Where are the most beautiful women in South America? I’ve been chasing this answer for the last four-years – possibly longer. I’ve been caught in a triangle between three cities – Florianopolis, Medellin and Cordoba – while I’ve chased this answer. The truth behind the matter is there are beautiful women in most corners of the world but in those locations you will find an uneven ratio of women to men.

When I first came to South America I had no idea I was here for the long run. I originally came here, well, Buenos Aires to start with, thinking I was there for a four-month holiday. My four months soon turned into four-years. For me, summer in Florianopolis – South of Brazil – is second to none. This decision is not only based on the beautiful women but also on the beauty of Florianopolis’ beaches. Summer is from late November to early April.

Medellin is another city in South America, Colombia, loaded with beautiful women – a great city to visit for a one week adventure – although, I stayed there for one year. It’s a prefect place to rest for a few months, too, if you have the time. The city has technology and the dollar to peso exchange is favourable. You can get up to most things in this city and there’s some of the most beautiful women in the world there. It’s proximity to the equator allows for a relatively constant temperature year round to escape the colder temperatures you’ll find in the southern hemisphere during the middle of the year.

Cordoba is a beautiful city in Argentina which is second to not many in the South of America. It’s oozing with young energy thanks to the universities in town and the locals are more than welcoming, too. Cordoba is one of the safest cities in South America if you’re in the well to do areas of the city. There’s a great nightlife there to put the icing on the cake. Cordoba is nice to visit during most times of the year. Although, November and December are a little quiet as the locals are usually holidaying. You should be in Florianopolis during those months, if you ask me.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where the most beautiful women in South of America are. I suppose, they are everywhere. If you float around the three cities I‘ve mentioned your mind will play tricks with you; you’ll never come up with the answer – like me. If freedom is on your side, or you have substantial cash in your pocket, do a year cycle of all cities. Give around four months to each city and you’ll be sure to come out the other side with a smile on you dial.

A very tough question, indeed. I’ve done one carnival in Rio and two in Florianopolis. I’m coming up to my third in Florianopolis in one week. I recall the first carnival I did in Rio, I said to myself: this is me every year from now on. Sure enough the following year I found myself in Florianopolis experiencing the carnival on offer there. After the Carnival in Florianopolis I said to myself: this is me every year from now on.

Both locations a very good – second to none – they are like you’re in a dream. I feel like when Carnival is on I’m dreaming and when I’m asleep that’s the reality and sleeping becomes living. Carnival is amazing. It will change your life. Rio has many things to do for carnival, as with most major cities in Brazil during the carnival period. A lot of the parties I experienced in Rio were the streets. There are cool parties around Leblon during most days and things get very crazy. I think you need to do a Carnival there to say you’ve done it. For those coming up to there thirties a carnival in Florianopolis may be more appealing. There you have street parties and also parties you pay to enter – the more exclusive parties.  Although, the parties can be expensive to enter, they often provide drinks and food free once you’re inside the party.

I’ve never had the chance to go to the parties in the north of the country. I’m sure they’re great. I just fell in love with the atmosphere in the south of the country and visiting the north would mean I miss a year of the carnival in the south – something I’m not ready to do.

I recommend both cities. If you haven’t done Rio, do it first. If you have, well Florianopolis is better. It’s crazy. Although, Rio is crazier. But Florianopolis is still crazy enough to be up there with the craziest things you’ve ever done. It’s tough to say one is better than the other. Both require a good attitude and a willingness to never-say-never. You’ll have the time of your life in both cities.

Although carnival is over, for many, the month following the event in Florianopolis is just as good as the carnival. The sun still shines throughout March and up until April on the island. There are still many parties and beach goers, too. The visitors who are not from Florianopolis during this time are usually from neighbouring cities – people visiting for the weekend – or who’ve migrated to the island.

During carnival in Florianopolis it can often be a pussy Olympics. Every man and his dog is here and all competing to get girls. The time after carnival is much more relaxed and the pretty girls are still here, minus every man and his dog on heat.

They days – while the sun is out – are better in my opinion after carnival. It’s during this time there are more girls on the island than men. The daytime events on the island, such as the beach or a trip to a local gym are just as good as hitting up a nightclub. Of course it’s a different thing, but what I’m saying is, the days are pretty good, too. If you require a party you’ll still have access to the best parties in the world at least once or twice per week.

Florianopolis is a must for any travel plans to South America.

The nightlife in Florianopolis is second to none. The issue travellers have when visiting the island is they know little of where to go. On top of this they normally have minimally Portuguese to do efficient research. The island is not so straightforward and can be a little inconvenient at times, too. It’s one of those places you need a car to explore. Although, taxis are not over the top expensive if you’re travelling in pairs.

There are many parties to the north of the island, the city’s centre, Lagoa da conceicao, the occasional party in the south of the island’s Riozinho. In the north the parties are straightforward. They’re in high-end nightclubs such as P12, Pacha, Café de la Musique and more. In Lagoa da conceicao you will find parties in the nightclub ‘Confraria.’ While in Riozonho there is the occasional party at Riozonho’s ‘ponte.’ Be sure to check in advance when parties are playing at the different locations. If you rock up on a night while nothing is playing you’ll be left thinking like many tourists who come to Florianopolis, with minimal Portuguese to investigate the issue, thinking: what’s all the hype about? The hype is definitely in Florianopolis – you just need to know where it is.

Another issue to point out is often locals visit the continent – get off the island – for parties, too. There are massive parties on the continent to the north – around 90 kilometres from Florianopolis. The city with those parties is known as Balneario Camboriu. Another great addition to your travel plans in South America. There you will find hardcore Warung Beach Club and Green Valley for the diehard party fans.

If you leave Florianopolis wondering what the hype’s about, it’s simple, you didn’t learn your Portuguese well enough to get to the bottom of the nightlife scene. I hope I’ve set you up a little for your travel in South America.

