Festival Folklorico and the River Wild

July 8

Kite Wars

On Saturdays the central plaza is filled with young and old, all flying kites, ‘pipas’ or ‘papagayos’. I recall passing through Praia de Pipa in Pernambuco in 2009 and I thought I was going to ‘Pipe Beach,’ since ‘pipa’ means pipe in Spanish. At the time I didn’t speak much Portuguese and soon learned that pipe is ‘cachimbo’ and I was in fact at ‘Kite Beach.’

Kite running is a timeless tradition in Amazonians towns, encouraged by the constant wind gusts blowing overhead. Every weekend aerial battles ensue, silent wars between grown men and boys. Always flying some version of a homemade kite (tissue paper & light wood), an official team is made up of either two or three, one to whip the string left and right keeping the kite active and agile, one to collect the string and manage the spool, and one to chase the fallen kites. If you’ve read the book Kite Runners you probably have a good idea of what a kite battle is like. The spools are dipped in liquid glass, although I’m told this is prohibited, which makes the string stronger, and also sharp enough to cut an adversaries kite down from the clouds above. Once a kite is chopped down from the heavens above, a chase ensues. Runners, and what often seems like entire neighborhoods of kids, follow the fallen kite until it lands in a tree or in some mean old lady’s yard.

I spent Saturday hanging out at Josefines house (there was a ‘calderada’ party to make delicious fish soup) and she would throw fits every time she’d catch a little barefoot boy hopping her yard fence. Jo would run out into her yard yelling, the poor boy recruited to hop the fence apologizing before even hearing her shouts of displeasure. If it lands high up in a tree, they send the skinniest kid up the tree to fetch it, since he can crawl precariously out onto the weakest limbs (of course there is NO regard for personal safety since capturing a fallen kite is a akin to winning the lottery). If it gets caught in electric lines runner go fetch a long wooden pole with a net to poke it out of the labyrinth of wires traps.

There is something entirely peaceful and relaxing about watching a kite hover hundreds of feet overhead, flickering in the wind as if it were alive. In the same park one may see a 6 year old flying a kite next to a tattooed 30yr old with gold chains and a fancy car parked not far away. The dynamics are fascinating. Everyone loves it. Couples sit and watch kites battle, children gather in bundles to wait for the moment a kite it cut so they can chase it down and commuters complain about kite flyers flooding into the streets, as battles sometimes require some strategic angles of attack. Every Saturday I gaze up at the skies and remember that there are many mini wars going on around me. Who ever thought the site of battle could be so relaxing.

To Yucca or not to Yucca

I have tried to explain what a tortilla is, but no one seems to get it. I say, it’s like a pancake, but made from corn or flour. In Honduras we eat it with every meal, no matter what is being served tortillas are often nearby. I mention this because here ‘farinha’ or ‘farofa’ is served with every single meal, no matter what it being served. Yuca, in Spanish, is a root vegetable low on nutrients and served from Bolivia to Mexico. No matter which country you are in, Yuca is called Yuca. In Brasil Yuca has three names, depending on the region you are in. Here it is ‘macaxeira,’ in the Northeast its ‘mandioca,’ and in the south its ‘aipim.’ Three different words for the same thing. Crazy. Farinha, which basically means flour, is ground up yucca which is cooked on a massive flat skillet until all the moisture is evaporated. Then it is sifted and set in the sun to dry. There are countless versions of this process, and some types of yucca are poisonous so making ‘farinha’ requires a certain knowhow. ‘Farofa’ is when you mix farinha with anything in a frying pan (sausage, eggs, onions, carne de sol, etc) and it turns into a tasty and filling side item for beans, rice and meat. This is served at absolutely EVERY meal and can sometimes taste a little dry and crunchy. I’m a big fan and splash it onto everything I eat, part of my eternal crusade to get full. My hollow leg syndrome.

I explain that everyone has ‘macaxeira’ (ma-ka-shei-ra) or yucca, every country eats it and it is a common staple among low-income families. My personal favorite in Honduras is yucca frita con chicharron. Heartattack on a plate…with tortillas of course. However, for all the yucca I’ve eaten, before Brasil I had never encountered farinha de macaxeira (which is also slang for cocaine so careful the context in which you say it). Why is it that no other country makes farinha from their yucca? If I had to choose Id take tortillas over farinha any day of the week. Here I am stuffing myself with farofa, trying to explain what a tortillas is and how ubiquitous they are at every meal. Then I tell them about Honduran ‘baleadas’ and my street food love affair with them.

My top street foods of Latin America, Honduran baleadas (nothing better!!), Salvadorean pupusas, Bolivian saltenas, Buenos Aires chori-pan & chimichurri, Peruvian ceviche (although street ceviche is sketchy) and of course Mexican taquitos. Each tasty treat costs about a dollar or less in their respective country. In Honduras I fondly remember baleada eating contests after latenight soccer games, which always results in a swollen tummy full of flour tortillas, Ana Luisa and I call it ‘baleada belly.’


