Resolutions 2014

A new year but with the same hopes

AOG, Madrid

My Christmas vacation started off with me flying to London a few days before and ended with me flying back to Madrid from Barcelona airport a couple of days ago.

In between both airports, as is customary since I relocated to Spain and met my other half, we spend part of the holiday season in the UK, both in London and in rural Oxfordshire, and part of it in northern Spain, mostly Bilbao and coastal Cantabria.

Then, once the family duties are done, we relocate to the Catalan coastal town of Sitges for a couple of days of rest before facing the year ahead. Yes, we both end up shattered and fatigued after all the travelling, the gifting, the emotional encounters with family, friends, each other, &c.

I left sunny Barcelona and landed in a cold and rainy Madrid thinking about the year ahead. About my career, my life, my plans. The challenges ahead, the things I’ve left behind.

I realised that, basically, since my 20s, I’ve been consciously trying to do the same thing, year after year: achieve something.

Achievement is, naturally, defined and applied to whatever new task happens to pop up in my life, and it is not always reached… though I have been known to surprise myself.

I was talking to a friend of mine just after I got back to Madrid and the subject came up: New Year Resolutions.

Only last year, and for the first time ever, I actually took out a piece of paper and wrote down a few lines.

I forgot, or redefined, or lost, most of them as the year landed squarely on my lap and brushed aside most of my good intentions.

But two in particular kept popping into my head throught the entire 12 months the year lasted.

First, writing.

My actual resolution was to write 12 short stories in one year. One per month. That did not happen.

I ended up writing about 3. But then I also co-wrote a script for a short film, and, back in November, I participated in NANOWRIMO.

No, I did not finish a 50K word novel in 30 days.

But something else happened. I took up an old, forgotten, sci fi novel I had started to write in my very early 20s.

Along the way, it has grown, changed, and been re-started a couple more times.

But, for the time being, it is incarnating itself semi successfully. I’m not sure about when I’ll finish it, but I want to continue writing it. This is an achievement in itself.

Unfortunately, those things which always get in the way of writing (you know, life, work, shit) are still there.

I had this idea that I could do some writing during the Christmas season. I even took my laptop all over the place in the off chance I would get some time to do a bit of writing. No such luck.

However, that thing I do when I write, think about the story, did went on. I kept thinking, and have kept thinking, about the story, the characters, the twist, throughout.

Then my partner told his 12 year old niece that I was writing a novel, and two days later she was asking me about it. She is the only person who actually knows what it is about, other than me. And the best compliment was when she told me she wanted to read it.

Of course, at the tender age of 12, she got a ‘doctored’ version of it. And She may have to reach 17 before she can actually read it. But I’m glad she was interested.

www.fofothing.com/polo

The other thing I wrote down has a lot to do with me personally.

I wrote down “Be more sociable”.

Not that I am not sociable. I love society. I love socialising. Meeting friends. Doing things. Going places.

But unfortunately, I am not always in the mood to do any of that. Usually because I am tired. Or not interested on what is being offered. Or unwell. Or whatever other cheap excuse I can think of to redeploy inside and stay home and not see anybody during daylight hours…

However, more and more, this past year I tried continuosly to put my initial distate for the things I dislike aside, and endeavored to concentrate instead on enjoying my friend’s company whenever it is offered -which is often.

Unfortunately for me, I’m still too stupidly shy, or coy, or reticent, or whatever the hell is wrong with me, to actually call friends up and seek them out.

Yes, that thing that normal people do on a regular basis I tend to find difficult. Not always. Not all the time. But now and again. Here and there.

But, throughout 2013, whenever somebody called me, whenever I saw their name on the phone’s screen, I did my best to just pick up and agree to meet, putting all of me aside and just doing it.

I can’t say that I did that all of the time. But I did do it. And certainly I did it more often than in 2012, or 2011.

Perhaps I take my cue from my mother. When we were kids, she was the eternal social butterfly (Gemini).

Her social calendar was always chock-a-block with dates, parties, dinner engagements, social events, etc.

But I also recall how she used to complain that she needed time off. I remember how people would call home and ask for her, and she would sometimes say in a low voice, or just mouthing the words, ‘I am not here’. 

And the message would be passed on.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired, she just wanted to be left alone for a short while. She needed some ‘me’ time.

