cadkinsca's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries

cadkinsca's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member cadkinsca on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/cadkinsca en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Wed, 17 Jun 2009 00:57:00 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com Bromo Seltzer — Cemorolawang, East Java, Indonesia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1200559140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1200559140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1200559140/tpod.html Wed, 17 Jun 2009 00:57:00 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Cemorolawang, East Java, Indonesia

I said 9 hours to Gunung Bromo?  Hah.  It was more like 11 hours driving around picking up people to fill the 12-seat shuttle bus, then a night cruise over the rough streets and highways of Indonesia, a car-ferry from the island of Bali to the island of Java, arriving at Probbolingo, Java, Indonesia at 3:00 a.m.  The advantage of the night drive was less traffic, and the inability to see the driving here.  The disadvantages are that I couldn't really read, and the guy to my left kept falling asleep on me.  Food was included, though.  We stopped at a restaurant where they had prepared 4-5 dishes buffet style, whereas I heard from two Brits that their "luxury" cruiser stooped at a place with sliding-door type machines to grab food cooked God-knows-when.  That said, the big bus has to be less jarring - the little bus exaggerates every uneven, patched piece of pavement, which are quite a few, making reading difficult anyway.    Upon being dropped at 3:00 a.m. infront of a terminal / travel agency, I arranged with "Manny," who was quite helpful several time (and I don't think ripped me off too much) for private transport up to a hotel at the edge of the caldera, rather than wait for the first public bus at 9:00 a.m., although it did involve getting on his motor scooter with my bags and going to meet the minibus.   As an aside, there is of course a risk to these sorts of things, but my experiences have been great.  Everyone is friendly and open and genuinely wants to help.  They may add a little to the price, and their may be some petty theft, but I have felt no pangs or intuition of danger.  As an example, I was sitting and reading on a bench in the national park and 5 young Indo men approached me, just wanting to know where I was from, if I needed anything (from them, of course) and to smoke cigarettes and talk pidgin English.   Did I say "Gunung" means volcano?  Maybe it just means "mountain," but I'm not sure there is a difference here because the whole chain of Indonesian islands are volcanic.  Manny had also booked me a room at the Centoro Indah Hotel, which sits literally on the rim of the Sea of Sand, the flat caldera that surrounds Gunung Bromo and Gunung Padok for miles (see pics).  Gunung Bromo is steaming exploded one on the left.  You can also see the Hindu temple which sits on the plain between the two volcanos.  Bromo is active and last exploded in 2004, killing two.  You can hike to the edge, but it had been raining and looked like a muddy 3 km sludge across, so I passed.   They had let me check into my room at 5:00 a.m., which was great.  Nothing special, but it had hot water (some don't) and a soft mattress (some don't) for $15 a night.  After waking, I wandered around the little village on the rim, chatted up some other travelers, had uninspiring, cheap lunch and dinner (although 5 whole fried bananas with cheese and chocolate sauce for $1.20 was interesting), and arranged for a guide to take me the next morning up to the lookout point on Gunung Prandagran towering above the rim.  I think you can now use this site to view the Google satellite image of exactly where I was, the Sea of sand, the volcano, etc.  Gunung Bromo is the white crater in the middle, then the cone above it.  The hotel was on the rim in the northwest and the mountain I climbed would be directly north of the cone.  Pretty cool.     The rim (or the caldera, I'm not quite sure) is at 2200 meters (7200) feet.  It was refreshingly cool after Bali.  The top of Prandagran is over 3000 meters (10,000) feet.  We left at 3:15 a.m. to get to the top to try to see the sunrise over Bromo and Gunung Semuru beyond it, Indonesia's tallest point at 3,800+ meters, and which generally erupts ash every 15-20 minutes or so.  Most of the hike was pretty much just putting one foot higher than the other for five kilometers, 2,800 feet of rise, for about 2 hours in the thin air, but there were some switchbacks and rocky steeps, and it was dark, so it was by flashlight.  It might have been 40 degrees and it was misty/rainy, but I had rented a winter jacket.  At the top, we had coffee and waited with a couple hundred, mostly Indonesian tourists (it is off season, as I said) in the mist.  Nothing.  Nada but mist.  We hung out for two hours and all we saw was mist.  Admittedly, I was warned that this was not the best time of year.  In the dry season, I might have seen this - http://farm1.static.flickr.com/216/504312601_ef4b6e3beb.jpg?v=0 .   So we hiked back down, which was cool because I got to see (except for the mist) what we had hiked through in the dark, including the local farmers and fields.  Mostly green onions / leeks in what looked like back and ankle-breaking work.  Interestingly, they cooperatively farm.  Although each owns their own land, they rotate so that everyone works one particular plot together at the same time.  It allows camaraderie during the day, and only one person's crop is on the market at any given time.    and got my return shuttle to Probbolingo.  It was really interesting dropping through the changing ecosystems, but the speed and volatility of the bus made pictures impossible.  I then caught (also Manny arranged) a 9-seat minibus to Yogjakarta.  It was meant to be 7-8 hours, but - yup - it took more.  Nine and one-half hours, and we had to push start it once, and stop to get water because it was overheating once, but, hey, that is what traveling is about, right?  This time, at least, there were only four passengers, so we had room to spread out, and I was able to see the countryside and cities, take some pictures, and read a bit.  Two of the other passengers were also a British couple that I got some good advice from.  We also bought a big bunch of roadside mangosteens (like lychees) and ate them rolling down the road, throwing the skins and seeds out the windows.  Hell, I'm almost local.   Another aside, since I have so much time as the pictures loaaaaaaaad here, and speaking of loads - the standup (or squat) shitter.  Most of the hotels have your sit down shitter with the butt gun, which - as an aside within an aside - is so better than the bidet.  You can't adjust the temperature, but you don't have to waddle over to the bidet with your pants around your ankles, and you are not surprised by the height of the bidet spout.  