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By: Eric Feathers
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| Wednesday, 8-Feb-2006 12:00 |
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Getting There is Half the Fun
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Waiting for the bus
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Bus station
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Ironic that less than a year after moving 8 km away from town I should let my driver's license expire. Bahia just passed new legislation requiring out-of-state drivers to pay over a hundred bucks and to pass a written drivers test including first aid and CPR. Unfortunately the driver's handbook is only available on line and my dumb computer can't open the download. So my tight budget, lack of confidence in my driving knowledge and the dread of busing 75 km to get in line at the "DMV" have killed my enthusiasm for driving.
We do have a bus passing on our dirt road 4 times a day arriving in Itacaré's bus station in about 20 minutes so I'm not completely stranded. That's the good news. The trouble is this bus doesn't travel on rainy days because of the mud. Walking and hitch hiking are the alternatives, meaning I can walk 2 km up to the asphalt highway and thumb a ride (pego uma carona) or catch a different bus, whichever comes first. The only shade or shelter at the "6" (km 6) is with the police at their roadblock. These are the same police that stop me and check my documents everytime I drive by so obviously, they prevent me from driving. Once a hot shot from the state police stopped our bus then forced everyone out and separated the men from the women and children. We were told to have our documents ready (as usual) and to stand with our legs apart and hands up against the bus, while a few young recruits stood in position with assault rifles and shotguns. I already had my wallet out when I was "dismissed from the line-up." One passenger was "interviewed" around in back of the bus and the interior was searched as the hot shot in plain clothes explained to us that the delay was in the interest of public security, "obrigado, tchau." On another occasion the local cops on duty there gave me a lift into town as two of them were going to pick up lunch. Surely it caused tongues to wag when I arrived in town in the back of the cops' little "cruiser."
I have ridden the short 8 km, or 5 miles, in the school van, a natural gas delivery truck, various cabs (no fare), with tourists, surfers and Jesus freaks. I even risked my neck on the back of a guy's new motorcycle, "Just 14 km," he proudly exclaimed. I quickly realized that this was the sum total of his riding experience. Thank God we went different directions upon reaching the highway.
Not quite as scary, but equally memorable was the ride on the back of a big flatbed truck with short rails in place and only a few big bags and boxes to deliver. With the rest of the space for "a boia fria," farm workers, it is a popular form of transportation throughout rural Brazil. I climbed in, someone shouted "Segure," (hang on) and off we went, young and old workers and their families all clutching farm tools, bags and Bibles.
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| Monday, 6-Feb-2006 02:00 |
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How did you find Itacaré?
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That is a question I used to ask frequently. It seems a likely topic of conversation among residents and visitors alike. Census 2000 counted about 20,000 people in this municipality which includes a number of rural communities and also found the population evenly split between natives and newcomers; Brazilian and foreign.
The answers and stories I hear in response are often unbelievable but true! Natives respond with pride (or humility) and nearly always add the tagline, "Thanks to God." Residents from elsewhere all have interesting stories of romance, passion, comedy and tragedy. Foreign visitors hear about Itacaré on the internet or through guide books like "Lonely Planet" or "The Rough Guide." Itacaré is seldom recommended by foreign travel agents. It seems that more adventurous travelers, trekkers and surfers have their own "networks" of travel information. When I posed my question to the Brit who was feeling tired and cranky he spit out this response, "I found Itacaré noisy and dirty and I'll never come back!" Many would say the same about London.
People who picked up their lives and moved to Itacaré generally tell the most interesting stories. The couple who sailed over from Europe on a single mast sailboat found Itacaré "quite by accident." At the end of their journey to Brazil, the boat was packed and leaving Bahia's state capital, Salvador, for the Mediterranean when a storm kicked up and left them "shipwrecked" here. In the (slow) course of repairing the boat they decided to stay. Recently a Brazilian woman from Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil's model city of urban efficiency, said she was here on her honeymoon a few years earlier. She made up her mind that she would gladly give up her yuppie lifestyle to enjoy the simple life in paradise. Turned out that she was SO determined that she gave up her career, her apartment and even her new husband! Just packed her "essential" things in the Land Rover and came back to Itacaré! Sad footnote: She and her boyfriend/business partner made R$10.000 shuttling tourists around in the Land Rover during the first summer, but repair and maintenance of the truck was R$5.000 and they had to live on the balance for 9 months. Upon my arrival, I met a number of Swiss citizens living here and I assumed there was a connection to this region's cocoa production but that was way off. A handful are here for investment reasons and others came here straight from one of Switzerland's fine hotel and restaurant acadamys. Americans are rare in Itacaré but there was a group of "transient residents" from the Peace Corps. Explanation: "Everybody who works with the Guaraní Indians in Paraguay talks about Itacaré so we all come here before returning to the States."
My own reason for being here is like other foreigners living here. We married Brazilians and settling here satisfies the hopes and dreams of both. Tropical climate and landscape, Afro-Brazilian culture, history, folklore and above all, the challenge. All of us are challenged to survive in a place where maybe we don't belong.
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