Pipa- The Wild(ish) Side

For our last full day in Pipa, Mark and I decided to spend the morning exploring Pipa's Ecological Sanctuary. Since it was located above the cliffs of Madeira Beach, he reasoned we could enjoy a potential bonus of finding backdoor access to the ocean below and adding one more beach to our list.  We heard it could be tricky, some friends tried hiking earlier in the week with their 5 year old and didn't have luck.  I already felt like a cross between an old salted shoe and poorly cured beef jerky so I wouldn't have minded too much if we couldn't find it. Yet, we dressed for the occasion anyway and headed out.

The sanctuary's sandy hiking path was meticulously raked and beautiful. The kids could freely lead the way as they followed the animal coded trail signs on the lookout for wildlife. Did we see anything? Not really, because my children likely scared them off with their whooping and stamping around. We did enjoy a family of fenced off turtles, but the tour was totally worth it because we had shade. Of course about to call it a day, one of the employees helpfully directed us to the Pirate Trail, leading straight to Madeira Beach. Peeking through the trees and over the cliff, we could already see the dolphins. I couldn't possibly say no to that. The trail was by far the steepest terrain we encountered but gripping Margo in one arm and the well-used guide rope in the other, down we went. 

I can't say this beach visit was my greatest victory: Margo was insufferable and exhausted, Deets was oblivious and distracted, and Mark was his usual affable self, seemingly impermeable to my rapidly depleting tolerance to sun exposure. Alas, I rallied. We played, swam, kayaked, and hiked straight back up from whence we came. Thirty minutes later with one less shoe (darn it Margo!) we sat in our own dusty, sandy filth and cruised home for another fully clothed shower and a nap.

At some point during the afternoon while we wandered about and visited a local brewery, the electricity went out for the entire town. Everyone stood outside in the shade, conversing and relaxing as they waited for the juice to kick back on. Tiny sagui monkeys took advantage of the situation, climbing and swinging along the black cabled jungle. The monkeys drew even more crowds to the street, blocking traffic and irritating drivers. I loved the spectacle they created thought this totally completed my vacation experience.

Until the next day.

Having slept poorly and up early again, all of us were very excited to go home.  Mark corralled the children in the back patio while I enjoyed the relative peace of stuffing organizing unwashed clothes into our bags and moving them to the doorway. Walking into our room, I laid my eyes upon a spider crawling casually along the edge of the bed. Now when I say spider, I really mean to say: TARANTULA. A Brazilian Bird-Eating Tarantula. Bigger than my hand and hairier than Jim-dog, the tarantula took no notice of my shrieking and knee-high prancing. It just kept on crawling as I ran away to make Mark 'do something' about the biggest f*king spider I had ever seen. At the time I lacked the mental capacity to come up with the word tarantula. (Earlier this week I made him 'do something' about a cockroach that I thought died on the kitchen floor. I didn't realize that cockroaches also play dead sometimes as a form of self-preservation. So when Mark resigned himself to picking up the carcass and found it was still alive, he was fairly displeased with his newfound task of killing it too.)

Anyway, seeing as how I have a dramatic flair for creepy bugs, Mark thought I was totally exaggerating until he saw it himself. He kept asking me specifically where it was, and all I could say was "you can't miss it!"  Well what did he do? Took pictures of the damn thing! He reasoned it would not be nice to kill it, and that it would probably break his flip flop. I had to agree with him there. I don't even know how one would get tarantula-gut stains out of the sheets anyway. The kids were fascinated, eager to watch him crawl along the shadows of our unmade bed. As Mark took photos, Deets reminded him to not let the spider eat his lens cap. I squirmed, feeling nauseated and horrified- but unable to look away. 

Mark dumped out all of our bags and repacked, reassuring me no that other uninvited guests would come home with us. Exhilarated, yet calm and sensible, Mark spent a considerable amount of time convincing me the tarantula's debut was only a one time thing, and that it didn't sleep with us all week; that it likely crawled into our open window just that morning. However, if there was ever a sign that it was time to go home, this had to be it.

Pipa: The Beachy Side

Praia de Centro
Peeking out from under the canopy.