These days she has become very much a hermit, and her social calendar is mostly devoid of dates, other than whenever my sister and I ask to see her.

Nevertheless, last year she told me very clearly she was not flying to Spain to see me on my birthday.

She had a long list of excuses, but basically, she is not where she was when she was in her 20s or 30s, or 40s.

She is aging. She is somewhere else.

But back to me.

Last year I was able to combine my social life, such as it was, with my writing. I would meet with friends from the writing group I belong to and agree to set up a writing time and date. Usually a Saturday afternoon, somewhere in one of the city’s cafés.

This allowed me to write, to create, and be social, at the same time.

Onwards to the new year.

So, this year, my resolutions have not been written down yet, but those two will certainly head the list.

1- Write. Finish the novel. Do the short stories. Continue going to the writer’s group once a week.

2- Be more sociable. Even more. And again. One more time.

And I’ll add a couple more.

Exercise some more.

Watch my weight.

Make more friends. One can never have enough of those.

Read. Yes, read. A writer writes. Also, a writer reads. And reads a lot.

By the author of this post. Ralph Lauren, Fall 2o13.

Draw.

Create.

This one has been on my mind for a couple of months now.

I started doing some fashion illustration last year sometime in late September.

The drawing bug is within me once again. 

I’ve even thought about setting up a blog to upload the sketches. Maybe even invest some time in learning how to fully operate Photoshop, or even learn about Corel Draw.

Be healthy. Live healthy.

Improve my career. Move to Barcelona to be closer to my partner. These, in fact, go hand in hand.

Acting. Don’t give up on improv, in spite of all the problems and drawbacks concerning the course.

Join a choir and sing some.

Blog more in the abscence of all else.

I have even considered going back to University, although this last one belongs to late 2013.

I have to decide on whether I want to do a doctorate, which I do but have no time for.

Or start a new degree, which I do but have no time for. Psychology is always very appealing.

And it is only January!

Planet Japan: Day 3

AOG, Tokyo

We got up this morning, tired from the night before, and had breakfast at what has become our usual breakfast spot: Café Veloce. It is just across the street from our hotel.

The decor of the place is very European, and the food on sale too. We have discovered that in Japan, tea and coffee can be served either hot or cold, and when you buy it, you must specify whether your latte, here known exclusively as "café au lait" is hot, or cold.

We took all our guidebooks and Japanese directional paraphernalia to decide what to do today. Since this journey was slightly spur-of-the-moment, we have not really done all our homework concerning the place's sights. So this little directional ceremony happens daily.

"What do you want to do?" "Dunno. How about you?" "Dunno. I saw this..." and we take it from there.

Less than perfect, but it works.

Culture Day -文化の日,

Since many people told us that today was 'Culture Day' in Japan, we thought we'd do something cultural since, as everyone told us, there is no official nationwide celebration of any kind.

So we decide to visit the Asakusa (浅草) neighborhood. Why? It is by the river and there is a temple, the Asakusa Shrine.

Ah yes, temples. Perhaps the few remaining pieces of ancient Japanese architecture in Tokyo. The city was bombed during WWII so most architecture is post that era.

After paying for our hot cafés au lait and our mustardy ham and creamy egg sandwiches, we head for Shinjuku station.

Getting to Asakusa means taking the Subway and not the JR. So we do. However, they tell us we have to change at some point, at which point we do, in Chiyoda City, and find a side street which keeps us occupied for almost an hour just outside Kanda Station (神田駅).

It is at this station that I discover that Japanese stations have a sort of Rubber Stamp Stand with their own individual stamps. Judging from the map and layout on the wall, I'd say that you can go all over Tokyo collecting your stamp and printing it on whatever piece of paper you have at hand.

I'm sure there must be people who do this all year round and have filled many a notebook with them. I only did it this once. But I love my black stamp!

I must point out that one of the reasons we don't see as much of Tokyo as other mortals might is because to us, everywhere we go is a photo-op.

Given how all we see is different, all is game. Even the poor normal Japanese people who politely look away when two goateed "Gaijin" are taking their picture. In the middle of the street. For no reason. But then, when your country is another planet, what are we to do?

So after many clicks and much focusing, we go back to the station and enter Subwayland.

The subway trains are very spacious and, today anyway, not as crowded as JR. Opposite us is a 2.4 kids type of family, sprawled on the seats. Dad is keeping watch, and mom and children are passed out on the seats. Yes. Yes we did.