Gaston Cavalleri was born in an English-speaking country on January 8, 1980. He graduated in 2005 with a Bachelor of Science degree, and at the time of creating South America Basics, he was completing a Master of Arts in writing and literature. Gaston keeps healthy by training in jiu-jitsu academies all over South America and has done this since 2005. He is currently living in Brazil.

Please treat this blog as a little friend to accompany your trip. It will explain what to expect when arriving in South America. Some information in travel guides requires frequent updates and often authors publish stuff on cities without even visiting those cities. Although most publishers only touch on travel issues, they’ll be the first to say they cover everything. The information in this blog describes the characteristics of South America which have been acquired by its Author over a four-year period.

Click here for a New York Post article about Gaston Cavalleri

The cost of living in South America can vary immensely. It depends on the quality of life you’re use to – most expats require a high standard – or what you require in your life, such as beaches or restaurants. Some cities offer a café culture, while others a beach culture and there’s those cities offering nature trails or hiking. Natures treats are cheaper than the restaurant life.

Buenos Aires is a city in South America with culture, museums, fashion and most things to satisfy the fussiest of residents. The cost of the city can be hefty at times since most things you do in the city require your hand in your pocket. The city has a café/restaurant culture and often while sitting and being social in a café you’re required to purchase food or drinks. A coffee in a decent area in Buenos Aires will run you back around 15 pesos. At the time of writing this article one America dollar was the equivalent to 5 pesos. A decent meal in Buenos Aires will be close to 50 pesos. Therefore, a sit and a chat in a local café, not too flash and not too rough, will be around 65 pesos + tip per sitting – close to 15 dollars. At the moment Buenos Aires is not the cheapest city to live in. The country has experienced 18% inflation over the last four-years and locals believe something is due to give in the country’s economy. Taxis are not too costly in the city, although, sometimes they are a necessity – due to safety reasons while walking at night – and can add to your overall outing. A short ride in a taxi to a neighboring barrier will cost around 15 pesos. Therefore any brief outing in Buenos Aires will usually cost you 100 pesos. Keep in mind that approximately 25 dollars spent in Buenos Aires gets you a very decent meal and a taxi to and from your café. This would cost an arm and a leg if you hoped to achieve the same result in a city like New York or London. I think the issue is there are cheaper cities to travel to in South America than Buenos Aires. I’ve included this city as expats normally require the sweeter things in life – such as the quality offered in Buenos Aires. A small furnished, apartment will cost around 1,000 dollars per month. Cheaper if you’re in a shabby area or if you have a long-term lease with no furniture provided – could be 600 dollars for the month if your a wheeler and a dealer.

Florianopolis is another city in South America which is not exactly on the cheap side. Although, the prices in the city are much less than those in many major cities outside of South America. An added benefit of Florianopolis is there is a beach culture which costs nothing – the beaches are free, of course – although, you may wish to hire a beach chair and umbrella – 5 reals each. At the time of writing this article one American dollar was equal to two Brazilian reals. A coffee in a café in Florianopolis can very immensely. There are very chic cafes in Florianopolis and most of those can offer coffees for around 6 reals. Taxis are very expensive in Florianopolis since the island is very spread out. A short ride from one beach to a neighbouring beach can be close to 20 reals. This of course depends on which beaches you’re traveling between. Meals in Florianopolis can also be expansive. A nice sized plate of protein – meat or chicken – and vegetables will be around 16 reales. Drinks in a decent bar can be around 6  to 10 reals for a beer. An apartment in Florianopolis is around 700 dollars per month if renting in a decent area with a furnished apartment on a short-term lease. 600 dollars apartments can be achieved for longer leases and mush cheaper again if you leave the tourist neighborhoods.

The two cities mentioned are rather expensive and cheaper cities are possible in both Brazil and Argentina, or cheaper again in Bolivia or Peru. The cities mentioned are two which tend to attract travelers. Therefore, I’ve given a slight wrap-up on those cities. In a nutshell both cities require around 40 dollars a day on top of your accommodation costs. These are basically the more expensive cities where gringos tend to want to settle. Although, I’ve seen a decrease in the number of gringos settling in both cites over the past couple of years. You can do both cities cheaper again if you wish to live on the smell of an oily-rag.

This article is very brief. I can go on all day about the cost of living in each city in South America, or at least the cities I’ve lived in. Please feel free to ask any questions regarding further costs. If you’d like to be specific that’s fine, I’ll do my best to help any way I can.

Thanks,

Gaston

Your first travel experience in South America can be a bit daunting. It’s not as dangerous as your initial impressions imply, although, it can be, if you don’t learn the game fast. I think the only time you get in trouble in South America is while you’re dealing with drugs, sex or taxi drivers. Of course, you could just find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, but this can happen anywhere in the world. Often taxis have a connection to corruption in South America and they’ll be willing to assist with your inquiries in the majority of cases. Although, this not always advisable. I recall a wise man in my life once told to me: “Don’t look for trouble, it’ll find you.” I think this phrase needs to be considered while you’re still registering your qualifications as an Expat, or a gringo, if you like.

During my first day in South America, I’d got off my plan in Buenos Aires and had no idea what I was getting myself into. I hadn’t booked or researched a hostel / hotel or even considered the rate of currency exchange. To put the icing on the cake, I had zero Spanish. I’d arrived at the airport as green as you can be, as an apprentice gringo, then I asked a taxi driver to take me to central Buenos Aires. Something which hadn’t crossed my mind before the taxi arrived at our final destination was: I had no idea what the exchange rate was for an Argentinian peso for a dollar. I hadn’t considered this an important issue until I realized I no idea how much money was represented by the bills I was giving the driver. Of course I gave him a shit load, then thought, I’ll put this down to a loss and move forward once I’ve found a hostel.

