Porto-de-Galinhas, into the land of the chickens...

I arrived in Porto-de-Galinhas in the afternoon and was welcomed by the sight of rustic, sea-side bungalows and miles of shoreline--seemingly "untouched" in comparison to Rio and Recife. And as the name would suggest, this place had a thing for chickens. Everywhere you went, there they were.

And for the first time since I arrived in Brazil, the only thing left for me to do was put on shorts, head out to the water, and sit on the beach. There were no major tourist attractions to see, no tours, no scheduled events.

And best of all, there were no high-rises or obtrusive-looking hotels dwarfing the beach here. It felt a little strange to simply meander. To dip my feet in the water and not just look at it from a car window or balcony.

But not for too long. Let's be honest people, I can sit on my butt for only so long before I get itchin' to explore. I hopped a taxi to the downtown area and was dropped off on the main drag.

Chock-full of touristy shops, restaurants, and men walking down the street in speedos. Once again, I was in my element.

When in Porto-de-Galinhas, one absolutely must rent a dune-buggy, like the one above. It is the hippest trend, a most practical way to get around (on and off the sand), and definitely worth your time and money ... That being said, I in fact was too busy taking pictures of chickens and spending money on ice-cream to care about dune buggies.

Did I already mention that this town is a virtual ode to the chicken as we know it? Statues dotted every street corner, intersection, and side walk. I couldn't really wrap my finger around the why and how of it all, but I didn't really care. It was fascinating anyways. Here's a random sampler--

Chickens as phone booths,

restaurant meeters and greeters,

porn-stars (check out the full-frontal exposure),

and testaments to urban decay and termites. The list goes on my friends.

I then walked down to the water where swimmers and snorkelers can rent these colorful rafts called jangadas, which take them out to observe the beauty of clearwater rock pools and tropical fish.

Ummmm.....so.... I'll admit that I didn't really do that either. I was too content people-watching, wading, strolling, and of course eating multiple lunches and dinners and snacks. (The ginormous chocolate and berry-filled crepe with the pound of whipped cream on top was one of my fav's and a great pre-dinner snacky).

It felt like Thanksgiving. If I wanted it, I ate it. After all, there was simply too much culture to experience through my mouth, and too little time to do it in. Thank goodness for my amazing ability to pack it down and never feel full.... it's a blessing and a curse. Today, it was a blessing.

That night was oh-so relaxing and still. I brought out my journal, sat overlooking the pool and ocean, and contemplated life as we know it. There really wasn't a better time or place to let it all come flowing out onto paper.

Now pardon me for being a bit introspective for a moment, but have any of you ever sat down and made of list of all the things that you're afraid of? Besides spiders or killer whales? I'm talking things that might actually be hindering your progress, without you consciously knowing it? Well my friends, you should try it. Random? Most definitely. But also, most definitely, a great excersise in self-awareness. It is oh, so liberating and eye-opening to confront yourself in the face and take inventory. And what better place to do it than surrounded by warm breezes, gentle lapping waves, and naked chickens?

The next day, before catching a shuttle back to Recife, I raced back into town with the sole purpose of buying a souvenir chicken of my very own. I was enamored by a magnificent wooden creature that I saw hidden in a store window the previous day. I could just picture it sitting in my apartment, a colorful testament to the wonderful journey I was taking.... I was so tempted to buy it. And come on people, how could I not??

So I bought it. And packed it around with me in a HUGE box for the entire rest of my trip, cursing the day of its purchase (For the record, the blessed chicken is currently on display in my pad and looks great. Remember, when in doubt, buy it. You'll most likely never be back).

I got back to Recife later that night and decided I would make an effort to find and go to the Temple.

I hopped a taxi, and a very confusing 40 minutes later, I arrived...looking and feeling the part of a sister missionary gone bad. I stared at myself in utter humiliation and smiled.

The experience was magnifico mesmo. And oh-so worth it. Towards the end of the session, I looked behind me and saw two men enter in the back of the room. I did a double-take, as I recognized one of them as my old mission president, Presidente Soares. Talk about a moment. Couldn't have planned that if we tried... We made eye contact and signaled to meet up with each other afterwards.

