Her Juggling Feet

Reflection

2006-11-30T14:15:00.000-08:00

Today, I feel grateful--smooth, flowing waves of it, combining with the rain that drapes me in a hazy veil when I walk between buildings at Lost Valley. I feel grateful to be supported like I have been, to reconnect with friends first in the Bay Area and then in Eugene and to receive their graciousness and friendship.

Beate and I arrived at Lost Valley a few weeks ago. I feel like I never left. Participating in the Heart of Now workshops, being in the kitchen, keeping my feet dry by the fire, enjoying the creek, and seeing Cody, the community golden retriever who pushed his nose in my lap my first night back in impatient recognition, of "come on, let's go for a walk already!"... it is nice to be welcomed, and remembered.

I am traveling with Beate for the next few months--exploring different eco-villages and permaculture sites throughout the US, while giving presentations (illustrative story-telling, we call it) about our time in the Caravan. We are both on a search for home, though in different ways. Beate has the intention of creating an eco-village in Brasil when she returns at the end of April. Me, I am still searching inside myself. I notice that home, or the concept of it, feels more important to me now than it has in the past. I feel that it might be okay to have roots for awhile. I want to be able to plant seeds come spring.

I've come back to the US with big dreams, intimidation, fear, joy... I feel overwhelmed by all the possibilities of where I could go and what I could do. I think about going back to school again. I consider what it would be like to stay in Eugene, with the world's first bio-diesel gas station that sells organic Blue Sky soda and local soft-serve coconut ice cream (vegan). If this is an indicator of progressiveness, have I reached my eco-topia?

I am staying present with what is happening at Lost Valley and what might happen in my travels with Beate. In every transitional place in my life, doors have opened and I have had some incredible help in choosing which step to take next. If anything, I feel so passionate about this planet, this life, and being part of the transformation. I want to cook, garden, dance, write, explore, teach, organize, create, perform, and re-write the home-ec recipes in all the middle school curriculum so they won't include anything that calls for a microwave or something that comes out of a box.

I take the train home for Christmas, pulling into St. Cloud's little depot on December 20th. Back to the West Coast come January to continue the expedition to Washington and that's as far as the Plan goes. Well, the Plan actually has us going all over the country, from Montana to Missouri, to North Carolina to New Hampshire, all in a matter of months, but I remain open to what (and who) shows up along the way.

Maybe you?

If You`re Going to San Fran-cis-co...

2006-10-31T17:29:00.000-08:00

(I have had this song in my head all day.)

So it is 5 hours to go and then I am enroute to the US, with a final arrival point in San Francisco.

My juggling feet...they have served me well. May they travel connected to the earth and sky, may they dance with purpose and precision and adventurous spirit. May they continue to guide me towards precious places and may they acquire a new pair of Chaco sandals for Christmas because the strap broke and walking just isn`t what it used to be...

: )

Be well. Lots of love, may our feet cross paths in the near future!

The Countdown Begins

2006-10-24T13:21:00.000-07:00

I remember writing that title almost 8 months ago when I first began my countdown to leave for Brasil. Now the countdown is reversed, and it is one week until I fly back to the United States (via the airports of Peru, El Salvador, Costa Rica, and ultimately San Francisco).

I arrived this morning in El Bolsòn, in the Patagonia region of southern Argentina, after a 13-hour overnight bus ride. The trip to Patagonia started in Buenos Aires, with a group of Caravaneros: Heriberto from Puerto Rico, Romina from Chile, and Jenny from Italy. Our intention: let`s see the whales in Patagonia! And that was basically all that we had planned--no tour books, no bus tickets, nothing. We ended up on an overnight train to Bahia Blanca, which was probably the most uncomfortable hours of sleep that I have endured. Our seats were right next to the bathroom, which consisted of a hole in the floor and a place to put your feet and squat--within a few hours, this `system` overflowed and was no longer functional, and everytime someone opened the door, the four of us were treated to some indescribable perfumes.

The four of us ended up sleeping together like a jigsaw puzzle: one person supine on our hiking backpacks in between the two bench seats, and the remaining three curled in whatever position would fit, which usually included legs over legs, feet nestled in stomach, heads on shoulders. A human pretzel.

After arriving in Bahia Blanca, we hitchhiked. This was my first time hitchhiking in South America, and I felt pretty safe, especially travelling with 3 others. We asked around the truck stop, to the truck drivers of where they were headed, and from this we were able to get a sense of their character. So please don`t worry (Mom) and keep on breathing (Dad). We found a ride with an Italian eco-tour company and commenced another 10-hour journey to Puerto Madryn, a small port city, arriving at midnight.

The next morning, we set out to find the whales. We ended up walking about 12 kilometers (6 miles, more or less?) or the equivalent of 3 hours out of town with our packs on our backs. Someone finally picked us up, and we rode in the rear of a pick-up truck, in quiet, sweaty bliss for the final 5 kilometers.

I swear the effort was worth it because the beach that we arrived at was absolutely breathtaking. Not a soul on the shore, just stretches of sand and sea along tall craggs of rock lining each end. Our home for the next two days, of orange rations for breakfast, stir-fries of tofu for lunch, and wheat bulgur mixed with seaweed and garlic in my Nalgene bottle for dinner. We used Romina`s little gas burner stove to boil water for tea, and on our final day, we even made chapatis.

I digress.

We saw the whales. Our first morning, we look up from our orange peels and there they are--black glistening bodies, rising and submerging so slowly, so gracefully, it seems like a ballet, and they are spraying water and heaving their mammoth tails against the plane of water. The four of us begin to walk north along the shore, parallel to them (we counted three), and each time they emerged, they were more brave and revealing. My breath was caught in my chest the whole time, my heart in solemn, celebratory silence. They were so beautiful, these giant mothers of the sea.

They stayed with us the entire day--they are lovely company.

We returned to Puerto Madryn the following afternoon, and the four of us parted ways soon after: Romina and Jenny to the north, Heri to the east, and me, to the west, to El Bolson and the Andes. Though I ended up reading my bus ticket incorrectly (silly military time!) and missed my bus and had to wait another day. But all is well, I am here, flying solo again and really appreciating it.

And El Bolsòn is exactly what I have been wanting, ever since I read about it at the very beginning of my travel research in Minnesota. It is a pueblo of about 15,000 people, the first town in South America to declare itself a `nuclear-free´zone and has a strong presence of environmental protection and social justice. It is surrounded by mountains, and the park is filled with artisans selling hand-carved wooden spoons and woolen socks and organic quince jams, among other things.

Tomorrow I am going to stay at Proyecto CIESA, a biodynamic farm and teaching center a few kilometers outside of town. They offer courses and workshops throughout the year on sustainable agriculture, and if I happen to find myself in Patagonia again (I hope so!), I think I might like to participate.

So for now, blessings, and crisp mountain air, and hope all is well.

Limelight is Bright

2006-10-12T11:57:00.000-07:00

Gaia is good to me.

My mornings are spent in the gardens. Strange that it is spring here--it is in the scent of the acacia blossoms and the subtle vibration of bee song, in my hands as I transplant little kale seedlings and tomato starts into the ground.

I have appreciated the peacefulness of this place. After 6 months of mobility, it is nice to have some moments of permanence. Of knowing that there is a place to do yoga, to walk, to make tea, to write. To think!!!

