When I was 16 I went to Brazil with my sister, M, who was studying the harp. It was a hard trip. We were both young, with long blonde hair and not very much savvy about S. American men. Everywhere we went we were hassled, groped, and rubbed upon. On the busses we attracted "crotch men." I won't go into the details; suffice it to say they were standing and we were sitting and it was an experience for everyone.
Two low points to our trip:
Fortaleza. My 17th birthday celebrated with a birthday bun afire with wooden toothpicks. The next day, we got so sick that one or the other of us were always in the bathroom. This was our first room in 6 weeks with a private bath. Good, good timing. We had Dengue fever. I thought we were going to die. I refused to get up, sending M for sandwiches and water. She didn't forgive me for days. Happy birthday.
Three weeks later. Late August/early September. We arrive in a surreal sand-dune seaside town of Canoa Quebrada in north Brazil. It is a popular hangout for travellers, and we installed ourselves in a tiny pensionne in a row of houses on the sand. We stayed out late and drank Cashasa and lime juice, which is mostly illegal in the U.S. On the second day we rented horses and rode along the beach. They were small horses, more like dogs, really, so the ride was not the easy slo-mo lope you see in the commercials for female hygeine products. In fact, it was downright uncomfortable, like sitting on top of a manic burro or straddling a spastic 2x4.
The next day, we began to vomit. Out the front window. People stopped to watch the white women barf. We lay on the floor in our sleeping bags. A mouse fell from the thatched roof onto my leg. My left quadracept muscle began to go numb, thanks to the riding. I shuffled to the bathroom. You want to go to the bathroom during the day, not at night. Because there are bugs. Big bugs. And a cistern. It looks something like this.
Going to the Bathroom at Night
You light the wick on your propane lamp. Get up. Check your shoes. Shield your eyes from the light and walk into the kitchen/living room/dining area. Don't look. Give everything a few minutes to skitter out of your way - mice, rats, cockroaches the size of puppies. (I exaggerate, but not much.) Snakes. Small ones. When the coast is clear you cross to the bathroom. There is no running water; there is a cistern made of cement blocks and it's covered with green moss/slime. Use the toilet. It has no seat. Fill a plastic dipper with water and pour it into the toilet to flush. Sluice water over your hands, soap, and rinse, onto the floor, where it drains away. It's a pretty good system, really.
In front of you, the propane lamp is lighting up the wall behind the cistern. Above the mostly clear water, the wall is moist, green, and full of tiny nooks and crannies -- thousands of them. Out of each protrudes a set of antennae, like the teasing antlers of a thousand tiny reindeer. They are waving at the light; the entire wall is moving. Even better, this insectoid salute is mirrored in the surface of the water, doubling the impact. Brazil was full of pests.
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