Post-Storm Realizations or Obrigada, Brazil

The shroud of this summer thunderstorm finally lifted off Washington, revealing a glowing, golden day. It pours in through my skylights, and turns my blue bedroom into a quiet morning beach, inviting me to come play in the ocean. I jump out of bed and put on my bathing suit, and pack myself up for a day out at Tryst café. Best to get myself out early before I get caught in the compelling fantasies of my Park Road abode.

The sidewalks are bustling with life, like a curfew was just lifted. Smiling runners with spring in the step; minivans of contractors unloading themselves, happily busy again; dogwalkers being tugged by packs of desperate dogs. I pass communities of mushrooms that have sprouted up over night, and piles of shrapnel, tree limbs and debris left by nature’s war. Little after-showers rain down on me, from the waterlogged canopy above. I’m pretty happy to be alive.

As I’m bouncing along in my tevas, I recall last night’s CBODN (Chesapeake Bay Organizational Development Network) meeting, and our discussion on an ‘Appreciative Stance in OD Consulting.’ After 2 hours of sharing and presentation, the bottom line message, from Don Klein, a guru of the field, was this: Don’t take yourself too seriously. I liked it. I still do. It was worth my $55 fee, and I got a Quizos sub and oatmeal cookie too. But like all good advice, it’s so simple, it’s impossible. He says the less serious you are, the more vulnerable you are, and the less you have to work to preserve your ‘scrim.’ He used that word, and described it as a set in the theatre, a façade, imaginary scenery that changes depending on how the lights shine. So if it’s imaginary, why bother trying to preserve it?

It all made sense to me. I know I have been one to take myself too seriously in the past. Look at these credentials: SeeChange president, homeowner, investor, first-born protector of the family, responsible citizen, informed liberal, caring friend and lover, always vigilant mountain lion. (That’s how my life coach characterized me during my sessions with her last year, and I hate to admit she was right on.)

But I feel a little different now. Yes, I’m still paying my mortgage, and cleaning my gutters, calling my mom to check-in, and keeping up with the geo-political state of affairs, taking classes, meditating, and always improving myself. But something’s different after Brazil. So I started thinking, after last night's sub and discussion. Maybe Brazil destroyed my scrim – put my white Anglo ass out in the searing tropical sun and burned me. Exposed my most basic self – the girl without words, without family and friends close by, without a job, without a routine, without walls, without a palm pilot, without George Bush to yell at or anyone to hear me. But I still had something left – me. Wide-eyed, curious, caring, diligent, loving, and even hopeful, underneath the well-formed layer of angst. I’m still me; but I’m not trying so hard to be me anymore. Ahhh.

Obrigada, Brasil!

Re-Adjusting to Life on PlanetDC

It was hard to leave my new home on PlanetBrazil – the tropical light and warm sea, people greeting you with kisses and hugs (beijos e abracos), Portugues conversations that were beginning to make sense, ripe papaya with honey for breakfast, and spicy samba for dinner...But it sure is great being back on PlanetDC!

My fresh eyes are noticing so many things, marveling at this place like a stranger from the third world - the clean empty streets, dogs on leashes, babies in strollers, English conversations with smiling waiters, a sea of green shade trees, bowls of coffee and birdbaths of margarita, 22 flavors of tea, 33 brands of vodka, 44 loan offers in my stack of mail. The choices, possibilities, and opportunities here are endless. This is the real difference between the two planets. Despite the abundance and beauty of a third world country like Brazil (the NE in particular), the sense of possibility is missing. People are stuck, either because they have not been infused with that American sense of ‘anything is possible, pull yourself up from your bootstraps, just do it, be all you can be.’ Or simply, they have no money, no wheels, no capacity to escape.

Yes, I’m feeling lucky today, and pretty optimistic. Maybe that’s one reason you travel – to appreciate what you already have. And I certainly appreciate the shift in the political climate since I left six months ago. What happened? It’s feeling much more hopeful in Washington these days for the ‘home team.’ I did my best on Planet Brazil trying to forget about the situation, but the liberal Brazilians had a way of reminding me, with their sincere inquiries: How did Estados Unidos manage to vote Georgie Boosh into office TWICE? The answer that seemed to get the most nods of quasi-understanding was that, since voting is not mandatory in the US, really only one-fourth of Americans voted for him. Somehow this response didn’t seem like enough to justify a war in Iraq, an oil crisis, unjust immigration policies, Hurricane Katrina, etc, etc, etc. But it was the best I could do. Anyway, I’m rambling, already transitioning into my Inside-the-Beltway speak. Forget Portugues, I’ve got this other language to re-adjust to.

