Oh My Acupuncture

looking exhausted, but feeling good. thank you castria & pinheiro alternative theapies

Sometimes despite my big plans in life, my body has different ones. After a few days of no sleep and a rough 16-hour bus ride from Sao Paulo to Foz do Iguacu on Monday night I was left with some pretty debilitating neck pain.

I woke up this morning hardly able to move. And if I've learned anything since my yoga training days, it's to listen to my body when it speaks to me so clearly. This morning it answered NO to everything. So much for Argentina today. I spent the morning laying on the floor of my thankfully empty dorm room with a towel rolled under my neck trying to stabilize myself. No good. I did some yoga which usually makes me feel loads better. Also no good. I popped another Ibuprofen and smeared on gobs of Tiger Balm. The neck pain I had yesterday has manifested into my lower back and now my hamstrings. It's all connected. I was moving like I was 70 years old.

I did a lot of audible moaning in response to the pain, talking to myself out loud repeatedly mumbling, "Ok, body, I'm listening," as I climbed in my top bunk to nap. After an hour of unsuccessful napping I was stiffer than before so I got online and did some searching. I spent a good part of my day yesterday lost in town, so I wasn't looking forward to venturing out again. My lucky stars. The only acupuncturist in town is two blocks away.

I hobbled there reeking of Tiger Balm, hoping they could help me. I became a big fan of acupuncture back in New York before my acupuncturist became obsessed with me and turned me off to it. In my botched Portuguese I explained the problem, wincing as the consultant touched my neck. I didn't even think twice about having needles stuck in my back in a foreign country where I can't speak the language. All I could feel was pain that I wished would go away. They could have stuck dirty heroine needles or poison darts in my back for all I cared. In this situation I hoped for the best, knowing that's better than fearing the worst.

As I heard the miniscule needles being lodged in my backside and saw the sanitized packs I remembered from New York, I immediately relaxed feeling the tension and pressure in my neck and shoulders releasing. When she came back 30 minutes later to remove the needles I heard what sounded to my virgin ears like the man next door getting a happy ending. Oh shit. What have I gotten myself into?

After removing the needles and smearing a spearmint Lifesaver scented gel on my skin, she massaged out the knots. I was just thinking how nice it was and my body was so thankful when I felt the second pair of stronger more manly hands. Uh oh.

Fear not people. He was the chiropractic part of the deal, not a sex part. He stretched and cracked and twisted me in ways I didn't know were possible. As my neck cracked so loud I thought it was breaking I too cried out, understanding what the previous moans were all about. For pleasure of relief, not the other kind. Phew.

Placing several ear buds in my ears which I will remove in 7 days, the practitioner alerted me that I was good to go. I thanked her profusely, and am delighted to report that I can move my neck again. Though I'm sure I'll be sore tomorrow, my belief in acupuncture has been restored, and a new faith in chiropractics.

the ear buds - the ears have tons of points that effect the whole body. by taping these small needles or seeds in my ear, it allows the treatment of my pain to be extended for a few days. aah alternative therapy. i love you.

Portuspanglish Adventure to Iguazu Falls

I'm obsessed with Spanish. Being in Brazil has been somewhat of a challenge to my Spanish-speaking/comprehension goals. But I've armed my iPod with countless Spanish lessons, podcasts, music, and videos. I've almost finished Cien Anos de Soledad, and have been doing Spanish exercises to keep up. Plus I talk to people in Spanish as much as possible whether they understand me or not.

With all that, I've also been constantly surrounded by Portuguese, and trying to learn some of that as well. The result is often a mix of what I like to call Portuspanglish that I try to use when communicating sans Juliana. I was so lucky to have her and Gu translate for me during my first weeks in Brazil. Now I am on my own again, and it's been a pretty interesting adventure.

Monday afternoon. Because I couldn't buy my bus ticket online with a US credit card, Juliana purchased it for me, and all I had to do was pick it up at the bus station. Easy. I took the 3-transfer metro to the bus station. After wandering for 20 minutes I located the bus station, but couldn't find the ticket window for my bus company. I asked for help, trying to pay attention to the pointing and Portuguese. I walked back along the row of companies. No Kaiowa Bus. I asked for help at the other end of the terminal. He pointed me back in the direction I came. Bullocks. Just as I tears were about to stream down my face I spotted an 8.5x11 piece of paper on one of the windows advertising that Kaiowa had set up a temporary booth with another company, this in about 6pt font. Saved. I bought my ticket and continued on.