Last night, I led my first performance/circus workshop for the community, in Spanish no less. I did a little juggling to start and then we moved into some theater and movement exercises. I am noticing that the work ethic at Gaia is super strong, and that there is an even stronger necessity to play to offset that energy. It was refreshing to dust off my clown nose and be silly and connect with everyone in a non-conventional way. We played!

Today, we have been surrounded by cameras--three different Argentinian television channels have come to visit, to film `Pequeños Mundos` or Small Worlds, a special weekly series, apparently. So this dashing Argentinian newscaster, Juan, with his cableknit sweaters and dark eyes, sweeps into the gardens with his camera crew, walking directly on top of a recently seeded bed of quinoa, and there is me in my knee-high rubber boots and soil-smeared cheeks with palms out in the International Gesture of PleaseStopRightNow! After that incident, things were okay--I gave an interview about my experience at Gaia and was even able to get the point across of biodiversity and soil life in my broken Spanish.

The plan is to be at Gaia until the end of October, just in time to take a global dance workshop...and then...I think it is back to the United States. I say `i think` because I am in the midst of organizing my plane ticket with my friend and now travel partner, Beate, who will be accompanying me. So, should the stars align themselves, and I hope they do, I will be on the West Coast until Christmas time, when I will go back to Minnesota for the holidays.

More to come on the project Beate and I will be doing in the next installation! Until then, lots of love and dirt under your fingernails...

There`s Room at the Inn

2006-10-04T14:53:00.000-07:00

Well, I am trying not to think of today as anything related to awful, but maybe just unfortunate and challenging. And the day isn`t over yet, so my eyes are watching hopefully for the silver lining.

I am in Navarro, a town outside of Buenos Aires, in the Pampas region of Argentina. I arrived in Buenos Aires last week, and stayed with Mana, the sister of one woman and mother to another young woman that are both in the Caravan. Heriberto was also staying with Mana, taking advantage of the arts scene in the city, with juggling classes, acrobatics, didgeridoo practices, and contact dance improv. Mana cooks macrobiotic meals for a handful of folks, and I helped on two days, making seaweed and daikon soup and rolling sushi. Overall, it was lovely to have a real bed (okay, futon) and a place to put my toothbrush. Mana`s apartment is old and charming, with hardwood floors, black and white tiles in the kitchen, and a bathtub with clawed feet (and hot water!). I entertained myself in Chinese grocery stores, antique fairs, vegetarian restaurants, and an indie short film-combined with a circus-acrobatic performance. I drank cup after cup of oolong tea.

And now I am in Gaia eco-village, volunteering for the next few weeks in the kitchen, the gardens, and with the children. The site used to be home to an old dairy operation, so there are several ancient buildings on the property, though they are charming, too. Save the gas stove, all the energy is produced onsite due to solar panels and wind turbines. The toilets are ´dry´or ´no flush´, the showers are heated by solar or by fire. All the the new buildings are constructed out of cob, and they are absolutely lovely. We are surrounded by 150-year old eucalptys trees. The kumquats are abundantly sweet and sour.

There are 7 community members, so our numbers are small. The two children, Cecilia and Tobias, are beautiful and brimming with imagination. Cecilia recounted the entire story of the March of the Penguins to me, and then whispered that she and Tobias will be going to Antarctica shortly with penguin suits. The nearest neighbors don`t speak Spanish--they moo, and you can only see pasture, more cows, and the occasional tree for miles. It is flat as a pancake here, and as someone in the Caravan told me, very Zen-like. It is tranquil.

Except for today, where I found myself in a taxi headed for the doctor in Navarro, due to some very intense back pain. All turned out to be okay--nothing is wrong with my bone structure, but the muscles in my lower back are quite in a knot. I ended up speaking more with the doctor about my experiences these several months, and he then proposed that I live at his home in exchange for English lessons. He has a wife and two children, so I don`t think it was that kind of proposal. Anyway, I declined, though who knows. Before leaving, he offered a hospital bed for the night, in case I needed someplace to sleep. No, I told him, I intend to go back to Gaia today. Thanks though.

I leave and find the sky bruised and blue, and within minutes, it starts to rain. I have no jacket, no umbrella, no anything, just sandals, a t-shirt, and shorts. Rain means that the last two kilometers of dirt road to Gaia, will be almost impassable, and since it downpoured yesterday, the roads are still a mess of fudge, basically. Every taxi station that I spoke with told me that in no way they could get through without getting stuck.

Then I meet Carlos, a man in his 50s, I imagine, with a few teeth missing, who offers to take me there, take me anywhere, he says, so he takes me to a coffee shop. I sip tea and he smokes, and he tells me (or at least I think he tells me--my Spanish translation isn`t top notch yet) about seizing the moment and etc. etc. etc. and I fabricate stories of my long-term boyfriend coming to meet me in Gaia at the end of the week, hoping that he´ll get the picture that I am not interested At All.

A lot was said in jest, and it was funny until all of a sudden, it wasn`t. So I left. Now I have nowhere to go in the pouring rain, and the Internet cafe`s computers are disconnected. So I begin a poncho pursuit. Five stores, circles of blocks later, I am outfitted in a blue plastic kids poncho. And then the sun comes out.

All of this with two pieces of thick wholemeal bread and honey in my stomach.

And I forgot to say--I am taking the doctor up on his offer, and will be sleeping in the hospital wing tonight. I have my own double room with a bed that moves up and down. A toilet that flushes. It will do.

I have slept in more random places, but I can`t, in the moment, remember where. This experience is certainly clouding my memory.

So for now, sweet dreams for tonight, and stay dry.

Lots of love from the intensive care unit... Amanda

To Argentina I go

2006-09-17T06:10:00.000-07:00

Well, that´s pretty much it. I know it´s been awhile since I have posted, but access to a computer has been scanty lately, and so I´ve been doing my best.

I´m off to Argentina to wait for my new visa, off to explore Gaia eco-village, off to practice Spanish and put my hands in the soil again.

Will write again soon.

For now, much love.

The Cast

2006-08-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

In completely random and disassembled order (true to Caravan form), here's presenting
La Caravana Arcoiris...por...la...paz!

There's Alberto. He founded the Caravan in Mexico some 10 years ago, and before that, led other caravans through the United States and India. He is our elder, the mover and shaker, the man that continues to carry the vision of the Caravan after all of these years. His shoulders never slump. His eyes are bright as the moon.

There are the women from Ecuador: Veronica and her two daughters, Carolina and Sofia, 15 and 13, respectively. The girls are into lots of sugar, boys, and hip-hop. Veronica is Alberto's partner, and the family lives together in the Masorca (Spanish for corn cob), the blue bus with paintings of cornfields growing on both sides.

Beate is my favorite. She's German, but has lived in Brasil for the past 4 years. We sip mate together in the mornings, we plan well-being meetings, we go on adventures to find açai, a Brasilian super-anti-oxidant fruit that is blended with banana and guarana syrup. She knows how to build solar ovens from scrap materials, she carries a bag filled with plastic photo canisters of seeds she has saved from her garden, she bakes thick loaves of wholewheat flax bread. She is my permaculture mentor and good friend. She is a wonderful clown.

Fernanda is our Brasilian gaucha (cowgirl) from the southern part of country. She arrived in the Caravan with two 25-lb bags of organic dried bananas that she harvested and processed herself, and declared herself open for business. I still have a $20 debt to pay her. She is completely connected to earth, she knows her way in the kitchen the way her hands know how to strum a guitar.

