Abe says, "Two black Americans from Hollywood have just purchased a large tract of land in Lagoinhas" - the spot in Buzios, where Africa sheared from South America, and where "jungle myth" here has it that the rocks radiate special powers.

Lagoinha, Abe says, has recently been designated as a future state park, a refuge for turtles and wildlife. This Abe says, is what is responsible for the recent escalation of property prices in nearby Ferradura.

There is an American couple in Buzios, he says, who are pulling up retirement stakes in Costa Rica and Nicaragua to buy property here. He adds that the type of American who moves to Buzios is more sophisticated than the American who invests in Central America.

He says that one reason Buzios is set to take off is that the next Saudi Arabia is about 20 miles up the coast in a village called Macaui. I have read, I tell him, that natural resource-rich Brazil is lacking in oil. He disagrees heartily, spitting out statistics like spitballs in math class.

He advises that the best bang for your buck in Buzios comes by purchasing your own lot and building a home as opposed to buying a ready-built home. Building costs run around $70 a square foot regardless of location, unlike houses that are priced in large part due to the neighborhood in which they stand.

There are regulations in Buzios that limit height and land coverage and Abe claims the regulations are set in stone, I say, "Come now, what's to stop Buzios from changing their laws once the Hyatt and the Marriott come calling?" "No," he insists, "Buzios will never change - city planners know that the laws that keep out the large resorts, are the same that maintain the character of Buzios, and keep the tourists coming."

Abe says that Norwegians are the new buyers in Buzios. That by word of mouth they are coming in droves, their pockets full of Euros. "Forget the Argentines," he says. "They are finished here."

Next Day

I ask Abe if he has something else wrong with his leg other than the dog bite, because he doesn't seem to be walking any better today. Leaning into his cane, he says, "No that's somethin' else. My bum leg is cause I fell in a hole."

Abe and I have an amazing amount in common. If I say I like monkeys, he'll say he has a monkey farm. And so I listen in fascination to Abe the American tell me about the retreat he just attended over the weekend, and about his monk friends - all shortly after I mentioned that I was interested in building a meditation retreat.

Oh yeah, I say, "Where are you from again?"

"I was born in Greece, my mother is from Spain, and my dad is American."

"Did you spend much time in America?" I ask.

"Sure, I was educated there. But I never bothered with a passport. My dad figured if I didn't have an American passport I wouldn't have to go to war. I don't like war."

So there you have it: Abe, just a wee bit American, but not enough for anyone to hate him for it, and definitely not a war-mongerer. And so I have met my number one hundred something American living abroad. Wonder when I will meet one I like?

Abe invites me to a private party on Saturday night at the Sunshine Guesthouse in Ferradura. "My ambassador friend will be there", he says.

So Who Am I Supposed to Trust and How Will I Know?

Anna, the owner of the guesthouse in which I am staying, has already heard all the way in Argentina that I am looking at property in Buzios. She emails me from Argentina: "Robin, wait until I get there to buy anything." She arrives tomorrow. Last February, I invited Anna to come along with a realtor and I to look at a lot. Before I knew what was happening, she had told the realtor that I was HER client, HER project, and that he could just BUTT OUT. Ok, I admit that I think that is what she said. I'm far from fluent in Portuguese. But there was something in the tone of her voice, and something about the way he slinked away, and the fact that I never heard from him again.

"Here try this," Anna said, putting a spoonful up to my mouth. When I replied with full-mouthed "mmmm's", she presented me with a plate of said dessert and then promptly added it to my bill. When I checked out of the Aquabarra Guesthouse at the end of the month, "Anna" had decided that breakfast was NOT included (as is the custom in all Brazilian guesthouses) and she padded my bill with ridiculous charges including every sip of filtered water I took. I left Aquabarra Guesthouse determined that I would NEVER subject my workshop attendees to this level of greed. And I told her so, burning bridges behind me.

If I couldn't trust Abe the American, if not Anna, then who?

I ask Stefano. He says, "Dees town ees full of people who cannot live anywhere else. You must believe less tan one-quarter of what you hear".

"And you"? I say. 

"I love you Rowbean", Stefano says. "You know you can trust me".

Photos Below (clockwise)

1. Houses overlooking Ferradura Beach, Buzios, Brazil.
2. After Sunset, Buzios, Brazil.
3. Ferradura Beach.