After the taxi ride I found myself on a random street in central Buenos Aires. I had my backpack on, I was 28, and had zero training in the South American world. While walking the streets looking for hostels, with no map or idea about the city, I managed to spot other fresh gringos wondering the streets, too. Although, they had an address they were looking for – a slight plan. I decided to follow them as they were English-blooded, like myself, and sure enough we made it to a hostel. One thing I noticed while following my new gringo friends was they all had a white cream splashed on their backpacks. This is part of a little trick you may encounter while walking the streets looking green in South America; somebody will put a cream, ice-cream, or a type of sauce on your bag. Then, another will approach you as though they’re helping you clean the mess. Then, they cut a pocket on your bag and rinse what they can from that compartment. Perhaps another person will help them, too. The key to avoid this is don’t stand still looking as though you need help. Keep moving while walking and keep them away from your bag. If they get violent it’s a different game which requires a different strategy depending on the case, but one where He-man should be left at home. It many cases, for many people, it’s best to hand-over your stuff if they produce a weapon – wait for this to happen, though. The key is to keep walking and to stop for nobody. If you’re moving with your bag, know where you’re going, too. This will prevent time delays and standing around looking lost while you’re holding assets.

After settling into my hostel I was alone again. I put my bag in a locker and was anxious to step out on the town. I went looking for a money exchange store to discover the rates of exchange and settle into the spending. I was still a little tired from the flight but didn’t arrive in Buenos Aires to catch up on rest. I recall walking the streets and people standing at door fronts trying to coach me down into the stairs beyond the doors. I was resistant at first. I had no idea what was going on down the stairs beyond the doors, or was being said to me as I passed those doors either. After passing the doors and being asked by close to five different businessmen I thought I’d put myself on auto-pilot and head down the stairs. AAhhh … Of course … A strip bar, I thought to myself once I’d reached at the bottom of the stairs. The bars were not very well lit and not too many girls were working. I had no idea of the system there or how to get out of there either. I have to say some pretty girls danced in front of me and I saw a pair of the nicest boobs I’d ever resting on my face, too. Something that didn’t dawn on me, though, was: I was about to be robbed in a friendly manner. I was approached and asked if I’d like to buy the girls different drinks in return for them dancing. I had no idea what a drink was worth and thought: two girls, two drinks can’t be all that bad and went with the flow. There came a point in the encounter when I was asked to come up with some cash. At that point it was determined I didn’t have the cash they requested, but according to them I’d already spent the entire amount in my pocket on drinks and the show. I stood there with my insufficient cash then pulled out my credit card – not advisable amigos. Luckily for me, I forgot to tell my bank back home I was travelling to Argentina and the credit card never cleared my attempted payment. Things got a little messy at this stage. Not too bad but some heavy Argentinian bouncers came out and stood there while my credit card attempted to clear. While it didn’t clear I explained I had another card that may work at an ATM on the street. From there we went up to the street, I was accompanied by two girls who still had their strip cloths on and made sure I didn’t attempt to escape. I stood at the ATM with a stripper to my left, and a stripper to my right, got cash out, cleared the bill and got the hell out of there and back to my hostel. Now, I’d been in South America for less than three hours before my adventures began. I’ve been here for four-years now. I don’t see these little adventures as bad experiences. It was more a little learning curve and not to go down into doors leading to basements without knowing what’s down there. The money I spent to clear the bill could have gone on a bloody good time, though, if I had my wits about me from the start.

The thing is, for some, these incidents are considered dangerous. These are examples of things that may go wrong in South America that are part of the initial learning process. For the newbies to the game, keep your wits about you listen to the following: “Don’t look for trouble, it will find you” and great new experiences will come with minimal long-term consequences.

Cheers,

Gaston Cavalleri

PROFILE

A raw jiu-jitsu black belt

with a heart of gold

Nelson Destri – “Badeco”

On the way to jiu-jitsu my bus stopped in front of a Brazilian Prison. There was a four meter high concrete wall, that’d been built out front, with razor blade barbwire added to its top. I walked for less than thirty seconds across one road then arrived at the street of the jiu-jitsu academy I’d aimed for.

It was in an industrial area of Brazil’s Santa Catarina, which at that time – 2009 – was completely foreign to me. In this street there were five oily mechanic shops, a hardware store, and a prison at one end of the street, accompanied by Brazilian shanty homes at the other.

What am I doing here? I thought to myself.

I found the address I’d been given, then entered a warehouse full of Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belts – Gracie Floripa – winners of “Brasileiro de Equipes 2007,” an annual competition where top jiu-jitsu teams compete to be champions of Brazil.

As I entered the academy, I was greeted by a man, “Oi, Cabron!” He handed me a camera and asked that I take a photo. I’ve often been mistaken for an Argentinean due to my curly hair and because it’s closer than my country on the other side of the world. But I thought: Wait a minute, Cabron’s Mexican slang. Then Alesendre de Souza (a national Brazilian jiu-jitsu champion) tapped Antonio Braga Neto’s shoulder (a current world jiu-jitsu champion, although not officially part of Gracie Floripa) saying “Nao, ele e Australiano,” which, for those who don’t know, is Portuguese. Then, seven black belts laughed . . . So I took their photo.

Among the group there was a colorful character who stood out like a bee-sting. He was painted in tattoos and screaming in Portuguese. What appeared to be an angry man – at least to those with minimal Portuguese – was a proud black belt jiu-jitsu practitioner telling jokes. His name was Nelson Destri, but he’s known as “Badeco,” and he received his black belt when he was just twenty-seven.

Once Badeco finished yelling, he described a jiu-jitsu half-guard pass in very fine detail. The black belts then calmly threw ideas off one another, like a group university professors performing research.

On top of shouting, Badeco is every bit what you’d imagine a twenty-nine year old Brazilian, with thirteen years jiu-jitsu experience, to look like. He’s got “Gracie” tattooed on one of his arms and a tattoo of two grapplers performing a jiu-jitsu position on the other – “rear-naked choke.” He’s at least ninety-four kilograms, with cauliflower ears and both biceps severely ruptured.