Monday night/Tuesday morning 1:30 am. The bus has stopped at a rest stop. I went inside to buy a snack. When I returned the bus was gone, all my stuff still on it. Panic. I went back inside, as calmly as possible, and explained in my best Portuspanglish that my bus was gone but I wasn't on it. The only word of the 50-ish word sentence response I understood was tranquilo. How am I supposed to be tranquilo when a bus just left me in the middle of Brazil with no money, no cell phone, no underwear!? Then I noticed some bus mates sitting in the restaurant waving at me, giving me looks to let me know all was well. Tragedy averted. I went outside and somehow communicated to another distressed girl the same story, and somehow she understood me. The bus came back. All my stuff was on it. I don't know where it went and I don't care.

Tuesday morning 7:30. Arrival in Porto do Iguacu. I got off the bus to find my bag and the bus driver waiting for me. He smiled as he handed me my backpack and asked, "Eres de Argentina, no?" Me? Argentine? Are you buttering me up? At a time when I feel so much frustration and so lost in the language arena, someone thinks my Spanish is good enough that I'm actually a native speaker. So what if he speaks Portuguese. The fact is, I needed that boost.

Tuesday morning 8am. The cab drivers at the bus station didn't know where my hostel was. They kept asking me the same question and I kept giving the same answer. Luckily I had enough foresight to write down the address and cross streets and eventually we found it. Despite their claim on the internet, the staff at the hostel doesn't speak English. I got here, had a rousing game of figure out the Portuspanglish with the front desk girl before she whisked me up to my room. Success again.

After a shower and breakfast I was ready to hit the falls. I got directions from the other front-desk girl, and actually made it to the bus stop without a problem. So what if I had to ask 4 other people on the way. Point is, I made it. At the park, I decided to pay the extra money for the boat ride into the falls. I was a bit annoyed when I was joined by a tour group of 28 other people until I realized they were from Argentina. I was surrounded by the buzz of Spanish again. Worriedly, the staff scrambled to find someone to translate the tour in English for me, but I excitedly let them know it wasn't necessary. I sat up front beaming at the sound of Spanish and chatted the whole way with the tour guide.

Iguazu Falls is amazing to say the least. It's huge. It's magnificent. It's beautiful. The boat ride took us so close to the falls it took me hours to dry out afterwards. Then I took the bus to the next stop for the walking tour and more up-close-and-personal falls action.

After hours of exploring I was dead tired. I caught the bus back to town and was excited I remembered which stop was mine. On my way back to the hostel I decided groceries were necessary. Then I spent 2 hours trying to find my hostel. Oops. Bring it back down to earth, Kelly. It was sweltering hot. I was sweating bullets. I asked 6 people for directions. It was like fitting together pieces of a puzzle in a language I made up that doesn't exist for anyone else. Finally, I found it, put my groceries in the fridge only to return later to find someone else cooked up my dinner. On accident. But still. The hostel paid me the difference. I got over it.

The thing is, I can understand a lot more Portuguese than I have given myself credit for. Staying in a hostel where no one speaks English, I have to find a way to communicate, and it's working out. I speak slowly in Spanish to the Portuguese-speaking workers. We miss intricacies, but we can understand each other. It's magical. I think this month in Brazil will help my Spanish learning in the end. Because I've had to take time to really listen more, to think more about how to break things down, how to get to root words in Spanish and make them sound more Portuguese. And you know what? It's really fun. I'm still looking forward to the Spanish-speaking-Argentine side of the Falls, but I'm feeling more confident about my travel abilities in Brazil. Here's to you Portuspanglish.

my not so comfortable non-cama seat on the bus

good sunset views from the road

i want to be a cloud studier

the sun'll come out tomorrow

the site of the greatest rest area ever. seriously, america, you need to follow suit. this place has buffet-style dining with anything you could possibly want, a shopping area, and a place called NYC Burger. It's magical.

seriously, don't stand on the toilet

on the bus headed for the falls, wind in my hair

the trolley tram to the boat

ready for action in my pfd with my waterproof bag

my Spanish-speaking companions

check out that hair

first view of the falls

first view of the falls with my head

while we're still dry

another boat revving up

you can't see it, but we're soaking wet!

white tank top not the optimum choice for the day and these so-called "quick-dry shorts"? not so quick-drying

aerial view - next time i take a year sabatical must buy panoramic camera...this just doesn't cut it

so many butterflies. they were everywhere and would just land on your shoulder for a butterfly kiss

the walkway to get up close and personal and really wet

you don't want to do these falls in your barrel

rainbow connection

i come from a land down under?

where it's at

agua

add your own caption

on my way out

These Brazilians Really Know How To Party

To properly set this long post up, let me explain a little about Carnival.  There are two main types of celebrations. The first is the one celebrated in Rio and Sao Paulo where huge parades of sorts are led through the Sambadrome by organized Samba schools. Some are watched by the public, and some allow public participation, but it's a costumed choreographed competition of sorts that schools spend all year preparing. The second type of big celebration is what happens in places like Salvador and Puerto Seguro. Bands play on a main stage or large trucks which celebratory Carnival-goers follow through the streets. Whatever the mode of celebration, Brazil stops completely for about a week. Everyone gets off work for the 3 days of Carnival as a public holiday, and most take off the rest of the week to continue the festivities. Puerto Seguro, where we went is called Carnaporto. It takes place the 3 days after that of Salvador, and is referred to as "hangover Carnival".

