The lady with screaming parrots
We were leaning on a chain linked fenced when we meet the parrot lady. Myself covered in mud still from breakfast, Rafael looking a lot more dapper in cargo shorts and a long sleeve tee. I realize now, amidst sweaty, rainy, dirty days, how much easier it is for a guy to look put together than a woman, or at least more than me. We took equal times in the shower but I came out wearing my giant mud speckled jacket and same Nike sweats over my tiny running shorts, hair in a tangled mess and no make up, with blue eye bags from restless sleep, and him smelling like Irish Spring, and rustic-chic facial hair, with four day-old cargo shorts that are already intentionally supposed to look four days unwashed so what does it matter anyways. The thought passes through my head and makes me sink a little deeper into my discomfort against the fence.
The morning had been rough. The past 24 hours had pushed both of us to that threshold of wondering are we really supposed to be doing it this way, or at all? The day before we had driven past Marseias, the ideal surf spot Rafael had been dreaming of going to. As we arrived there, a torrential downpour unleashed onto the thousands of tourists who had come for the long holiday weekend. They spilled into the streets creating a massive traffic jam in the horizontal rain. Drunken partygoers tip toeing through puddles, still singing whatever song had been playing at the beach bar they just left, beer spilling out of their cans clenched in their rain-soaked palms. In addition to the drunken tourists, and tsunami rain, all of the pousadas (Bnbs) and campsites were price hiked because of the holiday. So, instead of stopping, we opted to drive through Marseias, the dreamy surf spot, and to the next town hoping it would be less expensive and less sloppy. It turned out to be not particularly quaint or cheap and equally wet. We pulled into the first campground because they promised high speed internet, and at 40 Reals a person (4.1 Brazilian Reals / $1 USD) it seemed reasonable. The Internet turned out to be shit and the campsite was in a giant mud puddle, which I suppose you could literally call shit. We were drenched and got more drenched trying to remove the bicycles and surfboards out of the trailer, and into the mud bath so we would have a place to sleep.
Once the trailer was set up we went on a mission to find a cheap dinner and Internet, but it seemed as everywhere we went was having “issues” with their Internet. That would be totally valid given the mega storm, or it could be total lies to prevent giving out their Wi-Fi codes to wet bums. Never the less, we settled on a bustling restaurant with advertised 13R dinner plates of pasta. Getting parked and out of the car alone was a feat in the puddles that now dominated any flat surface. The restaurant was right off the main highway and parking was limited so drivers were jockeying for their opportunity at a space near the restaurant steps to avoid swimming to dinner. I was still wrapped in my shower towel and cradled my laptop like a small child as I made the dash from our space to the entrance.
This is not what I had imagined at all when picturing traveling through South America with my Brazilian lover. I did not picture rain, or living poor, or even fully consider the reality of actually being in an intimate relationship. I didn’t think about losing my voice, and him not being able to understand me given his native tongue is Portuguese, or getting sick to the point of having zero energy, and I definitely didn’t imagine all of these factors colliding in the first 7 days. I didn’t think these things through because I wanted to be “in the moment”. I am also a hyper optimist and think everything just works out. I am also a workaholic and worked up until the last 8 hours in Eugene before leaving on this adventure so there wasn’t a whole lot of room for breath, thought, and contemplation. So there we were, me with no voice, him frustrated, both of us exhausted, wet and hungry.
The meal turned out to be spectacular, and when you are counting every penny you spend, the 12oz can of cold Coke that we shared was Divine. Mini moral of the story, cut things out of your life and things start to show their value. When we got the check though, the 13 R plates were 25R each. We gave in because at this point what do you do. We slept that night wet, and snot-nosed in our trailer, atop our mud puddle. In the morning we crept out of the pile of pillows and blankets and into the reality of muddy toes and never ending mist. Rafael started packing things up, and I crossed the highway to the beach to get a mediation in. The beach was a vast expanse of grey with no one in sight. I closed my eyes of for five minutes let myself imagine I was in Yachats Oregon. Everything was “normal” and freezing rain was part of the package of normalcy.
But when I returned to the trailer I was back in our new normal, navigating a life on the road which at this time included a mild cold and every inch of my body wanting to feel good so I could lean on my other vices like running, biking, and general escapism through adrenaline rush. None of those were available now though as my energy levels were dismal, throat was aching and everything wet.
