Tijuana, Los Angeles, burning pancakes...

The way I see it, blogging while traveling is as challenging as being disciplined while following some demanding diet, or going to the gym. You tell yourself “this Monday I am going on a diet”, and so you do, but after a few days the initial excitement has evaporated, or things have happened and following your diet is the last thing you have in mind. You start going to the gym, the first couple of weeks you are all excited, but after that you start getting lazy, minimizing your weekly visits to the gym, before quitting altogether (or is it just I?). You add new entries to your blog the first couple of days of your trip, and then… six days pass without writing a single line, and then the biggest challenge is to sum up in ONE entry everything that happened those six “silent” (writing-wise) days… I won’t even try. All I’ll say is that Tijuana (Sunday, day trip from San Diego), left me scratching my head, Venice Beach (Los Angeles) is for me a place you can’t get bored of, Santa Monica (Los Angeles, again) woke up in my mind countless memories of movies I have watched, with scenes shot at its Pier (you know, with the wheel and all), and Hollywood Boulevard (yesterday) surprised me pleasantly with how seriously informal it feels. For some reason I was under the impression that it would be full of expensive clothes stores and restaurants, next to the Kodak Theatre, but reality proved way different… Every second shop sells kinky lingerie and outfits ;-), tattoo and piercing studios are found in every third corner, low-key pizza joints attract your nose every few dozens of meters, and… all in all, the whole neighborhood feels… cool. From Santa Monica I will never forget the almost two hours I spent the day before yesterday at “Hear Music”, a Starbucks associated CD place, where I felt like… Alice in Wonderland. You sit, you have a screen in front of you, and you get to choose among thousands of songs, before burning your own CD. The first seven songs cost 8.99 dollars, and then every song costs 99 cents. With 21.50 (damn taxes…) I got myself a CD with 18 songs, almost 80 minutes of music, including names like Nickelback, Anastacia, Alicia Keys, Christina Aguilera, Rihanna, etc. As for Venice Beach, it’s where I spent Christmas, riding a bicycle I rent for a couple of hours and then playing basketball with a French guy I met in my hostel and two black guys we found at the basketball courts, next to our hostel. Four days at coastal LA the sun shined, and sure, it wasn’t boiling hot, but it was warm enough to feel… spring-ish. Last, but not least, Tijuana itself makes, if you ask me, a great day trip from San Diego, but what hit me the most was my re-entering the US, in the afternoon. The line was long, but in less than five minutes I was already showing my passport to some official, answering to his “did you buy anything at Tijuana” question. I said “no”, and passed. I was back in the US. That was all. No one searched me, neither me nor the vast majority of people going back to San Diego. I don’t know… I thought things would be too strict, but people just showed an ID to the officers, they would nod, and in no time we all were back to the US side of the border(!). Fine by me…
It’s 8am in LA, I am in the middle of having breakfast, having just prepared my first ever pancake!! Oooooh my mother would be soooooo proud of her only child (no need for her to know that I actually, eham, burnt my pancake. It still tasted sooooo nice, because I, I had prepared it! Ok, enough with my bragging over burning my first ever pancake creation…).
Last, I must mention something more from yesterday. The world IS small, after all… Here I am, in Hollywood, so far away from home, Greece, and yet, the guy who slept in my bed the night before, is called Yanis and is not only Greek, but yep, from Thessaloniki. He came back in the afternoon to change before leaving the hostel for good, and we spent five minutes repeating to each other “how small the world is…”
I’m more or less in the middle of my trip, and all in all I can say that I am having a… good time. I’m not having the time of my life, I can’t compare this trip to my last two big ones to India and Brazil, but still, I’m having a good time. Nothing’s wrong with the places I have visited, hell no, it’s just that I myself am not in the… appropriate mood to enjoy this trip to the maximum.
Ok, time to burn…eeeeehm, I mean… PREPARE another pancake…

How can someone not LOVE San Diego?

I don’t get mad when I see people taking them ten minutes or more to order at restaurants, or when I am with a girl who acts like crazy seeing a pair of shoes just one minute after exiting another shoe store where she bought already a pair of shoes. There’s a reason why I don’t get mad in cases like these… I’m the same when it comes to books, I always buy something when I get into some bookstore, and sometimes it takes me lots of time to decide which book to buy, especially in cases like today’s, when space (in my luggage) IS an issue, I can’t just buy two or three books, I need to “compromise” with one. I was at “Borders”, I went to the section with California related books, and my attention was basically drawn by two books: “Under the Perfect Sun”, and “Southern California Trivia”. The first one is about all those things that make San Diego anything but the “paradise on earth” we, tourists, think of this city. The second one is a collection of “weird, wacky and wild” little stories concerning southern California. I ended up buying the second one, the “light” one, the… superficial, you could say, one. Why? Because I am anything but sure that I want to know why San Diego is not a paradise on earth. I am having a hard time either way, getting used to seeing all those hordes of homeless people, something I mentioned in my yesterday’s post. I am here for a couple of days, I don’t need to know the dark sides of this city’s life as they are presented in “Under the Perfect Sun”, even though, if space in my luggage was not an issue, I WOULD have bought both books. Since I had to choose one, I went for the “cheerful” one, shame on me, I know…
Yesterday I wrote a bunch of reasons why I like San Diego. Today I am substituting “like” with “love”, because in my eyes this city IS a lovable place. The more time I spend here, the more I tend to enjoy the locals’ attitude. It’s a cliché to talk about how friendly the locals at some place are, but seriously, I get the feeling that people here are really laid back, always ready, willing and happy to answer a question you may have (yesterday I asked some Mexican looking guy what’s the difference between a cent and a dime, I had no idea that a dime was ten cents). Even the drivers are nice, letting pedestrians pass when it’s the pedestrians’ turn to pass (come to Greece and you will soon realize why this impressed me yesterday, and still does). For Lord’s shake, even the homeless people are nice, meaning… there is a… laid back way in which they ask for help. I’d say the two most interesting short talks I had today, were with homeless people. Seriously. If only they weren’t so damn many… Yesterday I wrote that this phenomenon makes my heart heavy, and I was quick to clarify that this is not because I am some natural born humanitarian. It’s just that homeless people are EVERYWHERE, they are not just half a dozen chaps you normally see in my city, in Greece, they are dozens and dozens and dozens… I went to Balboa Park this morning, having heard and read that it is a really cool place. I went there walking from downtown, and my first impressions were “huh?!”. The southwestern corner of the park is kind of… occupied by homeless people. I saw things today I hadn’t seen before in my life. Honestly… The most striking of all was seeing a 35 something father, I suppose, with an under 10 little girl. The girl was riding her bicycle, which looked weird, because it was in the middle of a huge bunch of homeless people, easily identified by those carriages they have, carrying all their belongings. I first noticed the girl from some distance. Kept walking, and when I came closer, I realized that the bicycle, a couple of teddy bears and a sleeping bag were all the little girl’s “belongings”. She wasn’t there on a pic-nic as I first thought, she and her father had actually spent the night there, as so many other people (I was there early in the morning). A little further away, a team of about 20 homeless people were sitting, listening to someone read passages from the Bible. I wanted to take a picture, but I didn’t want to put anyone in an awkward position, so I just drew back and took the picture from some distance. I don’t know… I feel almost guilty for the situation of these people… I am here on vacation, having paid an expensive plane ticket, carrying my cool Olympus photo camera, with a couple of credit cards in my pocket, not to mention cash, wearing my 200 euros Polo Ralph Lauren sun glasses (which I didn’t pay for myself, but… anyhow), having my own place and a relatively well paid job back home waiting for me when this trip is over, and these people… these people… say a very sincere “God bless you man”, when you hand them a dollar or two… If someone is reading these lines, I’m apologizing for the melancholic mood, you all have your own problems and the last thing you need is to read an update on homelessness in San Diego, California, but on the other hand, this is my blog, this is a little corner where I “immortalize” things I see and do during this trip of mine, and regretfully homelessness IS an issue I have associated San Diego with, I can’t close my eyes and pretend that everything is dreamy…
Before going to Balboa Park, I went to the Marina, another picture-perfect part of San Diego, with freshly cut lawn, lots of space for joggers to sweat, a couple of dozens eating choices, not to mention the hundreds little boats, yachts, you name it… If you love taking pictures and you ever come to San Diego, be sure that you will love it here. You have skyscrapers, you have sea, you have reflections on the sea maximizing your photo shooting opportunities, you have countless palm trees, pieces of art situated at every single corner, AND, you have planes flying above your head all the time, that low that you are under the impression you can see the faces of the passengers. A plane is either landing or taking off from the city’s airport (centrally located) every few seconds (no kidding), so you never have to wait for more than a minute to shoot another picture with an airplane in.
Today I also went to “Little Italy”, cute enough for a leisurely stroll and a cup of coffee or a piece of pizza/plate of pasta. What’s ironic is that the neighborhood’s main street is called “India st.”… Before heading to Borders (bookshop), I had a “cinnamon dolce latte” coffee at Starbucks, reading a local newspaper. This is something I want to comment on, seizing the liberty I am given by the fact that this is MY blog and I can write pretty much anything I want. I hear too many people saying too many bad things about Starbucks, or McDonald’s, but personally I can’t realize what’s the big fuss about. If you’re traveling to… say… India, and you come across a McDonald’s, no one obliges you to go in and choose IT to some “thali” joint where you could have typical (South) Indian food. If you are in Thessaloniki and you want to have a coffee, no one obliges you to go to Starbucks. You may well go to a local café. I can’t understand what’s so… devilish about the fact that McDonald’s and Starbucks are EVERYWHERE! The way I see it, they only multiply your choices, and I see this from the traveler’s point of view. Same thing with bookshops… I love “You’ve Got Mail”, with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, I felt sorry for Meg having to close her little bookshop when the big bad “Fox” opened opposite the street, but… I can’t blame “big chains” for… existing. I had heard about “Borders”, Lonely Planet is not really fond of big bookshop chains, but… give me a break, what’s wrong with huge bookshops that come with wonderful environments, not to mention tempting prices? Ok, I wouldn’t like them if I was running my own little bookshop, but… I insist, you cannot demonize big bookshop chains just for… existing. Aaaaaaaanyhow, almost 5:30pm here, obviously I didn’t go to Tijuana with the rest of the people staying in my hostel, I chose to go there tomorrow, alone. This is how I will spend my last day here, as Monday morning I am taking the bus to Los Angeles. As for tonight, I feel like going to the Gaslamp Quarter, a downtown area full of bars, Mexican food joints, beer places, you name it… Today in the paper I saw an article on a new Greek restaurant, “Exy” (from the Greek word “exi”, which stands for “6”, as the restaurant is situated at the corner of 6th and F streets), went to check it out, out of curiosity, but nothing in there made me feel that I was in a Greek restaurant, it was way too chic for my likes, so… I’ll skip it tonight. I prefer going to some place I saw where Mariachis are playing live every night from 7 to 11pm. Must be touristy, but… who cares? I know I don’t…

