Desert, Wine and Stomach Bugs

I traveled by bus from Salta to Cafeyette in an effort to wine taste in the northern most part of Argentina's Napa Valley. The bus ride held spectacular views throughout the 4 hour journey, through the Quebrada de Cafeyette aka possibly the Sedona Arizona of Argentina.

So the last photo above was taken by my friend from the bus. Amazing no? Anyway after four hours of bus journey-ing through the desert we began to arrive at an oasis.........of vineyards!

The abrupt change in scenary was surprising and my spirits soared after months in Brasil without drinking hardly a drop of wine. (sidenote: Brasil is not known for its wine. Remember that. Do not be so foolish as to order a glass of wine while in Brazil during dinner. It will not be delicious.)

After my self-imposed hiatus from drinking wine, the beautiful vineyards and wine tasting rooms of Cafeyette were the charming and welcoming relief my palette desired.

We even found a few bodegas, or wineries that had some strange architecture. But nevertheless, the local grape, torrones, and cabernet-malbec were indeed delicious. If you have never tried a Torrontes from the Salta/Cafeyette region of Argentina I would recommend it. Also if you can find a Torrontes by the Munoz Familia Vineyard you should do two things: First drink it. No matter what the price (although it should be reasonable). and Second: Call me immediately and tell me where I can get some.

Cafeyette was such an amazing little town, it even had an ice cream shop that sold wine flavored ice creams. My friend and I can be seen below eating a cabernet ice cream and a torrontes ice cream. YUM!!!

Now let us not forget that when there is good wine, there is normally good food. This was the case in Cafeyette and after living in Brasil for 11 months, I was in heaven, eating at a fine dining restaurant that had delicious food and wine pairings!

Can you feel my excitement for this meal? Although, ironically I also had the worst case of stomach problems throughout my entire year in South America, once I landed in Cafayette. Oh yes. It was bad. But did I let that stop me from wine tasting and eating good food? NO! I powered through the stomach pains, the endless urge to excuse my self to the bano, and took some stomach meds and always carried around a spare roll of TP with me!

One of the famous things to do while also in Cafeyette beside drink wine, is to go and explore the Quebrada or rock desert in the surrounding area. And just in case you were wondering how my friend, also marine biologist, and I were feeling after half a morning in the desert, I think this picture says it all.

However, despite the lack of ocean, we saw some amazing landscapes, very similar to the Grand Canyon and Arizona. This photo pictured below, also was from some glacier period and the different color relate to....uh...different things in the rocks....but the yellow is old algae fossils from when this area used to be covered by ocean! Yay! remnants of an ocean!

The rocks and desert landscapes were pretty spectacular. Even if they were without salt water. But after our excursion of desert activities, we decided to treat ourselves to a delicious meal.

The local finest: llama meat, slow cooked over an open fire for 12 hours, some veggies and a delicious bottle of Terraza's Cabernet Sauvignon. What a deliciously amazing place!

The Road to Salta, Argentina

I had to go to Argentina for a conference, to present the research I had done on seahorses while in Brazil. Since I had used all my Fulbright travel money, I had to pay on my own to go to the conference and get to Argentina. Because I was paying my own way I decided I might as well travel and see a bit of Argentina as well. The cheapest way to get to Argentina from Northeast Brazil turned out to be flying to Iguassu Falls and then crossing into Argentina by border. I had an old friend traveling with me - so my crazy adventures this time involved a co-conspirator!

After flying to the Falls, we spent two days being amazed by the water. Did I mention my friend is a photographer and wanted to take pictures at the times of day when the "light" was the most interesting. Which meant up super early for sunrise and out late for sunset. But it was beautiful and well-worth it as you can see.

Then we traveled by plane to Salta, northwest Argentina. Had we gone by bus, it would have taken 3-days for us to get there. Thank goodness for airplanes! And that gives you an idea of just how big Argentina really is. Salta is in a rainshadow and is very dry but also right near the Andes. The combination of desert and mountains was inspiring and we got in a beautiful white water rafting trip here!

Ready to go! Yeah baby! White water rafting! OH did I mention the water was freezing!!! yes even during the Argentinian summer time! brr!!

Another awesome highlight from Salta was finding an amazing restaurant and trying the local wine, torrones, which turned out to be amazing. We spent many hours while-ing away the time over a scrabble board with a nice bottle of wine.

Salta and Iguassu Falls were an awesome way to start off my trip to Argentina. Next we traveled to winen country....check out the next blog for more on that adventure!

