Day Trippers | Brazil

My head was pounding from the night before. I scraped myself off the couch and stumbled over to the kitchen sink to pour myself half a glass of water until I remembered that I couldn't drink from the tap. I dumped it back into the basin and knelt down. Below the sink was a silvery plastic in-line filter with a little valve at the top. I filled my cup from this and chugged the entire glass in a few gulps. I knelt down again, poured another, and repeated until I could feel the water sloshing at the base of my throat. A minerally metallic taste lingered on my tongue, and I burped out the air that had gone down as I drank.

I slumped the lower half of my body over to the floor, and zombie walked like this over to my open bag. Its contents, mostly now-unfolded clothes, were strewn about carelessly. I sat down cross-legged to conserve what little energy I had and dug through the front pocket until I found some Advil that I'd shoved in there when I was back in the States. I poured two of them into my palm, then threw them back dry with a gulp. I was a pro at recovering at this point and knew exactly what I needed to be ready for the day.

I hate to admit it, but I'd broken a stint of sobriety when I came to Brazil. I'd convinced myself since it was a vacation that, it was okay to let loose. I'd been drinking a bit too much for years; it's a family tradition at this point. Not that I was dependent on alcohol, but I certainly wasn't imbibing a healthy amount throughout my twenties. I'd been booze-free for three months when I ordered a glass of wine on my flight there. That being said, last night's binge had me half-dead and feeling a little guilty. I needed to bring myself back to life and not taint the day with negative emotions. I went to the bathroom, splashed my face with water from the sink, and gave my cheeks a little slap.

"You're good. You're fine." I told myself and gave a half-smile.

They say that forcing a smile tricks your brain into sending out the good stuff. I find it works half of the time. Shortly, I heard Kiana stirring; she popped out of her bedroom and greeted me with a smirk and a drawn-out "Fuuuck." She poured herself a glass of water and began to chug just as I had moments before. Felipe had already left for the city. Thank God we did not agree to wake up early and jump out of a fucking airplane, or hot air balloon, or whatever crazy shit Felipe was doing. I couldn't handle that today and sincerely don't know how he managed. Kiana committed to making us tapioca for breakfast and drip coffee after she'd showered. Once we ate, we would get a move on with our plans. In the meantime, I decided to wake myself up with a morning swim.

Having a morning swim before our day hike in the Atlantic Forest of Ilhabela. March, 2023.

When we were kids, Kiana and I would lay on the floor of her bedroom and take rips off a little bong named Desiree that she kept hidden in the back of the closet. It was blue and black with clear swirls going up the neck of it. We'd lock the door, close the vents, and open a window, knowing damn well the entire house still smelled like weed. Her dad would come to the door and shout in Portuguese:

“Kiana, que porra é essa, colocou uma toalha embaixo da porta, meu Deus!” He shouted.

We would giggle, and she'd shove a towel under the door as he requested. I always thought it was funny that he didn't get on to us for smoking weed in the house but for not doing it correctly. A boy in her room with a locked door was of no concern. I may not have acknowledged it yet, but they knew I was gay. Other times, her grandmother, Sandy, would come and knock. She could also smell what we were up to; the towel clearly wasn't working. We would have entire conversations through the door, and she was never angry but always concerned. All they really needed to do was walk out the back door to have a face-to-face with us. The window was always wide open, but they still came to the door.

"You can't do that outside? What if someone comes over? Are you two even thinking?" She would scowl us and then leave us to meditate on her words.

We would put on MGMT and The Cold War Kids and dance around her tiny room, carefree and without judgment. I would look back on these times as some of the happiest in my life, especially after anxiety had taken over my day to day. I could always be exactly who I was with her, and so could she. This is why I was excited to finally have a psychedelic experience with her. I'd managed to acquire a small amount of acid, and we made plans to go out in nature and be just as we were. Kids again for the day.

Kiana and I way back in 2012.

I grabbed the tiny little squares that would send us on our journey. They'd been stashed in a secret place I had almost forgotten. I carefully folded them into an American 20$ bill and slipped it into my pocket. Kiana and I hopped into her beat-up Fiat Uno and zig-zagged south into the little town. We brought filtered water and snacks as we would spend most of our time far from anywhere and needed to be prepared.

The week before my arrival, a torrential downpour berated the island for days. Kiana told me that the next morning, when they woke up, they saw a landslide had happened in the lot just next to Felipe's house. All over the island, massive landslides knocked out roads and leveled homes. Most affected routes had just been cleared a day or two before.