How can someone not like San Diego?

It’s amazing how fast someone’s focus can swift from something supposedly important to something seriously, genuinely important, and then back to something hardly important… After having taken three flights from Thessaloniki to Cincinnati and an overnight bus from Cincinnati to Chicago, I was anything but happy realizing that my Chicago-Salt Lake City flight would be delayed, delayed enough to make me lose my Salt Lake City-San Diego flight. I got on the plane grumpy, thinking about the four hours I would need to spend at Salt Lake City’s airport, waiting for Delta’s next flight to San Diego, four hours that looked like an eternity, having already spent more than 40 hours on the road. I put my mp3 on, and at some point I must have fallen asleep. I woke up when I felt a strong shake. Funnily enough, the song on my mp3 that very moment (which was playing all the time I was asleep), was Manu Chao’s “Mala Vida” (Bad Life), and that very moment he was saying “próxima estación: esperanza” (next stop: hope). I don’t mean to dramatize the situation, so all I’ll say is that things were not good up there… People were hiding their faces with their hands or squeezing their chairs’ arms, while the plane was going like a wild horse that was refusing to be tamed by this cowboy who was hopelessly trying to stay on top of it. Just like that, my grumpiness about losing my next flight to San Diego… vanished. All I wanted was to land, land, and who cared if it would take me another 45 hours to reach my final destination?... The weather was horrible, the visibility was close to non-existent, and as we were landing we were only able to see the airport’s lights when the plane reached the last meters before touching the runway. Needless to say that everyone was very-very as in VERY relieved, and everyone had a good word to say to the pilot as we were leaving the plane, with our hands still sweaty… If that wasn’t enough, my Salt Lake City-San Diego flight was delayed as well, this time because we had to spend almost an hour and a half IN the plane, while people working at the airport were pouring water on the plane’s wings to make the ice disappear. The problem was that it was snowing so heavily that the snow covered back the wings in no time. By that time, I was too exhausted to worry, or feel anything in general. I calculated the hours when we finally arrived at San Diego. 51 hours had passed, since the moment my first plane had taken off. Never again… Never again I say… I am never again “sentencing” myself to such an endless trip… It makes an interesting story to tell one day to my grandchildren (my gr-what?!), but I can live without spending 50+ hours again, traveling non-stop.
After a quick bus ride and a 15 minutes’ walk, I finally made it to my San Diego hostel, well after midnight. Tried to get online, but the adaptor I bought for this very reason, proved no good. I felt so stupid that I hit my head with the laptop’s big plug. Just like that I was my old self again, having forgotten the promise I gave myself on the plane from Salt Lake City to San Diego to not get pissed about little things, promise I gave myself in moments that my palms were all sweaty, feeling the plane struggling to stay in one piece…
After all that endless traveling, I only managed to sleep for a lousy three hours. At five in the morning my eyes opened, and no matter how hard I tried to fall asleep again, it was impossible. It was 3pm in Greece, my organism was refusing to be switched off. Right now it is 7pm in San Diego, and I am heroically fighting to keep my eyes open and wait until 11pm or, even better, midnight, to fall asleep. If I go to sleep earlier, I will only prolong the jetlag’s effect…
San Diego… I spent lots of hours walking today, and the first word that comes in my mind to describe this city is “pleasant”. Seriously, how can someone not like San Diego? It’s mid/late December, it’s freezing cold in most of the US at the moment, and still, here, I spent the morning walking under a glorious blue sky, wearing a short sleeved t-shirt. So, the weather is great, but that’s not all. The city itself feels… joyful, and that’s a feeling I got starting from the airport. Little touches make this city look “happy”. At the airport there are “flower” signs jumping off direction signs, lightening up the whole atmosphere. In the city centre the “bases” of the trees are colourful (I am too tired to explain what I mean with “bases”), and along the coast there are benches with playful designs and pieces of art that make the whole atmosphere even more… “light” and “life loving”. Then, after hours of walking, you get hungry, you have a “baconator” (new at Wendy’s) and you enjoy free coke re-fills(!!!), which is unthinkable in my country, Greece. Almost forgot! Spanish is heard everywhere, and I mean everywhere, maybe even more than English, which I like a lot. I don’t know… I like this city, but no matter how much I liked it I can’t close my eyes to something really disturbing… This is the first time in my life I saw SO many homeless people. Harmless, I’d say, I didn’t feel threatened walking in between them after dark holding one of my two photo cameras, but still, the sight is… disheartening. We have homeless people in Thessaloniki as well, but what I saw here is really beyond description… It makes me sad… Brings a black cloud above my had and makes my heart feel heavier. And it’s not because I am some big humanitarian… It’s simply because of the huge number of homeless people you see around here…
At about half an hour my hostel organizes a… get together, something like a small party to drink a beer or three and get to know other people staying here. Later on, people will go out, to the Gaslamp Quarter. It IS Friday night, after all. Tomorrow afternoon my hostel organizes an excursion to Tijuana, Mexico, basically for drinks and lots of laughs. What of all these I personally will do? Beats me… Depends on which half of me will prevail… The joyful half that pushes me to open up, occasionally, and allow myself to have a good time, or the anti-social, the extremely reserved half, which keeps me away from anything fun, even when fun can be found ALL AROUND me…