The tribe of Argentinians: Alejandra, Ana, and Lucia. Ale is a woman in her 50s and lives with the spirit of a child in her body. She is a delight. She is a story-teller, a dancer, a mother to us all. She is the aunt of cousins Ana and Lucia, 21 and 18 respectively. Ana is an acrobat, a musician, and a problem-solver. Lucia weighs a bit more than Tinkerbell--she's the tiniest thing--but can really pound the crap out of a drum.

The tribe of Chileans: there's Manuel, who never stops performing. He is known for his ability to scour every used clothing store for The Perfect Costume. He is meticulous, energetic, charismatic. His body is an art form--acrobatics, capoeira, dance, you name it. He is Talented. There is Cata and her son , Lucas. Cata is quiet and can almost always be found handing out little squares of dark chocolate. She plays the didgeridoo. Lucas is the most charming little boy with eyes the color of the chocolate his mother shares. Precocious and completely affectionate, he will press kisses into your neck if you give him piggy-back-rides.

Marisel, another Argentinian woman, avid and passionate recycler, crooner of Brasilian lullabyes, fantastic with face-painting. She hugs you with her whole heart.

Colores. Uruguay. The grand performer who can't seem to get enough attention from his audiences. He is always pulling something out of his goodie bag, be it a unicycle, accordian, or a diablo. He is a one-man show, really, which makes it difficult for me to work with him.

Juliano. Physically, he is a cross between an Amazon warrior and a teddy bear. The thing I like about Juli is that he will try anything, and he will do it with complete presence. He has no fear. His skills cover every area--he is my kitchen handyman, he is the group's leading musician. He'll cut bamboo with a machete one minute, and lead a group of 5-year-olds in song the next.

Mauro, our Italian finance man, and Romina, exotic Chilean beauty. She is our herbalist, our can-you-treat-this-ailment ally, and has a wry, warm sense of humor. Mauro likes to pinch.

Jessica and Estrella. Gringas! Jessica hails from Indiana and has been with the Caravan for several years. Her primary role is mother to Estrella, the first baby to be born in the Caravan. Jessica and I sing old 80s songs when we do dishes. She is pragmatic and playful at the same time.

Pablo, long time Caravanero, from Spain, and partner to Beate. He leads dance circles, he swims in much of the organizational paperwork of the Caravan that no one else wants to do, he is a consensus-decision making guru and gives workshops on the issue. Whenever he hugs you, he will give your back a light massage.

Ima, Angelica, and Calu. Another family from the Basque region of Spain and Argentina. Ima plays the wooden flute at night, Angelica has the calm, powerful presence of a queen. She is the most regal hippie that I have met. We go food shopping together, treating ourselves to coconuts afterwards. Calu is her son, rambunctious and prone to whining, though sweet when he is asleep.

Jason and Penelope, American and Colombian, respectively. They just left today to return to Montana, and already their absence feels wide and gaping. Jason formed the Caravan with Alberto from the beginning, and met and married Penelope when the Caravan traveled through Colombia. They are pregnant with their first baby, have lots of wisdom, lots of jokes, lots of compassion. They came to the Caravan this time to film a documentary of the project, and Jason was almost always with a camera in hand.

And you all know me.

So here is our every-color-of-the-rainbow Caravan family. We are certainly unique, certainly alternative. But there is much power and magic and safety when we are all together, and this is something that you will just have to see to believe.

So come! Get lost, get crazy, get creative with your clown self.

Getting Lost

2006-08-15T09:20:00.000-07:00

Please don't trust me with your possesions. Here's a tally of my (unbeknownst to me) Lost and Found donations to the people of Brasil:

12 pairs of underwear (where do they go?)
3 bars of soap
1 eco-friendly toothbrush
1 new toothbrush I bought to replace the eco-friendly toothbrush, which I ended up finding
1 black umbrella
2 1/2 pairs of socks
1 glow-in-the-dark juggling ball
2 AA batteries
1 glass marble, made out of recycled glass and painted to resemble the globe
4 amazing black roller-point pens (this one hurts...I love good pens)
1 plastic snap for the rain-fly on my tent
1 cloth grocery bag
1 blue towel (lost 4 times, found 5)

May I remain unattached to all my possessions so as to remain non-plussed, should my pillow or bag of shower goodies or passport walk away from me too.

okay, Universe, what next?

2006-08-13T13:14:00.000-07:00

I feel kind of pooped.

I have been looking for ways to take a little time away from the Caravan, lovely as it is, but draining, too, now that our numbers have reached almost 30, and I am a-saturated with Community Spirit. At least, the Community Spirit of those that leave their dirty dishes for others to wash, those that have lots of enlightening ideas of how to improve this crazy lifestyle but don't want to actually put those ideas into practice. Those that...

Okay, I recognize I am getting a little judgmental, so I will stop.

I think I am realizing that my honeymoon period in Brazil has ended--'twas a blissful 5 months!--and now little things are starting to take their toll.

No matter what, I keep having experiences. For two days, I found myself supine on the stone floor of a two-hundred year old church, its one room filled with a collection of sanded tree trunks for chairs, altars with tiny statues of Jesus and Mary--their skin the color of molasses--and murals of banana-harvesting on white adobe walls. We had arrived at another quilombo, this one even more ancient and preserved than the one we visited before.

I arrived with tonsils the size of prunes.

So I rested. I think there was a small sliver of me that wanted to participate in the jongos, a traditional African celebration with special songs and dances, and the sacred circles of spiritual healing led by 80-year-old women, their hair plaited in braids, dressed in embroidered white dresses. The energy was overwhelming, though, and I am grateful that I chose the peacefulness of the church to rest. The Caravaners were great, making ginger tea and gargle rinses with salt and tea tree oil. I am discovering that there is not much space to be sick in the Caravan, and how important it is that we all take responsibility for taking care of each other.

Now we are back in Rio de Janeiro and staying at this very cool Point of Living Culture, an old train station/turned historic center. My tent is on the waiting platform, and there are rusted trains resting on tracks beside me, stray cats crawling through the glass-less windows and doors. The inside of the station is mammoth, a ceiling three stories high, and all is open and echoing. The night we arrived, there was a samba party and I fell asleep to dancing feet (to my chagrin, it was late).

Everyone went to the beach today, but I stayed back. I need clarity. I am feeling a bit conflicted about future plans, feeling called to stay, called to go back to the US, called to be confused and unclear. I found out about a unique project in the States that I could see myself involved in. I miss Tom's of Maine toothpaste. And my family and friends.

Then there is Barry Manilow singing, you've got to leeeeeeave, just get awaaaaaay in the Internet cafe at this exact moment. Is it a sign? I've never taken advice from Barry before. Is he a reputable source?

You've got to eat your veggies

2006-08-03T07:46:00.000-07:00

Today I find myself in Vassouras, a small town 100 km north of Rio de Janeiro. We are participating in a conference with various Points of Living Culture groups for the week, and it has been an interesting and diverse dance. I am finding that the Caravan can´t help but infuse music, and song, and alternative ideas in each place that we visit. Yesterday, our kitchen team did a day of alternative nutrition for 100 people attending the conference. The day before, we went to each classroom to propose the idea of a day of alternative alimentaçao, and we received unanimous support, so I didn´t feel like we were imposing these ideas in a forceful way--this was an opportunity to share information and resources. That´s all.