Giant Piranhas

I woke up the morning after the Festival Folklorico with a massive hangover. A region wide celebration including competitive Quadrilha dance contests, carnaval games and street food, and lots of drinking and music, the Festival Folklorico is a highly anticipated event. Kind of like a more conservative version of carnaval, with traditional dances and costumes galore. We were all to meet at Erivaldo’s on Saturday to ‘matar resaca,’ (kill a hangover) with grilled fish and of course, farinha. Everyong swears that eating fish cures many things, apparently it cures hangovers as well.

I bike over to Erivaldos and in his massive backyard (he lives at and manages AANA – Artesanatos de Novo Airao) I find a table piled high with fish, there were scales everywhere so I knew they had just been de-scaled and were fresh. I go over to the grill and notice that they look just like piranhas, but I was sure they weren’t since they looked way too big to be piranhas. I remembered fishing for piranhas in Rio Beni of Rurrenabaque, Bolivia and having to eat 10 of them to be full. I look closer and inspect their teeth and low and behold, they were indeed piranhas. Not even in aquariums have I ever seen piranhas this big, about the size of my entire chest and torso. Razor sharp teeth perfectly lined, as if they were designed by an architect. Even piled high, obviously very dead, my heart shuttered when I put my finger in its mouth to feel the teeth’s precision. Caraka!, aquele peixe acaba com voce mano! I proclaim that a couple fish that size would carve me up in seconds. Great, now swimming around in this dark black water there are not only alligators, snakes, lions, tigers and bears, …but giant flesh eating piranhas.

The fish was delicious, however there is only one tried and tested way to beat a hangover, keep drinkingI Brasil tied Paraguay 2-2 in the Copa America and the Festival Folklorico continued for one more night.

Weve been on the river for about 4 days now, transferring supplies to the Brasil Nut factory and waiting for another convoy to arrive. Day one was spent travelling, day 2 unloading supplies, day three passing through communities to pick up ‘aruma’ (reed) which I am supposed to pick up for Erivaldo’s artisan program. He gave me $R200 and the necessary documents to be able to leave the reserve with ‘materia prima.’ So far the communities have not followed through (I’m supposed to buy each bundle of 50 reeds for $R20) but I will probably return with no aruma for the AANA artisan workshops.

Erivaldo will be disappointed that the communities are not holding up their end of the bargain. We are to meet another convoy along the river, it feels like were in the middle of nowhere but apparently we are at a point called ‘Recreio’ (recess), a point where two rivers diverge. Last night was one of those nights where the jungle becomes real and all her sites and sounds are magnified. As Ive mentioned, the rivers this time of yearare flooded and most of the trees and jungle near or along the river basin become flooded forests (igapo). As you chug upriver, you pass what look like floating bushes but which are actually treetops. The flora here thrives and has adjusted to the yearly flooding, however you never really know the size of a tree because most of it is underwater.

Its getting late and we decide to doc in a little cove, which requires slowly inching the boat up to the stronger branches of the treetops and tying off. As a result the boat is essentially floating on the treetops many meters above the roots and base of the forest, with limbs and branches crackling and invading open spaces on the boat decks. During dry season the river will recede (making journeys such as this one impossible) and glorious beaches stretch as far as the eye can see. The beaches nearby at Anavilhanas are especially popular.

I sleep on the top deck, in a room with 4 bunkbeds, and there is another dormitory below for the captain and first mate. When needed, hammock hooks abound. It is a full moon and the still river reflects the breathing forest like glass. Suddenly, Janilho my bunk mate, jumps out of his bunkbed and sprints downstairs. I hear screaming and giggling and what sounds like lots of furniture being hurled around but am too tired, and uninterested to go below to check on the rowdiness. A few minutes Janilho comes back and says they saw a snake and that we should close all our windows and doors, which are usually left open for ventilation. I check his face for a hint of a smile, ‘maybe the guys are putting me on, pulling my leg,’ but see no traces of sarcasm.

I sleep facing two windows and quickly shut them. All of a sudden I feel trapped, a prisoner in a bunk (with a stinky bunkmate), and am suddenly very aware of every rustle and chirp going on in the treetops beside us. I look out my window and the moon’s dance behind passing clouds creates what seems like a web of shadows and mysterious coves. I am alert to every rock and sway of the boat, I hear branches breaking deep in the brush of the treetops and wonder what kind of animal could be brave enough to purposefully break branches at night. Animals are usually in either survival mode at night time…or in hunting mode. I hear thumps out on the deck and envision an anaconda landing on our boat from one of the many branches that have invaded our space.

