The Golden Girl

I'm flying back to Miami on Tuesday. Tomorrow is Sunday, March 1st, my daughter's birthday, as well as Rio's 444th. Here's my present to all: an unforgettable summer sunset. Remember when I said I was making lists to help me decide whether to go or to stay? I mentioned the mind-boggling offerings of fruit at the market and the Atlantic forest up on the mountainside as very strong enticements to remain under the Christ's armpit. So far, the balance was tilting in favor of this marvelous city, but after last weekend's display of generalized bad behavior on the part of cariocas (who seem to have lost the capacity for civilized conduct: if you'd seen all the women with their panties down peeing behind every car parked on my street, you'd understand!), I'm afraid I'm rather glad to be throwing in the towel. So, off I go into the wild blue yonder with MIA as a final destination.


I read something very funny the other day: that women in Brazil don't get old, they become blondes. Since I'll not surrender to either old age or hair dyeing, I've found a compromise in a few bleached strands on the right side of my very short bangs. I find them a nice statement: this lady here is going down fighting a good fight! They also remind me of Dave Robicheaux, nickname Streak, one of my favorite characters in the mystery novel realm.

I must tell you that there were a few winners this carnaval: Rola Preguiçosa in Ipanema and Sovaco do Cristo near me, for instance. Tonight I'm going to watch the winning samba schools parade down the Sambadrome: last weekend I simply fell asleep in front of the TV; the regular parade is too long, too overblown these days. By the way, isn't Sambadrome an atrocious word? For a very ugly place, too, as far as I'm concerned...

Ah, what's golden about the girl besides the little band of vanilla-colored hair? Well, to begin with, I haven't lost a handbag or watch or cell phone or any piece of jewelry in all these months and I've only encountered one armed youth in a bus. Since I was seated right in front, as I was told to do as soon as I arrived here, he never did me any harm. The poor passengers in the back weren't as lucky! Plus, of course, I had the infinite pleasure of enjoying the company of countless lovely Brazilians and of visiting the four corners of this privileged country.

White Flag, My Love...It's Carnaval...

So begin the lyrics to my all-time favorite carnaval song: a poignant, slow-motion marcha called "Bandeira Branca." I remember the first time I ever heard it: I was packing my suitcase in the early evening to fly back to the U.S. Strains of a rather melancholy, seemingly pleading song, came through the window in the voices of the crowd down in the streets below. I started to hum the melody along and then tried to make out the words: Bandeira branca, amor..."White flag, my love, I can't go on like this anymore, because of this longing for you that's taking over me, I ask for peace." I hope these lovers made up in the end, how could one resist such a melodious entreaty?


My carnaval has been a little busier than usual, because I have a guest this year, a young, lively Canadian woman come to see what's it all about. I took her out for a small taste of street revelry Thursday night. On Friday, we walked around the lagoon all the way to the meeting point for Rola Preguiçosa in Ipanema. I don't know if you recall the post I wrote about this last November, but they're the bloco that picked as their theme song a samba honoring President Obama. They called it "Get It Off Your Chest," in Portuguese a pun with the outgoing President's name: "Desem...BUSHe!" So, I got to belt it out along with the small crowd. And, yes, I got it off my chest once again, this time to the drumming of a bateria on a breezy, clear Rio night!

For those of you who would like to learn to sing Bandeira Branca for next year's carnaval parties, perhaps, here are the lyrics. It's included in "Sassaricando," a two-CD set with the best carnaval songs ever. You can pick it up next time you're in Brazil!

Bandeira branca, amor
Não posso mais
Pela saudade que me invade
Eu peço paz (BIS)

Saudade mal de amor, de amor
Saudade dor que dói demais
Vem meu amor
Bandeira branca, eu peço paz

This is a time for stolen kisses on the street, for falling in and out of love, but some carnaval romances seem to endure. O Globo today has a story about couples who met during carnaval...and stayed together. And Neguinho da Beija-Flor, the official singer for the superchamp samba school from Nilópolis, has received permission to get married at the Sambadrome tonight with President Lula and his wife Marisa as witnesses.

Last, but not least, the Ministry of Health is distributing tens of thousands of free condoms and there's a safe sex campaign directed at women over fifty...remember, better safe than sorry! Happy Carnaval!

The photos here are of the musicians come to grace my neighborhood street party with their incredible sounds this afternoon. The ladies belong to a fantastic all-woman orchestra called Orquestra Lunar.


I had to add two more pictures: you tell me if this isn't the best bloco..."Umbilical Cord," now dancing at the corner of my street: babies, pregnant women, current and future members and their proud dads!!

They Said I Came Back Americanized...

No, not me! Carmen Miranda!! And that is the title of a song written for her by a couple of her buddies, when she came back to Brazil for the first time in 1940, a big Hollywood star and all. She wasn't treated so well by her compatriots, as you can imagine by this line. The lyrics are very humorous and full of barbs directed at her detractors. My friend Marcos Sacramento, who sings this samba like no one else but Carmen herself, is the main attraction at a series of celebrations in her honor tomorrow. Carmen is 100 years old this year, you see, or could have been, if the American star way of life hadn't killed her in 1955. I don't know how many people have any notion of who she really was or even a smidgen of an idea of how incredibly talented. Forget the bananas and assorted fruit on her head. This lady could sing! She was a hugely popular artist, a dazzling performer on radio and stage in Brazil, when Mr. Shubert whisked her away to fame and fortune abroad. She was also a fragile and generous woman: being The Brazilian Bombshell proved to be too much for her (not to mention what was going on in her love life). But she did become a music and fashion icon and remains one to this day, an inspiration to singers, bloggers (try Spinning in Air, best music blog ever), and shoe designers like Christian Louboutin.

