So, Brazil starts in Bahia and goes north? Well let's see. I'm chillaxing in a beach-front apartment in Santos at the moment, watching the ships come and go from the biggest port in South America. Even though it's a port town, it's beautiful here. But let's not jump the gun, back to Pipa.
What an incredible place, really unforgettable. I didn't do much in my last week, but I did cement some lovely friendships in Neto, Daniel, Lourival and Armando. We gave Pipa one more big lash and climbed out of Calango's club at some ungodly hour. I, of course, ensured that everyone knew that they were 'meu brudder', and were welcome across the water any time. Plenty of lols and email swappings, as well as awkward hugs/handshakes that deteriorate into full-blown hugs. I had somewhat more demure goodbyes with Valdenir's family, who have always been so nice to me here. When I left them last time, I hoped I would come back. This time I know it.
Although the priority and aspiration is an engineering job out here, I couldn't stop my spine tingling when Valdenir said I would be the perfect person to take over when he plans to retire as sanctuary manager in a few years. I don't think I could be the Jack of all trades, or the Jack the lad that he is for the sanctuary, but a nice thought nonetheless. Through one of his endless contacts we got 3 kilos of delicious shrimp for 40 reals, and dined like true Potiguars, (shrimp-eaters), in the last week. I got a couple of trinkets from the sanctuary shop, but unfortunately the deadly TAMAR t-shirt is not for sale, for those of you hoping to get your grubby hands on them. I'll have a look when I get to Ubatuba for something similar ok?
In the North I was, (depending on which side of the fence you fell), a fair-haired Greek Adonis, or a hideous German splotchy face. Down in the south, where Greeks, Germans and a host of other immigrants are all plentiful, I'm just another blonde Joe Schmuck, from Ballyschmuck, Ireland, Pop: Schmuck. That said I love Santos and the slightly cooler weather here. It's what I imagine Florida to be, safe, sunny, sandy, sea-y, and full of very young and very old people, the latter of which is the speciality of Douglas, geriatrics. The extended family have been great to me down here, incredibly open and fun-loving, as I've grown to expect in Brazil. I was family enough to get a good wallop on the shoulder from Luana when I arrive at the Easter BBQ still smelling of drink from the late-night boozy adventure with Rauné. She had a smile though, I think.
We had a great auld feast, and I was the perfect uncle to Sofia and Enzo, who are Kaué and Beatriz's kids. There was a lot of talk about my future, and I was allowed participate in some of it too. They want to steal me for Brazil, and get me a residency here. How bad says I. We´ll see. I taught everyone some Irish, and then realised I don't speak a word of it, and had to start making things up. Sorry. I was happy out in Santos, in my apartment, but it was decided that I should be whisked off to Curitiba to see a different city, and the place where Douglas, Susan and Alexander grew up. A 7-hour bus ride didn't help Curitiba's reputation with me, especially when it was done in reverse the next day, but I have to admit, I really liked it. With European weather and European immigrants, it reminded me of somewhere familiar, but I didn't mind at all. Its full of parks and culture, and we went straight into a free full-orchestra symphony when we arrived, in the main theatre.
With my new-found love of trees, one of my favourite sights was of a pine tree, a coconut tree, and an aracaria tree, all side by side. Symbols of northern, tropical and Southern climates respectively. I also got a good load of family and Brazilian history from Susan, with one lovely story being about her uncle from her Mum's side. He worked in a bank in Rio, happy out for a good few years. One day he asked a customer to sign the back of cheque, to which the response was: 'You don't know who you're talking to', before storming off. The customer was some powerful politician, whose greasy fingers were probably all over the cheque, and the next day the teller was sent to some back-of-beyond branch, where he lived out the rest of his days. There he met his wife, had seven kids, and lived out his days happy in the knowledge that if he met that politician, he would shake his hand. I'm sure there is a moral in there somewhere, but a geriatric behind me wants to use the check his facebook, and I'm off to Bolivia.
Be good to eachother,
Alex
What an incredible place, really unforgettable. I didn't do much in my last week, but I did cement some lovely friendships in Neto, Daniel, Lourival and Armando. We gave Pipa one more big lash and climbed out of Calango's club at some ungodly hour. I, of course, ensured that everyone knew that they were 'meu brudder', and were welcome across the water any time. Plenty of lols and email swappings, as well as awkward hugs/handshakes that deteriorate into full-blown hugs. I had somewhat more demure goodbyes with Valdenir's family, who have always been so nice to me here. When I left them last time, I hoped I would come back. This time I know it.
Although the priority and aspiration is an engineering job out here, I couldn't stop my spine tingling when Valdenir said I would be the perfect person to take over when he plans to retire as sanctuary manager in a few years. I don't think I could be the Jack of all trades, or the Jack the lad that he is for the sanctuary, but a nice thought nonetheless. Through one of his endless contacts we got 3 kilos of delicious shrimp for 40 reals, and dined like true Potiguars, (shrimp-eaters), in the last week. I got a couple of trinkets from the sanctuary shop, but unfortunately the deadly TAMAR t-shirt is not for sale, for those of you hoping to get your grubby hands on them. I'll have a look when I get to Ubatuba for something similar ok?
In the North I was, (depending on which side of the fence you fell), a fair-haired Greek Adonis, or a hideous German splotchy face. Down in the south, where Greeks, Germans and a host of other immigrants are all plentiful, I'm just another blonde Joe Schmuck, from Ballyschmuck, Ireland, Pop: Schmuck. That said I love Santos and the slightly cooler weather here. It's what I imagine Florida to be, safe, sunny, sandy, sea-y, and full of very young and very old people, the latter of which is the speciality of Douglas, geriatrics. The extended family have been great to me down here, incredibly open and fun-loving, as I've grown to expect in Brazil. I was family enough to get a good wallop on the shoulder from Luana when I arrive at the Easter BBQ still smelling of drink from the late-night boozy adventure with Rauné. She had a smile though, I think.
We had a great auld feast, and I was the perfect uncle to Sofia and Enzo, who are Kaué and Beatriz's kids. There was a lot of talk about my future, and I was allowed participate in some of it too. They want to steal me for Brazil, and get me a residency here. How bad says I. We´ll see. I taught everyone some Irish, and then realised I don't speak a word of it, and had to start making things up. Sorry. I was happy out in Santos, in my apartment, but it was decided that I should be whisked off to Curitiba to see a different city, and the place where Douglas, Susan and Alexander grew up. A 7-hour bus ride didn't help Curitiba's reputation with me, especially when it was done in reverse the next day, but I have to admit, I really liked it. With European weather and European immigrants, it reminded me of somewhere familiar, but I didn't mind at all. Its full of parks and culture, and we went straight into a free full-orchestra symphony when we arrived, in the main theatre.
With my new-found love of trees, one of my favourite sights was of a pine tree, a coconut tree, and an aracaria tree, all side by side. Symbols of northern, tropical and Southern climates respectively. I also got a good load of family and Brazilian history from Susan, with one lovely story being about her uncle from her Mum's side. He worked in a bank in Rio, happy out for a good few years. One day he asked a customer to sign the back of cheque, to which the response was: 'You don't know who you're talking to', before storming off. The customer was some powerful politician, whose greasy fingers were probably all over the cheque, and the next day the teller was sent to some back-of-beyond branch, where he lived out the rest of his days. There he met his wife, had seven kids, and lived out his days happy in the knowledge that if he met that politician, he would shake his hand. I'm sure there is a moral in there somewhere, but a geriatric behind me wants to use the check his facebook, and I'm off to Bolivia.
Be good to eachother,
Alex
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