Goodbye Pipa, hello Brazil

It's my last day in Pipa, and while it wasn't what I had expected, exactly, I am starting to feel like I will miss this place. 10 days is just long enough to feel like a stride has been reached - I have a nice little routine of big breakfast, beach and surfing, walk home along the coves, lunch at my favorite spot, nap, lounge, dinner, party. I've met some cool folks at my hostel, and am really starting to enjoy surfing. On the other hand, I still feel like I haven't actually gotten to Brazil yet, and I think I might go totally insane living in this place - everyone knows everyone else, and like all small towns, the people seem to spend most of their time talking about each other. Not my bag.


I surfed Madeiro beach today for the last time, and had an awesome day. It was my fourth time out (a back sprain kept me off the waves for a couple of days. That and drinking heavily), and the surf was perfect - the waves were breaking far from shore, leaving plenty of space to ride, and were coming in with a steady but not too fast consistency. I caught almost every one I tried. Riding for 20 seconds even after a 10 minute wait for the wave to be a good one and your position to be just right to hit it is just so amazingly cool. I couldn't help but smile like a boy each time I felt the wave lift me up, and fly with me towards the shore. Definately one of the most joyful, rewarding experiences of my trip. I'm used to snowboarding, but surfing is really different. It's not just the balance and feel of the board, or snow versus water, but the whole thing: surfing is as much about enjoying yourself out on the ocean, paddling about and feeling the sun on your back, and taking breaks on the beach; watching for the good waves and where they break; watching as the good surf disappears and having to wait half a day for it to come back with the tide. Unlike snowboarding, where people have decided to cut down a bunch of trees, build a bunch of ski lifts, and maybe even make artificial snow, with surfing you have to wait for nature to accommodate the people. There's no feeling of "we came all this way, and paid all this money - we have to get in as many runs as we can, especially before the good snow gets all tracked up." It's more chill, the beach is right there, and every day is a good day.


My usual list of idiosyncrasies and observations I enjoyed or became annoyed with, Pipa: each morning, at breakfast, the folks at my pousada (guest house) set out a large spread, and then take a spoon, knife, and fork from the silver wear drawer and put them into a plastic sleeve, so I can remove the cutlery from the sleeve and eat with it. Many restaurants in town follow suit. A ridiculous waste of plastic? I vote yes.

One morning, the folks at the pousada decided they needed to fix all the doors - some of them stuck when closed - so they busted out the electric planer and did them all at once, whether or not there were guests about. This caused a shower of sawdust and wood chips to accumulate in my room. I guess when it's the day to do the doors, it's the day to do the doors, regardless of consequences like having your guests wonder "what the fuck are you doing?"

Sunscreen here costs $25 a bottle for anything above SPF 5. Lucky I brought some. In fact, the stronger it is, the more it costs. It's a good leson in the economics idea of "willingness to pay": the whiter, the richer (probably), so the more they will shell out to not turn into a lobster. Man, if only I could graph in this blog program, I could really entertain everyone with a consumer/producer surplus breakdown.

My observation on Brazilian men: one night, at a small party where I was the only gringo, I was talking with this girl, who was the only other one who didn't speak only Portuguese. Our having a conversation was enough for her boyfriend to become enraged with her and violent towards me, but even stronger was his need to go lock himself in the bathroom in protest so half the party could go coax him out by reassuring his fragile ego. In the meantime, the other half of the party reassured my fragile ego (attached as it is to this material world) that the boyfriend would not actually be kicking the crap out of me; it was just that Brazilian men were actually children in large bodies.

My observation on Brazilian women: sexy plexy, the rumors are true.

Just like Chile, Brazil seems not to have figured out can openers. The one in my pousada kitchen is even harder to use than the one from my apartment in Chile; it takes 10 minutes to open a can and leaves the user with a cramped wrist (it's basically a small blade that is used to cut the metal open, with some aid from leverage in the form of a paper-thin metal handle). My new life-plan: open a factory that makes regular US of A style, geared can openers, and sell them to the burgeoning middle-class-cum-tendinitis residents of my host culture. This will, easily, make me one hundred billion dollars. Does anyone know how to build a factory?

Arm wrestling is apparently popular in Brazil: I went to the gym one day, where the guys who worked there explained that there are circuits in every town, and then state and regional championships. Small amounts of money (like $3) are won and lost in each round. Unlike in arm wrestling competitions I have seen back home, bending your opponents wrist and using your whole body for leverage are essential points of strategy. I played with two large gym employees (not for cash) who showed me how it worked, and toyed with me as I struggled to move their arms (which were the size of my legs) to the table; next they brought over the skinny boy of the gym, who had to make sure I knew what a sissy I was by beating me instantly (this after he enclosed my hand in a grip that could crush a coconut. I knew what was coming).

Sand: once it gets in, it doesn't come out.

One night, I saw a group of boys and a couple of men making some sort of festivity in the street; three boys were dressed up as a bull while the man sort of taunted it and danced around and the other boys played cheap plastic drums or maracas. They were all painted in blackface. I thought it must have been some sort of special holiday celebrating African culture in Brazil, until I saw the same thing the next two nights, and noticed that a hat was prominently passed to collect cash. Now I tell stories to the tourists snapping pictures that this is a special celebration that the Portuguese slaves used to do to instigate a bumper crop and a rain of meteors from the sky that would kill all the slave masters, and that it's the most important day of the year in Pipa.

On the beach, I love to have a coconut hacked open with a machete for me, so I can drink the milk. Then, I have them crack the nut in half, and slice off a small piece for use as a spoon, so I can eat the flesh inside. It's so mother fucking tropical, to sit on the beach and drink coconut milk, that I want to snort said milk out my nose in joy. It's almost as good as the pineapple juice drinks they serve up - inside a hollowed out pineapple.

Tomorrow, flight to Salvador, Africa-in-Brazil. Maybe the title of this post is a misnomer? Can't wait to samba, eat tasty African food, and maybe even surf some more. Travel is good.