An Overview: Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina

I met Nate four years ago, back when he had a job-type-job and lived nearby. Two years ago, Nate downsized his life, quit his job, and started traveling. He eventually ended up working in Mexico City, where he met Charlene, a recent Brazilian transplant. In January 2009, Charlene, (nicknamed Chu, which sounds like "shu"), moved back to Brazil to help take care of her sick father. Nate was already making plans to leave Mexico, and so he followed her. The timing was finally right for Nate and I to travel together, so I followed Nate to Brazil.

Nate and I traveled together for one month. I met Nate and Chu in Sao Paulo and the three of us headed south along the the Brazilian coast. Chu then returned to her family while Nate and I dipped into Uruguay and Beunos Aires before quickly looping back.

I hope you keep reading, but if you just want to check out my pictures, it's cool. They are here.

I decided against keeping a travel blog while I was there. Given the short length of the trip and the lack of downtime, I limited my time on the computer and tried to keep a short written journal. I like writing about my travels, but writing an account post-trip lacks the urgency I normally feel to capture the chronological details of where I've been and what I've been doing. The truth is, I don't have any great travel stories, or any special insight to the places I've been. I've given some thought to the process of travel and have recounted a few episodes, just for the hell of it. But first, an overview:

Brazil is a wonderful country. In addition to beautiful land and warm weather, the people are friendly, happy and patriotic. Feel-good music permeates daily life and grilled meat is a dietary staple, all good things. Economically, Brazil dominates South America and the quality of life is relatively high. Despite the characteristics and richness in culture that makes Brazil a pleasant place to be, it can be a tough nut to crack for the backpacker. It's a sentiment that I kept coming across as I talked with other travelers.



South America has a lot of well-worn backpacking routes and Brazil seems to interrupt this South American experience in a number of different ways. Portuguese, which is phonetically complex, is a difficult shift for travelers who have been relying on rudimentary Spanish. Also distinguishing Brazil from its South American neighbors are its size, economy, and ethnic background. Brazil is the largest and the most expensive Latin American country with a racially mixed, immigrant population.

Brazil is big, really big, bigger than the Continental United States, and everything feels like it's far apart. The large distance between one point of interest an another kept giving me the conflicting feeling that I was simultaneously missing a whole lot in between and legitimately skipping over a whole lot of nothing. Or perhaps it is just a psychological hurdle that makes me feel that no matter how much I see, I am missing an infinite amount more.

Brazil's long coastline and fertile ground made it a magnet for European settlers and their African slaves. The racial diversity is so great that virtually any North American could pass as Brazilian. It was the first time I've been to a country where people consistently assumed I was a native, which kept throwing me off. Skin color aside, it's usually pretty easy to pick out someone from another continent by the clothes they wear or the accessories they carry. Small things, like an unfamiliar logo, are adequate indicators. I've managed to put together a completely forgettable, non-descript wardrobe of black t-shirts, which perhaps contributed to the confusion. I was actually thinking about this while I waited to board my flight back home. I was sitting next to a friendly mom whose toddler kept reaching out to me in an effort to play. I was happy to entertain the little girl and the mother was all smiles. When boarding started, I pulled out my ticket, which was inside my passport. The mother saw it and said, "Ah, you're American, that's why you're not talking. My daughter is also American, her dad lives in Florida." I was a little surprised, even while waiting to board a flight to the U.S., I apparently gave this woman the impression that I might be Brazilian. I mention all of this because it has the combined effect of making Brazil a little less accessible to the outsider, at least in the immediate sort of way. Blending in has its advantages in certain situations, but sticking out like a sore thumb offers more of an invitation for help, advice, curiosity and hospitality.


Tourism is certainly a key component in the economy, but the bulk of tourism dollars are not coming from budget backpackers. As money gets dumped into resorts and travel packages, a separation between cultures starts to occur, and the backpacker is left in between. Like many emerging countries, there is great inequity between the upper and lower economic classes, but Brazil is experiencing a relative boom in the middle class. I think the backpacker notices this (again, compared to other South American countries) as there is more of a class divide between those who use public transportation and those who don't, those who are independent and those who are not.