Clearly I have watched too many Amazon jungle killer alligator/snake movies, so my imagination is filled with ready imagery. I laid in bed and thought of the ridiculous movie Snakes on a Plane; what if we wake up and find a slew of snakes coiled in our buckets, down below under the motor or in our hammocks. In the distance I could hear river dolphins coming up for air, spewing out water as they breathe in another gulp of air. It has become a reassuring sound as I lay in bed reading before sleep. Goodnight.

La Semana de el baile de 'Quadrilha'

Fotos (not in any specific order)
a) Erivaldo gives workshop to student group from Sao Paulo
b) Monique feeds the boto (dolphin)
c) Justin's floating head poses con la juventud of the quadrilha dance
d) las chicas muestran sus quadrilha outfits
e) Justin with Monique and Priscilla

The Lost Art of Conversation

June 26th

(2 pics of my time with the Pataua Rio Unini community)
a) the muscle that moved 7 tons of cement bags and bricks
b) Ignacio and I with the town fly girls

In many places I travel throughout Latin America I am often identified as someone with ties to Honduras rather than someone from Washington DC. In addition to the powerpoint presentations I usually give about OYE and our work in Honduras, I think its also due to how often I nod in agreement and say, “Oh, just like in Honduras,” then go on to explain how things are so similar yet so different.

Like yesterday when I arrive to a friend’s house and in checking out her ‘quintal’ (backyard ) recognized a nest of coconuts primed to be picked, I love when they are full of water and the coconut meat is still slimy and has not yet fully hardened. Instinctively, I set up a ladder, reach up (probably higher than she was able to reach) and twist the coconuts until they come loose. Next I grab the nearest ‘facão ‘ (machete, every house has one) and chop it clean (always chopping with the grain and twisting against it) until I get to the rock hard center.

If you want to drink all the water, coconuts have a specific side you are supposed to open them from, a side with three meaty openings, kinda like a bowling ball. If you try to open it from the wrong side you will end up chopping the day away to no avail and probably hack so furiously you’ll spill all the water. There is nothing like fresh coconut water. I strip them and put them in the fridge,…. Better yet, there is nothing like COLD fresh coconut water.

In Honduras I´ve met many campesinos who shake your hand with 4 fingers due to a life’s worth of machete work. I always remember them when I work with a machete. Since I am by many accounts a rookie, precision is vital. Veterans hack away effortlessly since they’ve probably been using machetes since they were little. Sharing stories like this is yet another example of why I am sometimes identified as “that American guy from Honduras.” Tying a proper hammock knot or carrying a 5 gallon jug of water while riding a bike are some of the norms one picks up while living South of the border.

On Saturday evening I went to visit my friend Monique at her job, she manages the ‘boto’ (river dolphin) tourist site. Her mother, Marisa, grew up along the river and has been feeding a family of pink river dolphins for decades. The family has turned their ‘flotante’ (floating dock/home) into one of Novo Airão’s main tourist attraction. All you have to do is Google image Novo Airão and it is clearly the first pic tourist post online. The dolphins seem happy to oblige. Super social and incredibly smart, they must know the family invites people everyday to pet them and watch them swim about. Recent laws have forbidden tourists from swimming or feeding them, a few years ago you could basically jump in the river and be surrounded by playful dolphins. In 2011 that is simply a lawsuit waiting to happen so now you sit on the dock and splash until they come up and stare you face to face, then you gently pet them.

One of the main differences I´ve noticed between salt water and river dolphins is their ability to move their heads, as if they had necks. I´m told this is because they have to negotiate through flooded forests (igapó) and under and between roots. Also helps them catch small fish in tight quarters. I show up with Erivaldo and his daughter and Monique laughs and says that for tourists its 20$ reals per person (more than I pay for 3 days worth of food!). It dawns on me that, ‘wait, I´m a tourist!’ and suddenly realize I haven’t brought nearly enough money. Monique gives us a playful wink and tells us to stay put and have a beer, she lets us in for free once the last of the tourists have left.

When the torrential rains come (which seems to be about 3 times per day) or when the electricity is out there isn’t much else to do but sit around and joke and talk. Every convo is filled with ‘piadas’ (joke) or someone ‘jingando’ (teasing) someone else. The sensation of merely sitting and talking is something we don’t really get to experience in the states, probably because it always feels as if there is something we should be doing. We are in constant motion, and even when we get a chance to sit there is usually a tv blaring in the background or a cell phone to be answered. We are all so connected, so wired that we don’t even know what it feels like to not have constant access to everything.

The force of the rains humbles all that roam the earth. Bands of street dogs camp out under porch decks, delicate butterflies cling under rooftops, birds are held flightless and I sit by the window and watch as mother-earth replenishes herself. An eerie steam rises from the paved roads and the banter on the metal rooftop sounds more like a hurricane than a daily afternoon shower. The sky is in constant motion and you can see storm clouds approach, their dank overcast momentarily blocking the sun. On the river boat, surrounded by miles of flat land, I sat perfectly dry under a glaring sun and saw three different storms simultaneously shower different parts of the forest with water. So cool. Until you realize that one of those massive heavy gray masses is heading your way. Better go back down below and get under the canopy.