We didn't suspect anything terrible would happen to us, but having food and water was a good idea. I also bought a questionable Danish from a little padaria in the tiny village up in the hills, far from the touristic areas of the island.

Stopping in the village on Ilhabela before heading to the national park, 2023.

Here, locals strolled along the narrow streets, going about their daily business. Inside the bakery, there were no lights. I wondered if there was electricity or if it was just temporarily out. Flies were floating around in the still warm air, and I'm sure it didn't quite meet U.S. hygiene standards, but I'm not picky or so concerned with that.

There is a national park on the island further up from the village, and the entire interior of the island is relatively untouched wilderness; that is where we were going. A sort of road cutting straight through the center of the island is the only infrastructure. It's less of a navigable road and more of a sketchy path at its most remote points; still, you'd see the occasional car making its way through. However, traffic was mostly larger caravan vehicles carrying sparse tourists and commuters from one side of the island to a little cove on the other side.

When we made it to the gate of the preservation area, we parked the car near a ditch on the side of the road and walked the rest of the way.

One of the better developed portions of road in the preservation area, March 2023.

I slipped the 20$ bill out of my pocket, handed Kiana a tiny square, and told her to put it under her tongue, and I did the same.

When we arrived, the park ranger greeted us, and he was happy to see that Kiana spoke Portuguese. He said, 'Thank God,' and started laughing. I guess when he saw two stark white gringo-looking individuals walking toward him, he imagined he was going to have a long and difficult time explaining to us what he needed to say. There wasn't cell service to use Google for translating, and it certainly would've been a lot more difficult without her.

He told us that there was still a risk of landslides and that all of the waterfalls were closed. He also needed me to enter my passport number in a waterlogged ledger on a wooden podium near the small guard hut. He said they patrolled the road every 15-45 minutes or so. I didn't know my passport number, nor did we intend to stay strictly on the road. I just wrote down a jumble of letters and numbers, which was sufficient, and then we gave them a small wave and an 'obrigado' as we walked past the barrier up the clay path.

We walked for some time, often stopping to examine our favorite plants and picking up plastic as we floated higher and higher with each step. This was very good LSD. A crisp, shimmery veil began to settle over the scenery. I looked over at Kiana, and we both giggled.

"I think I'm starting to feel it," she said, looking for my thoughts. Her pupils were massive black holes sucking in all the light that got close enough to fall in.

"I can tell." I laughed. "Your pupils are insane." I stared back into them.

"Yours are, too." She affirmed.

The orange Brazilian earth was still muddy and wet, and our toes were slipping in our flip-flops. We took them off and walked barefoot for a bit. We soaked up the world's lushness and breathed the fresh, cool air. Occasionally, a patrol would ride by, and we would smile and wave each time. About an hour in, a small caravan of European and Brazilian tourists approached. They were coming back from the far side of the island. Kiana shouted for them to stop; when they came to a halt, she handed them the garbage we'd picked up thus far, and the driver made a strange face. She explained that we picked up litter and asked him to throw it away when he found a bin. He reluctantly took the trash, threw it to the floorboard, and drove off.

The second he rounded the corner, Kiana looked at me and said, "He's definitely just going to throw that back on the ground." She was laughing at the irony, but it was disappointing. She explained that many people simply aren't environmentally conscious and that this guy was quite confused and asked her why she had the garbage. She then insisted that he take the trash. She said it's not something most people do there. In all honesty, it's not something most people in the U.S. do either, and I'm sure there are plenty of people back home that would tell you to fuck off if you handed them some garbage to throw away.

I found it mindboggling that there was still litter even in the middle of an uninhabited, remote, protected forest. Still plastic. It really does hit you just how big the problem is. I thought about my job back home, working in engineering. The toxic chemicals I used to treat wastewater. Not only was it damaging to my health, but all of that had to end up somewhere; it must be hurting other people, too. That's one scary thing. Some ecological issues we can see with our own eyes. Our trash problem, for example.

Other issues are slower, like climate change and the eradication of different animal species. Average global temperatures are steadily rising. Then there are microplastics that cannot be seen, tiny enough to pass through the blood-brain barrier and even cell membranes. Or the existence of forever chemicals like PFAS floating through every single one of our veins. All this came and went through my head as we picked up garbage in paradise; however, I wasn't letting this dictate my headspace. There is always time for acknowledgment and time for appreciation. Now was the time to appreciate this moment we had together.

