The Goddess of the Road looks favourably upon me!

There was a bottleneck of Backpackers in Puerto Rio Tranquilo

I kept bumping into the same faces. Many of us, with our Chilean $ pesos running low were staying in the ultra-ultra-budget campsite in town. What you lose in basic services you gain in camaraderie: the cheap places are always the friendliest 🙂

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The town’s popularity is the result of the beautiful Capilla de Marmol, the ‘chapel of marble’ caves out on a Laguna General Carrera. Whipped cream rock formations on transparently turquoise waters, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in the Caribbean if it weren’t for the nippingly fresh wind.

 

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How to get to Chile Chico?

I had only $10,000 (£10) left in my pocket and still 165 kilometres left to cover before Chile Chico and the prized border back to Argentina. Chilean Patagonia had haemorrhaged my savings. I was feeling anxious and a little stranded.

With so much competition, hitchhiking out of here felt almost impossible. The season was almost over and only a trickle of vehicles were passing through.

Nevertheless, I chose to wear my bright pink tight that day in the hope that I might stand out from the crowd of roadside thumbs.

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The Pink Tights worked magic!

No sooner was I concocting rescue Plans B & C when two twin-like Aussies pulled up in a white Chevrolet. I loitered like a street dog drooling for a bone. As they bid their previous hiker ‘adieu’ and I blurted out,

“Van a Chile Chico? Hablan Ingles….? Hello! Where are you chaps headed? …..Do you have space for me…..pllll….ease?!”

I stuttered in disbelief  

…when I heard their affirmative response – really? Really? “Are you sure?!” Miracle workers! they agreed to have me aboard in that relaxedly Aussie drawl I love. We were on our way to Los Antiguos, the first town after the border crossing and I felt like I’d won a Golden Ticket to Willy Wonker’s Chocolate Factory!

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Ruta 40 goes on and on and on….remote plains of pampa and family groups of Guanacos pose by the roadside

Road Tripping

What began as a ride across the border turned into two days of travel with Francesca and Anthony, sister and brother scientists from the Blue Mountains of Sydney. They shared their love of canyoning and mountaineering in remote places all over the world that left me yearning for more.

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Francesca in Grotto Canyon, Apiring National Park, New Zealand

I heard about their father’s backpacking travels across India during the late sixties – a man I’d love to interview! what a dude.

From the unique ecology of New Zealand and the national parks of the United States….to the recent time they found a young woman gravely injured from her car crash in the Californian desert and rescued her back to safety.

Over humble meals of bread, tomato and cheese (‘Backpackers’ Delight’) we enthused about our favourite flavoursome foods from Asia.

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The words of Marie Curie (pioneering Polish-French physicist and chemist, 1867-1934). She was the first woman to win the Nobel Prize and, the first and only person to win it twice.

A conversation highlight was Frank’s animated description (in layman’s terms for me) of the wonder of Proteins, a subject at the heart of her phD research. Wonderful images grew and duplicated like cells in my imagination as she described their place in everything within our bodies, our organs, the systems that govern our physical function and outside of us, all around us, in everything! Marie Curie’s words came to mind.

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From Los Antiguos to Perito Moreno to Bajo Caracoles to Tres Lagos….we covered 704kms together. That feeling of good fortune never wained thanks to their familial company and all the fabulous stories.

‘Dedo’ – Hitchhiking along Ruta 40

Pointing the finger / Pointing the ‘dedo’

In Spanish the thumb is also called a finger, hence to ‘thumb a ride’ is to ‘dedo’.

It may sound silly but hitchhiking is there amongst my childhood dreams. As a young whipper-snapper in sleepy town Suffolk I envisioned true travel as sharing the back of a pick-up with local farm workers in a far away land.

In Argentina ‘dedo’ was something I was ready to try.

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La Peatonal Pasarella, the wooden foot bridge leaving El Bolson

Nevertheless, all the reasonable anxieties of una mochillera sola extrangera / single female backpacker kept nagging away,

  • What if my ride turns out to also be a charismatic psychopath?
  • Do I speak Spanish well enough to hold a long conversation?
  • What if I get robbed or lost in the middle of nowhere?

“AaaAAaarrrrrrggggghhhhHHHHhhhh!”

It wasn’t until I reached the hippie town of El Bolson, south of Bariloche and met Andre, that I was ready to get started.

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Tent living is made all the better with a constant supply of tea 😀

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We met in budget $60 (£3) camping across the river. I was the only extrangera within a camping community of South American bohemian travellers escaping the cities for summertime work, selling their ‘artesania’ or touring in bands.

