After being in Venezuela for more than a month I guess we can say a lot of different things.

We have seen a country that is divided. People who absolutely despise Chavez’s Plan and those who will always defend him and whoever follows his project.

Santa Elena is by the Brazilian border, so the common things with borders happen. Smuggling ( here specially fuel), tourism and all kinds illegal or bordering illegal activities. Because it is so close to Brazil everything is more expensive than in the rest of the places we have been to.

When I first came to Puerto Ordaz I did not particularly like it. It is true I barely spent anytime there. Then I crossed the country for about 16 hours to be able to reach Choroni, and more specifically Puerto Colombia.

Puerto Colombia is by the sea. We have spent about three weeks there. And as expected from a small place by the sea, life was calm and most of the people liked their lives and the government.

From there we saw the U.S declaring that Venezuela was a threat to them, Maduro starting to rule by decree and even children being asked in school to write to Obama saying “Yankees go home!”. We saw people despise the act and also some who defended Maduro’s request.

We heard about all missions implemented by Chavez ranging from a literacy project first to teach the elderly and then the children. The project of pocket constitutions. Private computers to all children attending school and free internet in all schools. Projects to rent money for micro-projects. Legislation to protect small fishermen and many other things. We verified there were many channels, and internet did not look censored. We felt people spoke freely in the streets since many people screamed out loud about their hatred towards the government, the lack of food, the destruction of the economy, the longs cues to buy food etc.

We were impressed to learn that while the minimum wage was 5,500 bolivares ( about 21 dollars) monthly, there were hotels charging 4,500 a night in an average weekend and charging more than 10 thousand a day for the “semana santa” (easter holidays). We were amazed to see they were filled up by Venezuelans who came for weekends and had made reservations for that week.

In Brazil easter is celebrated from next friday to sunday. But here it started yesterday and will last till the following Sunday. Considering Choroni is small, would be full, and there would probably have lots of traffic jams we decided to leave on Thursday.

It was rather miraculous that we were able to reach Maracay and get a bus to Puerto Ordaz that same day. After 16 hours travelling we were hoping to take a bus on friday to reach Santa Elena today. However, we were told all buses were sold out for that night and that we should come the next day at 5 in the morning to check for buses for that day, considering no one can buy tickets in advance now in Venezuela .

Being unable to find a ticket, we reserved a cab for the following day. The driver’s car broke down and so we went to the station at 10, only to find out that the buses were not running today. Being advised to check again every single day. It is holidays they explained “they might not be running”.

Staying longer made us learn many things. We visited the 200 hectares beautiful park la llovizna where there are huge waterfalls. In fact, we were told, that the river Caroni, one of the rivers in Puerto Ordaz, provides electricity to the majority of the country and even to some parts of Brazil and Colombia.

There is nothing like staying in a big city to realise how much this country has lost. While in little towns people might not see it so clearly here it is screaming at your face. There are some sentences we hear here which are priceless. Our cab driver told us yesterday.

“It is all falling into pieces. We are floating. Do you think I am really a taxi driver? I put a sticker in my car and I drive. That man there is selling what he does not need. There are no jobs. The new laws make it impossible for anyone to hire anyone, one could never fire them even if they did not come to work. So we do anything to float.”

Yet there are malls where the prices are completely un-payble for the average Venezuelan. There are McDonalds, Tommy, Adidas, Burger King, Tinberland, Guess, Victoria Secret etc.

There are hotels that can cost up to 15 thousand bolivares and Venezuelans that stay there.

Ad of course there are “colas” (lines) to buy food. Since the government stipulates prices for some specific items. Those are immediately bought and sold in the black market. So when they are in the supermarket people run there to buy them.

Doctors are free to all, but medicine is not there.

Those who are pro Chavez accuse the market and the US for creating this situation. They consider all that is happening to be part of an economic warfare.

Those who hate Chavez’s project blame the destruction of the industry, the total dependency of oil and the fact that this government has replaced most of the skilled people. While before in the state ran company there were experts on oil now the government has substituted those workers with people who are more aligned with the party but who are not necessarily knowledgeable about the industry.

“We have more oil than saudi Arabia. It is heavy oil and perhaps more expensive to extract, but still these are the greatest reserves in the world. Yet this incompetent and corrupt government has fired those who know how to get it.”

These debates will always be answered by Chavistas saying that “lowering oil that much is part of the economic war.”

People are divided. Venezuela imports 70 %of its food from abroad. They are rich in minerals and oil and the reason why the economy is collapsed is always debated by the different sides. I guess they might all agree in one thing: the situation is dire. The reason for that however varies according to who you ask. It has nothing to do with lack of information but rather with people’s different political views.

I am always amazed when I see these who float to survive. I am amazed because whatever side they belong to every single person I have met here was helpful.

Though they might know very clearly that we are privileged to be able to be travelling for so long, they help the best way they can.

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The first day we walked about ten km. We woke up early but took a long time to leave since Josué decided to make us pancakes. By that time we convinced him to get someone to carry some of the food. Who could possibly carry all those glass bottles of marmalade, plus tents, food etc 🙂

And so we started to walk. We were amazed because around us all was burnt. There were no plantations, nor cattle just burnt ground and fires burning what was left. I asked Josué why was everything burnt.

“It is our tradition.”