Before we geared up for our first Brazilian vacation this week, I scoffed at the idea of traveling from the beach right out our front door to, well... another beach. How different could it be? In my mind, all sand is the same: sneaky, itchy, hot, and filled with crabs. While the sand in Pipa really wasn't much different than the sand in Recife, the experience was indeed totally different, and in a good way. For starters in Pipa, there was no threat of shark attacks. Instead, this insanely popular hippie town promised dolphins. Sure enough, from the beach (and from a tour boat) we could watch slick, bottle-nose dolphins swimming amongst the paddle-boarders and surfers. Even though I saw them appear probably 50 times, my reaction was always the same: a startled shout with an exaggerated arm fling and a finger point in hopes they'd freeze for only a moment longer. This was followed up with a jostling of either child dumb enough to stand near me as I'd yell "Did you SEE that?!" Oh the joy.

Praia de Madeira
for beginner surfers and paddlers. 

Kayaking with dolphins. 

We saw a bit more than dolphins- obviously a multitude of fish and crabs, some monkeys, turtles and lizards. (More on this later.) The people watching here was impressive as well. Since Pipa has evolved from a fishing town to a tourist destination, visitors from all walks of life filled the streets to dine and shop along the cobblestone main street, after energy draining days of swimming, tanning and surfing. I'm talking HOT and sunny- I went through three bottles of sunscreen, chasing after the family as they'd dash to the water, pretending they didn't hear me.

Everyday after espresso and pastries we'd hike down the 100-130 foot cliffs to explore the various beaches. We'd find a giant umbrella with lounge chairs, crack open beers and order fresh squeezed juice. It was pretty surreal, especially when I managed to get the kids to nap- yes NAP on the beach. Mark dared to suggest I just might be a beach expert like the ones I enviously wrote about recently. I wouldn't go that far. But it did help stretch the time of "vacationing" with toddlers. When Deets wasn't trying to battle the ocean with his spoon, and Margo wasn't obliging me to bury her in the sand, we collected sea shells, spied on crabs, and wandered the long stretches of beach during low tide. It was about as tropical as one could get, and considering my tolerance for intense weather it wasn't half bad. I might even say I had fun.

Crease face.

Praia de Amor for advanced surfers. And Deets.

By the afternoon we'd truck back up the cliff side with the kids on our shoulders and back to our house where I'd stand in the backyard shower fully clothed. Only after my initial cool down, could the defrocking commence as the children and husband followed suit. With all the effort of "relaxing" in paradise, I never knew we could smell so bad. Hanging clothes up to dry outside was mandatory for the entire family- especially since we packed only four outfits for each person. Big mistake. I wished I packed more considering how filthy we got; one child still in diapers and another who didn't have any underwear packed for the week. I wonder who forgot that detail? Afternoons dwindled into early dinners of meat and beer followed by copious amounts of ice cream. By 8:00pm, with another shower,  the majority of us already passed out ready to be woken up bright and sweaty at 5:30am- ready for another day at the beach. 

A Sweaty Recife Halloween

To my extreme disappointment, I missed out on the consulate's Halloween festivities this year. My children had school Halloween parties scheduled at the same time, so I had to choose one. I figured I could rock out in a festive costume, fawn over the adorable children,  and maybe even meet some local moms. I even was assigned to bring juice! Unfortunately, I found out too late that the parties were only for children and thus found myself uninvited to a party I apparently was never invited to attend.  So when the time came to get ready for school, sighing in resignation, I dressed Deets up in his much anticipated costume and Margo in a party dress. Incidentally (and my apologies to Grandma Kaye and Grandpa Tom) Margo's costume, though listed to fit children ages 2-4 didn't quite fit her growing toddler body-  I squashed her into the pink taffeta dress, but instead of looking like a glowing princess, she looked like an sweaty encased sausage. A very unhappy sausage at that. 

Waiting outside for the school bus to pick up the kids, a perfect stranger sitting in his car saw Deets in his Dr. Who costume. Summoning him over to his car, I warily watched as he reached into his bag. I was curious to whether it would be candy or food- an occurrence that happened frequently in Romania but I hadn't experienced it here yet. Back then Deets would get anything from oranges to chocolate cake from bread to pork chops.  I figured this time would be something also food related, but no.  What else would the driver produce, but... a spiral notebook? An unused, hardback, lined notebook- not too shabby for a random, road side gift. I realized that the guy probably thought Deets was a professor for Halloween thus adding to his persona. For whatever reason, Deets was stoked and decided he'd use this notebook to specifically write his name and draw light sabers, sperm whales, and Daleks. Margo wasn't too pleased with the whole matter.

It got me thinking about the random things strangers have offered me and the family. Margo has been gifted cakes, ribbons and jewelry. On multiple occasions Mark received liquor often homemade, stored in water bottles or in little green bottles labeled with a cross. He got copious amounts of religious material and on one occasion received both at the same time in Bratislava. I have been given mostly benign items like pins or flowers, but once I was given two peeled hard boiled eggs from the pocketed sweatpants of a patient who came to the urology clinic I used to work at. How she didn't crush them on her lengthy metro ride into the city, I'll never know. 

