I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello - São Paulo

Warning: Sentimental post. All ITA graduates and sang-froids may want to give this one a pass.

I hate goodbyes. Even "so longs" are tough. I do my very best to avoid them and carefully did not arrange any goodbye parties here (though I did get surprised by one, and arranged a second small dinner with the "Fab 5"--don't ask).

I'm on my way back home--twenty-five years after leaving New England, I am heading back. My new blog is live and should be in action shortly--it's all about finding out that repatriation is harder than ex-patriation. Or so everyone tells me.

I think I have explained in other blog posts that I am not leaving Brazil, but rather going to the USA. Why am I going? Not because of security worries, exchange rate problems or even the absolute horror of the thought of four more years of Dilma Rousseff. No. I am going for my kids. My kids are half-Brazilian and half-American. They are seven years old. We have lived here six years which means they have no idea what it means to be American. They can sing the Brazilian anthem; they don't know one word of the American. I want them to ride a yellow bus; I want them to be in public school. I want them to know that the USA is more than a Target store and Disney World.

By no means do I think that the US is all right about everything and everything is better there. No, there are many things I will miss about Brazil and the recent days have made that conviction even more acute. The absolute warmth, humor and generosity of Brazil--as a country and as a people, well, they are unparalleled. I will truly, madly, deeply miss a number of friends here and their capability to make me laugh until I cry. I can only hope that we can carry the humor and love through skype and emails. We must. We have to.

The Alemão

This weekend we said goodbye to the Casa do Alemão, the German house, that we have rented for the last couple of years. It is the closest thing on Earth to paradise, in my opinion. If paradise has giant venomous spiders and cackling monkeys, that is (in the 7 year old twins' minds that is obvious). And though the leaving makes me sad, it also made me smile today.

The view from the Alemão. Which never changes.

As I walked through the remnants of a trail we had cut two years ago for the twins to find some pinhão (pine "berries" from the araucaria trees--kind of like chestnuts. Delicious), I realized that Brazil was already adjusting to our departure. In fact, almost nothing remained of our trail but the memories. The trees and bushes had grown up through everything. Even the monkeys had wiped out the remains--all the pinhão had been eaten and the husks left in a silent mockery. 

Life goes on. The Alemão will have new residents. The spiders, and hawks and monkeys and hummingbirds will have new admirers. The woods and trees have permanent protectors in our friends Rob and Pri. The house and its property will be there when we visit again in December. The trail will be gone, and our personal effects from the house, but the exquisite beauty will still be there.

The new generation: Zoe, age 1 and 1/2

Cafu, age 12

Life, and death, go on. On Friday we spread the ashes of our 14-year old labrador Caju in the ranch's beautiful lake. From whence he came.... Caju was a puppy at the fazenda when the fazenda was itself new to our friends. And as the wind ruffled the fur of his now-forlorn and decrepit best friend, 12-year-old German shepherd Cafu, three other young dogs raced by to chase the horses. And so it goes.

I will miss you, Brazil, but I realized this weekend that I leave you not. I am taking you with me. Every time I kiss a tight-lipped Yankee on the cheek to say hello, I take you with me. Every time I save a fuzzy spider that gives me the creeps, I take you with me. And every time I feel the warm wind blow (perhaps rare in Boston), you are with me. Shall we go?


That's all she wrote.

++++++++++++

Closing the gate on this chapter.

 

 

Or is it?

:)

Life goes on - Joanópolis

The view from the road home.

Yesterday I drove three hours to our fazenda house, spent an hour collecting stuff,  and then drove three hours back. We are going to Argentina next week and we're going to need our hiking boots. For some reason, we haven't been able to fit a fazenda visit into our schedule since Carnaval in early March. So since we're leaving Tuesday for Ushuaia, off I went.

I quite enjoy the ride--it is not long until I am in the curving mountain road of Rodovia Anhanguera. Yes, there were a lot more trucks than on our weekend outings but that just made me slow down more and enjoy the trip. At about 2 1/2 hours, the road becomes dirt and gravel and the cell phone doesn't work. This is the only place that I worry about traveling alone--our history of flat tires recently means that I am quite nervous about every noise from under the car. 

When I reached the house, it was all opened up because the housekeeper was airing out the rooms. She knew I was coming from one of the other ranch staffers -- nope, she doesn't have a phone either. When you need to communicate with the workers, they travel at set times to a place where their cell phones work. Fortunately, as renters, we don't have to worry too much about managing the staff.