“Why, Josué.?”

“To plant Yuka (some kind of manioc)”

“I don, t think you have to cut trees to plant”

“It our indigenous tradition.”

“But Josue, one day there will be nothing left. The ground is becoming petrified and there will be no more rain. What will you do then?”

“Move to another site.”

We all realised there was no way of going further on that topic.

It took us days to understand Josue. He was a boy that was trapped in traditions of the past, lived and wished for a life of the modern world. Above all he also had huge mood swings. He would go from singing Hakuna Matata to total silence.

Maria and I were real therapists trying to always bring him back to a good mood. It usually did not take more than saying Hakuna Matata.

I miss Josue. He tried as much as he could to help us. I guess he was lonely. Trapped in a divided existence. So any concern we showed for his private life would change it all. Like most of us he had huge dreams, no total vision of the whole picture and a form of loneliness.

The second day we walked about 10 km. The ground was always changing. We crossed rivers and went up and down hills.

It was only on the third day that we reached the real Monte Roraima. As we were arriving we passed trees, rivers, and then suddenly we were right in front of that huge Monte. I looked the wall of rocks in front of us and just wondered how could we possibly go up without climbing gear.

Josué who had walked way faster with all this load on his back waited for us.

“You must touch the rock and ask for permission to climb Monte Roraima.”

And so we did. I laid my hands and head on the rock and asked permission and protection for the very few o us who were going up that mountain that day.

Till I reached the third day I thought most people who are healthy and like walking could do it. On the third day however it became clear I knew very few people who would want or would be able to do it.

We started our way up. There was fog, rain, and the water from “la lagrima” (the teardrop fall) falling above us.

The ground changed. We could see granite, crystals and so many other kinds of rocks I don’t know the names of. There were red and blue berries. The blue, Josue warned us should never be eaten.

Our Argentinian friends might have climbed it in less than 3 hours. We took about four. And then we were there. We could barely see anything. The fog was covering it all.

We found our “hotel”. A cave where we sat camp. And then we heard the word, that has been most used the whole time there.

“Despejado”

Which meant we should wait for the brief moments when the clouds had gone and the sky would be clear.

Maybe that is what we always wait in life… Clarity to see how things really are.

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We are back from Monte Roraima. It took us 7 days and I could not even say we had the privilege to rest on the seventh day 🙂

Where should I start? Obviously by the fact that it was totally worth it, beautiful and surprisingly different than what we anticipated.

We had thousands of recommendations before arriving here in Venezuela. I had however always wanted to talk to Meru. Meru was the guide of my Argentinean friends Gonzalo e Carolina. It was hard to reach Meru. As we waited a couple of days we saw dozens of people coming back from Monte Roraima that looked and said were falling apart. They had loved it but they were exhausted. These dozens of people coming down Roraima had gone up during Carnival.

We were also approached by many agents with packages way more expensive than what Gonzalo and Carolina had paid. You have to bear in mind that the economy is collapsing so the inflations is high. So I imagined that was also why prices were so high. So I wanted to talk to Meru. When we finally did she was in Caracas and sent to us her brother, Josue.

Josue is a character on his own and that is why I will write this post in pieces.

We did not have an agent. We spoke to Josue who is part of one of the indigenous tribes of this area. We did not have sleeping bags nor a tent. It would all be provided by him. So since it was soooo much cheaper we decided to go the two of us with him. He would be our guide, and he would be in charge of it all. Food, tent, sleeping bag, and guiding us. We agreed since we knew little about it bur still wanted to go shopping for food with him.

That was a wise thing to do since we eliminated loads of non necessary and heavy things from our food.

And then came the day for our departure. He told us he would be here in our hotel at 7. Well, I guess this did not happen. Considering he insisted we should pay him the full amount before, by 10 we were worried.

Josue however sent whatsapp messages many times and eventually arrived here by two pm.

We were actually happy about it because all this waiting was not wasted. We had a lecture about Venezuelan history and politics. It was taught to us by someone I cannot mention the name but was an economist from Caracas.

One of the best, and most unforgetable sentences he said and I wrote it down was:

“Cuba is a dictatorship. Venezuela is an authoritarian fascist military regime. And the worse part is that is has a social discourse.”

Maybe the most amazing thing of it all is that this very knowledgeable man who knew all about Brazilian politics, the history of Venezuela and Colombia and had never failed in giving dates for revolutions explained that in the beggining he had liked Chavez. As for Maduro he asserted he guesses not even his family might like him.

We were so entertained that the time flew and as Josue arrived we barely noticed what he said. Our driver was from Colombia and hated Chavez. He knew profoundly the ilegal practices around here. Going from mining, tourism and petrol smuggling.

An so we arrived to Josue’s community in Sao Francisco. It was a small village filled by indigenous modern houses.

And then we understood he had managed to reach two other people to come with us.

They were also Argentinians and I was amazed because I decided to ask by chance if they knew Gonzalo and Carolina. They did. They immediately became our friends.

Maria and Mauricio had been travelling in a motorhome for the past 2 years. They worked doing art-crafts and were surviving like that. They explained to us that it was way cheaper and more pleasant than living in Buenos Aires.

Immediately we all realised Josue could not possibly carry all this food plus tent alone. He believed he could. I said I would not carry anything but my bag. Josue always agreed to it all, what would happen after was always a mystery.

