The Return to Pipa

Normally when I do a weekend excursion to a beach, I come home annoyed with the very idea of setting another foot onto scalding sand or swimming in ocean water. I feel like dried out leather yet bloated and ill from the salt water, beer and grease I invariably consume.  I assumed I would feel this way when we came home from Pipa but surprisingly found myself wondering when we could return. The basics remained the same: beautiful beaches, crabs galore, the good ol' hippie atmosphere. But some things were totally different from our first trip here six months ago: laws, seashells, animal sightings.  

The biggest thing I looked forward to was collecting seashells. I loved how the beach between Praia de Centro and Praia de Amor was drenched in millions of colorful shells back in November 2014. Unfortunately like the changing seasons, the turnover of sand and rock migrations were different- not a shell in sight. I asked one of the bar guys when the shells would return and he guessed within 5-6 months. We still enjoyed the tiny black crabs scrambling over the sharp, water abused rocks that seemed to have multiplied. Or maybe it was just extremely low tide.

Crab hunting. 

Grandma and grandpa take a hit to the face.

My children particularly looked forward to a promised catamaran tour to see the famous dolphins and to swim in the deep ocean off the back of the boat. I marched right up to one of the many guides on the beach and requested tickets for 4 adults and 2 children. To no avail. According to the guide, that was a law enacted in January 2015 prohibiting children under 5 to ride in a boat, even if they had lifejackets. I ended up distracting their sadness with promises of ice cream and kayak rides. The good news: the dolphin sitings were few and far between during this so-called low season, so we didn't feel like we missed much. 

Mark couldn't wait to get his hands on Pipa's sole microbrew: CAP Beer. Last time we were in Pipa we toured CAP's brewery built into a residential home located off a rowdy, crag ridden neighborhood dirt road. At the time all three employees were present, and we hung out drinking beer while the kids played on the lawn. We walked away with beer (duh), goodies, and advice on finding decent beer in Recife. When this next trip came up, Mark emailed the brew master to schedule a visit but learned he and his brewery were on hiatus in Chile. Apparently he was dealing with exploding bottles and recipe improvement.  His hope is to begin bottling in June and selling by July. Which naturally means we need to come back.

As for the rest of the trip? Not too shabby. We got pounded by waves and watched the muscle hard surfers on Praia de Amor. We lingered in a tidal pool and "built" sand castles and drank passion fruit (maracuja) caipirinhas where we would have collected shells. We lingered on my now favorite beach, Praia de Madeira during (go during low tide) and bobbed like loons in the rolling waves. We hiked through the Ecological Sanctuary where this time about 20 marmosets pommeled and chased each other in the trees. Let's not forget to mention the bats, turtles, and frogs. And spiders- there were a few anxiety inducing arachnids, but no tarantulas; and not in my bed either.

Margo and Deets as Godzillas.

Saguis/Marmosets

This might sound like I'm playing the Princess Card, but we enjoyed air conditioning and a pool at the condo we rented via Airbnb. The last condo in Pipa was bit more... rustic. It was much quieter and further away than our last place too, about a 20 minute walk from the main road.  Since we always end up carrying the kids on our shoulders, this walk turned into a pretty strenuous hike but helpful to burn off incurred calories of vacation imbibement. And imbibe we did: espresso and pastries at Terra Nostra, gelato at Preciosa, grape caiprinhas at Macoco, Argentinan picnanha at Os Prazeres de Carne. Everyone eats well and surprisingly affordably when they visit Pipa. 

Even after my reticence with beach life and entertaining the children with nothing more than a shovel and a bucket, after the ocean itch, and after the chronic sandy sunscreen applications, I think I am ready for more action. Well, maybe 1 more week.

Night sky from our balcony.

View of Baia dos Golfinhos- accessible from
Praia do Centro only at low tide
above Mark's right shoulder.

Stairs leading to Praia de Madeira.

Praia dos Carneiros

One of the many reasons why I love Mark is that he loves old churches. For someone who's not religious, he really appreciates a place of worship and the history and memories created within the walls.  So when I found out about the famous 1910 Sao Benedito Church on Praia dos Carneiros (Sheep Beach) I used my parent's visit as an excuse to go see it. After all, Sao Benedito happens to be one of the most sought after churches for getting married in northeast Brazil; with no wonder- the setting is romantic and secluded. The pousadas in Carneiros love it because nearly every weekend the church gets booked for weddings and invariably giant wedding parties.