Just as I pulled up at the house, the monkeys started calling loudly to each other. They were as close as they ever get, jumping from branch to branch in the pine trees. Far away there was the sound of a chainsaw as some ranch or another cut their eucalyptus trees.  Spiders jumped away from my stomping feet.

Of all the places I have lived or visited in Brazil, the Casa do Alemão or German house, our rented country house, will be the one I miss the most. You can read about it here. I fell in love with this house ten years ago when the owners first bought it from "The German". I waited 8 years to be able to rent it myself and now we will be giving it up in August. 

While I stood there and listened to monkeys and saws, an unusual sadness filled me. Unusual because the fazenda makes me happy. I realized how much I will miss the solitude, the sounds, the brushes with nature -- monkeys, parakeets and lightning bugs (not so much the spiders). I will miss hiking on trails with no trail blazes. I will miss watching my kids run up and down the hill in front of the beautiful mountain of Morro Selado. I will miss a place where the tv, internet, cell phone and home phone don't work. I will miss you, Alemão.

And as I stood there thinking all this, I realized that the Alemão will not miss me. The monkeys will live on safely away from bad guys, the parakeets will keep their house in the roof, the spiders will actually have a better life away from the capture-and-release routine they get with the twins. Life goes on at the Alemão, but soon not for me. When I return after August, there will be new tenants. When I return after August, it will not be "mine" (in fact, it never really was).

Life goes on. It's not something to be sad about but rather happy.  I wouldn't want things any different for the tenants and furry, feathered and 8-legged residents who will be there when I leave.

Lucky them!

Evening companion - Joanópolis

Here's the little friend who lives in the roof of the Casa do Alemão, our country house in Joanópolis. He and his wife that is. Once a day, or perhaps twice, he and his sweetie fly out to eat and stretch their wings, and then they sit for a while in the palm tree loudly calling to each other.  A short while later they fly back inside the roof and we don't see them again for a day.

Happy Carnaval - Joanópolis

I hate to tell you but if you were looking here for stories of sambadromos and street parties, you've come to the wrong place! We are spending Carnaval, for the second year in a row, at the fazenda where there are no people, no crowds, no noise and no music (except from the ipod). 

Happy Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, Carnaval!

Fourteen - Joanópolis

The labbie with a floatie--his back legs don't work so well anymore

Today my crazy chocolatey wonderful love-of-my-life canine turns fourteen. His name is Caju, or officially Cajoo Kingdon of Chocolate. Yes, spelled exactly like that because his amateur breeder didn't know how to spell "Kingdom" nor understand the gringa wanting to name her dog for the cashew nut. You cay "KAH-jooo" or "Joo-Joo" or anything in between. He was born on March 3, 2000 in São Paulo. He has lived here, in Miami and moved back with us in 2008.

I have written a book about Caju. It's 30,000 words long and will probably never be published. I simply had to get down his story. It is subtitled "Duro de Matar" or "Hard to Kill" which is the  nickname his oncologist gave him after his third mastocitoma surgery.

You see, Caju was never supposed to be fourteen. As a puppy, a saliva gland was blocked and exploded leaving a huge hole and scar in his neck. During recuperation he ran through a barbed wire fence. He kept running and bleeding after the ball.

At age 1, he was diagnosed with epilepsy, and we had him neutered shortly thereafter to make sure it was not passed on. At two, he was found to have terrible bone spurs and fragments in his elbow--the vet in Miami assured me that Caju would probably not be able to walk at age 5. At three, the same vet found a mastocitoma that I thought was a mosquito bite. And from there he got pancreatitis, was poisoned by someone while in our backyard in Miami and survived three bouts of canine tick disease--he nearly lost his life in the first bout--only four blood transfusions, including one from his older brother saved him. 

Two more mastocitomas, various bug issues, terrible arthritis, he's really done all of it. He was never supposed to be here at fourteen.

But he's here. He's white in the face and on his chest and in between the toes of his paws. He is chubby, limping and often barks just because he's old.  His body is failing him now--a dog who my brother set out to tire out from playing ball one day spent the next three hours playing catch and retrieve. My brother tired first.  Caju's eyes are slowly dulling from cataracts though his hearing remains good--he can hear food hitting the ground in the kitchen from any room in the house.