As I write this, I realize that it sounds as if I'm complaining that Brazil isn't 3rd world enough to be good for backpacking. This isn't the case. I believe that this notion of showing up to a country and wanting to discover something about it is dependent on both the country and the traveler having a certain level of accessibility. My inability to speak Portuguese coupled with my apparent ease at looking Brazilian did not make me very accessible. This was also likely compounded by my travel companions, Chu and Nate, who consistently spoke Spanish and Portuguese unless they were talking to me. It would be easy for someone to hear Nate and Chu speaking and assume that I also spoke Portuguese. Traveling with Nate and Chu also shielded me from a lot of direct interaction with people, whether it be the guy selling bus tickets, the woman selling empanadas, or the taxi driver.

Traveling with people who have significantly better communication skills is a double-edged sword. Getting needed information, or good advice, is much easier than simply relying on the few natives who have bothered to learn my native English. In the past, this reliance has put me in uncomfortable positions and effectively limits the number of people I can converse with. On the the flip side, standing next to someone while they do all of the legwork in complete fluency put me on the outside of the experience. It's natural for a travel companion who speaks the native language to do most of the talking but I couldn't help feeling like I was missing something as Chu got directions from the bus terminal or a restaurant recommendation from a passerby. At one point, the three of us were at the bus station and I was standing with my pack waiting for Nate to finish a phone call so we could board the bus. The plans had been slightly altered and after some confusion we finally boarded. When Nate sat down he said, "You know, I just realized that there are large spans of time where you have no idea what's going on." Plans were being made and re-made in another language, and I was just tagging along.

One avenue of accessibility that is opening up not just in Brazil, but all over the world, is couch surfing. Nate turned me on to couch surfing (CS) last year. It's a community web site, kind of like Facebook for travelers. Its basic functionality is to coordinate people who need a place to sleep, and people who can offer a place to sleep. Its greater purpose is to bring people of different backgrounds together, open up the inside track for tourists and allow people on a tight budget to travel for longer periods of time.

Its formal mission statement: Participate in Creating a Better World, One Couch at a Time

"CouchSurfing seeks to internationally network people and places, create educational exchanges, raise collective consciousness, spread tolerance and facilitate cultural understanding. As a community we strive to do our individual and collective parts to create a better world, and we believe that the surfing of couches is a means to accomplish this goal. CouchSurfing is not about the furniture, not just about finding free accommodations around the world; it's about making connections worldwide. We make the world a better place by opening our homes, our hearts, and our lives. We open our minds and welcome the knowledge that cultural exchange makes available. We create deep and meaningful connections that cross oceans, continents and cultures. CouchSurfing wants to change not only the way we travel, but how we relate to the world!"

If Couch Surfing sounds implausible, consider the current statitics: 1.1 million members representing 232 countries, 800 thousand available couches, and 2.1 million positive experiences, which represents 99.809% of all member experiences.

In addition to hosting and being hosted, many cities have active CS groups who organize social events with open invitations. In Uruguay and Buenos Aires, CS communities have weekly meet-ups at local bars, which was a great avenue to meet some friendly locals. Our stay in Montevideo (Uruguay) was almost cut short because of shortage of hotels and hostels, which were booked up by conference attendees. Nate and I went to a CS meet-up, and when a fellow surfer heard our plight, he offered us a place to stay right on the spot. At the end of my trip, I arrived in Sao Paulo, alone, the day before my flight home. I had flown in from the Argentinian border and had contemplated getting a hotel near the airport, which was an expensive ride from the center of the city. Had it not been for CS, I probably would have had a uneventful night in a crummy hotel. Instead, I had an incredibly fun night of good conversation, friendly people, and a nice home to sleep in. In the morning my host took me to her favorite place for breakfast before seeing me off to the airport. CS has the power to really change the landscape of travel, and I'm excited to take advantage of it as a surfer and as a host.




When I think about what makes Couch Surfing a powerful organization, it is that people are optimistic about the unknown. It reminds me of something Paul Theroux wrote:

“A traveler has no power, no influence, and no identity. That is why a traveler needs optimism and heart, because without confidence travel is misery. Generally the traveler is anonymous, ignorant, easy to deceive, at the mercy of the people he or she travels among."