Camocim Craziness - Shipwrecked Americans and Mangrove Sails

I arrived in Camocim after a crazy adventure arriving from Acarau via Jijoca. After catching a few shut eyes, I went down to the fishing docks to try to find a fisherman willingly to take me through the mangroves to look for seahorses. I decided my best bet was to go to the fishing colony and talk to someone there. Well wouldn’t you know but I managed to see the Fishing President Javier, who was really excited to have a foreign research right there in Camocim! Although the time was perfect for the tide to go to research, Javier insisted we start the next day. So I succumbed to Brazilian culture and said ok, let’s go tomorrow. However Javier told me there was an American in town that came in a sailboat and told me he would introduce me tomorrow. I couldn’t believe it! Another American! Crazy! In little ‘ole Camocim. How exciting.

So with the whole day ahead of me, I began to amble the streets of Camocim, which is secretly a bigger place than you would have thought. I am accustomed to my research towns having one main road with several cross streets but Camocim is an entirely other story. I still am not sure if I have found the main road yet. And it is a 10 minute hike from my pousada to the street near the ocean. It’s another 10 minute walk in the other direction to the bus station and about a 15 minute walk to the post office! Holy moly! All in basically a downtown area with cross streets and blocks and houses and shops and buildilngs! On the Camocim map, it says it even has different neighborhoods- the centro, the beira mar, boa esperança, brasilian, sao pedro and many more! Camocim has about 8,000 people and the strongest winds coming off the sand dunes and across the river that would rival 50 mph gusts!

On my little jaunt around Camocim, some guy called out of a house I was walking by asking if I was Brasilian. For some reason, I stopped and said no, and engaged in a conversation. Turns out he works for the military police and he invited me into his sister’s house to meet the family. Then after conversing some more and hearing his theory on US politics (aka George Bush is his HERO), he invited me to dinner with the family. They had stingray stew, beans, rice, pasta, farofa, potatoes you know all the Brazilian starches you could desire with your stingray stew. I met several drunken cousins, who over the next few days, constantly shouted out my name whenever I passed them on the street, met several kids whose names I don’t remember, and a few brothers, sisters and the guy’s wife. All the while one of the kids kept playing on repeat on the cd-player, the “all the single ladies” song, but sung by Alvin and the chipmunks. What a strange first night in Camocim.

Camocim Take 2!

Day 2 in Camocim proved to be just as strange as day 1. I went down to the fishing colony and arranged to go out with my fishermen later that morning. President Javier then took me to where the other American was staying to make friends. Enter Chuck (whose name has been changed because due to the fact that one never knows who reads a blog), 40-something ship-wrecked American, with no passport and no understanding of Portuguese who is stranded in Camocim, of all places. Chuck left Long Island 7 months ago, with plans to sail his boat from the east-coast to the west-coast by way of going around the horn of Africa, past Australia and up to California (naturally.) But apparently Chuck hit some bad luck, he hit every forming hurricane that was coming off Africa, lost his dinghy, his engines died, and he broke his mast. I think that’s some tragic times for a sailor. Anyway after this happened, kind of around Fernando de Noronha, he tried to hit the current that would take him around South America down near Argentina, to Chile and then back up to California, however he started drifting backwards. He drifted backwards for about 1 week and started drifting into the Sargasso Sea. Apparenltly he shot off some flares trying to signal boats, got 2 to stop but nobody would help him. One day he said he looked at the GPS and he was 1 mile closer to South America than the day before. Each day after that he kept gaining more miles towards South America and apparently he was out of the Sargasso Sea Currents (which I think are currently off the Caribbean islands in the middle of Atlantic that just go around in a circle.) Anyway he tried to aim towards Fortaleza, but he said there were too many reefs in the way. Next he came up to the coast of Camocim, and all he saw was sand dunes. He thought he had found a desert with no people. Then after almost crashing on sand banks and rocks close to Camocim, a fisherman named Gianni sailed out to get him and help bring him and his boat safely into the harbor. Wow! What a story huh?

And it turns out he wasn’t planning on stopping anywhere, so he didn’t bring a passport. So now he is in Brazil, without a passport, and clearly, without a visa. I can only imagine the fuss this is causing in Fortaleza. Brazilians like everything to go according to the book. It’s even written on the flag, “order & progress”…but order first. Oh my! I’m so glad I’m not him, remembering my experiences with the Federal Police.