We hitched the trailer back up, and took turns pouring water over our mud drenched feet before we tucked them into the Beetle. Our next stop was Praia Grande where hopefully we could find a cheap Airbnb to rest, organize our things and get healthy. I passed out for most of the 100 km journey. Like a sardine in a tiny can, I folded my long legs over our backpacks and snacks and my head bobbed up and down as Rafael steered our blue VW ship through lush jungle forests.
When I mention the fact that we are living poor, we are technically not poor, at least in this moment. But like most nomads wandering with no definitive end, or beginning, and no stable income, every penny matters. Whatever you save now could save you hugely later, which in itself is a giant mental battle. I am doing remote unpaid work for Favela Inc. with the good faith that it will someday pay, and working on my photography and writing. Rafael is working remotely on his Business in Cabo Frio. I have written about digital nomads for two years now but this was the first harsh reality of being one.
We rolled into Praia Grande early in the morning. The mist created a haze that continued the color palette of matte everything. Everything seems dirty and depressing when covered in light mist and graffiti. We struggled to find a decent Aribnb while hacking Internet from a giant Supermarket. Rafael sent messages to a handful of hosts asking if they would have safe parking for our tiny home on wheels. We rolled out of the market parking lot to checkout the beach and wait for replies. The town was bigger than expected with tall colorfully tiled beach condominiums sticking up from tiled streets like a cohesive rainbow mosaic that screamed You are at the beach! Praia Grande literally means Big Beach in Portuguese, so this was all very fitting. At this point I didn’t care where we slept I just wanted a shower and clean clothes.
We pulled over, got out and thumbed through the responses leaning up against the fence when we heard the screaming. Like a knife going into an animal, this was not the sound of a human, or cat or dog it was a shriek. Rafael crossed the street to get perspective on the situation wondering if someone or something needed help before we realized it was coming from the van parked directly in front of us, a tiny woman with long black hair, and two giant blue parrots. One of the parrots escaped through the window and was now clawing its way across her van’s roof, I am sure each talon leaving tiny scratches in the white paint. The claws on that thing were massive, and probably more so in my fear of birds mindset. I hate birds so hard.
And that’s just it. If life gave you everything that is good for you in lollipops, sugar, long naps and kittens we wouldn’t get very far in compassion, motivation or breaking boundaries and barriers. We wouldn’t go beyond the level of understanding our needs and wants and desires, to those of others. No, instead life hands you lessons and rewards through things that terrify you, like giant parrots shitting on the street and clawing their way across steel to come jump on your shoulder and totally freak you out. That is where you learn to calm the fuck down.
So I stood there with a parrot on my shoulder, covered in two-day-old grime, and muddy feet as Rafael and this woman discussed the safest place to park our tiny home. When she realized that we were traveling through South America and just trying to find a place to crash for a couple nights to regain our health she did something magical.
“If you need an apartment I have an extra apartment totally empty, you can just stay there, FOR FREE”
More magical words had never been spoken and in that minute I didn’t care if that apartment was filled with ten more parrots, I just wanted a shower, and a roof, and peace, and a place. Without even entering her own home which she had just pulled up in front of, she climbed back into her white van, coaxing the parrots back in with kisses and whispers, and she drove us directly to the apartment, a gorgeous brand new furnished two bedroom condominium on the top floor of a building over looking the “Peace Plaza” with heads of famous Peace Makers forming giant circle around manicured lawns. Heaven.
The exchange from there was simple. She prepared a bottle in the microwave for one of her squawking birds and we were handed the keys. This was our first experience of on-the-road radical hospitality and it felt incredibly reassuring. Just as our limits were being tested it was if the universe conspired to gift us with peace. Literal peace, like there were eight peacemaker’s heads outside our balcony window.
This gesture, from the universe (or God if you prefer), and this woman, I will hold onto for the next week, or moment, or day on this journey as a sign to keep going. Sometimes these types of signs telling us “Hey, I got your back” are so tiny and precious, we cant quite see them unless we ourselves are quiet and tiny. And sometimes they are loud and shrieking. Whatever they are, and in whatever form, they are to not be taken lightly but held. Even if they terrify us like a giant blue parrot with sharp tallons gripping onto our shoulder in love.