As we neared the downtown area of Puerto Seguro on Wednesday afternoon, the city was abuzz with final preparations for opening night. I sat in the back of our transfer, and as I had for days beforehand, droned on about how excited I was. The first stop was to pick up our tickets and Abadas. Abadas are the 3 colorful shirts for each night of Carnival. You have to wear this shirt and show an ID card which catalogs your fingerprints and photo to gain entrance. We spent about two hours waiting due to some confusion, but finally, with Abadas in hand Ju instructed me to guard mine with my life. Upon exiting we were bombarded by women with photo books, scissors, ribbon, and sewing machines; the works turning boring Abadas into a personalized works of art. We skipped this overwhelming process and headed to the hotel.

This week has been a backpacker's dream. Back up. This week is anyone's dream but is especially nice when you're used to sleeping in shared dorms and cooking the same cheap boring meals every night. First, Gu's beach house complete with Bea and her gourmet meals. Now an all-inclusive resort with pool-side rome complete with porch-hammock, usually $US800/night, absolutely free of charge. Keep it coming Brazil.

After a gourmet dinner, the U team took a nap, but I was way too excited to sleep. Finally at 11:45 we were ready to do the damn thing.

Night 1: As Ju and I waited for Gu to get his Abadas we watched a huge electrical fire burning in the corner of the Carnaporto complex from the hotel next door. It was pouring rain, and the fire was getting out of control. The hotel security guard stood by pointing it out to passers by, and I asked Ju why he wasn't doing anything. She and he both laughed at me asking who I would suggest they call. Ummm the police or the fire departments maybe? All I could imagine was Carnival burning down before I even made it inside. Eventually someone inside noticed and the problem was solved. 

When Gu, at a snail's pace, rejoined us it was FINALLY time to go in. With ID cards scanned and complimentary mugs hanging from our necks, we hit the elevated covered VIP area where I stood wide-eyed gawking at everything, the stage, the band, the looming tent, drunk people, make-out people, personalized abadas, girls who took the personalization too far showing the world what we never wanted to see, everything. We filled our mugs with beverages and made our way up front to DANCE. 

We danced like crazy to the first band on the main stage, me watching the rain soaked dancers with envy. Though I was glad for the covered VIP area, I know there's nothing like romping around like a crazy person in the rain. The second band was a country band, and as their truck roamed around the complex I was reminded of summer country concerts at Deer Creek. This, however, was Deer Creek on steroids.

After a mid-dance bathroom break, we headed to the food area, and I seemed to be the only one miffed that they were serving hot soup. Nothing cools you down after hours of sweaty dancing like a sweaty bowl of messy boiling soup. I ate some anyway and continued sweating balls. When the last act came on the rain picked up and I took my chance for a rain dance. Because my companions thought the rain would melt them, I bound solo down the steps where I spent 15 minutes jumping and dancing around, flailing hands overhead, face to the sky. I have sweet moves even when I'm sopping wet and it was everything I imagined it could be.

As the sun crept up, and dance and booze exhaustion set in, many of the party-goers were laid out on the benches in the middle of the room. But I kept going, turning circles around everyone, thankful for all the extra room, lost in the dance. At 6am the last band ended and we followed 25,000 other people to the exit, struggling to find an over-priced cab. I fell into bed at 6:45, exhausted from wearing out my dancing shoes, declining Gu's suggestion to wait up another hour for breakfast. I woke up at 1pm on Thursday to a rainy day, which made me feel better about being lazy. I had some lunch, went to the gym because I haven't done that in like a year, then cemented myself in our balcony hammock looking forward to night 2.

picking up our sweet duds

window into the room where abada transformation happens

upon arrival to our room, enjoying a complimentary fruit plate

bring it on Carnaporto (if only i could dry my hair every day)

the U team and I

buzz outside the gates

main stage

free mugs

truck carrying band #2

Ana and I

rain dancers

my turn

here comes the sun

Night 2: Per usual I was ready before the U team. When I finally woke them up at 11pm Gu informed me that Ju wasn't feeling well. While I felt bad about that, I didn't have time to wait around and see how it would turn out. So Gu arranged for me to meet Bruno and Ana at their hotel and go with them. He armed me with a long list of Portuguese phrases, his cell, Bruno's cell, our hotel, Bruno's hotel, everything I needed and sent me on my way.