Maria and Mauricio were real mountaineers. And were also very skeptic about it all.

And we drove to our first camp site and to out enormous surprise though he added two people he still refused to getting a “porteador”. During the night, the four of us convinced him it was impossible. He needed to get someone else to carry food!

As we sat to sleep in our common space we realised that he might not exactly be that prepared at all.

He told us his dream was to become a singer and travel the world with his songs. That day he did not sing to us but told us that his artistic name was Eddy Frank, which is available on Facebook.

We still had no idea how it would be. All we knew was that we were in a great group. People were peaceful. Friendly and the mountain was empty. Carnival was over.

The first song we heard Josue sing was Hakuna Matata, una forma de ser. Our indigenous guide might have not known much about guiding but he loved the Lion King, Shrek and The simpsons.

We came back alive, happy, well, and laughing a lot.

So if you are as prepared as Maria and Mauricio you can go up alone. If you are like me, better to have Andre, Maria and Mauricio together with you. Otherwise take an agency.

And so we made it. We are in Venezuela!

First we stopped in Manaus and we visited the botanic gardens. It is amazing. There is a tower with more than 40 meters. From it you can see loads of enormous trees around.

The clouds were there and a storm broke out. I was amazed being reminded that the Yanomami say “how is that the white men do not know that if they cut trees there is no rain left.”

So in the middle of the amazon a storm broke out. We could see so well that places where there was no rain there were no trees, and also how much rain was condensed in places where trees had not been cut. I was moved and amazed to be entirely wet by the storm in the middle of the jungle.

But it was time to bid farewell to the lovely family of Dona Lu. We met them in Manaus and they took care of us. I am always amazed by the goodness and warmth of people.

We then took a 12 hours bus ride through the rain forest of the Amazon in order to reach Boa Vista. There we were met by Janio our host in the state of Roraima. He picked us up in the bus stop and took us home.

Today we woke up early and his lovely family prepared us breakfast. They are exceptional people. They are adventists. Janio’s has done amazing things in his life, one of these things is that he rode from Boa Vista all the way to Chile with 50 reais… Which is about 17 dollars! His trip took 11 months. He told us he stayed mainly with people from his church, though he was also helped by non religious.

His father who is a carpenter is 72 and started to run when he was 70. His mother hosted us so carefully. Showed us pictures from the adventist camp where she and her husband had spent this carnival. But once again it was time to bid farewell.

So we took a cab to the border of Brazil and Venezuela. The landscape changed enormously. It became dried flat and eventually enrolled by hills. Eventually we reached the last town in Brazil which is called Pacaraima. There we exchanged all the money we had with us in the black market since once we would have crossed the border the exchange rate would be much less favourable.

With the collapse of the Venezuelan economy and the devaluation of money we were given begs of money. We were told to bring even toilet paper since the country is said by the mass media to be close to a civil
War. Petrol is worth little, and all is missing.

We spent hours to pass the Brazilian border. There was one person working to check people in and out. People who were crossing by car and walking. As usual in a border you see it all. Maybe the most appalling thing was the young lady who wanted to cut the line because she just had had a surgery. Since all of us had patiently waited for a long time we decided to ask her what she needed and what had had happened to her.

She was Brazilian. She looked at us looking for sympathy and very proudly said she had had a complete plastic surgery in her whole body in Venezuela. No. She did not have an accident. It was simply a cosmetic surgery. She wanted for her and her friend/daughter to have the same treatment as the elderly and pregnant women. Namely they wanted to go first. It was somehow hilarious. Especially because everybody was appalled by it. Maybe the most funny is that while she stood there pretending to need help and then she decided to ask us what we were doing in Venezuela.

“We want to climb Monte Roraima.”

She took some time to process the information and then said.

“Why?”

I wished I had said: “for the same reason that you decided to change your whole body. It is because we think it is beautiful.” But I didn’t say that. It was all so out of place that we all did not say anything.

Passing into Venezuela was very easy. We did not see cabs on the other side. Therefore we decided to ask for a ride. Immediately a truck stopped and gave us a lift. This very friendly man brought us to the main square of Santa Elena. There we talked to students and decided to walk to a hotel we had heard of before. It was so far and we walked a lot to find that hotel. It was ok, thought more expensive than we anticipated.

Later we finally met our Venezuelan friends. We met them in the centre. And we found a hostel for half of the price of what we were paying there. We will move there tomorrow.

We met more people and concluded that most people we saw were very nice. We were never asked money for rides. We saw a couple of tanks in the street but the police also did not approach us.

Now we are planning to see La gran Savanna before we climb monte Roraima. If we do not write often it is simply because there is no wifi everywhere.

With love,

Julieta

I am in Sao Paulo with Andre and we are driving to get some gear to get ready for our next trip. It is pretty empty now since lots of people have left yesterday and today to go celebrate carnival somewhere else.

There is carnival here too. I don,t particularly care for carnival. And every single attempt I have had to spend it in Rio made me feel like running away from there in a couple of days. I love Rio, but not during Carnival.

There are loads of people who like Carnival here in Brazil. To me it always feels that the discrimination and difference between social classes which is always part of Brazilian life becomes more latent. Therefore now I try to evade it!

