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.

It is early. It is hot. Billy has just left to teach. I am having breakfast in a little ” kiosque it is in the middle of a street. I like it.

I look around, hearing the people. It is so different than Sao Paulo. Belem is the city of Mangoes. It is in the north of Brazil. They have a dance called Carimbó.

I am eating tapioca, something like a pancake made of the root of cassava. It is common to eat this in the north and northeast. I love it. I am drinking coffee which for the first time has no sugar. I am happy. I am wondering where should I go next? And suddenly I hear from very far away bla bla bla bla netanyahu.

I stand up and walk towards the tv. I stop in silence. Of course, they also think I am Israeli. My phone vibrates. It is from the middle east. I ask my dear friend Michal what has really happened? She is in Jerusalem. I am in Belem.. Bethelehem in Brazil.

I immediately ask my Palestinian and Israeli friends what had really happened in Jerusalem.

I did not fully understand the news on TV, but also a life in academia leaves one always skeptical of papers and news.

I had many different answers on fb. I expected that. I feel so much sadness. An internal attack , it is not the first but I know what it means. It is very different than an attack from Gaza or the WB.

I knew unification of Hamas and Fatah was precisely what had unleashed the last Gaza war.

Could two states ever be possible? I feel so much sadness. It was never meant to be possible. I think of my friends. Who are suffering. I think it is hard to be objective when you are afraid. I think it is impossible to have peace under oppression. Anywhere in the world. I see it here. I see it there.

I look for the voice of a man I respect. Uri Avnery. He who has survived nazism, who has fought for Israel. He who was part of the Knesset and who was the first Israeli to meet Yassert Arafat.

No one can say he is a self hating jew, so they say he has lost his mind because he is old. I always search for him. I finally read him hours ago. So if you want to know about jerusalem through the voice of someone who has lived all sides, here it is.

You can find it in other languages in Gush Shalom.

http://zope.gush-shalom.org/home/en/channels/avnery/1416602494/

Love,
Jules

I just arrived in Belem. I love boats. I met the captain and every single boat “driver” of this boat. There are 6. They work for 4 hours at the time. There are always two people working together at the same time.

From the moment I met one I stayed there on this riding cabin most of the time. Learning all there is to know about a life in a boat and all about this place. The north of Brazil.

The state of Amazonas and the state of Pará are kind of rivals. This does not seem to be a violent thing. It is shown by jokes. Most of these jokes are sexual. In this boat most of the songs were sexual too.

We left Manaus and took the Rio Amazonas, then we passed by Rio Tapajós, and rio Jaburu. I was told we floated for 920 nautic miles, which I was told is about 3 thousand km.

We passed by Parintins, juriti,obilis, santarem, monte alegre, prainha, almerim, gurupá, breves and eventually we finally arrived in belem

Some things are so ironic. Like Moises who is an atheist and hates religion. Senhor Antonio who is older and is evangelic. Marcio who was raised very poorly, and told me in details of the poverty he had experienced in his life as a child. I heard 6 tales from inside of the captain “driving” place.

I definitely do not know the terms used to call places that are inside of a boat, nor do I know what they call the actions that they do there. I don’t know it in English nor even in Portuguese. But I do know some of their lives and thoughts.

All of them are incredibly chauvinistic. They cannot even imagine that their wives could have male friends. All is about sex. Almost all of them have children. Multiple children by different people. Men have this ludicrous idea that only men have affairs. Through women you realise that in this generation, at least, it is different. They all do whatever they want.

You also realise that this might be an older thing. There are of course old legends. Like the legend of the boto, that states the boto ( a dolphin from the river) becomes a man and seduces women. They are responsible for unexplainable pregnancies. I sat for days in this boat and they told me these stories, that were told to them by their grandmothers and apparently these boys seemed to believe in them.

One of the most beautiful things I have seen since I came this way is the “estreito de breves”. It crosses “Ilha do Marajó”. I was told that ” Ilha do Marajo” was the largest archipelago of the world. I did not believe it at first.. But since we spent 12 hours to cross it, I changed my mind. It could be. I guess, I should research it. Great or not it is so beautiful. There is soo much vegetation, little houses.. Life in general.

There is something that shocked me. Children from these little houses take a canoe and come to our huge boat. They jump into them in an incredible manoeuvre to sell palmito. They also take clothes as gifts.

I spent lots of time inside of the place from where they conduce the boat. Since I do not know the right name of these places, I call it the captain place 🙂

Lots of time had passed since the little boat had come towards us, lots of time had passed since I had seen these little children climbing our boat, and suddenly as I was looking the trees this little girl came desperately towards me. She cried out loud that all her sibblings had jumped out, and she was left alone.