Doga

He sleeps upside down. I call it doga. It doesn't look comfortable but it is. He snores. He wants nothing more than to be with you, preferably on top of you. He hates a lightning storm. He loves water and swimming. He loves barbecue. He loves me. He loves attention of any kind including kids launching themselves onto his neck. He licks. He has bad breath. He's never met a person he doesn't like. He is the perfect dog. He is a one and only.

Happy birthday, Caju, my little Brazil nut!

Cafu the ranch dog - Joanópolis

Meet Cafu. No, not the captain of Brazil's 2002 World Cup-winning team but a gorgeous German Shepherd who lives at the fazenda (ranch) where we rent a house. He was born in 2002, hence the name. He's my dog Caju's best friend, and it amuses many who hear us calling "Caju....Cafu..." And even more amuses those who see the two pal around together--both old now, limping, grey-muzzled, one tall and the other squat. 

Cafu spent his first year in São Paulo, growing up with and being trained by my friend Pri's gaggle of border collies. Then he moved out to Joanopolis and the enormous tree farm where he would be the guard dog. He is the size of a wolf, has a mean bark, and in his best years, could run like a deer across the fields. I have twice seen him bite men he does not know, until called off by the owners. He still does not like stray dogs and will attack them if on a hike where we cross paths with one. 

The life of a ranch dog can be pretty tough. They are really working dogs and will go out with the ranch hands to fix fences or cut trees, following behind tractors. At night they sleep out in dog houses at the barn or up at the main house. Pri's ranch dogs are the lucky ones, however, as she feeds them well, gives them the best in veterinary care, and they get plenty of social time and love during the weekends that we are all at the fazenda. Cafu is the undisputed favorite of the working dogs.

Back away from my ball!! (circa 2009)

Cafu now limps because he was hit by a car, possibly even twice, and had surgery to put pins in his leg. Unfortunately they could not remove the plate after two attempts, and this causes him significant pain when he walks. He was so upset and pained after the second attempt that he spontaneously attacked and killed one of the ranch kittens. That was his last surgery.

He can be a jealous guy--once when the twins were small they started playing with the ranch hand's small dachshund instead of Cafu. Cafu came over, flipped the dog onto its back and bit it, opening a three-inch gash in its stomach. He easily could have killed it, but I think the message was "stay away from my humans." He has never attacked Caju though, though the play used to be rough between the two with Cafu nipping at Caju's neck when the latter got out of the lake. It was rough enough that Caju has one scar from a chomp.

Cafu has never hurt any child. Visiting kids go from trembling fear of this huge wolf to launching themselves bodily on top of him. I used to be afraid of him coming too close to the twins but I know now that he would never hurt them. Not even when they pulled his long ears. Or stepped on his enormous paws. 

This past weekend we were at the German house, the house we rent about one mile away from the main fazenda house. On Sunday, I locked my two labradors in the kitchen and we drove down to the main house to ride horses and swim in the big lake. Cafu was there and he sniffed all around the car to see if Caju had come with us. He seemed vaguely disappointed that it was just the humans.

Three hours later we piled back into the car and rode up to the upper ranch--with the exception of BH who walked up. I said goodbye to Cafu at the lake, and watched him grow smaller in the rear view mirror. When we got back to the upper house, we started to prepare lunch. About a half-hour later, Cafu walked in, puffing and limping. He had walked all the way from the lower ranch to the upper ranch--it's not an easy hike for anyone. Caju jumped up (as well as he could) and went over to nuzzle his buddy.  

It's good to have a best friend. 

Chopp (1999-2010), Cafu (2002-) and Caju (2000-). Circa 2009.

Venom Retires - Joanopolis

Veneno, in younger days

This past weekend we were at our rented country house. We have access, through the owners of the ranch, to a number of very good riding horses. Some have been there since they bought the farm (not in the dead sense) 12 years ago and some are newer additions. The horse I have most ridden during our rental years is named Veneno or Venom, which is not the most auspicious name though he turns out to be a pretty good horse. And he has just retired--out to pasture with the other un-rideable horses--Zeus, Quartzo, Whiskey...

I have both scary and fond memories of Veneno. He was a wonderful horse to canter and gallop, and pretty much always up for a ride. On the downside, he was easily spooked and quite large.  He was a horse that needed at least an intermediate rider to control him. And I am firmly intermediate, having had numerous riding classes as a pre-teen, but none since then.