Couch Surfers seem to understand and embrace this idea. They also seem to understand the value in traveling alone and the affect that has on your interactions with other people, which is sometimes hard to explain. I like what Jonathan Raban had to say about traveling alone verses traveling with a companion:

"Whereas traveling alone, everything happens. And also traveling alone puts you in this position where you will do almost anything to make contact with other people. My experience of traveling with somebody else is that you just hang around with them. Half the point of traveling alone is that you get so lonely you need to talk to other people. And so you find yourself hanging around late at night in bars talking with strangers, which you'd never want to do. It would seem an insane thing to be doing."

Perhaps this sense of optimism is amplified by the cross-cultural aspect of CS. It's easier to be more forgiving, more open-minded, more grateful when you're reaching across a cultural divide. Pico Iyer said it well:

"When walking down the street in Damascus or Ascunsion, I would find everyone interesting, and I would want to hear every story around because I wouldn't be walled in by the illusion that I know them. In Santa Barbara, I tell myself that I know something about a stranger's circumstances and can read something of them - which is, I think, an illusion."

Nate is actually the person who introduced me to couch surfing. He surfed a fair amount during his travels, and hosted many, many people while living in Mexico City. I'm grateful for his insight into travel and we share many ideals. In preparing for the trip, Nate and I were talking over Skype and he was checking out my CS profile. He started laughing at what I had written:

"It seems people have either too much time and not enough money, or too much money and not enough time. It's a tragedy."

I asked why he thought that was funny. He directed me towards his own CS profile, which read:

"Current Mission: "Change the inequity of time vs money and gain wealth in life experiences"

So we are kindred spirits, but not without our disagreements. It's funny how our different travel experiences have shaped our philosophies. He has traveled mostly in Latin America, speaking the native language, and without the burden of a return ticket home. I've traveled mostly to countries where the native language is largely inaccessible and have always had a return date scheduled in advance.

Nate has a rule: When he feels like he's exhausted the value of staying in one place, he stays one more day. He swears by this and claims that certain towns have ways of redeeming themselves. I don't doubt that this has paid off for him, but I've always enjoyed the freedom of arriving at a place, sizing it up, and deciding to just keep moving. These decisions of whether to stay or go are a gamble on time, which has always been a commodity for me.

Nate and I were talking about these around-the-world-trip tickets, which are gaining popularity these days. It's basically a package of airline tickets where you pick a few points around the globe and make your way from continent to continent, all for one low price. To me, it sounds like a good way to gamble your time. Nate disagrees. Every time he meets a traveler on one of these trips, they sound miserable, just comparing one place to the next. The conversation inevitably turns to, "Oh country X had better monuments/ruins/museums than country Y, but country Y had better beaches/food/mountains." Of course the people telling Nate all of this don't see their experiences as negative, but Nate is never impressed. Nate wants to travel slow, and when he doesn't like a place, he wants to stay there and talk to everyone he meets. I love him for it.

The Value of Coke

I have a distinct memory of walking around the dusty streets of Narok, a small Kenyan city, full of strewn garbage and crumbling concrete. The sky was clear, the air was hot and dry. People eyed me with suspicion. I was uncomfortable, physically and mentally. I bought a bottle of Coke from the corner store. The refrigerator rattled away, but barely managed to chill the stained bottles. I remember the Coke was delicious and it tasted like home.

I was thinking about that experience my first day in Brazil. Nate, Chu and I had been walking the hilly streets of Sao Paulo in the sweaty mid-day heat. My body felt a little out of sorts, partly from the new environment and partly from restless night I spent on the plane. I was hot, thirsty, and tired, so when Chu suggested that we stop for a Coke, I didn't waste time locating the nearest cafe. I shared my sentiments: "Coke is one of the most comforting drinks in the world. You can find it in any country."

Nate, always opinionated an unapologetic, incites arguments without hesitation. He tells people what they don't want to hear. I think most people really love this about him. It's a beautiful thing to watch him cut through the extraneous information of an argument and spell out the heart of an issue. I had been in Brazil for no less than four hours and he was already kicking off an argument that would continue for the rest of my trip.