Less than ten hours to go

A year ago, a couple of days before flying to India, I wrote that I felt the same way Jodie Foster felt towards the end of "Contact", when she was in that "ball", spinning, spinning, spinning, knowing that any second then the "ball" would free-fall, and she would set off on an amazing trip, all excited, nervous, and terrified at the same moment... It's always like that, those last few hours before setting off on a big trip, isn't it? You are terribly excited about leaving, but at the same time you stress over whether or not you have taken everything you should have. One moment you are dreaming of your destination, next moment you realize you forgot to get in touch with your hostel and confirm your reservation, making sure that after traveling for 44 hours there will be a bed waiting for you. One moment you print out the map of Chicago's blue CTA line, realizing that getting from the train station to the airport will be piece of cake, next moment you scratch your head wondering how the heck you are going to squeeze into your backpack everything you were planning to take with you. It's... madness, this is why I always make days before leaving a list of the things I should definitely take with me, so as to have a "calm voice" reminding me of little important details in crazy hours like these... I think it's the moment your plane leaves the ground that you... lay back, and let the engines' monotonous sound calm you down. In my case, that monotonous sound plane engines make will accompany me for hours and hours, teaming up with another monotonous sound, the one a bus engine makes. I am not exaggerating when I say that my going to San Diego, California, will take 44 hours (I wish I was...). In about nine hours from now I am flying to Munich, then I am flying to Washington DC, then I am flying to Cincinnati, from where I have to catch an overnight bus to Chicago, from where I will have to catch two more flights to reach San Diego, making a quick stop at Salt Lake City. My Delta flight arrives at San Diego at 6pm, local time, Thursday. Thessaloniki has a ten hours' difference from San Diego. Tomorrow morning I am flying at 8:20. Do the maths... It's 44 hours. Beats my going to Australia record, beats the 36 hours I spent a year and a half ago on a train from Istanbul, Turkey, to Aleppo, Syria, beats the 32 hours I spent on trains two years ago, going from Thessaloniki to Budapest via Zagreb, Croatia, beats the five flights I took last year to reach Hyderabad, India, the city my Indian trip started at. Did I mean to break any record? Hell no! Why then am I going to San Diego this way? Well, the short version of the answer is that... I'm plain stupid. The slightly longer version of the answer is that I made a mistake and now I am going to pay for it, even though it's not right calling it a "mistake". You know, you do something, and that very moment it looks like it is the best thing you could ever do, a brilliant choice, a ticket to a dream. Some time later, you come to realize that the dream is uncatchable, for a series of reasons. Does it make your initial choice a wrong one? I'm not that sure... A football player dazzles half a dozen opponents of his, gets the crowd on its feet, he approaches the other team's goalposts, he'll try to score, if the ball goes in it will be the highlight of the year, he finds himself alone in front of the opponent goalkeeper, and then, instead of "cutting" to the right, passing the keeper, easily pushing the ball to the net, he chooses to make things difficult, and cross the ball above the keeper. The ball goes above the keeper indeed, but the touch is slightly stronger than what it should have been, so the ball hits the horizontal post and goes out. Does the outcome of all this make the player's effort a bad one? Just because the ball didn't go in? You tell me... I say the line is damn thin, the line between right and wrong, clever and stupid, dreaming and seeing things the way they really(?) are(?)...
Almost midnight. I have to wake up at 5am (rrrrrrright, as if I will get any sleep...). Next time I write some lines, I will be at the "land of the free, the home of the brave" (I always liked the American anthem, guilty as charged, stone me).

Hallelujah!

Monday night, almost midnight, about 30 hours away from starting my US trip, and today I finally managed to get somewhat enthusiastic about it (imagine me, as I write these lines, having on my face that expression of half excitement/half relief you normally find on faces of people who hear they have gotten that promotion at work they had anxiously been waiting for months now...). It didn't happen so... spontaneously, though. Let's just say that... I followed something ancient Greeks used to say. If you know Spanish, it sounds something like "sin Aciná ke gira kini", and it means something like... "if you are wishing for something to happen, don't just sit there, praying to Gods (Athena) to do everything for you, move your butt (needless to say this is my own... free version of this ancient saying), do something about it yourself as well, don't expect Gods to do all the dirty job for your lazy ass (underline the word "free", in "free version")". So, first thing I did this morning after opening up my eyes? I have three words for you: CD, Sangalo, w-o-w. Ivete Sangalo is a Brazilian singer (with some of the sexiest legs I have ever seen, let me add), I bought a CD (Ok, shoot me, a DVD as well) of hers last June in Rio de Janeiro, it's a "live" one, and her voice/songs are so... full of energy that perform miracles, for it is a miracle having a tightass "I don't dance" guy like me shaking his body early in the morning, before even having taken the time to pour some water on my still sleepy face. Having breakfast while listening to Her voice (the "H" has to be capital, she is a goddess, a goddess I say!), singing along (I have managed to learn by heart some of her songs), totally made my morning, but I had to do something to keep the... ball rolling, so I swiftly proceeded to step B of my "wake up man! You are going to the US! Get enthusiastic about it!" plan. Key word: shopping. Looking back, I'd say today I spent on clothes more money than what I have spent on clothes the last three years, meaning... putting the last three years together. And that wasn't all... I bought two Shakira CDs I had laid my eyes on long ago, a dozen AAA batteries for my mp3, a special "backpack" (I know this is not the right word, but come on now, give me a break) for my laptop (which I am taking with me to the US), and I swear, the more I bought, the better I felt... I swear, I am not really a shopping maniac (Ok, excluding the times I go to bookstores and CD stores, you got me...), but today... I don't know, the more I bought the more excited I got about this upcoming trip, so... what the heck?, I kept buying... At some point I honestly reminded me of some movies' scenes, where someone has a bullet in his body, and gets prepared to take it out alone, without anesthesia. Come on, follow me, you have definitely seen scenes like this in movies. What do the actors do? There is always a bottle of whisky or something around, which the actor grabs, and without giving it a second thought he drinks half of the bottle, helping himself pass into that state of mind you need, so as to do yourself something that "brrrrrrr" as to take out a bullet from your own body. Well, the more "alcohol" I consumed, the better I felt about the 44 (oh God...) hours that will pass from the moment I will leave Thessaloniki until the moment I will land at San Diego, about the five flights and the overnight bus my going to San Diego includes (long story...), about the state of the road leading from Cincinnati to Chicago (that's my overnight bus trip), about the numerous flight cancellations at Chicago's main airport because of the bad weather, about, about, about... Late in the afternoon, I went to work, whistling the tune of some Sangalo song that was followed by another song, and another song, and another song, until a colleague of mine who sits opposite me told me off (humoristically) for getting on his nerves (not really) with my super mood and my whistling marathon... Other things I left for tomorrow, little things I need to take care of, concerning the trip. A little trick to keep me pleasantly busy, keep the ball rolling, the way it did today, from the moment I woke up, until this very moment. I am traveling to the US first time ever, and regardless things that happened after buying my tickets, things that a number of times brought me close to sending my non refundable/non changeable tickets to the dustbin, I can't afford to not get enthusiastic about this trip, I owe it to myself to enjoy at least my last hours before flying, and also try have the best possible time there...