So I asked Chuck how long he’d had his boat etc, and he is originally from Montana and never sailed a day in his life until he bought this boat 7 years ago. He had some very wild stories and is a very vocally avid supporter of GW Bush. Wild stories include: Chuck selling grain to Chinese people in San Francisco for $10 a pound, then getting wind that the Chinese were then selling it in China for $1000 a pound and Chuck went down to Chinatown to have a little chat with some middlemen. His conclusion: he barely escaped with his life. Then he had another wild story about living in Alaska and living with a female Native American in her village until he tried to stake a claim to some land for future prospecting and it got him kicked out of her house and the village. He also had wild stories of hiding cases of beer and gallons of oil in the Alaskan wilderness under the snow, which he plans to go back for someday. Chuck builds mining equipment or that was his job until as he puts it “the Obama administration put him out of work.” One of Chuck’s favorite sayings, “if you can’t grow it, mine it!” I must have heard that expression 10 times in our afternoon together. Chuck also has plans to go to the Antarctic and take mineral samples because when the Antarctic Mining Treaty expires in 2040, he wants to be ready to get rich! “If you can’t grow it, mine it!”

My afternoon with Chuck was mesmorizing. On the one hand, I was in awe of what he had done with his boat, how he had survived and how he had in a very Gilligan’s Island type of way found himself shipwrecked in Camocim. However, a great deal of the things that came out of his mouth regarding his opinions of life in America, his Freedom as an American, his American rights, and politics, were absolutely horrifying to me. “I am an American, and I have my right to Freedom. How dare these Brazilians tell me how to live my life.” I kid you not. I wanted to shake him and say wake up Chuck! You are IN BRAZIL. While in Brazil, you need to abide by their rules. NOSSA! (that is a completely brazilian expression of exasperation coming from me.) I guess Chuck has been interviewed on tv, although I’m not sure if just in Brazil or also in the US, so he told me he didn’t go looking to be famous, he just is. hmm... ok.

It was a surreal experience hanging out with him for the afternoon. But watch out Camocim, Chuck is looking to stay. He already talked to me about wanting to set up a metal shop here in Camocim and make some money off these people……… (seriously? He is in a poor coastal town in Brazil!). Sigh, what an adventure he will have in Brazil. He told me he could get deported at any time, and if that happens he will lose his boat because his boat isn’t working and he can’t drive it out of Camocim. Therefore he’d have to abandon his boat, and if you leave a boat for more than 7 days, it becomes up for grabs…and for sure it would be grabbed by people in Camocim. So if he gets word he is going to be deported, watch out ocean, Chuck and his tank of a boat with no engine and no mast may head back to sea!

As if the craziness with Chuck wasn't enough of a story for Camocim. On my second day of research in Camocim, I had a Brazilian snafu. I was out with Fernando, a local fishermen in his boat, which had a small engine, on the back. Perhaps the emphasis in that statement should be the HAD. So we had motored for about 1 hour, down wind to a small little inlet to the estuary to hunt for seahorses. However, as soon as we entered the inlet it became really shallow. Unfortunately Fernando was not as familiar with the bottom topography as we all had hoped, and 2 minutes after entering the inlet, the engine got caught in the shallow sand and ripped right off the back of the boat. And sank. While I did a transect in the area, Fernando and his son tried to recover the engine and see if it could work. Unfortunately the engine did not start = bad news for us. 1 hour by motor from Camocim, down wind, now against the current. Great. Break out the paddles.

Fernando said not to worry he would make a sail and we would sail back. Right. I'm sorry do you have a spare sail and mast on this tiny boat? I think not. Resourceful Fernando chopped down 10-15 big mangrove branches, stuck them in a hole in one of the seat benches on the boat, and said ok, let's go sailing. It was so tragic that my camera had died and I do not have a picture of this ridiculous sail. I have to give him credit though. It kind of worked. Two hours later, we arrived back in Camocim with the sail and also with some intense paddling. I can't believe tying mangroves together and sticking it in basically a large canoe makes it act like sailboat sail. Only in Camocim. Only in Camocim.

I finished up my research and put Camocim to rest without any further ridiculousness. What a wacky way to finish up field research. Mangrove sailing and crazy ship-wrecked americans. Camocim, you are one for the books!

Camocim Craziness - The Arrival

I have the wackiest experiences here in Brazil. My voyage to Camocim proved to be another one of those experiences with my overnight visit in Jijoca. I was in Acarau, doing research, remember the yogurt entry, ah yes. I was in Acarau, and heading to Camocim next.Unfortunatley there is no direct way to travel from Acarau to Camocim if you are without your own car. After contemplating ridiculous travel options such as returning all the way to Fortaleza (5 hours) only to go about 2 hours further up the road or leaving at 4 am to take a car to Sobral, where I’d have to wait 8 hours to catch a bus to Camocim, I decided perhaps the best option was to go to Jijoca, spend the night and catch a car in the morning. First heading from Curral Velho into Acarau was no easy picnic. No one was quite sure what time the car was going from Acarau to Jijoca. Rumor had it, 9 AM. So with 3 large bags (once again I had left my house 3 weeks ago for both a vacation and research trip), when 8:30 came and there was no car in sight, I tried to arrange for a moto to take me. Said moto didn’t arrive until 9:05 and I clambored aboard, getting some help from my new friends to load me and my bags onto the moto. Once again can I just say riding a moto in soft sand is never a good idea. have I not learned from my medical experiences here? Nor does that idea get better if you add on an extra person and three pieces of luggage.

