Blog da Arara

Carnaval in September

2008-09-07T16:23:00.006-04:00

Say what? Well, today is Sete de Setembro, Brazil's national holiday. The day started with military parades all over the country, but some people really know how to celebrate. I'm talking about our neighborhood bloco de carnaval, which was founded on this day twenty-one years ago. It's almost five-thirty in the afternoon and the samba is in full swing a block away from me. All I need to do is open my windows and start dancing. No need even to go join the small crowd, if I don't want to. I took this picture earlier today as I got off the bus coming back from the market in Ipanema. This lovely lady is their proud standard bearer.

I've mentioned Brazil's national music here twice this week, so I feel sort of obligated to reveal some of my preferences. Starting with sambas de enredo: I think my all-time favorites are "O Amanhã" and "É Hoje." Paulinho da Viola's "Foi um rio que passou em minha vida" (technically not in this category, but composed in honor of Portela) has got to be one of the most gorgeous songs ever to come out of Brazil. As far as songwriters, names that come immediately to mind and must, therefore, be at the top of my list: Cartola and, I must write his name again, Paulinho da Viola. You can try looking for these songs and samba composers on YouTube...I'm sure there's plenty out there. But here are the beginning lines for the first song I mentioned: A cigana leu o meu destino, eu sonhei...The gypsy read my palm and I dreamed...Easy to like it, isn't it?

Perhaps It's the Pitangas...

2008-09-03T10:36:00.006-04:00

For several weeks now I've been debating whether I really want to go back to the U.S. There's no doubt in my mind that eventually I will, for reasons both of the heart and practicality. But when I think about it, I'm immediately swamped by premature feelings of longing for all the things I love about Brazil. I was told to make lists: a list of the things that I enjoy down here, a list of the things that make me crazy; a list of all that I miss from the U.S., my beautiful daughter being number one. Lists are supposed to help me make this painful decision: at my age, I can't afford (financially and emotionally) to make another move such as this one. If (or rather when) I go back, Brazil will become once again a place to visit a couple of times a year, visits carefully timed to coincide with the season for jaboticaba and pitanga, to see blooming quaresmeiras or abricó-de-macaco, to pick up the newest style in bikinis at a favorite store in Ipanema. I have yet to take pencil and paper (I refuse to do this on my MacBook Pro!) to start on one of them, but in my mind images and words have been floating around for days on end: all the fruit I don't think I can live without, the forests of the Brazilian tropics, the friendliness of perfect strangers everywhere. But I think that, without realizing it, I've started to say goodbye in a very subtle way: I linger over my breakfast papaya, I savor every drop of my coconut water or my passionfruit juice, and I pay daily visits to the pitangueiras at the Botanical Garden. My favorite tree is loaded with tiny, orangy-red fruit and the pathways are dotted with squashed, half-pecked pitangas. Birds love them as well as we do! I picked these three up and arranged them atop a nice mossy rock.

Whatever happens, these have been unforgettable months! Before I forget, included in my list (but fortunately easily smuggled into the country) are these inexpensive, adorable, miniscule dried flowers that people dye in a rainbow of colors. I've always been extremely fond of them; is there a better way to add a splash of red and fuchsia to brighten up a room?

Without Sadness There's no Samba *

2008-09-01T18:45:00.008-04:00

I didn't make this line up, I pinched it from a documentary I saw this afternoon called "O Mistério do Samba" (The Mystery of Samba). I didn't really know what to expect from this film besides great music. And indeed, there was plenty of that: I even caught myself singing along a couple of times (oops, sorry, but great sambas are irresistible!). But what I enjoyed the most were the stories, sad and funny, told by the great sambistas and singers of Portela, the revered Old Guard of the samba school based in the suburb of Oswaldo Cruz. And the little excursions to the tiny suburban houses and backyards and bars where they have been living their modest lives and composing their incomparable songs. The men are great storytellers, but I found the women especially moving and hilarious: in one scene at a hairdresser's, one of them is talking about her philanderer of a husband; she still remembers the day when she went after him, picking up rocks from the street and throwing them at him. Another unforgettable scene: a group of sambistas is sitting around a table, drinking beer, playing, singing. An older woman walks by with her shopping bag, stops, dances a few samba steps, bows to them, and keeps on walking. According to the director, this little scene was completely spontaneous and unexpected. I'm glad that they could film it; it's precious and revealing of the soul of this most musical of cities.

At the end, we're all applauding and, mirroring what had just happened on screen, an older man dances a few samba steps, too. And I'm thinking: what a good reason to stick around a while longer! If you come to Rio, don't forget to check the papers for rodas de samba, including the ones at Portela! The women of Portela's Old Guard are also renowned cooks and the subject of a gem of a book called "Batuque na Cozinha."