So for breakfast, we prepared homemade yoghurt, granola, and suco verde, a green juice made with lime and leafy greens (collards and kale, for instance), and sweetened with cane sugar. For lunch there were huge cauldrons of brown rice, vegetable stir-fry, black beans, tabouli, and organic mixed salad greens that we procured from a local farm outside the town. And for dinner, chapatis, squash soup with coconut milk, and farofa, a Brasilian dish made with mandioca flour, onions, garlic, and collards. And fruit, lots of fruit: watermelon, grapes, papaya, apples, mandarins.

We also transformed the dining hall into a lean, green, resource-efficient machine, with compost bins for the leftover food and a self-service dish washing station to save on water--and we beautified the space with fresh flowers and rainbow-colored flags. The day was filled with lots of energy, and I think the people were pleased and appreciative of our efforts.

Aside from the day-to-day happenings of Caravan life, I am in the process of figuring out What I Want To Do Next. My visa expires in 6 weeks and I feel resistant to leaving. Still! So I have opened up a conversation with some of the Caravan leaders about obtaining a cultural visa, which means that I can stay for rest of the duration of the project, until March. I don´t know what will happen, but I want to try.

Because I still don´t know how to samba, though I am a diligent student.

Lots of love for now. Will be in touch again soon...

I want to remember

2006-07-15T11:02:00.000-07:00

Life is life is life is life is life. We have been staying outside of Paraty, a coastal town between Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, in a community called a quilombo. It is Afro-Caribbean in its heritage--formed when enslaved Africans fled the city to begin new lives in more free, less oppressed regions. There are quilombos all over Brasil, and this one, Campinho, is over 300 years old. It was founded by three women, and after generations of babies, labor in the fields, song, religion, and more babies, it still exists today. There is a river that flows through their valley, banana trees, roosters crowing at all hours.

Yesterday the Caravan celebrated its 10 year anniversary. The morning commenced with this wonderful energy of song and appreciations and circles around the Masorca, the bus that has been with the Caravan the entire time, and almost everyone spoke. We have two gringos from the US that are making a documentary of the Caravan and they were there filming as well. Realized how sublimely blessed and how crazy it is that I am here, living in community with these people. More and more I am seeing the beauty of each person and loving what they give, the abilities that they have, their contributions.

The rest of the day was spent in Paraty, food shopping on foot with Heriberto and Juliano. It was hot and we drank beer and walked along the beach for a while as well. Paraty is lovely--tiny cobblestone streets, buildings painted white with bright trim, old colonial churches. When we returned to the quilombo, the community had us meet them in their small center. From one end of the room to the other, were three loooooong tables filled with cakes and sweets and juices and flowers and native plants. And there was drumming and dancing and my feet, bare against the dusty floor, flowers in my hair, a necklace woven out of plant fibers around my neck. I felt very indigenous, very powerful, very much in love with the beauty of the moment and the beauty of myself in this place.

Last Sunday the Caravan went on a spiritual pilgrimage of sorts, high into the hills of the Mata Antlantica to visit a small indigenous tribe, the Guarani. They extended an invitation to us to participate in a day of ritual sharing and sacred ceremony. We drove, first for an hour, and then began our ascent on foot, women in one line, men in the other, oldest leading first and descending by age. With 5 kilos of rice on my back, coca leaf under my tongue, we hiked for almost an hour and a half through little rivers, hills, forest and then we were greeted by one barefoot boy and then we see their village. six buildings made out of earthen brick. We were led into their community house where their elder spoke with us in a mixture of Portuguese and native tongue. He invited us to hike down into the valley and bathe in the waterfalls. There are lots of waterfalls in this region and this one was exceptionally beautiful with a pool to swim in and rocks to lie on and air-dry.

I helped make lunch under this awning of a kitchen with earthen floors and wooden gates and an open fire stove with the women cooking mandioca. The day ended with a circle, the making of an altar, song, and blessings. One of those i can´t believe i am here i need to pinch myself every 4 minutes just to remember not to take this for granted moments.

So...life is life is life is life is life.

Raindrops keep falling on my head

2006-07-02T07:24:00.000-07:00

We have spent the last four days on an island off the Brasilian coast, working between two schools. It was quite the effort to fit our entourage of vehicles on a small ferry, which in reality has the capacity of carrying five or six cars. We made it, as we always seem to do, and with our usual chaotic flair.

The roads aren´t paved, just pressed with sand, and we were just a 10 minute walk to the beach. I fell asleep to the sound of murmuring waves.

Our work continues, with workshops in circus arts and theatre and such, though this week I opted to do more ´housework´, if you will. Which means lots of deep-cleaning the kitchen, organizing food, shopping, etc. I also did a day of childcare with Lucas, and it was really a pleasure. We tied string to his two plastic dumptrucks and took our little caravan to the beach. He is an amazing boy with so much creativity and insight. I really enjoy learning from him.

Our final day on the island, we took the Wipala, our rainbow-colored bus, for a ride on the beach. The weather was grey and the water choppy, but it made the colors all that more vivid. Most of the Caravan rode above, though I was happy to stay inside, having enough of high-risk adventure. We had a local guide to take us to a national reserve right off the shore--breathtaking. There is shoreline and all of sudden the earth rises up into steep green jagged mountains. We began hiking just as the rain began to fall, first in little pitter-patters, then harder pellets, and then the sky just opened up and out comes a drenching downpour. We walked in this for maybe 10 minutes before we high-tailed it back to the shelter of the Wipala.

Still, it was a walk in a rainforest, hence the name, I guess.

How I Learned to Climb a Rock

2006-06-30T16:23:00.000-07:00

Nossa. Where to start.

We have been travelling through the Mata Atlantica, a series of critical ecosystem habitat that hugs much of outer Brasil. I can´t express in words the things I have seen.

Lush

green

alive

verdant

humid

tranquil

awesome

silent

profound.

Much of this comes from my experience in a town called Apiai, placed in the thick of the Mata Atlantica, in a part known for its channel of caverns and caves.

We spent 3 days in a national forest reserve outside of Apiai with the intention of facilitating inner-community dialogue and personal growth. La Caravana, it seems, never stops moving, never takes the space to just be because we always have to be somewhere, doing something. So this was an opportunity for us to all take a breath, individually and together. I worked with Beate and Alejandra, a lovely Argentinian women, to coordinate activities and dynamics over the course of the weekend, and it went phenomenally well. The location was perfect--three caves were within hiking distance, with creeks and open space and tree-studded hills surrounding us. We started the weekend with a hike into one of the larger caves, with the assistance of a Brasilian guide. We followed him into this thin crevice of a hole, and then the space just opened up wide, lit only by the flame of our guide´s kerosene head lamp. Stalactites, stalagmites, drops of water seeping into our clothes...the walls, over time, carved in the shapes of faces and animal forms. Remarkable. We stopped in the belly of the cave and our guide turned off the light, and we all breathed in the damp silence, the denseness, the darkness of it all. I felt like we were in an ancient, ancient womb.

The rest of the day was spent in quiet reflection. Amazing the sorts of insights you can get when you´re in nature and paying attention. The following day, we circled and everyone had space to share something. Ankle-deep in creek water, I found myself facing some 15-some Caravaners, with a bromelia leaf as a talking stick, in tears. I didn´t think I was going to cry, but I did, and I am glad that I allowed myself the space to do so. There was nothing sad about the moment--I just felt this immense sense of gratitude well up within me, for this experience, these people, this environment.

