*put up some pictures a few days ago*
There is an extraordinarily large spider in my bathroom right now. What better time to update you all on my life?
This past weekend, we spent northeast of Belém in São Francisco do Para, and Igarape-Açu. Departure: 0700 hours, thursday september 13th. Two loaded VW buses, fourteen students, two drivers, one Gustavo, three hours. Around 10 AM, we turned off the dirt road winding through cattle pasture onto a stretch of land that for lack of a better term I will call a road. On either side, dense tropical vegetation. Barely wide enough for the bus to drive, small streams and slight craters to drive over. Finally, a clearing opened up where the road made a left turn, however the buses did not. First stop.
Had the buses continued straight (rather than following the road to the left), they would have been swallowed whole by a lurking mass of the largest remaining intact tract of dense primary Brasilian rainforest in the state of Pará. Five minutes were allowed to adorn "forest gear" before entering the forest for our first taste of experiential learning. That morning was spent walking through the forest (Gustavo leading our expedition, machete in hand) chatting about the primary functions of a rainforest (biomass, water cycling, nutrient cycling, energy cycling). After class we had a few minutes to romp in the forest. Watched a few bugs, dodged some vines. Then, as if a light switch was flipped, rain. An intense tropical rainstorm.
That afternoon we drove to a nearby farm to learn, experientially, that it is hot in the Amazon. The lecture was on secondary succession on anthropogenically altered land (i.e. cleared for farming), but no one was listening with the midday sun beating down on our faces. Next stop: a mantioc farm. More growth than the last, more shade than the last. Last stop: 20 year old secondary growth forest. Very dense.
Friday the 14th. Earlry rise to drive to Igarape-Açu. There, we met up with a few members of EMBRAPA (a federal agricultural research agency), and continued to a farm on which they are conducting research. Out in the mantioc fields, we received a lecture from Mr. EMBRAPA about alternatives to slash and burn agriculture. He mainly spoke of a method termed "chopping and mulching." Interesting. After the lecture, we were lucky enough to see the CHOPINATOR (I dont think that is the machine's actual name. Could be) in action. Basically, imagine a tractor pushing a giant version of that toy that babies use to learn to walk, the one where the balls pop inside that little bubble of joy, except a million times bigger, and with 75 lengths of chain rotating at 500 rpm. That bad boy can take out any tree up to 20 cm in diameter. Snap. This truly was a sight to behold. Tough to watch, yet massively entertaining. After sweeping away 100 meters of 15 year old successional forest, the CHOPINATOR turned around to chop its way back to the side from which it started. Nearly back to it's starting point, with trees being crushed under its weight, the crushing stopped. Driver hops out, walks around to the "mouth," and reaches in. What he pulls out is none other than a large gray sloth, sporting adorable olive eyes and cotton ears, with a baby clutching desperately to his mother's chest. The driver nonchalantly drops the stuffed animals off in a neighboring section of the forest, climbs back in the machine, and finishes the job.
The afternoon was spent at two farms, which practice different alternatives to slash and burn. Basically, polyculture with various plants and no animals. Fairly interesting, extremely hot.
That night was spent playing soccer in São Francisco with a slew of 8-12 year old Brasilian boys. The perfect skill level for me.
Saturday: Mini ISP day. Split into groups, provided with vague topics, and set free into the forest, the day was ours. A great day it was. My group and I were to investigate forest gaps in the context of biodiversity. Piece of cake. The morning was spent tromping through the forest. Straight-up bushwacking. Nothing resembling a trail could be found... only the path sought out by some subconscious energy that tells you where to put your feet next, which is the best tree to duck. Walking in the forest is a truly incredible feeling, state of being. It is invigorating to be in the presence of such abundant life. Striding on the decomposing leaves, I might well have been shuffling through shallow puddles, with every step came a flurry of movement. Insects fleeing the destructive intent of my boot, settling back into the puddle of the forest floor too quickly for my eye to catch any singluar camouflaged figure.
Lunch. Afternoon spent carrying out the experiment that was designed in the morning. Nothing very exciting - testing if there is a correlation between leaf size and gap areas. There is. Leaves are bigger in gaps. Hooray.