Where should I go I ask Andre considering he cares as little as I do for carnival.

So we come to Sao paulo since we have a plan, we are flying from here. We want to go back to Manaus, which is in the Amazonas state, and from there we want to go from Manaus to Boa Vista. From there we will take the “in”famous BR-174 road. From Boa Vista we should cross to Venezuela in order to climb Monte Roraima.

Monte Roraima also known as Tepuy Roraima and Cerro Roraima is the highest of the Pakaraima chain of tepui plateau in South America.

Most of the people who have been there say it is beautiful beyond belief. It is also tiring to get there and it gets cold during the night, and it is enormously hot during the day. It rains and never anything gets dry there. Does that look like an invitation to come?

On top of that the Brazilian TV shows daily how dangerous is life in Venezuela. I usually dismiss the news from TV. Had I not, I would have never made amazing friends in Palestine, been alone to Kashmir and would have not seen and done so many things in the world. So I usually prefer to talk to those who have been there, or even better to those who are there now.

I ask Gonzalo, who is Argentinian and had come from his country through the south of Brazil in a trailer. He came all the way from the south to the north. He drove to belem, took a fairy and went to Venezuela with his trailer. I asked him whether it was dangerous there now.

“Well, no. I think there is not that much difference between Venezuela and Brazil. You should always use caution. But it is beautiful, and the people are very friendly. I have been here for the past 3 months . You should definitely come.”

After getting information from people all over the place, we decided to go to decathlon, which is a sports/adventure shop in order to get some last items.

As we were driving with open windows, which many people are afraid of doing here in sao paulo because of robberies, we stopped in a red light. Suddenly a man came running towards Andre’s window.

He looks at Andre and says:

” Brother, I am not going to lie. I am an alcoholic. I am missing 25 cents to be able to buy my cachaca (a hard liquor made of sugar cane). Can you please give me? I don’t need more than that. Just my cachaca.””

I am amazed by his honesty. I rush to get the money before the light changes and we have to go. He thanks us enormously.

As he goes we start laughing. So much honesty. I find it is truly admirable. I have seen so many times, new evangelics and “super” religious who drink too much, use drugs, cheat and bit their wives. And still preach how to lead a good life talk so much about honesty and lie, that this guy amazes me.

I remember one more time that my grandmother had once gave money to a woman who lives in the street. She said it was to eat. I was fifteen at the time and told my grandmother “this lady is going to drink”. And so my grandmother said “She said that to make me happy. Once you give something to someone you should learn to really let it go. It is no longer yours. Who am I to decide what is better for that lady. It is a cold day, maybe alcohol might be what she needs.”

I am still amazed by that awareness. Having the position to give is already lots of power you do not need to decide anything for the other too.

I have several times attempted to make people be more conscious. And many times there has been people telling me I should be more conscious. I also have several times heard from wise men and women that we should allow for the others to make their own decisions.

As I told all of this to Andre I realised that that was probably the most honest encounter I had ever had in a carnival period. I remembered being in Rio’s street carnivals singing about the freedom of oppression while poor children were collecting cans to sell. The poor serving once again the privileged singing the equality of all. The blatant discrimination of white rich Brazilians towards the poor.

My sequence of thoughts
are broken because it was time to arrive. We are in Decathlon I should buy almost nothing. I should spare money and should remember I could not possibly carry a heavy bag on my back.

It is hot here, but I do look forward to go back to Manaus. There it is “winter”just as hot as here, or even worse, but it is winter because it rains. I look forward to cross the famous BR 174 for about 13 hours inside of some kind of bus through the Amazon. I am apprehensive about the climb with rain, with nothing that dries, the heat and the cold, the sky, and I am definitely looking forward to it all but specially to meet the Venezuelans of whom so much has been spoken of of TV lately.

Insh’allah nothing will stop my path this time. Whenever I do have internet I will let you know about it.

I felt slightly apprehensive yesterday. Could I drive all the way to the beach alone? When I woke up from being sick in september 2013 I did not speak, read, I hallucinated. It seemed to me that two worlds existed.

I returned to Brazil and was in hospital again. I remember so well my first meeting with Dr. Getulio once I was back from Asia. Though he worked so hard on being gentle. I understood him but I could not focus to explain anything.

I am never tired to explain that I will be forever thankful to Dr. Getulio Dare Rabello. And I know I usually shock him 🙂 It is not even because we agree in our visions of life or medicine. But because that day that I could not speak he tried as he could to give me hope. That day I knew why he was considered the greatest neurologist in Brazil by so many. It is not because of all he has done and is doing. Some people call him Dr. House. He is not Dr. House. Having seen every single episode now I can say that. I like Dr. House. But I adore Dr. Getulio. They are very different people. Dr. House is a work of fiction and Dr. Getulio is real. But if he was real, Dr. House is very lost. Dr. Getulio is in place. Getulio cares profoundly about the well being of the mind and “soul” of his patients. That is why I admire him. It is not just one more case to solve.

Why do I speak about this again is what my father would say now 🙂 It is because recovery comes in stages. And sometimes there are set backs to it.

Once I could verbalise enough I wanted to go back to my old life. I wanted to climb, to drive, to travel on my own and go back to Asia. Every single battle with my dear friend, who is my doctor taught me new things. The process taught me new things.