Badeco is a product of Crolin Gracie, the son of Carlos Gracie, who both played major roles in the international progression of jiu-jitsu.

Three years later a small car pulled up outside my apartment in Florianopolis, Brazil. “Oi! I’m here!” the voice screamed in Portuguese. It was Badeco. I’d invited him to my apartment before he was due to give me a one-on-one jiu-jitsu class. He’s thirty-four now and has eighteen years of jiu-jitsu knowledge.

“We’re not like McDonalds or Hungry Jacks,” Badeco once told me. He was referring to his jiu-jitsu being raw, real, and not a money train. Badeco lives and breathes grappling, and he’s been a black belt since the age of twenty-seven. “Jiu-jitsu brought me together and made me secure in this world,” he said. His life was unstable before he’d started jiu-jitsu at the age of sixteen. He showed me a hole on the inside of his right leg, an aged puncture wound about the size of a fingertip. “380” and “this was a slash,” as he raised his chin showing an old three-inch cut in the exact location of his anterior jugular. How the laceration missed is beyond me. I assumed “380” and the circular wound on his leg could only refer to a bullet. Now, whether he was pulling my leg or not, the cut on his jugular did not indicate a life of ballet.

My apartment was a small studio, about the size of two small car-parking spaces, so I hoped we wouldn’t stay together in it for too long. But I thought it’d be rude to not offer Badeco a coffee. I’d told him previously I was interested in doing a profile on him, so I thought, Stuff it, I’ll do a bit of it now.

Badeco’s family lived in Rio de Janeiro until he was eight years old, so I asked him to describe the most real thing he’d seen while growing up. I was thinking of Rio’s streets as crazy, something a foreigner like me would find very interesting. Although, to Badeco, the streets were just the streets. Therefore, he took me beyond those streets. He told me about his father who’d fallen ill with a heart condition in 1987. He stood up and said, “I saw my father cut from here to here,” as he pointed to the top of his sternum, running his finger down his abdomen to his left leg. Four years later his father passed away. I’d known this previously and thought: This apartment’s very small and I’ve found myself in the deep end with a weapon of a man. However, the more I spoke with him the more his picture was painted. He’d apparently been a curious eight year old, so stuck his head in on the operating theater. “That’s scarred me for life,” he said. You wouldn’t believe medics would allow a kid into the theater, but he explained his curiosity got the better of him and forced a look past the theater’s door. Badeco comes across as a very straight-talking man.

He went to public school after his father died. “The extra expense wasn’t worth it compared to the cost of a quality school,” according to him.

“I became lost after this.”

He explained people would try to learn at the school but class would be over by lunchtime. After school, some kids would run free. Some would take drugs or even do robberies. “I was completely lost between thirteen and sixteen.”

During his later teenage years he witnessed his friend get shot and killed. He pointed to the back of his skull and indicated the bullet coming out the front of his left eye. Luckily for Badeco, he’d been given a different direction with sport, and a reason to stay off the streets. His father first took him to a jiu-jitsu academy when he was six years old. “Dad loved jiu-jitsu, but the sport was more expensive back then, so he did kung-fu as it was slightly cheaper.” This led to Badeco’s passion for jiu-jitsu being fully developed by age sixteen.

According to Badeco, Crolin Gracie use to say, “Brazil’s dead fighters look after Gracie Floripa.” He was referring to the sense of security he felt in his life after starting jiu-jitsu.

After our coffee, we drove 15 kilometers from my apartment to Badeco’s home. He mentioned he was slightly ill that day, although we still trained. His transport was a respectable car, although very small. “I think I bought bad petrol,” he commented, as his car shuttled along the road. He went on to explain, “Sometimes the fuel’s diluted” in petrol stations near his home.

We eventually arrived at his house to find a tatami in his carport and a dog named “Gracie.” He then went on to teach techniques I’d never seen in my eight-years of jiu-jitsu. After receiving my one-on-one class I found it so beneficial I decided to request more.

On the way home we picked up Badeco’s daughter, Maria, from school. She’s just under three years old. Badeco becomes a softer man around her. A three-year-old boy had hit Maria during class before we collected her that day. Badeco asked Maria in a slightly modified younger tone: “Do you want Daddy to punch him tomorrow?”

“No!” she responded “No!” So Badeco looked at me stunned. “You see that? She doesn’t even want to get even.”

Badeco’s Brazilian public school past had taught him to defend his choice of school. “It’s expensive to send her to a private school but I can’t economize with this. Public schools are not the same as private schools in Brazil. But private’s expensive.”

Although he’d have nothing other than private for his daughter, I asked him, if he could turn back time, which would he prefer for himself? He looked at me with devious eyes, smiling, then said: “Public.”

“I want her to have a different life,” he said. “There are people on this island who probably think they’re higher than me.” He’s spent his entire life training, so believes some may think he’s just a “brawler.”

“I want her to have the best,” referring to Maria.

“I’ve had three knee operations, my face smashed in and teeth belted out . . .” he said, as he raised his tattooed arm showing his indented biceps, then nodded, “jiu-jitsu.” He knows he’s no bank manager, but everybody in jiu-jitsu respects him. They say he’s got a “heart of gold.” He’s helped Brazil’s elite competitors and he also finds time to share with foreign jiu-jitsu visitors. He’s helped people from France, Portugal, the United States, Australia and more. At times there’s a language barrier, but jiu-jitsu’s the same language all over the world. Badeco’s focuses are his daughter and his students.

“I’m not a brawler anymore,” he told me.

The following day Badeco picked me up for training, and told me he’d seen a public doctor as he was still feeling sick.

“Public doctor said I had a flu, but I’ve never felt like this.” So, he went on to see a private doctor. “I’ve got Dengue fever!” But we trained anyway.

Over the next three days I saw Dengue wear him down. He was forced to take just a few days off jiu-jitsu, but he still attended his academy.

