Brazilian Babes

The way America knows it has the world´s strongest military, or how Russia knows it has the world´s most land, Brazil knows it has the world´s most beautiful women.

Of all their glorious features, legs, hips, lips, accents, passionate insanity, affinity for New York, sun-kissed skin, angelic faces or excellent taste for swimwear, to name a few, they are most renowned for their asses. The babes of Brazil are also most proud of their ´´bundas´´ (their butts). Most of my learning came from a young lawyer-lady of Brazil who has become my unofficial Tour Guide to Rio. Her name is Nina, and a tincy bit of my heart melts thinking of her.

Rio De Janeiro welcomed us to a wonderful land of worldly pleasures and far exceeded the expectations our hedonic imaginations dreamt up… .

The sun would rise over LeBlon’s beach horizon and bring another blessed day to all the gorgeous faces, perfect bodies, gleaming smiles, Holy bundas! I was elated, as if hovering above the silky sand and floating across the beaches that have set the bar high for Heaven. Well, the Heaven I´d hope for anyways. (Do you get to live out unfulfilled dreams when you ascend into The Sky?)

How do I communicate this sensation Brazil bestowed upon me? You know when your esophagus reflexes a sudden gasp? Then, a chill flashes up your spine and your toes curl to grip the ground? With my spirits defying gravity, my cousin would slap me and I’d snap me back to reality, even if only for the moment.

We were wiping the dripping drool from our dropped jaws. It was not the suavest first impression in Impenema Beach. However, we’d soon regain poise, but only for the moment, because, then, another impossibly perfect woman would walk by, proving that The Lord is a loving Lord and the brain would cease to function.

Merely the site of them bouncing up and down the sun drenched beach! I tried to talk to some. With words, rather than just lustful eyes. I had to keep it slow though, taking baby steps. I started with a wave, then a smile and soon graduated to an `Ooi!´. A few women were even kind enough to talk back. I attempted Portuguese. Which, in my simple American Boy mind, an attempt at Portuguese was to add a bunch of égés and ujz sounds to spanish words. This failed, but my tone was adoring and I’d soldiered on to the promise-land of an actual conversation.

This sensation I´m trying to describe was like a sweet delicious poison. With each intoxicating breath, each sip of Caipirinha, each word that slipped from her tongue, the poison would soak, almost soothingly, deeper. I was hopelessly and helplessly drunk on lust and falling into a blissful abyss of a wonderful oblivion.

Yeah, maybe excessive. But the women are gorgeous. And, teaching Brazilian gals the word “gorgeous“ is beautiful within itself.

´´They have everything. The face, ass, breasts, skin. They have everything´´ – The pretty Panamanian woman who educated us on The Panama Canal. (Panama Canal grosses 5,000,000,000 USD per annum)

Learn to Fly Like a Brazilian

“If you stop running, we will crash” – Zero

1700 feet above Brazil’s parading Carneval launch on Leblon Beach I´m soaring through the clouds. I’ve never seen building from this close at this vantage point! The people are all moving like bugs and the laid-out ladies on the beach are waving up at us! This is what Superman feels like…

The rickotty car buzzed up the steep & narrow road, winding through the jungle´s vegetation.   The horn was warning on-coming traffic that might be around the corner with short consistent blares.  It was another one of those ´I wouldn´t be surprised if this is how I died´´ moments. And then it occured to me that if today I should die, I rather it be because I jumped off the mountain with only a kite on my back.   Not on the car ride to the summit! That would be some embarassing bullshit. 

Zero was my instructor.  For the next hour, my life was in his hands because I had placed it there.   He seemed like a nice enough stranger, why not?   Very matter-of-factly Zero confirmed my suspiciouns by stating “OK Joe, the real danger is over“  I cocked my head inquizically.   “I am a very very bad driver, so it is good we have to do no more driving.   Flying, I am much better at.  So now we will fly.  This is where we will launch.“

After hiking up terrain too steep to drive, we approached our launch area.   It was  flat and cleared of trees.   A natural runway developed which lead to the drop off.  I walked closer to the edge for a view, but nothing.  Too many clouds, all I could see beyond the cliff was grey.   At the beginning of the run-way was a little building serving coffee.  I figured a few espressos would calm my nerves.