Wipe, shoot, wipe dry.  On the road, though, and in many restaurants/bars is the squat.  First, always carry paper - they will not have it.  What they have here, and I was particularly confused because this was new to me, is a washtub with a spigot, a hand bucket, and the hole, but no flusher.  You are meant to fill the tub with water, and fill the handbucket by dipping into the tub.  Then you squat and do your deed.  Then, if you haven't brought your own paper, you use the bucket to apply water to your ass with your hand.  Next, to flush, you repeatedly use the bucket to wash down the doodie - the hole automatically flushes while keeping the water at the same level.  Magic.  When done, wash hand outside in sink, not in washtub full of clean water!   Driving through Indonesia most reminded me of Mexico and the place that shall not be named.  Mostly flat, except for the mountain range that runs the center of the island.  Rice paddies, banana trees, jungle, some conifer forest, and a lot of ramshackle roadside shacks, "stores," restaurants, stands, stoopsitters, compost fires and a miscellany of vehicles sharing the road just like it appears on the Amazing Race.  Animals, pedalbikes (I saw one with a goat in the passenger seat facing the pedaller with its front hoofs on the handlebars), belching diesel trucks, buses, vans, motorbikes, scooters, and bicycles loaded with goods, all sharing the road in a delicate ballet that one would think should result in many more accidents than I ever see.  I also think the horn must be the first thing to break on their cars - from overuse.   That seems long for what was only about 52 hours, but it seems like it was longer than 52 hours, so I guess that makes sense.  Next up:   Yogjakarta, Indonesia
]]> df — Rio de Janeiro, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1222297140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1222297140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1222297140/tpod.html Wed, 24 Sep 2008 18:59:56 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

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]]> Heart of Darkness — Salvador, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217712540/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217712540/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217712540/tpod.html Tue, 05 Aug 2008 13:00:15 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Salvador, Brazil

(Note - all pics from Google because the computer says my photocard has a virus).A ferry and bus brought me back to Salvador, the capital of the state of Bahia, which is what many think of as the heart of Brazil´s history and culture.  African slaves had the largest influence here and that influence remains, despite Portugal´s best efforts, in the population (with brown/mixed and black people totalling about 80% of the population), the music (samba, axe and afoxé), the art, the dress, the cuisine, the largest Carneval (and street party) in the world with an estimated 2 million revelers, and the religion.  Salvador itself is Brazil´s third largest city after Rio and Sao Paulo.  I stayed in the Pelourinho (where slaves were autctioned), which is the touristed, somewhat safer, Upper (or Historical) Town with most of the 17th to 19th Century buildings, churches and monuments.  Since 1992, the Pelo has received nearly $100 million in "restoration" money, which, while restoring the building facades and providing tourist police, has also resulted in the expulsion of the vast majority of the neighborhood's Afro-descendent populace, although many favela (slum) dwellers work the streets as performers, beggars, musicians, guides, and thieves.  Oh, and Adriana Lima lives here.  I was only there three nights and two full days, and didn´t leave the Pelo except to explore the lower city one day and to go to a religious ceremony one night (more below).  There are apparently beaches within bus distance, but I didn´t bother.The first night I had the buffet at the cooking school so that I could try as many local dishes as possible.  Excellent stuff, spicy and seemingly based on seafood and okra, with everything cooked in coconut or dende oil, a heavy old extracted from a palm tree brought from West Africa to Brazil during colonial times.  However, I stopped being surprised at the variety of Brazilian cuisine once I realized that the country is almost exactly the size of the Lower 48 in the U.S. and thought about the variety of our cuisine. That night, a Monday, was pretty slow and I spent most of it at a cafe with plastic tables out on a cobblestone street drinking 600 millileter beers while some dude sang pretty mellow shit.The next day I was the day I walked around, before having a very nice steak dinner.  Tuesday nights, however, are a big event in the Pelo.  The squares that were empty the night before now had stages, fruit bars, and other food and art vendors.  Thousands of people come from all over and there are public performances of capoeira (a mix of dance and martial art that dates back to the times of slavery, with dozens of schools around the city), gobs of samba bands at random quasi-secret locations, and every otherwise normal restaurant, bar or cafe was filled to overflowing and flooding out into the streets.  Interestingly, I randomly ran into the Vancouver guy from Morro at a bar with a couple of his Brazilian friends, which was cool because they knew where to go to see the bands, and I was dragged along for the ride.The last day, I tried cod (bachalau) fish balls (breaded, not testes) and acaraje (more breaded stuff) and killed time until the evening, when I had been talked into checking out a Candomblé religious ceremony.  The details are here, but suffice it to say it is a cross between Catholicism and a Yoruba (West Africa) derived religion where people go into trances and channel Orishas, such as Obatala the the father of humankind; Ogoun the god of the war and iron; and Yemanja the goddess of the sea, rivers and lakes.  The slaves preserves their religion by attributing the names and characteristics of the Candomblé deities to Catholic saints with similar qualities, and even nominal Catholics now take part in the rituals.  Unfortunately, no chicken was sacrificed, nor did they even do anything as bizarre as claiming that wine and a cracker was the blood and body of a Jew and then ritually cannibalizing him, but they did do some self-hypnosis (or sham) trancing and moving while in gaucho costumes and smoking cigars, so I guess it qualifies to be as goofy as any other religion, except Scientology of course.  They win hands down.  That said, I would have got more spirtiual enlightenment from my time and my $36 if I had spent it on the local moonshine.So, with that, I am off to the conclusion of this trip in:Rio de Janiero, Brazil
]]> More-O, Mores-O? — Morro de Sao Paulo, State of Bahia, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217429040/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217429040/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217429040/tpod.html Wed, 30 Jul 2008 15:29:58 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Morro de Sao Paulo, State of Bahia, Brazil