Brazil has a kind of national soft drink called Guarana, which is named after the Amazonian berry that gives it its sweet, citrus flavor. It's loaded with caffeine and is very popular. Nate immediately pointed out that my nostalgia for Coke was preventing me from trying a more superior beverage, and I should be ashamed of myself for supporting a large multi-national conglomerate which not only exploits resources and people, but literally destroys every culture it touches. It was all a bit dramatic.

I was a little surprised at his tone. I was pretty sure that it was Chu, not me, who had suggested that we get a Coke. That was the word she used, "Coke", not "Guarana", not "something cold to drink", she said "Coke". We quibbled back and forth. I was said that it wasn't a big deal, and he held his position. I eventually lost patience him. "Look man, I'm going to try some Guarana just as soon as I feel like it. But right now I feel like having a Coke, and that what's I'm going to drink. Get off your pedestal, this nonsense about Coke being an evil company. Are you telling me that you've never bought gasoline supplied by an oil company that wasn't responsible for raping the land of a third world country with no regard for the rightful owners?"
"I just think you're making a big mistake, that's all."
That's how the conversation went every time we bought something to drink. I started buying Coke out of spite.


Later I learned what had spurred the argument. Coke is producing their own guarana-based drink and constricting business for the Brazilian-based soft drink through exclusivity contract agreements with vendors. Coke had also bought up a bottling facility in Chu's hometown, only to shut it down and send everyone home. Boo-hoo though. I didn't come to Brazil to defend the dynamics of the free market. Not to mention that Nate and Chu were hypocrites in the matter. In addition to occasional Coke consumption, they very frequently purchased bottled water produced by Coke-owned companies. There was no way I was going to concede this argument, especially when Coke is so wonderful and delicious.

A few days later we were returning from an all-day boat trip. We passed a convenience store and I noticed an ice cream freezer sitting near the door. I had a flashback accompanied by another nostalgic craving. When I was in China, I somehow got addicted to ice-cream-on-a-stick. I ate one everyday during that hot China summer, and seeing that freezer made me need one at that moment. We had spent all day in the sun and there nothing that was going to relieve my agony like a frozen vanilla ice cream bar with chocolate fudge in the middle. Nate protested. He assured me that I could find some homemade ice cream in one of the shops in town.
"Yeah, but I don't want homemade ice cream. I want an ice cream bar."
"You're telling me that you would rather have some inferior piece of garbage from Nestle Corporation than fresh homemade ice cream?!"
"Yes, that's what I'm telling you. "
Profound disappointment.

Days later the Coke conversation came up again. I asked Nate why it was ok for Chu to love the iconic Brazilian soft drink but it wasn't ok for me to love the iconic soft drink of America. He blew up. "If we were in the U.S., you could drink Coke until your eyes turned black! But we're in BRAZIL!"
I smiled. It was time for a peace offering.

When I travel, I like to bring at least one book related to travel or travel writing. There is something powerful in reading something that parallels your current existence, and it's a good way to frame and affirm your experiences. My travel book for this trip was: A Sense of Place - Great travel writers talk about their craft, lives and inspiration. If you like you the "travel writing" genre, this book is an amazing compilation of interviews with some of the truly great travel writers of our time. I couldn't recommend it enough.

I gave Nate the book and opened it to an interview with Frances Mayes (author of "Under the Tuscan Sun").

That sense of discovery is why I travel. I don't want anything pre-digested to guide me through a place. Remain open, I think, as much as you can. Of course, we always carry our prejudice with us to some extent, but I hate it when people come here and they want Coca-Cola all the time, they bring their candy bars. It's just so bad not to leave everything you can behind and see what's out there that you don't know.

It was too perfect not to share. Me and my Coca-Cola and my ice cream bars. And I call myself a traveler. I'm a disgrace.

As it turns out, Guarana is quite delicious, but would I forsake Coke? No chance.