Am I really flying to the US in a week from today?!

A month ago I started writing about my June trip to Brazil, thinking that by December 19 I would have eaaaasily covered all my 20+ days there. As it often happens to me, frustratingly often let me add, I was wrong... No Recife, no Porto de Galinhas, no Maceió, and last but most definitely not least, no Salvador da Bahia, where I returned for my last four days in Brazil, before flying back to Europe. What's ironic is that the part of the trip I will never write about in this blog, is the best one, especially the last four days in Salvador da Bahia, which I left, having that feeling that what I was leaving behind me was a very-very-very special place, one of those places I can see me live one day in. Sounds heavy, but this is what I think about Salvador da Bahia...
Why should I be done with my Brazil memoirs by December 19? Because same day next week I will be on my way to the US, first time ever. Now, I first set this blog up a few weeks before traveling to India last year, exactly because of that trip. When I got back, I put my blog in the fridge, and I only took it out and breathed some life into it again, while I was getting prepared for my trip to Brazil. This time... This time, weeks before making yet another big trip, instead of writing about the US, I spent my time writing about Brazil. How come? It's simple. I didn't manage to get enthusiastic about this trip... I bought non refundable/non changeable tickets dreaming of spending my 20 days in the US in one way, some time after that things changed, but I was stack with those tickets, so between losing them altogether and making some use of them, I chose B... I'll spend 90% of my time there in California, starting from San Diego and finishing up at San Francisco...
The other day I wrote that it's all about expectations... You get a B+ while you were waiting for an A+ and you are left disappointed. You get a B+ while you were expecting a C- and you are over the moon. In both cases you have gotten a B+... I say so, because up to now, every single time I made a trip with very low expectations, I was hugely rewarded. So, deep down, maybe it's a good thing that I haven't touched my Lonely Planet USA guidebook for weeks now, maybe it's a good thing that in a week from today I am flying, but quite truly I don't feel one single butterfly jumping around my stomach...
Then again, maybe I am just too damn spoiled, maybe someone who doesn't travel often and would love to be in my rotten spoiled shoes, should give me a good virtual spank on the butt or punch my face, bringing me back to my senses... I am going to the US for Lord's shake!, what's the matter with me?!...
Anyhow, one of the thingies I bought these last days, is a USB... thing, that will allow me to go online in wi-fi areas. Yes, I am taking the painful (but rewarding as well, I hope), step, of taking my laptop along. Bottom line, if you drop by here some time between December 19 and January 7, you will find stories of mine from the US (unless I get lazy and I end up regretting taking the laptop along in the first place...).

João Pessoa - Olinda

Monday, 18 June 2007

9am
I don't think there could be a more appropriate photo to say goodbye to João Pessoa... I got a negative vibe from this city the moment I stepped foot here, this didn't change until the moment I went to sleep in the night, and I still feel the same negative vibes now, as I am about to leave. Who knows? Maybe one day I will be back, and maybe then I will see the city through different eyes. Until then, though, I won't be the city's biggest promoter, I won't be advising people to include João Pessoa in their Brazil itinerary... By the way, yesterday I wrote about that... lethally boring/depressing/monotonous white/grey sky I can't stand, the one that makes me want to take my virtual vacuum cleaner out and sweep everything off the sky. That's the sky, in this photo...

2:30pm
I'm at Olinda alright, but my comment on my first impressions from the town can wait. On the bus from João Pessoa to Recife, I was sitting next to a young Brazilian woman, in her early 30s. Not really good-good looking, but sweet, she is one of those people who start talking and just... keep talking, even when they realize that you are not really from around here, and you don't really speak the language. And not only that. She kept talking fast, even when I would ask her to... slow down, so I could keep track of what she was saying (I don't speak Portuguese, but I understand a pretty good deal of it). Nope... She would slow down for a sentence or so, and then she would step on it again. At some point I just gave up, I stopped trying to follow what she was saying, I just enjoyed the... sound of it. I love how Portuguese sounds, I LOVE it, and, well, there are worse things in life than having a sweet looking young Brazilian woman talk to you in her sweet voice non stop for almost three hours...

2:45
From Recife's bus station you can catch the Metro and go downtown. This is what I did. As the train started moving, a weird looking guy in his 40s approached me. I could tell he was either nuts or really-really drank. He started asking where I'm from, I played it fool, as if I understood nothing, he kept on asking, and at some point I just mumbled "Grecia". Oh boy, I made his day!... For some reason he found it (in his nuts-y case or in his drank state) really-really amusing, and after he announced(!) it in loud voice to the whole wagon (which made me turn red out of embarrassment because suddenly everyone turned to us, and... eeeehm, I don't handle attention that well...), he turned to me again and asked me in a really insisting way to say something to him in Greek(!).

4pm
All this time, there were a couple of ladies in their 50s that were looking at us, and every now and then one of them would make me a signal as if telling me not to take him seriously and not worry. They would even tell this guy to leave me alone, stop bagging me, but no, he had found something/someone to keep him busy until the end of the line (downtown Recife). He never got to hear me talk in Greek, because one of the ladies distracted him, he forgot all about it, but turned to me again and "advised" me to be very careful in Recife, making gestures with his hands that someone could cut my throat with a knife(!).

4:20
That's when one of the ladies came to me, dragged me by the hand and made me sit next to her. She was one of those... big figures, you know, "big" women, with lots of spare kilos, if you know what I mean, the kind of woman who makes a perfect grandma', perfect to run and hide behind her big body when you do something naughty and you have your mother, all furious, chasing after you to spank your butt... A station later, the nuts/drank guy got off. People came close to us and started commenting on this guy and how he had been harassing "bonitinho" me (aaaaaah, if only they knew real me...). "Bonitinho" is "little bonito", and I caught the word coming from this lady's lips, because I had found it weeks before coming to Brazil in some Pitty (http://www.pitty.com.br/) song (Máscara - Ninguém merece ser só mais um bonitinho). She kept telling everyone how nice I had been not provoking this guy, and... I don't know, seemed to me that a big deal was being done out of nothing, really...

5pm
It's not like this guy had tried anything... I don't know... A young boy and girl came and said hi, asked my name (tried to start off a conversation but turned out "what is your name", and "pleased to meet you" was all the English they knew), we reached the end of the line, and the... big fuss was continued, with the lady and other people going to some security guy, telling him what had happened just a while ago. I'm telling you, I don't know, this all thing just looked... too much to me. Then again, maybe it is my natural naivety, maybe this lady and the others were right to have gotten that worried, maybe I am the blind one who fails to see a danger when one appears... Anyhow, a young guy who spoke a little English walked me to the place where I could catch a bus to nearby Olinda. He said I should make it to Recife some time during their Carnival, said I would be welcomed to stay at his place if I ever come to Recife again during the Carnival. He made sure I stood at the right bus stop, having asked half a dozen people to make sure which corner was the right one, and only then he left.

5:20
This whole incident has made me feel a certain... warmth, I think this is the right word. People on the waggon were very warm (it was even sweet looking at some of them trying to "protect" me from this nutcase who was so amused by the fact that I am Greek), this guy who walked me to the bus stop was great, really friendly, and locals at the bus stop were great too. A young woman who got on the same bus with me, even volunteered to keep an eye and make sure to wave at me when we'd reach my Olinda stop. So she did. On the bus to Olinda I kept thinking that I should have worked more on Portuguese, it is a real pity to be in this country, with so warm people, and not be able to have a decent conversation... And it's not the locals' fault that they don't speak English... I am the one who came here, I am the one who should have learned more than just the very-very basics of the local lingo... (As I'm writing these lines, early December, I am already in the middle of learning Spanish, as I dream of "escaping" to South America in 9-10 months from today, quitting my job and spending a good deal of time in all Spanish speaking South American countries).

