Whale Time: Re: Avram

Re: Avram
Avram Nomad

all stories and essays by Avram Klein

Fortaleza

On the way to Fortaleza, the highway turned to dirt. Not only did it turn to dirt, but the bus had decided to stay off the main dirt path as much as possible and wove its way slowly along the highway, dragging its bottom along the dirt embankments as it weaved from one highway pulloff to the next.

Upon ariving in Fortaleza, Adriana had told me her sister was living with her baby girl in Prainia. The cab ride to the local beach was ten Reais, and the cab to Prainia was thirty. I thought maybe the difference in distance wouldn't be that much so off to Prainia we went.

We drove for about a half hour through the city, then a half hour through the suburbs, then a half hour through some marshlands, then a half hour past a resort area, a field of giant electric windmills, and some sand dunes. We then pulled off the road and down a dirt road to the beach and then along the beach until we eventually reached the town of Prainia.

Friday night in Prainia, there was not a lot going on. I found a beautiful place to stay and there was a bus leaving for the city every hour. The locals were mostly teenagers and they were cool. The Brazilian mannerisms of the south had completely melted away, and the kids talked to me as if I was from the next county.

I kind of felt sick but also felt compelled to party in Fortaleza, hour bus ride or not. I went back to my posada to change and maybe go out, but the old man who ran the posada locked me in, saying it was too dangerous to go out. I didn't argue and went to bed thinking I would go out Saturday night.

It rained Saturday. It was as though the entire climate had changed with the twisting coast pointing to the north rather than to the east. Along the northeast, near Recife and Salvadore, the clouds are broken apart by the heat and spread across the sky, some holding rain and others not. If if does rain, it is only for a few minutes as the cloud passes overhead.

In Fortaleza, the entire sky turns dark grey when it rains. There is no blue in the sky at all, and it rains for much longer. The surf was good with strong waves. The air was warm, but the raindrops were cool and uninviting. There were also no hippies in sight, and I didn't see much chance of finding Andrea, Adriana's sister.

I needed to party that night so I packed up and waited for the bus. While I was waiting, I started to see some signs of life in Prainia. Some capoeira players walked by with a giant atabaque. A flock of sheep strolled down the street. A badass blond chick in a Nissan with a couple of other guys pulled up, busting out the underground techno music.

Right before the bus pulled up, I found a posada for R$12 and figured maybe I would come back and look for Adriana's sister and surf if things were awesome in Fortaleza, which they were.

Saturay in Fortaleza, I found a posada with a guy working at the counter wearing a designer shirt with a velour print of Che Guevara on the front. He introduced himself as Paul Andrea and made a map for me of all the clubs and where girls hang out in bikinis. I was set.

The planetarium, modern art museum, cultural art museum, and surf pier were all five minutes away and were wonderful. The clubs were also right next to the museums. I was told to go to the Orbitz but found a club pumping some kind of alternative dance music next door at the Ritz.

With a joint to the head, I floated into the club, gazing at all the beautiful girls. The DJs were spinning British indie pop dance jams. A girl picked me out of the crowd and introduced me to a couple of people. They were all chain drinking though and I had quit drinking at this point. They actually tried to get me to start up again.

With a borrowed cigarette, I held the cigarette between my two fingers and a joint with my thumb and went to work. There was a band and they were great. The girls in the crowd were mostly younger, but they were lovely.

The band stopped playing after a couple of hours, and I began to talk to the most beautiful girl in the bar for the second time. I had tried to talk to her before, but my "Tutu bom" line had only caused confusion, as they don't get many tourists in Fortaleza.

She was younger and was wearing a pink retro shirt with a gold chain around her waist. I did my best—dancing my ass off, offering her friend English lessons, and telling her she was beautiful. At the end of the night, I left with a kiss on the cheek and two phone numbers in my pocket.

On my way back to the posada, there was a British guy walking with a prostitute in front of me. He said something to her like, "I won't be rude to you for the rest of the night."

She began to laugh in this incredibly fake, "AH HA HA HA HA!"

It was miserable. I stopped to give myself some distance between them and behind me was a group of young beggars who had bothered me while I was eating earlier. They all carried wooden boxes for shining shoes, and I wondered if they beat the shit out of gringos with those things.

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