And so I went alone climbing, went to the Amazon without plan. I came to the beach alone, I swam in open water. Every single decision of this left me apprehensive. Could I die there? Till I did the action.

I remembered that Annette Karmiloff-Smith in the baby lab in London once said she felt concerned about how parents treated their children once they discovered they had a condition. Sometimes their extra protection created new problems. I thought about that a lot. So in spite of the general concern I did those things.

My mom met Dr. Getulio in the hospital this week. I missed him because I was with my grandmother. I lamented missing him because we always debate the basis of our very different beliefs.

I was not in hospital it was my grandmother who was. She did not want to go. And seeing her for days made me realise she was definitely not well. I bought lots of coconut water to see if she would improve and then realised she was not well. So I asked her whether she wanted to go to hospital. She said she was OK. I said something that shocked my cousin.

“Grandma, the indigenous say life does not stop because the heart beats weekly or strongly. It stops when the air stops being there. I know you are 90 and maybe you are tired of life, but if you are not tired of life and you want to live I believe we have to go to the hospital. If you are tired, just let me know so that awarengly we stay here and wait.”

So we went to the hospital and I discovered that one of the things that most kills the elderly is dehydration. My grandmother had Dehydration. So if you realise someone is not breathing, is loosing balance, has head-aches, etc it might all have been associated to dehydration.

The heat in sao paulo is enormous. So is the loss of rain. It is very frightening. There is no rain in winter in Brazil. The rainy season is in summer. It will be the second year without rain. We were never concerned about long showers. Now there is almost no water to wash one’s hands. As usual poor people are more affected by it. Good neighbourhoods don’t feel it so much. Yet everybody is concerned about it.

The air feels dry. Sao paulo is a huge concrete jungle. So as soon as my grandmother was better I decided to go back to the beach. There it must rain, or at least there will be more wind.

And then I took my yet to be braver decision after being sick. I decided to drive alone to my beach house.

Dr. getulio told me once I could not loose more neurones and that I should spare my guardian angel. He does not believe in the existence of a guardian. The sentence meant I should use more caution. I explained to him there was no possible thing that he would say that would make me miss less Asia. All doctors I know consider my recovery miraculous. Yet I am not prepared to abandon the life that I enjoy living. Set backs should teach you things, not stop you.

I confess I was concerned. I barely told anyone about my plan. I simply packed and went. I even thought maybe I would no longer know the way. After all I did loose neurones. My concern lasted till I reached the road. Then I drove.

So many thoughts came to my mind. Body perception and analysis come from different parts of the brain. We should not follow just dopamine nor just and idea. We should just choose the middle path in that too. The observation of all.

And as I drove I went through the path without thinking. I remembered my Phd. Once I realised without thinking I remembered it was embodied. I did not need to think about it consciously. Just like i don’t need to think about how to drive, or play, or do yoga or ride a bike. The process of embodying knowledge is amazing.

As I rode I was shocked by the fact that the path I naturally took seemed unfamiliar. It felt like that for seconds. I decided to not feel nervous, but to observe why was that the case. I realised. There was no water in the rivers nor lagoons and some changes in the road. I felt happy it made sense.

The coast between Rio and Sao paulo is called the green coast. We call the road that leads the top of the state of Sao Paulo to the sea Serra. The city of São Paulo is located on a small plateau, over the mountains from the Atlantic Ocean. It is above 750 meters above the sea level. We call it Serra because it means Saw. The green coast has mountains that look like a carped saw. So we have to go down one of the mountains to reach the beach.

It literally means to go around a mountain.

As I entered the Serra I was amazed. Every single time I am amazed by the beauty of it. When you drive you really have to pay more attention. You go trough a rain forest that has many trees and sometimes bamboos and sometimes you are just next to the sea. From the mountain you see it.

The sky was blue. The rainforest beautiful. I was once again amazed by it. My concern had long time ago disappeared.

As I arrived here I was met by the same heat but there was more wind. I sat to drink loads of coconut water in the Kiosque where I know everyone. They told me that here it does not rain here either.

It was too hot do do yoga. I waited for the sunset. I did yoga while the sun was leaving the sky painting the sky in soft coulours.

It was the best practice ever. I could do so much that I couldn’t do before. I had heard a dog barking far away. I meditated. I practiced hearing the sea and with closed eyes. For such a long time I did it. And suddenly as I was doing a rather hard variation of an Asana that dog came and licked me. I decided that that meant I should stop. I sat holding the dogs beating heart and meditating. He stood there with me.

For a long time we stood there calmly seeing the waves. His owner called him nervously. He peed in front of my house and went after him.

I was brought back to thinking. I thought of tibetans and neuro-science. As he barked close to his owner I thought he had embodied that behaviour. The man was hyper. Buddhist say it is all about practice.

Close to the sea I was brought back to the rhythm of nature. I slept deeply. As I woke up knowing I had reached deep sleep I felt joy.

I decided to write because we must share what we have learned. Recovery comes in stages. Treating the other as a sick person slows there recovery enormously. Lack of patience with one’s own time too.The greatest exercise is to calm one’s mind.

If you can try to be close to the nature it always helps.

Ps: I fully recommend the book the monk and the philosopher by mathieu ricard and revel.

