than the hour and a half line to get through customs, which had my stomach in bits, as I had no idea what they were going to say this time. But no problems. I managed to get Crazy Stupid Love as the plane movie again, which I had seen 3 times on the last failed attempt to get into Brazil, but even the oh so slick Ryan Gosling couldn´t deflate my spirits.
I got into Natal via Salvador and Frankfurt around midnight, and got out to David´s house immediately. He is in good form, but has aged somewhat. He has quite bad Parkinsons, and has trouble with his balance. He is still an idealist, and told me about his great plans for the ecological sanctuary in the future. Along with doing some regular duties, his main hope for my stay is that we can redo the front entrance to the sanctuary, and shove it people´s faces as they come into Pipa.
I got out to Pipa the next day and set myself up in the house again. The TAMAR (turtle project) volunteers were there, and the study of hawksbills in this region is now a lot more intensive. It has spread along more beaches, a longer season of study, and more information is obtained. But more on those guys later.
Pipa has grown, as one would expect in a country that is doing as well as Brazil is. The prices are up slightly, but the visitors are mostly Brazilain these days. Everyone is excited about the world cup, and Natal is getting a  white elephant of its own in the form of a large new stadium.
It turns out that TAMAR now rents the cottages within the sanctuary outright, to use a base for the research, so technically I am there guest. This means I am kind wondering how to divide my time with the beach patrols and sanctuary, but I think I should manage. The sanctuary is as beautiful as ever, but it really does need someone with a good business brain to help it. It owns all the land around a huge beach, and could make a fortune charging people to get down there, but David, being a sensible English type, doesn´t want to ruin it.

Due to a missed flight, and a late rebooking, I have a friend from Dunmore out here for a couple of weeks. James and I went out for a few bevvies to celebrate anything and everything, and I believe we may have ended up in a bit of a hoop. Feeling a bit sorry for ourselves the next day, we jumped on board the TAMAR train to the beaches they patrol at night, Minas, Sibauma, and my old stomping ground, Chapadao. Chapadao is small, so we weren´t ecpecting much, but maybe we would be able to shake off our ressacas there. Within a couple of hours we were bringing down the equipment to tag, weigh and measure a ´gravid female´, and she came in at around 78.3kgs, if my memory serves me well. The two Irish boys were delighted with themselves, and there splotchy sunburnt heads beamed through the whole process. Daphne is a new volunteer working with TAMAR, and she is studying hormones from blood samples. When unloading a unremarkable box from the car as we started the night, she shouted in my direction: `ah!, be careful with my blood´. She took samples from the turtle, and we helped wind a manual centrifuge to separate the samples. I saw those spinny thiongs in shows like CSI, but I did´t think they actually did anything. I had a good run around on the quad, and after a few shifts patrolling, we all left the beach at around 4:30am. A great first night, especially for James on his first turtle watch ever. Pictures to follow.

That was last night, and not much else to mention really. I have regular hours at the reception, regular nights on patrol, and a few other small bits to do here and there. I´m healthy, happy, hearty and hale, as I hope y'all are too.

Kish.