Yesterday Erivaldo and I road motorcycles along the highway towards Manaus searching for the right kind of palm tree (there are oh so many different types of palm trees here) to strip of ‘abacaba.’ Abacaba looks like a mane of dreadlocks filled with little purple berries (looks exactly like açai berry) hanging from the top of a palm tree. Artisan workers use these fibers to make rugs, mats, etc. With a machete in hand, we find a few palms with the fruit growing low enough for us to hack down and strip of all its bitter berries. Your hands are instantly stained with the dye of the fiber as you tightly grip each one and drag your closed fist the length of it to remove all the berries, always sure to save the ones that are ripe. Im told we can make a tasty wine or juice from the ripe ones.

Erivaldo ties up his shirt and we use it to store all the berries we deem ripe enough to take home, the rest lay scattered around us as we continue stripping the vine like fibers. We realize we will need some twine or string to tie up all the loose fibers to take on the motorcycle. Erivaldo walks over to a specific tree, gives it a little slice and strips a belt like portion of bark from its trunk. This tree is flexible he tells me, as he loosens up the stiff strip to pull off fibers that looks a lot like twine. Its amazing how much he knows about the elements that surround him. Yesterday he made a shot glass out of tucuman that had fallen to the ground in his back yard. Tucuman is like a mini coconut without the thick external fibers, about the size of a big grape.

‘A Josse pode virar a vontade’. The shotglass was so small he joked that his wife could drink as many shots as she liked.

Final notes –

I had forgotten how much of a drag it is to wash clothes by hand. However, there is something to be said for drying sheets and shirts in the sun, unless there is no breeze, then they dry stiff. I change shirts a few times a day, due to sweat, yet I still deem them clean enough to wear once they dry. My room has become a mosaic of drying shirts.

In the cities we don’t realize how much variety we have. On my street alone in Astoria, Queens I could choose from Indian, Greek, Chinese, Thai and Mexican. Here I eat the exact same lunch everyday; beans, rice, a cold spaghetti, farofa (a powder made from yucca), and meat or fish. I’d kill for a side salad.

Only 25 newspapers are delivered everyday to Novo Airão (from Manaus). I can´t believe no one here reads the paper. There simply aren’t any around. I found one and, starved for information, immediately read it front to back twice. Half of it was about their local B league soccer teams and the other half about heinous crimes and murders. Made me wish I hadn’t read it. Now I get why there are no newspapers in Novo Airão.

A band of river pirates recently attacked a boat on Rio Negro, not far from Novo Airao. They shot three people, stabbed one and made off with $R 11,000. Locals fear that tourists will be scared away and more boats will start carrying guns, which will probably result in more violence.

Beware of moto-taxi drivers, all required to wear the same vests (colete) showing their documentation and ID. Im told that local gang members or drug addicts (usually coupled into the same group of ‘vagabundos,’ ‘bandidos’ or ‘malandros’) borrow vests from their friends and pose as moto-taxi drivers. Im king of the ‘carona’ (free ride or jalon in Spanish) and usually get a ride or go by bike so no worries.

Tonight I dance in the Quadrilha for Festa Junina (June Party) with 16 other couples. We’ve been practicing all week and our routine is pretty awesome….and hilarious. Similar to a traditional square-dance, Ive hired 5 year old Kaliria to design ‘minha fantasia’ (my costume) so all I have to bring is beer and my straw hat. The fact a 5 year old is pasting together my outfit with colorful pieces of cloth adds to the hilarious part. Saturday morning I have to be fit enough to receive 25 Environmental studies University students from Sao Paulo for a workshop on indigenous craft work at AANA (Assoc Artesanatos de Novo Airão). I am doing a presentation on OYE and the importance of involving and training the younger generation in the global environmental movement.

Check out OYE’s blog (oyehonduras.blogspot.com) for pictures and an update on that workshop.
Ate logo, um abraço.

