posted April 30, 2007 10:28am EST

This sharp, stirring moment rushes into my bloodstream and I turn to experience the strange world around me. It’s so easy to get stuck within my own body- this is still just another day in the life of me. I wake up each morning in the same state of mind as always- but then, all of a sudden, it changes. Something inexplicable and fleeting strikes me, like a profound revelation that is gone before I can even realize it happened. I’m…here!

What was that strange, satisfying feeling? I turn to confide in a friend but by the time the idea gets to words, the meaning sounds silly. “We’re here, man.” He nods slowly and scans this foreign horizon in a thoughtful patrol. We fall silent and watch as the fading sunlight bounces, shimmering, from the rolling waters of the mighty Amazon, as our boat cuts the breeze and sends us sailing into unknown depths of these jungle shadows. Finally, after the silence has spoken, he looks back at me. “This is what we’ve been waiting for,” he says. “Right now.”

I’ve spent so much of my life waiting for something- either waiting, or caught in some desperate kind of hurry. I’ve cut friendly conversations short and put on iPod blinders so that I can get to where I’m going without delay. I’ve walked past so much knowledge on the walls of the world, without a thought or a second glance. And for what? So that I can rush back to my room, and wait for something to happen to me. So I can check my friends’ away messages, wondering if they’re wasting time like I am- or are they doing something? I walk vicariously through my third person, reminiscing and making plans- while the days fade into past and future tense.

But not today. Today I am making waves- becoming part of this breathing tide we call life. I’ve been on this Amazon River adventure for two weeks now. It all started on a flight from Belém, my home in Brazil, to Manaus, a bustling city trapped in the heart of the rainforest.

Our first destination was the nearby Meeting of the Waters, where the dark waters of the Rio Negro collide with the clear Amazon River current. What results is a kind of epic battle of good and evil, like pouring balsamic vinegar into skim milk. We arrived there just in time for the most breathtaking sunset I have ever been a part of. Dark clouds fractured the sky into pieces as the flowing waters fought- it was as if the entire world was at war, a great color crusade that somehow all blended into one landscape, one heavenly horizon.

The next day we hiked through the jungle to the home of a local Amazonian research facility. Here, we got the opportunity to climb the observation tower, a rickety steel-pipe structure extending 53 meters into the air, high above the canopy. Climbing up these dozens of ladders is something like walking through a dark cave for weeks and then finally discovering light. The rainforest is so thick with life and vegetation that it is impossible to realize the big picture from the ground. As I climbed through layers of under story and then finally broke through the canopy roof, I finally gained perspective on how the whole system fits together.

It was as if I had entered into an entirely different, bright new world. The sun, which had been hidden for several hours, seemed too bright to be real and the miles and miles of forest that surrounded me swayed gently in the wind. As I stood up there, I felt like I could almost see the forest breathe.

There have been beautiful moments on this journey and plenty of fun- but there have also been conversations and experiences that have forced me to seriously question the way that I live my life. For four days I stayed with a rural family in the tiny community of Caroca.

Largely forgotten by society, this small band of families- about 18 houses in all- leads a simple life far from the conveniences that I take for granted. They have little to no access to health services and must paddle for hours upstream in order to get to town, for they have no roads. I spoke with elders who have not left this tiny community for their entire lives, and played with children who never will.

I am a restless person by nature- this is why I love to travel. Having seen parts of the world that these people will never see, I couldn’t help but feel sorry, sorry that they will never have the chances I’ve had- never have anything more than this simple life. Yet, the more time I spent in Caroca, the more I began to realize that maybe I’m the one missing out. I spend so much time worrying and hurrying, chasing this elusive satisfaction that I know is just beyond the horizon- that I never just stop- and be.

It was Sunday morning and I had just stepped off the downtown bus. Finding the nearest friendly face, I asked for directions to the Praça da Rep­ública, and found out that it was just around the corner. “Muito Obrigado,” I thanked him and excitedly went on my way. The Praça da Rep­ública is a large public square in the heart of Belem where, I was told, a “craft fair” is held each Sunday morning.