Sometimes I wonder whether those of us who have run all over the world can ever feel really in place. My abandoned book was supposed to be called “Inbetweeners” and then as the time passed it became “Mosaic, the path in between.”

There was a reason for that. I felt that as broke and scattered we all become through life we should attempt to make a work of art of that of whom we had become. Maybe in that title though I spoke of a path as in an homage to Tao and Buddhism I always also searched for home.

HH Dalai Lama has a famous quote that goes something like ” Give to those you love wings to fly, roots to come back and reasons to stay.” In Betweenners might have no roots or maybe they have too many. I am not sure.

Some people tell me one should feel at home wherever they are. I find this beautiful but to me this idea is possible simply for higher beings like HH Dalai Lama. As the average human being I find home in others. And what can you do when those are so spread all over the world. I realise attributing roots to people will always lead you to profound experience of the impermanence of life.

I have a profound relationship to very specific people. Mark, my dear friend from my Phd, in his brilliancy and deep knowledge of it all and of my own sorrows feels like home to me. Sabrina and Laura searching different paths in different places and fields all over are home to me. Andrey with the absolute goodness of his soul is what I take to be one of the most admirable human beings I know. He makes me feel at home. Adriana and Mariana in their cruel laughter feel like home. Leila should arrive here soon to expose photographs that she has collected of those who are like us…. in Betweeners. Leila is home to me. Mustapha who has taught us to really see people feels like home. So are some specific indigenous, and tibetans I know. They taught me it was fundamental to learn how to differentiate things, to not say yes to it all, to observe what you import in. They seem to propose that compassion might be sometimes cruel.

How could that be? It is because they attempt to bring consciousness to one. Being aware is way far from a pleasant thing. Yet it is the path to responsability.

There is no pride in being an inbetweener. There is no field. There is no country. There is no language. There are encounters. Values. Respect. And when we encounter one, we simply know it. I actually know many. They recognise it in me. I recognise it in them.

Should life be movement? I am not sure. How do we accept the impermanence of things in life?

Sometimes I feel we have become entirely indifferent to it all. What we call freedom seems like indifference to me. I guess it is easier this way.

I arrived in NY a few days before 911. I saw two wars being fought. I decided to learn about the middle east. Then I became friends with Palestinians and Israelis and so many other middle easterners. And then I started to go there. And then to Asia. Even if you feel the Middle East is Asia it is not. And suddenly the west seemed to import itself there. In its worse version.

I honestly never know why I write till I sit and write. And as i stopped to think of the simultaneous feelings I feel now I realise this post comes from two places.

A message of love from someone I met years ago and who like me misses Asia. Someone who feels also out of place.

And from Charlie. I am not Charlie. I suffer for his death, but I suffer even more by imagining how much harm it will be done to muslims because of that horrible act.

I once sat in a talk by an Iraqi. The war against iraq had just started. He was a student at Harvard and he spoke of laughter. I still remember it. “Humour is the last refuge of pain.”

That man had done Medicine in Syria. Then he was in Harvard while libraries were being flooded, museums robbed, the country destroyed. Could I even speak of the population?

I sit here and think what would he say now? When Damascus, Allepo and all that he has touched no longer exists?

I think of Edward Said. The great palestinian author who has written many books, but I think of the book “Covering Islam”. He asserted in that book that this is exactly what people do. They cover as in they put something over it, so that it makes it impossible for the outsider to understand that Islam goes through a huge area. There is no way of speaking of Muslims in an unity.

So, I think of my dear Muslim friends who come from all over the world. Some of which embody literally the word Islam. Islam means peace.

And because I respect peace I cannot support the murdering of anyone. Nor can I endorse discrimination. I cannot do it in any form.

That is why sometimes I wonder whether those of us who have run all over the world can ever feel really in place. Can we even feel in place when those arounds us abide by a distant past that has not been experienced by anyone living?

I breathe in and try to remember it is all impermanent. I breathe out and hope for peace. Internal and external. Then, I realise my book should be re-written. It should be called Mosaic of Inbetweeners.

—

Till very recently I had never known who Gabriel Medina was. Till very recently I missed Asia every single second. A mountain was my only idea of getting close to Asia. Any mountain.

And then I crossed Brasil looking for the sacredness of India. I was not able to see it. I am sure it is here. I just could not enter it. Maybe I lacked the right keys, I thought.

And so I came to the beach to appease my lonely soul. I remembered that it was here that I had started to really heal just after I got sick. At first it was an impossible idea. It was Impossible for my brain and for my body.

Then this time as I was appeasing my soul I heard about the final of the surfing world tour that is taking place. I found out that Gabriel Medina, Mick Fanning and Kelly Slater were in it.

“Still Kelly Slater, really?”

I confess it meant little to me. I could not possibly understand that KS would still care about winning a championship. And so my mind flew back to Asia again.

I remembered that changing colours in artial marts was a western thing. In Asia first they wore white till they were told to wear black. And that change simply meant one had become a student.

I also remembered that most tibetans and nepalis I met had no desire to reach the top of a mountain.

What was it about waves? Did the balinese really care? As usual, I am lucky, and though I still do not know the answer, I meet in my path a surfer that like me loves Asia. Differently than me it is because of waves. I ask him why. And he said:

” I love the adrenaline of surfing”.