Two days of relentless rain storm left all us seeking dry refuge in the rough wooden cabin that served as a kitchen. The innate desire to share —COMPARTIR!!— meant that food was busily prepared and bubbling away on the stove for everyone who was to join the congregation.

It was such a toasty night of macrame and drawing around the table, bottles of beer and wine passed like mate, from one to another along with songs and stories. We ate steaming hot comida under one dangling bright light bulb suspended above a long wooden table.

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I don’t think the wooden walls of this little shack had ever felt such good cheer!

As well as the usual conversation comparing countries and languages we compared confusion at jazz music theory and listened to old cheerful tunes from the 1920s. Andre twanged a version of Durazno Sangrando, an Argentine classic by amazing Luis Spinetta. Common to the others but new to me was the strangely beautiful tale of a bleeding peach.

Leaving El Bolson

The next day, after lots of chat about the ‘what ifs and where fors’ Andre helped me find a good spot for a ride out of the town: by the gasolina station after the supermarket.

I was ready! and it was thanks to him and some encouragement, for giving me that —final—–gentle—–push——

Within 30 minutes Katia, a ceramicist from El Hoyo offered me a ride and I was on the road!

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‘Immigrant Way’, a name that made me smile as I waited for another ride

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El Hoyo, town abundant in raspberry, strawberry, blackberry farms

 

Dancing with Dario in Cordoba

Vacaciones de Navidad
Lunes, 28 Deciembre

Dario taught a swing dance classes in Parque las Tejas/ Tiles park. Despite now living in Buenos Aires, he’s sowing small seeds and nurturing a swing dance community in his home city of Cordoba. Some of those in the class are hip hop and house dance enthusiasts as well as Dai Zapata, an experienced Cordobes tap dancer.

As it was Dario’s last night we had to commemorate the occasion with a dance under the white bridge with the Christmas tree of lights in the distance.

Although barely audible we’re dancing to ‘Wham’ by The Hot Sugar Band.

The ‘CAPOS’ Porteno Swing Dance Championships

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I’m so glad to catch this! It’s ‘CAPOS’ time!

This is the Campeonato Porteno de Swing/ Buenos Aires Swing Dance Championships  and the build up has been exciting with everyone seemingly rehearsing their socks off to refine their coreos/ choreographies. Dear Dario, another kindred Herrang spirit has been consumed with rehearsals and we’re yet to meet and share a mate.

Before I go any further, let me translate Porteno for you! This word refers to somebody from Buenos Aires, a port city = ‘port-eno’. For example:

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a ‘Portena’ government building graced with Jacaranda trees of violet blossom.

A 'Porteno' taxi.

A ‘Porteno’ taxi.

Elspeth la Inglesa

I meet Elsie, a new pal, on a sun-drenched Saturday morning Avenida and we travel across the city to Pedro Goyena together. Elsie is from Bristol and we met at a Swing City dance class the week beforehand.

She talks in the very best slang that is so familiar to me and her company is muy linda! Together we jabber enthusiastically ‘effing, jeffing as we go, flinging in healthy dollops of sarcasm and random metaphor. Yes, I’m learning Spanish but sometimes it’s nice to take time out and let off steam in your mother tongue.

Elsie’s here in Argentina for six weeks to take stock, dip her plimsolls into Swing dance in Buenos Aires and to work with an alternative farming community in the countryside beyond the city.

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Dos Gringas

We arrive at a beautiful dance hall in a 1930’s building. Dancers are buzzing around with their contest numbers pinned to their clothes. As always in this scene there is the sweetest mix of ye olde 1920s-50s ‘vintage’ variation mixed with casual comfortable plimsols, t-shirt, jeans.

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Las Chicas line-up for the Open Jack & Jill.

Meet Jack y Jill

El Campeonato begins with an Open Jack & Jill. To give you a quick definition:

a J&J allows your ability as a dancer to be tested by dancing with a random mix of partners to music chosen by the Deejay, over a number of heats.

This contest was Open to all abilities as opposed to an ‘Invitational’.

Elsie enters the contest but I’m afraid I cower out. This Jack and Jill takes place over four sets with the best dancers selected from Round 1 to compete in subsequent rounds. With each heat, the number of dancers is whittled down to finalists.

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I get up and get busy during the 20 minute social dancing breaks in between the Jack & Jill. After some lovely dances I have a surprise reunion with Gabriela, Cinthia and Cesar – we met last year in Brazil. They’ve flown over to compete. Here they are in the Solo Charleston Finals.

