A Plastic Atlantic Sunrise

It's been a month since our trip to Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, a trip that still has me exuding enthusiasm for that region of the country. Our second week was especially unique, as we spent it in Mangue Seco, a tiny remote peninsula a two hours' drive and a boat ride away from Salvador. Because there are no direct roads to Mangue Seco, it is very remote, but I wouldn't say it is pristine: far too much garbage marred our stay there.

  The Pacific Garbage Patch has been a topic of hand-wringing for a while, but last month, researchers at the Sea Education Association has found disturbing evidence of similar patches in both the northern and southern sections of the Atlantic Ocean. The reasons behind the patch are similar: the areas where these patches exist have few ocean currents, but are surrounded by fierce currents that allow few pieces of garbage to escape. Disturbingly, more fish and birds found around these patches have ingested bits of plastic. And when we toured down the Atlantic Coast to another small village named Costa Azul, we saw evidence suggesting that trash had come from afar: a propane tank here, pieces of plastic furniture there, and far too many bottles strewn among the sand dunes.

  But locals and tourists were responsible for much of the trash that littered Mangue Seco. Far too often, we would see groups of friends or family's picnic at the beach, and leave their trash behind. Workers often ignored piles of trash at their restaurants' tables. And as an expat who lived there explained to us, the village really has no trash collection infrastructure (or activity--Salvador was full of itinerant recyclers!).

  Part of the solution is education. But visitors also can contribute by reducing their usage of plastic and doing what they can to reuse, and recycle, too. Mangue Seco is just one example of a remote place that becomes "discovered" and then cannot cope with the onslaught of tourism. It was quite different from Morro de Sao Paulo, a small island a two-hour boat ride southwest of Salvador. As soon as we arrived in Morro de Sao Paulo, we paid a US$5 arrival tax (and a bizarre US$0.31 departure tax), part of which was used for trash collection. Every morning, before most visitors were awake, tractors full of trash cleaned Mangue Seco's paths (there were no roads), and the village stayed remarkably clean. The problem in Mangue Seco, however, is that no place wants outsiders telling them what to do . . . but in the meantime, a precious corner is being threatened by its sole economic lifeline.

How do you address the problem of drinking water when you travel abroad, especially if the water is not potable? I'm curious what you do, as bottled water clearly is one of the biggest culprits here and in other developing regions.