She was desperate, begging for someone to let her out in any boat. I searched for senhor Antonio, the older man from our crew. I asked her wether I could hold her. I did it. Her heart beat so hard, so fast and when I let her go she was crying. They found her a canoe to go in. A total stranger took her.

I sat quietly and I was so shocked. Women were angry.

“How could a mother let a 9 year old work? Put their lives in danger?”

I sat hearing the women talking about it angrily and I prayed she would not be raped in another house. The lady next to me, a lady from here was sad like me, she told me a worse tale. Something that had happened in another boat. It was about a mother that had ignored all women in another trip.

They were all telling her to not let her young child climb the boat. The mother told them to leave her alone. They took the child out from climbing several times. Yet the child fell and disappeared.

Then she was desperate. Women were furious.

I sat in silence and when I stood up to go up we hugged.
—

No one believes I am brazilian. Even when I show them my brazilian ID, they still look suspiciously at me.

I arrived here and decided to go to the house of Dona Janira, the grandmother of my friend Rafaela. She is 90.

Some part of me feels sad to leave the boat. I like these boats, the life you see so naturally unfolding.

I never will be able to write all that I have seen. I think the whole time about Andrey, my russian friend from my PhD who was here years ago. I always think he is write. Somehow people tell me the detail and secrets of their lives.

I feel blessed by this. I feel an enormous feeling of thankfulness to these people. I feel a thousand of different emotions seeing life so open like that in front of me. I feel alive.

I guess now it is time to leave this port. It is time to start a new path.

I am again inside of a boat. This time I am going to Belem. There is so much I have learned in the other boat. That time I spent 8 days in the river Solimoes. That boat was destined to go to the triple frontier. So I was briefly in Colombia.

I flew back to Manaus, and ironically I could see more of the amazon from a plane than from inside of the Amazon itself. I guess we can always see better things from a distance :).

My first boat was a boat that carried goods. It was huge, there I met Mr. Manuel who taught me so much. Not only he was 70 and his whole family were boat people, but he had also taken J. Cousteau in the eighties through the amazon.

He taught me about the trees in the Amazon, the rivers, the people, his life and he even told me that BR 174, the road that links Manaus to Venezuela was built by the Brazilian army which was composed by many indigenous people. In this construction part of two indigenous groups, the Waimiri and the Atroari were killed.

There is so much that I have learned there that I thought this boat here (where I am in now) was kind of boring. The first boat brought it all to those who lived in the small villages of the state of Amazonas. Those villages are basically separated from the rest of Brazil. This boat here, where I am in now, goes the other way, it returns to the northeast of Brazil. It is a boat mainly destined to the transportation of people. Apparently, when it returns to manaus it also brings goods back.

Of course, my dislike of this boat was entirely deconstructed by the fact that next to me is a Cuban who had escaped his country and had an amazing story to tell about his life. To my other side is a man who works for Belo Monte, the huge hydroelectric that is being built here.

I hate Belo Monte for all that it represents, the destruction of the Amazon, its animals and its indigenous peoples. But I kept quiet as I heard the tale of a man who can’t find a job anywhere else.

I heard in details what Altamira was like. He called it “an eldorado”. A world in itself. Brazilians are so opened in explaining how their marriages have collapsed, how much they look for a new family that I could write several books by now.

Sometimes I feel they are very lonely and that they do not have who to tell these stories to. So, I hear quietly the tale of a man who was abandoned by his wife, and who now searches a new life in Belo Monte.

To the other side there are evangelic women who have been to Israel in a religious trip. They are kind, and have taught me a lot about the bible.

I go up to meet my captain. He is friendly, young an beautiful. We are in the Rio Amazonas. First I miss mr. Manuel who was so knowledgeable. Only till I go down to go out in our first stop. There are not that many things to deliver, nor anyone leaving the boat. But I go down anyway to buy fruits.

My new captain comes down and explains me a lot of things. He offers me Biju a cracker made of some kind of cassava, and nuts that is typical from here. I find it nice since it is quite salty.

Then I make a new young friend. She is 18 and and she has a two year old daughter. Her own mom is in the boat and is pregnant of her 4th husband. I understand everyday a little more how sexuality is active in this part of Brazil. I also understand how much the evangelic church is growing.

The boat stops again. Now there are nuts coming in. I go down to observe. The “policia Federal” is there. I watch for a while and eventually go up to a policemen to ask him why are they here for.