We finished with activities in the evening, first doing rapid rounds of questioning of what-are-you-passionate-about and what-brings-you-joy, and then another exercise called the Gifting Circle. This is something that I learned at Lost Valley--it´s an opportunity to share feedback and information on a more intimate, one-one level. It operates on the notion that feedback of any kind is a gift. It starts with one person approaching someone who is sitting and has an object in front of them--a signal that the person is open and available for receiving feedback. The Giver sits in front of them, hands them the object, and then shares responses to the following questions:

1. Something I appreciate about you is...
2. Something I know about myself is...
3. Something that has been a challenge for me with you has been..
4. Thank you for listening.

It´s super powerful--we must have gone on for about 3 hours until only a few candles were burning (we didn´t have electricity). I think everyone felt enlightened afterward. I have discovered that when living in community, everyone acts as mirrors for everyone else. If I am having a conflict or a difficulty with someone, it is usually because it is a problem I am having in myself--the other person just magnifies the issue and reflects it back to me.

Anyway. We left in high community spirits, back to Apiai, to continue our workshops. We worked with the state´s Secretary of Tourism, Chico, who was our main guide and a gift to us all. He arranged for us to stay at the national reserve, coordinated our workshops, took Beate and me on a 30 kilometer road trip to buy raw sugar and molasses from a local producer, everything. His generosity knew no limits! I was so impressed, and touched.

In between workshops, Chico also took us on a day-long trek into the Mata Atlantica to explore another cavern. We spent 3 hours just getting to the cavern, climbing up and sliding down and wading through the trail. I long ago let go of the idea of keeping my clothes clean. We arrived at the mouth, a long low tunnel, really, with crystal clear creek water running beneath that reached almost to our waists. Frigid.

And to be frank, I was just about spent with caves. I think they are impressive and mysterious and beautiful in their own way. But I prefer sunlight and green space and soil and birds and wind. After an hour spent inside the cavern, exploring its depths, I was happy to leave. For about 2 seconds. Because we started this crazy ascent up the back side of the cavern, and I realized that I carry a very debilitating fear of heights. I was one of the last people to go, and I had no idea that this was the way we were choosing to return. In short terms, I had a panic attack. I mean, I am clinging to rocks, my toes pressed into loose soil, looking up up up as our group weaves across this incline of about 60 degrees. And then there are shouts from above that rocks are falling, and sure enough, one gets me right on the ankle, and then 5 seconds later, my other foot gets nicked. It was one of the slowest, most painful hours of my life. At certain moments, I just froze. I couldn´t put one foot in front of the other, couldn´t look down, couldn´t do anything. I have never felt so debilitated by fear. Chico managed to come up next to me, and Beate and Alejandra stayed in front and behind me, so I had this mini-caravan of support. When I made it to the top, wow, all the energy and emotions that I had stuffed to just make it up, spilled out. I was angry, I was tired, I was everything. I needed to yell into the space, so I did. We all did. We all roared and our voices sank down, echoing into the ground that we could just barely make out below.

I thought, okay, now is the easy part. But on our hike back to our buses, night fell, so we were trekking in almost pitch darkness, with a few lanterns for light. The air was damp and full with the scent of puma, a type of leopard that Chico told us about on our way in. I think, great. If I don´t fall to my death, I am going to be eaten by a great big cat.

Nothing of such occurred. We all arrived back to our base camp in one disheveled, but intact piece. And I went to bed and didn´t wake up until the sun was quite high in the sky the next morning.

How I Learned to Flow

2006-06-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

To the border and back again, though this time, I return to Londrina with a tidy bar code on my passport that gives me 3 more months in Brasil.

I breathe a big, deep sigh of relief.

It all started innocently enough. My friend and fellow Caravanero, Heriberto, and I were instructed to go to the Brasilian consulate in Argentina, fill out a renewal application, pay a fee, and get our three month extension. Heriberto had just three more days to get his extension, otherwise he had to leave the country. I, on the other hand, had two weeks, so the situation wasn´t as dire. So on Monday evening, we left for Foz do Iguacu on an overnight bus.

We both wake up the following morning to the bus driver leaning into our sleeping faces, booming in Portuguese that we´ve arrived in Foz, and that we´re the last people on the bus.

We wake up. Breakfast is papaya and pineapple in the depot, and then we take our first of two buses into Argentina. We then take our second breakfast at a tea shop, where we befriend a young boy, and invite him to eat with us. He has no parents, no siblings, just an aunt. I put on my clown nose and do a short three-ball routine for him.

From there, to the consulate. We wait, we wait, we wait--and our number is called! We explain our situation, our passports are taken for review, and Heriberto and I sit back and wait some more. And then, the silly plot thickens. I am called back, and from what I can understand from the Brasilian official and what he is pointing at on my passport, the Chicago consulate (where I applied for my original visa) wrote one word in Portuguese that says that my visa is unrenewable. Meaning that in two weeks, I am on a plane back to the US.

I want to cry. Or punch something.

Not only that, but we are instructed that this consulate doesn´t do extensions, and that we really need to go back to Brasil to a federal police center. And maybe, maybe, I could talk my way into getting an extension there, but the consulate official wouldn´t promise anything.

Before we headed back to Brasil, we found ourselves in a tiny shop that sells indigenous goods--not the kind that is sold at every tourist trap, but really beautiful, one-of-a-kind things. We strike up a conversation with the Argentinian man that runs the store, and it´s refreshing to talk with him. I notice that he is reading the Spanish version of the Alquemist and take it as a good sign.

The rest of the afternoon is spent on buses, at the border, and then back in Brasil, trying to locate the federal police station. We arrive, hot, sweaty, laden with our backpacks, at 4pm, thinking that there is still an hour until they closed (what the Argentinian consulate said). Never trust anyone with time! The station closed at 3pm.

We couldn´t really do anything more for the day in regards to our visas, so we focused our energy on finding the Casa Do Teatro, where we performed at the first time the Caravan was in Foz. We didn´t have an address or a phone number. We just got on a bus that took us to the city center, asked around, and managed to stumble upon it. Though it was closed too. However, we ran into one of the workers who said it would be okay to sleep on the balcony for the night.

We ate at a churrascaria, which is sort of a buffet-type Brasilian restaurant that serves lots and lots of meat. The buffet had a lovely array of salad items, so I ate well. Just before we left, a group of 20-something men come in, not saying a word, just gesturing prominently. I didn´t think anything of it until one man caught my eye--he is pantomining his heart thumping, then pats his face and bats his eyelashes. I realized that he was deaf. I also realized that he was flirting with me.

There was something about it that felt very innocent and sweet, so I chose to play along, though probably with very red cheeks. Heriberto handed me one of our clown noses, so I put it on, turned around, and winked at him. He grinned, and pantomined taking the nose off and touching his cheek. Well, shoot, what the heck! Heri and I were ready to leave anyway, so on our way out, I went over and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We were both laughing. He kissed his hand and put it on his heart. I pretended to flutter and faint. And that was all.

I am sharing this because I continue to realize that I can connect with people on so many different levels. What happens when you don´t have words--anything and everything!

The next day we returned to the police center. I was a bit of a bag of nerves, as I chose to cross my fingers in the hopes that they wouldn´t discover the blasted Word on my passport limiting my ability to extend my stay. So far, so good. They gave us both a list of items we needed to gather and present to the police, including a return ticket out of the country, the reference of a Brasilian individual, and photocopies of about ten different things. We had none of this, thus commencing a wild goose chase to track down all said items. As I have yet to resolve my flight back to the US, I ended up purchasing a bus pass to Asuncion, Paraguay, the cheapest ticket I could find. I don´t really have any intentions of going there at the moment, but come September 6th, I have options. One, anyway.