I was appalled by this answer. I asked him about Gabriel Medina and he actually knew Gabriel since he was a child.

He is friends with Charles, who is Medina’s step father. He tells me it is because of Charles that Medina started to surf. It is because of him that he developed as much as he did.

“He is brilliant, absolutely amazing. But without the support of
Charles he would probably have never known.”

“But is he now only surfing in competitions? It is also simply for the dopamine of it.”

“Ju, in these competitions he has the chance to take the greatest waves in the world almost alone.”

“Do you think he will keep doing it after he is 40? Just like KS? ”

“No. Gabriel is a nice guy. He is calm. I guess he will do it for some years and then he will just do it because he loves it. I don’t think he wants to be in competitions forever”

My new friend surfed with Charles, Medina’s stepfather, in Peru and many other places, that is why Charles could see the talent in the 9 year old boy who had become his stepson.

How about you? Where did you surf?

“Fernando de Noronha, Peru, Hawai, so many places, but now I spend must of my time in Indonesia.”

He cannot believe I have spent so little time there. He offers to teach me how to surf. I am divided by the fact that I am reading about what is happening in Cuba and Israel.

” There is nothing that you can do about the M.E! Come to the sea, let me teach you.”

And so I go. I absolutely hate the idea to get addicted to something simply for the adrenaline of it. But I go.

I do not know how to surf. But the sea is beautiful. The paddling is brilliant. The peace that you feel is incredible. I try to stand still. I can do it and then I fall..many many times.

My friend tells me I need to catch a wave. I actually don’t want. I like my yoga like movements in the board. I feel peace. Like I could feel in a Mountain. So much time goes by. So many waves. And then suddenly, I am taken by a wave. I fall.

I go out. I sit in the sand. My new friend wants me to really catch a wave. I don,t want. Not now. All of it brings me peace. And as I sit to write this I hope the world surfing final is going well.

Deep down I wish Gabriel wins and then that he will not become KS. I hope he will be able to enjoy the sea without being always in a pressure, in a ego trip.

I realise it is a Tibetan Buddhist thought. I guess my non existing self will always miss Asia. I am even ready to go back to Indonesia especially because now I want to find out whether the balinese surf or not.Medin

Rio always amazes me. In one hand the beach is a democratic place where all classes can meet. On the other hand I usually see more discrimination here than I do in Sao Paulo.

Please do not understand that as an example of the typical rivalry there is between people of these two cities and states. As I have once said people do not even feel I am from Brazil here. They usually assume I am a foreigner.

There are reasons for that. Lucia, my cousin, helps me to realise what they are. I do not speak as loudly as brazilians do, I have incorporated Asian gestures into my behaviour and I mis-construct sentences. They are still understood but for people it feels like I am a foreigner. Apparently, I also dress differently than people do here. I guess it is a reflection of all that I have collected from the world.

I would add to these list some other things. I have been in a coma. I never accepted constructed borders as real separations. And I deeply admire Buddhist Tibetan values.

Having said that. I want to tell you what I saw here in Rio.

I entered a little shop where they sell newspapers and other little things. These shops are very little, and they usually stand in the middle of a sidewalk. As I went in there were 5 boys there. The eldest could not be older than 8 years old. All of these boys were looking at sweets.

As I entered the little shop I stood quietly behind them just listening. I kept seeing them choose what they could or not afford to buy. Like any group of boys they spoke loudly and “cursingly”. Yet I still felt it was a total act of actual thinking about of all of them. They were looking to see what they could afford to buy so that everybody could have something.

The owner was furious at them for being there. He told them to disappear. I was quiet, and when the little boy saw me, he apologised for taking so much time to buy things. I told them that was ok. I was not in a hurry and that I thought they should look well at what they wanted to buy. The man shouted at them. One of the boys looked at me and said:

“I am sorry. He is mistreating me because I am black and poor.”

I was so shocked. And said:

“No. I think he is just worried because you are young boys.”

” Moça, I am sorry we kept you. But it is always like that. It is because we are black and poor. They all do that.”

” Well then they are wrong! Please believe me, not everybody in the world thinks like that.”

The owner told them to go away. I went out to say the same words again. Then I went back in to talk to the owner of the shop.

“How could your treat them like that?”

“You don’t know them. Have you heard what they were saying? ”

“Yes. It is a reflection of what they hear. They are a group of boys full of energy and testosterone. And all that they have said was a reflection of being mistreated. And now you are part of that too.”

” Don’t you think about me? I don’t care about them. You are obviously not from Brazil.”

” I actually do think about you too. Now you feel angry, and they feel once again marginalised. I am from Brazil, I guess I feel this way because of the Tibetans I have met.”

“This is not Tibet.”

” It is the same in Tibet or in Palestine, or here or anywhere you are. You build reality around you.”

He was furious. I was calm. He told me to tell him of an example of it in brazil.

So, I did, it was my last one.

“Not even a month ago. I was told by a cab driver that I should not use my Iphone in the streets in Belem because I could be robbed. The following day I was looking for the house of the 90 years old grandmother of my friend and got lost.

I took my phone to see google maps. I stopped and when I looked back, there were two men. One was armed. I stopped to think. If i cross this avenue I could be killed by a car. If I keep here they are going to rob me. I could run or I could think like a Tibetan. What would a Tibetan do?