River Wild - From Rio Negro to Rio Unini

June 24
Life on a river boat is paradise. Surrounded by water and lush forest, our ferry chugged its way up Rio Negro to Rio Unini. I sat on the roof and soaked in my surroundings, feeling surprisingly at home in such a place. There are 6 of us on this boat, the cook (Joao, a happy dude with a huge belly), captain (Celio, seems like he woulda made a good linebacker), an electrician from Manaus, Dani (Celio’s nephew and 1st mate), Ignacio and myself. We are taking 7 tons worth of supplies to the Brasil Nut Factory in Patauá, a new community along Rio Unini. Originally settled on the other side of the river (now Reserva Natural Jaú and off limits for residents) they have resettled to the RESEX side of the rive (Reserva Extrativista) and FVA is helping them do so as a planned community. The Brasil Nut factory is just one of the many projects FVA has here. FAV has set up a community council to vote on decisions and has strategically mapped out the frame work for a new, eco-sustainable community. We chug upriver all night, I have no idea how the captain can see our path, with the full moon gone the river is as dark as the sky. Our poor ferry´s motor churns and churns, bogged down by tons of cement sacks, floor tiles, bricks, etc. These trips upriver can only be made when the river is high, during dry season most parts are too shallow to pass and moving supplies becomes all the more difficult. Dry season, which I will miss, is when all the beaches and swimming holes are formed. Now the river creates huge ‘igapós’ which means flooded forests what would otherwise be firm land. The river water is black as night, which makes swimming pretty scary. During dry season natural swimming holes form and everyone knows where to swim safely. When the river is flooded it becomes one huge mass of water making one always unsure of what may lie below the surface. Fishing is easier in dry season because the fish have less water to hide in, however I learned that the high PH levels of this river are not all that conducive to sustaining much wildlife, including mosquitoes. Critters have thus settled along more fertile waters, primarily further South along Rio Salimões.
On the river your mind plays tricks on you, every log looks like a ‘jacare’ (crocodile) or ‘boto (dolphin) and every snaky branch looks like a cobra. Locals can tell what kind of fish lie below merely from the bubbles they make. I wake before dawn to see the sunrise, the river is as calm and steady as a frozen winter lake. The world looks as if it sits on a mirror, the still waters reflecting every vein on every leaf, just like it always has. If you stare along the river banks long enough you lose sight of where the tree stops and the river starts. It all blends together in a perfect symphony of reflected foliage. Early morning is my favorite, the sun is docile and the breeze gives me goosebumps. The constant reassuring chug of the motor is soothing and, laying in my hammock, can rock me to sleep in an instant. We spent 2 days at Patauá, myself and 5 other strapping young men work to unload the supplies. In under five hours we unload over 7 tons of supplies, that’s over a ton each. Walking precariously along a plank from the boat to the shore, we scramble barefoot up the dirt slope with 30kg sacks of cement on our shoulders, 35kg boxes of ceramics and tiles for the factory floor. We joke that we could sure use a forklift, but someone would probably mess up and it would end up in the river…better to do it by hand. It is difficult to describe the feet of someone who has spent their life barefoot, sprinting across rocks and through jungle. They are like another set of hands, square and boxed, their toes grip the wooden plank as we file one by one from the boat to the factory for storage. My feet are.. how shall I put it…a little more delicate. Thankfully, my knee felt great and didn’t bother me at all. It felt strong and reliable. I have been doing physical therapy as often as I can for the dislocated patella and torn ligaments I sustained playing soccer. Every meal is a feast of rice, spaghetti, fried fish and farofa, which is very filling. I eat every meal as if it were my last, always sure to give the hefty chef a thumbs up between bites.
It is amazing to see the influences of the age of the internet. From Manaus to the far reaches of the jungle, from young to adult everyone has asked, Justin? As in Justin Beiber? How the heck do they even know who that is! The far reaches of the internet are impressive. 5 years ago in El Progreso it was Justin Timberlake, now its Beiber. I joke that I wish Justin were the name of some amazing football player, and not some dancing teenybopper. Most agree that the youth here are at a crossroads between overexposure to the commercial world and maintaining traditional ways of life. In the thick of the amazon I saw bellybutton rings, chin studs, tall Mohawks bleached blond (imitating the most recent Santos futebol phenomenon Neymar) and cameraphones with radio speakers. Im told that in Barcelos, further up the river, there have been a string of suicides (hangings) among teenagers. No one knows why but convos I´ve had have led me to believe that it is due to their insecurity, being exposed to the grips of the glamour and glitz of the commercial world yet finding themselves feeling trapped and very far removed from a world they know very little about.
One thing remains a constant, no matter where I travel in Brasil, futebol dominates. Flamengo and Vasco (rio de janeiro) and Santos and Corinthians (sao Paulo) flags and attire abound. I myself am a Corinthiano and engage in lively debates about why Corinthians has never fared well in the Copa Libertadores or why scandal always seems to follow Flamengo´s club. If you can talk Brasilian futebol, you can manage anywhere.
We accompanied a documentary crew from Rio de Janeiro all the way to Lago das Pedras, a 10 family community about 2 hours from Pataua. We left at 5am and I woke to fetch some coffee and sat on the roof to catch the sunrise.
Nothing clears your head like a sunrise.
Im off to take a dive into the river off the rooftop. Until next time.