Zero told me we would check the gear then run off the edge.   “It is important to run full speed off the cliff.  If you stop running, we will crash, and we don´t want to crash, so do not stop running, OK” And he paused awaiting my respoonse.   Keep running, or we will crash.  It was a rather simple concept I figured, as I plunged into a mentality of sheer-obediance.   This man´s word is my order.  What Zero says, I do.  I will not think for myself, I will obey Zero.  Obey Zero.   

Then zero nonchellantly listed off the process of the jump which was too much too fast for me to gather.  I did however offer him the occassional nod or flash a smile.  When it seemed important I asked for clarity. 

We practiced how to keep running without stopping.  There was a clearing in the clouds which meant our opportunity to jump off the mountain. 

Now, we´re running and running and running and not stopping and HOLY SHIT- we´re flying.  We~re in the air and my legs still sputtering.   No two ways about it, I´m a god-damn bird in the sky!  Dream-come-true status, I am actually above the city, arms spread, wind at my face passing through the clouds, looking at all the little people below!  Enthralling!!

Zero let me steer, and showed me that to speed up we aim down.   Shift weight for a move left/right and aim up to slow down.   I was given the reins!   Left, right, OK time for some speed.  Maybe a little faster, maybe even faster! And I aimed down and gained us speed and speed and speed as we soared through the air, until Zero took the controls away from me in an effort to avoid an unrecoverable nose dive.  What a good instructor he was!   Watching out of our lives and eventually bringing us to a landing on the beach. 

The overcast kept the distance out of visability, but the view below was as clear as a street-walkers intentions. 

 

First days in Colombia

 

Chow and I left the others to organize the work, while we went to scout out the beach scene.

It was March- the windy season.  Our new friend from the beach who brought the beers from the bungalow to the table told us so.  Who would know better than the guy slanging to tourists on the beach in Cartagena’s renowned district, Boca Grande?   He continued to teach us the climate patterns: the rainy season just passed and the warm winds alway blow in from the East.   He measures the humidity by the feel of the cash to his fingers. H U S T L E R.

The conversation quickly dove into his deportation from the United States, some sob story of prejudices and misunderstandings.   Somehow, in the end he still had his principles.  For the sake of friendliness, we expressed lots of respect for whatever it was he stood for.  He brought us more beers and we asked more about Cartagena.

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A small boy came to the table to sell us colorful string knotted together.  He succeeded.   I’m happy to support youngin’s grind- fearlessly approaching strangers asking to do business.   I’m sure he’s saving up for something important, like a meal or shoes.  At the same time, I’m trying to leave with some recollection of what happens down here.   It’s a win-win because now me, el nino and Chow are bracelet buddies.
The next morning we woke up at 7 am, my roommate, Kane, blasted some Christina Aguliera- I didn’t feel like listening- not really a fan of hers.  I splashed water on my face to at least loosen up the stank caked on from the sin’s of the night before… 2 hours ago.  We dragged our haggard selves out to the breakfast buffet.   I shuffled towards the dizzy mess of Colombian food: cheese fried in some white flour (araypas?), a mush pile of rice mixed with vegetables and other non-sense I was too disconnected from the world to recognize.   I smashed on some fruit, gushing juice explosions in my mouth putting energy back into me.   Chomping into pineapples, cantaloupe, grapes, orange- fruit has always been my revitalizer.

We loaded onto the bus to listen to lecture on our way to….  Not sure where we were headed, nor did I care.  We were on our way to saving Colombia, one child at time.  That notion was enough for me.  I rested my eyes into a slumber and awoke when we were at the garbage dump.  Totally joking, it was a neighborhood of shacks where real people lived.    There were little kids running around with no shoes, unhealthy looking adults standing and staring at us and uncomfortably young-to-imagine parents standing and staring into nothing.  The blank or bewildered expressions didn’t ease the awkward feelings being felt.

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Well, I suppose anything less could have been found in The South- we came here for a reason, and that was to help those who needed it.   So, let’s do it, how do we save these souls from the depths of hell’s eternal torture and pain?   The answer was hardly as adventurous as I had hoped.  No rebuilding/ construction (or any form of manual labor), no herding the people into a secret water vessel destined for a new beginning, no diagnosis + medicine, no workforce assemblage, NOTHING.

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We walked around smiling and waving, like a celebrity on tour- ‘DON’T GET TOO CLOSE NOW, tell them how proud you are of their accomplishments!’ said the charity-tour leader.  I suppose they used to live in houses of hay, rather than sticks- otherwise, I I don’t know why we were  commending them.  All I knew was the pungent reek from this motionless death-infested water is creeping into my own soul and feeding my inner-world a painful nausea.