What else will I be adjusting to in my transition back to life on PlanetDC? Here’s the initial list I’ve come up with, of things I’m leaving behind (at least for a while), and other things I am letting back into my life again…

Out/PlanetBrazil --> Back In/PlanetDC

Hot percussion --> Cool guitars
3 cold showers a day --> Central AC
Made in Brazil --> Made in China
Being anonymous --> Being ignored
Crowded computer banks --> Hip wi-fi cafes
Vendors cluttering the sidewalk --> Strollers cluttering the sidewalk
Cafezihnos (little espressos) --> Bowls of decaf
Retro Barry White --> Retro Tom Petty
Cloudless skies --> Smokeless bars
Ipod-full of American music --> Ipod-full of Brazilian music
Musical conversations --> Political conversations
Fuck-me sandals --> Keen’s
Big butts --> Big boobs
Speaking in dreams --> Speaking in realities
Exotic fruits on the trees --> Exotic gays on the streets
Friendliness --> Privacy
TVs everywhere --> Laptops everywhere
Spontaneity --> “Pencil me in”
Tapioca (manioc pancakes filled with butter and cheese)--> Bagels (with cream cheese)
Coco water (straight from the cocunut)--> Smart Water
Caiperinhas (name your cachaca)--> Vodka Tonics (name your vodka)
$2 manicures at Beleza Maries --> Biting my nails
Singing in Bars --> Networking in Bars
Piexe Electrico (Electric Fish) --> Louriol Plaza
Bompreco --> Walmart (just kidding)
Dancing at Mr. Caipeira --> Dancing at the Surf Club
“Vamos imbora” --> “Let’s go”
SPF-40 --> Claritin
1-motorcycle families --> 2-SUV families

Aside from adjusting to these changes (some welcomed, others not), I’ll also have to get over not having a house to live in or car to drive or job to go to, and find meaning and connection again in my own hometown. So this afternoon, I’m hanging out with the hip and wired and unemployed at Tryst café. And wouldn’t you know it, they’re playing a mix of bossa novas and sambas, some Tom Jobim and Gilberto Gil, just when I am trying to kill my saudades (missing) and forget about Planet Brazil. Well, maybe it’s not about forgetting. Maybe it’s about integrating. Seeing things from a new perspective, and taking the best from both planets. Great, they just switched the CD to Duke Ellington. I’ve been missing the Duke.

News Flash from Sao Paulo - This Ain't No PlanetBrazil

I arrived on Saturday in Sao Paulo, facing a 2-week transition period before heading north to PlanetDC. And what I’ve discovered here is NYC below the equator and in Portugues. Maravilhoso! This city is home to 20 million inhabitants and 12.5 million restaurants. Within the first two days, I had taken in a 24-hour music festival featuring an array of the best bosso nova, samba and MPB on earth; I attended a opening of a new labor building and had a chance to hug Lula; and I shifted from bikini beach wear to sweaters, slacks and my cowboy boots. It was a chilly, rainy fall in this cidade grande below the equator.

I stayed in a trendy neighborhood called Vila Madalena (the Adams Morgan of SP) with Carolyn, an American woman who left DC 7 years ago to work in SP, and never returned. I met Cida, one of only 10 AfroBrazilian woman in the county with a Phd, and whose organization, CEERT (link) promotes racial and gender equality in the schools and businesses throughout Brazil. I visited all kinds of art galleries, satiating my culture craving, after 6 months hanging out in a beach town. The Pinicoteca, the MAM (Museo de Arte Moderna), the Niemeyer Latin America Museum. I rented a bike in Itapuara Park, the Central Park of SP, and rode through groves of palm trees and bamboo, around lakes and fountains, and around an exposition on saving the Mata Atlantic Rainforest. I hung out all night in Bar Brahma drinking chopps and dancing to the infectious beat of the house samba band. I visited an Italian cemetery, and an artisan village called Embu, and stood at the intersection of Av Paulista & Av Sao Joao, made famous by a Caetano Velosa song. I hung out with Jarbas and Angela, from Tom Ze’s band, and did some jamming in their apartment. And I took the Metro everywhere, the only sane way to navigate the sprawling neighborhoods of the second largest city in the world!

