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| Tuesday, 21-Mar-2006 01:37 |
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A Dream Vacation in My Own Backyard
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Costa Beach, Itacaré, BA
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Ribeiro Beach, Itacaré, BA
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Here it is the end of summer and I can't think of anything but taking a vacation!
I've been living on the southern coast of Bahia, Brazil for almost 7 years and I've never had the time or resources to put together a trip, island hopping along the coast from Salvador, south to Ilhéus. This is a landscape that includes beaches, coral reefs, mangroves, rivers, bays and rainforests. The traveller will see small monkeys and parrots playing among orchids and bromiliads in the trees. The warm Atlantic Ocean is home to dolphins, turtles and whales.
I'm not talking about boarding a yacht and cruising the Mediterranean, this is Brazil afterall. I figure it would take about 15-16 days to visit more than a half-dozen islands and a few ports aboard ferry boats, fishing boats and a whale-watching boat near the end. I arrived in Brazil carrying a then-current copy of the "Rough Guide" which suggested that if you intend to do a boat trip it is advisable to check the condition of the boat and the sobriety of the skipper. This is one factor that could slow the trip; and another is rain. The traveller has to be flexible.
The itinerary looks something like this: start in the capital city, Salvador for a couple of days taking in Brazilian culture and more specifically, Bahia's rich African heritage. History, music, art, cuisine and religion are all here. Of special interest to me is the musical group, Olodum, who not only created the samba-reggae rhythm of Bahia but they offer the city a community cultural center.
From Salvador take a ferry boat accross the Bay of All Saints to Ilha Itaparica where a VW van will deliver visitors to any point on the large island. A town (and beach) called Penha looks like a good place to spend the night with a view of the city accross the bay. The following day is a travel day; by land and sea, the destination is Ilha Tinharé, to a popular spot called Morro de São Paulo. People here in Itacaré joke about Morro, saying it's better to know Spanish than Portuguese because you will find so many Argentinos there. Brazil has always been a melting pot of people and cultures; the joke about Argentinos started with the 2 country's rivalry on the soccer field. Although the infrastructure for tourism is built up, the visitor feels somewhat remote because there are virtually no cars on the island. Two nights here should be enough to get some rest, enjoy the beach and maybe go snorkoling or diving.
The neighboring island is actually part of the same land mass, Ilha de Boipeba is separated from Tinharé by Rio do Inferno, Hell's River. Boipeba is worth exploring because one really is transported back in time; the fishing villages and people seem to be living in the 19th century. You'll find the best accomodations in the north of the small island and the most interesting points to visit are in the south. Divers will enjoy the reefs and shipwrecks off the Ponto de Castelhanos, Spaniards Point, while others may want a homemade banquet of seafood followed by a nap in the hammock overlooking Cova da Onça, Jaguar Cove.
The following day is spent aboard a fishing boat headed for Camamu, a small town on the mainland founded in early colonial times. Nestled among tropical mangroves overlooking Camamu Bay, boat trips can be arranged to visit any of the 6 small islands in the bay. After a couple of days exploring the historic town and islands it's time to visit Barra Grande on the tip of the peninsula at the mouth of Camamu Bay. With plenty of accomodations, restaurants and bars, Barra Grande has a reputation for fun. Worth a look is nearby Taipus de Fora, a beach and coral reef whose natural pools fill with fresh saltwater and ocean fish during every full moon.
From Barra Grande a whale watching boat (whale migration Aug.-Oct.) can take travellers to Itacaré, my little town on the itinerary. Itacaré is like a hub for outdoor activities. Agencies with Land Rovers offer day trips for surfing, rafting, kayaking, rapelling and other adrenalin-pumping sports. There are also many miles of trails for trekking and biking through lush rainforests with rivers, waterfalls, ocean views and beach destinations. (No wonder I seldom get away.) The first-time visitor should stick around a minimum of 2-3 days to enjoy their favorite activity, take in Itacaré's nightlife and visit my favorite beach, Praia Jeribucaçu via Usina Trail - beautiful forest - incredible waterfall. Want to relax? Hire a local canoe for a lazy trip up the Contas River.
At the end of this 16-day excursion I suggest hiring a car or van to drive straight to Ilhéus for a taste of "cultura cacau" and to "get acquainted" with Jorge Amado, one of Brazil's most beloved writers who was born on a cocoa (cacau) plantation near the town. In the heart of Brazil's cocoa producing region you can visit a chocolate factory and then visit a museum devoted to the life and work of Amado. Be sure to have lunch at Vesuvio's, the cafe made famous in Amado's book, "Gabriella, Cinamon and Clove," then the journey is complete; the Ilhéus airport will connect the traveller to any other point in Brazil. Boa Viagem!