The state of Badeco’s frayed black belt is now a faded grey. To me, it indicates there aren’t too many things stopping him from training. And this was also the case with Dengue fever. “My bones feel weak,” and he called himself a “bunda-mole,” which as far as I know is Portuguese for “pansy.” “I’ve got a new student coming tonight and I can’t let him see me like this.” That night Badeco was rolling with quality black belts and Dengue fever.

He’s a raw character, pouring his heart and soul into jiu-jitsu. I’ve had a good time getting to know Badeco. Behind all the tattoos and the tough guy image there’s a warm heart wanting to share his jiu-jitsu knowledge. At least that’s the impression I received.

Gaston

Copyright © 2013 Caviar Literature LLC

Carnival

This post is to encourage questions regarding Brazil’s Carnival; I’ve been to this event for the last five-years in a row. I’m more than happy to help those who are the middle of planning. My Portuguese is high up there and I have knowledge that even locals don’t have. Of course, I’ll trail behind some, but I can help you from a Native English speaker’s point-of-view, too.

Please feel free to ask away and I’ll do my best to put you on track. I’m not selling anything here either. If somethings crap, I’ll tell you. Just tell me you situation and I’ll see how the answer and your question work together.

Post questions below here.

Gaston.

As always, I’m making sure my readers know their stuff for their Brazil Travels. Here I’ve provided the official link to the Rio Olympic site.

Cheers,

Gaston

Cities of South America with beautiful women.

via Cities of South America with beautiful women.

Sweet site starting out. It’s aimed at helping travel in South America. The main focus will be Argentina, Brazil and Colombia. Have a browse and give the facebook like a check. The site also has creative travel writing for those wanting to experience a place without going to it; or it could make you want to go even more.

Gaston.

www.desdesouthamerica.com

If you’re into not spending money and still experiencing travel literature from South America then you’re in good hands. My site: http://www.desdesouthamerica.com is dedicated to the best of travel writing; I’m producing articles with care, not the rough stuff our newspapers have justified selling us.

I’m on the lookout for quality article, too. So, if you’re a quality travel writer get in touch. These articles will need to have character development (I like dialogue), scene development, hands on tips (proof you’ve been there), some history or education, a bit of humor and possibly some other fiction writing techniques, although used to beautify your nonfiction travel piece. I’ll pay, that’s why I’m picky. Check out my site and say hello if you think your style may interest me.

Cheers,

Gaston Cavalleri 

A steel fence with white bars welcomed us at Marcela’s home. Next to this was a small brick office fitted with a glass booth and speaker. This was a gated community.

‘There’s a favela up that hill,’ Marcela said.

I looked in the direction of Marcela’s nod but saw little, other than a dark hill scattered with the occasional dim orange light.

A grey-uniformed man walked out of the brick office. He had a black square badge with the word ‘Segurança’ embroidered in gold. His dark face gave a glistening white smile, then an electric gate opened.

‘Boa noite, gente!’ the Segurança said. He tucked his shirt into a thick black belt fitted with a baton and handgun. Then we entered.

Security like this is required in Brazil where homicide rates can be as high as 50,000 annually. The country is also considered a kidnapping hotspot. In 2006, Brazil was ranked fifth as one of the kidnapping capitals of the world.

Inside the gated community was a lush green garden with a freshly painted, beige high-rise building.

Upstairs in the high-rise was Marcela’s home. Marcela’s mother cooked dinner for her father, Arcturo, when we arrived. Arcturo was watching a local soccer game.

‘Are you happy Brazil’s hosting the Soccer World Cup?’ I asked Arcturo.

He pointed to the television and said, ‘I’ve always had the Soccer World Cup.’

‘Dad!’ Marcela screamed. She was in another room.

Marcela’s mother delivered a plate of black beans in sauce, smothering white rice, with a lump of steak hanging off the plate.

‘You like feijão?’ Arcturo asked.

I didn’t know what he meant. He pointed to black beans overpowering his plate, then gave a proud smile.

They’re not amazing.

‘Beautiful,’ I said.

‘Thirty billion dollars this World Cup will cost,’ Arcturo said. ‘The last three combined cost 25.’

Arcturo ran a local Brazilian buffet, which provided traditional Brazilian dishes – with feijão. Marcela’s grandparents migrated to Florianopolis in the state of Santa Catarina during the early 19^th century. Marcela’s crystal blue eyes, light brown hair and pale skin are much fairer than many Brazilians further north possess. Many German and Austrian immigrants came to Brazil’s south from 1828 onwards to work in agriculture. Now, 45% of Santa Catarina’s population has either German or Austrian ancestry.

‘They say the Soccer World Cup was an incentive to look after our people,’ Arcturo said, grinding his knife into his meal. ‘Did the United States need incentives to look after their people?’

He thinks I’m American.

Marcela entered the room. ‘I’m ready!’ she said. Her eyes gave a non-verbal apology saving me from replying. Then we said goodbye.

Downstairs, ‘Segurança’ opened the exit gate. Marcela explained I’d got her father onto a touchy subject, then, shrugged it off.

‘We need to buy some weed,’ said Marcela.

We drove into a Brazilian shanty village two minutes away. The car’s dash said 11:30 pm.

‘Welcome to the favela,’ Marcela said.

My skin went cold.

We drove up a 40-degree road paved with ridged, zig-zagged, grey bricks. There were minimal streetlights, and concrete walls ran into more concrete walls, most without paint, but some walls had faded orange paint, some ocean blue and some aqua.

‘Don’t speak,’ Marcela said. ‘This is Morro do Horácio. They can’t know you’re a gringo.’

Why the hell did you bring me up here?

‘I’m not saying a thing,’ I replied.

We drove slowly between seven-foot high walls with concrete carelessly splashed onto grey bricks. These ran up both sides of the street. They acted as security defences for residents or the external walls of basic box homes.