We took their pic.

Come on, they looked so sweet! How could I not?We also took some pics of, to us anyway, hilarious wall signs. Japan is a treasure trove of these, I must confess. Somewhere between Stalin and Hello Kitty.


There is one in particular which tells women to do their make up at home. It is a drawing.

In one frame, she is this unattractive hag doing her hair in the carriage, bothering everyone.

In the next frame, she looks like a beauty queen, much to the chagrin of her fellow passengers.

Ah..Japan!

So we finally get to Asakusa. It is a very crowded neighborhood today.

This is the place where most restaurants in Tokyo get these plastic mock-ups of their food. They seem to be very expensive because they are meant to mimick real food as realistically as possible. I have to say that they do a good job of this.

Culture Day Parade

But the main point of interest in Asakusa for us today is the parade. Yes, the Culture Day parade. Either we didn't make ourselves understood, or they lied to us. As we leave the station, we face an oncoming parade of Japanese folks dressed in ancient and historical gear representing the country's (or Tokyo's) different guilds.

On both sides of the street, Boy Scouts keep the crowds back. I have to say this is a very good way of using Boy Scouts: crowd control. It works because, I think, most people would be too embarrassed to overpower a young boy just to get to the other side of the street.

Most people except, only in Japan, senior citizens, and in particular, women. Yes, old women in Japan seem to have the run of the place.

In a culture which respects the elderly, the elderly do as they please. Respectfully, politely, at their own pace, but very much contravening the order of the day. The Boy Scouts smile and even help them to cross the street when they choose to do so.

We too try to cross the street once we realize that we are at a strange angle to take good pics. So we wait until the Flying Fish Goddess Purple Fishmonger's Guild pass by before sprinting to the other side of the street where the lighting is better. All Japanese look very solemn in their historical dress and makeup.

All but the gay.

From our new vantage point we saw one of the Japanese religious floats come by, surrounded by serious-looking men, and we start to point, and shoot the cameras. And yes, every mother has one.

Suddenly, one of the pallbearers caught sight of us, snapping away. All I can say is that his inner Naomi Campbell came out and he started to pose like this was a Mario Testino moment.

We thought it was hilarious. So did everyone else.

It is one of the many images I have to say thank you for.

He made us smile.

Yes, the Japanese have a sense of humor.

And people are the same wherever you go.

I liked this. I liked his impromptu reaction to the camera.

Sashay, Chantay, as Rupaul used to say!

When we turned the corner, and after not being much impressed by the Asahi Beer Hall building, or as my partner christened it, "The Booger Monument" or "Snot Tower", we turn a corner where we spend about an hour trying to capture the parade and the people of Tokyo in this festivity.

The police have closed off the street, and after the last group of people go by, and I have to say the story of the Samurai and the Fishermen was so well interpreted that even non-Japanese speaking people like ourselves understood the old tale about the fishermen who were assaulted by the Samurai (old Japanese Warrior Aristocracy) and lived to tell the tale when they kicked their Feudal asses somehow- we had an empty street all to ourselves.

But not before watching another group of people dressed in Western gear representing the opening of Japan by Commodore Perry in the middle of the XIX century.

Somehow, a few westerners have been roped in to participate and lend authenticity to the event. When I see this I begin to understand (well, not even understand, but rather start to ponder about) the effect that contact with the West had for this country.

One must not forget that Japan went from being a Medieval country in the middle of the century, to kicking the Imperial Russian Fleet's ass in 1905 in the Russo-Japanese War.




In less than 60 years. This is like native Americans going from being invaded in 1492 by Europeans to devastating the Spanish fleet with Airborne artillery in 60 years. Amazing does not cover it. And Japan is amazing.

Uniq-lo zebra crossing

After the parade ends with a group of all singing, all chanting children dressed as seafood and algae, or something, we stand outside the entrance to the Uniqlo store's gigantic zebra crossing to snap away. Crazy but effective.

We stay there for what seems like hours.

Eventually I get the feeling that old Japanese women try to bump into you once you have taken their photograph. Polite, but evil.

Asakusa

Afterwards we walk down the street which is empty. I spotted a Starbucks a while back, but as we walk down the street, going in seems like a waste of time. Too crowded.