The concierge gave me a hard time, questioning why he hadn't seen me before if I was really staying at the hotel. Semi-convinced I was legit, he called me a cab. When I arrived safely to Bruno and Ana's hotel, their front-desk man also gave me a hard time, telling me I couldn't walk to the room, but that they had to come get me. I came to the logical conclusion that both hotel man thought I was an American prostitute. Nothing else makes sense, right?

We arrived at 12:30, in time to grab drinks and get to the front as the show started. A few songs in, as the rain let up, we abandoned the sheltered VIP space to dance with the common folk, surrounding the blaring truck. After a full dance revolution around the complex we headed back up and met up with the U team and Ju was feeling good. We stayed put dancing around for band #2 on the main stage before heading below for the final truck of the night. Gu and Ju decided to stay up top and we agreed to meet back there to return to the hotel together. 

Ana and Bruno led me through the crowd but had to wait a moment while I experienced my first drive-by Carnival make-out. The rule is if you're single, you have to make out with lots of boys, and if nothing else, I always follow rules. 

I later parted ways with Ana and Bruno and arrived back to the meeting point, but Ju and Gu were nowhere to be found. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity I gave up and continued dancing around the truck. As night number two ended I went back to the spot, but still couldn't find them. The sun was up, and I didn't have enough money for a cab by myself, so I decided I would walk the 6km back to the hotel. Nice morning jaunt. You know what? 6km is a lot further than I thought. And lucky for me a cabbie pulled over 30 minutes into my walk, told me I was crazy, and drove me the rest of the way for 1/4 of the price. Thank you Mr. Cab. 

I arrived back at the hotel to find the room dark and the door locked and hoped Ju and Gu weren't still waiting for me, and more importantly weren't going to come home mad. So I got in the hammock as there was nothing I could do with no phone and no Portuguese. Ten minutes later I heard, "Kelly Suzanne Kraft, we're going to kick your ass," followed by drunken giggles. We laughed as we recounted our missed encounters and how we must have kept walking past each other. Since it was 6:30, we showered and headed to the best breakfast ever where I shoved copious amounts of eggs and bacon in my face. Night 2 success. 

ready for #2 with my cue card from Gu

ana, me, bruno, hitting the streets

crowd action

VIP

view from the front of Jammil's truck

view from the top sans rain

it's all happening

sick percussion beats

sunshine

crazy pants walking home - don't worry it's light out and i felt safe or i wouldn't have been smiling

breakfast - best damn coffee ever

pool in the rain

time for bed

my usual rainy hammock position

Night 3: The last night of Carnaporto was definitely the best. As it was a Friday night the previously rowdy crowd was bigger and more ready than ever to PARTY. Plus they saved the best bands for last too which made it all better. Bruno's favorite, Claudia Leitte, was up second and we quickly made our way to the main floor, front row of the truck to catch her in action. Here I was stopped by another cute  22-ish-year-old-shirtless boy who spoke a bit of English. Yay for English! So what to do? Kiss him. Oh 22-year-old boy who wanted to get my phone number so we could hang out the next day. Someone should have told him the Carnival rules and that I don't have a phone. Moving on.

Then the five of us, Gu, Ju, Bruno, Ana, and me, we danced. And danced. And danced. I got really excited when Claudia sang a Mariah Carey tune because it was one of the only songs I could sing along to. As band #3 hit the stage we returned to the VIP area, but we never stopped dancing. At one point another man walked up to me, realized I didn't speak Portuguese and simply shouted, "KISS ME" to which I replied, "no" and walked away. See I do have standards. Soon the sun was up and we danced our way out of the last night of Carnaporto, running into Ju's friends for a free ride home, arriving just in time for breakfast. All I did on Saturday was sleep and lay in the hammock and think unapologetically about how I kissed 8 boys in 3 nights. Don't hate the player, hate the game. I'd say I'm a first-time-Carnival success story. I wish I could spend 6-8 hours dancing like that every night.

Claudia

if i had a guitar, i would want it to be this one

Best part of the whole thing is you don't have to worry about what to wear because they give you a uniform. Unless you're me and you worry that your 25,000 best friends will remember that you wore the same skirt last night so you try on your 3 bottoms 34 times before deciding on your shorts that stretch out when you move around too much. Then when you get to the party and realize you're showing everyone your underwear you have to make-shift a belt out of the string for your necklace mug. I'm nothing if not resourceful.

dance fever

Gu, Ju, Me, Bruno, Ana

Brady Bunch pose

look at those moves

i'm surprised my dancing shoes aren't on fire by this point

sun coming up on the last night, no one cares

no i am not peeing in a cup. this is some dance where you are supposed to dance as low as you can to the cups on the ground

to prove it here is juliana doing the same

the words to this song are "goo goo gaa gaa gaa" to Gu Gu

7:01 ride home

our faithful drivers

pretty much all i did on saturday