7:20
Olinda... The fact that I reached the end of this entry and only now I take the time to share my first impressions, must be telling you something... It's all about expectations, if you ask me. You read stuff about a place, you are given the impression that you are going to lose your mind when you step foot there, you are getting prepared to see a really dreamy place, you make it a must in your itinerary, and then... then you reach this place, and no matter how "cute" it is, it is way below your expectations, so your overall impressions are somehow marred. It's that... when you are expecting to get an A+ and you get "only" a B+, this B+ looks very "little", no matter if it is thaaaaat close to A. If, on the other hand, you have low expectations, you are expecting a C- and you get a B+, then this B+ looks like A++, exactly because you are that pleasantly surprised. Don't get me wrong, Olinda is "cute", it has this slightly (heavily, actually)... rundown feeling/elegance which makes it kind of... atmospheric, but if you come here driven by expressions like "colonial gem" (this is how it's described in my Lonely Planet), then, if you have already been to unbelievably beautiful little towns in Portuguese country side, Olinda looks... rather overrated. Of course, I may well be wrong...

7:30
Go three photos back and you will see on the right a line of "benches" (this is how we call them in Greek, I don't think it's the right word in English, but anyhow, I mean small "shops", selling either souvenirs or food). This is one of those, the one that seemed to have the juiciest skewers. Once again, I feel stupid not to have learned some real Portuguese before coming here... The guy who runs it starts off the usual conversation, the "where are you from?" one, up to here I can handle it in Portuguese, we talk a little about the country, and then says the girl you see in the photo wants to get married (he was just kidding). I foolishly try to keep the joke rolling by saying that I myself could marry her if she wanted me, and... that's it, that's when my Portuguese run to a halt, my close to non existent vocabulary fails me, and... it's annoying... being with people who look very friendly, are in a joking mood, and you have a bunch of things to say, only... not in their language... It's annoying being unable to transform thoughts in words, in a language everyone around can understand. I bet everyone reading these lines have found him/herself in a similar situation, at least once...
All in all, it was a... nice day. Olinda didn't blow me away, didn't sweep me off my feet, but it's still "cute", and thanks to that drank guy on the train I got to experience a situation I didn't expect, a bonus one, that only made me like the people of Recife, enjoying their... solidarity once the whole "incident" (hardly one) was over. Tomorrow morning I am taking the city bus to Boa Viagem, some coastal suburb of Recife, south of the city's centre. But not before having another stroll here, hopefully under clear sky (my wish was meant to come true...).

Natal - João Pessoa

Sunday, 17 June 2007

8am
This is mid June, and this is Northeastern Brazil, so rain does come with the package... I cannot complain (even though I'd love to, because I think deep down I'm an incurable moaner), coming here this time of the year I knew I'd have to deal with a number of rainy days, so... all I can do is zip it and wait for the bus that will take me to the bus station. You can't go to an Indian restaurant and expect to find anything that won't be at least slightly spicy, and you can't over-speed in a narrow zig-zag road and expect your car to... magically stay on the road for too long... I don't know if such a thing as "luck" exists, but in this case luck has nothing to do with it, it's plain choices, and dealing with the downsides of your choices... Either way, I love rain (unlike bus drivers who don't stop at bus stops, even when you are waving like crazy making it clear that you want to board this specific bus. This is how I missed the first bus that passed, and since time is starting to be an issue -I don't want to miss my João Pessoa bus- I am determined to stand in the middle of the road next time my bus comes. I am taking the next bus, no matter what...).

1:30pm
I have an outburst in every single trip, a moment when I totally lose it, when I raise my voice and I say things I later regret... My last trip abroad before coming to Brazil, was in February/March, when I went to Spain with my ex girlfriend, hoping to make things work again between us. Our last day at Madrid I did something I feel ashamed of, something I wish I could turn back time and erase... I yelled at her in the middle of Puerta del Sol, having dozens of people around us stop and stare for a few seconds... When I think of that scene all I want to do is dig a hole in the ground and bury myself in there... Before that, I went to India, in December. At Bangalore's airport, somewhere in the middle of my 25 days' trip there, I lost it when a security guy told me something about my small day-pack. An hour ago I had my "customary" outburst, in Brazil, at the bus station of João Pessoa. Got off the bus, started walking towards the bus stop from where I could catch a city bus to the coastal part of the city, a couple of 18-19 year olds approached me, said something I didn't understand, kept walking, they kept walking behind me saying things and laughing, making fun of my failure to understand what they were saying, so... that was it, I opened my mouth and I used my worst language in Greek, I said things to them I wouldn't ever say even to someone who would have done something bad to me... I'm relatively tall, but not really muscular, I wouldn't say I can scare people off just by the way I look, but even a skinny dog can make you change path, if it shows you its teeth and barks in a really aggressive way, so... the two guys left me in peace... This is my backpack in my hostel dormitory. This yellow "thing" (which I have no idea how is called in English), saved me, because, oh yeah, it was raining when I left Natal, it kept raining all the way here, and it's raining in João Pessoa as well...).

1:40pm
My first impressions from my hostel are... "hm...". The dorm room looks spotlessly clean and tidy, the toilet same thing, the common area has couches, TV, furniture with magazines, you can see the small pool, generally it feels nice, but... kind of cold. Once again, I am all alone here, I can only imagine how this place would feel if it had a good number of travelers staying here, and... that's all I'll say, because in previous entries of mine from Brazil I have "talked" about the pros and cons of traveling in low season. Once again, it's all about choices... If you want a car you'll use just to take you from A to B within your city's limits, say... from home to work and back, then a "Smart" is perfect, I guess... But don't expect to speed like Fernando Alonso or Lewis Hamilton on highways, going to a nearby beach, for example, on a weekend break... We can't have everything, can we now...

1:50
The hostel is about 300 meters from the beach. I don't know if it's because of the weather, because of that incident at the bus station, because of how cold and empty my hostel looks, I guess it's all these and much-much more, but the thing is that I am not in the best of moods. Still, the beach is long, and "walker" is possibly my number one middle name, so... Walking... If you ask me, that's my number one remedy, the "pill" that helps me deal with any "pain". No, scratch that, walking is only half of that "pill". Writing is the other half. It's weird... I feel that something has only happened until I write about it in my journal, even back home. It's the moment I write about it that it actually... becomes true, a fact, not something blare and hazy, but something specific, something real... Hm... Just noticed... Funny how both words in English begin with a W, which in Greek is the last letter of the alphabet, omega...

2pm
For some weird reason, I love this photo... Sure, the sky is gloomy, but it looks "alive", it has parts that are darker than other spots, even black, and in the centre you have this... flock of clouds that looks as if they are running to the right, with their "hair" floating behind their "heads" (no, I'm not high, I haven't put anything in my mouth after breakfast, or... maybe it's because of that). I am fascinated by cloudy skies, when they... tell me things, when they give me lots to look at, no matter if generally they are dark and "threatening", preparing everyone for a massive downpour. The only time I feel like taking my magic vacuum cleaner out, sweeping everything "up there", is when that... monotonous white/grey sheet covers everything... That's when I feel like a prisoner, hopelessly trying to escape from jail. Cops are all around, no way out, stay patient, time will pass, find something to distract you, don't try to fight something you can't win...