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| Wednesday, 15-Mar-2006 04:28 |
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Águas do Março
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"They're the waters of March closing the summer. It's the promise of life in my heart."
- Antônio Carlo Jobim
The rain that arrives in March marks the end of summer all over Brazil. This year in the south of Bahia, the radical change in weather leaves no doubt about the changing seasons. It's been hot and dry since before the Carnaval celebrations at the end of February. The tourists have been ecstatic without any rain to get in the way of their outdoor adventures. Even with receeding water levels, nearby white-water rafting still gives 'em a thrill. The same diminishing water supply left Itacaré in a mild panic because the city started rationing water, the water company raised its rates and the folks at higher elevations had no water at all due to the low level of the reservoir. Even the little creek ambling through our land was extremely low but thanks to the springs a few miles away it will never dry up.
Why does life around here have to be so extreme? Over the past weekend the arid heat gave way to a thorough drenching which, as of this writing, has paralyzed most normal activity. Since Carnaval started I have sequestered myself each night in a little house where I was going through 25 years of slides to organize and prepare them for scanning. Friday night I was sitting between the projector and the light box when the sky's first announcement came. There was a complete black-out and in less than a second an enormous boom rattled the windows like a jet crashing through the sound barrier provoking in me an instinctive "duck and cover" response. The lights were restored in less than 10 seconds and the city let out an audible, collective sigh. It was a heart stopping sound. That was the end of it and life went on. The following night my project was finished and my friend helped me move my re-organized slides and equipment out of that house. All that evening the flickering flashes of lightning in the distance served as a more sublte reminder of what was to come. The thunder crept up on us like a pre-dawn raid and quickly escalated to the sound of a full scale war being waged above us. The falling rain was moderate compared to the ferocious thunder-claps resonating and ricocheting among the clouds of the dark grey sky. Sleep was impossible but the bed provided great comfort. Thunder never repeats, it makes an infinte variety of violent cracks and booms, some muffled, some echoing and at times it rips accross the sky and seamingly pierces the eardrums.
Yesterday brought a lull in the stormy weather which gave me a chance to close and store the boxes of slides. Today we have a relentless downpour with no sign of letting up. All plans are on hold...
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| Thursday, 9-Mar-2006 10:54 |
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Love and Sex in the Theater of Life
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"A man cannot sleep with all the women in the world, but he should try." - Proverb on the waterfront of Salvador, Bahia. Jorge Amado opened his book, "Shepards of the Night", with this quote, among others, and it gives a romantic like me a lot to think about...
The stunning creature in the photograph has various 'stage names' but everyone knows him/her as Portfilho, who was born and raised here. "There's a tall drink of water," my sister would say. Over six feet of well-toned muscle and a swish and sway that would make Mae West blush, Portfilho loves the attention. Always a ham for the camera, he harbors a secret desire to enjoy the glamour of the theater. I've seen him do a veil dance which caused the audience to giggle, the children to squeal and everyone to applaud with enthusiastic approval. This is just one character, among many, who fill the stage we call Itacaré.
Coming from San Francisco, I'm very much accustomed to flamboyant characters gay and straight; cross-dressers, transexuals and genders bent in every direction, but I didn't expect to find 'em all here in a backwater town populated by fishermen and farmers. Of course we have the town drunk, the village idiot, the 'hairdresser', the prostitutes and the colonels but I just didn't expect Portfilho.
Itacaré also ATTRACTS these characters and those seeking "alternatives," which brings up another story. A couple we know from São Paulo settled here before us and sadly, their marriage came unravelled. Without animosity or rancor they decided to build another house on their land. Meanwhile on the other side of town a young couple from Rio and São Paulo got married and soon had a son. During that time our friends, the divorced couple, received visits from the son and daughter from the woman's first marriage. Those two adult children decided that Itacaré is the place to be so they each eventually moved here. Of course the young couple I mentioned previously, had their second son, producing many proud smiles especially with grandma, a native of this area. For reasons unknown, even in the rumor mill, THAT couple broke up and guess what; the father of the two young boys fell for the daughter of our friend from São Paulo creating mountains of judgemental gossip. Still with me? Her brother has been building a house on the land where his mom and ex-stepfather live and he had a visit from his old high school sweetheart who had left him after eight years because she fell madly in love with another woman. She was here a short time, rattled his cage and went back to the woman she loves. Here comes the corker: our friend's daughter just announced she is pregnant with the newly divorced father of two and her brother was informed the same week that his 'ex' is five months pregnant! That's right. Unconventional to say the least, and it may sound a bit absurd, but like Jorge Amado, I don't make this stuff up! Our friend is about to become a grandmother by both of her kids simultaneously!