The view of the trail from behind Veneno's ear

One of the many stories I have of my friend Veneno is the day he nearly cut my head off.  Well, not him. One of the things that most spooked him was tree boughs down on the trail. And the ranch is a eucalyptus tree farm and frequently has trees down and across the trails. One day we were going down a much overgrown path through some bamboo when Veneno got spooked and ran through the bamboo and one of the limbs grabbed at my neck and left a bamboo burn that I did not soon forget. Yes, I do wear a helmet. No, that did not save me.

On another visit a few years back, I had just tied up the horse at the rail and was walking back to get my 2 year old twin boys from the woman who was helping with them that day. The kids had come down the road from the house and were near the barn, across the concrete saddling area near some trees. As I was walking towards them, I heard a noise of wood breaking and turned to see Veneno yanking his head up and ripping the tie-rail from the supports. Something had spooked him and now he was running towards me and the kids with a three foot long eucalyptus rail see-sawing in front of him from his reins. 

I was so shocked that I froze. BH yelled at me "RUN!" and so I did. I grabbed a kid and ran behind a tree, and the caretaker grabbed the other and hid behind another. Veneno thundered by, the pole barely missing us, his eyes rolled back in fear. We were lucky that day, and so was Veneno. He easily could have tripped and broken a leg.

The last funny story I have of Veneno took place a couple of years ago at the ranch. We were there with our kids, and there were about eight other kids around waiting for their parents to unsaddle.  I was holding the reins of Veneno who was behind me, as we waited for some room to open up on the tie-up rail (what do you call that thing, anyway?). The rail had been repaired and the supports sunk farther into the concrete since the last horse spooking.

Then Kefir freaked out. Kefir is a horse I have never ridden and never want to ride. He is an Arabian with an attitude. He is really controllable only by his owner, who was, at this time living in England. That day  BH had taken Kefir because we were in need of an extra horse. He has since been forbidden by me to ride that lunatic--his life insurance payout is just not that good.

Kefir ripped the rail out by yanking his reins and started bucking and freaking out much like Veneno had two years before. Several things happened at once: quick-thinking non-riding parents got the kids out of the way and inside a Land Rover.  The horse manager started trying to talk to Kefir and calm him down. BH moved to a safe place.Then Kefir turns and heads my way.

So there I am holding the reins of Veneno, not the world's most zen horse, and I look back at him then drop the reins and run like heck down the hill and jump over the corral fence. It is not an easy run down, you have to jump the small concrete rise and then down a few feet of hillside. After I jump over, I turn back---to stare straight in the face of Veneno. He has chased me down the hill as if to say: help! take me with you! That Kefir is a NUTBALL.

Kefir was finally calmed down and everything was fine. I only rode Veneno once after that--about six months ago. He is now over 22 years old, and while we didn't even trot on our outing, he was panting so hard, I asked the owner to retire him. I admit that his retirement has caused mine. I no longer ride at the farm--though I may do so in the future. Without Veneno, the adrenaline just isn't there.

The corral fence I jumped over and got followed by Veneno

Things I will miss. Fazenda. - Joanopolis

And if anyone asks why I do love Brazil given its many problems of security, corruption, etc, here is how I answer. The place we go on weekends, in a photo essay:

Hillsides and horses

Kids with bug examination kits

Hydrangeas and pretty houses

Sunsets

Rainstorms

Dogs and barbecues

Without words

It's a Wild Wild Life - Joanópolis

The Alemão (and the domestic wildlife)

Here on this mountaintop, I got some wild, wild life
I got some news to tell ya about some wild, wild life
Here comes the doctor in charge, she's got some wild, wild life
Ain't that the way you like it, living wild, wild
                                       -The Talking Heads "Wild Wild Life" (music here)

We came back from our rented country house (nicknamed the "Alemão" or German house) on Monday morning and since then I've been trying to track down information on all the animals and mini-beasts that we saw during our four-day visit. It really was a wild kingdom. 

On the first evening of our arrival, we were greeted by the calling of monkeys in the pine trees. They were enormous golden-red monkeys which were leaping from tree to tree. It seems likely that these are "bugio" or howler monkeys. We did not see this type of monkey again, but we heard them every morning calling to each other.