Back in Belém on Saturday night. Uneventful weekend. Monday was a hell of a day. One of the worst in a while. Started out with a building pain in my ear. I had felt the presence of something for a few days...probably wax, maybe bugs. The pain led me to believe bugs. After lunch, I rode with Cleo (driver) to drop all of my peers at the site of our afternoon lecture. Drove back into the city. Passed school. Turned around. Back to school to pick up two stragglers that missed the bus. Back to lecture site. Back in to city. Finally met Gaby (the office manager/program assistant) at the ear doctor's office. 2:30 PM. Gaby tells me the doctor doesn't get back from lunch until 3:30, but its good to get there early to be the first patient. We are fifth. Good thing I have my book.
Half an hour, hour, hour and a half pass. Doctor hasn't shown yet. Four thirty, doctor shows. Slowly, the five patients preceeding myself are called in. Finally. In the office, the doctor has to enter all of my information into the computer. No office assistants here. Turns out it's just wax in there. Good news. Bad news: it is dry, he can't extract it. Good news: i can just buy one of those blue turkey baster-deals and blast that devil spawn out my ear in no time. False. Not available to civilians in Brazil. One stupid piece of plastic and some warm water that will cause me a world of trouble. All it takes is one week of drops to soften the hunk-o-wax, then I will return to the doctor. BUT, we will be in Manaus (a two hour plane ride away) for the next two weeks.
"Shit."
All that trouble for a damn candle. Don't know yet what will happen, if SIT will pay for my plane tickets, might go ahead and do it. If not...probably won't spend the money. Finally get out of the doctors office at 6:30. Bus home, make myself some dinner. Potatos and lentils are boiling away on the stove. A quick search around the kitchen reveals some savagely tasty-looking canned corn in the cupboard. I find what I'm nearly positive is a can opener, yet looks more like a quarter squished by a passing train with a triangle-shaped piece jutting out perpendicular to the rest. It was not easy going, but the top was almost free of the can's grasp. Then it happened. One momentary lapse of friction, my left hand (holding the opener) raced past the can held firm in my other. However, my wrist was not so lucky as to escape the wrath of the jagged can top. A knife slicing through frosting. In that split second of disbelief, a long, thin window opened into the mystery of the human wrist. From a half inch above the wrist on the distal side of the palm, two and a half inches diagonally down to the proximal side below the wrist, that lovely elixir of life began to flow. Heed my words: the blood did not spurt, spray, or explode out, which is a good sign. This, however is not what I was thinking at the moment. After a few moments of panicked thinking of getting it clean, severing something important...even vital, going back to the doctor's office, I ran the wound under water, cleaned it well, and applied plenty of pressure. A whole lot of pacing, and more paper towels calmed me down a bit. The blood slowed. I got out my first aid kit. Sufficiently clean, antibacterialized, gauze and tape application complete. Still shaken, but proud of my doctor skills, I sat down and scooped out some dinner made with my own blood, sweat and metaphorical tears.
For those of you who will (most likely) worry your pants off about my latest endeavour into the world of accidents (where I am a fairly established member...), my cut is fine. I took very good care, and it is now healing very nicely without a sign of an infection.
Peace.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Andrew:1 ; Brazil: 0
It is very tough to put into a few words what my life has been like these past few days.
Portuguese, while structurally is similar to Spanish...is nothing like Spanish. It is pretty hot here, although not too humid. Currently it is the "less humid" of the two seasons (the other, of course is the "more humid" season). There are 13 other students on the trip, and they are all interesting people and fun to hang out with. I know it has only been a bit more than a week, but I think it says something that I do not want to kill any of them yet. We spent 6 days on Gustavo's sitio (little farm). We slept in hammocks, had cooks prepare our meals, and went through all the boring and important orientation material and lectures. The sitio was about an hours drive from the airport, and only 45 minutes from the place where we hold classes in Belém.
The trip down to Brazil and the following day was one of the more confusing and interesting of my life. There were several stages to it, each a little more unknown and unfamiliar. The lone flight to Miami, the 5 hour layover there with 13 strangers that I would be spending the next 3 and a half months with, the 6 hour flight to Manaus, the 3 hour flight to Belém (which arrived at 4:30 am local time). We then piled into the two large white VW Buses (which served as our transportation throughout the orientation period). and drove to the sitio. The day (or several days) seemed to flow without any sense of time or space. It was quite odd.