As I rounded the corner and set sights on the square I quickly realized that this was much more than a mere craft fair. Music erupted from every corner of the square as children ran past me- across the grass expanse, through bubbles and balloons, toward a Brazilian traditional dance presentation, where a crowd had gathered to watch. Lovers and friends were lying everywhere in the grass, enjoying the cool morning heat. I made my way through countless artisan stands selling local crafts and tried to find the other side of this madness.

At the end of the square sat the Teátro da Paz, a striking Italian architectural structure overlooking the grounds. In the road in front of the old theater were dozens of children driving Big Wheels in circles. Past them a band was setting up to play, so I went to join the crowd forming beneath the stage. I soon found myself samba dancing with a guy who had a pimped out bicycle- a huge stereo system attached, a cooler on the back, and fake money and CDSs glued all over it. He was also wearing holographic ghost sunglasses. I think he was crazy.

Before long, the mid-day sun started to get to me and I went to search for shelter. As I passed a statue at the center of the park, though, I heard a magnetic rhythm embedded in the sounds of the square. Three strong claps, three strong claps, and the ambient percussion of the berimbau lured me closer, where I began to hear chanting overtop of the tribal beat, several leaders belting out a melody and then a host of voices following after.

Following the sounds, I found a crowd of people formed into a circle, all wearing simple white clothing, bouncing up and down to the rhythm- and always clapping. From a distance I saw two bodies inside of the circle, swaying back and forth, circling and countering. Joining the crowd I saw them- fighting, or dancing, throwing their bodies back and forth around the circle. One throws a wide spinning kick as the other ducks down for a sweep of his own. The first counters with a high kick as the other slides effortlessly back into a handstand. Several inverted kicks later and he’s back on his feet and moving again, completing an absolutely fluid motion. What ensues is a battle of dexterity and style that the Brazilians call Capoeira.

For the uninitiated, Capoeira was created by African slaves in Brazil as a way of practicing to fight against their masters. If the guards caught them learning to fight, they would be beaten and separated, so they began developing a fighting style that, to the average observer, looked more like an exotic dance. Their creation became one of the most interesting and unique martial arts in the entire world, one that has had a definite influence in America in the form of break-dancing. If you’ve ever played as Eddy Gordo from Tekken 3, you’ll know that these moves can be skull-crushing.

In real life, Capoeira has become less of a combat technique and more of an art form. The object is not to hurt your opponent but to enhance your own flexibility and skill, performing the most acrobatic dance and participating in the entire spectacle. Capoeira blends dance, music, and martial art to create a true cultural phenomenon. Needless to say, I had to learn.

Luckily, one of the SIT group’s Portuguese teachers, an amiable young Brasileiro named Hamilton, had a few friends who practice Capoeira and arranged for them to teach us their ways. We met a few days later in a park and they showed our class the basic moves in the Capoeira arsenal. The most basic and important element is the back-and-forth movement, the constant stepping and stepping behind that is used to link together the other moves. It really doesn’t matter what kind of acrobatics you can do, so long as you keep moving and stay with the rhythm. Capoeira fighters use a variety of crescent, spinning, and jumping kicks as the primary mode of attack. Often fighters will exchange a series of these kicks and then transition into more complex moves. Having been familiar with these kinds of kicks from karate when I was younger, and possessing a mediocre hand-stand, I advanced to trying to pull off one of the more advanced moves I admired, which was a sort of back handspring extended into an inverted kick.

That part wasn’t so easy. I practiced it most of that day without much success, but having so much fun and getting good exercise, I decided I wanted to continue practicing. Several days later the group took a short excursion to a nearby town called São Francisco- and inside of our hotel there was a courtyard with wet sand that looked perfect for practice. A few friends and I practiced Capoeira there- it felt so good to feel the sand under my toes, doing acrobatics and exercising. I tried to nail the back handspring. Every time I would twist to one side though, unable to commit myself fully backwards. Eventually, after two days of practice, I had almost gotten it right, and my sore body told me that enough was enough. Unfortunately for me, my soreness wasn’t the only consequence of these Capoeira sessions.

A few days later I noticed some intense redness on the sides of my feet that itched madly. I figured that they were just mosquito bites but after several days I realized that they were getting bigger- and not just expanding, but…moving, forming a trail underneath my skin. I went to the doctor and after taking a look at it, she told me in Portuguese that I “have a visitor!” She thought it was pretty funny, but I didn’t. Seems that I’ve contracted the first Amazon parasite of the trip! Actually, it’s more like eight Amazon parasites, because I can count that many distinct burrows etched in my feet.

