Last Weekend With Camila

I Want a Hug from Marie Calendar at the Airport

Since sleeping isn't really an option when you have two weeks left of your Brazilian life, I do other useful things while the rest of my time zone sleeps. Like calculate the number fo brownies I have made in the past month: over 400.

Brazilians valorize our dessert culture, which is great, fantastic, but please, anyone who was planning on baking me brownies as a coming home present should definitely, definitely not. Jalenpeno poppers is what I really want (go figure) but Kit Slover is on that. The rest of you will just have to be creative. But think blueberries.

See you all soon (except for all of my affluent, international fans in Dehli and Dubai).

Lins/Termas de Jurema/Foz do Iguaçu

This is called living it up until your very last day in Brazil.

I couldn't figure out why these crazy sparrows were suicide bombing en masse into the chaotic spray of the water fall, especially on a such a crummy day weather-wise. Then my guide explained to me that sparrows make their nests behind the waterfalls where they are protected from preditors. Which is exactly what guides are there for, to spin a good tale that coves up for the severe depression present in the wildlife of the region.

Both the Brazilian and the Argentinian raccoons are completely out of control. This sign demonstrates the raccoon point of view, note how the middle and index finger holding the hamburger are transformed into a hot-dog, and the whole thing is black, white, and edible.

This is the resort "Termas de Jurema," they were having "June Parties" every night we were there (hence he flags). Apparently the festival is based somewhere far, far, away in Catholicism, rooted there with a piece of dental floss, but these days it is mostly flags and food. Which is fine by me.

The Devil's Throat.

Water falling is a common sight in this region of the world.

The Bourbon Hotel. Home to the best breakfast buffet ever. Period.

Me being a successful dolphin trainer, look how tame they are.

So we went to this bird park, where we tickled tucans and flirted with Flamingos and sawa fowl from the size of my pinky nail right up to the most obese ostrich (I don't know where this accidental aliteration is coming from) and the whole time I was looking at my map, anxious to get to the last pen which was entitled "exotic birds." And there I was, feeling the macaw nibble on my ealobe and thinking, "if this is not exotic, I don't know what is." And then we got there.

And the exotic birds were pheasants.

And I thought, "I eat those."

And if that is not humor, I don't know what is.

Itaipu; could beat up your hydro-electric dam.

Rare are the moments in life when you can pay 12 reais for a tea (made out of a tea bag, not pheonix feathers), and when those chances arrise you have to take them. With sugar. In the lobby of this hotel. And it tastes so luxurious that you miss the last bus out of the park and have to have a team of tucans (or a taxi) shuttle you out.

The Paraná River.

Cinthia (the 82-year-old patron saint of this whole trip) gave me this matching hat/glove/scarf set. Expect to see it exploding on to the Provo fashion scene late this fall paired with other accessories like bone necklaces and leaf earrings and shirts with holes in the back of them. Yep, all at the same time. If you can't predict the weather, don't let the weather predict you.

One of the hotels we stayed in. All of their stars could fill up the night sky. Or equal fifteen. This one offered bud baths. I'm still tracking down those pictures.

Getting wet. There was water falling everywhere. There's no controling the stuff.

Porto Alegre/Gramado/Canela/Florianópolis

This was the trip to the south that I took with my friend Nora, from Switzerland.

Nudist beach. We hid behind these rocks to get a good view, but when we noticed that it was unoccupied and we asked a passerby (we actually had to track down someone to pass us by--it was very abandoned) where all the nudists were, he said it was too cold. You would think they would be used to it.

Local men, taking their fish for a walk.

Persimmon pudding, persimmons do not cease to amaze me, nor do my photgraphy skills.


Floripa is an island with 52 beaches, but for some reason, this is the only one that wins the title of "Beira mar," or, "sea-side."

Nora at the Praia de Ingleses.

Misty Magic, on our hike around the Lagoa da Conceição.

Juice flavors. And by flavors I mean the ones that come from real fruits.

I was such a filth this entire trip. I think that during the ten-day period I took 3 showers, and one was on the day I went home.

Our friends took us to a choro circle. Which is where you and your musically inclined friends gather at a restaurant and play super typical Brazilian music that is so charming that nobody gets upset that you are playing and electric (insert the name of wacky instrument above) right next to their elbow while they are trying to enjoy their soup buffet.

