kirkley

It's the end of November, two days after Thanksgiving. What herein follows is a much delayed and succinct transcription of travels since last updating: (After arriving in America, I floundered about in the Northwest a bit, before tying my shoes and hitching Eastward to New York City. Here, I ended up living for a year, in BedStuy, Brooklyn, surrounded by a great number of even greater people. In October, I flew to Paris, for a two week crash course in French society. Following the sun, I traveled South, hitching, walking, camping, blessing and cursing across the French and Spanish countryside. In Tarifa, I met with a friend and caught the morning ferry to Tangier. Roughly a month later and perchance wiser, I find myself on the edge of the Sahara...) Through much trial and error, ... read more

Manaus, AM - In what is probably my last entry, I find myself, once again, pounding out words in an internet café. Travel weary, I now await my flight to return to the states, to the city of my birth, to another great unknown (an excellent opportunity to wax philosophically about life, changes, and the future). We arrive into Manaus, as usual, by riverboat. While the concept of travelling down the Amazon River may sound exciting, it is relatively relative (perhaps a native Amazonian would sense the same excitement of traveling by Greyhound bus down I-5) and loses it's appeal quickly, leaving one pacing the decks. The smart, seasoned travelers aboard the two day journey rely on the magnificense of alcohol to dull the perception and turn even the most mundane into a slurred rambunctious affair. ... read more

The city of Anapu lies rougly 140km east of the river Xingú along the Transamazonic Highway. The city is literally spread out along the road, the commerce and hotels scattered over a paved section of the infamous dirt highway that stretches across the Amazon. There are roughly 20,000 people living here; almost everyone is from somewhere else. Thirty years ago, the city was no more then a small villa - the highway in it's infancy. To understand the region of Transamazonia it's necessary to step back some 40 years. In the 1970's, the military government began a project to colonize and utilize the Amazon. The first step was the construction of the road, a giant highway the fluctuates between suffocating dust in the summer to impassable mud in the winter (and has changed little today). The ... read more

In Belém, I've booked a hotel straight out the Lonely Planet guidebook. It's justly full of tourists from every corner of the world that all speak English. The hotel staff is like the Adam's family, but if they were really indescrivable monsters and not family friendly comedians with a laugh track: the old woman, a stout ball of anger the shape of a stool; her grey haired giant son lurks clad only in a purple towel, amphibiatically darting in and out of the shower. As one of the few bilingual, I get the chance to be a bridge between the worlds. But rather then the warming love of the olive branch, I just feel dirty. It is through a businessman I hear of a city called Porto do Moz - and as I do not ... read more

A quick update of the following months from which I seemingly vanished: I leave Pernambuco and head North into Paraíba, traveling through small dusty towns of the deep interior and into the state of Ceará. Greeted as a curiousity, as always I recieve loads of stories about whatever person from another country once passed through. I never once meet another foreigner or tourist. I make a beeline to Fortaleza and pass a week scoping out the city before recieving my parents. We pass a week along the coast, experiencing the coastal strip of tall dunes and one church towns and a bout of violent food poisioning and two flat tires. My parents depart, I remain in Brazil, without itinerary. I wander to São Luis, then depart without looking back to a quieter place across the bay, ... read more

The Northeast of Brazil is known for it´s beaches - white sand, swaying coconut palms, blue-green water, massive dunes, giant capital cities of festivals and sleeping fishing villages. But this is merely the crust. The mass of the Northeast begins only a few hundred kilometers inland; as you pass, the vibrant green of the coastal strip fades, the rolling hills transformed into rocky crags. In places, the horizon stretches indefinitely, a flat landscape of twisted shrub and cacti in wide variety. There is little water here. Occassionally one sees a small lake or a muddy puddle. More often it is only the memory of water - a dry river or creekbed of red earth. It´s hot and dry, literally an oven. My mouth is sticky and my throat cracks. My nose is dry and my eyes ... read more

I'm in a city called Caruaru, slightly into the interior of Pernambuco. The coast here is beautiful; green, rolling hills, cane and coconuts swaying in the breeze. It's only a short trip inland before everything turns brown, rocky. But this isn't the sertão, yet. That doesn't truly begin until Arcoverde, further interior still. The city survives on clothing. Yesterday was the day of the Tuesday street fair, and epic weekly event that the city lives and survives on. The night before, there was an energy in the streets of anticipation. Push carts lined the sidewalks and sleeping bodies lined the carts. The market commences at 3am Tuesday until about noon, but it doesn't really get busy until about 6am. The vendors have come from all the surrounding towns; most of the clothing they are selling is ... read more

The past (month?) has blurred together in a whirlwind of traveling, as I crossed through Bahia, from Bom Jesus da Lapa to Chapada Diamintina, to Salvador, and exited into the northern coastal state, Sergipe. The common thread that ties these experiences together is tourism. Bom Jesus da Lapa, my first stop. A long one. I waited here for the arrival of a new camera, and due to some difficulties with the mail in the interior, ended up stuck there a week. The city is a Catholic tourism destination, the second largest in Brazil, and during certain festivals recieves millions of tourists. Due to my unfortunate lodging situation (a room in the house of a strange family; a retarded son was kept in the adjoining room behind bars) and the unbearable heat, I made haste to exit. ... read more

Foremost. The other morning I lay dreaming. In the dream, I was traveling and reflecting on my experiences, transcribing my thoughts onto paper. Gradually, the sunlight filtering in through the mosquito netting draped over my bed and the ongoing calls of roosters brings me into consciousness. And I realize that reality is far stranger than anything I could have possibly dreamnt. My location, a small village of roughly 300 people called “23,” deep into a rural zone of southern Bahia. How I arrived here. Wednesday morning, I awake in Manga, make a mad dash to the river bank to climb aboard a small vessel. The river is short here, and the crossing is quick. I spend the day exploring the nearby town of Matias Cardoso, which boasts the oldest church in Brazil, with 450 years, depending ... read more