Novo Airão - Small city with big dreams

June 18th
Safety used to be a problem in Novo Airão. Some of the neighborhoods were considered dangerous and hard to get to. My buddy Chacrinha told me that once the moto-taxis came to town, all that changed. If a mototaxi was anywhere near an ‘asalto’ or theft he would radio his buddies and within minutes a brigade of confrontational and pissed mototaxi riders would arrive. Chacrinha, a short solid guy with fists the size of bearclaws, told me that at first ‘os bandidos’ resisted and there would be epic fights resulting in broken bones, split foreheads…legend has it that one guy is still in a coma as a result of one of these ‘brigas.’ Today, Novo Airão is safe. People can go where they please, you can leave your bike laying around and no one touches it, people rarely lock their doors (a habit that is always hard for me to break).
Novo Airão is living a transcendental moment right now. Globalization has hit with an unexpected force. As I sit at a bar with my new friends, smartphones litter the table while vibrations and beeps momentarily distract as owners check their buzzing little gadgets, ‘aparelhos.’ Funny because no matter where we may be, when they respond the answer is always, ´i´m down the street!´
A new bridge has been built in the capital city of Manaus crossing the mighty river and finally gives the bustling metropolitan city access to the only road to Novo Airão. The fear among old timers and purists alike is that expansion is inevitable and Novo Airão will eventually become a suburb of Manaus. By road it is only a 2hr ride, along the winding river it takes 10 hrs! Within a decade, or is it already too late!, Novo Airão will lose its fading culture as a new generation aspires for mega-consumption and WI-FI. The only sign of branding here is the VIVO cell phone store about the size of a shoebox and a small bank. All that will inevitably change over the next few years. As I discussed my concerns and condemnation of the new bridge and its inevitable effects on this community, a local raised a valid point. Why should THEY have development and growth and not us? Why should we not have internet? We all want those things, are we doomed to live in a leafy stone age while the world around us passes us by? The world is changing, we must as well. The other side of the argument views this growth and expansion as opportunity, jobs, and new services. I talk with Erivaldo, my best friend here and caretakers of the indigenous artisan AANA offices, about maintaining balance. Finding a way to merge development with environmental protection, the difficulties in creating an eco-development synergy which preserve the very culture he represents. Erivaldo has traveled to Rio, Sao Paulo and Minas Gerais as an ambassador representing the artists, craftwork and culture of his region. At dinner last night he told me, never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I would visit Rio. It was beautiful, just like in the telenovelas. A sly smile across his face, his eyes squint, ´but I prefer here´. I think we both know that once the flood gates of expansion get a strangle hold on Novo Airão there won´t be much anyone can do. Shopping centers and air-conditioned grocery stores are inevitable. And why shouldn’t they be? You think only people in the city like walking around in air-conditioned comfort?
The soles of my feet are perpetually blackened by dirt. No matter how hard I scrub, dirt is already embedded into the fabric of my skin. Back when I was applying to grad schools, and finally chose the only Ivy League that accepted me, I never fathomed my summer internship would allow me the luxury of walking around the office barefoot. I love it. The roads here were made to be very wide, thankfully because traffic here is at an all time high. Like Utila island in Honduras, the main drag has become stomping grounds for any and all wanting to feel the roar of their motor… and force its blaring screeches on the rest of us and our ears. It´s funny how similar some things here are to Progreso…or simply put, any small developing city. Walking home past midnight, dogs guarding their yards egg one another on and seem to compete over which one can bark at you most. Since there is only one channel available, GLOBO, you can hear the blare of the TV in every house clearly all watching the same show. When you walk into a room at night, don’t turn on the light, it wakes and attracts mosquitoes and they’ll probably follow you to bed. Why do mosquitoes buzz in people´s ears? Electricity goes in and out, and the appliance always missed the most is the fan. A swaying hammock always serves as an efficient substitute for cooling off.
Last week I went with Lenne to the municipal gymnasium. I walked in and couldn’t help but feel a little jealous as I recalled afternoons training with the El Progreso basketball team in our municipal gym back in Honduras. Who ever heard of potholes INSIDE a gym?! It amazes me how organized and structured they are here. Really puts into contrast the inescapable poverty and corruption that continues to plague countries like Honduras. I sat at the sign up table and every person that walked in signed their name, along with the neighborhood they were representing and were given three index cards; green, yellow and red. Green = Satisfactory Yellow = Average Red = Unsatisfactory. A projector with an interactive powerpoint showing the night’s agenda was on display for all to see. There was a mic with speakers, a videocamera for documention purposes, a whitewash board with the rules (respect for others opinions, etc) and free popcorn and refreshments. One by one community members arrived, ON TIME!, and took their seats. Topics discussed included trash collection, noise pollution, education, park maintenance and environmental protection. Those in attendance expressed their opinions in a roundtable fashion and voted (using their index cards) on whether a topic was worthy of taking up with the municipality. As people spoke, Clarisse (who happens to be the Secretary of Env.) documented all ideas and suggestions for all to see on the live powerpoint. The entire process was extremely well organized, concise, and effective. Needless to say, I was very impressed.