I made the idea of visiting a church seem less boring to my kids by booking us on a boat tour. I merely walked 5 feet from the edge of the pousada to the beach where friendly boaters gave me my options: I could travel by catamaran party boats, private speed boats, fishing boats, kayaks or stand-up paddle boards. David and Margo could hardly contain themselves even though I couldn't promise dolphin sightings. Instead, they saw many people in scanty swim suits doing squats and odd-end poses on the steps of the church. They watched throngs of people slather their bodies in buckets of exfoliating local clay and drinking cans of beer. They saw sun-drenched sand bars and dank mangrove with tangles of roots anchoring the trees into place.  

The entirety of Praia dos Carneiros stretches no more than one mile, protected by a seemingly man-made rock wall against the south Atlantic Ocean.  In other words: little wind, very shallow with few waves, and very VERY warm. It's like sitting in cozy bathtub-water with other tourists. Because of the isolation, we ended up eating every meal at the pousada which, conveniently charged exorbitant prices. Annoying, but not horrible. We did eat some fantastic dishes and my parents got to experience northeast Brazil traditions like cake for breakfast, tapioca with cheese, and fried macaxeira- cassava root.

Everyday after swimming and beaching, my mom, dad and I would push the kids for hours on the pousada's wooden swings, strung high into a giant tree. Or, we'd play "pirates" together on an old fishing boat next to the swings. By "together" I mean Deets would yell and throw beach toys off the boat like anchors and then order us onto the ground because he needed to sink his ship due to war guns attacking us. Specifically, war guns on B-17 Flying Fortresses. 

The swings and boat almost made up for the fact our place had no pool. The pousada next door did and when the children realized this, boy did the tears fall. In fact, it was so stagnant and hot, even I threw a mental fit. Thus all weekend I couldn't escape the intrusive thoughts of fresh, cold water. Unfortunately I knew this going into our trip and had opted to pay the cheaper rate so I had no one to blame but myself. Yet somehow we'd have to make it through another trip in paradise. 

Andy Sandburg's song "I'm on a Boat" invariably
stuck in my head. Every. Time. 

Dutch cross at the end of the point,
dating back to 1600's according to the boat guide.

Mangrove swamp.

Margo in her cycling hat. 

Hammocks, like coconuts and
teeny swim suits are a staple in Brazil. 

Brasilia is... nice.

Last week I hopped on a plane to spend 56 hours in Brasilia.  I went to the embassy for training, gathering as much information on running a nursing clinic as I could: I took 150 clinic photos to my dismal 10 city/architecture photos and blew through two pens trying to contain the information blasted at me.  I wrote, scribbled, copied, memorized. I listened, gestured, and flopped my arms around, feeling my heart nearly explode when I tried to navigate government paperwork. When I wasn't obsessing over how much gauze or how many hypodermic needles I'd need or whining about the cold (60F) weather, I quite enjoyed my time spent in Brasilia despite the fog and rain. Weather conditions were so bad that when we landed the plane needed a second go-around after bouncing off the ground, unable to stop. 

View from the Melia 21 Hotel. Apparently the tower has restaurant inside. 

All websites I found on touring the city pointed to the same TV tower to purchase a city-bus tour ticket, I figured it would be so easy to find. However, no ticket office nor anyone could be found. They'd been lost to the fog and dreariness so I opted instead for Belgian beer at Jack's Pub and fancy-pants hotel chocolate. To my surprise I discovered the chocolate nearly took care of my desire to sight see, as they had printed the most famous land marks right on them.

I recommend both the bar and Melia 21 for a swanky hotel experience. However I do not recommend eating late night gas station shawarma. Or early evening shawarma for that matter. It was not so great and spent several hours regretting my choice. Overall, I got to enjoy a drive over the JK Bridge and an early morning walk to the Cathedral before heading back to Recife. At risk of sounding disdainfully boring and lacking in creativity, it was... nice. Brasilia is a nice city. Quiet and nice. 

Juscelino Kubitschek Bridge 

In front of the TV tower. Who doesn't love Brasilia?

St. John and Pink Hoodie Girl.  

Catedral Metropolitana Nossa Senhora Aparecida

Professional Absentmindedness

You know what's fun? Sitting in my living room, eating yogurt and granola while reading blog posts of my fellow Foreign Service friends and nursing journals of profoundly interesting topics like dengue or repetitive stress injury. It was so fascinating I forgot to blink. 

You know what's not fun? Sitting in my living room, reading said Internet pages, while absentmindedly picking granola off my chest that somehow missed my mouth and experiencing a crunch different from the rest; a tiny, black and white crunchy moth met its maker today.

These innocuous 1cm sized creatures are everywhere, clinging to tree trunks, and bushes. They fly low and generally aren't scary but they are annoyingly sticky and have this amazing ability to attach to anything, defying wailing arms to brush them off.  More than once I've had to pick these moths out of Deets' hair and feel a pitch in my stomach every time because, well anything with wings freak me out. And today I ate one. It wasn't fun. 