Wow, Brazil has some spunk.Friday morning I flew to Salvador, the heart of Brazil´s Bahia, and then on to Morro de Sao Paulo, an island two hours south of Salvador by ferry or 20 minutes by six-seater plane, referred to by one woman I met as a safe ¨paradise for Brazil´s rich to sun, smoke and snort¨.  Lonely Planet was mixed on it, suggesting that some people find it over-touristed.  I can see what they mean, although it is not a mega-resort hell, but Arianna gave it a blue Bic-pen star so I thought I would check it out.It is on an island off the coast consisting of a small town on a hill dominated by cliffs and a lighthouse, and four beaches stretching away.  Primera Praia (First Beach, and they are all equally cleverly named) is mostly houses and pousadas.  Secunda Praia is the ¨action¨ beach with the most restaurants, bars, clubs, and beach space.  Tercera Beach is more mellow, and Fourth Beach is the most outlying and tranquil.That´s basically it.  There´s nothing really to do except go to the beach (including beaching things like surfing or snorkeling), shop, eat and drink.  There´s a zip line from the top of the hill under the lighthousedown to beach, which was fun, but that only eats up so much time.  Again, it was low season, so some places were closed, and there was not so much of the ¨different party at a different bar every night¨ thing that supposedly happens during their summer (January and February), but it appeared quite popular with families and couples.  That said, there was a party every night, it just wasn´t all that raging and seemed to consist mostly of the people who lived and worked there.So what did I do?  Brazil found a new way to consign me to bed.  The first night here (Friday) I had a severe allergic reaction to something in a way I have never had before.  At 4:00 a.m. I started itching. And scratching like there were fire ants in the bed.  To the point that I realized this was not a bug thing and ran from the bed, burning almost all over, and sweating, and into the shower.  Which felt great.  Looking at myself, I had what I guessed were hives over most of my trunk.  I entertained hypochondriac fears of dengue or God-knows-what, but allergic reaction to something, whether the detergent in the sheets, a bug bite, or something I ate was my best guess.Well, the pain and itching receded, and the red, elevated areas started receding (but also appearing elsewhere) and I was able to get back to sleep.  The next morning, Internet research confirmed by guess.  It was urticaria (hives) and mild angioedema (facial swelling).  Modern medicine doesn´t have a lot of explanation or cures for them, but I had covered three of the most common causes the night before (and delayed onset for hours is normal) in having shellfish, both crab and oysters, aspirin (for my mugging-related aches), and insect bites.  I don´t know which is the culprit, but I am betting on the oyster stew because: (1) I´ve never had such a reaction to aspirin or insect bites before; and (2) that oyster stew contained probably 100 or so of the little oysters that come in a jar or can and the sheer quantity seems likely to include bad ones and/or contain high levels of something causing me to react like that.Just like the websites said, the hives migrated around, causing additional, but lesser, itching outbreaks and passed within about 24 hours from onset, although my finger and toe joints remained swollen and painful for a couple days.  However, I was wiped out, whether from the pain and spasms or just fighting the histamines (the believed cause).  I slept 13 hours Friday night to Saturday, and about the same Saturday (when I ate pizza to be safe) to Sunday, when I awoke feeling much better.And Sunday became vastly amusing.  After doing the zip line, I watched the sunset at the ¨chill out¨ bar on top of the hill the town sits below, and then had a lobster dinner.  Thankfully, I had no adverse reaction because life would become much suckier if I had developed some sort of hypersensitivity to all shellfish.  (shudder)  I then had a couple of the mix-and-match beach cocktails (see pic).  One picks one´s booze - cachaca, vodka or rum - and then points at the exotic or not so exotic fruit one wants for a mizer.  This rocks - all the vitamins one needs in two easy drinks.  My favorite is the graviola, although the goiaba (guava) has much to be said for it, including tannins, phenols, triterpenes, flavonoids, essential oils, saponins, carotenoids, lectins, vitamins, fibre and fatty acids. It ¨contains more vitamin C than citrus fruits, therefore making it an important source of antioxidants, and also contains appreciable amounts of vitamins A and B, vital for keeping the body healthy. Calcium, not often found in fruits and vegetables, is present in Guava, along with other minerals needed in a healthy diet. Guava fruit is also a good source of pectin - a dietary fibre, and carotenoids, which have a protective effect against the harmful rays of the sun. Much of guava's therapeutic activity is attributed to its flavonoid content, which has demonstrated antibacterial activity.¨  But a more amusing take on Brazilian fruits can be found at the Great Brazilian Fruit-Off.I then met my first native English speaker in about ten days - a graduate student (of 32 years) from Vancouver married to a Brazilian, but they had had some sort of fight, so he had been sent away (or ran away) for awhile to get stoned and cheat.  But he spoke fluent Portugese and I learned quite a bit, including that being robbed here is par for the course (he had at least two to his credit) and the thing to do is ¨turtle¨ or slowly hand your money over because the ¨marginalized people¨ don´t care.  They have nothing to live for, huff solvents or smoke crack, and are easily incented to use their weapons.  (Another woman I met later in Salvador told me that it is not just tourists - 19 buses had been robbed at gunpoint the day before and five people killed).  I have stopped even carrying my camera at night in order to not attract attention.Which is too bad because that guy brought me to a beach party that night where he (I was talking to two Spanish chicks) picked up two Brazilian girls, one of which he thought liked him.  I thought they were pros.  He said not, but that the one wouldn´t leave with him unless the other came too, meaning I had to go with them.  So we went back to his room, at a much nicer pousada than mine, and out came both of their National ID cards showing that they were 19 and 20.  Well, despite my nonexistent Portugese, I am pretty sure that meant that they were proving they were of legal age and let the negotiation begin (prostitution is legal here, assuming they are of age).  He continued to maintain otherwise, but I bailed before finding out, particularly since I cannot imagine the second girl was remotely interested in me for any reason other than money given that we had barely exchanged words all night (and those were unintelligible to each other).  But I wish I had carried my camera - they were cute in a lithe, 19-year old way.  And with that, I left the next morning for:Salvador, Bahia, Brazil