Two days (and one Portugues class) later, we had what they called "Drop Off Day." This involved driving two hours northeast to a peninsula that faces the Atlantic Ocean and dropping each student off on his or her own in an unfamiliar town/place with a specific task. I was dropped on a riverbank and told to take a ferry across the river, and talk to people to find out about the fishing scene in town.
"Shit."
Armed with 5 Real (the currency, translates to about $2 and some change) and my phrasebook, I found my way across the river. Walking down the long dock towards town, I repeated the phrases I remembered from our worksheet of initial interactions
"Oi! licença" (excuse me), and "Vocé pode me ajudar" (can you help me?). Too nervous to initiate conversation with anyone, I took a stroll down the street as nonchalantly as possible, surveying the town. One dirt road, a few people walking, and a few hanging out in front of their houses.
I sat on the steps of a deserted house and gathered the courage to ask a man my questions. When I opened my mouth, something resembling POrtuguese came out. Words slightly shaking, and my toungue and lips fumbling over each other, I talked to a stone faced Brasilian. Sensing his desire to help me as nonexistent, I asked if he had time to help me. Promptly, he answered "Não" and walked away.
Crushed, I sat on the steps once again. Precisely 22 of my allotted 150 minutes had elapsed.
"Shit."
Ready to try again, I seeked outa man and two women carving spoons on their front steps. I gave them my shpiel, and one of the women smiled. To follow the smile, she retreated into the house, at which time the other woman smiled and said something to me in a patronizing tone. She left too. Mr. Spooncarver and I stood in silence. After a nice, long period of no words I slowly and quietly walked away.
After a few more failed interactions, I struck up a conversation (if it can be called that) with a resting fisherman on the dock. When all was said and done, it helped me out.
The next day we went on an excursion to a section of the largest mangrove area in the world. Here Gustavo gave us a short lecture while standing in knee deep mud, which smells of delicious sulfur. The boat guide taught me how to catch crabs, as well. Basically, you locate a hole the size of a baseball, jam your hand into it (usually your arm will go in all the way to the shoulder) and grab the crab before it has time to burrow deeper once it senses your presence. It took many tries (one in which I finally got my fingers on the crab, but in my excitement I pulled to soon and came up with a handful of legs. Dont tell Gustavo.
There are so many other exciting and interesting things that have been going on here... unfortunately it is impossible to both type and convey them all. However, there is one more...ocurrence which was quite interesting indeed I feel fit to share.
Yesterday 6 of my friends and I went to exchange our travelers checks and cash for Real. I brought 200 USD, figuring the exchange rate to be about 3:1. Having to register with the police is going to set me back R190, I figured this would leave me sufficient funds for whatever I needed them for. It turned out that the rate they were going to give us was 1.6:1 for travelers checks, and 1.8:1 for cash. I was going to get much less spending money than I thought. In addition to my checks, I had some cash to exchange for a friend. I went to the window, went through the motions (twice, once for the checks, once for the cash)got my two receipts and sat down to wait for my money to arrive. Investigating the receipts I got, Becca gave me $169 cash and would get R345, whereas I had 200 in checks and would get R320.
Finally, a dumpy Brasilian man waddled out of the door leading to the money pile and headed my way. He plopped the two wads in front of my.
"Obrigado" I said, yet he remained hovering over my shoulder. I chanced another glance at his eyes, hoping an unspoken agreement would be confirmed that he could now leave me alone. He did not.
"Obrigado," I mumbled again. No response. Realizing that he was waiting for me to count my money, I cursed him. How did he know I was too lazy to count, and would just trust them to give me the right amount. So I counted.
My wad first: 50, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300........320....340...400....500....600! My heart and mind raced. Perhaps he had put both mine and Beccas wads together. Then what was the second delicious heap of Real next to my other hand?