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| Tuesday, 7-Mar-2006 04:10 |
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Miners Eat Quietly
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Proprietor of the Cachaçaria
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I think if I were to live in a landlocked region of Brazil I would like to live in Minas Gerais, the state nieghboring Bahia to the west.
I've never been to Minas but I've been left with a good impression through the "Mineiros" that I've met. The state got its name because the majority of Brazil's precious gems are mined from that region and consequently the people who live there are called 'miners.' It has a history cast with frontiersmen, missionaries and miners similar to my homestate, California. I find the people have a warm and friendly manner like my mother's family who hailed from Montana. In Itacaré we have a number of transplanted Mineiros who hang together like a loose-knit clan. There is the doctor and his wife, the veterinarian; the painter, the gallery director and of course, the proprietor of the "cachaçaria."
Cachaça is sugarcane liquor which has to be considered Brazil's national drink; mixed in a cocktail shaker with crushed limes, sugar and ice you have a "Caipirinha," known around the country as the main ingredient of any party. In Minas Gerais distillers have created a fine art of making cachaça. They elevated the cheap liquor of the masses (about $1.65 a quart) to connoisseur status like fine wine, cognac or single malt scotch. Call it pinga, cachaça or aguardente but don't call it rum!
My friend calls his cachaçaria, "Água Ardente," or Ardent Water, which I think is a clever twist on 'aguardente.' His place is a fine bar and restaurant specializing in handcrafted cachaça and regional cooking from Minas Gerais. If you get tired of Bahia's spicy seafood and fried fish, head in there for a platter of sizzling meats straight from the wood-burning stove. Do the same if you want to sip a fine cachaça or try one flavored with honey, cinammon or hot peppers.
Mineiros have a special reputation among Brazilians; there are certain qualities (or defects) associated with the folks in Minas. For example they are known as 'earthy' people; artesans who work with clay and wood. A visit to historic churches in Minas reveals incredible religious statues, ornate woodwork and crucibles hammered from local silver and gold then encrusted with their famous gems. Mineiros are proud of their history and their land. They talk about rivers and waterfalls as if they are members of the family. Brazilians also like to remind everyone that in many facets of life, "Mineiros comen quieto," they eat quietly. Whether it's business or personal they just don't talk about it. Brazilians also use the verb 'to eat' as a euphemism for sex and if a Mineiro is sleeping with your wife, no one will ever know about it!
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| Wednesday, 1-Mar-2006 12:00 |
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Ash Wednesday - No More "Capetas"*
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Another Carnaval has come and gone. The four-day celebration of the flesh came to a climax last night and I think I can say with certainty that the people I saw drinking and dancing last night did not make it to church today.
Salvador can boast about having the biggest pre-lentin party in the world by virtue of the immense crowds that fill the streets but Itacaré surely deserves an honorable mention for its high energy. In Rio they say when a drum battery passes in the Sambadromo the earth trembles and I would add that the sambistas I heard last night certainly rocked the Richter scale with enthusiasm. Volume? Standing to close to a "trio eletrico" will shake the fillings from your teeth. Most bands do a competent job of covering the summer hits and this year Bahian artists are in top form. Check out Daniela Mercury, Ivette Sangalo and Carlinhos Brown.
My personal oddysey into the depths of sinful pleasure started on Saturday night with a "fejoada completa." Rio's famous recipe for black beans made with lots of pork and spices is a complete meal when complimented with rice, collard greens, ground manioc and oranges. It's delicious but gringos are usually warned (and I should know better) that it is a 'heavy' meal. Wash that down with beer "estupidemente gelada" (stupidly cold) and that makes for an early evening and a sluggish start on Sunday. Sunday night I got a lot of work done as I'm using the darkness to review, edit and prepare my slides for scanning. A few hours of work, a few hours of play and too few hours of sleep. The following night was spent carousing with a good friend from Paris who also lives here. At one point we were joined by two Italians so you can guess the main topic of conversation. This guy from Rome (Ah Roma; the only city that spells 'love' backwards) told a story about a study which revealed that 9 out of 10 women are considered unattractive. He said, "Do you know what that means? 90% of us are sleeping with ugly women!" The four of us also philosophized about what is more thrilling; seduction or orgasm? I said that's like asking which is more important; the journey or the destination? We never reached a consensus on that but my French friend and I drank enough cachaça (cane liquor) that night to dispute the validity of the forementioned research due to the fact that a man's standard of beaty lowers with consumption of alcohol. It's worth mentioning that this year Brazil produced a national campaign to encourage the use of condoms complete with radio jingles and a cartoon mascot. Ever seen a smiling condom play an African berimbau?