]]> The Due Theory — Recife, State of Pernambuco, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217092560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217092560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1217092560/tpod.html Mon, 28 Jul 2008 15:14:37 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Recife, State of Pernambuco, Brazil

After almost 13 months (off and on) of mostly being a menace to myself, saying that I found parts of SF more sketch than almost anywhere else I had travelled, and advising that common sense kept one safe, I was due.  Not in the bullshit karmic sense, but in a probability theory sense.  No one can stumble their way around the world clueless, illiterate, language-disabled, holding a book, half-drunk, and otherwise screaming ¨I am a rich tourist here for the scalping¨ forever.  I was due to be robbed, have my ass kicked, my cockiness deflated, or some combination thereof.  Recife, Brazil was glad to help.  But first,I took the overnight bus to Recife, pronounced hee-ceh-fay because the ¨R¨ is pronounced like an H in Portugese.  In other words, the R is Portugese´s Spanish J.  Recife is a city of 3.3. million and designed by a city planner on acid.  It is really fucking hard to figure out which bus you want to get from here to there, which entails figuring out what is says on the front, while it is barrelling down on you at 50 mph, sticking your hand out and then praying you guessed right.  Then sit back and enjoy the stop-and-start, stop-and-start, stop-and start ride.The town itself is really spread out and the neighborhoods are often separated by water, bridges or just sheer distance.  The downtown and Old Town are next to each other, but neither are attractive unless one is into old, dilapidated churches and buildings, ugly 60s and 70s office buildings, or streets that could equally pass for a Mexican flea market with incredible amounts of vendors selling crap on the sidewalks.I stayed in Pina, on the edge of Boa Viagem, which is the upper-middle class stretch of beach a few kilometers away from the center, and the only decent beach in town proper.  It apparently used to be incredibly popular and overcrowded; however, no one goes in the water anymore because of 19 shark fatalities (and 50 attacks) since mid-1992.  At the same rate per kilometer per year as Recife, Florida would suffer nearly 350 attacks a year.  The difference since 1992 has been environmental degradation which has denied bull sharks the perviously prevalent fish, turtles, octopuses, squid, lobsters and crabs.   That said, Boa Viagem that looks like any other riviera in the world, with lots of furniture stores, high-end restaurants, the main shopping mall, and not a lot of fun that I could find.  But at least it was relatively safe and the food was good.The first day I went for lunch to Paraxaxa, one of many self-service buffet-type restaurants, but one that was recommended for specializing in Northeast brazilian food, and it was excellent, although I have very little idea what I ate because the signs naming the dishes were in Portugese.  And for dinner, I had an excellent moqueca, a traditional seafood stew.  I then tried to find the local hotspots in Boa Viagem named in my book, only to find them both closed.On Tuesday, after screwing up the buses, I wandered around the old Colonial capital of Olinda, a few kilometers north of Recife proper.  It was alright - more of the painted colonial houses, palm trees, and old churches that I have seen in several times this trip.  Lunch was the highlight.  I went to Oficina de Sabor, a restaurant renowned for their Jerimums, dishes served inside a local type of pumpkin.  I had the carne de sol (see pic), i.e. ¨meat of the sun, a popular form of salted and dehydrated beef or goat (I don´t know which it was) in this part of Brazil, alhough it apparently rarely actually sees the sun.  Read for way too much info re the process.  So excellent I have had it twice since.That night, I checked out Negra Terca (Black Tuesday), a weekly event of free, mostly African (as this is the area of Brazil most influenced by slave immigration in the 17th and 18th Centuries) based music held at a large square downtown, with cheap drinks and food being sold at stands and bars surrounding the plaza.  A good idea, if I remotely liked percussion without much accompanyment.  Since I don´t, I decided to check out the scene in Recifo Antigo, the Old Town, accross the river, and it was much better - to start.I found a street with several outdoor cafe/bars, mostly blasting music from the inside, some live, some not.  After a couple of cachacas and beers, I met some local girls.  Nothing of import occurred until me and one girl were relocating bars, when I was kicked in the lower back by a ¨mafia guy¨ and went sprawling, landing on my elbows, nose and upper lip.  I am told (much of this is hazy and was recounted to me) I came up swinging, but got worse than I gave.  At some point my rear jeans pocket was torn/knifed open practically to my knee and my wallet taken (they probably tried to slash the pocket before I was kicked, but her English wasn´t up to that distinction).  It wasn´t objectively bad.  The wallet only contained a paper copy of my passport, one credit card, and the equivalent of about $60, and they missed my camera and the extra money I carry in the change pocket of my jeans, probably because I was scrambling around on the ground kicking.  The jeans and the shirt were trashed, but they were travelling gear anyway.  The lingering damage is some pain in my back, a cut lip, some scabby elbows and chin, and a tender nose - no real lasting damage, except to my ego, my claims regarding world safety, my claims regarding inappropriate fear mongering to travelers, and my ability to chat chicks up until my scabrous upper lip heals.But there was an upside.  I got the girl, waking up in her shithole of a room/ apartment just a couple blocks away.  Maybe this will become my new pick-up M.O. - ¨pity¨ plus the need for needle and thread, and a washcloth, as the way to a girl´s bed.  That said, the next day sucked.  After cancelling the credit card, I basically slept all day nursing my wounds.  I tried to meet the girl for dinner, but fucked the buses up again, which was just as good because I was in no mental shape for pidgin banter or, for that matter, in physical shape for much since my lips and back hurt.  I got a steak in gorgonzola sauce instead.  And that was that, since I am not carrying a cell phone and did not have her number anyway.Thursday, I wandered the downtown/Old Town areas.  The highlight? was the Kahal Zur Israel synagogue, considered the oldest in the Americas, although it is almost entirely reconstructed.  Don´t credit the Portugese for their tolerance, though: they had little, particularly during the Inquisition.  It was only during the time that the Dutch ruled Brazil in the 17th Century that any religious tolerance prevailed.  The best part is that it is on Good Jesus Street (although it used to called the Street of the Jews).  Read more about it.   For dinner, I tried sushi again.  It was mediocre again.  Except for Japan and the U.S., the world sucks for sushi.  I then again tired to find something remotely exciting in my neighborhood, but it was just older people having dinner and drinks with friends.  So I took my (improving) wounds to:Morro De Sao Paulo, Brazil