Actually, two of them form kind of this little cartoon character on the side of my foot, like Pac-man with a tail, or those flower guys that shoot fireballs in Super Mario. It’s actually kind of cool to watch them moving and eating my flesh- last night while I slept one of them moved almost a whole inch.

Don’t worry though mom, I’m taking medicine and the doctor said that they should be gone in a week or two. Still though, the timing couldn’t be worse. I’m about to leave for a two week boat adventure on the Amazon river to Manaus and Santarem! I’m really happy to be on the move, but I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t have creatures living in my feet. Oh well, wish me luck! I’ll be back with jungle stories in a week or two- hopefully no piranha attacks!

posted April 2, 2007 3:54 pm EST

Orientation was a breeze. The excitement of meeting new people and spending your first week in a foreign world makes it hard not to be joyous. I studied Portuguese during the day and visited a bit of the surrounding area, but mostly there was no seriousness involved. At the end of the first week, though, when I was handed an envelope with a letter from my future home-stay family, I began to get nervous as I realized that the next three months of my life would be largely contingent on how I relate with these people.

At first, I was worried. I really was hoping for a family with small kids to play with, and a home that was close to the center of the city. After reading that my youngest brother was 17 I began to wonder what I was going to do with all that Play-Doh and Sidewalk Chalk I brought. Our home-stay coordinator, Gaugia, brought out a map of Belem and began showing us the colored pins where our homes were. Most of the pins were huddled around downtown, a few near the airport outside of town, and one way past the airport in what looked to be a neighboring suburb. My hopes for easy access to center-city fun were crushed as Gaugia pointed to that dismal blue pin and called out my name. Que horrível!

Despite my initial disappointment, everything has turned out great with my host family! They might be the kindest people I’ve ever met! I have two brothers, Venicius and Arthur. Venicius is 19 and is the only one in the house who speaks English. Vinny is this big mammoth of a guy with this comically high-pitched voice, and he says “Very nice” exactly like Borat. I’ve also taught him to greet me with “What’s up dawg?” complete with fist-pound. He’s a student at the local university who isn’t very into sports or dancing like me, but overall he’s just a really nice guy. Also, having a translator around really helps in certain situations, like when I’m struggling to express in Portuguese the reasons why I hate our president.

Arthur is 17 and though I haven’t been able to communicate with him to the extent that I do with Venicius, we have a lot in common and end up hanging out a lot. He’s really into music, and we play guitar together sometimes. While he’s been exposing me to a lot of really great Brazilian music, I’m always surprised to find what American music he’s listening to. He can play a whole Red Hot Chili Peppers catalog on guitar, and he listens to everything from death metal to Eagle Eye Cherry.

My host mom was the first one I met and she quelled most of my fears in the first few minutes. Along with my aunt, I understand her the best because she speaks slowly and knows a few English words to help me. She works most of the day for the tourism office here in Belem and usually gets home pretty late. She’s shown me around the city a bit on the weekends and helps me a lot with Portuguese.

Her mother lives with us too- my grandma is tiny like most grandmas are and she has this accent that makes it near impossible to hear what she’s saying to me. Most of the time, I just kind of nod and pretend, and try to laugh at the right moments. I find that it’s a lot better to go along with it and pick up what I can rather than making her stop and explain every word, which just gets too frustrating for both of us. Grandma has a Guns n’ Roses T-shirt that she wears around the house and she shuffles around like an oversized penguin. In a word, she’s awesome.

Two aunts live in the house, one is the sister of my host mom and one is grandma’s sister. Mostly my relationship with them consists of them feeding me ALL the time. I don’t know how they do it, but people just eat an unreasonable amount of food here. I have to keep insisting that I’m full so that they’ll only bring me a sandwich rather than a full-on feast. There is really no choice in the matter. But the food is really great, so I don’t mind too much.

I only just met my host dad today- the past two weeks he’s been in French Guinea. I asked the others what he does for a living and they keep saying that he goes to “The Frontier.” After further probing it seems that he goes to largely unexplored areas of the Amazon and creates topography maps, which I find incredibly encouraging. I was under the impression that we had already explored and mapped the entire Earth by now- but the idea that a “frontier” still exists and there are still people exploring uncharted territory makes the world much more exciting, I think.