Summary

When I squeeze my eyes shut and let my mind bump over the haze of happiness that has been the last month of my life the thing that surfaces first is a this:

Eggplant mousse rolled up in slices of grilled eggplant like a cinnamon roll and covered in this mustard/sudried tomato/walnut sauce.

It brought me to my knees where I stayed and weeped and weeped and ate and ate right in the middle of the fanciest party I had ever been to in my life. Luckily it was dark.

Lot's of other things come to mind as well, but I'm sure you can all being to understand why I'm having a hard time processing it all while the remnants of the culinary sistine chapela re still working their way through my digestive tract.

Welcome home Ingrid.

(!)

Bonito Review

This is the review that I wrote for my intership on my trip to Bonito, it was probably the best weekend of my life. Not, however, the best writing of my life. It's merit is that it is already written, and will be read mostly by people who don't speak English that great. So I'm putting it here for you. Anyone not going to Bonito (all of you prolly, but if you are coming let me know and lets have lunch) should read a few sentences and then skip to the pictures, which are lovely.

Bonito: Burning Calories and Getting them Back Again

Bonito is experiencing a tourism boom, a boom that you will hear coming from all sides as you try to decipher which river is the clearest and which waterfall is the most inspiring. When it comes to this region, where beautiful sights abound (the name of the city means “beautiful” in Portuguese), infrastructure is what sets a tour apart from the others. Tours preach very similar packages, but vary enormously in the way they receive tourists. Choose your activities before you go so as not to find yourself coerced/overwhelmed upon arrival (see my list of recommendations at the end). That being said, you’ll have a hard time going wrong in Bonito. Never before have so many caves, fish, waterfalls and ice-cream flavors been condensed in such a small geographic nub.

On my first day in Bonito I visited the Estância Mimosa, excited to see Bonito’s waterfalls that I had heard so much about. But it ended up being much more than just waterfalls, for the 5 hours that I was a tourist at the Estância Mimosa, I was walking on sunshine. Little cobbled trails lead you through lush gardens up to the reception, a transformed ranch house whose walls are now covered in ecological information, is now used as a craft shop, reception, and kitchen. Leather hammocks are strewn beneath passion fruit vines and fruit trees and sun chairs surround a little lake full of cranes and alligators.

Shortly after arriving the tour begins with a slow stroll through the forest. As an American, I have never seen anything quite like this. Not only is the biodiversity amazing (I saw monkeys, armadillos, and several birds I couldn’t name before the first waterfall) but the sense of isolation truly impressive. During my whole tour I only ever saw two other tourists and their guide, and even then they barely uttered a peep. If you want to be at one with nature, this is your chance. As I round the corner and see the first waterfall I pretend that I am the one discovering it, and my game works perfectly. The owners haven’t cut down a single tree while developing the property and the whole thing has a very secret garden feel.

The hike continues through 8 different waterfalls, one has a 6-meter-high diving board that makes me feel like Pocahontas, one has a small, hidden cave that makes me feel like a waterfall, all are beautiful. But I have to say that the best part was yet to come. Upon returning to the farm, I am received with an impressive spread. There must have been 15 salads on offer, kept fresh by a spring channeled through the kitchen, and another 15 dishes being kept warm on the wood-burning stove. I loaded up my plate and sat down to gobble up every calorie I had just burned, happy to know that the vegetables I was eating had been grown but a few feet away (the Estância Mimosa uses their own produce grown in an on-site, organic veggie garden). When I returned back for more a huge variety of desserts has appeared, as if by magic. Not even I, renowned for my sweet-tooth, was able to find room in my stomach for everything, but I did try crystallized star-fruit and watermelon rind, rice-pudding with doce-de leite, several kinds of cake, some sort of sweet-potato dessert and ginger cookies. And then I waddled over to the hammocks to rest.

That night we went out to explore the city. We went first to “O Projeto Jibóia,” where during the interesting speech on snake conservation in the area (with a chance to pose with a giant boa-constrictor afterward) I somehow managed to work up my appetite again. We stopped by the casual “Vício da Gula” (The vice of gluttony) which was participating in a regional gastronomical festival with a featured plate: Grilled Alligator sandwich. I decided to go for it, heartily encouraged from my companions, and was well rewarded. The meat had a texture between a fish fillet and a chicken breast and the sauce had a special bite to it (or maybe that tanginess was a slight pang of guilt—who knows). To wash it down I enjoyed a glass of Guavira. When it arrived at the table it looked like a cup of yellow clouds, but the owner soon explained to me that it was basically liquid gold. This is the only place in the world where the fruit is found, and it can only be found during one season of the year. To buy twenty liters of the stuff apparently costs an arm and a leg and the fruit still has to be processed, turning 20 liters into three. The taste is hard to describe, but it definitely tasted rare.