2:30
Yesterday I wrote that coconut trees are like Coca-Cola, they are great to have in any photo, same way a coke can be enjoyed with any type of food. On a second thought, coconut trees are better than cokes. Why? Because you can only really-really enjoy a coke when it's cold, if not icy. When it's no longer cold, it's unbearable... Coconut trees on the other hand, look great when the sky is all blue and clear, but they look fascinating when the sky is gloomy as well. Then again, maybe this is just me, maybe I see them this way because I am not used to seeing them in Greece. I am not impressed when I go to some ancient temple in my own country which is thousands of years old, possibly because I have had enough of them by now. Tourists, though, especially from countries with short history, say... the USA, look fascinated while staring at some... ancient stones, same way, I guess, I look at every single coconut tree I bump into...

3:30
I only took this picture because of the woman you can see on the left, standing next to that red cart, wearing a simple but cute dress. What you can't see in the picture, is that her husband is the owner of the cart, selling hot dogs, stuff like that... The picture, she, standing there, wearing that nice dress, standing straight up in a way that made her look really elegant and eye-catching, he, preparing hot dogs, wearing a funny t-shirt, looking older than what I bet he is, "small", skinny, it just... caught my attention. Made me think how these two people ended up being together, a family, with a little girl (the one you can see on the left). I don't mean to sound nasty, but she looks "out of place"... When you go to some place with old cars, cars that have been dumped by their owners because they no longer wanted them, you don't find a two months' "old" Porsche, it just makes you wonder... I don't know, it just made me think... Maybe it's because of the too many movies I have watched these 31 years of my life, but in my eyes she can be two persons: A, this very beautiful woman who fell in love with a not really good looking, or rich guy, "only" because she saw in him a heart of gold, or, B, this very beautiful woman who compromised with a life her parents, maybe, made her choose, while deep down she is still thinking about this other life she could be enjoying with another man, a more comfortable one, a more luxurious one... Only she knows which scenario is the right one. Maybe it's none of these, maybe it's some scenario C, D, E, Z...

3:40
Sun found a little hole through the clouds... I came to João Pessoa because it is a city (I have a thing for cities), a coastal one (big plus), and because it looked perfect as a stopover in between Natal and Recife. A few kilometers south, a small tip of land is the Americas' easternmost tip. This I knew, as I had, years ago, a Brazilian e-pal who used to live here, and had described her city in a way that made it sound really-really nice. We lost touch long ago, getting in touch with her after years, now, didn't feel like something I had... the right to do, but anyhow, my point is that different people see different things in the same place. I haven't spent much time here, but... you don't need to spend much time in a place to feel homey or not, don't you agree? I guess it works the same way it works with falling or not falling in love with people. You meet someone, and bang, you lose your mind, butterflies start jumping around your stomach as you are trying to play it cool and hide (why? Why indeed?...) how you feel. I've been to places I felt like "my kind of" places right from the moment I stepped foot there. João Pessoa is not one of those places... In my eyes it is the kind of place I want to leave as soon as possible, without this meaning that there is something wrong with the place itself. Of course not. As always and as in every love or "love" case, it is simply a matter of chemistry. Maybe timing as well...

4pm
My plan was to spend two days here, one along the coast, one downtown. No way... I am leaving tomorrow morning. I don't like... me, here, I don't like the way I feel here, which, I repeat, is not the city's fault, I am not criticising the city. In cases like this, I use to tell myself "make the most out of it". It's like going to the super market to buy a few things you have in mind, but you see that most of them are out of stock. What do you do? This is the only super market in your tiny town. You just grab whatever you can. Just because you can't prepare for lunch what you had in mind, doesn't mean that you need to starve. You won't make this dish you had been thinking about since last night, but you are still going to put something in your stomach, or else hunger will conquer you... I keep walking, and I take advantage of the... shy sun to take some more pictures. I need to do something to "save" a day which looks kind of... lost. I shouldn't be feeling this way, but we can't always control our feelings, can we? (Hardly ever, I'd say).

4:15
If you ask me, that's my João Pessoa highlight. A rainbow picture... In Rio de Janeiro I found a small fountain and the water/sun created a small rainbow. I took the camera out and greedily shot a photo. This is the real thing, and as an incurable rainbows' fanatic I must include this picture in my blog. That's not all, though... One of the best things about digital cameras is that you don't really need to worry about how many pictures you shoot. So...

4:15
...So why miss the chance to include these young boys and girls in another rainbow photo? The rest of the day is as uneventful as these last hours. I go back to my hostel for a dip in the pool (as I've written before, taking a dip in a pool is a must, even when the weather is not perfectly appropriate. You just have to, it's a rare opportunity you can't miss, a free bonus you must seize), and then I spend some time watching a football match on TV with a guy who works at the front desk. After that, it's time for another stroll, an early night one, and also time to try something local, which I fail to remember the name of. Maybe, after all, I should have found the nerves to get in touch with that old e-pal of mine who used to live here, no matter how weird it would have looked, dropping her a line after years... The way you see a place is hugely affected by the people you meet, and spending a little time with either locals or other travelers always enhances the whole travel experience, no?...
Anyhow, next destination, Olinda, just north of Recife. If this place is half as great as Lonely Planet describes it, I will find my paradise there...

Natal

Saturday, 16 June 2007

6:40am
Hm... If I was clever (or gutsy, or a tad adventurous, or more laid back, or, or, or... -I think you get the picture), I wouldn't have gone to bed early last night, or, rephrasing that, if I was all these things I just mentioned, I wouldn't have returned at all to my hostel last night(...). But, call me stupid, I did go to bed early, this is why it's only 6:40 but I am already up, taking pictures of... hammocks, little pools and doggies (as Al Bandy would say in "Married with Children" when he'd get really sorry about his life, "oh God", covering his face with his palms...).

7:20
Anyhow (which I use nine out of ten times instead of "anyway", and that's again because of Al Bandy in "Married with Children", my aaaaaaall time favourite TV show), my hostel's yard is "cute", breakfast is served, the weather is perfect, and generally speaking I'm in a great mood (which, actually, means pretty little, because I have an amazing talent in going from super happy to super sad in less time than what the 100 meters' world record man needs to cover an 100 meters' distance... I don't know the word in English to describe people like me, but I think that "mentally unstable" pretty much covers my type of people...).

8:15
I'm taking the bus from Ponta Negra to Natal, downtown Natal. Picture explanation: you have the bus stop's rooftop, you have Morro da Careca on the left (the sand dune, the trademark of Ponta Negra), you have the pavement, typical example of motif decorated pavements you can find everywhere in Brazil (and Portugal), you have the telecommunication tower on the right, and of course a palm tree, which, if you ask me, is like Coca-Cola, it goes with everything, it's nice to have one in any photo, same way coke can be enjoyed with any type of food... This is a typical example of my "journal photos", photos I take so as to capture in one picture a number of different things, helping me remember years later where I was that day I took the picture, and what I was doing/about to do. Is it important? Not really, but... long live digital cameras and 1GB memory cards!!

8:50
Ok, I know, don't do to others what you don't want others do to you, and for sure I wouldn't like someone taking pictures of me while I would be... eham... you know, doing this thing you see in the picture, but, give me a break, these are cats, they don't mind (right?). To be perfectly honest, I'm kind of lost. I got off the bus downtown Natal, started walking towards the direction I thought I needed to follow to reach the fort that stands at the northernmost tip of central Natal's beach, buuuuuut, "if there is one thing in the world I am good at, that's never losing my orientation" Dimitris, is actually far away from where he thought he'd be by now...