This beautiful policemen, is polite, and explains to me that through the rio amazonas comes lots of drugs. I ask him where is it that cocaine is produced. He tells me it is inside of peoples houses.

And so I meat Mr. Antonio. He is older and used to be the captain of this boat. He is about to retire. He explains loads of things. For instance, that the factories are in the middle of the amazon. He tells me so much in details. He is also part of the evangelic church. He reminds me of Mr. Manuel.

I write little because lately I live more. There is so much to tell but I guess now is time to eat. I already like this new boat.

I can’t forget to tell one thing. I met a 54 year old man who is going to Santarem to put the ashes of his wife there.

She died when she was 47. She had Lupus. He explains to me that this was her last wish. He tells me about his whole life , how it had been to have been married to a woman that had an autoimmune disease. How many years he had passed time going to hospitals. I am so moved hearing him speak. I recollect myself and ask.

“Had you known she would get sick would you have not married her?”

He knows I had been sick and is not offended by my question. He looks at me and says

“Of course not. I knew very early on she was sick. I have been with her through it all. I would not have changed anything at all. I miss her every single day. I do not regret a single moment. I love her.”

4th day.

We woke up in Sao José do Amparo. Last night I felt really cold, it rained a lot, and during the night there was a lot of wind coming inside of the boat.

I slept in pants, socks, long sleeves, scarves and a rain jacket.

Yesterday it was actually quite interesting but I ll tell first the beginning of today. I was told this little village where we stopped was very intriguing. They were a sect.

Since we had 2 hours there for the delivery of goods I went up.

Literally up since you actually have to climb stairs to reach this little village. It was 5 am and from the boat I could see the population coming to buy goods. I asked from the people whether I could see the village. They told me I could. I went up, people of all ages sat in front of the church. It had a huge name.

Associação missao ordem cruzada catolica apostolica evangelica- templo de deus vivo

There were many people sitting in front of the church, they were dressed in white clothes. I asked whether I could go in. They told me I could. Men in the boat, huge men were shocked I entered that church. I asked about the church to the people and they told me to talk to the priest. And so they took me to his house.

I said hello to the priest and told him I would like to know about his church. I was honest and told him I was curious.

He was a man of few words. The village was particularly different. I asked him

“How is this church ?”

“Like others.”

“I am honestly curious. It is not common to see a church that is at the same time catholic and evangelic.”

“It is the same.”

“Which book do you use?”

“The bible.”

“Do you have baptism?”

“Yes in the river when they are 11 or 12”

“Oh, so when they are born nothing really happens?”

“Yes. Circumcision.”

I was so fascinated. It seemed judaism, catholicism and evangelism together.

“How about the symbols?”

“The eye means we are being watched. The hand is peace. The book is the bible.”

I realised he would not tell me anything else. I had understood enough. The most I could understand in such a small time.

A little girl came up with us to the boat. She was the strangest girl I have eve met. She looked the whole time to Martin, the Uruguayan who was travelling with me.

The words of a new friend that lives in Boa Vista came to my mind.

“This area is a strange place. It is quite common for fathers to have sexual relationships with their daughters.”

Though he studied in the same school I have studied in Sao paulo, a french school, I thought he was exaggerating.

Only till I had a conversation with the little girl. She was also a secretive girl. She said few words, and simply because I asked questions. I have met children all over the world. Some of these children were badly treated, others were very well treated. It was the same in this boat. They all fell in the category of normality. This girl was so different.

She was 12. Responded almost without words. She was moving to live with her uncle. She was informed about it that day. Because I asked her, she said she was happy. I did not believe. I tried soo hard to talk to her and she simply barely spoke. She simply asked me whether my Uruguayan companion was my brother. The way she said it, made me certain she was abused.

I went to Angelica, the lady who became my friend and who works in the boat to ask about it. I was expecting her to say I was wrong. But she said.

“I want to become a lawyer to defend all women who have been abused. It is common in Amazonas for men to take the virginity of their
daughter. In Manaus they would put the men in prison, they would beat them up, but here it is common. If she is moving to live with her uncle it is much worse.”

I am now in Tabatinga. My internet connection is poor. I will write about what it was like to be in a boat for 8 days. I saw millions of things, I experienced a thousand of emotions. I love the boat,I made friends, my captain Mr Manuel is a kind man. He is evangelic so we obviously disagreed in thousands of things. But as usual I was protected, and learned a million of things. I’ ll write more from Manaus. The place I have friends, and have learned to miss.