Take a look at my photo gallery of favorite pics. I know most Americans head straight to Rio for big city Brazilian action; but I don’t think they know what they are missing in Sao Paulo.As you can imagine, escaping this city was not so easy. I had only managed to eat in perhaps 20 restaurants – Italian, Japanese, fusion, and the obligatory Saturday afternoon Brazilian feijoada feast – but I still have 12.59980 million to go. Next trip.

Ate logo, Sao Paulo.

Saudades for Planet Brasil

Dear Friends,

I am getting ready to depart Planet Brazil, and I want to give you all a quick update before take-off. I know - it’s hard to believe I am leaving already. I feel like I’ve just landed on this new planet, unpacked my bags, and gotten used to the change in atmosphere – and now I have to go. So I will be leaving with some mixed feelings. In some ways, I am ready to touch down on US soil and relax again into my comfort zone, and reconnect with my people and culture and language. But in other ways, I will be feeling ‘saudades grandes’ (big missing) for this place with which I have come to feel a real connection.

It’s taken exactly 6 months for me to feel part of Joao Pessoa, Paraiba, Brazil. It seems in just the last two weeks, I’ve gotten over the ominous language barrier, and can carry-on whole conversations with people in Portugues, moving beyond just the topic of weather (i.e., Esta muito quente hoje.) I can sit around and drink beer with friends (well I’ve always been good at that) and understand more than half of the discussion swirling around me. And I can even offer my own two centavos, sometimes more, if I am drinking cachaca. I can ask for directions, and understand the response, keeping esquerda (left) and deireita (right) straight in my head. I can even give directions now too. Earlier this week, a man stopped me in the Centro Historico and asked, “Moca, where is the prefeitura antiga?” I was proud to understand him and be able to give him an intelligible answer.

I’ve also gotten to the point where I can make transactions with vendors without being ripped off. This is a biggie for a galega (blond/white) Americana – the Brazilians get $$ in their eyes when they see me coming. Just yesterday, at the lake, I found two guys with their shoe shine boxes, and I stopped them to repair and polish two pairs of my favorite Brazilian sandals. They did a great job, but then tried to sucker me out of 20 reais, which is what the sandals cost in the first place. I said no, noa preco especial Americano para mim, obridaga (no special American price for me, thanks). And I took R$12 out of my wallet and told them ‘so isso’ (just this) matter of factly. They took the bills smiling, and told me to return again (volta sempre).

One real challenge for me has been working my photography exhibition, and carrying-on complex discussions with customers, and even the press, about the places I have traveled, the motivations for my work, and my future plans, all in quasi-Portugues. But the discussions have gotten easier every day. And when I closed down my show yesterday, I found I had sold half the pictures off the walls of the gallery (and even collected most of the money). Now my photos will have homes here in Paraiba, and I won’t have to haul them back to the US.

As I am getting ready to leave, I’ve also discovered my regular spots, places I frequent, like Paulista’s barraca (outdoor bar) on the lake. Here we are, Paulista, Cris and I, with the ‘wall of infamy,’ Cris’s caricatures of the bar’s best customers, in the background, and a plate of kibes in the foreground. Paulista enjoys political conversations, especially making fun of Georgie Bush, and he serves the best kibes and coxinhas in town – little fried appetizers you eat with fresh squeezed lime and hot sauce, and down with cold Skol cerveja. Paulista keeps a clean, quiet and alternative-lifestyle-friendly atmosphere, so the place attracts all kinds - writers, artists, retired folks and single moms, and students. Besides Paulista, I also have my favorite salao de beleza, Beleza Marrie, and my amigas Anna e Rosa, that take care of my nails and ‘Brazilian waxing,’ while I watch horrible novelas on the little flickering TV in the corner of the shop. I even have my favorite gas station, where they bring you tiny cups of strong sweet coffee and water to your car on a silver tray. Of course, gas costs about $6 a gallon here, so you get what you pay for I suppose.

But the most important thing about the life I’ve cultivated on PB, is that I’ve discovered some true friends. These are not the people I met at the beginning of my adventure who smiled and kissed me on each cheek each time they saw me, and promised to invite me to dinner every time, but then never did. My true Brazilian friends are the ones that call me on a quiet Sunday morning, when I’m not sure how I’m going to fill my day, and invite me to the beach for beers and ensopada de carengaju (crab soup).

