Sunday, January 27, 2013

Test-drive Retirement

Travel is the ultimate way to procrastinate. I’ve told people I’ve gone on holiday, but how long can you go on holiday for? A month, two, three? By the time I come back to the UK it’ll probably be four months at least, and then only for spring and summer before I head back on holiday again.

I’m a lucky bastard. I don’t need to work, I’ve made it out of the rat-race, and I’m not a drug addict. But I do need fulfilment as much as anyone. But I'm not going to get this by reading how to get this on Facebook.

No, I’m going to become an inventor. But first I’m going to procrastinate a little more and have a bit of fun on the way. I’m going to write my travel blog and post some pretty pictures.

So here goes….

Sometime in mid December 2012
I’ve just finished off and rented two new apartments, two more to finish but that’s enough I’m off -  the rest can wait till Spring.

I fly to Brazil, via Amsterdam and Dusseldorf.  In Germany I stay at a friends place. He’s a pianist with problems, who hasn’t? But we exchange troubles and somehow life seems that much warmer. Why don’t I visit my friends more often? I’m an anti-social bastard really, but I need my friends as much as anyone.

I land in Natal, north eastern Brazil, and grab a cab to Pipa an hour away where I bought an apartment on a whim 3 years ago. It’s a beautiful resort, in a Truman-show type of way. It’s bounded by an electric fence that’s broken so a stray wire short-circuits in the wind going tick-tick-tick like the crickets outside, were it England. Other than that it’s perfect. Perfect pool. Perfect bar. Perfect spa. Perfect hammock. Perfect flowers. And with the aircon on and the mosquitoes out, perfect bedroom with the most delicious mattress I’ve ever rested on in Brazil. And I’m not talking metaphorically.

I spend a few days alone catching up on admin and generally lazing by the pool, strolling along the beach, eating acai with banana, feeding the monkeys, nothing too strenuous. Need a rest after the building work in the UK which as usual did my head in, and my credit cards, but was worth it.

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Before the weekend I rent a car from a nice lady at the condo reception who has a friend who will do me a deal. There’s no paperwork and she just gives me the keys in exchange for about 20 quid a day which is pretty good in Brazil. I drive to Natal and pick-up some friends from the airport, one who lives in Salvador and two who have come from London. We hit the Ponta Negra nightlife jogging. It’s a relatively tame weekend, but we do find an excellent Lebanese restaurant, and a gap in the market for dried mango.

Monday we all head back to my place in Pipa. A friend also has a place in the same condo which he kindly lets me use, so we can spread out comfortably. God this is dull isn’t it? Where is the sex and drugs? I’m trying to keep it family friendly. Actually it was family friendly, but very nearly not. A brazilian ex of my friend who also has an apartment here had dabbled in some identity fraud, created a fake email address under his name, and was renting out his apartment authorising the activity as if she were the owner. Well my turning up uncovered her scam, and I was expecting a novela, but nothing came of it. Yet, anyway.

The following weekend we all head to Joao Pessoa a couple of hours further south. I have some mail to collect, as you do, and my friends are due to fly out from there. It’s also a nice little unassuming city with a lovely beach and some nice restaurants. And some great forró parties. At one of these my friend falls for a girl from Acre. Acre? Where’s that? I thought it was a kind of vegetable or something, but turns out it’s yet another massive state in Brazil, somewhere west.

   Turns out Acre is 38 million acres, bigger than England though I suppose that's not saying much.

So she’s here with some friends, including a beautiful young lady. And a well-built member of the Policia militar. Maybe he’s here to protect the posse. We all sit together at dinner and my brain is frazzled. On my left is the grace of this beautiful girl whose subtle gestures in her face, were I to pay attention to them for more than two seconds, would probably send me down the rabbit hole. In a hypothetical scenario where I could pay by-the-second for guilt-free gazing, I would buy a minute and ride through that rabbit hole. Because I’d know the minute would be up and I’d be back. But life isn’t like that - there’s no turning back at any moment. Anyway this rabbit hole isn’t for me. No pun intended, honestly.

Meanwhile on the right is the obligatory Brazilian TV, with Will Smith crashing through buildings then just getting up and dusting himself off. Perhaps there’s a connection.

My friend from Salvador is one for crashing through stuff and just getting up. He has balls where I don’t, or just doesn’t give a shit. Saturday night he wants to hit downtown, it’s the “alternative” scene, but everyone including the taxi driver we instruct to take us there insists that it’s not safe. “Every tourist who goes there at night gets mugged” He loses out on a sizable taxi fare to take us somewhere tame and nearby instead.

By Monday my friends have all left, we have separate plans, and I’m off back to Pipa to spend Christmas with some crazy but lovable Spanish friends...


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