In the end, after my lonely pity party I did some yoga and felt immensely better about my lack of pedagogical judgement. The kids came home exhilarated with copious amounts of candy, Play Doh, and books- and the prized possession of all time: vampire teeth. The two of them shoved those food crusted, spit soaked plastic fangs in our mouths with such joy, I had no choice but to revel in their happiness. It was a very good Halloween after all. 

Despite the heat, he was ALL about his 100% unbreathable polyester jacket.

At the newsstand practicing with their makeshift Sonic Screwdrivers.

The one notebook-two kid ratio is its own form of torture.
Thanks guy.

Embaixada Dos Bonecos

Mark and I enjoyed a touristy afternoon in Recife Antigo (Old Town Recife) and Marco Zero, the official starting point of road measurements around the city. With his usual scoffing of the map, we simply wandered through the streets admiring old buildings, churches, and markets. Neither of us had visions of hitting up museums, but just as quickly as we discussed this we walked right into the Embaixada dos Bonecos Gigantes, or Embassy of Giant Dolls. It is the headquarters for these 88 pound, top heavy, fiber glass dolls that are worn over the shoulders of parade marchers, most notably during Carnaval.  

Tiptoeing in, the entrance felt a much like the mysterious entry of a carnival freak show; the rainbow streamers lifted in the breeze creating just enough to get a glimpse of hair, glitter and plastic smiles. I was startled when we entered through the curtain because there they were: big heads and unblinking eyes staring us down as if we interrupted their important meeting. We circled the room, exploring the faces and goofing off. It was short visit, but one definitely worth taking- especially if you have kids.

Want one with your own likeness? You could go all out and get a handmade boneco, mini-sized or giant. The process is fairly simple: you give them a picture and chitchat about clothing options and the artists get to it. They cost between 250 to 1,800 USD and takes 2-3 months to complete. Imagine one of these bonecos in your living room! I think it would be the greatest conversation starter ever. Mark morbidly jokes that when he kicks off, I should stuff him and put him on my couch. I'm thinking this could be more fun...

Beaching It- Practice Makes Perfect

Recife: 8.0500° S, 34.9000° W 

I don't know how other families do the beach thing with such finesse. All around me, I see tranquil children who are happy digging holes in the shade, others content with splashing together near the shore. They linger for hours, laughing and playing, snoozing between activities and eating fried cheese on a stick. After some hours these harmonious families head home, happy and without the telltale waddle of too much sand in their cracks.  And don't even get me started on their beautifully tousled beach hair. These families clearly are beach experts. Or- they have magical powers. 

I want to know their secret because on the occasions that I take Deets and Margo to the beach without Mark it usually goes down like this: first I have to negotiate with Deets. He always wants to swim- always in the frigid pool, never in the ocean (though I can understand why). When he finally acquiesces, I chase both kids around the apartment for about twenty minutes to slather on sunscreen and I end up pinning one of them down to put on a swim suit on while the other pretends not to know how. I then squish into my own bathing suit and put on an elaborate show trying to put sunscreen on my back. It involves a lot of grunting and reaching but eventually, I can feel confident that I am somewhere between 85-95% covered. 

We walk across the street with one child tossed over my shoulder, angry that she can't 'just walk into traffic' and, the other insisting pausing in the middle of the crosswalk yelling at the cars to stop- because he's a super hero. We've arrived to the beach and Deets immediately wants to go straight into the water clothes and all, whereas Margo runs in the opposite direction just to prove a point. This means I have to repeatedly drag Deets back onto shore, chasing her down and at the same time getting inundated with unwanted shark attack advice from other beach goers. Or questions about whether they are twins. What time we do have in the water together is relatively entertaining: Deets jumps the waves and I bend over swinging Margo in my arms, giving the onlookers a primetime view of me squatting like a sumo wrestler. We never do go in further than my knees. Because quite frankly, there are sharks out there.

At some point I convince them to retreat to the shade for some bubbly water while I catch my breath, profusely sweating from exertion, sunscreen running in my eyes. The break lasts about 30 seconds and the cycle of herding cats begins again. I am chasing them amongst the various vendors showcasing obnoxiously loud toys, kiddie pools, ice cream, nuts, and again- quail eggs. Finally, after forty-five minutes  a long day in the surf we slink back to the sidewalk half dressed, tired and dehydrated (because someone decides to use the bubbly water as foot wash) with an obscene amount of sand matted into our rat's nest hair. Our other, darker places are also crusted in sand.

