Status Quo...Vadis?

So to speak...My sister-in-law is coming from Sampa on Tuesday to see the Burle Marx retrospective (didn't I say it was worth a trip to Rio?). Jenny, who hails from Tasmania, also wants to go see "Australia" with me. Two decades ago she moved to the outskirts of Campinas and built herself a house, reminiscent of an Australian outback bungalow, with a row of eucalyptus trees in front. The rest of the garden was downright Brazilian: wide blade grass, pitangas, amoras, mangoes, and so on. The other day we were out taking pictures (she's a superb photographer) and I asked her if she didn't want to have a house again, a piece of land for her herbs and flowers (she's a green thumb). She gave me an emphatic "no!" And the main reason, she said, were the saúvas. For those of you unfamiliar with the delights of maintaining a garden in these latitudes, these insects are some of the largest and most voracious ants in the world. And, apparently, they simply refuse to go away, no matter what you try, short of a scorched earth policy (which kind of defeats the purpose). But where was I that I got here? Oh, I know. When I first came to Brazil my dream was to have a little house somewhere and be able to dig my fingers into soil once more and have my own tropical haven, steps away from the Atlantic forest. Pretty much what Burle Marx did at home and for countless moneyed people around here. Well, it didn't exactly turn out that way. Who knows where I'll end up next, but it's quite likely to be a condo again...oy, vey!


Speaking of going to the movies, I found the best candy in Brazil! Hurray! A little marvel called Bala Juquinha: it's chewy like a salt water taffy, but doesn't stick to your teeth; it's neither sweet nor sour and hits your tastebuds like yumm...Considering it's been majorly popular since the fifties, it beats me why I'd never heard of it until the other day. Better late than never; I intend to make up for lost time. So, to "Australia" I'll go, armed with a handful of tutti-frutti Juquinhas, and I'll throw a few bagfuls into my suitcase next time. The company site claims that they export their candies and lollipops to 49 countries, including the U.S., so they must be available somewhere near us, but just in case...

And, if you can guess where I found the title for this post, I promise to mail you a bag of Juquinhas! It's a play on a very famous book title, but most importantly, it's a fitting description for this bird of passage's existence.

Photo Copyright: Balas Juquinha

Beam Me Back to Brigadoon, Scotty!

No, not the one in the misty Highlands of Scotland, but an enchanted place of my own choosing. Can it be done, you think? I started mulling over this idea yesterday after I went downtown to see the "Roberto Burle Marx 100 Years" exhibition. I walked through spaces filled with paintings, paintings on fabric, glass sculptures, jewelry, gigantic tapestries, tile panels in myriad colors, drawings, models, until I found what I was looking for: his magnificent landscape designs. Then I sat quietly for a very long time, eyes riveted on large flat TV screens. It was closing time when I left the museum in a rather dreamy state. Oh, how I wish I could live surrounded by any one of those dozens of gardens he created for wealthy homeowners in Brazil and abroad.


Still on the subject of magical places, I've been taking an inventory of my visits to remote corners of Brazil. I've always said that what I like most about this country is the interior; I'm not particularly fond of cities here (apart from Rio and São Paulo). And I've decided that my favorite spot is the awe-inspiring wilderness called Jalapão, in the central-northern state of Tocantins. I remember the camp by a pristine river, the long treks through scrubland to see 30-meter high dunes or a waterfall that looked like a miniature Iguaçu, the 800-meter climb to the top of a mesa to take in the breathtaking view; and how cold the rain was, surprisingly. And the best part: less than one human being per square kilometer! Anyway, as we were walking out of the museum, my friend asked me: So, have you picked your garden yet? I told her I was just going home to get my checkbook... Seriously, though, if I can't have my private Burle Marx oasis, then perhaps take me back to this particular locale?


My photo credit: I was blissfully unaware that a young man from Brasília was taking photographs as I stood there. I wish I could credit him, but I didn't keep his e-mail and I don't remember his name. To see more of my own pics, go to Jalapão.

The Burle Marx show at the Paço Imperial runs through March 22 and it's worth a trip to Rio, I promise!