]]> Canoa, Are You Ready to Rock?!?! — Canoa Quebrada, State of Ceara, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216757340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216757340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216757340/tpod.html Fri, 25 Jul 2008 17:20:36 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Canoa Quebrada, State of Ceara, Brazil

Some of you know Arianna, the Brazilian host/waitress at Sushi Groove; this is where her part of the trip starts, since the only places she really recommended in Brazil were beach/nightife spots along the coast.  (Which, if you do know Arianna, is no surprise.)  From Manaus, it is about 1,500 miles to Fortaleza, the capital of the province of Ceara on the northeast coast of Brazil, and much closer to Europe (6 hours to Portugal) than the U.S. (10 hours to Miami and everything else is further).  Gettting there, we flew right over Lençóis Maranhenses National Park, which is 1000 square kilometers of dunes and lagoons (in between the waves of dunes) and was totally visible from the air.  See Google pics.I didn´t stay in Fortaleza itself, a city of 3.3 million, but had to choose between Jericoacoara and Canoa Quebrada (pronounced chee-bra-da).  Both are former hippie discoveries of the 1960s and 70s that have evolved into international beach destinations famous for sand dunes, dune buggy riding and kite surfing.  Jericoacoara was featuerd on E´s Wild on in 2000, but I picked Canoa Quebrada because it was significanly easier to get to and Jericoacoara was in the wrong direction.Canoa Quebrada itself was smaller than I expected after reading some of the hype.  See, e.g., this website.  Almost all the shops, bars and restaurants are on a six-block stretch of a street called Broadway.  The pousadas, or guesthouses, are on the surrounding streets.  The beach is always only a couple of blocks away, after descending the sand dune cliffs.Otherwise, it was a pretty typical beach town, but laid-back and not built up at all.  There were no massive hotel resorts, or anything over three stories for that matter.  No one ever wore anything dressy at all, even on Friday or Saturday nights.  Americans, however, were notably absent - the tourists and expats being either European or S. American.  Other than feijoada, a meat and bean stew served with rice and beans, it was hard to get typical lcal food.  I did have a rodizio (barbequed meats), but it was Argentinean.  Otherwise, it was pizza and other ïnterantional¨ cuisine. I stayed at a pleasant place a couple of blocks from center owned by a voluble, but helpful, Italian named Marco.  My days were spent on the beach or at outdoor cafes, and there is not all that much exciting to say.  I read, but the weather was not the best, i.e. it rained some and was windy most of the time, so I did not kitesurf, particularly because the choppy and presence of a shore break make it considered difficult for beginners.  The nights were when the town came alive.As an aside, I note that I can figure out much of the Portugese when it is written - it is sufficiently similar to Spanish and the other Latin-rooted languages.  Sometimes it is easier.  For example, the word for lawyer is ¨advogajo,¨ even closer to advocate than the Spanish ¨abogado,¨ but still not as close as the French ¨avocat.¨  We will ignore German´s ¨rechtsanwalt.¨  However, the spoken langauge is completely different.  It sounds more like German to me than Spanish, and even words very similar to Spanish and English, such as the word for ¨night¨ is pronounced more like noi-tch.  Spanish speakers are equally dumfounded, although many Brazilians understand Spanish when spoken.  I, however, have been reduced back to the basics of hello, good day, good night, how much?, and thank you, which is ¨obrigado¨ and not gracias, which is a hard habit to break.The first night, Thursday, I found what appeared to be the starter, mellower, pub-like bar and started meeting various people.  The drinks of choice are 600 milliliter beers for or caprihinas, the national drink of Brazil, made with cheap cachaca, muddled lime and sugar.  It is basically a mojito but with lime instead of mint, and cachaca instead of rum.  Each are about $1.80.  I was avoiding the distaster in waiting that is a sugary drink made with cheap liquor in favor of trying some of the artesenal,  higher-end, drink-them-on-their-own cachacas.  I´m not sure it was an improvement, though.  I met lots of people, including a couple (American and Brazilian) who I hope to see again when I get to Rio de Janiero (they live there), but I made the mistake of letting a too-heavy chick get her hooks into me and I couldn´t really escape.  At least, however, her friends were so protective that I did not have to address how to extricate myself from sex.Friday night was also a doozy, but in a different way.  A large stage had been set up at one end of town and two bands were playing for free.  Apparently it was a Brazilian band from 30 years ago that had reformed and it was quite a big deal, kinda-of a Brazillian REO Speedwagon reunion tour (hence the title of this post).  There were, however, a lot of kids who were clearly not born when the band last toured, but I was told they still knew the songs from their parents and the radio (unlike REO I guess, but it clearly wasn´t the magnitude of a Zep or Stones, so ...).  After that, there were packed bars and clubs on the main street and a big DJ party on the beach.  I hit the beach scene, met a Chilean chick, and never left until they shut it down around sunrise.As for Saturday, the town was still packed, but I was dragging from two late nights/early mornings in a row.  I went out and tried to drink myself a personality, but it wasn´t in me to battle the language barrier.  If I had found some native Englishers, maybe, but it wasn´t happening.  Sunday, I killed a lot of time at the beach and on the internet planning multiple things remaining in the trip before catching an overnight bus to:Recife, Brazil
]]> Dolphins, Monkeys, and Birds, Oh My — Juma Lake, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216411440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216411440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216411440/tpod.html Sun, 20 Jul 2008 11:24:13 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Juma Lake, Brazil

