Dearest Ihla(s):

This Antarctica is for you, Ihla(s).

I'm addressing this as an open letter to you both, so you know why I had to leave, but will always hold our time together close to my belt. It would never have worked between all three of us, not to mention Beth who would never have accepted such an agreement. I'll miss you...both.

What follows is my ode to our forever conjoined memories:

Two of the loveliest islands in brazil, perhaps the world in its entirety. One made of honey, one known for its girth, if a name is anything.

We left the confines of the Serra Verde train in search of love, beauty and relaxation; Courtney love, Beth beauty and me relaxation. We found all but love for Courtney (no strapping young Brazilian man swept her off her feet in a passionate Portuguese frenzy).

Arriving in Paranagua with no map in hand we struggled through our limited Portuguese vocabulary--and would have made the worlds charades champion proud--somehow reaching the underwhelming dock. Finding what looked like a scurvy-ladden sailor, we immediately jumped to negotiations. Obviously getting a great deal, we paid. Two shockerrs followed: 1) I found out there is a cure for scurvy, it's called citrus, and 2) the scurvy-laden sailor was no sailor. See, instead of handing the tickets over, he said he'd be back before we left. We had 15 minutes, he was getting in a taxi. I asked for the money back. He refused, then conveniently stopped understanding anything. I yelled, he shrugged. A fat man came over. He asked the situation, then manhandled the thief to the real ticket booth, even forcing the would-be thief to hand over the cash. The only drawback being the man (we later found that he was our captain) asking me to tip the thief, as he eventually led us to the ticket booth. $1 and the feeling of filth later and we were on our way to the first of my Ihlas.

Bad beginnings can be precursors to sweet nothings, sometimes. The captain guided us to the boat in which we embarked upon destiny. Two hours of navigating through meandering mangroves led us to the open ocean. Engrossed with lustful thoughts, I didn't give a second thought to our first mid-ocean stop, wherein we transfered a passenger to a similar boat, sailor feet swinging wildly to prevent a collision of colossal calamity. Clearly seasoned veterans at work, we traveled onward. Not until our second stop did I begin to worry that fate might have other plans for myself and Ihla do Mel. As our captain leapt across the jowls of the sea, leaving our ship guideless and adrift not to mention the passengers in utter confusion, fear drifted into my mind. Flash forward ten seconds and one new captain and we are good to go, or so we all think.

Captain starts the engine. Vicious metal-on-metal grinding. Second attempt is successful, but the rudder was damaged. No workie. 1st mate, the Brazilian MacGyver, saves the day with a giant, fleshly beer belly, sandals and a broomstick (for the rudder). Only catch is that he must sit in back and get directions from the captain, in front. (1) With a broomstick we glide into port, anchor up to 3 other boats (apparently easier than the dock), "Discovery Zone" our way to the dock and into the awaiting arms of my aching flower.

old truck tires. nature. juxtaposition. (on the way to Ihla do Mel. we couldn´t find a good picture of the mangroves.)

That's when I first saw her, Ihla do Mel. Exotic Ihla du jour. Some might think your wide, sturdy frame and lima beam-like contours antiquated, but I personally find the unique shape of your "land" intoxicating and particularly gratifying. In this day and age of Botox, butt-lifts and non-FDA approved hair removal I find you a breath a natural Aphrodisiatic air.

Our first night was unforgettable, swinging in the hammock outside of our quaint cabana. While the rain washed away our worries, the night left nothing to be desired. Daybreak welcomed us outdoors and into the sun for a day filled with long walks along the partly black sand beaches. This was almost as satisfying as the first time I entered your grotto. The wide and pristine entrance only led us into deeper caverns of passion that won't soon be forgotten. The only complaint to be voiced is that our last afternoon was soiled by the oncoming storm. But, perhaps that was simply loves interjection, forcing us inside to drink caripinhas long into the night, leaving nothing to the imagination.

The welcoming grotto on Ihla do Mel.