Gathering everything took the rest of the afternoon and evening, so we had to return the next day to present everything. We were the only ones in the waiting room, yet the process seemed to take forever. I was almost completely convinced that I would be sent back to the US--the wording was so blaringly obvious, now that I knew what it said. How could they not notice.

Through this process, I discovered how deep my desire is to stay with the Caravan. Yet I made peace with whatever decision that was going to be made.

Yet...yet...YET!!! For some miracle I can´t explain, only trust, the police center didn´t see the restriction, and instead gave me the maximum extension. Heri and I shouted and danced as soon as we left earshot of the building.

So. I stay for 3 more months.

I feel rejuvenated, clear, grateful.

Londrina

2006-05-31T16:50:00.000-07:00

I am still playing catch up! Okay, so there was Foz, and then the MST eco-farm school, and now, we are in Londrina, a modern city in the state of Parana. We are slowly making our way back east.

Tonight, we are celebrating the 50th birthday of a Caravaner with tickets to the Da Vinci Code. I haven`t seen an American film in ages and to be honest, am quietly pleased that I will hear my native tongue for a few hours. Don´t tell anyone.

Our time in Londrina has felt a bit disjointed. Part of my days have been spent in theatre and circus arts workshops. So lovely! There was a group of about 30 youth experimenting with acrobatics, juggling, the unicycle, the whole bit, as music from the French film Amelie played. One of those, `nowhere else on earth is this exact thing happening,` sort of revelations. Strange and absurd and beautiful.

I also accompanied a handful of Caravaners to a retaque, or a street fair and market. We arrived in colorful garb, with drums, juggling equipment, and empty wooden crates, for we were doing a bit of spontaneous street performance in exchange for fruits and vegetables. I juggled apples and oranges and did a bit of magic with some garlic cloves (the old standby of passing an object from the top of my head through my nose worked like a charm), and we left with our crates spilling over with bananas, papaya, watermelon, and other such goodies.

The disjointed part is in reference to the beauty of Brasilian bureaucracy and the hoops that I am jumping through to extend my visa. My ideal is to receive 90 more days, which is the maximum that I can stay in Brasil as a tourist. However, the immigration center is asking for additional requirements, which includes crossing the border into Argentina and entering the country again, and finding a Brasilian that can be responsible for me while I am in the country. And I just found out today that my plane ticket can only be extended for 30 more days. Blast it, anyhow. I feel stuck.

I don´t know. I am just just just beginning to contribute to the Caravan project, to finally understand what the heck is happening, and how everything functions (or doesn´t function). Beate and I are in the midst of creating a stronger emotional infrastructure for the Caravan--I feel really excited about facilitating concrete exercises that I learned while living at Lost Valley. My five ball routine is coming along. My responsibilities and work in the kitchen is growing. So is my heart for the Caravan.

I´m just not ready to leave yet...

Ode to My Inner Clown

2006-05-27T15:31:00.000-07:00

I am discovering lots of things.

First, that my red clown nose is the world´s smallest mask, and the quickest way that I can transform myself. I fix it on my nose, and I am no longer Amanda, the Gringa that speaks broken Portunol. She is Amanda, malabarista extraordinaire--playful, spontaneous, and joyful. Sometimes bashful, sometimes coy. She likes to flirt.

I am discovering that whatever inhibitions I feel when it comes to speaking Portuguese or Spanish dissolve when I am in my clown character. I don´t need words, I don´t need voice, all I need is my body to communicate, and for this, I have felt liberated.

This has been an unexpected outlet for me. Often I feel silent or tired or unwilling to speak. Sometimes I just don´t want to translate anything, or make mistakes, or ask for the 942nd time, could you repeat what you said, a little more slowly, please? When I am clowning around, none of this matters. I take myself lightly, and I play, really pushing myself to connect with others. It´s been wonderful to see what comes out as a result.

Our time in Foz was meaningful. The chalet that we stayed felt like a sanctuary. We ate mandarins by the bucketfull. I woke up with the roosters. Slipped in the pool for a little night swimming under the stars.

Our first few days were spent working with some talented jugglers and circus artists at the Point of Living Culture. I worked especially well with one youth, Tiago, with 7 and 8 clubs, and together we passed 9 balls for the first time. Tiago is phenomenal--he can do tricks with the diabolo that I´ve never seen before, with two, and even three. We also did some group club juggling with a total of 6 of us, some on unicycles, others (me), comfortably and securely on the ground.

On a slightly more serious note, the Caravan marched in a city parade hosted by a network of organizations working to eradicate adolescent trafficking and prostitution between the borders of Argentina and Brasil. I can´t think of much else to say about it. It was powerful. I continue to be both full and saddened by all that I witness here.

The final days were spent exploring the waterfalls of Iguassu. I have never seen anything like them. Absolutely breathtaking. The first day a group of us crossed into Argentina to visit A Garganta Do Diablo, or the Throat of the Devil. We walked along narrow steel bridges above meandering rivers, all very calm and peaceful. Then, all of a sudden, one can hear the distant echo of thunder, and it begins to rain, not just from the sky down but the ground up and my face is covered with a thin film of water. And then, I am there, at the Throat, looking down into this immense, plummeting, expanse and I can´t see where the water ends and the earth begins. Everything is wet and white and the sound is almost deafening. I have to shout to be heard, and even then, my words are absorbed by the water.

The following day, we visited the Brasilian side, which is not as up close and personal, but it gives the ultimate panaramic view of the Falls, which spill over a tremendously long amount of land. There were even rainbows. Shucks. Ah, but I sound trite. I really want to pay tribute to Mother Nature and all that She creates. The ultimate artist in this crazy and colorful life portrait...

Our final night in Foz culminated in an invitation to a hip hop street festival, where we performed a theatre piece and a fire spectacular. I´m not playing with fire yet. Still a spectator. Soon, I shall!

For now, lots of love and light.

A month of movement

2006-05-25T06:51:00.000-07:00

Finally, an opportunity to reflect! This past month has been brimming and I want to bring back the most salient and transformative pieces of it.

We are currently in staying in a farm school/agroecology center that is simplistic in its beauty, and powerful in its activist spirit. The farm school is part of the Landless Worker´s Movement, one of the largest social movements in the world, I believe. It focuses its efforts in equitable land redistribution in Brasil, from rich land owners owning vast parcels of agricultural land that grows crops for export, to re-allocating it to the people who actually steward it and grow food to feed themselves. I´m still learning more about it. I hear that there is a documentary on Chico Mendes, a Brasilian activist that was murdered as a result of his political and social efforts, who is now a symbol of the working farmer, social justice, and the earth. There is a simple placard of wood carved with his name, his birth, and his death, that sticks crookedly out of the ground beside one of the school buildings.

All around us are fields of sugar cane, corn, yuca, and papaya trees. The soil is a rich red, more clay than sand. Early this morning I explored one of the smaller gardens that is cared for by the school participants, mostly youth in their teens. Long raised beds of lettuce, arugula, carrots, beets, brassicas, and onions, with an entire section of tall trellises of passionfruit, the unripe fruit dangling like green globes. I am in love with this place and the tranquility that I am finding amidst the plants and trees and vegetables growing. I am still patiently waiting for the time when I can finally stay in one place long enough to grow my own food...but until that happens, I am content to appreciate the efforts of others, and pitch in when I have the chance. My hands tingle to be in the soil!