The trip to Acarau was painful in the fact that it felt like I was trying to fight gravity the whole time by keeping my bags and my body on the moto. Lambadas, the Portuguese word for speed bumps, are not my friends. So 9:15 I make it to Acarau, the car to Jijoca is still there and fortunately (or not) is leaving at 11 AM. Ok fastforward, I make the car, and get to Jijoca but I am once again left with that familiar feeling of not knowing where to get off. Thankfully Jijoca is small and the car driver was nice and pointed me in the direction of a “simple but good pousada.”

Well it was cheap allright. For 10 reals, I got a room to store my stuff for the day, and a bed. The bad news: no ventilation making it the hottest room in the world, yes that’s right no windows and yes that’s right I am 2 degrees below the equator. Sigh, this is not the kind of place you’d want to spend a lot of time. Anyway I ditch my bags and take to the street, hunting for information about arriving in Camocim. I am informed that there is a car that goes at 4 AM. I continue to pace up and down mainstreet chatting with every moto taxi guy to see if they have any friends that can take me in a car, today. They do not.

While taking a break from the afternoon sun, I finish a PhD application, take that Stanford (!), and think about how unbelievingly hot it is in the internet café. After a rallying afternoon snack of yogurt and bread, I am finally able to hunt down the Camocim driver, who happily agrees to take me at 4 am. But no, the story is not over yet.

I go out for an early dinner, and as I am roaming main street trying to decide which of the 4 restaurants I will dare to eat at, a guy calls out to me from a table asking me if I am Brazilian (in Portuguese.). I say no, in Portuguese and he then switches to English asking me where I’m form. I say the US and he is too, kind of. Joseph is Brazilian but has lived for the last 25 years in the US. He bought a pousada in Jericocoara and is, with his buddy (the head of the bank), having a bite to eat before heading to Jericocoara. They invite me to join them, and with the only other option being dinner by myself, I agree.

Well so it turns out Joseph is divorced, with two kids and it sounds like there is some bitterness, anger and resentment there. He is there with Banco de Brasil, the head of the bank in Jijoca. Joseph and Banco de Brasil (picture a large fat banker with black hair. I am kind of picturing the Monopoly banker, top hat and all but with a big fat body, and brazilian looking face., you can almost see him tightly holding wads of cash in his fat little fists….and I’ve digressed…..) ok so Joseph, BB and I are all chatting away. I’m happy for some conversation and they look happy to have a young female sitting at their dinner table.

Enter the mysterious Mr. O an elderly local character of 72, who seems friendly with BB. Mr. O and Joseph then realize that they have met before and Mr. O invites himself to sit down with us for a whiskey. Now side note: all these fellas are drinking, and me being the only female, and also alone in Jijoca, I am happily sipping guava juice, which Joseph informed me is good for closing the stomach if it is open too much. In case you need to open your stomach, go to the Papaya, according to Joseph. Ok, back to the Mysterious Mr. O. Who gets on my good-side right away by saying I speak like a local and not like some foreigner, but then gets right back on my bad side by a) saying he worships George Bush and wishes Obama were never President and b) switching between speaking poetry to me and giving me a history lesson of the Portuguese language in Brazil. Sigh.

So after I make it through the history lesson, Mr. O gets on the phone and says he has someone I have to talk to……turns out he has a son who lives in Fortaleza, who he wants me to meet. So he whips out his I-phone (insert my astonished look of someone in Jijoca has an i-phone and it’s not the bank president?) and calls his son. Then passes the phone to me and says talk! So I chuckle thinking that I would apologize for the dad insisting I talk to his son, but the son is totally keen on it. He starts chatting to me in Portuguese and then when he finds out I’m from the US, well darn tootin’ hasn’t he been to Wisconsin. So never having been to Wisconsin and not knowing much about it other than the capital, and its reputation for cheese, he says he wants to meet me when I get back to Fortaleza. He is studying a master’s in math.