My first impression of him from the picture inside my envelope was a little intimidating- a big hulking man with dark sunglasses, a broad, stone face, and atop his head a hat with the communist red star on it. This could be trouble.

Lucky for me, he turns out to be a really easy-going guy. Yesterday, we had a churrasco (Brazilian barbecue) to celebrate his return. What a feast! The whole extended family showed up which turned out to be really fun. We drank cerveja and ate a lot of prime Brazilian beef- Sou Filet! I made a lot of new friends. Later I got to talking with my host dad, which turned into the most frustrating, yet rewarding conversations I’ve had here.

It began with talking about George W Bush, which is a pretty common topic here I find. From there, it delved deeper into the realm of capitalism and imperialism. At this point I began to fall behind. The Portuguese I’ve been working to improve has been the kind that will get me around- “Where is the nearest bathroom?” and “Does this bus go downtown?” have been the focus, not “American diplomacy has admittedly taken a turn for the worse in recent years, but I hope that the people of South America will not hold a grudge against the United States that will hinder our future relations.” Yet as I struggled to keep up with his fast-paced Portuguese, it was exactly these kinds of things I wished I could have said. I did my best to understand, but all I could pick up were bits and phrases. Key words would come up- Iraq, Money, Future, Socialism, Ché Guevara- that I could relate to, in order to keep the conversation going. Yet I really had no idea what he was actually saying. I found myself getting more and more frustrated and confused- here I was, this is the essential conversation I’ve been wanting to have with a Brazilian since I thought about coming here, and I couldn’t even understand what he had to say.

I wanted to tell him that there are so many things in this world that seem unchangeable, so many systems of control that threaten our humanity- that more than anything I’d like to experience a revolution of the human spirit. I wanted to say that, more and more, it seems that the whole world is for sale, and that just because we have the most money doesn’t mean we should be able to exploit everyone else in order to get more. I wanted to tell him how much I admire Ché Guevara, not because of the things he did or because of the consequences of his actions, but because he was a man with an idea for a change, who stood for something and knew what something was. But I couldn’t say any of those things. And for a few minutes, as I struggled to fit all these conceptual thoughts into a limited vocabulary, I felt myself beaten down, my opportunity being taken away. I felt as if I were part of those oppressed third world voices- mute in my expression. I sighed and resigned, shaking my head in frustration.

After a moment, I felt a strong hand grab me by the shoulder. I looked up at my host father’s eyes, and it was as if he could feel what I was feeling, that words somehow weren’t necessary. I realized in that moment that despairing in our differences and difficulties to communicate with each other solves nothing. The only way to connect with the world is to expand on the things that we already know- and the only way to make change is to find a common ground. He smiled at me then, and spoke. “Ché…. is Dream.” I nodded in accord, and we soon went back to the laughter of the party. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Family Album Photos (Vinny, Me, Mom & Grandma (on right), Dad with Che Guevara Star)

posted March 14, 2007 3:24 EST

I found myself abandoned at a crossroads. Two dirt roads diverged where I stood under a hot sun. As I scanned my surroundings for some information as to my whereabouts, I watched the white Volkswagen Minibus from which I had been ejected disappear across the horizon. I turned to find eyes, strange eyes peering from every window, every stoop, every corner. I got the impression that not many foreigners come around these parts. Monitored from each direction, I clumsily wandered down the side of what seemed to be the main drag of town, which consisted of a bar and a bus stop. I wanted to go order a cold cerveja but I had to remind myself that I wasn’t here for fun. I needed answers.

Two Brazilians sat waiting for a bus. This was just what I was looking for- a captive audience. I went to speak before realizing that I don’t actually know a word of Portuguese. Gulp. After some considerable stammering I produced the sheet of questions I had copied from my phrasebook beforehand. “Ola. Tudo bem?” Blank stares, soft nods. I went down the list. “What’s your name?” “Do you live here?” “What are you doing?” Some sort of friendly interrogation- a public opinion poll, perhaps? “Do you like it here?” I asked. “Sure I do man,” they might have said- (because I don’t know what they really said), “but what the hell are you doing here?”