We are here for just one more day, after giving workshops in theatre, permaculture, music, and holistic health. Tonight we will perform a short theatre piece, and I imagine that there will be dancing and song afterwards. This part is inevitable.

I´m going to rewind a bit and return to Sao Paulo, a few weeks ago. We left in a flurry, after days of hearing that our buses were fixed, not fixed, fixed, not fixed, and finally...fixed. I was so ready to go, I nearly cried. Inner city slum life for extended periods of time, with next to no green space, was getting to me. Though I made use of my time, spending hours in the kitchen making sushi, reading my Spanish and Portuguese workbooks, and connecting more with the community, both Caravaneros and with locals.

We left for Foz do Iguassu, a city that rests on the border of Paraguay and Argentina, and shares the home of the most spectacular waterfalls I have ever seen. The journey took us two full days of travel, with occasional stops at the mechanics (I am accepting that this is part of every journey), a night spent sleeping on the concrete floor of a Point of Living Culture center, and meals of brown rice, avocado, and hard-boiled eggs. Traveling with La Caravana is unorganized and arduous and bumpy, yet there is music, song, and beautiful countryside to witness.

We arrived in Foz at 5 am, at this lovely chalet in the countryside that had been reserved for our use while we were working at their community centers. Orange, mandarin, papaya, and avocado trees, and can you believe it, a small pool. Such luxury. I was 98% happy camper as I set up my tent beneath a papaya tree, but 2% crabby (or maybe it was the other way around) as I was exhausted from no sleep and could only nap for a few hours because our circus arts workshops were to start at 9am sharp.

Shoot. I will have to wait for another opportunity to continue, as my ride back to the farm school is leaving in about two minutes. Bueno. Lots of love, lots of sunshine, and deep breaths to you all! Stay tuned...

A Celebration

2006-04-27T06:28:00.000-07:00

Am 25 years and some days old, and growing older by the minute. I celebrated my 25th birthday on the 25th of April, though we really started the night before. I like how these Brasilians celebrate: Jessica, the other American, made a banana cake layered with chocolate and nuts, and Lucas, this beautiful Chilean six-year-old boy, led me into the kitchen, whispering about a ´surprise´. All was very sweet and warm and it was a lovely way to start my Earth Day, as a certain father of mine likes to call it. The morning of the 25th, I treated everyone to persimmons for breakfast. The persimmons are at the height of season right now and are so inexpensive, too--about 50 cents for 5 of them. I bought 20.

I am also pleased to announce that the Caravan is complete. The other half arrived last week in two vividly painted buses, a solar kitchen trailer named Caricola and a Kombi van, kind of like a VW. We are a sight on the road and have the tendency to stop traffic. Which we did several times on our way to the other end of Sao Paulo, where our next community center was waiting. The roads here are not built to accomodate vehicles such as ours, so some of the Caravaners were out on the road directing traffic so we could pass, make U-turns, and the like.

So, we are now at our next Cultura Viva point, a samba school and training center in another favela in Sao Paulo. We are finally able to camp outside, so, yes, Grandma, I get to use my tent! Though I didn´t pack a sleeping mat of any kind--I thought that I would tough it out. Tough schmuff--no one wants to sleep on cold concrete, including me, so I have been sleeping on top of all my clothes, jackets, and my towel every night for cushion. I feel like I´m in the Princess and the Pea story, because I can still feel all the bumps beneath me, in spite of my layering attempts.

Bueno.

I´m now officially a part of the kitchen team and have been spending lots of time in the Caricola, squeezing in between the other cooks for spices or cooking oils. It´s solar powered, so our lights and music (a small boombox) are not contributing to global warming, though our gas stove is, though not as much. We have a haybox as well, which is an insulated box that continues to cook grains, beans, and what have you, without using any additional energy. It´s wonderful, I love it, and I recommend that all homes experiment with one. All you have to do is find a cooler and line it with blankets.

Last night there was a capoeira circle at the center. Capoeira, from what I understand, is a combination of dance, martial arts, and music that was created by Africans during their enslavement in Brasil, as a clandestine way to build defense strategies for escaping. A group from a capoeira school came--composed of almost all children. Everyone sat around a circle drawn with white chalk, hands clapping, while the two people in the the center of the circle sparred. There is no physical contact between the two, so it didn´t have a feel of violence. I sat enraptured by the song, the agility and grace, the dance of it all.

Okay, lest you think this whole experience is all roses, it´s not! I am learning so much, though, and am having to face a great deal of my fears. One of the biggest ones, I´ve realized, is my fear of doing the wrong thing, of looking silly or inept. So every day I am working on consciously not taking myself seriously. Because everyday I end up looking silly or inept anyway.

Tomorrow we have a circus workshop that I will participate in, mostly to assist in the juggling part. I have been juggling some, though my equipment is enroute to the United States, after much searching and frustration. There is a gathering of jugglers and vendors happening in the city come Monday, so I will be able to buy a set of clubs there.

As far as feeling connected to the community, it´s coming along. I have befriended Beate, a German-born woman who has lived in Brasil for the past three years. We have bonded over worm composting and organic farming conversations. A blessing, as she speaks English as well. The others, I am gaining trust as well, and especially with the people in the kitchen and the malabaristas. Some days I feel like my Portuguese and Spanish is improving, and other days, it´s all I can do to ask if someone bought more toilet paper.

I have so appreciated and valued everyone´s letters! I am thinking of you all. I feel homesick often, of all my different homes, of everything that has been safe and familiar for me. Sometimes I can´t wait to get back to the US, and other times, I consider extending my visa. Time will tell. I make no commitments yet!

Until next time. Love and blessings and lots of under-the-leg juggling tricks...

A week in Santos

2006-04-19T04:30:00.000-07:00

Bom dia to you all as I write this in early morning. I´ve been craving a keyboard for the past week--it´s been a crazy, tiring, and growthful adventure thus far.

I have been travelling and working with La Caravana for seven days now. They called me last Tuesday and asked if I was ready to leave that very same day, in a matter of hours. So, I hung up the phone and flittered around, packing up all my things, running out to get cash, finalizing things with the school, and figuring out how to get to the rodaviaria--a bus depot of sorts--with all of my stuff (taxi and the subway).

So. I arrived. La Caravana (fifteen for now, with the other half on their way) was waiting for me with their packs, musical instruments, unicycles, and all. It was a whirlwind greeting, in Spanish, Portuguese, and English, and I was left spinning (and am still, though not as much). We had plans to leave for Santos, a coastal city about 40 kilometers from Sao Paulo, and instead of taking a regular bus, some folks were negotiating with a driver of a small van. We literally packed that van to the ceiling with our things, and crushed our hips together as we sat four to a seat, backpacks on our laps to boot. When we arrived in Santos, we were like one of those tiny clown cars in the circus, where more and more people tumble out, more than you think is humanly possible.

We stayed in a community center in the heart of a favela, the rough equivalent of a city slum or ghetto. We slept on the concrete floor with thin black mats for slight back relief, though we didn´t have much protection from the mosquitos or the humidity. That first night, I must have slept about 3 hours, the rest spent scratching, sweating, and spooling in my sleeping bag.