I'm sure there's a lesson to be found here, but I am not sure where. 

Low Tide in Boa Viagem

Exploring Recife's beaches during low tide always ends up interesting. Besides exploring the reefs that are full of tiny crabs, fish and seaweed, the kids and I often find various remnants the ocean left behind: live, dead, and inanimate. I regularly see washed up jellyfish, all blown up with very threatening purple tentacles whether they are dead or alive. We wander amongst oyster shells, seashells, and the occasional dead fish and sand dollars. But as beautiful and colorful the beach is here, it is not immune to copious amounts of trash- plastic bags, shoes, and popsicle sticks seem to be the biggest culprits. Luckily glass and cans are recycled and fishermen take care not to leave hooks in the sand, so for the most part, fear of cutting our feet is only hampered by reef rock and forgotten broken plastic spoons or forks.

Avenida Boa Viagem

Mega low tide- no sharks here.

She dressed herself. I swear.

Today however, what should I find floating by our legs? A kidney. Yes, a kidney still attached to the previous owner's mesentery and ureter. With a couple of flies feasting away, the urine creator was a blood-sucked, yellow-white color, about  6" x 4" and bobbing like a castaway without direction or hope. Of course, being the dramatic realist that I am, started scanning the area for other body parts, maybe an arm or a head with eyes and mouth horridly frozen open to suddenly pop up. Maybe its sister kidney would suddenly wash up on shore too? Obviously I redirected my children to cleaner waters, but felt the zombie organ was following us, and it was. (Never mind that we were all following the current.) After calming my criminal intent paranoia, I surmised the kidney came from a goat or a cow, perhaps used as bait and either fell off a fishing line, or carelessly discarded into the sea. I'm going to think that anyway.

Exhibit A: Right sided kidney

96 Hours of Buenos Aires

You simply can't do anything wrong when visiting Buenos Aires. It's a gorgeous city: the second largest in South America, with plenty of green space, architecture, and  culture to keep any taste occupied. It's great for explorers, partiers, and adventurers. Budgeters and indulgers, wimpy travelers and fearless ones. Over the course of four days Mark and I planned a few events like "secret dinners" and a tango show, but mostly we wandered the various upscale, bohemian, or historic Argentinian neighborhoods as we found them. It was nearly impossible to get lost with the city's strategic street numbering system, and there was always a cafe nearby to plan the next steps if we did. Not once did we drink bad espresso either. Or beer. Or wine. God- the wine! They all said it would be good, but I had no idea. Malbecs, cabs, sauvignon blancs, chardonnay... all of it cheap and tasty (like 3 bucks a bottle), yet still with a touch of class. As much as a Schlink could have anyway.

Speaking of class, there was one thing that surprised me about Buenos Aires: the odd, uncomfortable return of the chunky treaded platform shoe. I mean- perfectly reasonable women with perfectly reasonable clothing choices were ruined with canoe sized jalopies scuffing the sidewalks. From stained off white foam-ish material to formidable black rubber, these shoes/sandals/boots were everywhere. I wonder if emergency room visits for sprained ankles have increased since this unfortunate comeback. But then again, I'm fully aware that my fashionable opinion doesn't count for much especially since I wear sensible flats with cocktail dresses.

Aside from all the shoe gawking commentary (who am I? Joan Rivers (R.I.P.)?), I did focus my energy elsewhere. I totally loved the weekend fairs or markets where tourists of all walks of life shopped for anything and everything Argentine. The vendors preferred US dollars over pesos, so we bargained, leaving everyone happy too. We elbowed our way through Florida Street, the city's HQ for all things buyable and gazed at a small gallery of photos (four to be exact) of Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges. Mark and I hit all the big architecture attractions, including Teatro Colón but skipped on the 32 USD tour on offer and the 30 USD bus tour and spent it at the bar instead. We walked until we were tired enough to get a taxi home where we'd see even more stuff we wanted to visit- on and off the "Top 10" list. But of course there's never enough time.

The New York Times did a piece on "secret restaurants" where people dine in the private homes of culinary school trained chefs with a set menu and wine pairings. It was great to relinquish control and try new dishes, though admittedly there were a few plates I don't care to try again. Basically, I sent an email to the restaurant with our available dates and assumed I wouldn't hear back since I did it the day before we left for Buenos Aires. Less than 24 hours later, all three responded with availability, contrary to the authors' experiences.