Paraty

The weathered wooden door was propped open allowing the night air to cool the gently pulsing dance floor. Samba played over the speakers and red-orange lights made everyone glow. An evening of wine swirled in my head, making my body feel light and happy. Keeping my feet inside I tilted my head through the doorway to catch the breeze coming down the street. My eyes followed the cobblestone street one block down where stray dogs roamed the grassy plaza. Inside the girls with cotton dresses danced with themselves, maintaining just enough disinterest with the boys surrounding them. A young man sat perched in the window frame, one arm outside and the other holding a cigarette. His hair was tightly combed back and his face was tilted towards the ceiling. He gazed over the crowd with indifference. A couple sitting at a table kissed. I felt like I was away, and I felt like this exact scene was being played out at a million different bars all over the world. It felt timeless and without constraint.

We had arrived that evening. Nate had taken the initiative of booking a room for us, but his ADD took over before he had the chance to copy down the Hostel name or address. I learned that this kind of thing is pretty normal for Nate. We were in Paraty (pronounced: Para-chi), a small beach town halfway between Sao Paulo and Rio. It's a small enough town to be covered on foot, so we just started walking. I wouldn't have been annoyed had I not been so hungry. A young guy, maybe 19 approached us and began talking to Nate in Portuguese. Nate turned to me and said, "This guy is from our hostel, the one I booked." Amused, I commented on our luck. Nate, who has no job, no home and no place he needs to be, offered a classic response, "It seems that no matter how easy I take it, it's not easy enough." It's the kind of thing that someone says when they know that the worst case scenario is still a pretty good time.

The historic district of Paraty has a clearly defined rectangular perimeter. Inside, cobblestone streets, tight alleyways and colorful, uniform row shops give you feeling that you've landed in the middle of a toy set where everything is connected and built from the same set of blocks. We followed our our guide through the maze of streets to the hostel door. As we turned the corner I made a mental note of a prominent restaurant sign hanging at eye level. In the anxious dark I missed the small wooden plaque marking the hostel door.


It was nearly 3am when Nate and Chu decided that they needed to go to the beach. Chu offered to walk me back to the hostel, but I assured her it it wasn't necessary.

I finished my drink and decided I was ready for bed. I stepped out of the bar and turned right. All of the life and color that I had used to mentally map my location was now dark and absent. Warm light and interior scenes had been replaced by opaque wooden shutters. Clothing stores and restaurants were identical without their large wooden signs, now retired for the night behind bolted doors. The streets were silent and empty. The only sound came from the a thin layer of wet sand scraping between the stone and my sandals.

I paused at each intersection, making a mental note of which direction I had come from. It all looked the same. Twenty minutes had passed and my confidence was dwindling. I needed the restaurant sign and it wasn't there. A certain window looked familiar, but where was it in relation to the hostel? I couldn't say for sure. Forty five minutes passed. In the absence of people, unseen dogs emerged from the night and began taking over the town. Every time I turned a corner, five or six dogs would quickly disperse, sometimes running past me. I was clearly walking down the same streets, walking past the same buildings, over and over again. The brisk walking had completely sobered me up. I methodically started at the edge of the town and work my way down each street. An hour had passed. I began to contemplate the fact that I might be sleeping outside. There was a church on the edge of town surrounded by a patch of grass. The air was damp, but warm. It wouldn't be too uncomfortable, at least until the sun came up. I hoped that I might see Nate and Chu on their way back from the beach.


Then I was angry, angry at how stupid it was that I didn't know where to go. My anger cemented my resolve. I began inspecting each and every door, which what I should have done from the start. I had been looking for all the wrong signs. Ten minutes later I was crawling into bed. I must have walked past the hostel door six times.

When I was 8th grade we used to play a modified game of hide and go seek in my friend's basement. It was full of furniture and junk. The person who was "it" would go to the top of the stairs and wait for everyone to hide. Then, before coming down, they would turn off the lights and enter the pitch black, relying only on touch and sound to find a hiding person. It was a game of patience and stillness, your heart pounding when approached by groping hands. If someone were to turn on the lights in the middle of a game, they would see me quietly standing in the middle of the ping pong table. My friend would be hugging an exposed beam in the ceiling, and the other would be barricaded behind a filing cabinet. Light has funny way of changing our experience. In the light of day, while people are going about their business, it's clear that getting lost in Paraty is a bit like getting lost at the mall. But in the dark, late hours of the night, the streets turn into a hallway of mirrors, and the characters on the dance floor reflect the same joy and yearning felt all over the world.