Our week was full (and my head was too, aching, really, with so much information to absorb, culture to learn, languages to translate...). I participated in a nutrition and cooking workshop, where we made bananas verdes--a green banana dish--and gazpacho, passing around samples in small mason jars. Other workshops included circus arts, theatre, building a solar oven with scrap material, massage, and recycling.

We operated on Brasilian time, which means you show up when you show up, and that´s when everything starts. Workshops scheduled for 9am start around 11am, and last until whenever. I have been challenged by this type of schedule though I am learning to flow. There´s a fair amount of rush-rush-rush and then...wait...wait....wait.

The people of this favela: we were welcomed with open arms. I was overwhelmed by the simple generosity and cheerful spirit of the community organizers, families, and children. Brasilians are an affectionate bunch--they kiss, whether you´re a stranger or a family member, and they touch, whether it´s holding a hand or pinching a cheek.

The work of La Caravana really invites play, conscienceness, and education in such a simple, yet powerful way. We spent one of our first evenings performing through the favela, led by a few community organizers. Dressed in bright, every-color-of-the-rainbow costumes and hands full with juggling clubs, rings, drums, pois, we danced and sang and performed through the narrow streets. I thought we looked a little like a gay pride parade, sans the leather. I loved this experience--felt like I came alive for the first time with La Caravana because I didn´t have to communicate with words, just with performance and play. Children joined us, adults watched in their doorways.

Our presence was a stark contrast to the reality of favela life. We were marching parallel to a lime-green creek filled with waste, and most of the buildings were squat and in disrepair. But honestly, no matter. I don´t want to romanticize any of this. My sense was that the people did not match their surroundings. Everyone that I met, and the kids especially, had a light, cheerful, and real quality to them. These folks dance and they sing and they know each other.

As for my own well-being. I am spent, and in spite of all the activity, have felt a little lost. Language continues to be my largest barrier to connecting with the community of la Caravana and with Brasilians. So much of my energy is spent translating both Spanish and Portuguese in my head and then trying to convey and communicate how I am, and who I am, in a mix of both languages. Plus, La Caravana consists of people from all over Central and South America: Uruguay, Ecuador, Chile, Argentina, Spain, Mexico, and they all have their own accents and speed in which they talk. So...arghhh. The first few days were the hardest--really felt like I was thrown in the ocean without a life preserver--though each day is improving. I´ve been participating in lots of inner-community theatre and movement improv, and that has been a good opportunity for me to connect with others.

We left Santos yesterday. The community prepared a meal for us on our final night, and we ate, danced, and then the other Caravaners performed a theatre piece. So now, we are back in Sao Paulo at another Viva Cultura point, staying in a community center in an urban favela. This center is quite beautiful, with a library, dance room, technology center, industrial kitchen, and auditorium. Such a different place than Santos where there was one computer, one office, and one large concrete space for events. The other half of La Caravana is supposed to join us in the next few days, and in the meantime, we will be giving morning classes and workshops for the week, buying provisions for the weeks ahead, and who knows what else.

The ´who knows what else´part is my department.

So for now, I am sending lots of love and warm thoughts your way. And please write! I would love to hear from you.

Until next time...

Tangerines in the park

2006-04-09T10:33:00.000-07:00

Brasil. I´ve been here for two and a half weeks and it´s been full. I dabble in many emotions and feelings: tired, excited, peaceful, a little freaked out, a little stressed out, proud, overwhelmed. I just completed my language courses this last Friday--I could have used at least two more weeks, but at least I have the basics down. I don´t feel completely incapacitated when I need to purchase a papaya. And I´ve been watching The Wonder Years reruns dubbed in Portuguese, which helps both my language skills and my desire for good, old-fashioned sitcoms with a young Fred Savage.

I´ve been staying with a sweet older woman named Juraci who patters around the apartment and calls me pretty girl. She makes me large jantars, always with rice and beans of some sort, with other more exotic textures, like manioc root, or patata doce, which is a sweet potato that looks like a thick white parsnip.

But over anything else, my taste buds have been celebrating the flavors of the fruit here. I get lost in the produce sections, smelling, touching, and wrinkling my brow at some of the fruit that´s grown in this region. I´ve fallen in love with fruta de congee, which is the Brazilian equivalent of a sweetsop, I think. Both the inside and the outside (green and bulbous) look a little odd, but the taste is lovely. Kind of like a pear, but more delicate and sweet.

My exciting news: I met up with La Caravana for the first time yesterday. They just arrived in Sao Paulo for an arts and cultural festival, which was pulsing with Brasilian hip-hop and samba, native art, and performances, films, and workshops celebrating the cultural diversity of the country. It was loud, crowded, and hot, but I managed to find La Caravana´s booth and tent. I immediately felt at home, like this is exactly where I need to be next. I only met half of the group, most only briefly as they were in performances or wandering about, but my immediate response was one of community, awareness, creativity, and juggling! I don´t think I´ve ever been so ready to juggle and practice and perform. People juggling balls, clubs, rings, and machetes in the grass, while others were spinning plates and doing the diablo. I may be the only female juggler, I´m not sure. The other half of La Caravana is coming from Brasilia, the country capital, after fixing some broken bus parts, so they are supposed to arrive in the next few days. I am staying with Juraci until La Caravana settles their plans in Sao Paulo. They´re a bit frazzled and disorganized, with a very central, consensus-based organizational structure, so it sounds like things tend to come together last-minute. But I was positively beaming as I left the festival.

The only thing that still hanging in the air for me is my juggling equipment. I mailed everything separately, and it has yet to arrive. I´ve been so antsy to practice that I ended up buying four tangerines this morning and practiced my ball routines in a nearby park. But I dropped one, one too many times (blast those back crosses!), and it cracked open, so I decided to take a fruit snack break.

I want to write so much more, but I think I´ll wait for another post. Overally, I am feeling overwhelmingly content, grateful, and blessed at the opportunity before me. Much love and blessings to all of you in the States and abroad...

Obrigado para tudo

2006-02-28T07:33:00.000-08:00

Here's a toast to the overwhelming support and encouragement I've received from family and friends, far and wide: Blondina; Ina and Lefty; Rich, Leesa and Jake; Jim and Clark; Jay, Jenny, Noah, Sophie and Sadie; Melanie, Doug and Nathan; Curt, Patti, Dan, and Krista; Sarah; Hannah; Kyle; Julie; Amina y la biblioteca; Annie; Erika and her team of fundraisers; Lindsay's camera-savvy advice, Rosehipsters Valerie and Linda; Georgie and Renee; David and Chad; the Global Youth Village; and Gary Berg. And Josh and my parents--big time. Absolutely grateful. Mmmwhuh.

A little bit about it

2006-02-06T12:00:00.000-08:00

Forget planes, trains, and automobiles--I'm going to juggle my way through Brazil.

I’m joining La Caravana Arcoiris por la Paz, a traveling bandwagon of circus artists, environmentalists, and educators that have worked throughout Latin America since 1996. Touring in a medley of hand-painted buses, La Caravana spins a form of eco-entertainment that blends workshops in sustainable living with…of all things…circus arts.

La Caravana’s next stop is Brazil, where they have signed a contract with Brazil’s Ministry of Culture to provide performances and workshops for up to 50 communities throughout the country. In the favelas, quilombos, and indigenous villages that La Caravana will visit, La Caravana is partnering with local grassroots organizations.

The Countdown Begins

2006-02-01T18:49:00.000-08:00

I leave in 28 days.