When I finally cajole the kids into the shower for a rinse,  I swear I will never take them out alone again.  Then another day comes; the waves tease, the sun beckons and distant music lures all of us back out there to explore. I become entranced once again and fall in love with living here.  I am sure one day WE will be the beach experts with harmonious, glowing auras. Or maybe that's the sun exposure talking. 

Top 10 of Samba Recife

Double your pleasure. Well... they actually had three stages

Two days, thirty bands, and God-knows-how-many cans of Schin Pilsner beer played part in one of Brazil's largest Samba Festivals. I dusted off my Danskos and jeans for a high class, sophisticated evening and checked it out for myself this weekend. The spectacle was exactly as they headlined it- their 10th year would be bigger than ever, calling for more dancing, singing, and sass. So I did just that and more- until the wee hours of 9:45pm. Because well, I'm 90. Here is why next time you are in Brazil, you should go to a Samba Festival:

10. Snacks in sacks abound! You can buy sacks of nuts. Or maybe a sack of quail eggs for quick energy.

9. Giant waist high beverage coolers all within five paces of anywhere. Need a sugar lime vodka drink? Schin beer? Juice? Don't mind if I do.

Ignore the Schin trash and focus on the Schin cooler.

8. Schin balls floating around everywhere. Fun to see and more fun to say. They even had orange Schin can characters looming the stage accompanied by orange clad Schin girls tossing out Schin t-shirts. Or bags of peanuts. I couldn't really tell. I was pretty far away.

Fascinating advertising- in fact most politicians for the upcoming election
have their faces all over balloons like these. 

7. Forget expansive band shirts, go for the glittery hot pink fedora instead. I really wanted to buy one. I should've.

6. Freshly made potato chips in a glass container big enough to take a bath in. 

5. You can dance all you want! Elbows and thumbs out and no one cares. 

4. Seriously. Everyone already dances better than you. Just own it. There's no reason not to. The tell tale triple step, booty shaking samba moves were almost in unison amongst the thousands of concert goers.

3. Double stages. Double. Fused to together with a red carpet runway enviable of Fashion Week. And 50,000 square meters of space.

2. Who cares if you have no idea what they are singing on stage! The infectious samba energy seeps into your bones. Plus loads of couples were making out- next to me, behind me, on the giant screens. That certainly meant the lyrics were awesome.

1. From dreadlocked heart-wrenching soloists, to skinny jeaned boy-band heartthrobs, to bigger than life guayabera'd samba kings, the variety of talent entertained the crowd all night long. It was inspiring and energizing to be small part of a bigger musical picture. I look forward to next year- only next time I might need a few extra shots of espresso and a few extra dance lessons. 

Hot fresh eggs and nuts.

Recife's Diversity Parade

Yesterday, between 75,000 and 80,000 people marched down Avenida Boa Viagem for Recife's 13th annual Diversity March not just to celebrate the beauty of individuality, but to protest for change on behalf of the LGBT community in the state of Pernambuco, Brasil. This year they announced big news: this Friday, September 26, 2014 the Ministry of Development and Human Rights will launch a comprehensive health policy. Since the community endures regular discrimination and stigmatization, the changes with allow not only access to health services but will provide training and education to professionals working in the healthcare field. In addition, they also announced a project aimed to reserve a number of seats in professional qualification courses offered by the government- a vital opportunity for the LGBT population who have difficulty entering the job market.

The event was incredible. Twelve double-wide flatbeds equipped with dancing stages, mega speakers and signs stacked the avenue. Well known local companies, actors, musicians, and politicians showed up in support too. They sang, danced and marched in the blazing sunshine down the avenue, filled to the brim with buckets of drinks, water, treats, and memories. 

Deets hates loud noises and wasn't particularly pleased he had to endure the ground shaking bass for 90 minutes, but he significantly cheered up when I told him the parade was for people who wanted to love whoever they wanted. Margo on the other hand, was into it from the get-go. She waved at all the princes and princesses on the floats and danced her little booty off. She even charmed a young man in the parade as he hopped off a float and ran back to give her a rainbow flag.The crowd was overwhelming; for some time I stood there watching with my family, tears rolling down my face. I was thrilled to see such a huge draw but equally heartbroken that we have to have these marches at all. Maybe someday the inequality and injustice will feel like a bad dream. But until then...

"Enough of Transphobia"

"Where there is hate, I bring love"

"Peace"

"Recife without prejudice and discrimination"