Now pardon the gush-factor, but seeing Pres. Soares, even for a few seconds on such a random occasion, thousands of miles from home, stirred up some intense emotions. I just wanted to give him a big hug, because in that moment, he was a symbol of God's love and mindfulness of me right then. Just as God had taken care of me, blessed me, and recognized my efforts in the mission field so many moons ago, He was doing so right now in my life. And hadn't forgotten me.

And how's this for an anti-climatic and somewhat pathetic end to the story. I stood outside the Temple looking around for Presidente Soares, alone, in the dark, like a lost animal of sorts, waiting for my big bear hug. And as luck would have it, he had already fled the scene a few moments earlier!!! I was only slightly crushed when I made the realization that he probably hadn't recognized who I was in the first place! That's okay folks; I'm used to it, and my moment was still good!

I stood in the still of the night, dressed in the most hideous, frumpalicious, missionary-like outfit that I could possibly wear. I was decked out with all the appropriate gear: from the walking shoes; to the bag; to the unsightly cotton t-shirt and stretchy skirt ensemble; topped off with bare, white legs, no makeup, and plenty of sweaty goodness to go around.

I don't even think I looked this bad on my mission. And that's saying a lot. Meanwhile, an onlooker had been staring me down from a nearby bench. The silence was finally broken with her confession.. she thought I was a sister-missionary who had just ended her mission. Who was standing there alone, for the first time, with no companion. No family. No friends to meet her.

This girl's heart was aching for me.

In other words, I looked completely pathetic AND frumpy.

After enjoying a good laugh, I found a taxi back back to my hotel, dropped in at a restaurant to pig-out at a scrumptious Brazilian buffet, and walked home along the waterfront.

It was nearly midnight. I waited for the cat calls, but they never came...

*hmmm, my little taste of the northeast was sure a treat. I savored the dirty and the clean. The big city and the small towns. The chaos and the calm. And I was suddenly very ready to forge ahead----*

Brazil Stop 3: RECIFE/OLINDA

(Dear Gang, I'm back in the blogosphere and determined to finish my travelogue from Brazil. It's now or never... so here we go!)

I'm not going to lie. It was hard to leave my little piece of secluded jungle paradise in the Amazon. It was magical and peaceful and let me exhale to my heart's content. However, it was time to move on and explore what was lying beyond the next mountain...

I caught the 7 am boat out of the Ariu Towers to Manaus. This 2.5 hour boat ride down the Rio Negro was, well, wonderful. Now this might come as a surprise to some of you because, as I've mentioned before, I do not appreciate boats as much as I could. I have nothing against them per say, but I am most definitely not going to seek out a boat as my preferred form of leisure. I'll swim, I'll dive, I'll walk along the shore for hours, but for crying out loud, don't stick me on a dang boat.... for the love.
Maybe it was all the fresh, unpolluted, oxygenated air I had been breathing in for the past few days, but I felt alive and oh, so willing to set up a hammock on the deck and be rocked back and forth by gentle breezes. Just me. My backpack. My hammock. Suddenly, the world had boiled down to the simple basics. And the boat no longer seemed to disrupt my sense of peace and well-being.

Arriving back in Manaus, I had a solid four hours to kill at the ho-dunk airport. I did just fine though. Rejuvenated by the hammock, I had no problem shopping and eating my way though until check-in.

Two layovers later, at 10pm that night, I landed in the eastern coastal city of Recife. And instead of being welcomed by the natural beauty of mountainous terrain, dense foliage, or wild monkeys, I was welcomed by a big, dirty city.

Complete with high-rises, shopping malls, and of course....the infamous "pack-em-in-like- sardines" beaches. Yup, this was the people's city, not a tourist's city.

But hey, come on folks.... I was still excited. This too, would be an adventure. An experience. A little slice of Brazilian culture and an authentic taste of the north east.

From the safety of my balcony, around 2 am that same night, I soaked up these views--but set to muted shades of blue, black, and gray; quieter, calmer, breezier, and completely breathtaking.

Indeed, a good view from a good balcony (or roof, or mountain) can transport me to another place almost instantaneously. This night was no exception.