Watching the sun rise I realized the 'conversion' was complete. Like a character in an Anne Rice novel I became a creature of the darkness returning to my tomb to slumber away the day. Last night was much the same but I spent most of the time near the main stage on the beach jumping, sweating and rubbibg bodies with several thousand like-minded people. Oh. Did I mention that Bahia is famous for its "festa prolongada"?
Another "capeta"* over here.
*"Capeta" is a name for the Devil. Also the name of a wildly popular drink made with cachaça sweetened with milk and honey, cinnamon and spices.
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| Thursday, 23-Feb-2006 12:00 |
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Beware of the Trolls
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What's up with the cops around here?
We've got a "blitz," a police roadblock on the highway a few kilometers outside of town. They're transit cops, highway patrolmen without cars, and they have a nice little trailer and portable canopy where they hang out and arbitrarily stop passing vehicles. Unfortunately I have to pass them going into town and I've come to know the drill all too well. Driver's licence, registration, required fire extinguisher, jack and road reflectors all have to be inspected so obviously they have the time and opportunity to do a "visual search" of the car and trunk. If they're not satisfied they tell me to stand away from the car while they search for "guns and drugs." It's no use telling them I don't have any so I quietly wait while they poke around; digging out the seatbelts in the back seat, they lift the trunk mats and pry open the door panels for a "look" inside. By now the passenger door panel is so ragged it looks like someone has really been in there so they all have to pull on it again.(You can't see anything but the window in there.) That's the drill but there are variations you've probably heard of or maybe imagined. I'm writing about our encounters today on the eve of Carnaval, because the latest shakedown really takes the cake.
Which brings me to the story of the "Trolls." These cops were rotated in and out of service with a fair amount of frequency but one sergeant and his crew hung around for a while and started a little extortion racket which was really comic! I was stopped and asked for documents, etc. and when I was free to go, the sergeant got real friendly and leaned in the window as the others walked away. He told me in a discreet tone that he'd like to have a beer. In Brazil, "cerveja" is a social codeword for a tip that you might give a delivery boy or handyman who fixed the stove. In some cases it might mean a bribe. "I'll buy you a beer if you forget the whole thing." I'm from San Francisco and I thought this guy is hitting on me, OR he wants money, but I checked out clean and there was no reason to bribe the guy. In either case I played dumb and said, "You want to have a beer with me?"
He said, "You know what I mean. I want to get a beer later."
"You want to get together later for a beer? Where do you go for a drink around here, that little shack over there?"
His face reddened with frustration and he said, "You don't understand; I want to buy a beer later."
"Well, the truth is, I'm so busy working in the sitio that I don't have time to accept your offer, but thanks anyway." And I slowly pulled away leaving him there cursing the dumb gringo.
Since my driver's licence expired I've been hitching back and forth and I could see their silly operation up close. One day a friend gave me a lift and he stopped at the "blitz" and I said, "But they're letting you go."
"I'm going to leave something with them." He got out, opened the trunk and pulled out a huge bag of coconuts!
Another time i was thumbing a ride in front of their "office" and a beat-up old car worth a fortune in 'fix-it' tickets stopped and passed the cop a couple of liters of Coke and Fanta. 15 or 20 minutes later another car stopped and handed them a couple of pizzas! Their scam came to an end recently when the local judge was shown a photo of money changing hands and he relieved them of their duty.
Whenever the subject of public security comes up, people talk about armed robberies, muggings and burglaries which unfortunately, are becoming too common in Itacaré, Brazilians will turn to me and say, "Eric, have you had any of these problems?"
It never fails to get a laugh when I reply, "The only people who try to steal from me are the police."
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| Tuesday, 21-Feb-2006 02:00 |
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Misty Morning Walk
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Sometimes I think solitude is synonymous with sanity. It's nice not to have anyone around to confuse my subjective reality.