Photo credit: wikipedia

I have not been able to identify the monkeys we saw on Sunday morning--they were small and black and extremely acrobatic. They ran up and down branches, one was even carrying a tiny baby on her back. It is possible that these were some kind of capuchin or Atlantic Titi, but I just don't know enough. 

We also saw a pair of caracarás, a gorgeous type of falcon that is so huge that I misidentified it at first as a type of eagle. I found this one in my bird book "Aves da Grande São Paulo" written by Pedro Develey. I have a couple of photos of these guys which I took as we drove down the dirt road but they are missing in action at the moment (the photos, not the birds). The two at the Alemão have been there for about a year--they are juveniles. Once in a while their enormous mom flies in but I think they are mostly on their own now.

My mom saw a parrot on a solo hike, one that seems to be called "the scaly-headed parrot" (it should always market itself by its Brazilian name of maitaca--"scaly-headed" indeed. That's just mean). Monk parakeets also flew across the sky several times. 

We have yet to see the big boys of the mountain range: cougars (onça-parda), maned wolves (lobo guará) or ocelots (jaguatirica) but all have been seen by the workers on the ranch, or by other renters.  Or so the stories go. 

On the mini-beast side, we got an invitation to a fight from an armadeira (Brazilian wandering or armed) spider. It had its front arms waving in the air practically screaming "come on, let's fight!" so I felt a little bad just squishing it with my shoe. It is highly aggressive and highly poisonous though so I got over my guilt. 

Armadeira Spider: come on and put your dukes up!

Photo credit: http://estudandoabiologia.wordpress.com/2012/12/22/aranha-armadeira/

We had also seen a huge tarantula the visit before--it was sitting in the middle of the road and my husband did not want to run over it (whether it was to avoid the squishy juice on the tire or to prevent it from catching a ride back to São Paulo, I just don't know.  

AGGGGHHHH!! Tarantula in the road!

Ugh. I hate spiders. BH made me chase it off the road with a large stick and then scared the beejees out of me by honking the car horn when I was in a precarious stretch over the spider.  Our divorce will soon be final--you do not try to freak me out with spiders. I still haven't spoken to my brother since going to the movie Arachnophobia with him (why I was suckered into this, I really have no clue) twenty years ago--at a slow moment, he tickled my arm lightly and I screamed the movie house down. 

Anyway, you've heard about the firefly 747 from earlier this week. The usual tadpoles and water skimmers were around on the lower lake, yellow butterflies, blue morphos, and my friends the mosquitos. I call them friends at the fazenda because they are so slow-moving that I can welcome them to my clapped hands without a problem. 

No snakes this time but my kids caught a toad. Apparently a poisonous one but my kids haven't turned any weird colors or lost arms so I guess it worked out okay in the end. 

The view from the Alemao. Morro Selado.No monkeys in sight.

We have a few more animals to see in the future. From the wikipedia page on Serra de Mantiqueira (the mountain range where the Alemão lies): 

"It is also the habitat of a varied fauna: pampas deer (veado campeiro), maned wolves (lobo guará), cougars (onça-parda or suçuarana), bush dogs (cachorro-vinagre), ocelots (jaguatirica), pacas, howler monkeys (bugio), Atlantic titi  (sauá), squirrels and hedgehogs can still be found there. Birds of note are the azure jay, the toucan, the scaly-headed parrot (maitaca), the inhambu, the jacana, the seriema, and the caracara." (Source: wikipedia)

It's a wild, wild life....

A little look at paradise - Joanopolis

Three hours driving from Sao Paulo, there exists a tree-fiiled, country hike paradise called the fazenda (ranch). This weekend we caught tadpoles, made a new trail and sat out in the star-filled evening with good friends. Makes me (almost) forget city living.

A friend reminded me this week about how important it is to get our kids out of the concrete. And let them know the difference between seeing large spiders at Instituto Butantan's museum, and seeing them in mommy's room. One involves looking closely and saying "cool" and the other involves screaming and squishing with (your husband's) shoes. 

Who says life's lessons are simple?

Good fences make good neighbors - Joanopolis

This is an extremely dark photo of Portão 4 (Gate 4) of our friends' fazenda in Joanopolis. Gate 4 happens to be the entrance to the lovely house we rent at the top of the hill. You know, the Alemão (German house). Outside this gate is the highway (hahahahaha! it's a dirt road rarely wide enough for two cars much less the eucalyptus-stuffed trucks) to São Francisco Xavier or Joanopolis. It remains locked when we are not there, and this is the only vehicle entrance to the property.