We soon stumbled upon a bridge that crossed a crystal clear stream. Running along the stream was a trail that wasn't blocked off. Kiana and I looked at each other, shrugged, and started walking along the cool mossy bank and sat on a rock.

Hiking up the stream in the national park, March 2023.

Just as we settled in, a patrol crept by on the bridge, and we both froze in place as if being still meant they couldn't see us. We weren't sure if this was allowed. The truck went at a creeping pace and had a clear view of us in our bright-colored clothing of blues, greens, and yellows. We were as obvious and out of place as the colorful bits of plastic on the trail.

The truck's brakes squeaked as it slowed even more and came to a stop, puttering idle directly in front of us in the middle of the bridge we'd just been on. My eyes widened, and I looked at Kiana without moving my neck. I talked through still pursed lips as if that mattered like they could hear us or see far enough to distinguish lip movement.

"Do you think they see us?" I whispered

"I don't know, probably," she replied, slightly louder, sending anxiety trickling over my scalp.

"Are we going to get in trouble?" I whispered even quieter as if to balance her out.

"I don't know, probably," she repeated, raising her eyebrows at me. She was fucking with me.

The truck lurched forward and kept on going.

"Well, that was lucky," I cheesed. "Let's go deeper so we can't see the road." I immediately suggested.

Kiana pointed upstream with her forehead, signaling agreement. We scrambled rocks and walked in the babbling waters far enough to be isolated in the trees. Soon, we found a boulder to hide from the sun beneath and took out our things. A couple of towels, a speaker, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, my cream cheese Danish, and the special borrachudo repellant.

Kiana and I taking shade under a boulder, March 2023.

Kiana had rolled a spliff for us in advance. She lit it, and we watched the smoke float upward through the sunlight and drift along with the wind and the river as we reclined on our grey-stone beach. The air glistened, and I felt I could reach into it and pull back the curtain.

"Everything is so beautiful," Kiana scanned the trees, exhaling another drag and passing the spliff to me.

The flowers and tobacco mixed in made it smell like incense. We laid back. I closed my eyes and listened to the water trickling down the time smoothed stones.

"You're going to move here, and we're going to do this every day." She imagined aloud.

"I need a plan." I was worried. "I want to, but I need a plan. I truly hate my life the way it is now."

I clarified: "I mean, I love my friends. I like my house. But... what I do every day is not what I thought I would be doing. I've always done exactly what I thought I was supposed to because it was practical, and now I feel like I'm just wasting away," I finished.

"Then don't be practical." She was very blunt, "Do you think anything I'm doing was practical?"

"No, you're fucking crazy." I widened my eyes at her.

"Well, you did the right thing because— look at you, you're set up to do this with a plan. I had a lot of shit go wrong for me before it went right, and still, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." She confessed, and I did feel a bit better.

"You're right. I need to let go of control. Just let it happen." I was quoting Paramore.

I passed the spliff back to her, having accidentally bogarted for a bit. It happens when you're tripping. I sat up and grabbed my knees, taking in my surroundings. It was insane. I couldn't believe I was here in a rainforest, tripping on acid with one of my oldest friends. Kiana busted laughing from absolutely nowhere.

"Wilson, what the fuck." She was laughing harder now.

"What?" I was smiling naively.

She reached toward my back and pulled something off of it. The sensation made my skin crawl, like peeling off slime, sending my synapses firing. I let out a tiny, disgusted yelp.

"The fuck is that?!" I was freaked out and contorted my body away from it.

"Your Danish dude." She was laughing so hard it looked like she might pee herself.

I turned and saw her holding my now completely flattened Danish in her hand. She extended it out to me, and I took it.

"Damn it, I really wanted that." I frowned.

"You can still eat it, I'm not telling anyone." She promised.

I shrugged and took a bite. It tasted okay; the lady knew how to make a good Danish. I walked over to the water, awkwardly laid down at the rocky water edge, and washed cream cheese off my back. I sat back down on the rock quietly for a moment. I looked down at my arm.

"Holy shit, Brazil is just fucking me up." I held my arm up for Kiana to see.

I'd forgotten to put on the borrachudo cream, and my entire arm was covered. I started to worry that it wasn't borrachudos. Maybe I was having an allergic reaction to something. Did I touch some poisonous plant? I began to freak out.