A walk throught the fog or mist creates a phenomenal feeling of detachment, isolation, obscurity and timelessness. Passing through the thick, damp air; the cloud that kisses the earth, you may look back to see where you've been but your path has been erased by the dense vapor passing through this place on its way to becoming water. (air?) Walking along and looking ahead, the view is equally obscure but infinitely more mysterious. With limited vision, the other senses start to work overtime and I calculate the direction and distance of roosters and other birds crowing; I try to imagine the movement of that car or truck so far away. (Feeling so alone makes me wonder: if I stopped to pee in the middle of the forest and no one could see me; would I have actually relieved myself?) My eyes remain alert for occasional brightening in the landscape near and far as something in my subconscience desperately tries to orient my being in the environment; some kind of "You Are Here" arrow. As the warm sun gnaws at the fabric of my grey shroud, the veil becomes thin in spots, torn in parts, and the light finds its way to the landscape adding small, but dramatic details to the scene around me. The early morning music of roosters and mouning doves now sounds like a symphony of birds starting the third movement of today's concerto. The fog will lift, the sun will shine and the comfort of familiarity, the confidence of purpose and the faith in objective reality are all restored by midday.
Paradise lost, fall from grace, original sin and dozens of other capital crimes were committed by our mythical ancestors and by virtue of descending from them we have to shoulder their shame and guilt. I recently met a Jesus freak who explained that we all came to live in Itacaré because in our collective memory this is like the paradise of heaven that God has promised to us. Yup. We came here to be closer to Him. This is subject to debate. I'm still on that misty trail, a little disoriented, BUT NOT LOST. I may appear a bit confused but I am certain of one thing: Whatever the future holds for me, there is no room to bring along the past.
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| Thursday, 16-Feb-2006 02:44 |
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This Short Month is Big on Holidays
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Tia Deth with Offering
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Caretas
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The Festas das Águas has passed and Carnaval is just ahead. Jorge Amado might consider this an auspicious time for the orixás, the saints and sinners like us.
Itacaré was isolated throughout most of its history and the locals embrace Yemenjá, the African goddess of the sea, as hardily as they embrace St. Michael, the city's patron saint. February 2nd is a day that fishermen don't go out; it's the day that everyone is making an offering to the sea. Yemenjá likes beautiful, feminine things so the altar fills quickly with flowers, "jewels" and perfume. The followers of condomblé arrange a simple ceremony to carry the statue and her boat full of gifts to a waiting fishing boat that takes the offering out beyond the waves. I was told that this year was memorable because of three elaborate parade "floats" depicting the orixá and her nymphs and maidens. Generally the beer starts to flow early but people are well behaved at least until the high tide takes the boat, its precious cargo and devoted followers to perform the final ceremonies. Upon return there is a dance performed with a bottle balanced on a woman's head which seems like a signal for everyone to cut loose.
We know Carnaval is approaching when we hear the sound of whistles blowing and the "caretas" start appearing with increasing numbers and frequency. Caretas are the kids dressed up like clowns from a horror show. Each wears a big, puffy jumpsuit made of bright, tropical fabrics like the curtains you might find in a tacky Florida motel. They wear big, rubber workboots and pull a hideous rubber mask over their head, then dark glasses to obscure the last clue to their identity. They must be suffocating in the summer heat but they don't seem to mind. These guys roam around town in groups blowing whistles, stopping traffic, grabbing girls and adding a touch of menace and mayhem to the festivities.
Soon the "Trio Eletricos" will arrive reminding the "Blocos" that they better be ready. I can imagine that once-upon-a-time, Baianos set up a 3-piece band with a generator on the back of a flatbed truck but nowdays it's a heavy haulin' big rig with up to 20 musicians, singers and dancers atop a huge arrangement of speakers cruising the waterfront. The blocos are groups formed around a theme who dress up and parade around with drummers or even behind the trios. (My wife and I have been part of the "Bloco de Lixo," the Garbage Group, with costumes made of plastic containers and other non-recyclable rubbish.) More irreverant still, is the "Bloco de Cocô," the Poop Group! Schools, church groups, senior citizens and fishermen all have blocos.
My "alegria" is diminished a little this year because I enjoyed a wonderful Mardi Gras about 30 years ago.
"Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?"