I think I finally understand what the Army meant by ¨We do more before 9:00 a.m. than most people do all day.¨ What a whirlwind three days and two nights, but well worth it.We picked Iguana Tourismo to do our jungle trip.  Me for two nights; Anna for four.  I can only spoeak for myself, but I heartily recommend Iguana.  They made no promises about what we would see, but we saw everything they refused to promise, and our guide Alan was fluent, knowledgable and skilled at seeing things I never would have on my own.Iguana Tours offers two locations and we chose Lake Juma, which is in some sort of preserve and only two companies have been approved to operate lodges there.  It is about 100 kilometers from Manaus and it took about 3.5 hours to get there by taxi to a speedboat (back over the black/white confluence of the rivers Solimoes and Negro, with an opportunity to feel the temperature difference) to a van to a canoe with a small outboard.  Over the next 48 hours, we overnighted in the jungle, went on two jungle hikes, caiman (small crocodilelike future handbags) catching, swimming, bird watching, dolphin watching, sunrise and sunset watching, piranha fishing, and canoeing in the Flooded Forest.  If I had stayed another day, I would have visited (and overnighted) in an indigineous village.And everything worked.  When we went birding, it seemed we saw just about every Amazon bird there is to see except a toucan or scarlet macaw, including herons, egrets, parakeets, swallows, kites, jacanas, vultures, hawks, ibises, but there are over 1500 species in the Amazon basin, so I guess I didn´t.  When we went hiking, we saw a variety of colorful bugs, spiders, capuchin monkeys in the canopy, and various frogs and lizards.  As for flora, it is hard to describe the incredible variety of species in the rain forest; nothing dominates and there are lots of cool things like killer (of other trees) vines, spiked palms, and bizarre mushrooms.  (Also, I thought it would be denser, but the floor is not as crowded with plants as I expected.)  Alan also explained how various trees and plants were used medicinally, in perfumes (rosewoods used in Chanel´s No. 5 and 10), or for shelter, roofs or furniture.  We even saw two snakes (likely boas, not anacondas) slither off the road in front of our vehicle.When we went looking for dolphins (and at other times), we saw at least ten pink and great cavorting freshwater dolphins.  And when we searched for caiman at night (by using a flashlight to see their red eyes reflect, we (meaning Alan) found and grabbed a young medium sized caiman for us to belly rub (they relax completely) and hold.  Finally, when we fished for piranha, we caught piranha, although they are not that impressive alone.  The lodge itself was simple, but fine, with people swimming off the dock despite a pretty strong current.  There are nicer ones at every price point, but for $70 a day including food, I cannot complain.  Even the food was good and plentiful.  Again, it was simple and buffet style, but the local river fish are excellent and the exotic fruits are amazing - even the unexotic pineapples are much better than at home if for no other reason than that they are not as fibrous and the cores are as good as the rest.  Overall, I really enjoyed it, provided I don´t develop malaria or dengue.  Next up is:Canoa Quebrada, Brazil
]]> Pit Stop in the Jungle - We Got Fun and Games — Manaus, State of Amazonas, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216339800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216339800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1216339800/tpod.html Thu, 17 Jul 2008 16:52:01 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Manaus, State of Amazonas, Brazil

The first thing that struck me about Manaus is that it had an oil refinery and Panamax container ships, 10x10x40 containers, and the cranes to move them.  Manaus is a deep-water shipping port 1000 miles from the ocean.  The St. Lawrence Seaway allows the same with the cities on the Great Lakes, but only through engineering dozens of locks.  There are no locks on the Amazon; the ships just cruise all the way in here, and they could go further were there a reason to.(As an aside, I noted that Google Earth vividly shows the color difference between the Rios Solimoes and Negro where they converge outside Manaus, even more so than from 2 feet away.)Manaus itself is supposedly the business center of the whole Amazon region, but it fooled me.  The town does not feel like a city of 2 million people.  They must be really spread out because the downtown Centro area is not that big, nor is it built up.  The heart is the Teatro Amazonas - an opera house on a large plaza - and I had reserved a hotel room near there, which was also near many of the jungle trip tour operators.  Amir and Alex were going elsewhere, but Anna was also wanting to do a jungle trip and had not reserved a room, so she shared with me.After doing some internet housekeeping, we separated because I wanted rodizio, the all-you-can-eat cornucopia of barbecued meats-on-a-skewer, and she wasn´t up to that.  The Lonely Planet recommended Churrascaria Bufalo, a supposed city institution.  Bah!  Although the side dishes were better than at home, with various pickled things and sushi, the meat was overcooked and dry to my vampiric tastes.  That said, it was half the price than at home and I had at least ten chicken hearts.  Still, if the meat won´t bleed, the joint´s in need.  And I leave peed.  And teed.  Indeed.I then tried and failed to get more Brazilian money at about five ATMs, having the same problem as in Tabatinga, that the local banks wouldn´t take my cards.  So I grabbed some US dollars out of bag since most places will take them, albeit at a generally bad rate, before remeeting Anna at a local sidewalk beer joint near the main plaza.  And the fun began.After about one beer, we were joined by Jose.  He claimed 29 years of age, but looked 40.  He was promoting a reggae show the following night, but he was all about the Rock.  And Anna.  He dug Anna, who also had to act as interpreter between Jose´s Spanish and my lack thereof.  And he wanted us to go with him in his car to the Rock club.  I, of course, was up for any nightlife on a Saturday after being cooped up on the boat, but Anna was not.  Plus, I wanted to check out Ponta Negra, 17 kilometers outside of town, which was supposedly where most of the action was, and I hoped the Rock club was there so that I could save a cab ride.Well, the Rock club was not all that far, but Jose´s wheezing 20 year-old car made it seem that way.  When we got there, the place was packed.  Wall-to-wall bodies with an annoying system of having to buy tickets to take to the bar to get drinks, i.e. two lines in two different places in a body-to-body bar.  Stupid.  And then the band butchered Marilyn Manson, Guns n´ Roses and some other band while Jose chattered on in pidgin about Anna and how much he liked Rock and this bar.  