The next day I went to Rio da Prata, run by the same people who own Estância Mimosa and the winner of the title “Brazil’s best tourist attraction” two years in a row, I felt like this was a safe choice. A drive through golden fields leads up to the reception, where things start to get foresty. The reception area is full of trees and flowers and boasts a productive veggie-garden, a native seed bank, fruit trees and a worm farm. Where one begins and the other ends is hard to say but together they form a land of milk and honey.

20 minutes later I am in a wetsuit about to float down the river. It’s hard to believe it’s a river, the water is so clear that you can perfectly see the fish swimming below. But once emerged I’m convinced it really is water—even through the wetsuit, the chilliness bites. But you won’t be thinking about the temperature for long. The guide gave us a few minutes to get used to our snorkels in the river’s headspring, and then we headed down, letting the current carry us. It’s hard to describe the sensation; it’s like being inside the aquarium at your dentist’s office, only there are no dentists around, just fish. Big fish. Rare fish. Gold fish. They seemed about as surprised to see me as the average domesticated dog and responded to being touched with an ironic and toothy look that seemed to say, "If you don't stop that, I'll probably slowly move to a spot a few feet away." As I bump into them I want to yell, “RUN, lest you suffer the same fate as the Dodo!” But I can’t because there is a snorkel in my mouth. And then I calm down and remember that this is a protected reserve, and that their golden hides are safe here.

The snorkeling lasted about 2 hours and I was only able to leave the river by convincing myself that I would come back again, and of course, by thinking about the all-you-can-eat lunch that was awaiting me.

Things I did/ate/saw: Bonito Youth Hostel (clean rooms, helpful staff, interesting people and hammocks) Vício da Gula (reasonably priced sandwiches, fancy coffees and exotic juices) Palácio dos Sorvetes (offers ice-cream in more flavors than you can imagine mixed with fruit salad and baked with meringue on top) Recanto Ecológico Rio da Prata (snorkeling) Estância Mimosa (waterfalls and traditional fare)



I took these pictures with and underwater camera. I felt a bit dorky. There is something dorky that hovers around underwater cameras like a cloud--even underwater. But I was also wearing two (2) wetsuits, and using a neon snorkel, so that might have contributed to the dorkiness sensation.Oh yeah, caption: fish.



Cachoeira do Sol/The Waterfall of the Sun

This is fruit that makes the juice that walks the dog that lives in the house where Jack lives.

Grilled cheese with reptile in the middle.

This is what smacking into fish looks like.

Bonito: Where the Sun Shines too Brightly to Take Decent Photos

These are some pictures.

This is Tamara making "inside out underwear," which is, surprisingly, actually a bit of fried dough covered in cinnamon sugar.

This is my mom.

Camila and I marveling at the mirror attatched to the bottom of the escalator.

The guide tried to explain scientifically why the water in this cave was so blue.

We're pretty sure they dump chlorine in it at night to propel the tourism along.

Hard hats.

I have a hard time taking posing seriously. Especially when there are giant fish diving into the cement in the background.

The first time Loiva has ever taken off her sunglasses. And nobody has seen her eyeballs since. They are still resting from the destructive rays. Scheduled to be loosed again in the spring of 2011, lovely aren't they?

Learning and growing.

Dangerous.

This is what my face looks like under one centimeter of sunscreen.

That clear stuff is water.

The one crouched in front is not my sister, but she seemed so content to be contemplating that we tried not to disturb her. I don't think she even noticed we were there. She was very mesmerized.

I'm putting all of my sister pictures here because I think that they are charming. But they also make me look a bit pitiful, as I'm always the only on without sunglasses...

or the only one with unruly hair...

The first time I left my camera lying around the house, when I went to upload my pictures I found hundreds of shots like this.

Step-by-step photo shoots on how to express familial love.

Now I leave my camera out more often, just to see what I'll find.

We're pretty busy around here.

What Brazil has taught me: Don't just be beautiful, provide evidence, otherwise nobody will believe you.