Thank you all for helping make this year so wonderful. Here's a video to share some of the memories. Happy New Year!
Love,
Hilary and Dog Jensen
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Muito obrigada: Thanksgiving in Jericoacoara
One expectation I had returning to Jericoacoara was that it would be as windy as it was in October. But, in contrast to previous years according to the locals, mid-November and December had lighter and more variable winds while I was there. It was definitely lighter than October. There was lighter wind and there were bigger waves, which made for a new challenge.
It was really fun to take the waves coming in. You have to put your foot in the back foot strap and carve up and down the wave like a snowboarder. The waves were pretty big and felt a bit like a gauntlet when I was headed away from shore. I would often go out and stay on the “outside” so I wouldn’t have to be pummeled by the shore breaks. Going out on waves that are coming in means you have to sheet out, balanced with having enough speed so you keep your momentum to go out. You also need to time your speed as much as you can with the breaks in the waves. If the wave is big enough and breaks in front of you, it’s that much harder to sail over. The wind dies momentarily too with the wave’s crest. And, the reason I’m going into this detail is because it also explains a little about my first “serious” injury windsurfing. I had to stop sailing as of Tuesday last week.
I was getting better at the waves and feeling confident and strong. A big wave broke in front of me and I had too much speed. I was catapulted up into the air. I must have looked pretty funny with my rag-doll arms spread-eagle. I closed my eyes as I fell back down. My board had turned upside down. My foot hit something and I thought I had broken a toe. I looked for an injury but saw nothing. I felt an intense pain, but with a few swares and the encouragement of more waves pummeling me (over and over), I kept sailing. When I finally reached the beach, I noticed my foot was bleeding. Unfortunately, I had a very deep long cut between my third and my fourth toe. When I stuck my foot under the sink to rinse it off, I felt sick seeing some serious meat and tendon.
It was Sunday and the only doctor in Jeri was on his day off (six day work week). The wind club arranged for a buggy to take me to a neighboring town called Jijoca. A friend was nice enough (thanks Gordon!) to come with me. The 45- minute drive was a little surreal. I felt anxious about what the hospital might be like and felt that it was really ironic that I was taking the gorgeous buggy ride over the dunes because “I had to.” Gordon distracted me with stories about windsurfing places. We arrived at the “hospital” which is probably better called a clinic. Two nurses quickly greeted me and looked at my foot. As they explained that it would need sutures, Gordon and I conjured up the words for anesthesia and antibiotics. They laughed, probably looking at my eyes getting big (with visions of the Midnight Express in my mind). They asked me my name and promptly called the doctor in. I think this made me even more in shock. Having been to emergency rooms in the US, I would never expect to be met by the doctor within minutes of arrival. But in fact, the casually dressed doctor came in wearing his jeans, his gold bracelet and necklace and white hospital scrub-shirt. He smiled, and then frowned when he realized I spoke so little Portuguese. He smiled again when he asked where I was from and I answered, “Estados Unidos, California, San Francisco.” He seemed proud. Then he looked at my toe. He shook his head and frowned again. Panic resurfaced and I began to search for a way to say, “You will not amputate!” in Portuguese… Gordon and I came back with a Portuguese sounding “anesthesia” and he smiled again. He brought out a muito pequeno (very small) needle and he anesthetized most of my foot. It was glorious. He cleaned the wound and then stitched it up. He wrote me a prescription (no allergies) for antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory. He asked me how old I was. He then asked me to write my name down. Then, I got in the buggy and left. That was it. And it was free. What a contrast to the U.S.
I am now back at home in San Francisco. With an open wound, I couldn’t windsurf and the doctors I met at Jeri advised at least 8-9 days out of the water for a foot injury.. I made some great new friends, and loved every minute I was at Jeri. It is still really nice to be home too.
See you soon. And Brazil, Icarai, Jeri: muito obrigada.
Here are some pictures of Thanksgiving, friends and the surrounds.
It was really fun to take the waves coming in. You have to put your foot in the back foot strap and carve up and down the wave like a snowboarder. The waves were pretty big and felt a bit like a gauntlet when I was headed away from shore. I would often go out and stay on the “outside” so I wouldn’t have to be pummeled by the shore breaks. Going out on waves that are coming in means you have to sheet out, balanced with having enough speed so you keep your momentum to go out. You also need to time your speed as much as you can with the breaks in the waves. If the wave is big enough and breaks in front of you, it’s that much harder to sail over. The wind dies momentarily too with the wave’s crest. And, the reason I’m going into this detail is because it also explains a little about my first “serious” injury windsurfing. I had to stop sailing as of Tuesday last week.
I was getting better at the waves and feeling confident and strong. A big wave broke in front of me and I had too much speed. I was catapulted up into the air. I must have looked pretty funny with my rag-doll arms spread-eagle. I closed my eyes as I fell back down. My board had turned upside down. My foot hit something and I thought I had broken a toe. I looked for an injury but saw nothing. I felt an intense pain, but with a few swares and the encouragement of more waves pummeling me (over and over), I kept sailing. When I finally reached the beach, I noticed my foot was bleeding. Unfortunately, I had a very deep long cut between my third and my fourth toe. When I stuck my foot under the sink to rinse it off, I felt sick seeing some serious meat and tendon.