These are the people who drag me out of my apartment on to see a movie at the mall, like Brokeback Mountain, and let me marvel out loud during the movie about the beautiful US scenery.

These are the people who invite me to hang out on their veranda and play bosso nova music and try composing songs together, with a Brazilian beat and American lyrics combined.

These are the people who sit patiently while I try to eek out a grammatically correct sentence in Portugues, and marvel at my first ‘joga de paravalas’ (play on words) in my new language.

These are the people that take me shopping on my last days on Planet Brazil to buy coisas Brasilieras (like Sao Braz coffee and Amazon soaps) at the cheap market in Torre.

These are the people who organize a dance celebration in my honor, because I won’t be able to stay in Brasil for Sao Joao fest, on the count of the visa.

These are the people who take me sailing on a windy day and disembark on a shady riverbank so I can take pictures and sip champagne.
These are the people who ask me when I am coming back (Ate quando?), and make sure I know I have a place to stay with them when I return.

I’ve discovered the key to happiness on a new planet is finding true friends, connections, people that give meaning to a place. Cris, Babeta and Junior, Monica, Gilva, Wallison, Jane, and others.

So this blog post is dedicated to friends – to my new friends (meus novos amigos) on Planet Brazil that I will leave behind, for a little while, until I am allowed to return. And also to my friends back home on Planet DC who I will be reconnecting with soon.

Obrigada e abracos para voces, Anne

Copyright 2006 Anne Pellicciotto

The Brazilian Gods Must be Crazy

Meus amigos. Well I may have found a life here in Brazil, but I seem to have just lost my hard drive. I contracted a Brazilian virus, and it wiped out everyting on my computer - all my documents, photos, programs, settings and favorites – the works! I was sitting in the mayor’s office awaiting a meeting with the director of marketing and tourism, to get support for my upcoming photography exhibition, when a string of ominous red error messages popped up on my screen; and then it suddenly went black and blue. When I rebooted, all that was left were the original setting, and in the My Pictures folder, a couple stock photos that come with Windows - an olympic runner in the starting blocks, a vista of the Rockies - mocking me. None of my three thousand photos, evidence of my life these last 5 months on Planet Brazil,were left.

Backups, you ask? Yes, I have them, but from December 2005 and before my departure from Washington. Despite the valient efforts of a few techie expert friends back home, to back me up and instruct me on continued vigiliance with viruses and backups, I was completely lost, with no idea how to recover – electronically OR emotionally.

At times like these, when you are in a foreign country far from home, with few resources at your fingertips, you wonder why you came. It’s not just the computer virus, it’s all the many hardships and hurdles and mistakes piled up on top of each other. Every single day is a challenge, just getting small tasks done when you don’t speak the language proficiently – catching a bus, getting directions somewhere, buying a cake for someone’s birthday, coordinating an evening out with some friends, or even simply making a phone call using the crazy system of credit cards they have here. Everything takes so much energy. So now, with the virus spread through my computer, I had another gigantic task ahead, to cure it, with little energy to spare. And to keep the doubts about my existance here from spreading through me.

But my photographs have been such a significant part of my meaning on Planet Brazil. My camera has kept me company, when I have no one with whom to share the beauty or surprises of this place. My camera has also given me a language with which to communicate my impressions and feelings, where there’s been no one who understands English. Now, without the pictures, where was the evidence of my adventure here? And more practically, how was I going to proceed with my show?

After slinking out of the mayor’s office, I headed home, and cried the whole way across town. I even scared off the poor children who approached my car at a stoplight, as is the routine here, to clean my windshield and earn a few coins. I was not in the mood today. When I arrived home, I made some lame attempts at meditative, postive thinking, telling myself stuff like: ´Anne, what’s important, the bits and bytes of ideas, just figments of my imagination, or my imagination itself? My memories are still here – the lessons and stories and encounters and images are imbedded in my brain and heart – even if they aren’t still buried in my hard drive. Get a life.´ Then I went to the beach and drank some strong caiperinas.