I woke up at 9am the next morning. I was totally free to do whatever the heck I wanted. No tours. No guides. No schedules. No idea what to expect, see, or do. Or HOW to do it. Yes my friends....I was in my element once again.

After a bit of reading up and inquiring at the front desk, I decided to catch a bus to check out the older section of the city--Recife Antiga. However, being the capital of the north east, Recife was a much larger and much more confusing place than I had anticipated.

My idea of simply catching a bus and knowing exactly where and when to get off....was, well,... shot to pieces. I could never seem to get the clear directions I wanted, and usually ended up talking to an array of people--pedestrians, passengers, bus drivers, Jehovah's Witnesses, you name it. But let's be honest, that's the way I like it.

I smiled a lot. It's my secret, and it works every time to get ya where you need to go.

Eventually, I decided to hop off near this bridge and walk to the other side.

What I loved about Recife were the old-style, colonial buildings. Usually worn-down and chock-full of character.

It was a side of Brazil that I had yet to see. I mosied my way down into the old quarters, through narrow streets lined with colorful buildings, warm sun, and plenty of people.

It was Sunday, and I arrived in the knick of time for the street fair.

I poked in and out of booths and admired the delicate crafts and pieces of artwork and clothing on display.

I then decided to do as the locals. Grab a seat at a local cafe, order a Coke, and watch the world slowly pass me by. Loud music blared through cheap speakers; small children scurried around, high on excitement; granola-style hippies sold me their latest crafts, high on the ganja; and couples strolled arm-in-arm, surrounding me everywhere I looked.

Local drumming groups like this one are popular in the country, and they did not disappoint.

Perhaps one of the greatest pleasures of the day came as I observed the local dress and grooming standards of Recife. This also did not disappoint. Frankly, I felt over dressed...strictly in the sense of having a disproportionate skin-to-clothing-ratio.

Now this folks, is a concept that I hope will soon catch on back home. The backless shirt with exposed sports-bra is what I'd call a "Class-A" act...and a hard one to follow I might add.

So is the extreme-off-the-shoulder look. I could see myself doing this one.

I decided I had better do something truly "cultural," so I waited in line to get into the "first formal Synagogue in all Americas."

It was educational. But I'll be the first to admit--I wasn't looking for educational at that point. I paid my respects, snapped a picture from the inside, and got the heck outta there.

It was dark by 6pm so I decided to head back to camp. I found a bus stop, waited a good 45 minutes, and hoped that by some miracle a bus would show up to take me somewhere remotely close to my hotel. It did, but because it was night and I had no idea where I was, I got off at the wrong stop. I tracked down a young couple who were heading in my general direction, struck up a conversation, and quickly became their "friend." They saved me, helping bring me to the safety of "RECIFE SHOPPING-" a ginormous piece of mall-paradise located 10 minutes from my hotel. It was an ode to the western world and globalization as we know it. Complete with 100 different shoes stores and an Applebee's restaurant, what more could you want?

I grabbed a hot pair of red, strappy, platform sandals, then dinner, and then a second dinner at a McDonald's (to supplement my nutritional intake and "do as the locals"). I carried my bag full of goodies home to eat in my room and listened to music on my beloved balcony. What a day..

I was picked up bright and early the next morning and driven to the charming little city of Olinda, located just a few miles outside of Recife.

It was like stepping back into Portugal, with a Brazilian twist; Cobble-stone streets, red-tiled roofs, old churches, and brightly-painted houses dazzled my senses.

Olinda derived its name from its founder, who, after climbing on top of this hill, looked out onto the view below and exclaimed, " O, Linda!" aka, "How Beautiful!" And indeed it was.

The Recife skyline is visible in the background.

It was at this church that I met a pair of Mormon missionaries. Bless their little hearts.

And for a split-second, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief --that today, I wasn't tracting apartment buildings, but aimlessly and freely wandering ...alone... ,

passing by eccentrically painted houses and life-sized puppets (used in street processions during Carnival),

free to stop and smell the roses, poke in and out of craft stores, and take in everything wonderful in my immediate vicinity--on my own time.

My stop in Olinda was short, but definitely sweet to the taste. That afternoon, I took off in a car an hour down the coast to my next destination--the quaint beach-side village of Porto-de-Galinhas.....