Even in his youth, he was not well

8 de Julho, 6:30 PM

The sun is back.

We spent most of last night at our spot, the locals bar. Hissing and hollering at the tourist girls, we sat for hours drinking beer with sailors, cooks, and droves of off-duty waiters. Our presence was at first an awkward thing, and they afforded us a small halo in the center of the bar. Foreigners are not invited here, but our money is as pink as the next man’s, and after an hour or so they warmed up to us.

It was there that a raspy, drunken, cross-eyed fisherman named João told me that someone blew up the London subway. Later, Brazilian CNN confirmed.

Wonderful.

Nate and I flew into a bitter argument. Incensed by the stupidity of the world, of the ridiculousness of fanaticism and war in America and the East, I paced uncontrollably. We wandered the streets, beer in hand, shouting in English at each other about the responsibilities of every human to peace, freedom, and progress. Wary Germans and dour Argentinians scattered from our path.

Raging about Nationalism and Idealism and the hypocrisy of the Christian Right… these are not common diversions in tropical Búzios.

People come to places like this to escape the world of violence, of injustice. Of smoke and blood in the streets. You can tell by the looks on their faces. Hollywood brand cigarette in one hand and screaming, sand-caked toddler in the other, flabby, decadent foreigners roam the beaches paying for freedom from concerns like subway bombs and shrapnel.

I walked and yelled and drank off the hate last night, and now I’m too weary to transcribe the three-hour rant. Suffice it to say that it frustrates me to no end. The world, that is.

Today, today was better. Without the rain and the cold and the dark, it’s hard for me to raise those same furies that flowed so freely last night. Too bad the sun isn’t as bright and the beaches as warm everywhere in the world.

Búzios has its own special set of concerns. Tropical worries are a whole different breed. Fishing bees out of my cocktail and watching the daughters of rich Norwegians over my sunglasses… adequate sunscreen distribution and careful restaurant choices… these are Búzios worries. The world can be a horrible place. But not here.

Tonight is Friday, Sexta-feira. Hopefully the streets and bars will fill a little more, the music will be a little louder, and the rain will stay away. Tomorrow we’re on the move again. It’s time.

-T.

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