9:10
Not that getting a little lost is necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it's a great thing, I reckon. Here I am, walking around some neighbourhood with houses like these two in the photo, simple low income families living in this part of the city, while (take another look at the photo) in the back, a really tall building is being constructed. The people look at me with surprise, I'd say, as if they hardly ever see tourists with cameras in hand walking around this part of their city. I buy some water from a small shop, digging in my pockets for some change I leave my photo camera on the counter, and the lady running the little shop tells me "cuidado", pointing at the camera, "careful". She reminds me that I shouldn't be that carefree...

10am
I have finally found my way and I am close to the fort. Runners who have participated in some marathon are quenching their thirst, while some band is getting prepared to play some tune while the rewards will be given to those who finished first. Brazil to me looks like a country that is jogging-mad, I have seen people, hordes of people jogging early in the morning everywhere, starting from Salvador da Bahia and reaching this very morning, so I am anything but surprised to see so many participants around. Especially in Rio it was the first time I saw so many joggers with those "thingies" attached on their arms, counting their heart palms and everything, looking like people here are serious about jogging... Oh, not to mention how well dressed they are, meaning... wearing cool running shoes and everything...

10:20
Parents must love Natal's beach, because of these rocks on the left, that create natural pools. No kid can get dragged by the sea deep in... If you are an adult, you can only wet your feet up to your ankles, or just lie down under the sun, which too many do. That explains the cool tan even of people who look very... European, (white) skin colour-wise... A long stretch of sand is waiting for me to walk it... If I was a puppy and had a little tail, my tail would be going right-left like crrrrrazy right now. I am that excited!

11am
This is the... 100th time I see people playing football on the sand, here in Brazil. I do admire the skills of Brazilians, I admire their technique, but if you ask me, if I was a president of a football team and decided to invest in the south American "market", I would choose Argentineans over Brazilians for my team. Why? Because I think Brazilians are too... show off-ish, they go too far when it comes to showing off their skills, and they are not 101% committed to what is best for the team, more like to what is best for them. On the other hand, the average Argentinean player, the way I see things, is not that naturally talented (with numerous exceptions, of course), but they are much more team players, they don't mind doing lots of dirty job, unlike the majority of Brazilians, I reckon. Maybe deep down I'm jealous of Brazilians, this is why I find their showing off "too much", because I'm full of complexes and not really a "bigger" person... There are always at least two ways to... read the same line...

11:10
If I had to choose one beach as my favourite, among those few I have been to up to now in Brazil, this one would get my vote, for a good reason. Copacabana in Rio de Janeiro is cool, of course, but when I was there, it didn't look that lively, and besides, it's too wide, it's difficult to feel "warm" in a beach which needs thousands of people to stop feeling empty. Ipanema is narrow and perfect for people watching, but I felt that... something was missing, liveliness-wise. It felt too... I don't know how to describe it... too... "idle", not much movement around, not much loud talk, hardly any kid voices (which can be annoying, but personally I love them), something, something was missing... The rest of the beaches I saw in Northeastern Brazil were super, no doubt about that, but really, when it comes to liveliness, no beach can beat this one, which of course is only my totally subjective opinion after having spent very little time here. Feels like you are at... some Kingdom of carefreeness, liveliness and joy, and it doesn't feel "artificial", it feels 101% "natural", if I help you see what I mean...

12:10
Earlier I wrote something about the photos I call "journal" ones. Well, this photo belongs to the category I call "life is gooooood". You've just walked and walked and walked, you've reached the end of your walk itinerary, and you can sit and enjoy a great view with a cold beer on the table in front of you. You just lay back and enjoy it, you catch your breath feeling so content... I guess this is how a painter feels once he's finished a painting of his he has been working on non stop for hours and hours, or how a gambler in a Las Vegas casino feels at the end of a poker marathon which finds him with hundreds of dollars in his hands... I wouldn't be able to paint anything decent even if my life was depending on it, and I have no idea what "winning in poker" means, I just... walk and take pictures, and at the end of a long walk during which I have taken dozens of photos I liked, I have this silly sense of... completeness... (This photo is my laptop's wallpaper for more than three months now).

5pm
Back to Ponta Negra, back to the feet of Morro da Careca... I have this theory according to which the way people look at us, is only a mirror of our mood. I mean, I strongly believe that if we feel self-confident, cheerful, dynamic, even sexy, then people tend to "sense" it, and see in us the very same "qualities", let's say, and this is when nice things happen to us(...). Be moody, and most-most-most probably, people will "smell" it and put on you a "moody" tag. Feel happy, and people will only fill your day with even more happiness... It's like playing basketball, feeling your hand "hot", knowing, just knowing that you are going to score, no matter where you shoot from. The basket looks gigantic, not like a head of a needle, you just know that all you need to do to score, is shoot, and the ball will go in... Aaaaaah, if only all days/matches were like this...
Where did all this paragraph come from? Well, let's just say that these last hours I have... tasted the seeds of my perfect mood(...).

7pm
Can you believe that I am in Brazil for ten days now and I still haven't tried caipirinha? Well, it's never too late, even though this cart is not exactly the best place I could get a caipirinha... Who cares? I get one, after, note, I have already drank two-three beers, which is really-really-really not I. When I'm at home I never drink alcohol, and here... here I allowed myself to get tipsy, because the more alcohol I allowed down my lungs, the better I felt. No, I'm not drunk, I'm not that stupid to spoil a perfect day... It's just that people like me, too damn reserved I guess, need a little "push" sometimes to do things we wouldn't do under different circumstances. The key is to stay tipsy, not go further than that, and thankfully(?) I am sticking to "tipsy".

8:30pm
After having had a nice talk with a guy who wanted to take me to this place where I could have a tattoo shot (it's amazing what kind of conversations a Brazilian who speaks little English and a Greek who speaks English but hardly any Portuguese can have...), I slowly find my way back to my hostel. Right next to it, there is this little square, where a "forró" night is under way. Forró is a typical Brazilian type of music, damn popular in Northeastern Brazil. A lady in her 50s is dancing, while the rest of us are just watching, as the music plays. Gradually, more people start dancing. I don't see any tourists around. Even in my hostel I saw two, maybe, Europeans/Americans, while the guy I shared my dormitory with is a young Brazilian. I think we four are the only ones staying here at the moment. The poor guy is taking tomorrow a bus to Belo Horizonte(!!!!!) which is further away than... the end of the world, in my eyes. He showed me some card, with which he says he travels for free. He has a speech problem, and he only speaks Portuguese, so go figure what kind of a conversation we had earlier today...
Tomorrow morning I am taking a bus myself, but to nearby João Pessoa. I want to leave Natal for the same reason I wanted to leave Canoa Quebrada, even though I was/am having a fantastic time there/here. I want to leave now that my mind is full of many fond memories, I don't want to risk spoiling them by staying for a third day. The other day I wrote how a basketball, for example, player, should quit at the pinnacle of his career, while people still remember him as a great one, not as someone who retired a year too late, having his butt kicked again and again and again during his last season...

Canoa Quebrada - Natal

Friday, 15 June 2007

5:30am

I have a (very) early morning bus to Natal to catch. The Italian guy who is running this pousada proves me again that he is either really good in his "job", or just a really nice person. Come to think of it, maybe both. As he promised me last night, he has left bread, butter and marmalade on the table, he has also made coffee for me before going to sleep, left it in some of those bottles that keep coffee warm for hours. He didn't have to, breakfast "officially" is not served before 8. He earns himself and his pousada a place in my list of people/places I'll praise once I make it back home and I send my feedback to Lonely Planet...

3:20pm

Looking out of my window. I'm in Natal, or, to be more exact, in Ponta Negra, a coastal suburb south of Natal. What you can't see in the picture is that the sea is about 500 metres on the left, as well as that the room is really messy. The guy who let me in, said that last night four girls were here. He said girls are worse (actually better, in this case...) than guys when it comes to... turning a room upside down before checking out... I don't care about the mess, I like this place, the hostel (Albergue da Costa) and Natal itself. My first impressions are positive for a reason...