June 20th
When I envisioned coming here, I thought I would be walking around along muddy roads with not much to do during my down time. That has certainly not been the case. To give an example, the very next night, in the very same gymnasium, there was a UFC fight organized by the Brasilian MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) association. I paid my 10reals, along with about 1000 other spectators, and walked into what seemed like a Las Vegas type production. An octagon at midcourt, spectators, camera crews, disco lights and a heavy humid blanket filled the air as a DJ blasted music. Families and kids of all ages filled the stands, ready to take in another night of bloody combat. There are no babysitter clubs or daycares here. Families seem pretty united and go everywhere together. If dad wants to go drink at the bar with the fellas, he takes his kid. Not many other options. There were 11 bouts, as each victor screamed and rejoiced in his victory, the crowd erupted in delight. I sat next to one mother whose son Bruno must have been fighting on the Jiu-Jitsu category because she was a mess!! “Tira ele Bruno!” Get him off of you,! she howled. Poor Bruno lost. The fights finally ended and we all went to dance forro, similar to salsa and danced everywhere , mostly across the Northern and northeastern Brasil. I broke my flip-flop dancing with a woman whose thighs alone probably outweighed me.
I have started giving English classes, specializing topics based on what people need to know. In one class, with Erivaldo, Lenne and Klarisia, I’m teaching them the English they need to manage their artisan center when tour buses arrive. They have always depended on tour guides to translate, all that is going to change soon. “How much does this cost?” and “This is a hat made from reed fibers” are some of the things I’m teaching. They tell me I’m a great teacher because I can explain to them in Portuguese what letters are supposed to sound like in english. For example, In teaching the alphabet, I’ll write below each letter A, B, C (ai, bi, ci) or twenty (tuenti). “Eu cobro rapaz!” I’m tuff because I make everyone prove to me they can say it right before moving on.
I eat fresh fish everyday. One of the perks of living here. Pirarucu, jaraqui and tucunare are some of my faves. Tacaca is a soup, made from the mandioca root and leaves, that leaves your tongue numb. A very strange sensation which at first made me worry I was allergic to it. Vatapa de camarão is also really good, a deep fried ball of dough stuffed with any and everything.
I am off tomorrow upriver to Rio Unini to visit the Brasil nut factory FVA sponsors. They are picking me up in the company boat on their way from Manaus and from here its about a day and a half ride. We are taking tons of supplies (tiles, machinery, etc) to put the finishing touches on the factory which will do everything from processing to packaging. My work here it to develop a new program recently initiated called AJURI (an indigenous word that kinda means community help). I had a meeting today with all the heads of the foundations and contributors to AJURI (AANA, ICMBio, IBAMA, IPE…and I thought Columbia Univ was heavy on acronyms) and proposed some ideas I had for growing this initiative. A youth Eco-walkathon with Olympic style races and prizes, a recycling program at the schools, building and painting recycling bins and trashcans to post strategically throughout the city, a city wide treasure hunt for students to teach them about local eco-movements, etc. The meeting went well and we´re all to reconvene in a week so we can let ideas marinate for a while. I have already been recruited to dance in a festival next week and will have to get some quick practice in when I get back from Uniní. The stars here are glorious, on most nights the Milky Way is quite visible and my neck gets sore from staring up at the endless night sky. For now I am reading a Garcia Marquez book in my down time, Memórias de minhas putas tristes, and listening to lots of MPB music on my little laptop. Tomorrow the river awaits and Im back to sleeping on a boat, only this time Im riding in style. I just tried to post a pic of the boat…see if it worked.
Ate mais. Boa noite.