But a window of opportunity opened up. Cris hooked me up with a guy named Rodrigo, a Brazilian techie with a reputation for recovering files and drinking cerveja (junto - together). He showed at the apartment later that night, and I prayed we´d be able to communicate using my first grade Portugues and his first grade English. Luckily, it turns out that technology is universal, as is the language, which happens to be English. You just have to speak the words - hard drive, click, email, virus, BIG problem - with a Portugues accent. So we managed to get by, with the help of many beers, and some special software Rodrigo had is his bag of tricks. After of hours of searching and cleaning, 2 packs of cigarettes, and all the beer in my fridge, he found my files hiding in some deep, dark corner of my hard drive. 45 separate folders of Brazil 2006 photos were back, along with my files of writing, research, finances et al. I managed to shoo Rodrigo out the door around midnight, before he passed out, but not before he repeated for the third or fourth time his lecture on the risks of the Internet and the many sneaky Brazilian virus creeping around out there. Obrigada, tcheau.

While problems still abound in my computer world – I still can’t use certain programs, and have lost all my outlook emails and contacts, and I am blogging from a net cafe because my machine won´t let me – I was back in business. My show was on in one week, and I had lots of work to get done - invitations and gallery arrangements, newspaper interviews and production of the exhibition. Ahhh, meaning again on Planet Brazil, gracas a deus.

Since this mini-disaster, I have had a successful exhibition opening in Joao Pessoa, featuring 30 of my best photos of Paraiba – Terra de Luz – do Olho de Estrengeiro (Paraiba – Land of Light – From the Eye of a Stranger). I was lucky-enough to get write-ups in all three of the city’s newspapers, with front-page features and pictures of my photos AND me. Nossa. Now people are recognizing me on the street and saying hello, which is a strange thing, because oftentimes I have felt invisible.

Have a look for youself at a few of peoples’ favorties - above ´Janela ao Brejo´ (Window to the Wetlands) and here to the left ´Conoas Esperando´(Canoes Waiting). More soon, the computer gods permitting.

Getting a Life on Planet Brazil

Alô, Companheiros. Yes, I am still alive and well on Planet Brazil, and back from my trip north to the state of Ceara. Sorry I’ve been so out of touch, once again. I decided I needed to focus on living life here for a while, instead of writing about it. And it has paid off. I have finally landed some volunteer work in Cabedelo, a fishing village and port town up the road from João Pessoa central, and quite a world away from the prosperity of the capital. It’s taken me this long to finally find someone who, when I inquired about volunteer work, didn’t look at me like I was from a different planet. (My theory is that Brazilians are still too focused on their own survival to worry about others quite yet.) Jane, a slight, energetic Brit, runs Cultura Inglésa, an English school, and also a creche (day care center) for poor children in the community who would not otherwise have meals. She arrived on Planet Brazil 25 years ago, accidentally, via sailboat, and managed to make a life here. Over the years, two babies were left on her doorstep, and she took them in; and now she is raising their grandchildren. She says she can use all the help she can get.

So I am teaching English to a class of teenagers, though sometimes it feels more like they are teaching me Portugues. They are timid to speak their new language, afraid of making a mistake perhaps, and of course I identify. But I’ve come up with a contest to encourage them, where they get minus points for Portugues and plus points for English, and the winner at the end of the week gets a homemade CD of ‘Anne’s Rockin’ Americana Mix.’ Fernando, a studious if not teacher’s pet type, won on the first week. And the following Monday, when I asked him how he liked the tunes, and which was his favorite, he stared at me blankly. His classmates started to laugh, and that’s when one boy named Junior ratted him out, proudly, in English: ‘He selled it, he selled it!’ I now picture my offbeat collection of zydeco, NOLA funk, and alt country being pirated and sold on the streets of Cabedelo. Thank god I didn’t put my picture on the cover. Here’s a photo of The English Killers – I had them brainstorm a name for themselves, their first brainstorm ever, and this was better then Junior’s choice – Sons of Satan.(Every class must have it’s Junior.)

I am also I teaching dance and movement classes at two creches, one for toddlers, and another for grade-schoolers. They are having a little trouble with the zydeco step, but love doing the hand dance to Kool & the Gang’s ‘Get Down.’ My favorite student is a boy named Victor who greets me with beijos and abracos and a big smile. He has the rhythm in his blood, and taught me a new dance from the Northeast called the ciranda.