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As the afternoon progresses I swoon at the talent and dedication of so many dancers here. I am full of admiration. Here’s are the Jack & Jill Finals: *cut to 2:22 for the solos!*


Una Pausa por Alfajores y café con crema

Elsie and I nip out for a much need break of fresh air, natural light, alfajores y café con crema. Upon our return, las coreos comienzan and we sit cross-legged to enjoy the fruits of the previous weeks’ laborious practise. I do love this!! Such humour, creativity and endeavour. This community is motivated and progressive. The energy here is in full flow.

This is my favourite showcase! Rachel Austin y Alex Morgan mix it up and dance like ninjas: “increIBle”!!

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Find films of other choreographies at the bottom of this post 🙂

After all, no After Party for Me 😦

As the CAPOS continues into the night, my social batteries slowly wind down and I decide to forego the after party. I catch the No.24 colectivo to Avenida San Juan where I’m staying with amazing Couchsurf host Luciana. Sweaty and in much need of a change of clothes I can’t even comprehend the after party despite Marcela’s encouragement, dressed as a 1920s flapper girl shouting across to Elsie y I on a busy bus at 1am.

Jazzy night bus.

Jazzy night bus.

The future is: Campeonato America del Sur

Back to normality at Swing City classes on Monday evening, Juan Villafane is describing his aspirations for the CAPOS. Over the next couple of years the team will continue to grow the event, link-up with scenes in Brazil, Chile and Uruguay and evolve this into the South American Swing Dance Championships. The ambition is exciting and I can’t help but feel drunk on Swing-love! (yes, I’m giddy!)

With such a feeling the enormous ocean between us here in Buenos Aires and Europe ….or the miles of land to North America and west to Korea, Japan, India, China….these distances all fade away and through this community I feel such a comfort of human connection 🙂

(Thank you Ana Luz Crespi, ALC Fotografica for permission to use your photos.)

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Lost and found: In Search of Cachoeira Magic

Before we left Lencois Monika and I set out on a path to find the mystical Cachoeira Sossego, one of the prettiest most majestic waterfalls in this area. We asked around in the town, cobbled together some directions and off we went. We had such an adventure navigating our way through a kingdom of gigantic rocks but in truth: we were LOST.

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On our way home we met Pablo, son of a Parisian toymaker and young musician spending time in Chapada Diamantina on an eight month Walkabout,

Walkabout (noun) – A nomadic excursion into the bush, especially one taken by young teenage Australian aboriginal boys in certain ancient-custom honoring tribes.

He was funny, kind and played a mean Flamenco guitar weaving in some unexpected samba rhythms.

He offered to guide us and so, the next day the three of us set out with with Sossego in our sights. ‘Sossssssssego’=’quiet’; we retraced half of our footsteps from the previous day of wandering. Ironically the correct route was easier than our previous of clambering and scrambling in a giant’s lair.

Monika and Pablo and Magic Mud.

Monika and Pablo and Magic Mud.

A Snake in our Path

All of a sudden Pablo lept back and gasped!! A Cobra Corale was slithering across our path. And my….by golly….he/she/it was pretty!

Like a kinetic necklace.

And….according to our young guia, very poisonous too. Having rarely been around snakes I felt no fear at all – a numbness – strange to me. Pablo and I loitered and gazed in admiration at this truly wild beast as it slithered away and coiled itself around a tree.

There she is....the pretty deadly serpent of the forest.

There she is….O Serpente da Floresta.

Onward to a green grey boulders lumped in the river.

We hopped—skipped—and jumped over them—. Momentum is on your side.

It’s a great feeling to be in this bouldered valley, a remote peaceful place, only the sound of the rushing water between rocks. Yes, serenity. The sun bounces off these noble rocks – it’s bright and warm. A light drenched chasm. We feel like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.

Apparently we’re only two minutes away from our destination and then, soon enough, SHE IS:

…a beautiful world——a circular Cathedral-like fractured flume——-a long and furious waterfall….

The still water below is so deep it is brown and black, like strong tea. We slip into the cool brew and swim around, rinsing the sweat of our well exercised limbs.

Egg & rosemary sandwiches for lunch.

Afterwards we explore the surrounding cliffs.

I dance Shaman style with Pablo’s colourful kanga. Shaman/xama – animal/animal – forest spirit/espirito da floresta – butterfly/borboleta – rainbow/acro-iris.

