
… when bicycles had license plates.
An inquisitive old fart with a camera

… when bicycles had license plates.
Fortaleza, Brazil: So what do you do when you find you can’t get back up the sandy hill you went down with a full load of passengers to inspect a coconut grove? Unload everyone, throw palm fronds and coconut husks in the worst spots, and stand aside:
Not allowed in the “lost” minivan (we got separated and would never have gotten to our destination but for the satellite link in the accompanying armed escort car):



For belief-corral detainees, yeah, it’s about the dead tree that could blow over.
For those aware of the broadly- and deeply-documented, proven-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt geoengineering experiments in North America and Europe, the appearance of a non-contrail, non-natural spreading linear cloud is not a welcome sight.*
*Oh wait, but MSNBCBS and the New York Times don’t report on it, and “officials” — so open and honest in every other way — deny its existence, so it can’t be true. I feel so better now.
No, I’m not, though being in Brazil the better part of a week, I learned a few things (I was surprised how much I could understand).
Some, though, required further research: Jogue o lixo no lixo.

The trick is to know that “lixo” has two meanings here: trash and trash.
As in, “Throw the trash in the trash.”
Unhh-huh.

No wonder cashews cost a bit — each of these fruits has one at the end. I picked on and ate the fruit, very tasty. But apparently they can only be eaten (or juiced) fresh. So in most cases the whole fruit gets wasted when the nut is harvested.

Between Fortaleza and Sao Paulo, Brazil:

The distance from Montevideo to Fortaleza, Brazil, is almost exactly the same as from LA to New York:

Thursday is street market day in Atlántida. I traversed its length at the end of an unusually long beach walk with the dog, balm in a stressful week.

Packing the VW Bus with unsold shoes.

Oopa—gotta get that mannequin out of the way.


And of course chat for a bit.