Within 25 minutes, an eerie police car drives down slowly announcing from its speaker that the street will soon open up to traffic once more. Or so we think. We don't stick around to find out, and take the first side street we find.

We are hungry after all this culture, and need food. Sadly, the only restaurants which seem open happen to be Indian. And no, we didn't fly to Japan to have Indian food cooked in Tokyo. Snobbery? Perhaps. But it paid off.

Sensō-ji Temple (金龍山浅草寺,)

We continue walking and eventually stumble upon the Temple's grounds. The whole of Asakusa is like a village, rather than Tokyo.

The scale of things is much smaller. We see more of the sky. It has a different feel. Life here suddenly turns slightly more traditional.

We see a barber shop (I think one of the few universal signs must be the barber's which is just a red-white-and-blue as it is here in the West. We also come across a second-hand camera store. We look in. All are film cameras. Nothing digital.

Nevertheless, the cameras are beautiful to look at, mechanical and metallic. Nothing like the plasticky digital wonders hanging from our necks.

We visit the gigantic public restroom by one of the statues of Bhudda and then decide to stop and eat at a local restaurant.

Local Food

A line of people are waiting outside a dark store to buy sweet hot buns made from pumpkin. The minute I see them I am reminded of the Mexican pastry which looks identical to these: Conchas. The checkered sugary top is the same! I could not believe it.

So in we go, and the old lady running the place sits us next to a very unassuming Japanese lady wearing a business suit.

The place is slightly touristy, but not as we know it. It is touristy for Japanese tourists! All cultural references are garish, kitschy, but 100% for the Japanese market only. Black walls with old movie posters, old ads, old toys. I love it!

Everything in Japan is small to us because, generally, Japanese people are not as large as Westerners. The chairs are small, the table is small, the chopsticks are smaller, the cups and dishes. All.

They bring us the usual point-and-choose picture menu which seems to encompass of all Japan's restaurants. So we pick and point. They bring us hot green tea. Although I quite like it (though sometimes it tastes like boiled dirt) my partner drinks it, but asks for beer. Like a good Japanese!

Our rice, pickled green beans and meat arrives (I would give the dish a name, but I don't know what its called).

When we are done eating, the unassuming lady who shares our table strikes up a conversation in her best English. She has been to Europe, but not Spain. She asks us if we have been to the temple. When we say no, she tells us the temple protocol. As I best remember it, we must:

1-Go to the font and wash the right hand with the left, then the left with the right using a small pot. Then wash our mouth and spit out the water (she covers her mouth and bows her head as though she were sneezing to represent "spit it out" politely).

2-Go to the temple.

3-Bow. Clap twice. Make wish. Bow.

4-Leave.

She does not tell us about the flinging of money to the red lacquered box with bars which probably keeps the place running. I, of course, pay, then pray. The Good Ol' fashioned way.

The legend is that a couple of fishermen on the Sumida river found a statue of Guan Yin 觀音 (she is Chinese in origin, the Japanese call her Kannon) the Goddess of Mercy. in their nets. They threw it overboard only to have it come back time and again. Said statue is in the shrine.

Here's two images. One Chinese. The other is the Goddess of the sea Iemanjá. Her origin's are African, though she was morphed into something else when African slaves were brought to the Americas and they were forced to become Christians. Today she is worshiped in Cuba and many parts of Latin America, including Brazil in the syncretic Santería / Candomblé religions.






















I think the correlation with the apparition of statues of the Virgin Mary floating at sea, is amazing.

Except that Christians are too trusting of apparitions and they tend to celebrate the find straight away and would probably never think about throwing her image overboard.

The Japanese? Hey Yohi, what the hell is that piece of shit? Oh, it looks like a statue. Statue my ass, throw that junk overboard and lets keep fishing before our wives nag us to death.

Europeans? Hey Francesco, what the hell is that piece of shit? It looks like a statue of our Lady. (both) Miracolo!!

And they start to pray as the fish swim away and the get back to port empty handed.

Yes, Christians....so willing to stop working at any paranormal event.


So, we wash, clap, bow, ask, bow, and leave by the side door. My partner wished to visit the local hot baths he read about. I'm less than keen on taking a bath in public.

Didn't like them in Budapest, won't like them in Tokyo.

As we leave the temple, we stumble upon a woman with a trained monkey, entertaining a few children. I've never liked monkeys much. Especially trained monkeys. Not since I was bitten by one of their species back in Mexico city as a child.