Carona 

At the end of the weekend the two of us packed up our tent and hitched a ‘carona’ /ride back to Capao…..

Truckin' for Jesus! - The charming view from our lift.

Truckin’ for Jesus! – The charming view from our first lift.

A strange shop full of compact disc decorations and two cats on leads....

A strange shop in Palmeiras, on our way home. It was full of compact disc decorations and two cats on leads….

Once back in the bosom of Rivendell….a-hem!….I mean Capao, we attempt to find Cachoeira Fumaca, the tallest/longest (how do your measure a waterfall?) in Brasil at 340m; ‘Fumaca’=’smoke’. It’s a wet day, muita chuva! – we are warned to turn back in these slippery conditions and without a guide, but, ….we stubbornly march on. Waterfall hunting can be rather addictive 🙂

We tie plastic scraps to shrubs, like Hansel and Gretel trying to keep track of our path. It’s surprisingly misty, much like the Peak District – a memory from home. After a couple of hours trudging I turn around 360 degrees: everywhere looks the same; another memory! call me dramatic but this is the Swamp of Sadness from Never Ending Story. We’re damp, disorientated, “let’s turn back…..!” I persuade Moni. Eventually the Polski ‘forca da natureza’ concedes.

Atrax the horse dies in the Swamp of Sadness, Never Ending Story :-( (image: www.sub-cultured.com)

Atrax the horse dies in the Swamp of Sadness, Never Ending Story 😦 (image: http://www.sub-cultured.com)

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Where the heck is Fumaca?!

Back to the Big Salvadoran Smoke 

It’s time to go back to Salvador. Sam is driving there and we bundle into his trusty Defender along with his friend Daniel. The four of us set off around tea time.

Daniel has been living alone in the jungle for the past month. He’s an artist, tattooist, a Seeker of Truth, he has an enquiring soul and hates cameras. He paints fabulous t-shirt designs and makes etchings. I can feel a new friendship in the air.

Off we speed together, into the night along that same red track that led us to this precious green wilderness in the first place.

Some etchings (all details) by Daniel Emekin.

Some etchings (all details) by Daniel Emekin.

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Farewell Capao!

“The Hills are Alive!” in Chapada Diamantina

A happy twist of Fate

After a failed hitch hiking attempt from Arembepe, Monika and I bought the last two seats on a late bus to Lencois. We were on a mission to get to the big green spaces of Chapada Diamantina, one of Brasil’s national parks.

Feeling gun-ho and on very low budgets we were heading out into the night on this seven hour journey with no accommodation arranged for our arrival. Well, in this climate, a park bench could always be an option.

In spite of our gaul, we began chatting to Samuel, our neighbour on the bus who promptly offered us a place to stay.

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‘Diamantina’ refers to diamond mining here during the mid 19th century – One of many Morros – Jungle cactus family flora.

And……..?!

…..Sam turned out to be the most amazing and wonderful person!

We alighted with him in Palmerias – a sleepy town, exactly like that from a classic Western film. He fired up his safari style Land Rover Defender and the three of us went speeding off. —–As fast as you can along the very bumpy red dirt track—- into the starry night to Capao.

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A Brasilian one horse town with buildings dating from the late 1800s. I kept imagining life back then…how the locals might’ve have dressed, exchanged daily conversation, slang, gossip, comings and goings….

The Secret Communidade of Capao

The next morning we awoke cradled in Sam’s jungle dwelling surrounded by bush and mountains. The smell of locally grown coffee, pina fruit and warm buttered ‘integral’ bread rolls wafted up to our mezzanine level.

Sam sleeps in a big hammock on the ground floor.

After ‘café do manha’ we ventured through the labyrintine tracks, lined with abundant green foliage and hibiscus flowers to a nearby waterfall. We swan starkers, dozed in the sunshine and drank from the fast flowing streams we passed….

Blossom and colour everywhere.

Blossom and colour everywhere.

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All of this following a previous day of sketchy plans and a chance meeting. Hurrah for Magic! Serendipity/ Coincidence/ Intuition/ Care-less-free-ness!

Over the two weeks that followed Monika and I had the most idyllic time getting to know Capao: a very small town with an alternative vibrant community of families, a local circus, lots of vegetarian food, random horses in the street.

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The local Moto Taxi point, school gates and circus. ‘Criancinhas’ = Small children.

In search of Aguas Claras e Morro Tabor

This is trekking territory and most days we had a destination cashoeira (waterfall) in mind. We got to know Steffa, another solo backpacker from Hawaii. The three of us went camping out into the wilderness.