Dark shadows of people at street corners stood out from the moonlight. These were young men – still teenagers. They gave signals to even younger teenagers who stood at other corners. Some stood on the tops of shanty-homes. They also gave signals to others.

‘They work for the Dono,’ Marcela said. Some had guns. They weren’t from German ancestry; their skin was darker than Marcela’s. Marcela called them ‘soldados’, and said, ‘They watch for problems.’

The first shanty village to be called a ‘favela’ was in Rio de Janeiro – Morro de Castelo – in the late 1800s. This was built for army veterans returning from the War of Canudos in the northern state of Bahia. Bahia is home to a skin-irritating plant – Cnidoscolus quercifolius. The military called the plant ‘Favela’, then decided to name Morro de Castelo after it: ‘Favela Hill’. When the army moved on from ‘Favela Hill’, it was occupied by African slaves. This was the case with most shanty villages. Before the term ‘favela’ spread throughout Brazil’ the shanty villages were called ‘Barrio Africanos’. Morro do Horácio is 1140 km south of Rio’s Morro de Castelo, but like other shanty villages in Brazil, it is now also called a favela.

Then, a man with dark skin ordered Marcela to turn her car around to park. We sat in front of a grey brick rectangular building fitted with a sturdy steel door. Next, the man approached my window. He wore a hat which shadowed his face.

‘O que você quer?’ he said.

Marcela sat on the driver’s side opposite the man so his eyes looked straight at me.

I didn’t reply. I nudged Marcela’s leg. Then, she spoke in Portuguese and handed money past my chest. The soldado received the banknotes then walked to the steel door. Two teenagers stood above the door, on top of the building, each with a handgun. They had a concrete barricade built up to chest height. The young soldados yelled in Portuguese from the roof to underneath it, inside the building. A slot opened horizontally in the steel door at the height of a pair of eyes. Marcela’s money was handed through the slot.

‘You want to stay here, gringo?’ Marcela asked.

I wasn’t impressed.

‘Problems of the Third World,’ she said.

‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘You think they’re going to the World Cup?’ Marcela said.

The man returned to the car with a small parcel the size of a matchbox.

We drove out of the favela.

‘More than 11 million people live in Brazilian favelas,’ Marcela told me. ‘Many can’t even read.’

I witnessed poor infrastructure inside Morro do Horácio. It was clear little money was being invested into the village, given the minimal lighting and poor construction. I’m not sure where residents got water and waste supplies to their homes. Favela hygiene is normally poor.

‘The government and police rarely visit favelas,’ Marcela said. ‘Many youths are from broken families and have little regard for the law.’

Rocinha is a favela in Rio de Janeiro, which has 4,500 visiting tourists each year, generating income for schools, water and electricity. Perhaps Rocinha will benefit from the Soccer World Cup – at least during the week of the World Cup. Morro do Horácio, like many favelas, is outside Brazil’s hosting cities, so it’s difficult to say if its residents will benefit from the 30 billion dollar investment in the Soccer World Cup. Tourism to the favelas is permitted in the larger cities, as tour guides bring money into the favelas. This was also why Marcela and I were permitted to enter Morro do Horácio.

Marcela’s proud of her country and her soccer team. They’ve ranked highly internationally throughout her entire life. Many Brazilian teenagers are proud of their team. But many will continue to work as links in a drug chain before, during and after the World Cup – some out of respect for their ‘dono’ and some out of fear.

The money from the World Cup will go to the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) and to the people who originally had the 30 billion to invest.

‘We don’t need more stadiums in Brazil,’ said Marcela. ‘We don’t need to invest money into beautifying tourist areas to paint a pretty World Cup’.

We drove down to a car park near the ocean. This was near both Marcela’s home and Morro do Horácio. A main road with speeding cars ran behind the car park. In front of the car was the ocean, glimmering in the light of the moon.

‘People may say I’m bad for buying weed,’ Marcela said.

I thought about the people with money in the gated communities. I thought about the people in the favelas. I thought about the 30 billion being spent on the World Cup. Then I thought about the money going on stadiums.

Then Marcela said, ‘It’ll be the people that already have money that’ll say this.’

By Gaston Cavalleri.

This is a profile about a man doing big things in Brazilian Jiu-jitsu. It’s creative nonfiction writing piece. One for those into travel writing and one for those who love jiu-jitsu.

via PROFILE BRAZILIAN LOCAL: A raw Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt with a heart of gold..

Brazil Travel

I’ve decided to include this post for those who have questions regarding Brazil travel; the sun is starting to to shine, people are getting ready for Brazil’s beaches, or maybe some are planning ahead for next year’s Carnival / Soccer, then of course there’s the Olympics (2016).

You’re welcome to ask anything. I don’t mind if it’s how big your passport photo needs to be for your tourist visa, or what size for the minimum head dimensions that are accepted in that photo – yes, if it’s too small it’ll be handed back to you – or can I smile in the photo (no you can’t). You can ask the best airlines, or the best route from where you are; I’ve flown most routes into Brazil. I’d be pulling your leg if I said I’d flown them all.

Try your luck with any question.

Post questions down the bottom.

Gaston.

The cost of living in South America can vary immensely. It depends on the quality of life you’re use to – most expats require a high standard – or what you require in your life, such as beaches or restaurants. Some cities offer a café culture, while others a beach culture and there’s those cities offering nature trails or hiking. Natures treats are cheaper than the restaurant life.