I said I neeed to go to the bathroom and went to the exit instead.  It was easier than trying to explain.I then grabbed a taxi to check out the Ponta Negra, only I mistakenly said Ponta Verde, which you would think would not be that hard to figure out what I meant, particularly after I clarified by saying that I wanted to go to where all the restaurantes and bares were.  Point Green vs. Point Black in a town where Point Black is the place to be on a Saturday night.  Apparently not.  The taxi took me to a Sheraton where we figured out my confusion (and his bone-numbingly frustrating incomprehension) and off we went again.  To a place where I saw a couple of busy bars/clubs) so I got out and paid him 30 riales, or about $20.  But that was it.  One big-box disco playing awful music with guys using metal detectors at the door.  Oh boy!  And one causal patio restaurant.  I don´t know where I was, but it clearly wasn´t right.Now, after the beers, the cab ride, and the cover and drinks at the Rock club, I was running low on Brazilian rials, and I found that, although I could charge drinks, I could not get extra riales back and they would not exchange US dollars for riales.  Fuck me because I didn´t have enough riales for the cab back, which was more than going.  So, when I left, I tried to find a cabbie that would take dollars.  Ugh.  The first cabbie I talk to wants 50 riales (which I don´t have, and it was only 30 to get there) to go back to town and declines my dollars.  The second cabbie, after ten minutes of pidgin English, hand gestures, and napkin writing, I determine wants 40 riales (which I don´t have) or $40 US, which is about 64 riales, i.e. he is going to rape me on the exchange.Once I figure this out, I tell him no fucking way, throw up my hands and start walking back toward the club for another drink and (hopefully) and change in the cab line.  Of course, this works like a charm.  Another guy comes up and says he will take $30 US, which is acceptable to me given my situation and that they do charge more later at night, but I am left with a bad taste in my mouth.  I admit I was wrong in assuming I could get by with dollars; they have no duty to take them in their country.  I just hate systems based on haggling.  I get enough confrontation and gamesmanship negotiating with opposing counsel.  Haggling, with taxis in particular as a foreigner, starts a relationship with attempted screwing and I can´t just wave that off and smile and be new amigos with the asshole just because I caught him trying to rob me.  Just have a fucking quoted price or meter and let me take it or leave it.On Sunday, Manaus was basically closed.  Anna and I talked to three tour agencies recommended by the Lonely Planet and decided on one, but they didn´t take credit cards and she was in the same boat as me in not having enough riales.  So we walked, and failed, the bank circuit again.  However, we did find a fair at which to have some more of the local cuisine for lunch, including more fish goop, and I was able to find a place I could buy a long-sleeved shirt for the jungle.  We thought we were going to have to ask the tour to delay its 8:00 a.m. departure to allow us to go to a bank the following morning to deal with an actual teller, but we were saved by one of his fellow tour operators helpfully directing us to the double secret location of the HSBC, where the ATM took international cards. That night the plaza was filled with families, and I had a nice dinner of one of the local fishes, before calling it relatively early so that we could make that 8:00 a.m. start to:Juma Lake, somewhere in the jungle south of Manaus, BrazilJungle trip on Juma Lake, near Manaus, Brazil
]]> SHITHEAD on the Amazon River — Tefe, State of Amazonas, Brazil http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1215978720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1215978720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1215978720/tpod.html Wed, 16 Jul 2008 20:00:08 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Tefe, State of Amazonas, Brazil

1900 kilometers (1150 miles) down the Amazon River (aka Rio Solimoes) from Tabatinga to Manaus, Brazil, taking about 72 hours downriver (and closer to six days going the other way), almost entirely through tropical rainforest, with only the most occasional village or town.  And no bridges.  No bridges anywhere along the entire length of the Amazon, for that matter.  For the map pin, I picked a town - Tefe - that we stopped at near the middle of the trip, if anyone cares to Google Earth in on the region.The Amazon basin covers around 2.7 million square miles, and gathers water from geologically older areas, and geologically younger areas.  The older, more eroded areas produce much less organic material, resulting in so-called Black rivers becasue the water is clear and almost black in color.  The younger Andes mountains produce so-called White rivers, which are actually a shit-brown cappuchino color from all the sediment and organic guck.  As a result Black rivers have virtually no mosquitos, and somewhat less wildlife, while White rivers have more of both.  The river we were on - the Solimoes (Amazon) is White, although mosquitoes were non-existent while cruising.  However, at the very end of the trip, we crossed the confluence of the Solimoes and the Rio Negro, a Black River, but the waters do not mingle for about 18 kilometers, creating a ragged line reminding me of those black and white cookies (see pics).  Apparently, the reason is that the rivers travel at different speeds (10 kph for the Solimoes v. 3 kph for the Negro), have different temperatures, and different densities, such that when they meet they kind-of bounce off each other and travel side-by-side for miles.The high water point at the end of the wet season just passed, with the river is still relatively high (having dropped only a couple of feet of the close to 40 feet that it will drop, and it covers close to 135,000 square miles.  Generally the channels we were on seemed to be no more than a mile across, but some wider sections can get up to 28 miles wide, and the Amazon eventually releases up into the Atlantic Ocean up to 30 million cubic feet per second, providing a fifth of the total volume of fresh water entering the oceans worldwide, and enabling potable water to be drawn from the ocean off its mouth over the horizon from land.  Well, maybe not so fresh since my (and every other living thing´s) turds went straight into it.   The boat itself was pretty new and carried both cargo and passengers, overwhelmingly local.  There might have been 10 tourists on board.  Anna, the 27-year old International Development grad student from the University of Denver that I met in Leticia, and I got to the boat a few hours before the scheduled departure to get a good hammock spot.  There are staterooms, but they cost about $240 for the trip (3 nights) versus $90 to sling a hammock on deck, three meals a day included, and staterooms are for wussies scared of local character and adventure.  