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When we left, they were all still poor and sick, and quite possibly dying- but for whatever reason, they felt better.    And I’m told me did a great job.

AY Colombia!

Saving Colombia- One Child at a Time.

It was March- The windy season.  Our new friend from the beach who brought beers to the table told us so.  Who would know better than the guy slanging to tourists on the beach?   He continued to teach us the climatepatterns: the rainy season just passed and the warm winds always blow in from the East.   He measures the humidity by the feel of the cash to hisfingers. H U S T L E R.

 A small boy came to the table to sell us colorful string knotted together.  He succeeded.   I’m happy to support youngin’s grind- fearless approaching strangers asking to do business.   I’m sure he’s saving up for something important, like a meal or shoes.  All the while, I’m trying to leave with some recollection of what happens down here.   It’s a win-win because now me, el nino and Chow are bracelet buddies.
The next morning we woke up at 7 am, Kane blasted some Christina Aguliera- I didn’t feel like listening.  We dragged our haggard selves out to breakfast buffet after splashing water on our faces to at least loosen up the stank caked upon us from the sin’s of the night before…. 2 hours ago.   I shuffled towards the dizzy mess of Colombian food: cheese fried in some white flour (araypas?), and other non-sense I was too disconnected from the world to remember.   I smashed on some fruit, gushing juice explosions in my mouth putting energy back into my system.   Chomping into pineapples, cantaloupe, grapes, orange- fruit has always been my “next morning” friend.    When we got back to the room Christina was still pumping.  “Didn’t I tell you to keep that shit in the safe?!”  I was a bit paranoid that our valuables would disappear if we left them unattended.
We loaded onto the bus to listen to lecture on our way to….  Not sure where we were headed, nor did I care.  We were on our way to saving Colombia, one child at time,  That notion was enough for me.  I rested my eyes into a slumber and a woke when we were at the garbage dump.  Totally joking, it was a neighborhood of shacks where real people lived.    There were little kids running around with no shoes, unhealthy looking adults standing and staring and uncomfortably young-to-imagine parents.   Well, I suppose anything less could have been found in The South.   So, let’s do it, how do we save these souls from the depths of hell’s eternal torture and pain?   Hardly, we walked around smiling and waving, like a celebrity on tour- ‘DON’T GET TOO CLOSE NOW, tell them how proud you are of their accomplishments!’ said the charity-tour leader.  I suppose they used to live in houses of hay, rather than sticks- otherwise, I could not figure out what we are commending them for- all I know is the pungent reek from this motionless death-infested water is creeping into me and feeding my stomach a painful nausea.
When we left, they were all still poor and sick- but for whatever reason, they felt better.

 

Hola Colombia

We arrived at the Rafael Nunez airport early in the afternoon.   22/24 missed the flight to Miami the first day.  That’s 88%.  The leader of the group, Dr. Snuggs, was one of the two.  Second in command, Dr. Nicely, appointed me leader, Heffe, if you will, of 12 other students that would take a 4pm transfer through Atlanta International to Miami International.

I assigned everyone a number and had them sound off upon command.  We’d arrive in Miami before the other group, lead by Dr. Nicely.   Instead of funneling everyone into a van directed to a luxury hotel Hollis (#2) had employee pricing with, we waited for Dr. Nicely and her group.    This proved to be a mistake as Miami was crawling with Spring Break, yet we spent 19 hours in an unexplainably cold “Save Darfor” exhibit on the 3rd floor.

Sometimes you just need to tell your leader what to do.

The Avianca flight floated in and rolled to a halt marking our arrival at the Rafel Nunez airport that early afternoon.   The sun was bright, the heat was sticky and we had FINALLY arrived.   Stepping into the sun was like that first splash of water on your face after several days without showering.  The air tingled with the peaceful sounds of being far away from home.   Big smile at he rooster who strolled along with our group.

Chow (#4) and I walked 4 blocks away to the beach in Boca Grande where we rejoiced and soaked in the sensation of relief as our toes sank into the sand.   Beer.   We were there, sat down in the plastic chairs at the plastic tables with Club Colombias plopped in front of us.  Next, we were offered prostitutes and cocaine.

“Senior, for now, we must pass” politely, and with the suggestion of ‘maybe later’ as my father once taught me.   The breeze blew in fresh salty smells from The Gulf.  Colombia is gonna be SICK.