Sadly, the next day we parted ways. I left before you awoke. (2). This bittersweet moment only becomes sweet upon recollection as leaving led me to my second mistress, Ihla Grande.

Even the lighthouse of Ihla do Mel is left in a fog.

We arrived on the morning of my birthday to a small town named Andres dos Reis. To add to an already anxious and anticipatory mood, we had to wait for the departure of the next ferry almost 9 hours later. We wasted the time loitering in the park, if you know what I mean.

1 1/2 hours of Carribean-like, undulating-wave riddled plowing--through the ocean--we arrived to a harem of hostal owners ushering us to their dens of sin. Beto hostel welcomed us and eventually introduced me to the indescribable beauty of Ihla Grande.

Ihla grande is a fitting name. If located just a bit north, you would have been the stuff of legends--beautiful Amazonian women, even the type of 13 year old boy fantasies, could never live up to your reality. Big, luscious, fertile, exotic, and giant peaks outlining your flawless figure, dreams are not sufficient to describe your sensuousness. (3)

You rang in my birthday with great zeal. Once again the Carpirinhas played their role almost, ALMOST, to perfection. Hours of...[Due to explicit content between a man and an island, details of this birthday night must be excluded from this post.]

The Tropics (kinda). Life. Is. Easy.

My first day being a score plus eight years old felt like being seventeen and deflowered all over again. A breakfast filled with eggs, salchichas, cheese, coffee cake, coffee, fresh juice and fruit was ideally refreshing after such a night. This second gorging kept me going through our hikes along the pristine beaches, our meandering jaunts through your elegant forest and my topless frolicking in your crystalline azul waters.

Rock. Boat. Shadows of us. Ihla Grande.

The most pleasant surprise was my first prison experience. Your abandoned jail was not only exhilirating--an ancient jailhouse being reclaimed by nature while overlooking prime beach real estate is not your first expectation--but enlightening. The fresh water pools, the natural slide which I took into your pleasantly warm waters and the ancient aqueduct, which was at one point a conduit for that exact same water to help breath life into the people of your nostalgically quiet and charming beach pueblo, were exquisite.

My first prison experience. Definitely not as bad as I thought it would be. Those are the pylons for the pier and you can see the outer wall of the prison (it´s dim, apologies) next to the sand wall.

Our last evening was set off by the most intense tropical island storm I have had the pleasure of experiencing. It poured all night, the wind gusted through the already misshapen palms and the streets flowed with our mutual tears of inevitable loss. It was a love that burned only as bright as those passions that live too shortly, but alas, it left us both wanting. Someday, perhaps we can find a way to realize the end, but if not, it will always live on.

Yes, that is a swim-up bar in the background. Can´t get much more perfect than that.

As my time with you both tended to mimik one another I leave you both, and Brazil, with the sense of what could have been. If only we had more time, maybe things would have been different. Alas, we part ways knowing only that what was, was brilliant and unduplicable; But, perhaps one day we can try. (4)

Ihla Grande, portending towards a seething lover...you know, because of the clouds in the background.


(1) five minutes into the new captains tenure, we had our second scare when he left the helm and entered the W.C., for no less than five, 5, minutes. While he was busy reading "Brazilian Fish with Bad Habits," we all were hoping that the first mate would blindly steer us clear of all trouble. He did and the captain came out more jolly, presumably lighter and ready to guide us to port.

(2) stop judging, you'd have done the same.

(3) the only flaw, which one might perceive as such, is sitting atop the second peak. A teenage mistake, a drunken bet or perhaps a love of aviaries, I do not know, but upon the horizon sits an outline resembling an eagle in repose. Something I came to know and love as "The most refined tit-tat in the world."

(4) You'll be deforested, developed and global-warmed and I'll be a wrinkley-bald, impotent and jaded old man, so memories might have to suffice.

Note: Our Internet access is slow. Hopefully we will have some pictures up and a Rio post by Tuesday.

Bonus Picture:
The vine covered aqueduct in the middle of the forest was quite impressive.