It was Sunday and the only doctor in Jeri was on his day off (six day work week). The wind club arranged for a buggy to take me to a neighboring town called Jijoca. A friend was nice enough (thanks Gordon!) to come with me. The 45- minute drive was a little surreal. I felt anxious about what the hospital might be like and felt that it was really ironic that I was taking the gorgeous buggy ride over the dunes because “I had to.” Gordon distracted me with stories about windsurfing places. We arrived at the “hospital” which is probably better called a clinic. Two nurses quickly greeted me and looked at my foot. As they explained that it would need sutures, Gordon and I conjured up the words for anesthesia and antibiotics. They laughed, probably looking at my eyes getting big (with visions of the Midnight Express in my mind). They asked me my name and promptly called the doctor in. I think this made me even more in shock. Having been to emergency rooms in the US, I would never expect to be met by the doctor within minutes of arrival. But in fact, the casually dressed doctor came in wearing his jeans, his gold bracelet and necklace and white hospital scrub-shirt. He smiled, and then frowned when he realized I spoke so little Portuguese. He smiled again when he asked where I was from and I answered, “Estados Unidos, California, San Francisco.” He seemed proud. Then he looked at my toe. He shook his head and frowned again. Panic resurfaced and I began to search for a way to say, “You will not amputate!” in Portuguese… Gordon and I came back with a Portuguese sounding “anesthesia” and he smiled again. He brought out a muito pequeno (very small) needle and he anesthetized most of my foot. It was glorious. He cleaned the wound and then stitched it up. He wrote me a prescription (no allergies) for antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory. He asked me how old I was. He then asked me to write my name down. Then, I got in the buggy and left. That was it. And it was free. What a contrast to the U.S.
I am now back at home in San Francisco. With an open wound, I couldn’t windsurf and the doctors I met at Jeri advised at least 8-9 days out of the water for a foot injury.. I made some great new friends, and loved every minute I was at Jeri. It is still really nice to be home too.
See you soon. And Brazil, Icarai, Jeri: muito obrigada.
Here are some pictures of Thanksgiving, friends and the surrounds.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Mais um
One more time, back in Brazil was just as good but different than my first trip to Jeri in October. Relieved that the election and navigation class were behind me, it was nice to be home for two weeks, but in a way I felt I needed a vacation I had packed so much in during the two weeks I was home. This trip, I was already in shape, knew the town and had a group of friends I would be able to hang out with. And I even knew some Portuguese.
Icaraizinho
I started my trip in an even tinier town called Icaraizinho-this means little Icarai-the town is so small it doesn’t really have it’s own name, and it shares the neighboring towns name. Three pousadas, 2 restaurants (that I could find) and flat water sailing to my heart’s content. I think one of the reasons I like sailing, windsurfing and sailing boats, is that it makes me very aware of the power of nature. I’m sure that sounds “new agey” and a little nutty; maybe I’ve been spending too much time thinking and being by myself. It’s true though-if there is no wind, I can’t sail. I know when low tide, high tide, full moon or a new moon will start and how it will affect my sailing. For example, with a new moon, the tides have much bigger swings, which means my walk to the water with my gear in the morning will be longer and hot.
Since Icaraizinho is much less developed, I shared the water with at the most seven sailors. I shared my hotel room with frogs, geckos and other crawly things that made me aware of nature too. The hot water consisted of an electric powered shower head that did not inspire me to adjust it while I was showering-even though I really wanted more than just tepid. I spent four, short days in little Icarai, which were very nice but enough since there are so few fellow travelers. The last night I was there, Icarai had a “For All” party-this is the word that I had written and spelled Foro on my last blog post. But it’s just me mis-hearing the pronunciation of two English words. For All, is popular music with Brazilian youth. The best I can tell, it’s Brazilian pop. The party was part of annual party that precedes the Icarai regatta. The fishermen spent the day painting their boats and repairing their sails in preparation for the race the next day. I could tell it was going to be a big party when I saw the 25-feet high speakers on a stage. To me it seemed very out of place for what I perceived as a placid little town. The music started around 10pm and went all night. Hundreds of people, young and old, came from neighboring towns in Ceara state. I checked out the party but not for long since I (not knowing about this party) had arranged for a buggy to pick me up at 8am to drive me up the coast line and through the mangroves back to Jeri.
The morning beach scene confirmed that it was a great party. The abandoned boat in front of my hotel had been converted into a mini-hotel. Hammocks hung from its cabin and the sleepy partiers dozed while the morning sun was still cool enough. Booths selling food and regatta mementos were quickly being filled by the local marketers.
“Fala Português?” “Pequeno.”
