| He hoped I
would visit and that my resulting articles would attract investors to his
project and foreigners to the region. Since I’d been thinking about checking
Fortaleza out someday anyway, I tacked the city of 2 million onto the end
of my itinerary.
After a few
pleasantries, Ted gets to the point; “My partner and I are leaving in the
morning for three days of scouting out sites. We’ll take four-wheel drive
jeeps as far north as Jericoacora. Want to join us?”
I’ve just arrived.
My clothes are filthy. I need a bikini wax to go with my itty-bitty Brazilian
bikini. (You know the world’s gone global when you can’t find a Brazilian
bikini wax anywhere in Brazil, yet, Vietnamese-run salons all over San
Francisco offer them.) I need a pedicure (make that a sandblaster), and
there is the updating of my website to do, not to mention hundreds of emails
that have backed up. And besides I don’t even know these people.
However, the
offer is a generous one, a chance to explore the dunes of Northeastern
Brazil, to get out of Fortaleza, and to witness two men chasing a shared
dream of building a yacht harbor in South America. (Build it and they will
come?).
“What about
your wives?”
“You think
our wives would let us go off alone on a trip like this? Hell no, they’re
coming too.”
I suggest we
meet over a drink that night. A little time with the players will allow
me to shift into intuitive drive. Shall I or shall I not leave first thing
in the morning with Who knows Whom for Who knows Where?
Ted’s partner,
a yacht designer from London, is like Bob, also middle-aged and recently
divorced. His girlfriend Tania is a young towering, buxom, heavily made
up, hair verging on huge, blouse open to belly button, knockout, who balances
her tall frame atop four-inch platform shoes. She rolls her Rrrrrrr’s;
she is Russian. And yes, that’s what I was thinking too.
Yvonne, a fire-y,
early 40’s Brasilera with Godiva chocolate skin, rounds out the foursome.
She puts long E’s on the end of most every word same as most Brazilians:
“like-y” and “My name-y is Yvonne-y”. She takes it upon herself to be the
caretaker of us all. Are we happy, would we like this, some more of that?
Yvonne and
Ted met a decade earlier when she was the maid in his U.S. household. Ted
decided after a time that he loved Yvonne more than his wife, so he divorced
the latter to marry the former. His kids are still pissed, but Yvonne tells
me that she and the ex-wife are now friends.
Ted doesn’t
look or sound the part of a bank investor, especially with his heavy Brooklyn
accent, but he’s clearly enamored with Fortaleza. On the terrace of the
Outrigger Hotel where we five sip caipirinhas, we toast the city by the
sea.
“Can you
believe this Robin?” Ted says taking in all of Fortaleza with the sweep
of his right arm. “Yeah,” I answer.
Truth is, I
haven’t made up my mind. I need time.
“The Northeast”
– words spoken by Brazilians with a mixture of affection, a touch of reverence,
and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. Sort of like the way
someone might refer to a “special” relative in the family.
At the end
of the evening, the group wants to know, is I in or is I out?
Let's see,
there are the powdery sand dunes to explore via jeep, the infamous coastal
village of Jericoacora, and shallow emerald seas. And of course, the four
merry pranksters I hadn’t yet met two hours earlier.
“In,” I say.
And we are on.
(Check
out next month's issue of EscapeArtist.com for the conclusion of Fear and
Loathing in Fortaleza - join Robin Sparks as she embarks on a 3-day journey
to the dunes of Northeast Brazil with five strangers).
The following
is a list of articles that Robin has written for the magazine:
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