Anyway after chatting with math man, and him wanting my number, his dad then offers to “have his driver” take me to Camocim at a reasonable hour of the morning. Now this is seriously tempting. I think the guy is somewhat trustworthy, he has a son in college, who has been to the US, and we are sitting with the head of Banco de Brasil albeit in Jijoca and with Joseph. However I decline as I am not sure how to go about canceling the plans I already have in motion. Joseph and BB try to convince me to go party with them in Jericocoara for the weekend, and after kissing me multiple times on the cheek to say good-bye, Joseph and BB both ask for my number and want to take me out some other time. They head off for party town and I am left with Mysterious Mr. O, who after two whiskeys is happily mumbling about his driver taking me to Camocim and quoting poetry, possibly about the history of Brazil. We run into the guy I talked to about going to Camocim, and Mr. O says, “Oh DRIVER! I have found you. Will you take this girl to Camocim tomorrow morning at 6:30 AM?” To which, the driver says, no, I already talked to her and he’s leaving at 4 AM. Mr. O turns and gives me this half shrug, and says happy to be of service to my future daughter in law. Then he slaps the driver on the back and says “to the Domino’s Driver!”

And Finally Camocim!

So I woke up at 3:30 to make sure I was outside and ready for my 4 AM ride from Jijoca to Camocim. I was slightly preoccupied that I was not going to get a ride. I had talked the day before to the guy’s friend, who had been drinking when he told me he would have his friend pick me up at 4 am. So at 4:10, I was considerably nervous. I saw one motorcycle go by at 4:20 and at 4:30, I was trying to plan how in the world I would get to Camocim that day and not stay in the hottest hotel in the world in Jijoca for another day. Finally at 4:43, my ride arrives. (Now why in the world anyone would willingly choose to start the car-pool to Camocim at 4 am and not at a reasonable hour is beyond me….and no it’s not exactly like the Jijoca to Camocim run is big for commuters….) So when a truck pulled up that had wooden seats in the truck bed and a covered top, in I went. When I hopped in, everyone looked like refugees because they were all huddled up (a few women and some children) under a few blankets. I thought this was kind of funny that I was catching a ride with the refugees to Camocim, but 5 minutes into the journey I realized the joke was on the gringo. They were all huddled up because traveling on the highway in a fairly open truck bed at 4:45 is really really cold! I managed to survive the chill and an hour and a half later I arrived in Camocim.

WHEW I had made it! Camocim!

YOGURT!

I have been hanging out in Acarau doing research in a tiny village called Corral Velho. It is right next to the mangroves, has an amazing education center and little pousada for researchers, and provides a good source of income for a small community. As I was getting to know some of the staff that work at the little research station here, one of them told me that she makes yogurt every night for the school children. Yogurt, I thought. She makes yogurt? And to me that is amazing. So as you may know, I am not much of a farm girl, and the concept of making yogurt each night is a strange one to me. Especially making enough yogurt for a local school....so not just a little yogurt. A LOT of yogurt. She invited me to tag along and I happily agreed.

The milk is placed into these large plastic buckets and left to sit for a while. Then at night, a group of three or four ladies gather in someone's house, which also poses as a mini bakery (see photo below with all the yummy bread for sale!), and stir the yogurt, adding flavor and putting it in plastic bags for the classrooms.

yum...look at all these breads and cakes, made mostly out of macaxeira, corn and sweet potatoes.

so they make about 50 big bags of yogurt each night that they deliver to the school in the morning. There are even two choices of flavors! Strawberry and Pineapple. Both had um, not so delicious- tasting artificial flavors to me, but I could see as a kid loving it! So here I am stirring my big bucket of yogurt milk before adding the strawberry flavoring. I sat on a little brick on the floor of this building and stirred my little heart out! Yum!

Motorcycles, 10K, 3 hours & an I-Phone

What do a motorcycle, a run, three hour wait and an i-phone all have in common? They all are memorable items relating to my recent forays into the world of seeking medical care in Brazil. This story starts off two weeks ago when I got burned by the exhaust of a motorcycle on a moto-taxi ride. There was no big crash, no crazy medical emergency, just riding down a road full of soft sand on a moto and when the moto stopped, to keep from toppling over, I just got off. Unfortunately, inexperienced motorcycle rider that I am, I got off on the wrong side, which take note all you other non-motorcycle riders out there is the right side. Never get off of a motorcycle on the right side. Always on the left. Why? Because the exhaust or muffler is on the right side and you have a natural tendency to put your leg next to the muffler where it gets burned. So this happened to me. I resigned to my fate and spent 10 days without doing research for my burn to heal. I was about 90% there, and so back into the field I went!

I traveled back to Itarema, to meet up with the President of the Fishing Cooperative and her family to do some more research in the next town called Acarau. However, this proved to be a bit more difficult than originally thought. The day I traveled to Itarema was a few days before Brazilian election day. The Fishing Cooperative’s family was very involved in campaigning for the local candidate with the slogan of a Pescador (fisherman) should vote for another Pescador. Anyway this meant several days of delays without a research assistant. The family graciously offered for me to stay with them for the several days and without another plan, I accepted.