* In Portuguese: Sem tristeza não tem samba. And this reminds me: yes, there is that contagious rhythm and percussion, but samba is also sweet melodies and melancholy, passionate stories.

Photo (featuring singers Marisa Monte and Zeca Pagodinho with members of the Velha Guarda da Portela) credit: Bruno Veiga

Lazy Days of...Winter?

2008-08-15T18:28:00.006-04:00

Winter in Rio has been anything but. Blue skies and comfortable temperatures for weeks on end. Makes you wish for a couple of drizzly days, at least I think plants around here would welcome the change. But this unusual weather makes my daily walks in the Botanical Garden much more pleasant: no mud on my shoes and very little sweat on my face. This morning I wanted to photograph another old jaqueira I had come across a few days ago and a very strange-looking "paper tree" from Australia. I think I've said something in the past about the arboretum being home to a variety of animals as well as plants? I've seen monkeys eating jackfruit almost every single day and birdwatchers galore tiptoeing around with binoculars around their necks (I hear different songs and calls, but have never actually seen the little creatures they're looking at). Anyway, along the way from one tree to the next, I saw this little fellow coming very slowly across the grass, as it should be for a sloth. So I had plenty of time to stand there snapping away (or clicking or whatever you do with a digital camera) while thinking that this is an amazing place, indeed! A large metropolitan area where people can still be in such close proximity with the natural world.

I think this is the most gorgeous jaqueira I've seen in all these years of visiting down here. It stands next to the administration building near the Bromeliarium, in case you want to pay it a visit someday.

By the way, about ten minutes later a guard came and took the sloth back to the forest. For as long as I walk the trails up there now, I'll be looking for him (or her)!

Let Me Out!

2008-08-01T16:21:00.010-04:00

Or perhaps I should call it Surreal Rio Part 2? I was hoping I wouldn't find anything else that bothered me in this beautiful place (besides rampant crime, widespread corruption, bad manners, etc.) and here's to this being the last post on the subject! But I went out with the camera (well hidden in my purse) and took these two photographs the other day to illustrate a sad situation that boggles the mind of visitors. I'm from the days when none of this existed, so there must have been a time when this city was relatively peaceful (or crime was contained).

You'll notice that the metal grille in front of this building is not part of the original design nor are all those bars in the bus. They are there to make life more difficult for assorted robbers, usually very young and heavily armed. So, one wonders about what happened here in the last thirty-somewhat years that it became necessary for people to put themselves behind bars, in order to feel relatively safe. And, in the case of the buses, to make it increasingly more difficult for passengers to board and pay (try going through one of these with a child or holding shopping bags!). I've been reading the papers and magazines and I've asked this question of many of my friends. Everyone comes back with the same answer: the collapse of government, law, and order. This shouldn't surprise anyone, they tell me, considering that crime and the authorities have a long tradition of promiscuity in this state and city. At present, a large percentage of elected officials are in trouble with the law, including two former governors, and indictments and scandals are daily newspaper and TV fare.

I'm also posting a picture of delectable jaboticabas that I found at the market the other day. Maybe this will serve as a reminder that there are good reasons for me to be here at the moment, along with the splendid music and the heartwarming interactions with my Brazilian buddies!

The Bluest Sky

2008-07-20T15:05:00.009-04:00

I read somewhere that Rio is supposed to have the bluest sky in the world. Whether that is true or not, we've been blessed with a string of perfect days this July and if you look up this is what you see. I took this picture Friday morning at the Botanical Garden, during my daily walk.

I went in search of blooming pitangueiras (more on this later). On the way back, I took a detour to an area I hadn't explored yet (there are plenty of those since the arboretum is quite large) and discovered this gorgeous old jaqueira. Here's a good piece of advice: first thing you do when you come across one of these beauties is look up; jackfruit as big as the ones pictured here are also to be found hanging from branches and there's no telling when one of these watermelon-sized babies will come down and make a big, messy splash on the ground (and hopefully NOT on your head).

I hope our luck as to the weather holds on a bit longer. Nights have been rather cool, a little cold even, but it's such a welcome change from Rio's sweltering summer and such a great excuse for some good red wine!

PS - There's a great song that includes a jaqueira in its lyrics. It's called "Meu Romance" and it's indeed memorable like the CD's title ("Memorável Samba"), especially when sung by Marcos Sacramento! The words sort of go like this: Under that majestic jaqueira that grows up on the hill, from where one can see the sambistas from Mangueira, it was there, who'd have guessed, that our love was born, the afternoon of that memorable samba, etc. etc. As I've said numerous times, I wouldn't have found love under that tree. I'd have found a jackfruit, or rather a jackfruit would have found me (by falling on my head!).