Another glance at dumpy McGee to see whether this was some kind of moral or ethical test, and he was staring blankly at the wall, arms folded gently atop his belly. What if the Brasilian government set this up? What if they need to meet a quota of gringo arrests and organized this simple, yet diabolical scheme to nail me and throw me in the slammer with the other "innocent" tourists?
"Calm down, Andrew," my generally nonexistentvoice of reason said. "Count the other wad." And I did.
My careful and hurried addition yielded exactly R345.80, the very same numbers printed on the receipt.
"Yes."
I tidied the two piles of Real that had been mildly scattered by my hands, quivering with suppressed excitement.
"Tudo bem," I acknowledged to my portly watchman. He gave me a slight nod, yet remained standing in his position. His gaze returned to the wall.
"Shit."
After a very momentary silent and internal spaz attack in which I offered the watchman the rubber band that came wrapped around the bills to see if he would go away. I realized he was just chillin'. Havent we all enjoyed that moment in our lives, when we enjoy a moment to ourselves beyond the sight of our bosses.
Big Boy was merely enjoying this moment, and as I realized, I relaxed. Now to play it cool.
We had to wait for the rest of the people to exchange money, which took a while. Finally, after years of small talk and table football we got up to leave. A glance towards the door yielded my final obstacle: a guard at the door letting people out through the anti-theft chamber. I know, it sounds intense...and it is. One quarter of a revolving door, in which the door only opens in one direction ensures that only one person can pass at a time. Waiting for the guard's eyes to light up upon smelling my extra cash, I passed through the door.
Finally, in the safety of the Volkswagen did I: 1. tell my friends what happened, and 2. carefully and with the help of the seven others recount my money and make sure that I had, indeed successfully allowed Brasil to give me a gift of R300.
Andrew
Portuguese, while structurally is similar to Spanish...is nothing like Spanish. It is pretty hot here, although not too humid. Currently it is the "less humid" of the two seasons (the other, of course is the "more humid" season). There are 13 other students on the trip, and they are all interesting people and fun to hang out with. I know it has only been a bit more than a week, but I think it says something that I do not want to kill any of them yet. We spent 6 days on Gustavo's sitio (little farm). We slept in hammocks, had cooks prepare our meals, and went through all the boring and important orientation material and lectures. The sitio was about an hours drive from the airport, and only 45 minutes from the place where we hold classes in Belém.
The trip down to Brazil and the following day was one of the more confusing and interesting of my life. There were several stages to it, each a little more unknown and unfamiliar. The lone flight to Miami, the 5 hour layover there with 13 strangers that I would be spending the next 3 and a half months with, the 6 hour flight to Manaus, the 3 hour flight to Belém (which arrived at 4:30 am local time). We then piled into the two large white VW Buses (which served as our transportation throughout the orientation period). and drove to the sitio. The day (or several days) seemed to flow without any sense of time or space. It was quite odd.
Two days (and one Portugues class) later, we had what they called "Drop Off Day." This involved driving two hours northeast to a peninsula that faces the Atlantic Ocean and dropping each student off on his or her own in an unfamiliar town/place with a specific task. I was dropped on a riverbank and told to take a ferry across the river, and talk to people to find out about the fishing scene in town.
"Shit."
Armed with 5 Real (the currency, translates to about $2 and some change) and my phrasebook, I found my way across the river. Walking down the long dock towards town, I repeated the phrases I remembered from our worksheet of initial interactions
"Oi! licença" (excuse me), and "Vocé pode me ajudar" (can you help me?). Too nervous to initiate conversation with anyone, I took a stroll down the street as nonchalantly as possible, surveying the town. One dirt road, a few people walking, and a few hanging out in front of their houses.
I sat on the steps of a deserted house and gathered the courage to ask a man my questions. When I opened my mouth, something resembling POrtuguese came out. Words slightly shaking, and my toungue and lips fumbling over each other, I talked to a stone faced Brasilian. Sensing his desire to help me as nonexistent, I asked if he had time to help me. Promptly, he answered "Não" and walked away.
Crushed, I sat on the steps once again. Precisely 22 of my allotted 150 minutes had elapsed.
"Shit."