Trying To Say Thanks

The girl in this picture is miserable, and I am smiling like a jackass. This picture could be my epitaph.



Nate had a lot of fun coming up with different captions for this photo. My favorite: Delivery day from www.asianbrides.com.

For once though, I really don't feel like this one is my fault.

We were on the island of Florianópolis, a huge tourist destination in Brazil. The island is about 30 miles long and boasts 42 beaches. It was easy making friends with the few other guests in the empty hostel situated at the southern tip of the island. All of the big hotels were in the northern half of the island.

Adam the Englishman was in his third year of travel, with the express goal of crossing the globe by motorcycle. Hostel stays were mostly a luxury item for him. Most nights he camped. I've got a soft spot for people like him, so I bought him dinner and a beer, with the hope of extending his budget for perhaps one more day.

Kaori, the Japanese girl seen in the picture, was sitting in the hostel's common area trying to get her Macbook to connect to the wireless signal. I introduced myself and asked about her day. She gave me a very animated account of going to the beach and being chased down by a dog. She had trouble putting her finger on the right English words need to tell the story, so she acted it out, including growling sound effects and clawing hands. The dog grabbed a hold of her dress, tearing a large hole in it. It sounded like a frightening ordeal, but I had a hard time reconciling the dogI heard in the the story with the dogs I had encountered earlier that day. These dogs were stray, a little desperate for attention, and eager to play fetch. Kaori was describing Kujo. But then again, she seemed a little skittish. When a cockroach appeared on the other side of the room, Kaori jumped up on the couch until it disappeared.

The next morning I invited Adam, Kaori and Andre to join us for what promised to be a nice hike to a waterfall and swimming hole. Andre was a 26 year old Brazilian living in Sao Paulo who came down to Florianópolis for a long weekend. Nate and Chu made us a group of six. At 10am we started our hike towards the beach. Already the sun was hot. Adam ducked into a small grocery store for water, but came out empty handed. Only carbonated water was in stock and he was sure we would have another opportunity to find water. We did not. Everyone was in high spirits as we walked down a quarter mile stretch of sand and then another. The plan was to follow a trail up into the mountainside where we would find the waterfall.


We quickly left the open vistas and made our way into the forest. An hour later we scratching our heads trying to figure out whether we should continue straight, or take a side trail further up the mountain. We took the side trail, passing a lone house with an angry dog chained to the porch. The trail was getting hard to decipher, but plastic tubing running down the mountain side was leaking water, which gave us hope. We crawled over fallen trees and thorny branches. Adam and Andre were doubtful about trail and turned back. They agreed to meet the rest of us near the main trail. We pressed on for another 15 minutes. No dice.

After the climb up the mountainside, dirt clung to my sweaty skin and my head felt hot. We re-traced our steps back to the main trail and scrambled down the rocks to the coastline 50 yards below. Adam and Andre were sunning themselves on the rocks, glad of their decision to give up when they did. I carefully traversed the boulders and let the pounding waves wash over me. It was 12:30 and I started to think about lunch.

On our way down the trail, Chu had talked to some Brazilians who said that if we continued on the main trail, we would find a beautiful beach and could catch a bus back from there. It was supposed to be a two hour hike. Everyone was a little hot, and little hungry and a little thirsty, but still in good spirits. I mentally took inventory of our water. My water bottle was 3/4 full, Nate and Chu had started the day with 1.5 liters between the two of them. Adam and Andre were empty handed, Kaori had a shoulder bag, but I hadn't seen her drinking anything. I was already contemplating the fact that I didn't have enough water for myself and was wishing Adam had just bought the carbonated water.