Through sheer luck we slung our hammocks near Amir, an Israeli on his post-Army trip around the world, and Alex, an American medical student who had lived in Brazil and spoke good Portugese.  And it was with these three that I spent most of the next four days, playing a lot of cards on deck.  I taught them Miami Rummy, Hearts, and Oh Hell.  I learned, and got schooled in, Golf and SHITHEAD.We thought we were so smart in arranging our hammocks next to each other and spreading our crap around underneath us, but morning gave way to mid-day with more and more people arriving.  Then we stopped at another embarkation point that evening, and more people came on board, each with their hammocks, bags, goods, and children.  (Since there are virtually no roads in the Amazon, the rivers are the means to travel).  The hammocks became more and more crammed in and intertwined until, by that night, I had people surrounding me to the point that any movement at night reverberated through several neighboring hammocks.  And they are not a comfortable way to sleep when one is six feet tall, not able to stick extremities outside the hammock, and not used to sleeping in the shape of a horseshoe.  It was better the next two nights as people got off the boat at intervening towns and I was able to sleep sideways, but it still uncomfortable and loud, with so many people and kids sleeping (or not) in such close quarters. Still, signs were apparently needed to tell people that it was inappropriate to get it on in the hammocks.The food, however, was surprisingly good.  Simple and rustic, served buffet style, but it was all you could eat, with either chicken, fish or beef at each meal, and sides of rices, beans, pasta, and sometimes a tuber which seemed a cross between yucca and potato.  The best fish was pirarucu, a freshwater fish that grows to ten feet and reminded me of swordfish in its mild, fluffyness.  Another side was vatapa, a yellow goop made from bread, fish or shrimp, coconut milk, palm oil and nuts.  Very good.  Finally, no meal in Amazonas is complete to a local unless he or she turns their plate a Close Encounters mashed-potato Devil´s Rockpile of farinha, a flour made from manioc, a toxic and bitter root rendered bland and edible through some ordeal of a process and enjoyed more for its crunchy texture than its taste, or lack thereof.Other than dinner, though, there wasn´t that much to do.  The jungle on the banks of the river is pretty similar (er, monotonous) the whole way, and was too far away to observe wildlife, unless you count the moth that dive-bombed us while playing cards or the dead cicada that landed on me (while playing cards) which I popped in my mouth to some disgust.  The only other excitements were drinking beer on the deck (to loud awful music competing with Brazilian soap operas on the TV), reading, buying bizarre fruits at ports of call, and worrying about the Amazon penis fish while showering or pissing in the river water. All in all, I enjoyed it, and it was nice to not worry about anything travel or language-barrier related for four days and three nights, but it was probably a day too long and one should not expect an Amazon jungle experience.  I would recommend it, but only if one has a lot of time to travel or is on a budget allergic to air travel.  Speaking Portugese would make it more interesting too for obvious reasons.  Coming up soon is my Amazon jungle experience, but first a couple days are required in:Manaus, Brazil
]]> Nation-State Kinkiness — Leticia, Colombia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1215560340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1215560340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cadkinsca/festivals2006/1215560340/tpod.html Sun, 13 Jul 2008 15:48:36 -0400 It started as "How many festivals can one human body support?" and has become to "How many places can I visit without getting seriously injured, VD, or arrested?"

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Leticia, Colombia

Released from Brazil´s clinch, I flew to Leticia, Colombia, which exists purely as the Colombian third of the city that covers the place where Peru, Colombia, and Brazil meet where several rivers combine to pump up the Amazon.  If you look at the map (and zoom in), you can see that Colombia has what appears to be an irregular shaped penis pumped politically pumped up insert itself into this sovereign threesome, with Brazil as the male top and Peru and Colombia the female bottoms.  The town has a different name in each country - Leticia in Colombia, Tabatinga in Brazil, and Santa Rosa in Peru - bu itself barely notices the boundaries.  We crossed the frontiers several times, and the only way I noticed we had done so is the language on signage changed from Spanish to Portugese and the banks had different names.  People spoke both languages and all the currencies were accepted with everyone knowing the exchange rates by heart.  The town is so isolated that no road connects into Colombia or Peru.  One must fly or come by boat on the rivers.Flying in what struck me is the endless millions of acres of rain forest canopy, broken only by meandering rivers and streams.  I will wax further on the Amazon and its tributaries in the next post, but suffice it to say that it is the largest river in the world by volume, with a total river flow greater than the next top ten largest rivers flowing into the ocean combined. The Amazon´s drainage basin, the largest in the world, accounts for approximately 1/5 of the world's total river flow, drains 40% of South America´s land mass, and the area it includes (Amazonas) is called the World´s Lung for good reason.There was nothing exciting about Leticia/Tabatinga itself.  I was barely there 24 hours.  The logistics of the immigration paperwork and preparing for the boat trip down the Amazon were a bit frustrating, though, because one can´t check out of Colombia until the day you are going to Brazil, and the Brazilian bank did not take my ATM or credit cards.  Combined this meant that I (1) arrived and went through Colombian security, including two dogs; (2) went to the hostel (in Colombia) and met Anna, another American doing the same thing as me, and Gustavo, the hostel owner, who then helped us; (3) cross to Brazil and fail to get money at the Brazilian bank; (4) go back to Colombia and successfully get money from a Colombian bank; (5) go change those pesos to Brazilian Rials with some guy in a cubbyhole; (6) go back to Brazil and buy hammocks for the boat trip; (7) go back to Colombia for dinner (a decent river fish of some kind) and bed; (8) go back to the airport the next morning to officially exit Colombia; (9) go to the Brazilian Federal Police to officially enter Brazil; and (10) go to the boat.  Unsurprisingly, I took no pictures of any of this.  But it all got done and we got on the boat down the Amazon to Manaus, Brazil.
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