My partner is also not very monkey friendly. We see another shrine, a well, and take a left. Not far from the Temple there is a small, private amusement park. The lights immediately work their magic on me, but my partner steers me away from temptation and we start to look for a non-sign-posted anodyne bath house. A Sento. It is meant to be near the Kannon Temple.

Asakusa Hot Baths

I go on instinct and my partner on written down instructions. He reads as I look around. The book says the entrance to this place is easily recognizable because of the marble by the door.

He wants to go one way, and I another. Eventually I convince him (every so slightly begrudgingly) and we approach a very old, tattered, and unassuming building with no marble by the door. Guess what? That's right. That's the place.

The bath master, nonplussed, tells us to take our shoes off, asks if we have brought towels (towels?), and rents us the towels. We pay, and enter barefootedly after our shoes are placed inside a wooden locker - probably a survivor of WWII bombings. One locker for my partner's shoes, two for me, one for each shoe. Did I mention things in Japan are small?

The changing room is something out of a 1940s tattered boxing locker room. The walls have peeling layers paint and some rising damp, the still semi-veneered wooden boarded floor creaks with every step. The lockers in the changing room are slightly bigger than the ones by the front door. They are covered in a green, marble-like, formica. Was this what the book meant? When in Tokyo do as the Tokyoites.

Undress, enter the bathroom through the glass doors. Wash like the Japanese. A group of elderly men are naked, sitting on a plastic stool, washing and scrubbing away. They are not friends. Or if they are, they do not speak when washing. We don't have any soap, or shampoo, or anything. So we wash with water, just like the Barbarians that we are. Nobody looks or says anything.

In the bath house, there are two pools of water. Everywhere I look I'm thinking "fungi", but not because it is dirty, the whole place, even with peeling paint, is immaculate. Clean does not cover it. And it smells of hot water, not humidity. Though the hot air of the bath is heavy.

After "washing" with water, we enter the empty pool. We float for a while, and repeat. Then back in the pool. Then out again.

The only other young person there gets in our pool for a while, then gets out.

After a long day, this bath is like paradise. We are so relaxed that we find it very difficult to leave the water. Impossible even. However, my difficulty to breathe at one point makes me exit the room. I grab my small (hand) towel, and go to the locker room. There is a man there, taking his time to get dressed, finishing a cigarette.

Since I was covered in hot water, rather than dry myself off with the (hand) towel, I just sit on the bench, and let the hot water evaporate. Getting dressed seems like a chore.

My bench buddy puts out his cigarette and leaves.

I start to get dressed. A strange music is playing. My partner comes out and does much like me. We are moving in slow motion.

We get dressed and leave, getting out 300 Yen towel deposit on the way out. I love the fact that we came here. We leave the bath house and head towards the amusement park.

We discover Asakusa Radio. How? Well, funnily enough, we hear a Pasodoble being sung. In Japanese. And afterwards, we walk right by a cabin that says Asakusa Radio, which has a small portable stereo on the step, emanating Japanese Golden Oldies. Suddenly the whole neighborhood looks like Tokyo in 1935. The only sound is the music. A small bit of magic enters the air.

Most stores are closing for the day, and a faint light is coming from the ones not shut yet. We stumble upon a local television soap opera production, which has many of the neighbors very interested. It might have been a movie, I'm not sure.

We move away from them, and chance upon one of the commercial streets. We see Japanese wooden sandals of different shapes, and many shops selling Kimono fabrics. The colors are something else! But the place is closing down, and the energy is one of saturation with the public. We understand and move on.

We then find a street with a gigantic Pachinko hall. Pachinko is a Japanese game to which the whole country is addicted.

Read that in many places, they place a few rigged machines by the door to entice you to enter because it looks like you win more often than not.

I take a few pics and we walk down the restaurant strip we could not find hours before. Its dinner time and everyone is enjoying themselves. A couple of Japanese rickshaws pass us by, and a well-dressed (slightly tipsy) couple asks me if I want to take their photograph. The light is awful, but I do take a couple of snaps.

As we walk through the Asakusa commercial maze, we see a woman sitting outside a store, with a table and a candle on the table. My first thought is that she is a fortune teller. I try to take her picture, but as soon as she sees us, she scuttles inside. We walk past and I see a giant hand with dotted lines across it. I now think she is something to do with Acupuncture, or something like that. It certainly looked medicinal. My partner is convinced she is a fortune teller.