A note of minor importance. The family lives in Porto dos Barcos, about 10 K from Itarema in a tiny fishing village. There are no restaurants in Porto dos Barcos, and little to do if you are not fishing, or looking after your children. So I spent several days reading in a hammock, hours trying to analyze data and perfecting the post-lunch nap. However, because I was living with the family, I was a little unclear about the food situation. I had offered to pay to stay there, but they refused, saying I could donate to their church if I really wanted to. And with the family out most of the day spreading the ‘Get out the Vote’ message, I was often times left wondering if I was getting lunch or dinner, or if there was a family meal planned and I felt uncomfortable just helping myself to whatever was in the fridge. I spent a couple of fairly hungry days, not doing research waiting for election day to pass.

On my third day there, my hunger reached new found levels as did my boredom and I decided I would attempt a 10k run into Itarema where the world of restaurants awaited me. I had a look at my 90% healed motorcycle burn and figured it looked good enough. This would prove to be a mistake. The good news is that I was able to run 10K, without stopping (yes!) into Itarema and eat an entire pizza! I can’t even begin to explain how delicious it was. However, once I got back to the house (by moto-taxi), I noticed there was a red ring around my burn and it was starting to itch. I thought maybe it was just increased blood circulation from the run and maybe the itch was part of the healing process. 24 hours later, it was itchier still, and I inwardly sighed as I resigned myself to having to seek out a doctor in Itarema.

Onto the third item, the three hour wait. Seeking medical care in the remote area of Itarema required a trip to the hospital. Apparently the only doctor for non-medical emergencies is at a walk-in clinic located at the one and only hospital in the area. Just a note on healthcare in Brazil, there are public and private hospitals in Brazil. Public ones are free and anybody, Brazilian or foreigner can seek free medical care there. Downside: free = lots of waiting. So I waited three hours at the public hospital to see a doctor, who by the way sat behind her desk the entire time and didn’t look up from filling out my paperwork while I was there. She wrote me a prescription for some anti-bacterial burn cream and shoo-ed me out of her office because it was time for lunch. A three-hour wait for a three minute appointment. Hmm….

Well the results spoke for themselves, 24 hours later, my burn was itchier, redder and more swollen than before I started using my doctor prescribed cream. So being unimpressed with the medical care I received in Itarema, I thought it best to return to Fortaleza, the land of private doctors and better medical care.

Enter the I-phone. A sign of status and wealth here in Brazil. Also enter my new doctor. That’s right, he has an i-phone. I found myself a fancy pants doctor upon arrival in Fortaleza and not only did he do house calls, but he spoke English and had an i-phone which he used to take photos of my burn to compare for my follow up visit. Wow. The diagnosis: an allergic reaction of the sensitive skin in and around the burn. He prescribed some super duper allergy pills, told me to stop using all medical creams on the area, use a special anti-septic, anti-biotic soap on the area, and to follow a special diet. Now two weeks later I am almost as good as new and in another week I can be back in the field collecting data!

My Fulbright experience is quickly drawing to a close, and on the brighter side (if there is one from these lost weeks of research) is perhaps a more complete experience now that I’ve had a taste of Brazilian medical care. Bring on the vitamins, exercise and eating right for the rest of my time here!

Sea Turtle Emergency

A lazy Sunday morning in Porto dos Barcos, turned into a sea turtle emergency almost at the drop of a hat. I had been lounging in my hammock for a post-breakfast snooze with nothing seemingly to do since the tide was too early or too late in the day for seahorse research (5 AM or 5:30 PM), when Glais (head of the Fishing Cooperative) came in to get me and said there were sea turtles down on the dock. I, thinking this would be a cute photo-op grabbed my camera, wondering if the turtles would still be there in the water once I got down to the dock.

However, my whole concept of sea turtles down at the dock was horrifyingly wrong. What I saw when I got to the dock were three sea turtles, out of the water, lying on their backs, bleeding. To my shock, astonishment and horror nobody seemingly was doing anything about it and some of the kids were poking at the turtles as they flailed about.

There was a fishermen standing nearby and I tried to gather information from him. He had caught them in his fishing net and he was trying to get a hold of the sea turtle group (Project Tamar), located in the next town, but of course the cell service was down in Porto dos Barcos at that moment. He instructed me to take pictures of the turtles and even wanted his picture taken with a turtle much to my astonishment. The marine biologist inside of me was horrified. These turtles were baking out in the sun and nobody seemingly knew what to do. I remembered the posters, campaigns, classes and experience I had in sea turtles, and quickly moved the sea turtles from the sunny dock into the shade by a tree. I instructed a boy to go and get me a bucket of sea water to help keep these guys cool and asked Glais to go get me some towels. Since the phone service was down, Glais suggested we flag down a truck and have someone drive them to Project Tamar. That sounded like a good idea to me, and with my knowledge that they needed to be covered with wet towels, shading their eyes and shells for the journey, I knew I could get those turtles safely to Amofala (the next town) and into the caring hands of the sea turtle vet.