The best part of all this is I now have someplace to go during the day, some purpose in my life on Planet Brazil. Who would have guessed that I would have such trouble lying around the beach sipping caiperinhas all day? On Mondays and Wednesdays, I take the bus, and my camera, and take-in life as a quasi-Brasileira, though I don’t fool the locals. The money–taker on my Cabadelo Directo bus picked me out of the crowd on my first day, and began trying to speak English with me. ‘Goodie day,’ he said proudly. ‘I speaky little English.’

‘E eu falo um poco Português, tambem.’ I replied. Tiago watches out for me now, and we exchange some words whenever we see each other. The other passengers, and the locals in general, still glance over at me, noticing my difference. But they tend to keep to themselves. I am not sure if it is out of respect, or fear, or maybe just a lack of curiosity. But I sense that Brazilians (from the NE anyway) are not so bold, and certainly not very direct. For example, the vendors are not pushy, ever – if you are not interested in their wares, they say thanks anyway and move on, and I appreciate that. Oftentimes this relaxed approach encourages me to call them back and buy their woodcarvings or castnhas or cheese on a stick, even if I’m not too hungry.

Other times, this lack of assertiveness is downright annoying, especially for a pushy Northeastern Americana like me. The other day, on the bus home from Cabadelo, the AC was broken (it’s rare that you get a bus with AC, then when you do, it’s broken). Unfortunately on the AC buses, the windows are sealed shut, so the only vent is a hatch on the roof, but this was closed too. After suffering for 5 minutes, and waiting for someone to get up and do something, I took matters into my own hands. I got up and approached the driver, and asked in my childlike verbless Portugues, pointing up to the roof, ‘Aberto, possival?’ And that prompted a tall man to stand up and help me out. And when the hatch finally popped open, the entire bus breathed a sigh of relief. (It’s officially ‘winter’ here, but the daily temperatures continue to hover around 90.)

Ok, so what’s the bad news? It’s been a tough few months trying to find my way here, trying to fit it, trying to find some friends, trying to get a new language to stick in my middle-aged brain. And now that I am finally settling into a rhythm (forro, not zydeco), I’ve discovered that I have to leave Planet Brazil on June 1! My tourist visa runs out after 6 months, and they won’t let me stay unless I get married or adopt a child. Unfortunately, I am not quite ready to make that kind of commitment to Brazil; but who knows what will happen? Spontaneity is the name of the game here, and I still have 6 weeks to go before I am booted out.

Oxente! (Pronounced ‘Ohsh-ente,’ sometimes shortened to just ‘Ohsh’- in typical a Northeast Brazilian expression meaning ‘O gente’ or ‘O people’, or simply ‘Wow!’)

Sorry I’ve been offline and out of touch for a little while. I’ve been in Carnival recovery. But life on Planet Brazil is finally normalizing again. This morning I awoke at 5 am to the typical feijoada (bean stew) of sounds - the rooster crowing into one ear from the south side of the apartment, and ‘plastic forro’ music blasting into the other ear from a keroke bar on the north side of the apartment. (Carnival may be over, but the Saturday night parties still continue well into Sunday morning here.)

Ah, the romance ofPlanet Brazil. These sounds remind me of an old record I used to listen to as a child, again and again, until I wore out the grooves, and Mom had to tape a nickle to the arm of the record player to keep the needle on track. Side A was sounds of the city – honking horns and scream sirens, police whistles and the banging and hammering of construction; Side B was sounds of the country - pigs and cows and chickens. I remembered preferring the excitement the city to the serenity of the farm. But here, on Planet Brazil, living Edificio Carise, in the Centro, I get it all.

Checkout the view from my apartment onto the lake, with the Pau Brazil trees in full bloom; and on the other side, morning on Rua President Getulio Vargas (ex-dictator). The scenes are beautiful and peaceful from up on the 10th floor. But my lens sometimes conveniently crops out the chaos and sadness of life down below – the trash, the noise, the traffic of horse carts and buses, poor people fishing for food on the lake, the smell of urine as you walk through the park, the poor pregnant mothers everywhere you go, street kids selling their pathetic wears, the 7-year-old shoeshine boy, with his little box over his shoulder, in search of some work, in a place where everyone wears flipflops and sandles. You get it all here on Planet Brazil.

More about the 'faces' of Brazil…when I return from a trip further north to Fortaleza and the beaches of Ceara.