The Carmen Miranda Museum in Rio is housed in the ugliest possible building on Avenida Rui Barbosa. But don't be discouraged, I think you'll enjoy your visit. It was one of the places my gringo husband had to see, when he first arrived here in 1978...Maybe someday someone will realize that she is worthy of so much more and they'll build a deservedly spectacular home for her platform shoes and utterly over-the-top hats. Meanwhile, you may get a taste online at Museu Carmen Miranda.

This biography by Ruy Castro is the best book I've read about Carmen Miranda so far. I don't think there's an English translation yet. If you understand Portuguese, the texts on the website, written by friends and people who remember her, make for a fascinating read too.

PS - Even that accent in the movies was fabricated in La La Land...She COULD speak English!

Gone Shopping in the Saara

That's not a misspelling. I haven't been to the desert in Africa, but to a Mecca for shoppers in downtown Rio. The rather tongue-in-cheek acronym stands for Sociedade dos Amigos das Adjacências da Rua da Alfândega, an association of wholesalers, retailers, and restaurant owners, between Avenida Presidente Vargas and Praça Tiradentes. Originally, shop owners were Middle Eastern immigrants (in fact, people still go there to eat what Brazilians call "Arab" food): Lebanese, Palestinians, Syrians, Iraqis, and Jews. In fact, it's one of the few places on Earth, if not the only spot, where Christians, Muslims, and Jews are perfectly happy to work and live, do business and observe religious feasts side by side, in great harmony. These days, there's been an influx of newcomers from the Far East and the addition of one holiday; the Chinese New Year is now celebrated, along with Yom Kippur and Ramadan, and St. George, who's probably more popular here than in England!

Anyway, the Saara should be your destination for party articles and inexpensive carnaval costumes and masks; spices, perfumes, essences, and aromatic oils; dried flowers; dates and nuts; costume jewelry and fashionable (but throw away and disposable!) accessories; jeans at a fraction of what they cost in the shopping malls, and gorgeous fabrics. When Rio sizzles (like right now), it's best to go early in the morning on a weekday, but avoid Fridays like the plague.


Downtown Rio, or as it's affectionately known, "the city," is also the place to go to feed your soul. If it's a bit run-down and rough around the edges, due to years of neglect by the previous administration, it's still a treasure trove of museums, art galleries, and cultural spaces, and a great favorite of mine. Yesterday afternoon, I saw a fantastic exhibition called "Brasil Brasileiro" at the Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil. I thought it was very clever to divide the paintings into themes or modules: Our Land, Our People, Our Dreams, Our Struggles, and give each one a soundtrack, since the title of the show is borrowed from "Aquarela do Brasil" by Ary Barroso. And, as "there'll be music" is a given in this most musical of cities, why not end the day in company with two of its most charming and talented performers? Pictured here are the duo Nilze Carvalho and Marcos Sacramento, who brought the house down at the CCBB last night and, as usual, made me wish I didn't have to leave.

The traditional Brazilian fabrics called chitão were photographed at Casa Turunas in the Saara. They are being made into pillow covers for my new home in the U.S.

Here's a link to the Saturday evening performance on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuE-viltvHs&feature=related

"No Tempo do Nice" photo credit: Maria Braga

Walls of Selfishness

I had heard of the Wailing Wall of Jerusalem and the Great Wall of China, who hasn't? But, according to Roberto Burle Marx (who was quoting a friend of his), there's also something called "la muraille des égoïstes," the wall of the selfish of Rio. That's what people were building on the Copacabana beachfront crescent at the time they were having this conversation. As you can see from this photograph, the French guy was right. If you live on the back streets, that lovely view might as well not be there. Unless you arrive one day and climb up the side of one of the many hills and build your makeshift home there (but this was much afterwards). These days though, how ironic, you may also be looking at prostitutes and crime from your floor-to-ceiling windows on Avenida Atlântica. Am I exaggerating? No, I just read the local papers (with a heart that gets heavier every month).

Brazilians have built these walls of egoism everywhere: a good, or I should say, bad example is Boa Viagem beach in Recife. I remember when I used to send my daughter off back into the sunshine after 3 p.m. Now you probably won't need a beach umbrella in the afternoon; the buildings provide the shade. You can google it for pictures and see what I mean.


Fortunately, there's still enough of unspoilt, undeveloped coast to last me to the end of my days. I don't mind sharing one of my favorite secret places in the Northeast: the tiny colonial gem called Penedo, near the mouth of the São Francisco River. There you can visit one of the most gorgeous (if not THE most beautiful) church in Brazil, Nossa Senhora da Corrente. Rent a boat with a square sail (you'll only see these here) and lose yourself in one of the deserted beaches where the mighty "Velho Chico" meets the ocean.

According to the papers that I insist on reading, in spite of what they do to my blood pressure, the number of favelas in Rio is nearing the astonishing one thousand mark! And, if you have the millions it takes, Urca, Leblon, Ipanema, and Lagoa are the places to look for that pied-à-terre in this tropical madhouse. As for me, and I keep repeating myself, I'll be picking the next as-remote-as-possible spot to visit.