Buenos Aires is a city in South America with culture, museums, fashion and most things to satisfy the fussiest of residents. The cost of the city can be hefty at times since most things you do in the city require your hand in your pocket. The city has a café/restaurant culture and often while sitting and being social in a café you’re required to purchase food or drinks. A coffee in a decent area in Buenos Aires will run you back around 15 pesos. At the time of writing this article one America dollar was the equivalent to 5 pesos. A decent meal in Buenos Aires will be close to 50 pesos. Therefore, a sit and a chat in a local café, not too flash and not too rough, will be around 65 pesos + tip per sitting – close to 15 dollars. At the moment Buenos Aires is not the cheapest city to live in. The country has experienced 18% inflation over the last four-years and locals believe something is due to give in the country’s economy. Taxis are not too costly in the city, although, sometimes they are a necessity – due to safety reasons while walking at night – and can add to your overall outing. A short ride in a taxi to a neighboring barrier will cost around 15 pesos. Therefore any brief outing in Buenos Aires will usually cost you 100 pesos. Keep in mind that approximately 25 dollars spent in Buenos Aires gets you a very decent meal and a taxi to and from your café. This would cost an arm and a leg if you hoped to achieve the same result in a city like New York or London. I think the issue is there are cheaper cities to travel to in South America than Buenos Aires. I’ve included this city as expats normally require the sweeter things in life – such as the quality offered in Buenos Aires. A small furnished, apartment will cost around 1,000 dollars per month. Cheaper if you’re in a shabby area or if you have a long-term lease with no furniture provided – could be 600 dollars for the month if your a wheeler and a dealer.

Florianopolis is another city in South America which is not exactly on the cheap side. Although, the prices in the city are much less than those in many major cities outside of South America. An added benefit of Florianopolis is there is a beach culture which costs nothing – the beaches are free, of course – although, you may wish to hire a beach chair and umbrella – 5 reals each. At the time of writing this article one American dollar was equal to two Brazilian reals. A coffee in a café in Florianopolis can very immensely. There are very chic cafes in Florianopolis and most of those can offer coffees for around 6 reals. Taxis are very expensive in Florianopolis since the island is very spread out. A short ride from one beach to a neighbouring beach can be close to 20 reals. This of course depends on which beaches you’re traveling between. Meals in Florianopolis can also be expansive. A nice sized plate of protein – meat or chicken – and vegetables will be around 16 reales. Drinks in a decent bar can be around 6  to 10 reals for a beer. An apartment in Florianopolis is around 700 dollars per month if renting in a decent area with a furnished apartment on a short-term lease. 600 dollars apartments can be achieved for longer leases and mush cheaper again if you leave the tourist neighborhoods.

The two cities mentioned are rather expensive and cheaper cities are possible in both Brazil and Argentina, or cheaper again in Bolivia or Peru. The cities mentioned are two which tend to attract travelers. Therefore, I’ve given a slight wrap-up on those cities. In a nutshell both cities require around 40 dollars a day on top of your accommodation costs. These are basically the more expensive cities where gringos tend to want to settle. Although, I’ve seen a decrease in the number of gringos settling in both cites over the past couple of years. You can do both cities cheaper again if you wish to live on the smell of an oily-rag.

This article is very brief. I can go on all day about the cost of living in each city in South America, or at least the cities I’ve lived in. Please feel free to ask any questions regarding further costs. If you’d like to be specific that’s fine, I’ll do my best to help any way I can.

Thanks,

Gaston

PROFILE

A raw jiu-jitsu black belt

with a heart of gold

Nelson Destri – “Badeco”

On the way to jiu-jitsu my bus stopped in front of a Brazilian Prison. There was a four meter high concrete wall, that’d been built out front, with razor blade barbwire added to its top. I walked for less than thirty seconds across one road then arrived at the street of the jiu-jitsu academy I’d aimed for.

It was in an industrial area of Brazil’s Santa Catarina, which at that time – 2009 – was completely foreign to me. In this street there were five oily mechanic shops, a hardware store, and a prison at one end of the street, accompanied by Brazilian shanty homes at the other.

What am I doing here? I thought to myself.

I found the address I’d been given, then entered a warehouse full of Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belts – Gracie Floripa – winners of “Brasileiro de Equipes 2007,” an annual competition where top jiu-jitsu teams compete to be champions of Brazil.

As I entered the academy, I was greeted by a man, “Oi, Cabron!” He handed me a camera and asked that I take a photo. I’ve often been mistaken for an Argentinean due to my curly hair and because it’s closer than my country on the other side of the world. But I thought: Wait a minute, Cabron’s Mexican slang. Then Alesendre de Souza (a national Brazilian jiu-jitsu champion) tapped Antonio Braga Neto’s shoulder (a current world jiu-jitsu champion, although not officially part of Gracie Floripa) saying “Nao, ele e Australiano,” which, for those who don’t know, is Portuguese. Then, seven black belts laughed . . . So I took their photo.

Among the group there was a colorful character who stood out like a bee-sting. He was painted in tattoos and screaming in Portuguese. What appeared to be an angry man – at least to those with minimal Portuguese – was a proud black belt jiu-jitsu practitioner telling jokes. His name was Nelson Destri, but he’s known as “Badeco,” and he received his black belt when he was just twenty-seven.

Once Badeco finished yelling, he described a jiu-jitsu half-guard pass in very fine detail. The black belts then calmly threw ideas off one another, like a group of university professors performing research.

On top of shouting, Badeco is every bit what you’d imagine a twenty-nine year old Brazilian, with thirteen years jiu-jitsu experience, to look like. He’s got “Gracie” tattooed on one of his arms and a tattoo of two grapplers performing a jiu-jitsu position on the other – “rear-naked choke.” He’s at least ninety-four kilograms, with cauliflower ears and both biceps severely ruptured.

Badeco is a product of Crolin Gracie, the son of Carlos Gracie, who both played major roles in the international progression of jiu-jitsu.

Three years later a small car pulled up outside my apartment in Florianopolis, Brazil. “Oi! I’m here!” the voice screamed in Portuguese. It was Badeco. I’d invited him to my apartment before he was due to give me a one-on-one jiu-jitsu class. He’s thirty-four now and has eighteen years of jiu-jitsu knowledge.

