João Pessoa, Paraíba, Brasil

So, I arrived outside the Igreja da Sé (church) and continue to enquire about lodgings. A couple people are consulted and a woman approaches. Let's call her Senora X to protect the identity of the innocent. She said R$100/day. She knew she was ripping me off ... and I knew she was ripping me off, but I said OK. There gets to be a point where your patience grows thin and you just to bring some act to conclusion.

She runs a stall and asked someone to tend it while we went to her house. It wasn't what I expected. The room seemed about 8' x 6' and carried a smell. The wall between the room and the bathroom stopped short of closing them off and stopped about 9 inches short.

I felt committed. I asked to use the bathroom. She entered and flushed ... then apologized. Sitting there, floating on the top, were two large turds, following the laws of physics. Turds that refuse to go away, will float!

I returned to Recife and returned with my backpack.

The little dog, Pitushka, and the cat, both took to me. I rooted through my backpack, looking for incense, but had left them in Belo Horizonte. I had planned to tell her that when I meditate, I light incense. Being a spiritual person, she probably read my mind and presented me with incense because the smell continued to be unbearable. I am talking about that night, at about 8 o'clock when she had retuned.

So I lit the incense and the mosquitos fed all night on my blood. If God had meant mosquitos to sing in our ears, why didn't He give them at least two octaves?

The following morning we walked quite a distance to a beach. She joined about eight of her friends. When I said I couldn't float, a man said it was because of my pecados (sins). I still think it was funny, even though he may be correct.

She left and I was sure I could find my way back to her house. Only thing is that I was so involved in our conversion on the way to the beach, that I really had no markers. On my return, nobody could tell me where to find the School of Samba, but at least I could find the church.

When I returned, her little dog, escaped into the street. Something she does often. Although she had returned, wearing only her bikini, now she seemed reluctant to go into the street to retrieve the dog. In the meantime, two of her other dogs, who live outside the house and who bark as if they want to hurt someone, both ran outside as well.

So she is shouting for Pitushka and I go to try get Pitushka. Only thing is that the black dog is after a piece of my body, barking real menacingly and too close for comfort. And, not surprisingly, Pitushka, until then my friend, joins the other dog in an attempt to do me harm. Finally, I am rescued by Senora X.

That night, I invite her to join me for camarao (shrimps). It has been on my mind for days. I drank what we in Jamaica call soursop, that is made with milk.

I barely remember her telling me that the dogs would be in the bathroom that night. (Failed to mention that the day I arrived, sweaty and all, there was no water to take a shower.)

Went to bed and struggled for quite a while to see how many mosquitos I could kill. After a couple hours, I said what the hell, go ahead and take your blood, anything to end that damn singing.

I awake in the morning and am using every muscle to hold on until I can get to the toilet. (I have a bad relation with milk. Love it. It hates me. A lifelong thing. Bad to drink milk and travel, if you know what I mean. Or even leave the house). I open the door and the first thing I see is the black dog who wanted a piece of me the day before. I shut the door and am desperate. I keep my cool for another ten seconds then call upstairs for Senora X. She instructs me to open the back door and let the dogs out. They won't bother me, she assures. It works. She definitely knows her dogs.

I rush to the toilet and nothing floats.

After R$200 Reales, two bad nights, one desperate morning, I leave ... never to return.

PBB