We eventually get onto the strip which leads unto the temple. Wall-to-wall stores selling all sorts of Japanese tourist gear. Candy, toys, kimonos, chocolate, snacks, pottery, crafts. Everything.

I'm too tired to take it all in, but my partner decides to purchase a small girl kimono for his niece.

I am starving and I need to pee. We make it back to the subway station and discuss the evening's plans. We decide to visit one of Tokyo's other gay districts, Ueno once inside the train.

We decide on this just as the train pulls into Ueno station. Handy? Yes. Also mad.

We rush out and step outside. There is one of Tokio's gigantic Highways in front of us. And a map of the area.

The night before one of the Bar Master's had written down the address of a bar he thought we'd like.

No, Japanese addresses make no sense to the uninitiated. Looking at the map, and at what we have written down, we decipher the address. I think it went something like: M neighborhood, X district, Y street, P building, number 5 door.

We decide to chance it, and, lo and behold, we find the place!

It is early, there is only one other guy there at first when we arrive. The bar master must have been about 28, and his English is about average. We like this new place. Every time my partner goes to the toilet (beer), the bar master gives him a hot towel. It doesn't take long before he develops a pee complex. Soon enough, a few more people arrive.

We are surprised by how relaxed they are with their personal belongings. We have all our stuff either touching our feet, or in full view. One of the businessmen who arrives hangs his laptop and forgets about it.

We are amazed by the sense of security which permeates Japan. Still, our things remain where they are.

One of the locals approaches us when he finds out we come from Spain. He tells us his name is José. We are surprised. He lived in Miami when he was a kid (though he has been back in Japan for about 30 years), and he tells us that he's had many latin partners. So we speak in Spanish with him. He tells us that he'll take us to another bar he thinks we will like. So after two hours of biscuit eating and innumerable hot towels, he takes us through the dark, though spacious, streets of Ueno, to a bar called Battle. Yes, they called ahead, and the bar master speaks some English.

We get there, and the place is small. I'm getting used to this. Bar in Japan are small. I get it.

It is brown in color, very masculine. The previous bar was very nautical in feel. White and blue, white and blue.

Bar master at Battle is called Takashi. He asks if we are hungry. We are. He makes us spaghetti. A la Japonaise. Delicious.

There is one more person there, who speaks some English too. I have to say they both are puzzled we are intent on visiting Japanese bars. We do tend to be the only Western people everywhere we go. After asking our age, (and me my weight, I mean hello?) and the usual niceties, the bar master's partner arrives. Much younger. But very nice. We look at the clock and decide to head home. Trains stop running around midnight and we have to get home before they do.

When we get to Shinjuku station, we stop to take some more pics. I buy a fruit juice from the fruit juice stand on the platform. It is the best fruit juice I've had in my life. After taking a few pics, we head home. Shinkuju is alive with a buzz as it is every night.

The makeshift street stand that sells Manga porn in front of the station's South entrance (the one facing Takashimaya Times Square) has left and in its place there is a traveling Noodle bar.

There is the usual street bands trying to catch our attention. One in particular does. It consists of 4 grown men, dressed in suits, singing, and somebody's mother, on keyboards. They have a CD which we omit to buy, but we do take a few pics.

When we arrive at the hotel we are beat. Shower, and to bed.

Vacations in Brazil pt. 3

AOG, Praia do Forte

We got up and had breakfast, enjoying some very good weather. Then, after being pestered by a Spanish restaurant owner who was visiting to pick up some customers, we sat through an introduction which was half positive and half negative. Our rep started off by telling us what “All inclusive” did not include.

Phone calls, drinks at the disco, and a couple of other things, which I’ve forgotten, were not included.

He then gave us a quick, and condescending, lesson on Brazilian geography. Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo are about 5 hours away; Manaus about 8 –almost as far away as Madrid. No one had asked him about this, but I suppose he gets questions of that sort all the time.

He spent an awful long time explaining the different ways in which you can enjoy a Caipirinha- something you can have in the mornings.

Then there was the Caipiroska, which you have with vodka. And the Caipirissima, which seems to be an XXL Caipirinha recommended for clubbing and other types of adult entertainment.