While the car entrances to the fazenda (and our small rented piece of it) are all locked continuously, the law of the land around the area is that you can easily pass through a neighbor's property without someone getting huffy. The paths and dirt roads are open to people. They are not, however, marked, which led to a very exciting day when we almost missed a flight to the US because we got lost.

I assume that if an enterprising tour company started dropping off busloads of people at the end of the driveway, the rule might change a bit.  But for now, you can just wander through your neighbor's huge forests...with one possible exception. Serra Azul ("Blue Ridge") the enormous fazenda behind our hillside, is manned (dogged?) by three or so fierce "pups" (demon dogs from hell). We tend to send the ranch hand ahead to ask for permission to cross through so we are not eaten. No worries about the ranch hand, okay? He is not our customary sacrifice but rather someone who is known by the dogs and humans there.

A few years ago the owners of our fazenda had to reinforce all of the fences around their property. One of their least-favorite (oh, I am nice today) neighbors was not feeding his buffaloes enough and they would break through the fences to go eat our friends' hydrangeas, corn, whatever they could find on their property. Buffaloes are pretty strong. Really strong. That is some big-time damage. Finally our friends had to sue the neighbor and he had to remove all of the buffaloes from his property. I don't miss those big animals--Brazilian buffaloes are fairly ugly. Bring on some American bison!

The mother of all spiders - Joanopolis

Don't tell my kids but I hate spiders. It's true. Yes, I take them to the spider and snake museum (Instituto Butantan) about once a quarter but it is only part of my ongoing therapy. I love snakes. I hate spiders.

So when my kids caught this spider in an ice cream container this weekend at the fazenda (our rented country house), I had a hard time not screaming. It's carrying 100s of babies. Yeeecccchhhhh!

You do reap what you sow. When I got mad at the kids (pretending I cared for the safety and health of the kids and the spider), one said "but mommy, we checked first and it's not an armadeira because it didn't put up boxing hands". Armadeiras are one of the three deadly spiders in Brazil. Yay! My kids know how to threaten a spider so it will box them!  Or not.

Then the other one said "and mommy, it was heading towards your open bedroom window so we got it!" And I held on to my first response which was KILL IT and all its babies--I just said "oh, okay, thanks."

Then when their backs were turned (they released mama spider into the woods), I killed every last baby still heading toward the window. I counted 30 squishes. The horror.

The Road Less Traveled - Joanópolis

Here's the view out the front of the our AWD car on the ride back from our rented country house in Joanopolis. I mention the AWD because you're really going to want to have one if you ever visit us there. Unless you feel lucky. This photo is from about 5 minutes down the gravel and dirt road, and before things start to get hairy. As in lumps and bumps and holes that have swallowed small goats.

The dirt road from the fazenda (ranch) house to the asphalted main road to Joanopolis is 27 km. On one side there is pretty much a constant wall of earth, frequently topped by rows of eucalyptus trees. The other side generally has a sharp drop-off to lower fields and farms. The turns are hairpin and the source of constant terror to me as we frequently meet enormous flatbed trucks carrying huge tree trunks.  On my last solo trip to the fazenda (not a trip I relish--3 hours with two crabby boys) I was stuck for 15 minutes as two tree trucks met and had to maneuver carefully past each other by shutting side view mirrors and clearing an electric pole by one inch. I closed my eyes as one truck leaned precariously to one side--the side with the free fall drop 70 feet to certain death.

Not all cars are four-wheel drive. The most common car on the dirt and asphalt roads of Joanopolis is the Fusca, or the VW Beetle. Old, creeky, rusty, marvelous. I say marvelous as they seem to be able to get through the muddy season swamp and the dry season ruts. There are so many Fuscas in Joanopolis that I often refer to it as "Fuscopolis"--my record on one trip through town was sighting  52 Fuscas (in a town of 12,000 people, that's pretty impressive in an afternoon).

During the rainy season, the roads are awash with mud, and there have been minor landslides in the area. Especially where neighbors have cut the eucalyptus. Friends have gotten their small Peugeut stuck--a friendly local truck driver helped them push it out. A couple of friends have simply not shown up when they turn back. One spent the night in his car when he got stuck late at night. Since there is no phone service or cell phone service at the ranch, we have to just assume the best. Yes, we are Brazilian--we assume the best.