I quickly rushed home to change into field clothes while Glais flagged down a truck. I ran back, thinking I really needed one other person to come with me to keep these turtles nice and cool and well-behaved in the back of the truck. But it’s Brazil, and nothing goes as planned, so once the truck got there, I had a teenage guy help me load the turtles into the back of the truck. All three turtles got placed on their backs in the truck, leaving me to try and right them, and cover them with the wet blankets as the truck started moving. Let me say trying to be an operational vet / marine biologist / sea turtle emergency responder in the back of a flat bed truck down bumpy dirt roads with speed bumps and a couple of crates sliding around the back of the truck isn’t easy. The littlest turtle, was quite happy to be on his stomach and quite content to lay happily (seemingly) in the corner of the truck and not move too much. The loggerhead turtle and the larger hawksbill both proved to be difficult. The hawksbill who I flipped over onto his stomach second, proceeded to try and crawl all over the back of the truck from the second I turned him over making it difficult to keep the towel over his head. I had to resort to holding him and the towel in one place as the loggerhead slid around the back of the truck at least with the towel covering his head.

The journey seemed endless. Ok it didn’t. But as I was also sliding around the back of the truck, trying not to be bitten by the turtles who were unhappily out of the water and injured, I thought the 5 KM ride was taking quite a long time. When we got to Project Tamar, the sea turtle vet came out with a wheel barrel and we took one sea turtle in at a time from the back of the truck into the covered pools used to treat injured turtles. I guess that Sunday morning had been quite busy and two other sea turtles had also been brought in, accidentally captured by fishermen. Project Tamar seemed under-staffed, as there was one vet for all these turtles, and the two interns assigned to her for the day didn’t know how to pick up and move the turtles safely from the truck to the wheel barrel, or even how to secure them for the wheel barrel ride. Once again I happily lent a hand, and realized that this was what I liked about being a marine biologist; being able to spontaneously help out with injured marine creatures. It made me remember the Seinfeld episode where George says he’s the marine biologist to impress a woman and then they stumble upon a beached whale. Well I chuckled to myself, I’m glad I had more training than George Castanza for this one. I went back to check on my turtles a few days later, and all are still alive! I’m not sure if they’ll stay that way, or if they might wind up captured in a fishing net another day, but I feel proud that I can say I helped save three sea turtles today. One day at a time, one sea turtle at a time, one seahorse at a time- that’s all it takes to make a difference.

Tercer Edade

I did my good deed for the week. The owner of the pousada in Amofala where I am currently staying, invited me to go with her while she volunteered at a school every Saturday. She told me it was to work with the tercer edade. Because she had said school, I immediately assumed tercer edade was the equivalent of 3^rd Graders. She told me there would be forro dancing, food and drinks and I could go and watch the dancing and help serve food. I readily agreed as Amofala is a small town, and I had nothing to do after my third day of research here. My research assistant, who was currently down with the flu, but also with me in Amofala, chuckled as I explained what I thought, I was going to do. He however, knew that the “tercer edade” group was the elderly people of the town and not the 3^rd graders.

So you can imagine my surprise and self inspired humor, when I reached the school and found the courtyard filled with elderly people mingle-ing about. But there was a live forro band, which I was not expecting, live with acordian player, tamborine man and let’s not forget the ever important triangle player! I sat and watched several old people dancing forro with each other before the pousada owner pointed out a man in the corner who she said lived alone. Feeling brave about my Portuguese skills, I wandered over and asked if the seat next to him was taken. He said no, and we started chatting. Dear old Francisco was cute as a button and used to be a fishermen. He said his favorite place to be was the sea, but he was sad that he doesn’t fish anymore. He was sitting around a group of people that were the “watchers,” those people that don’t like to dance, or don’t know how and just like to watch the people dancing. While I was chatting with Francisco, one bold elderly gentleman asked if I wanted to do a little “forro-zinho” aka would I dance with him. So I excused myself and tried my best to keep up with his forro. After I agreed to the first dance, I wasn’t allowed to sit afterwards. Every elderly male of the “tercer edade” wanted a chance to dance with the foreigner. It was so much fun and such a surprising afternoon. Normally when dancing forro with Brasilians my own age, I struggle to keep up and I have to concentrate often times intensely to try not to screw up the dancing…..one, two, one, two, one, two. But with the old guys it was so much fun! They didn’t move that fast so counting the one, two step was much easier, even when the musical rhythm sped up, their dancing did not, so it was perfect for me to feel comfortable with my novice forro dancing skills.

