Day 14, 15 and 16 – Itacaré and The Moth(s) – Progressively Louder Laughter

It’s been almost a week since I was in Itacaré and I have just flown into São Paulo for my last few days. It looks like it might rain all week which is a bummer because I’m itching to get out and move around. I just got back from Salvador where I felt a bit hemmed in since it’s not the safest city. Hopefully, despite the rain, I’ll have the opportunity to surf or kayak, run- move in some way… but back to Itacaré…

Itacaré

By Tuesday the Carnival craze was tapering out in Rio and everyone was going in their separate directions. I anticipated a full-on introvert energy crash and booked myself a flat/villa in Itacaré which is located in the Bahia province in the north-east part of Brazil. Itacaré is a little beach town, similar in a way to Collingwood- it has a nice strip of stores and restaurants at the centre. It almost doesn’t feel like it’s in Brazil, at least not the Brazil I have seen. I was looking for a soft spot to land and let my guard down and chill for a few days. For that, Itacaré was perfect. I was more than happy to keep the company of a hammock, a book, and few a beers.

On Wednesday I woke up early and went to the supermarket to buy groceries for the first time in Brazil. I had a ‘treat yo’self’ moment and bought myself a nice bottle of wine as well. It was kind of exciting to have a home-cooked meal and not have to talk to anyone. It took me until the afternoon to realize it was Valentine’s Day. Ever the contrarian, even if it’s unintentional.

I spent most of the time reading, and thinking about the future and what I should do with it. While reading M Train, I felt like Patti Smith herself was sending me a message direct:

She also wrote a whole chapter on discovering Murakami and how spellbound she was by The Wind-up Bird Chronicle. A whole chapter! I love him so much and I love her so much.

Pictures of Itacaré:

The Moth(s)

On my last night in Itacaré I made a deal with myself that I would clean up the flat and pack before doing my favourite thing to do when I am alone in a flat: dance around the apartment with headphones on — while drinking beer.

I finish the big clean and start listening to Talking Heads ‘Burning Down the House’, which I am really feeling, when, whoosh. Sometimes flies in my face.

A little stunned, I sort of blink back to reality when,

Whoosh!

Something else is getting all up in my face and whoosh, another! I take a step back to fully absorb what is happening and see that there are about five moths circling me.

Now, I think we can all agree that one moth indoors is overwhelming- three is most definitely cause for an anxiety attack. Five would be enough to break a resident of GITMO. I stoically arm myself with a flip flop and start taking down these sons of bitches like I am mother fucking Rambo.

Which is the easy part. The true crux of the situation is that moths keep materializing, multiplying out of thin air. It’s like I’m playing a game that keeps increasing in difficulty.

I kill three, look up: five more. I kill the five, take a breath and there fly 7 more… we continue in this pattern for about 20 minutes of NON-STOP, endless combat. It’s like the most annoying game of whack-a-mole you have ever played but instead of getting a prize in the end, you get a room covered in moth corpses.

It’s the kind of moment when you- Kathryn- in full introvert mode start to long for someone, anyone, to turn to and go ‘what the FUCK’.

Doors are closed. Windows are closed. Food packed away. What the FUCK. Is this one of those Old Testament plagues? Is this because I made a snide remark about the Christ Redeemer a few posts ago? Is this a bad omen, or maybe a curse? I try to think about what gypsy I may have CROSSED recently, because, what the FUCK there is no other explanation for the sudden moth rager taking place at Kat’s tonight.

Finally, it seems that the battle over ‘kitchen/living room’ is over and victory is mine. I survey the carnage – about 50-100 bodies smooshed against various surfaces of a freshly cleaned flat.

I spend the rest of the waking night keeping watch over the apartment and taking swigs of the remaining ‘treat yo’self wine’. My comrade in combat – the flip flop, rests faithfully by my side.

Songs of Itacaré:

David Byrne and Caetano Veloso- Dreamworld / Marco Canavezes