I decided to cut to the chase. “Espadade? Você se?” Espadade, I was told by my kidnappers, was the name of some sort of port development project in the region that was threatening the rainforest ecosystem. I was on a fact-finding mission. To me, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to be asking about a nearby development project. The look they gave me proved otherwise. Mix equal parts confusion, curiosity, and pure terror, and bring it all to a boil. Who was this spy, and who had dropped him off here in that shady white van? More importantly, if they were going to send a spy, why wouldn’t they choose someone that could actually speak our language? In fact, I started to wonder myself- what am I doing here?

It’s all part of SIT’s Drop-Off exercise. Every SIT travel abroad program across the world uses it. The idea is to give students a day or two to learn some basic language skills, and then kick them out of a moving car in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves and learn to communicate. Actually, the car stopped long enough for one of the instructors to give me some very basic instructions: find out what this town is called, and find out what people think of this project, “Espadade.” Go! I continued walking down the street, a bit dismayed at how the first conversation had went, and was about to enter the bar for a drink to think it over (and to celebrate my newfound legality) when I heard voices. These weren’t just any voices- these were joyful, playful voices. And that- was that laughter? I turned to look and yes, there down the street, a playground full of children! Maybe this wasn’t going to be so disastrous after all.

One of the best parts of being in a foreign country is the kids. For one, they are, as a general rule, fascinated at the prospect of interacting with foreigners. To make things better, their vocabulary is almost as limited as yours is usually, and they also tend to speak at a pace that you can follow. The biggest difference, though, is that they don’t take your conversations so terribly serious- they’re just here to play. They won’t get frustrated and stop talking to you if you don’t understand the Portuguese word for chicken- they’ll draw a picture for you instead, or run around clucking away. Children can be a great gateway of knowledge for a traveler, if you aren’t afraid to become one yourself.

Before long I had entered a game of Brazilian capture the flag. It was wonderful to see that despite all our cultural differences, we all play the same games. We all have the same fun. Afterwards, I pulled out my camera, and the entire playground exploded. You see, children are fascinated with gadgets, and mirrors- and digital cameras function as both. Pulling out a camera on a playground is something akin to erecting a lightning rod in a hurricane. The children swarmed, and before long we were all posing and laughing- and it didn’t matter one bit that I could barely speak a word of their language. (Photos from Brazil: 1, 2, 3)

 Amidst the storm, I decided to inquire as to my quest- “Que es la significa,” (using all that rusty high school Spanish that wasn’t correct, but at least could get the point across) “-Espadade?” And as if I had just broken into song and dance, every one of them burst with laughter. I had just said the funniest thing in the world. I pressed them and pressed them for an answer, when finally one pointed toward some ants on the pavement. “Espadade?” I asked incredulously. “No, no, no!” they rang out in chorus. One of the older ones emerged from the crowd and began stomping the ants furiously. Then, quite satisfied, he looked up to me with a smile. “Espadade!”

I was, to say the least, quite puzzled. I tried to get them to give me a better answer but they kept going back to those ants. Eventually, I realized that they must be referring to how the Espadade Project is going to crush the local culture and take its resources, leaving the surrounding area like a dying ant on the sidewalk. I was contented, and spent the next several hours checking out visiting a few nearby houses and meeting their families.

Observing a Brazilian kitchen proved to be a particularly interesting cultural experience. I watched a mother take a few steps away from the dinner table to retrieve a ripe mango. As she began to make juice over the sink, several chickens circled her feet hoping for scraps. I was about to comment on how different things were- but then I looked to the refrigerator. Hanging there by fruit magnets, I found a smiling crayon portrait of Santa Claus, complete with cotton-swab beard. “Who is this?” I asked one of the neighborhood kids. “Papa Noel!” he yelped. “Do you know him?”

I smiled for a moment and nodded. “Everybody knows him.” The Drop-Off really did turn out to be a success- I broke down the language barrier, learned all about rural Brazilian culture, and gained a local perspective on the mysterious Espadade Project. It wasn’t until later, on my way back home in the big white van, when I found out I had been pronouncing the word wrong all along- I had been asking about espagade, a slang word that means, “to squish.”

posted March 3, 2007 10:49 EST

Welcome to Abroad and Beyond! For the next several months this weblog will be following me to the Amazon rainforest, where I will do everything I can to assimilate myself into a strange culture. I don’t know what to expect or what adventures will ensue, but my intention is to discover and experience a brand new way of life. Hopefully, I won’t have to resort to cannibalism in order to fit in.