The trail become more difficult, more rocks, more brush, steep ups and downs. The brush enveloped our bodies, the trail was barely visible. It started to become unpleasant. Nate, leading the pack, pissed off an ant colony. When the rest of us caught up, the ants were in a frenzy. Their bites were like bee stings lasting a painful 5 minutes. Kaori got it the worst. She was wearing flip flops, ill suited for the hike to begin with. She was having trouble pushing her way through the brush. Too many burrs, too many unknown insects. More than once I accidentally let a branch snap back into her face.

I took my turn at the front of the line and managed to walk right into several large spider webs which draped the trail every 20 yards or so. Spiders don't really bother me, but nobody likes a face full of spider web. Despite the fact that some of these spider were the size of my palm, you didn't always see them until your face was planted into the middle of their web. I adopted the "wave-a-big-stick" technique to clear them out before my body did.



Every 30 minutes I stopped for a drink and passed my bottle to Adam and Kaori, both gracious and thankful. My shirt was soaked with sweat and my controlled sips felt inadequate. I started to ponder the possibility that there was no beach. The trail was not opening up, the steep hillside was not flattening out.

At 3pm we broke out of the tree line and onto a grassy knoll. The trail dissipated. What we saw was not encouraging. A long rocky coastline ending in a rocky hillside.

Nate, Chu, Adam and Andre thought it was worth taking a look around the bend. I was not so optimistic. Kaori was done. She had stopped having fun 2 hours ago, but was trying to be a good team player. She sat down, not wanting to go further, not wanting to go back. There was 3 hours of daylight left, if pushing on didn't pay off, re-tracing our steps in the dark was going to be difficult and dangerous. The group had reached an impasse. Unless the beach was literally right around the corner, I couldn't see going any further. Nate, Adam and Andre were ready to press on, or at least have a look.


If you look real close you can see Nate, Chu, Andre, and Adam,


I sat down next to Kaori and considered the options. Without food, water, a map or a flashlight, the only reasonable choice was to suck it up and return the way we came. I monitored Nate's progress, his body barely visible against the distant rocks. I decided it was best to just wait it out. If the beach wasn't around the corner, they would all come back. If it was, they would all disappear and wait for us to follow. I was feeling better now that I had plan. I tried to cheer up Kaori but she wasn't having any of it. She wasn't just tired and disappointed, she was genuinely worried. Worried about being able to find our way back, worried about the sun setting, worried that she might actually never get back. I thought I could put the day in perspective.
"Look, we're going to have a long walk back, but in 2 days you're going to be back home in Tokyo and the whole thing is going to be a funny story."
And that is when I decided to snap our picture.

I really thought that she was going to muster up the energy for a smile. I was wrong. But then again, I am an ass. I tried to recover the ship and told her I was going email the picture to her in exactly one month, and that it would make her smile. I was doing my best to be optimistic, but I must not have been very convincing, because 5 minutes later she was crying.

Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out what the rest of the crew was up to. I could make out a few bodies in the distance, but they weren't pushing forward and they weren't coming back. Forty-five minutes had passed and finally Adam was walking back. That's when the drama started. As he approached us, he was visibly upset.

Adam had been the first to make it to the end of the coastline. He climbed the rocks and viewed the next stretch of coast. It was more of the same, as far as the eye could see. He climbed down and told Andre that there was no way we were going to be able to continue. Even if the beach was around the next rocky point, it was too far for Kaori and her flip flops to make it. Andre remained unconvinced. Adam invited him to have a look for himself. Andre disappeared around the rocks. Ten minutes passed and Andre had not returned. Adam climbed back up only to see Andre a few hundred yards out. Adam waved for him to come back, but he kept going.

This left everyone in a very uncomfortable position. Adam was furious. Chasing after Andre was no longer an option, he was too far ahead. And with 2 hours of daylight left, waiting for him to come back wasn't an option either. Nate and Chu, still off in the distance, were going to wait a few more minutes and then turn back. Adam suggested that Kaori and I get a head start, the three of them would catch up.