Minha primeira semana - My first week in the Amazon

June 6-13
Arriving to the Amazonian metropolis of Manaus by airplane , one cant help but feel like a fraud. A city of 2 million dropped smack dab in the middle of a 7 million square kilometer tropical jungle, the only true and genuine way of arriving to Manaus is by river. There are no roads connecting the city to the rest of Brasil, thus everyone and everything arrived by boat…until the airport was built.
As I gazed down from above the clouds, I was immediately confronted with the sheer magnitude of the Amazon river. From the sky its massive reach is truly humbling, the river swirls and weaves its way through lush jungle as far as the eye can see. It is hard to fathom the enormity of this river until you hover above it, feeling like a fish in the sea… or in this case, a fish in a river. In the horizon signs of civilization begin to rear its ugly face as buildings, bridges and a river port come into view. Held speechless by the vast expanse of the dense jungle I couldn’t help but think; all our skyscrapers, telephone towers and highways are nothing. We are but a mere inconvenience to mothernature, a bunch of pesky renters who party all night and certainly will not be getting our security deposit back. We seem to be over staying our welcome and Nature can’t wait to chew us up and spit us out. The Amazon river has an average water discharge greater than the next seven largest rivers combined, and that’s not including the massive Amazonian rivers Rio Negro and Madeira. I flew over one part of the river that seemed more like an ocean, no shores in site.
I arrive to Manaus and immediately felt at home. Manaus is steeped in history. The colonial powers of Portugal and Spain quickly killed off or enslave the many local indigenous communities along the river, which were soon turned into bioextractive operations due initially to the emergence of the rubber (borracha) trade. Seringais, or rubber production sites, became the norm and regatões, river merchants, made sure that communities received just enough food and supplies to remain endebted and therefore forced to keep working.
My work here with an environmental ngo (Fundação Vitoria Amazonica) will take me West along Rio Negro toward Rio Unini. After a 10hour ferry ride upriver I will be living in a city/community of about 15000 called Novo Airão helping develop the ngo’s youth outreach efforts (called AJURI). There exist many negative connotations associated with ngos and many regional conflicts between indigenous communities, governments, and ngos. During the Brasilian dictatorship the government decided to draw lines on a map defining national reserves, never considering that thousands of people lived within the regions. Now communities are being forced to adapt to new laws which limit the amount of bio resources they can use, forcing many to abandon their communities for unknown and difficult lives in the city of Manaus. Among many other initiatives, FVA works closely with the indigenous communities to help them manage resources, produce sustainable products (Brasil Nuts, açai, mandioca, arts n crafts, etc), and teach a younger generation to continue growing while coping with increasing government environmental regulations. One of the main programs we’ll be focusing on is a Brasil Nut factory FVA has built deep in the jungle (Unini) which should help a community remain where they are without surrendering to urbanization and fleeing their land to find work in the city.
Adventures lie around every river bend, up every tree and at the pit of every new and exotic fruit. . Até logo. Valeu!!



June 16th
I board an old 3 story barge-like boat to make the overnight treck to Novo Airao, the Amazonian community where I will be living and working. I get there early to find a good spot to hang my hammock. A few hours later the entire boat will become a web of hammocks stuffed with slumbering bodies, as the boat chugs at a snail’s pace upriver. It is a full moon tonight and the night sky it lit up by its shimmering glow. I am to meet my coordinator, Lenne, at 7am the next morning at the Novo Airao port. I doze in and out of sleep, comforted by the purr of the engine and the sound of its wake crashing on shore. I wake momentarily, forgetting for an instant where I am, and only snap back to reality when I try to move and realize I am surrounded by people wrapped in hammock-cocoons.
Its 5am and Im at the hul of the boat watching the sun peak through the clouds. Novo Airão is a sleepy Amazonian city, all of its movement and traffic is concentrated on an L-shaped main drag, or `Avenida Principal.´ Lenne, my coordinator, has her husband pick me up on his motorcycle and I am wisked away to meet my new home, the FVA office and research center. The city is surprisingly developed, a few hostals, mom-n-pop restaurants and juice stands speckle la Avenida Principal. There is a huge plaza central which has sand soccer fields, volleyball courts, and for some reason a huge replica of a brontosorous dinasour. Apparently, a while back they found some fossils around here and some politician thought it would be a good idea to ship in this giant, ugly, out of place replica. Ive asked around, no one really knows what the heck its doing there. I am given the keys to my new home, a sizeable wooden house, which doubles as an office. I am told a woman is staying here for the week caring for 2 infants. In a horrible explosion, a familys house burned to the ground, with members being badly burned. The sister is here caring for the infant while the family relocates to Manaus to seek treatment and aid. FVA, like many NGOs operating in underdeveloped regions, inevitably becomes a human aid service when called upon. NGOs often do this because they are the only ones with cars, boats, health supplies and spare housing. During hurricane Felix in 2005, OYE in Honduras became a search and rescue operation as our Mitsubishi truck was called upon to deliver supplies to churches and rescue families trapped up on the mountain side.
My first day was a dose of Amazonian ngo reality. Coming from the Columbia grad school world where every single minute of everyday MUST be taken advantage of, life here moves at a drastically different pace. To my delight, I was given a bike for transport, great for my recovering knee injury and essential to my mental sanity. I spent the entire afternoon chatting or ´batendo um papo´ with Erivaldo, director of AANA (Asociação dos Artesinatos do Novo Airão). AANA supports all the local indigenous communities by selling their art work, bags, hats, rugs, lamps and more made from reeds and seeds.
Erivaldo is my age and we got along famously. While we traded stories and talked about how we can begin growing the program Im here for (AJURI) I basically met every other NGO director in the community. Since his warehouse/art and craft headquarters is located on the Avenida Principal, everyone stops by to say hi, ´dar um oizinho.´ There is much to be done, fortunantely I am surrounded here by ppl with big hearts and a passion for what they do. More good things to come.