Before we get started, I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Jake Schoneker, and I am a recovering travel-holic. You see, after one embarks on the trip of a lifetime, after one sees and feels the wonders of the unfamiliar, after one returns from such a trip, he begins to look at everything a bit differently. At first, it is satisfying and comfortable to be back on familiar ground, telling stories and sharing laughter- but soon, as comfort becomes routine and routine becomes boredom, the traveler yearns to be back on the road, confronting his own limits face-to-face.

This is the situation I now find myself in, friends. The semester I spent in China this past fall was a true test of my sanity. The conflict itself is hard to describe, except that it is what happens when all that you once took for granted disappears; communication, sanitation, the manifestations of convenience- imagine all of these things taken from you at once, leaving you naked and alone, forced to cope with a world you have never seen before.

It was great! Finally I had found real independence- in a place where I had to rely on my own observation and interpretation to guide me. I was free to solve (and create) my own problems, free to find my own path. So much of life revolves around following instructions. To direct oneself is beautiful.

So you can begin to imagine, now, the peril of returning to the familiar world after finding these strange foreign destinies; to be placed back inside of the same old social schematics, to have to act satisfied as a cog; to be judged not by one’s ambition, but by one’s usefulness. Soon, the traveler finds these weights of gravity pulling at every inch of him, restricting his flight- and keeping him safe. But who would choose safety over flight? He asks himself these things, and longs to be alone again, off beyond reason’s radar.

Thank God I thought ahead and decided to study abroad twice.

Soon I will migrate southward to the equator, to Brazil, the land of bossa nova and bikinis, where martinis are served by monkeys and Ronaldo is a household name. That last part about the monkeys may have just been part of a dream I had, but I wouldn’t put it past them. Monkeys are a very sophisticated species.

When I found out that there was a study abroad program offered through Villanova that focused on environmental issues in the Amazon rainforest, I knew that I had found the right program for me- partly because of how important the world’s health is to me, and partly because I couldn’t think of a single place I’d rather live for a semester. There will be so many trees to climb!!

Before I leave, I think I should lay out for myself a few things that I’d like to accomplish while abroad. Goal-setting, kids- it’s the truth.

Firstly, I would like to update this journal each and every week. I don’t want to forget anything, so I’d better keep copious notes, and take plenty of pictures and videos too. A picture might not be worth a thousand words, but a video is worth at least twelve.

Second, I would like to become Brazilian. Impossible you say? Don’t know a word of Portuguese, you say? Born in the USA, you say? Fiddlesticks to you and your excuses! More than anything, immersion is my goal. It’s one thing to go abroad- it’s another thing to truly experience another culture. In order to do this, I will try to go beyond mere observation and education, into the realm of participation. Better start brushing up my language skills…

Third, I want to meet a nice Brazilian girl and settle down. I mean…. I want to learn to salsa dance.

Fourth, I want to study Brazilian rhythms and music, and learn to play some sort of exotic percussion instrument that makes strange noises when you bang a coconut against it. Speaking of which…

Fifth, they should have coconut trees there right? I want to shimmy up one and grab a coconut, and then drop it on someone’s head, preferably a slapstick comedian.

Sixth, I would like to meet and communicate with an indigenous person of the Amazon. There are all sorts of rules and laws forbidding me from doing such things, of course, but I will hold on to the hope that the savages will kidnap me and raise me as one of their own. Stranger things have happened…

Seventh, I want to leave a good impression on all the new Brazilian friends I plan on making, so as to be a good ambassador for my country- and also, so they won’t be mad when I drop coconuts on them.

Eighth, I want to catch a monkey. Purely for scientific research, of course.

Ninth, I want to refine my thoughts and research into an independent study project that will stimulate my interests and provide me with some new insight into the world.

Finally, I want to save the rainforest. Through dialogue and diplomacy, and with the help of my new primate partner (see step eight), I will bring the economic and environmental forces of the region together to help forge a peaceful, progressive society that will protect its natural resources and create an example for the world to follow.

Perhaps I am setting myself up for defeat. But you can’t say I didn’t try.

Until next time,

Jake.