After the music was over, I helped serve some refreshments- chicken soup and a cup of cashew juice. Yes quite the interesting combination. Most of the people there lived with family members, they have no nursing homes here in Amofala. But my dear old fishermen buddy Francisco lived by himself. Apparently his family moved to Fortaleza, the big city, but dear old Francisco couldn’t bear to leave his sleepy fishing village. One of my dance partners asked if he could walk me home, and I had a lovely stroll through downtown Amofala (think the distance of two city blocks and just one street) with a gentleman wearing a fedora hat and missing a front tooth. But it was an interesting and culturally enriching experience for me on a Saturday afternoon in the sleepy beach town of Amofala.

Passeio de Buggy: Mundau-Itarema

This is mostly just a blog of pictures from the buggy ride from Mundau to Itarema. We had to cross two rivers by a little ferry boat like this, got lost in some off roading in sand dunes because of a high tide and saw some amazing scenary. Hope you like the photos from the trip!

September Research Days

I found myself a research assistant for several weeks in September and had a very research intensive few weeks traveling around the western coastal part of Ceara, meeting many new people, finding loads of seahorses, and exploring some of the most remote parts of the state. So this is my research assistant Tom, he's from Sao Paulo. I met him in August and he had some free time in September before traveling to Chile, and since he was interested in my research, I convinced him to tag along for a coastal adventure!

Our first stop Mundau. About 4.5 hours to the north-west of Fortaleza by bus, Mundau had ripping currents and an estuary only traversable by motor-powered boat. It was also surrounded by sand dunes, creating beautiful vistas.

This is Raimundo, local fisherman, our guide and attempted boat driver. So we get in Raimundo's boat, pictured above, and ride for about 5 minutes until the boat engine dies. The current is so strong, the boat starts floating backwards. I toss the anchor, but it's not long enough and we keep drifting backwards! Finally once we are back to where we started, the anchor catches and we try and flag down another boat to come and rescue us.

Here is the rescue boat. So after this disastrous start to research in Mundau, things calmed down and we went with Raimundo and his brother in this boat and sucessfully completed research for the next couple of days.

Oh look at my new little research assistant. and look at what he found!

In one spot we found 19 seahorses! The second highest number I've found in one day! How exciting!

We also met some nice fishermen in Mundau, who said this area is awesome for catching shrimp. Interesting way to go fishing huh?

Here is Tom pretending he is a fisherman bringing home the big catch, even though he's never been fishing before in his life!

From Mundau, we traveled by buggy (see next blog entry) to Itarema, where we managed to get an invitation to stay with the President of the Fishing Cooperative there and got the royal treatment! We also go to do some research and go on adventures with her kids!

Meet Renata and Sabrina my tour guides and the President of the Fishing Cooperative's kids. I'm actually headed back in a few weeks to do more research with them! We paddled our way around Porto dos Barcos, Itarema hunting for seahorses.....

we toured the 6 different beaches of Itarema....

had some fun with the camera....

Next Tom and I moved to Amofala, home of Project Tamar in Ceara and a place with no internet and no cell phone service.

We made use of Furioso the Kayak, even though he still has a hole; and we found more seahorses!

The tide was in the afternoon and we enjoyed many a sunset kayak while doing research in Amofala and in Torroes (estuary near Amofala). However in between Amofala and our next destination, Patos we had a few setbacks. Tom got sick with fever and stomach bugs and I learned that Patos was ridiculously hard to access and spent several days trying to organize transportation.

Welcome to Patos. This is the sigh you see when the road ends, beach, barraca (bar/restaurant) and an abandoned soccer field.

Patos was a 45 minute motor-bike ride away from Amofala and with the little bag of research supplies on the back was quite a hike to get to. Patos doesn't have much commercial activity going on. It's mostly fishermen....

with some oyester farming.

Patos looked like the middle of the desert and in conjunction with the water running through it was quite an image to behold.

We talked to some friendly fishermen who said that sometimes on a good tide they can catch 50 seahorses per day! Wowza! I didn't bother asking if they had permits, or if they knew seahorses were endangered, etc. And after doing research here, I'd believe them. There was tons of awesome habitat for seahorses in Patos. Although interestingly enough despite all this awesome habitat, we were only able to see 2 seahorses.....hmmm.....

Anyway our local guide for Amofala, Torroes and Patos was this awesome guy named Cal-B. He's a passionate environmentalist and the vice-president of the fishing cooperative where the woman from Itarema is president. We couldn't have done the research without him. So thanks for everything Cal-B!