I met my buggy driver at my pousada. “Deus te ama” graced the dashboard. My driver was a charming, blonde, 6 foot 2, lanky local who spoke no English. I can make due at this point for the essentials like “banheiro” or “oi, como vai?” The locals seem very patient and not to be bothered by my not speaking Portuguese well at all. Luckily, we shared a love for music and his buggy was souped-up with a cd changer. We zoomed up the coastline on the beach, listening to Bob Marley and Peter Tosh during the 5 hour drive. We stopped at a turtle sanctuary. It was a bit sad. There were 5 tanks with different kinds of turtles-leatherback, olive are the ones I remember. One was missing a leg, which had gotten tangled in a fishing net. The Brazilian government is trying to use this as means to educate the locals, but with such a poor area with little else but fishing, I felt that the locals might not feel like they had the luxury to take care of the turtles. I couldn’t help but think my using the beach, as a road does not help the sea turtles either. And it’s true-local officials have now put yellow bollards to signal the area on the Jeri beach that should not be used as a road. Because no one regulates it though, it is still a thoroughfare.
I arrived in Jeri with enough time to have a café con leite, say hello to a few friends and get out on the water. I had made the right decision to go to Icarai and try something new. I also made huge progress on my jibe with the easier conditions. But being back on a high-wind day confirmed that not only am I a nature lover, but I’m an adrenaline-junky. Jeri is like windsurfing black diamonds, and Icarai was like a groomed run.
Here are some pictures to share the fun:
Icaraizinho
I started my trip in an even tinier town called Icaraizinho-this means little Icarai-the town is so small it doesn’t really have it’s own name, and it shares the neighboring towns name. Three pousadas, 2 restaurants (that I could find) and flat water sailing to my heart’s content. I think one of the reasons I like sailing, windsurfing and sailing boats, is that it makes me very aware of the power of nature. I’m sure that sounds “new agey” and a little nutty; maybe I’ve been spending too much time thinking and being by myself. It’s true though-if there is no wind, I can’t sail. I know when low tide, high tide, full moon or a new moon will start and how it will affect my sailing. For example, with a new moon, the tides have much bigger swings, which means my walk to the water with my gear in the morning will be longer and hot.
Since Icaraizinho is much less developed, I shared the water with at the most seven sailors. I shared my hotel room with frogs, geckos and other crawly things that made me aware of nature too. The hot water consisted of an electric powered shower head that did not inspire me to adjust it while I was showering-even though I really wanted more than just tepid. I spent four, short days in little Icarai, which were very nice but enough since there are so few fellow travelers. The last night I was there, Icarai had a “For All” party-this is the word that I had written and spelled Foro on my last blog post. But it’s just me mis-hearing the pronunciation of two English words. For All, is popular music with Brazilian youth. The best I can tell, it’s Brazilian pop. The party was part of annual party that precedes the Icarai regatta. The fishermen spent the day painting their boats and repairing their sails in preparation for the race the next day. I could tell it was going to be a big party when I saw the 25-feet high speakers on a stage. To me it seemed very out of place for what I perceived as a placid little town. The music started around 10pm and went all night. Hundreds of people, young and old, came from neighboring towns in Ceara state. I checked out the party but not for long since I (not knowing about this party) had arranged for a buggy to pick me up at 8am to drive me up the coast line and through the mangroves back to Jeri.
The morning beach scene confirmed that it was a great party. The abandoned boat in front of my hotel had been converted into a mini-hotel. Hammocks hung from its cabin and the sleepy partiers dozed while the morning sun was still cool enough. Booths selling food and regatta mementos were quickly being filled by the local marketers.
“Fala Português?” “Pequeno.”
I met my buggy driver at my pousada. “Deus te ama” graced the dashboard. My driver was a charming, blonde, 6 foot 2, lanky local who spoke no English. I can make due at this point for the essentials like “banheiro” or “oi, como vai?” The locals seem very patient and not to be bothered by my not speaking Portuguese well at all. Luckily, we shared a love for music and his buggy was souped-up with a cd changer. We zoomed up the coastline on the beach, listening to Bob Marley and Peter Tosh during the 5 hour drive. We stopped at a turtle sanctuary. It was a bit sad. There were 5 tanks with different kinds of turtles-leatherback, olive are the ones I remember. One was missing a leg, which had gotten tangled in a fishing net. The Brazilian government is trying to use this as means to educate the locals, but with such a poor area with little else but fishing, I felt that the locals might not feel like they had the luxury to take care of the turtles. I couldn’t help but think my using the beach, as a road does not help the sea turtles either. And it’s true-local officials have now put yellow bollards to signal the area on the Jeri beach that should not be used as a road. Because no one regulates it though, it is still a thoroughfare.
I arrived in Jeri with enough time to have a café con leite, say hello to a few friends and get out on the water. I had made the right decision to go to Icarai and try something new. I also made huge progress on my jibe with the easier conditions. But being back on a high-wind day confirmed that not only am I a nature lover, but I’m an adrenaline-junky. Jeri is like windsurfing black diamonds, and Icarai was like a groomed run.
Here are some pictures to share the fun:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