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| Tuesday, 14-Feb-2006 12:00 |
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Lady and the Tramp
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Cavu and Xena
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Xena's Family
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Upon reaching three human years of age, our dog, Cavu, became a roving Romeo. As a puppy in Itacaré he didn't have much contact with other dogs, except occaisional visits from other pups in his litter. Out here in the country he has roamed around freely for more than two years and had only a few dog visitors. We were relieved when we learned that his earliest disappearances lasted only a few hours and he usually returned with a "trophy" that he begged, borrowed or stole from the local slaughterhouse. I think he is on friendly terms with the butchers as he has brought home every spare piece of cow you can imagine; head, horns, feet, tail, ears, you name it! He stashes this stuff all over our land so he has it for later but the big dummy doesn't bury it, he hides it. Half the time I can smell it but I don't know were it is until the vultures lead me to it.
Recently, his walks became forays into darkness which eventually lasted all night long, returning tired and hungry in the morning. He slept all day and, short of leashing him, I couldn't keep him home at night until he stayed out more than 24 hours and we had to get up early and start searching the countryside armed with a few photos of Cavu still in the digital camera. The "6," km 6 on the highway, has a growing community and it should be no surprise that's where we found him. A little girl saw the photo and led us down a path where our dog was seen with a family and their dog, Xena, among other dogs and children. The woman who owned Xena made her way up from the well with a plastic jug of water on her head, a handful of greens and the entire entourage bouncing along in the hip-deep grass. She was disappointed when she heard us calling our dog as she revealed later that she had bathed and fed him, even named him "Mule," hoping that he would stay. We admitted that our dog had good taste in choosing a beautiful mate, a Rotweiller mix a little older than Cavu. Cris did her best to explain to the kids what was happening as I put our mutt in the back of the car. Driving away and looking back to wave, I saw a girl crying and a black and brown dog chasing our dust.
The next day Cavu disappeared as soon as he was off the leash. Knowing where he was, I let the day pass and went to the "6" at the end of the afternoon where I found him with Xena in front of a church full of exuberant singers. The woman who we knew from the day before, seeing me approach with the leash, just smiled and stepped into the church.
The heat and passion of canine lust passed last week and Cavu is staying a couple of nights with the veternarian now. We pick him up tommorrow but he'll be returning with an empty nut sack.
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| Friday, 10-Feb-2006 02:10 |
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What Part of "Rainforest" Don't You Understand?
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Jeribucaçu River
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The neighbor's land
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That's a question frequently asked when I catch myself whining about the weather or raking up leaves.
How beautiful is cascading water in a tropical forest? I'm bathing in a stream fed by springs and rain, with fish that used to entertain me in my aquarium. I'm finding orchids and bromeliads falling from the trees everywhere and fruit that defies description.
Sun, clouds, scattered showers with temperatures from 23˚-29˚C (78˚-86˚F) is a safe daily forecast this week, it's summer! It's nice to have St. Peter, the keeper of heaven's gate and responsible for all the sky's activity, watering my fields and gardens while I keep dry in the house. Life in the Mata Atlântica (Atlantic Rainforest) is a "correiria," a runaround. When it rains, you need to grab any number of things to go inside and when the sun comes out, everything goes outside to get dry! Summer showers pass through here day and night to keep us on our toes. The natives of this area have keen instincts about the rain and I watch their clotheslines like a weather gauge. Prolonged showers can hide the sun for days and when the bright sun finally reappears Itacaré's sidewalks fill up with cushions, pillows, clothes and furniture, kind of festive in a Felliniesque sort of way. Our solar powered radio has a similar effect as the frequently passing clouds cause it to drift in and out like a punchline to a convoluted story.
I woke up to the sound of passing showers at 6AM this morning and by 8 o'clock the nieghbor's chainsaw started and hasn't relented, even in the rain. The sound of a chainsaw in the Mata Atlântica hurts more than a dental drill probing a deep cavity. Only 10% of this lush, tropical forest has survived and most of it is in this region and that's why we register chainsaws, not firearms in Bahia. My neighbor, the cattle king, has slashed and burned the forest right up to our fence. Today he's paying a crew to cut rough lumber from the trees left to dry on the ground. If he follows the example of his predecessors; if he doesn't lose all the topsoil in the rain, he will plant a non-native grass for his cows and end for good the diverse native habitat which supports thousands of exotic plants and animals. I would become a vegitarian if I though it might save a small bit of forest. Cow pastures eating their way into the mighty Amazon recently turned in a combined measurement the size of Italy! Forget the cattle industry and look at the complex "politics of wood" in Brazil. International lumber companies are motivated by profits and happy stockholders, while the impoverished Brazilian family is ruled by its collective empty stomach. Economic factors have always affected the diminishing forests of the world.
What's that? Oh my God, how do you spell a scream? AAAAAAAAAUUUGH! Now they're using 2 chainsaws!!!!!!!!
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