Ready to try again, I seeked outa man and two women carving spoons on their front steps. I gave them my shpiel, and one of the women smiled. To follow the smile, she retreated into the house, at which time the other woman smiled and said something to me in a patronizing tone. She left too. Mr. Spooncarver and I stood in silence. After a nice, long period of no words I slowly and quietly walked away.
After a few more failed interactions, I struck up a conversation (if it can be called that) with a resting fisherman on the dock. When all was said and done, it helped me out.
The next day we went on an excursion to a section of the largest mangrove area in the world. Here Gustavo gave us a short lecture while standing in knee deep mud, which smells of delicious sulfur. The boat guide taught me how to catch crabs, as well. Basically, you locate a hole the size of a baseball, jam your hand into it (usually your arm will go in all the way to the shoulder) and grab the crab before it has time to burrow deeper once it senses your presence. It took many tries (one in which I finally got my fingers on the crab, but in my excitement I pulled to soon and came up with a handful of legs. Dont tell Gustavo.
There are so many other exciting and interesting things that have been going on here... unfortunately it is impossible to both type and convey them all. However, there is one more...ocurrence which was quite interesting indeed I feel fit to share.
Yesterday 6 of my friends and I went to exchange our travelers checks and cash for Real. I brought 200 USD, figuring the exchange rate to be about 3:1. Having to register with the police is going to set me back R190, I figured this would leave me sufficient funds for whatever I needed them for. It turned out that the rate they were going to give us was 1.6:1 for travelers checks, and 1.8:1 for cash. I was going to get much less spending money than I thought. In addition to my checks, I had some cash to exchange for a friend. I went to the window, went through the motions (twice, once for the checks, once for the cash)got my two receipts and sat down to wait for my money to arrive. Investigating the receipts I got, Becca gave me $169 cash and would get R345, whereas I had 200 in checks and would get R320.
Finally, a dumpy Brasilian man waddled out of the door leading to the money pile and headed my way. He plopped the two wads in front of my.
"Obrigado" I said, yet he remained hovering over my shoulder. I chanced another glance at his eyes, hoping an unspoken agreement would be confirmed that he could now leave me alone. He did not.
"Obrigado," I mumbled again. No response. Realizing that he was waiting for me to count my money, I cursed him. How did he know I was too lazy to count, and would just trust them to give me the right amount. So I counted.
My wad first: 50, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300........320....340...400....500....600! My heart and mind raced. Perhaps he had put both mine and Beccas wads together. Then what was the second delicious heap of Real next to my other hand?
Another glance at dumpy McGee to see whether this was some kind of moral or ethical test, and he was staring blankly at the wall, arms folded gently atop his belly. What if the Brasilian government set this up? What if they need to meet a quota of gringo arrests and organized this simple, yet diabolical scheme to nail me and throw me in the slammer with the other "innocent" tourists?
"Calm down, Andrew," my generally nonexistentvoice of reason said. "Count the other wad." And I did.
My careful and hurried addition yielded exactly R345.80, the very same numbers printed on the receipt.
"Yes."
I tidied the two piles of Real that had been mildly scattered by my hands, quivering with suppressed excitement.
"Tudo bem," I acknowledged to my portly watchman. He gave me a slight nod, yet remained standing in his position. His gaze returned to the wall.
"Shit."
After a very momentary silent and internal spaz attack in which I offered the watchman the rubber band that came wrapped around the bills to see if he would go away. I realized he was just chillin'. Havent we all enjoyed that moment in our lives, when we enjoy a moment to ourselves beyond the sight of our bosses.
Big Boy was merely enjoying this moment, and as I realized, I relaxed. Now to play it cool.
We had to wait for the rest of the people to exchange money, which took a while. Finally, after years of small talk and table football we got up to leave. A glance towards the door yielded my final obstacle: a guard at the door letting people out through the anti-theft chamber. I know, it sounds intense...and it is. One quarter of a revolving door, in which the door only opens in one direction ensures that only one person can pass at a time. Waiting for the guard's eyes to light up upon smelling my extra cash, I passed through the door.
Finally, in the safety of the Volkswagen did I: 1. tell my friends what happened, and 2. carefully and with the help of the seven others recount my money and make sure that I had, indeed successfully allowed Brasil to give me a gift of R300.
Andrew
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