3:30

At the bus station, I needed someone to tell me which city bus I had to take to go to Ponta Negra. There is a tourist information desk at the bus station, and the piece of info I was looking for, was provided to me by a beautiful woman in her early 30s who not only answered my question with a smile on her face, but also showed interest in hearing my story, which country I come from, where I have already been in Brazil, what are my impressions up to now, so on, so on... Then, on the city bus to Ponta Negra, both the driver and the guy you pay for the ticket, were very friendly and in the end made sure to drop me off at the very stop I had asked them to, once again, with a smile on their face (at least the ticket guy).

3:45

There, I asked some taxi drivers which way my hostel was, and once again, friendly/helpful people assisted me, very willingly I must admit. Finally, I checked in my hostel and all three people I met at the front desk, guys and girl working here, made me feel right away like a member of a bunch of laid back young people. First impressions... How important they are, how decisive in making you like a place before you even take a shower and hit the road for your very first stroll around...

3:50

Natal is one of those places I had never heard before, until I bought my "Brazil" Lonely Planet and started coming up with itinerary ideas. "Sex tourism" is once again (as in Fortaleza's case) a pair of words I came across reading about Natal, which makes me feel a little awkward. I'm not here to have sex with a different prostitute every night, but seems like many Europeans and Americans who come here, come for this very reason, and this makes me feel that as I am walking along the coast, people look at me and say "there, another tourist who is here for cheap exotic sex". Soon, I start getting over this... "complex". The kind of people I see on the beach, anywhere around me, make me feel that things are not that bad, after all... Then again, it's only 4pm... What did I expect?...

4pm

Ponta Negra has a long and narrow stretch of sandy beach, backed by a small street, at the other side of which you have cafeterias, restaurants, travel agencies, bars, souvenir shops, and some hotels. One thing I notice is that people are different to Fortaleza's, meaning... their looks are different. In my city, Thessaloniki, it's easy to spot someone who is from... Georgia, for example (I'm talking about the ex Soviet Republic), be he Georgian or Greek who used to live in Georgia and came to Greece back in the 90s, along with many others from ex Soviet Republics and Albania. In Fortaleza I saw many faces that to me looked like faces of people who are grand-grand-grandchildren of the people who lived here before the Europeans came. In Natal I am under the impression that the vast majority of the people are either white or black. I shouldn't be surprised, this is a seriously big country after all, a real giant, it's not little Greece where we all look the same, race characteristics-wise...

4:10

I have Lonely Planet's "Travel Photography" (apparently I haven't learned anything from it...), and this picture goes against all rules of photography, I guess, but I like this kind of pictures, especially when clouds are involved. The reason I like these pictures is because they remind me how small we actually are... Remember "Antz", some animation movie? For two hours you watch a story being unfold in front of your eyes, a story full of happenings, events that are matters of life and death for the people, well... ants actually, who "star" in the movie, but in the end the camera zooms out, out, out, it leaves the hole in the ground where the story has taken place, it keeps zooming out, the camera "flies" high above New York's Central Park (if I'm not mistaken), and finally gets lost in the clouds, with earth looking so small as a head of a pin... We are small, and...

4:20

And I think that one of the biggest mistakes we humans make, is being under the false impression that we are actually the... centre of the universe, literally and metaphorically. We take everything too damn seriously, we make mountains out of molehills, we make big deals out of nothings (I know there is no such word as "nothings", but this is my blog, I violate the English language any way I want), failing to realize that in reality we are nothing more than a tiny piece of sand in an endless, literally endless, beach... Who do we think we are? Honestly... And I ask this question to myself first, because I'm no exception... I take such a picture and for a few seconds I bring me back to the ground, reminding me that I am not the centre of the universe, and then these seconds pass to history and slowly-slowly I let myself fall into the same trap again, giving my life or life on earth in general way bigger proportions than what they really deserve...

4:30

I've reached the end of the beach, I'm standing at the feet of Morro da Careca, this big sand dune you can see in the last pictures. If you go back to today's second picture and you "look" out of my window, you will see a tall thin communication "tower". The same "tower" can be seen in this photo, in the centre and sliiiiightly on the right. Gives you a rough idea where my hostel is. Once again, I have forgotten to eat... It's no wonder that every single time I travel alone I end up losing weight, having my mother telling me off when I finally find my way back to Thessaloniki, and I visit my parents for my first lunch after returning home. My pants are falling (not exaggerating), I make sure to keep all coins and of course the smaller of my two Olympus cameras in my day-pack and not in my pockets, because this only makes my pants fall more easily... At least I have money and I know that whenever I want, I can put something in my stomach...

5pm

Which is not the case for this tiny kittie... I see/hear it crying as I am going back to my hostel, its mother cannot be seen around, seems all alone, and... well, I do love animals, but I am not the kind of person who will go and feed the neighbourhood's stray dogs. But... seriously, look at it... It's so small and skinny, looks like it's all bones, no real fat, it's crying, and I may be mistaken but its eyes look seriously desperate. I stop a girl that is jogging, she doesn't speak English (surprise-surprise!! -not), so I am trying to construct a sentence in Portuguese including the words "where", "buy" and "milk". She points me at some direction, I pick up the kittie (which, needless to say, is shivering, out of fear I guess, even though I keep trying to cuddle it and make it feel safe), and to make a long story short, after failing to find milk in a bunch of places I went to (give me a break people!!! In Brazil you only sell powder milk?!!! What about normal milk?!!! Jesus!...), I finally shared my "salgados" (small snacks) with the kittie, before taking it back to the place where I had found it. I thought maybe its mother would appear at some point, or... I don't know. It's the only move that made sense to me.

7:50

After spending two days in anything but crowded Canoa Quebrada, the full of people promenade of Ponta Negra looks pleasantly refreshing... Everything has its time and its place, and being in this coastal suburb of Natal on a Friday night feels perfect. To be honest, I do notice something that makes me feel awkward, something I saw in Fortaleza as well. Fat/bald guys in their 40s/50s, skin all white, looking British, my guess is, are holding hands with gorgeous looking young girls who look locals(...). Nothing more to say on this one...

8:20

Another lonely stroll... I'm a member of hospitalityclub.org and couchsurfing.com, I could have arranged to meet with members living here, I could have even asked to be hosted, but I've chosen to be alone. These days I've been in Brazil I had a bunch of chances to hook up with other travelers, but... no, I... made sure to keep everyone at a distance. I even had chances to flirt, but I let them pass me by... I keep myself locked in the same golden cage I have trapped me back home as well. I don't have friends, I don't have a girlfriend for some months now, I try to see my parents as rarely as possible, in other words, I have no expectations from anyone and there is no one to have any expectations from me, I hurt no one and there is no one to get hurt by me, and... that's my "colourless paradise"...

9pm

These are thoughts I make almost every night here, in Brazil. During the day I am distracted by everything I see around, by the very fact that I am in Brazil, but every night, when I pull the brake and look back at everything that happened since the moment I opened my eyes in the morning, thoughts start jumping out of my head, and every night I... count how many moments would have been different if I was different. I'm not complaining, I'm not moaning, really, I am happy to be here, this is a dream coming true, but I feel that... I am driving a Ferrari, going only with 120km/h, while the road is totally empty. There is no speed limit, I am allowed to step on it and reach 200km/h, I have the car to reach such a speed, but... I stick to my 120km/h. It's as if I am hesitant to be TOO happy, as if I'm subconsciously punishing me for... for things I can only write in my notebook, and not in a blog which can be seen by anyone, no matter if this little counter thingy I have on the right says that hardly anyone reads my daily served bunch of mumblings...