"Wilson, I promise. It's just borrachudos; you're fine; we'll put some cream on it." Kiana assured me, "It's the acid. You're getting in your head."

It'd been nearly two hours since we dropped, and we were nearing the peak of our experience. She was right. And I knew that. You can't let a negative idea whisk you away when you're tripping, or you'll just get paranoid and ruin your day over something that isn't a big deal. I still worried for another minute or two, but then I accepted that I wasn't going to go into anaphylaxis, and it was just bug bites, although a fuck ton of bug bites. After a moment, I thought it was funny. Fucking Brazil.

The borrachudo bites, March 2023.

I wanted to explore. Kiana agreed. We meandered upstream and saw tiny, colorful fish swimming in the shallow pools. We admired the plants and millions of natural textures around us while we listened to the chorus of tropical birds calling back and forth to one another as they danced in the trees above. Iridescent spiders strung their intricate webs above the flowing waters to trap tiny swarms of bugs that circled each other and created fluid, everchanging, blobular shapes. We were surrounded by so much beauty. I wonder how long we strolled quietly and appreciated the abundance of life.

After some time, we decided to head back, walk up the road a bit more, and see what else might be nearby. After we collected our things from our rock, we rounded the corner to see a small caravan of tourists had stopped on the bridge. We awkwardly trudged out of the jungle, each high as a kite. I couldn't help but notice this one particular lady who had been with the group. She must have been on her twilight tour with her medium-length white hair. She was dressed as if she were on safari. White pants with cargo pockets, a tan button-up shirt, and a bandana. The wading boots, binoculars, and straw hat were enough to tell me she was going for a British Raj look. Everyone else was wearing shorts and a tee, maybe flip-flops.

"Did you see that lady?" I asked Kiana when we were out of sight.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Apartheid lady." I was already laughing at my own joke.

Kiana had seen her, too. We joked a bit more. And I will admit, she could have been a fine and lovely lady. Still, her outfit choice was clearly intentional. It came off as if she romanticized the days of colonialism just a smidge too much.

As we walked further up the path, we discovered even more amazing and beautiful sights. We stumbled upon the largest tree I had ever seen, and I have spent some time in California. I have seen the Redwoods and Giant Sequoias, though I've never made my way to General Sherman. The video doesn't do it justice. It's just impossible to capture and can only be appreciated truly in a place in time and in memory.

Me tripping out over the giant tree, March 2023.

It was getting into the late evening, so we ventured just a bit further and found a waterfall right off the road. We climbed to the top and admired the view for a moment together before we bathed off the sweat from our hike in the chilly waters.

Our quick waterfall shower, March 2023.

We had spent most of the day outside and did not want to be here when night settled in. Our trip was coming to an end, and we still had a long walk back through the park to get to where we had entered. On the walk back, our stomachs rumbled. We'd had a nice breakfast but only a few afternoon snacks with all this walking. We decided we'd have some pizza when we got back into town.

Within the hour, we had made our way back to the car and were heading into town. We found a little pizzeria down by the water, and we sat at a table on the patio as the sun was setting. I looked at the menu. Aside from cheese and pepperoni, all of the flavors were absolutely wild to me. Some had eggs on them, others had cream cheese, olives, sausage, and shrimp. They also eat sweet pizzas with chocolate, strawberries, and bananas.

I informed Kiana that I was skeptical of this pizza. We decided to order two. She recommended that I order one of her favorite traditional Brazilian pizzas, and we would choose the other one together and share. I ended up going with a calabresa pizza with onions. Calabresa is a Brazilian sausage.

"What do you think?" Kiana asked about the pizza she recommended.

"It's good," I told her, nodding. I wasn't too crazy about it, but it was edible.

"What about the calabresa?" I asked her.

"Good," she replied, smiling.

We split the pieces like this until one slice of traditional sat in front of me, and one piece of sausage sat in front of her.

"Do you want this one?" I asked her.

"No, no. You can have it," she insisted. "Unless you can have this one if you want."

"No, go ahead, it's fine." I insisted back.

We sat there for another few silent seconds.

"You want this one," we both said at the exact same moment, reaching across the table to take the other piece. We started cackling as we bit into our slices.

To be continued…

Next Post:

We head back to São Paulo, go to a Brazilian nightclub, and I get ready to head back to the U.S.