I put my water bottle back into my backpack so that it was out of sight. I mentally divided what was left and reasoned I could take one small sip every 15 minutes. Kaori was feeling a little better but was still quite anxious. She was not confident that I would remember the way back. I kept turning around to reassure her.
"In a few hours we were going to be sitting in a nice restaurant with a big plate of food, a few bottles of beer, feeling fat and happy."
Every time I turned around to talk, she became more anxious.
"Take care. Take care." she kept repeating. "If you get hurt, I will never make it back!"
I tried lightening the mood.
"I have idea! You can teach me Japanese. Help me remember how to count to 10."
She didn't like that idea.
"No talking! Just walking!"

Kaori's pace quickened with the promise of a destination. It was dusk when the trail finally emptied out onto the beach. Adam, Nate and Chu had caught up and everyone breathed a little easier. Nate, Adam and I ran into the ocean to rinse our sweaty bodies and to take the weight off of our tired feet. I felt happy and marveled at how much more enjoyable the beach was after working so hard to get to it.


We discussed Andre. Nobody like the idea of him being out there all alone, but he made a really selfish decision and it was hard to feel guilty about it. Still, he was a nice guy. Hopefully he would be smart, find a rock to spend the night on, and then turn around in the morning. We returned to the hostel and recounted the day to the manager. The police arrived and we gave them as much information as we could. There wasn't much they could do at the moment, but they did say something about a call to the fire dept from someone who was lost. The five of us went to dinner and tipped a glass for him.

The story doesn't end badly. Around the same time we were running into the ocean, Andre was rounding the corner to the fabled beach that was our original destination. He caught a boat taxi and then a bus back to the hostel, arriving around 10pm. He's a lucky sunnava bitch if you ask me. The final story I heard from Nate a few days later was that he called the Fire Dept to report five lost hikers that got left behind! When I heard that, I wasn't sure if I hated him more or less.

The next morning Adam got on his motorcycle and bid farewell, Andre got on the bus back to Sao Paulo, Nate and Chu made a day of going to the bank, and Kaori had one more afternoon to burn before catching a night bus back to Sao Paulo for her flight home.

I accompanied Kaori to the opposite end of the island. The bus system was a little tricky, and neither one of us were sure about where to get off. We showed the bus attendant where we wanted to go on the map, who then motioned to us when we reached the correct stop. I followed Kaori out the back door, pausing to say thank you to the attendant. As I stood in the doorway of the bus, Kaori stepped forward and immediately froze at the sound of tearing fabric. I looked down and saw my foot trapping her ankle-length dress, which was now dragging on the pavement.

I tried to make amends. I bought her a new dress and apologized profusely. She was very gracious the way Japanese people always are.

Kaori and I had dinner before she needed to get on her night bus back to Sao Paulo. I apologized again for the previous day. Watching her think about it made me laugh. She said she was glad she went on the hike because it was.....
I tried filling in the blank. "A good experience?"
"No. Not a good experience." She quickly corrected me.
I tried again. "A unique experience??"
"Yes! A unique experience."

You know how a quotable phrase from a favorite movie or song can embody certain situations? As Kaori and I said our goodbyes, all I could think of was a line from a story which was aired on This American Life. It's funny story (check it out here) involving an affluent couple enjoying a romantic evening, which was interrupted by a squirrel in the attic. A veteran cop recounts the story from his rookie days, who responded to the call with his rookie partner. They managed to botch their response at every turn. The story ends with a broken nose for the husband, fire damage to the living room, and the wife in tears. As the the husband is escorting the cops out of his house he says, "You know, I can't point to any single thing that you did wrong......I did call you and ask you to come over.....But I just can't thank you for this."

I imagined those words running through her mind as we said goodbye.


Update:
As promised, I emailed Kaori one month later. She wrote back:

hi james!
how are you?

thank you for beautiful pictures.
it's verrry beautiful, so i became happy.

my job is very good and i have fun every day.
i had memories not bad, but not good. haha
but , i think now i was lucky to experience that.

me,, i separeted from him after back to japan,, (referring to her boyfriend, who she was missing in Brazil)
he couldn't wait me.
so, i regretted to go my trip,,very.
but i look at your picture, and i remember a lots of
memories.
thank you.
now, i don't regret. it was so fun!

nice to meet you,
and i hope we see again someday somewhere.

then, how is your trip?
where did you go?
did you say to your friends to your hope?


kaori