“We’re not like McDonalds or Hungry Jacks,” Badeco once told me. He was referring to his jiu-jitsu being raw, real, and not a money train. Badeco lives and breathes grappling, and he’s been a black belt since the age of twenty-seven. “Jiu-jitsu brought me together and made me secure in this world,” he said. His life was unstable before he’d started jiu-jitsu at the age of sixteen. He showed me a hole on the inside of his right leg, an aged puncture wound about the size of a fingertip. “380” and “this was a slash,” as he raised his chin showing an old three-inch cut in the exact location of his anterior jugular. How the laceration missed is beyond me. I assumed “380” and the circular wound on his leg could only refer to a bullet. Now, whether he was pulling my leg or not, the cut on his jugular did not indicate a life of ballet.

My apartment was a small studio, about the size of two small car-parking spaces, so I hoped we wouldn’t stay together in it for too long. But I thought it’d be rude to not offer Badeco a coffee. I’d told him previously I was interested in doing a profile on him, so I thought, Stuff it, I’ll do a bit of it now.

Badeco’s family lived in Rio de Janeiro until he was eight years old, so I asked him to describe the most real thing he’d seen while growing up. I was thinking of Rio’s streets as crazy, something a foreigner like me would find very interesting. Although, to Badeco, the streets were just the streets. Therefore, he took me beyond those streets. He told me about his father who’d fallen ill with a heart condition in 1987. He stood up and said, “I saw my father cut from here to here,” as he pointed to the top of his sternum, running his finger down his abdomen to his left leg. Four years later his father passed away. I’d known this previously and thought: This apartment’s very small and I’ve found myself in the deep end with a weapon of a man. However, the more I spoke with him the more his picture was painted. He’d apparently been a curious eight year old, so stuck his head in on the operating theater. “That’s scarred me for life,” he said. You wouldn’t believe medics would allow a kid into the theater, but he explained his curiosity got the better of him and forced a look past the theater’s door. Badeco comes across as a very straight-talking man.

He went to public school after his father died. “The extra expense wasn’t worth it compared to the cost of a quality school,” according to him.

“I became lost after this.”

He explained people would try to learn at the school but class would be over by lunchtime. After school, some kids would run free. Some would take drugs or even do robberies. “I was completely lost between thirteen and sixteen.”

During his later teenage years he witnessed his friend get shot and killed. He pointed to the back of his skull and indicated the bullet coming out the front of his left eye. Luckily for Badeco, he’d been given a different direction with sport, and a reason to stay off the streets. His father first took him to a jiu-jitsu academy when he was six years old. “Dad loved jiu-jitsu, but the sport was more expensive back then, so he did kung-fu as it was slightly cheaper.” This led to Badeco’s passion for jiu-jitsu being fully developed by age sixteen.

According to Badeco, Crolin Gracie use to say, “Brazil’s dead fighters look after Gracie Floripa.” He was referring to the sense of security he felt in his life after starting jiu-jitsu.

After our coffee, we drove 15 kilometers from my apartment to Badeco’s home. He mentioned he was slightly ill that day, although we still trained. His transport was a respectable car, although very small. “I think I bought bad petrol,” he commented, as his car shuttled along the road. He went on to explain, “Sometimes the fuel’s diluted” in petrol stations near his home.

We eventually arrived at his house to find a tatami in his carport and a dog named “Gracie.” He then went on to teach techniques I’d never seen in my eight-years of jiu-jitsu. After receiving my one-on-one class I found it so beneficial I decided to request more.

On the way home we picked up Badeco’s daughter, Maria, from school. She’s just under three years old. Badeco becomes a softer man around her. A three-year-old boy had hit Maria during class before we collected her that day. Badeco asked Maria in a slightly modified younger tone: “Do you want Daddy to punch him tomorrow?”

“No!” she responded “No!” So Badeco looked at me stunned. “You see that? She doesn’t even want to get even.”

Badeco’s Brazilian public school past had taught him to defend his choice of school. “It’s expensive to send her to a private school but I can’t economize with this. Public schools are not the same as private schools in Brazil. But private’s expensive.”

Although he’d have nothing other than private for his daughter, I asked him, if he could turn back time, which would he prefer for himself? He looked at me with devious eyes, smiling, then said: “Public.”

“I want her to have a different life,” he said. “There are people on this island who probably think they’re higher than me.” He’s spent his entire life training, so believes some may think he’s just a “brawler.”

“I want her to have the best,” referring to Maria.

“I’ve had three knee operations, my face smashed in and teeth belted out . . .” he said, as he raised his tattooed arm showing his indented biceps, then nodded, “jiu-jitsu.” He knows he’s no bank manager, but everybody in jiu-jitsu respects him. They say he’s got a “heart of gold.” He’s helped Brazil’s elite competitors and he also finds time to share with foreign jiu-jitsu visitors. He’s helped people from France, Portugal, the United States, Australia and more. At times there’s a language barrier, but jiu-jitsu’s the same language all over the world. Badeco’s focuses are his daughter and his students.

“I’m not a brawler anymore,” he told me.

The following day Badeco picked me up for training, and told me he’d seen a public doctor as he was still feeling sick.

“Public doctor said I had a flu, but I’ve never felt like this.” So, he went on to see a private doctor. “I’ve got Dengue fever!” But we trained anyway.

Over the next three days I saw Dengue wear him down. He was forced to take just a few days off jiu-jitsu, but he still attended his academy.

The state of Badeco’s frayed black belt is now a faded grey. To me, it indicates there aren’t too many things stopping him from training. And this was also the case with Dengue fever. “My bones feel weak,” and he called himself a “bunda-mole,” which as far as I know is Portuguese for “pansy.” “I’ve got a new student coming tonight and I can’t let him see me like this.” That night Badeco was rolling with quality black belts and Dengue fever.

He’s a raw character, pouring his heart and soul into jiu-jitsu. I’ve had a good time getting to know Badeco. Behind all the tattoos and the tough guy image there’s a warm heart wanting to share his jiu-jitsu knowledge. At least that’s the impression I received.

Gaston

Copyright © 2013 Caviar Literature LLC