Here are some words from my notebook:-

“Red dirt tracks, motorbikes, trucks, dust clouds….turned into insects, cicadas, wild flora, cactus, pink rock, sloping green hills and mountains.

We reach Aguas Claras and pitch up.

Enormous bats come out at night where we camp; the sound of frogs calling to each other throughout the night is like a relentless and eventually relaxing car alarm.

The next day – dappled light and shadow over the land. It’s only us – there’s no one else in sight. No alien sounds. We climb the mountain, skipping up like mountain goats initially. Then scramble.”

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Steffa, Monika and I, some big country to explore and ‘Space flowers’ with white bobble blossom, very sci-fi to us and once endangered.

“I wonder how many other feet have trodden on these boulders, stones, wedged their fore feet into the nooks between plants and rocks?

Small universes exist at every level, nestled into the mountainside. Like a favela and skyscraper of nature. Spiderwebs span space between rocks: imagine being a spider living here – looking out each morning on this panorama?!

We continue to climb…figuring out our way as we clamber and hug the mountainside.—- – looking for hand holds and gaps for toes to pull ourselves up. You look back over your shoulder and see the drop – the space – the beauty!”

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Gringas/ Hobbits on the uncertain path to Mordor….er-hum!…I mean: Morro Tabor.

“As we reach the top the terrain flattens. ‘chapada’=plateau: a wonderful Eden up here! Lots of tropical plants, like a garden, lush and green but succulent-like too, prickily.

I ponder —–these plants have all been born here and reproduce, -up here-, away from the towns and cities, away from people…..growing, evolving, with their insect companions….this world, one that doesn’t need the help or attention of anyone or anything…..enjoying and feeding from the daily sunshine, rain, wind…..

And the insects, flying here and there amongst this plant kingdom and then off the edge of this magnificent peak, dipping in and out of the ‘villages’ on the side of this huge entity.”

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Half way up the magnificent Morro Tabor. As big hilly lumps fare this one was a beauty.

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A Space flower up close!

A Little Town called Lencois

Monika and I camped in a mango orchard in Lencois over a long weekend. This sounds quite charming but mango trees are vast in size and the swollen fruit would fall at random from branches on high with a loud *thunk!* on the ground. We both escaped ‘death by mango’ unscathed.

The town was gorgeous. Small enough to be relaxing and big enough to have a buzz of activity. Old buildings, cobbled streets – unassuming – humble – the gateway to more of Chapadaaaaaaaa.

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Home in a Mango Orchard.

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. Banks of the river, Lencois.

“Went for a hike to a waterfall and got waylaid in a kind of heaven: a lunar landscape of pink rock and several rock pools of orange water. The water is apparently full of iron hence the colour.

Families hang out, bathe and wash their clothes, The rocks are strewn with brightly coloured clothing, all smacked, stretched, clean and spread out in the sun to dry – like patchwork, big colourful squares glued to the contours of the rocky terrain.”

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Laundry day by the river.

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These women had no idea how pretty the results of their labour looked to us.

“Such a relaxed intimate place, we decide to stay and wallow too.

Warm sun, a cloudy sky….an aeroplane streaks across the sky in the far distance; it looks like a shooting star – ‘Estrela Cadente’. Children yelp and call….play…and easy adventure…jumping in and out of the cool golden water. Like mermaid people: “mer-folk.”

This the best playground ever.

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“A young girl has her hair combed, washed, groomed, tugged,…she sits there frowning. Babies are dunked, rubbed and rinsed.

This is a kind of Eden. An effortless paraiso.

Daily routines/chores/tasks are carried out here. To the locals this is not a big deal, but to me this is a special place.

Dogs are washed, soaped up and rinsed. Held still so they don’t run dirty soap suds all over the clean laundry. They rub their heads against the stone afterwards, to find a new natural scent.

Large reptilian spiders cling spread eagle on the edge of the rock near the water’s edge, soaking up the sun’s warmth – recharging, like eight legged batteries. They are pink brown in colour, well evolved in this landscape – gecko-like with a furry brown body; their black eyes glisten like caviar baubles, *alert* . I am fascinated.

Earlier in the day we see two bright green parrots calling as they chase across the sky. They are a happy surprise to us. There is beauty everywhere.

Like a Turkish bath from another century – a scene from a classical painting – and yet this is Bahia…on the banks of the river in a small sleepy town in 21st century Brasil.”

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