He then went on to tell us about all the different tours we could take during our stay. We settled on 3: Bahia, Whale watching, and the River Pojuca tour.

The hotel has 3 restaurants and we are allowed to have dinner three times in either or all of them. One is Mediterranean, one Japanese, and the other is a Steakhouse. We are having dinner at the Japanese first, then the Mediterranean, then, on our last night, we will dine at the Steakhouse.

Afterwards we went to spend the day at the beach. It was wonderful. The hotel’s grounds and amenities are wonderful. The staff, nice.

What I found most interesting is the hotel’s game room and library, composed, as it is, of three bulky colonial Portuguese tables and chairs, one bulky sofa, the day’s Salvador de Bahia papers, and this was the interesting part, the books the guests have left behind. There’s a lot of Dutch and German books, some French and a few Italian titles.

Hardly any books in Spanish; and the bulk of the collection, no surprises there, is books in English. Surprisingly, not all are brand new titles. There were books which were printed in the 1970s, complete with curling covers and yellow, sandpaper-like pages. These were my favorites to leaf through.

However, I’d brought my own, which accompanied me to the beach and pool daily. But it was nice to see other books.

The hotel also has an internet room and public toilets everywhere.

Praia do Forte

The rep had offered us to go to Praia do Forte town (our hotel is about a 10 minute drive from it, located as it is on virgin jungle territory) that afternoon for a measly 10 reales.

We thought it would be a good idea, but having been warned about crime in Brazil, we leave the camera’s at the room’s safe. Mistake!

At around 4pm, we and some other guests gathered at the entrance hall and get carted unto a van which will take us to the town. What we thought was just a journey there is in fact a stealth tour. Our tour guide is awaiting us there and is intent on us going to visit the Tamar Project Sea Turtle reservation.

My partner and I are horrified at the prospect of being in a large group of people touring a small town like a herd. Nobody had mentioned the Tour guide. In theory, the turtles get fed at 5, and then something funny happened.

Hardly anyone had any Reales with them. The tour guide was very sceptical about anyone leaving the group or doing anything on their own, yet at the same time, about 80% of us had to go and exchange some money.

He was very reluctant to let anyone leave but then, in the end, common sense kicked in and people just started wandering off toward the bureau de change with a few Real-carrying guests accompanying him to the Tamar Project.

We saw our chance and we took it. We walked around the small town for about 20 minutes, popping in on the occasional art and trinket shop before heading towards turtle city.

The cool thing about this place was, first of all, the shape of the public toilets. It was straight out of a Gaudi fantasy. Shaped like giant seashells, and covered in broken tile mosaics, they would not have looked out of place in Barcelona.

The second cool thing about this place, turtles aside, was how close you could get to the animals.


There was a shark pool with evil looking sharks lurking at the bottom, and small Manta Rays minus the sting on very shallow pools at eye level.

This is what impressed us most. Manta Rays, in case you were wondering, have human-looking eyes. It was like looking at a person in fish form. Probably not the best explanation, but accurate.


They were so close to us that you could see them looking at you. Scary and thrilling at the same time.

The shark pool was very impressive too. They were taking turns swimming around the pool walls, with the rest remaining at the bottom of the pool until it was their turn.

The creepy thing was that you never saw them coming until they were right there in front of you. Probably something similar happens in nature with these animals. They were huge, solemn and elegant. Death often is.

Then there was the sponge and Sea Urchin pool (not many visitors), and various pools with many different sort of fish swimming inside of them.

When we left the Turtle sanctuary, we went back to see the town. We stopped at one supermarket to buy some talc and other toiletries. We marvelled at the local products.

My partner mentioned that some of the things on sale were no longer available in Spain. We also bought some aspirin and had our first cold coconut for 2 Reales, less than one Euro.

Here and there we saw one missed photo opportunity after another. We thought the people were friendly enough and wished we had not been so paranoid about taking our cameras with us.

Praia do Forte is safe enough and merited a second visit, cameras in hand. Especially when we took a turn away from the main commercial strip and discovered the picturesque streets which one only finds in tropical climates. Beautiful and calling out for more protagonism.

We were definitely coming back, oh yeah.

After wandering around for a while and half booking a driver to take us to Bahia some time in the future, we get back to the group.

They take us all back and we arrive very tired. It is only around 8pm, and we get to bed right after dinner. They close the pools at 7 by the way. This is rather inconvenient for us.