I did not appreciate Forteleza. In fact, I might go so far as to say that I did not like Forteleza. The city is gritty and grimy, the surf beach is located right next to the sewage treatment plant, plastic and trash overflow the storm water drains, people were rude and impatient, and I generally felt unwelcome. I wanted to leave as soon as possible, and I had not even left the 5-Star resort yet. But as Jessica Kippan reprimanded me, “You are sailing around the world to see the world, not the inside of your boat, GO EXPLORING !”
On our first day in the city center, after getting over various medical ailments in the seclusion of the hotel marina, we needed some exercise and thought a wander through town to pick up some groceries and look about was warranted. So off we set, us intrepid explorers of new lands, to see what there was to see.
Passing the front gate of the hotel, we were once again warned that we should not go walking but rather catch a cab directly to your destination; it was muito peligroso (very dangerous)out there. Undeterred, we asked how we should go about walking the safest and quickest way to town. “Across the highway, up the stairs, and you will be there. The stairs smell a little though” was the reply. A quick sprint across the highway and we began to climb the “smelly” stairs into town. The higher we got up the stairs the more pungent the smell of human feces became and the more “deposits” we had to avoid. By the top of the stairs there was barely enough space between human excrement for us to safely place a sandal without fear. “Great start” we thought.
Once we reach the summit of the stairs, we were greeted by the Forteleza’s tourist craft market. Intricately woven dresses and doilies, hand roasted cashew nuts, beautiful oil paintings of local sailing/fishing vessels inter mingled with alcoholic beverages with entire coconut crabs immersed in them and Spiderman t-shirts. Voices bounced off the walls, as vendors crowed the virtues of their products and people laughed in the food section. Every few feet your nose would be assailed with new and exotic aromas creating visions of dark Amazonian rainforests, smelly fishing boats and wet earth. There was a complete lack of “tourists” but the air was alive with people picking up treats and clothing for their families.
Later in the day, while surfing the beach next to the sewage treatment plant, one of the little grommets (junior surfers) and I became friends. We could not communicate by language but we could by means of the ocean and the love of a playful day in the sun and surf. At one point, he stole his friends wave, smiling and laughing as he rode along. So the next wave, I stole his and he howled with laughter as we rode together. Next we switched surfboards; I gave him my 6’3″ and took his 5’10”. There was no malice or worry about damaging each other’s boards, just a genuine stoke to have fun and try something different. We ended up riding each other’s boards, stealing waves from each other for the next hour, laughing and joking at each other’s expense. At the end of the session, he wandered back to the boat with us and we gave him a Livity shirt and a bunch of Globe, West and Sitka stickers.
If we had not left the “security” and “hospitality” of the hotel would we have experienced this area of the city or would we have continued to sit by the pool, eating and drinking at the exorbitantly priced restaurant?
Next travelling tip from Khulula: Get out of the city and go explore the country. By country, I mean outside any cities. Go in search of small villages and the rural towns; these areas generally exemplify the roots of the culture and not just another metropolitan cluster of business folk, franchise restaurants and honking taxi’s. Following our own advice, we rented a car and set off for the small coastal fishing village of Paracuru. Reputed to have five right-hand sand bottom point breaks, it seemed worthy of an exploratory mission.
On our first evening in town, after a small longboarding surf on the big green Sitka monster, we sat happily watching the sun go down over the ocean. Cameras lay next to us in the sand, wallets in our pockets, with no worries about crime. The local boys were deep in the evening’s game of beach soccer, the last fishing boats were coming in for the night, a handful of surfers were trying to eke out a couple last waves before the sun set. Everyone who wandered by threw us the surfers’ “Hang Ten” or “Shaka” hand greeting, and happily said Boa Noite (Good Evening). What a contrast to the city, where we would be scurrying back to the boat as fast as we can, watching the shadows lengthen and our anxiety growing, fearing that we would be accosted at any moment by some unsavory character.
Later that evening, while enjoying the cool of night in the tropics, sitting back at a café in the town square we watched as whole families enjoyed the town square. Fathers sat in groups pouring small cups of beer from communal bottles, mothers watched over children and caught up with the days goings-on, small children rode their bikes all over the square, frequently colliding with one another and teenagers hid in the shadows sneaking furtive kisses with the lovers while parents looked the other way. Vendors were setting up small coal pits to roast meat and chicken shish kabobs over, and cafés spread out of their walled confines and onto the streets so that customers could sit and eat, while enjoying all the evenings goings-on. Despite our unavoidable “tourist” stigma and our inability to speak Portuguese, people greeted us and spent the time to communicate in a mixture of English, Portuguese and charades. It felt as we were part of the scene rather than just on-lookers.
Watching this scene, we were once again reminded that one has to get out of the city and 5-star resorts to experience a culture or country. Sure we were sleeping on concrete pads with thin mattresses flung over them, and the cold shower didn’t work, but we were so much happier than when we were floating around the pristine hotel pool waited on my eager servers and surrounded by uninterested strangers.