So, I turned around and walked in the direction of the two men. I am not sure if a tibetan would do that. I am sure that they say that once you are conscious of a harm that could be inflicted on you it is your responsibility to prevent it. Ideally you should do that in a way that would change their way of thinking. Tibetans believe you must do that not because of you but for compassion towards the other.

So I walked calmly and never showing them I knew one of them was armed.

‘Sorry guys, could you help me? I am looking for the house of the grandmother of my friend. She told me to visit her. Google maps seems to be failing me. Do you know where is this street that I am looking for?

They were shocked. The armed man psaid he was not from there.

‘Wow then you are as lost as me. Thank you anyway.’

The other guy said

‘I think you were going in the right direction. We came from the other side and it is not there.’

I looked at both of them in their eyes, and said thank you.

I was calm. I turned around just as they decided to cross the road to the other side. At that moment I actually feared for their lives. It was a huge avenue, where there were cars coming from both sides. I walked silently till I found a petrol station. I went in and I bought something to drink and eat, then I told people there what had had just happened to me. The woman said

“Are you crazy! Why did you not run?”

” I guess because that would have made him feel like an aggressor one more time.”

An old man looked at me and before she said anything again he said:

“You are very wise. You have actually transformed an aggressive moment in a dangerous place, into a possibility of goodness.”

I told all of this to this man in this shop here in Rio.

“See, he was not Tibetan, nor am I. I think of you. I think that each action like this one towards these boys is harming all of us.”

I hear a knock. I am heaving a shower.

“Julieta, could you possibly open the door, I really want to show you something.”

It is Dona Janira the 90 year old grandmother of my dear friend Rafaela.

“Are you ok Dona Janira, I am under the shower. Give me a second.”

“No it is ok. I wanted to show you my dress.”

I actually rush to get out. I think it is so cute. She had told me her grandson was getting married in another state. She had told me she would be walking before the bride.

I open the door naked and wet and she is so happy to be able to show me her dress.

“What do you think?”

“It is beautiful! ”

Vera her daughter, tells me it is not the right colour but she is fixing it, so that though it is kind of pink it will look better. I am actually amazed by it all.

I am in Belem. Bethlehem of Brazil. As they call it, it is the city of mangoes. Mangoes I know, but the variety of fruits in Belem astonish me.

My whole mission to come all the way here was to see Dona Janira. She is so healthy, so active that it mesmerises me.

She is appalled I barely eat. I am appalled they eat too much. And so we laugh. And I sit to hear her life. Rafaela, my friend had told me she loved telling stories. And it turns out that to me she tells me stories of her life that neither Vera nor Rafaela knew about. And so many days later I sit here armed with my notes to be able to accurately tell what Dona Janira has told me.

It is the story that precedes all that they know because Rafaela and Vera are descendants from Frederico.

It goes like this..

“I had a boyfriend. His name was Raimundo. We were together from very early on. My father hated him because he was no one. And so he beat me. And i kept dating him no matter what.”

“Dona Janira were you hurt? How did you date?”

” Yes, I was very heart. I still have marks on my back from that. After my mother died when I was 11 my father became even more protective. At the time we dated through letters. We saw each other rarely. It was a very different time.

One day Raimundo got a job that made him be far for 3 months at the time. And he was so jealous that he always thought I would get another boyfriend. I always told him
it was absurd. And then in the brief time we had together we had huge fights. I was so beaten by my father but I still could bear it. But my fights with Raimundo because of jealousy was too much. So one day I decided to break up

Even before my father had died I was already living with my uncle and aunt. They liked Raimundo. But his jealousy scared me so much. And when my father died he proposed.

“What did you say dona Janira?”

“I said. ‘Are you crazy. Of course not. My father would suffer from heaven’. I returned all of his letters and that was the end of it. We were together for almost 10 years. Soon after that he died.

” And what happened?”

“My family was friends with Adamastor. I liked Adamastor. He took all of us to parties in our city but he never really wanted to be with me.”

“How did you know ?”

” Well, you could not show. So, I went to the parties hoping he would say something. After many parties he brought Frederico.”

” And what happened ?.”

“Frederico invited me to dance and from the first dance he simply never let my hand go. I kept looking at Adamastor. I could see that He ha become sad. But I could not do anything. And I guess, nor could he.”

” Dona Janira but did you like him?”

“Yes. But there was nothing to be done. Frederico never left my hand again. He became my boyfriend. And then he proposed”

“How was Frederico as a husband ?”

” Frederico was wonderful. He never hit his children or me. He always brought me a gift. When there was not that much money he brought me a chocolate and used to say ‘Janira, there is too many people here, this is just for you. Keep it for you.”

I sat there for hours hearing dona Janira. Her secrets kept from her family. I naturally asked her if I could tell it. She told me I could, these were old stories, they were not very important. She said she had had a happy life.

She showed me her natural home medicine. Insisted I should eat more. And she was amazed that I had to go so fast.

It was moved to see the amount of care that Vera, her daughter, destines to her every single day. Dona Janira’s concern with her grandchildren.

She told me

” You are like Rafaela. In love with the indigenous, with little stories, and with seeing the world.”

I felt grateful for her thinking I was like my dear friend. Someone who I admire.?And for her to recognise our admiration for the little things of life though she did not understand it.