(Un)Dressing Your Age

Summer has finally arrived in Rio and you know what that means (besides dodging dengue fever mosquitoes, that is): time to go hunting for the latest styles in bathing suits. (Before you ask, the hottest thing is a strapless top, sold on the beach in Ipanema, that you can mix and match with your favorite bottoms.) The task is relatively easy for the young sirens that inhabit the sands from Arpoador to Barra; it becomes increasingly more of a challenge if you are a woman of a certain age. This is true of all types of garments down here, by the way. I thought I was the only one with this problem, but the other day a friend of mine told me that she had instructed her sons and daughter not to shop for presents for her at such and such stores. These, I'll let you know, used to be our favorite haunts for years; we have now passed them on to the younger generation. And are at a loss as to where we go from here. I have the advantage of dividing my time between Brazil and the U.S., so I hit the stores there. But, where bikinis and such are concerned, we all know that there is only one place in the world to shop and that is right here. Fortunately, there are stores and designers that have women like us in mind when they create their masterpieces: we're older, yes, but small, thin, young-looking and, may I add, not lacking in flair or spunk. So, they make it possible for us to (un)dress our age. Before I forget, my daughter has express orders to chain me to the dining-room table if I ever commit the unpardonable sin of looking ridiculous, on or off the beach.

This adorable three-piece (two bottoms, one top, bought separately from a collection called MixXX Salinas) in the photograph is called a "sunkini" and was purchased at Salinas, where we have faithfully shopped for thirteen years now. And no, we don't get discounts for so generously advertising their creations.

We firmly believe we were the first to write about the Brazilian bikini on the Internet (in 1995). The rather tongue-in-cheek essay is still available on our site.

On further sartorial matters: Aren't you dying to know what Michelle will wear on January 20th? I can't wait for her to surprise and delight us!

You Can Blame the Blueberry Muffin

Remember when I wrote bitching about Starbucks, comparing the chain stores to Brazilian cafés? Well, I visited Rio's very one and only this afternoon. And I plan to go back often. Blame it on the blueberry muffin, if you wish; it was light and loaded with purple fruit. But I have to tell you that they also make a near perfect espresso macchiato. And the coffee wasn't bitter like the ones I've tasted in Miami Beach. Otherwise, it's set up like any other Starbucks in the U.S., so if you find yourself here and homesick, the address is Shopping Leblon, first floor. By the way, of course there are blueberries in Brazil in the summer; they're called mirtilo in Portuguese and grown in the colder regions of the South. As far as I know, the only fruit Brazil doesn't boast are durian and cranberries.

The title for this post is a wink at a favorite film of mine, "My Blueberry Nights," directed by Wong Kar-Wai. If you missed it at the theaters, please rent the DVD. It's visually stunning and Natalie Portman plays a poker player that you wouldn't want to bet against. It also features blueberry pies, the only ones left over at the end of the day in Jude Law's diner. But, as he says to Norah Jones, "don't blame the blueberry pie." Meaning, "the guy who left you is a complete idiot." And you tell me if their kiss isn't the best you've ever seen in a movie!


Dropping back to Earth, Rio has a new mayor as of January 1. He promised a choque de ordem, something akin to Rudy Giuliani's zero tolerance policy, to clean up and reform the metropolis. I only uncrossed my fingers to type this text! His task is herculean, to say the least. His predecessor, who most people suspect of having an overpopulation of bats in the belfry, left a spectacular mess after twelve years in office (I wouldn't be able to tell you how or why he was reelected twice, but then, I could never figure out why Americans elected George W. Bush either). Anyway, I'll be reading the papers and watching for signs of improvement wherever I go in the next few weeks and will report back. The only thing I don't understand is why they replaced the director of the only public company that works in this city, the Comlurb. Public cleaning and waste disposal has been a tremendous success story. If cariocas weren't such pigs, Rio could easily be one of the cleanest and best maintained places on this planet! Kudos to the men and women in orange uniforms on the streets, parks and beaches. Everytime I see one of them, I feel like giving her/him a big hug and a warm "thank you!" Good job!

If you find this image disturbing, I'll remind you that these are two of dozens of street people who camp in the square in front of my building in a middle-class neighborhood, a few streets away from some of the fanciest mansions in Rio.