We ended up eating at Ocho Once, and Paladar. Both were great though for different reasons. The former, served us "an experience of carrot textures" which quite frankly were delicious, though we couldn't stop snickering about the description. We ate plenty of octopus and shrimp, chasing it with smooth chilled wine and devoured the strawberry sorbet. None of these items are personal favorites, but... it was all about the experience. Plus, we enjoyed our own private nook in their wine cellar where we would watch the legs of the waiters scurrying to/from the kitchen. Total cost: 1000 pesos (114 USD, 8.70 pesos to the dollar).

As for Paladar we had choices: meat or seafood selections, which made Mark joyously happy. We met the chef, Pablo Abramovsky, who introduced the menu which I found adorable and pleasing. His wife was another bit of amazing, continually refilling our glasses with crisp Mantra wine from Patagonia (we liked all of them, though the pinot noir was a bit too brown. Can I even say that?) It was another savory, gut-filling five course meal. Though I enjoyed all of it, I must mention the salmon carpaccio. It was all I could do not to lick the plate- Mark felt the same about the carpaccio carpaccio. So good. Grand total for two: 800 pesos (91 USD). Plus both restaurants kindly called us cabs as we rolled out of their homes. I would definitely do this again.

Of course besides Argentina's reputation for wine and good food, is their reputation for the world's sexiest form of dancing: tango. (And soccer, horse racing, horse polo, ice cream, mate tea drinking, leather goods, furs...) I wanted a show that would be saucy, energizing, and fun. Our first recommendation was Senor Tango. So was our second, third, and fourth. All my friends who visited Buenos Aires said it was the biggest, loudest, over-the-top tango show in town. Who am I to disagree? With our outfits squeezed into and tickets bought, we grabbed a cab to one of the seedier parts of town. We arrived hungry for dinner only to find out I only bought tickets for the show. My bad. The generous maitre d' told us Mark and I could pay an extra 2400 pesos to eat (275 USD), so we settled on a liquid dinner instead. Ninety "tranquil" minutes later, the show began. We got horses and Indians, cronies, dancers in 1/2 leotards, sexy shoes and sparkly show jewelry. We got singing and dancing, acrobatics and orgies. We got lessons in history and in nationalism too. I definitely think we got what we paid for.

I left Argentina tired but wanting more fun, and a belly (and bags) full of wine and a salad in which I sprinkled sugar instead of salt; both signs that it was probably time to go home. 

Recoleta Cemetery 

Recoleta Cemetery 

Skateboarding by the closed Libyan Embassy. 

Fruit, veggies everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

Why? 

Senor Bessini at Recoleta Craft Fair

Once a tangoer, always a tangoer. 

Belgrano neighborhood 

Carnaval 2015 in Olinda

Normally when I party, one day suits me plenty. I like quitting while it is still fun so I can reminisce the rare days spent gyrating, mixing my alcohol, and feel the crowded intimacy of glowing compatriots. After our serendipitous libations with the giant rooster, I knew I had to rally for our next day in Olinda. Celebrating day number three of Carnaval at a fancy pousada (hotel) snugly tucked in the row house streets of Olinda, the heart of intense and meaningful "Cultural Carnaval" for northeast Brazil. Of course, there was the predictable flow of cheap cold beer, grilled meats, trashed streets, and throes of drunkards too.

Mark, my father-in-law, and I caught a cab and arrived at the foot of Olinda around 10 am and began our adventurous hike up the streets. Drum groups called batucadas dominated the cobblestone streets like the Pied Piper, drawing crowds of people behind them. Giant bonecos (dolls) dotted the crowds like landmarks, and the colors- oh gosh, the colors of costume clad partiers competed for attention against the already colorful city. The energy was undeniable and nobody couldn't not dance or stomp around. We wormed our way to the Quatro Cantos Pousada and past the ginormous security guards and into the shady oasis. From the patio above we watched the mayhem and settled in for a day of raucous behavior. 

I loved every minute of it. Traveling bands passed through the streets which meant so the noise and crowds would ebb and flow too. We had our own live music and again- everyone knew every single samba song and every single word. As our afternoon wound down we said our goodbyes and ventured out into the twilight against the never ending flow of people. At the party in Recife we caught a cab early enough in the game that we didn't wait at all. This time however, we weren't so lucky. Or maybe we were, because after 90 minutes of trying to hail a cab, Mark ended up doling out some cash to an "off-duty" taxi driver (he was clearly hanging out for people like us willing to pay double) to get us home- totally worth it for everyone involved. 

Around 7:30pm we arrived to the back of our building where our magazine stand guy was hosting the second night of his street party. The dancing more or less continued but admittedly with less enthusiasm on my part. Tired and sore, I called it a night and promptly passed out from exhaustion. Now the question is, do I attempt to do this again today? Too early to tell, but I could totally see me rallying, maybe after a nap.

Mark Schlink, you literally MAKE my blog.
Thanks for the photos.