Obstacle Courses 2

2008-07-20T13:12:00.004-04:00

Once again, I seem to have my finger on the city's pulse or, at least, some pretty good ESP for what's going to be on the Sunday edition of O Globo. I was having my coffee and pão canoa na chapa (which translates to a French roll reduced to its crust, buttered, and toasted...scrumptious stuff!) and reading the paper this morning when I came across an article about urban chaos in Rio. And one of the subjects was, you guessed, parking on the sidewalks. It turns out that the iron posts I mentioned below are routinely sawed off or broken (?) at the base and the concrete pillars are somehow demolished (maybe someone comes with a sledgehammer in the middle of the night?).

These two pictures I took yesterday in my neighborhood show perfectly good examples of how far people go in their efforts to keep cars where they belong, that is, on the street or inside parking lots. Apparently (at least according to the newspaper) it's a losing battle, due to a widespread urban pathological condition called "so what if it's illegal."

Obstacle Courses

2008-07-14T13:14:00.009-04:00

No, I'm not going to tell you that I'm training for the Olympic Games in China, even though I DO have something in common with athletes, mainly a tendency to hurt myself. Having recovered from the latest injury (to my right hip), I'm proud of the fact that I have resumed my long walks in the Botanical Garden. But that's not where I face a daily obstacle course and have plenty of opportunities to acquire new bruises. No, I'm talking about the sidewalks of Rio. And I'm not referring to the small black and white stones in different patterns that make it impossible for a woman to wear high heels; one of those gets loose and you're bound to slip and fall. And I don't even mean the street peddlers who spread their wares wherever they can. I mean the iron posts, cement blocks, planters, and assorted other impediments to the free flow of pedestrians. Do you want to know why they're there? In typical Rio-style, it's to prevent cars from parking on the sidewalks. Wouldn't it be simpler to slap the owners with a hefty fine and tow their beloved Fiats and Peugeots? Not in this city where everything seems to function according to a perverse logic. And yes, I've managed to walk right into one of these hurdles one evening a few years ago and still have a collection of small scars on my left shin as a souvenir.

So, here's another thing I marvel at when I go to Miami: I can actually walk around town without having to weave my way through a hodgepodge of obstructions to circulation.

I took these pictures one very lovely afternoon in Urca: the first one perfectly illustrates this little story. The other...well, don't we all have moments when we wish this crazy metropolis was this serene and bucolic? Ah! Notice the good, old, plain sidewalk by the bay!

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me...

2008-07-01T14:19:00.006-04:00

When I'm Sixty-Four? And that happens to be today. I've been thinking about how an amazing life it's been so far (and hoping it'll continue to be so until one day, luck be my lady today, I just drop dead). And in the process of playing this film backwards in my mind, I've come up with quite a few scary, breathtaking, and downright funny memories. For example:

1 - My first earthquake in Central America in the seventies. I remember waking up thinking that I must have the flu and realizing that the tumbling toys and cracking walls meant that something totally unusual (for me) was taking place outside my body. Next thing I know, we were scrambling to get my daughter out of her crib and looking for a safe spot (the banana plantation across the way looked pretty good at that point). That same year, a couple of visiting friends and I drove down into the Irazu volcano crater (no sign in sight to tell us to stop) only to find out that volcanic ash is worse than sand when it comes to getting your car stuck. If it weren't for a pair of very strong German tourists, I'd probably still be there arguing with an angry policeman.

2 - Cut to Iguazu Falls at the border of Brazil and Argentina a few years later. It was mid-November and the weather was very hot and muggy. The clouds were dark and low and it definitely looked like it would pour very soon. We were taking a walk in the woods behind the hotel and got to a spot where the river was quite wide and not moving very fast (at least it SEEMED so). There was a man sitting in a small canoe and he invited us to get in: "I'll take you somewhere to see the falls," he said. I remember asking where exactly and the answer was "Devil's Throat." That didn't sound like a place I'd like to be, but he came back with something like "this is the last trip I'm making, because of the storm coming." So we had to make a split second decision to hop in. I still don't know what possessed us to do it, but a few minutes later we were in the middle of the river and I could see a little bit of mist ahead. We found out then that he was only taking us half way; from that point on another rower took over who knew the currents ahead. If you've seen the movie "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" you'll remember the sweeping, spectacular shots of the falls. If you looked carefully (and you can bet I did!), you saw an outcrop of rock, roughly a yard and a half from end to end, surrounded by zillions of gallon of rushing, falling water. Well, that's where we got off the second canoe and that's where this woman who suffers from vertigo and used to be really, really afraid of water, did the victory sign. I still have the photograph to prove it! This brings us to the last little story and the reason why I wrote "used to be."

3 - Cut once again to the British Virgin Islands in the mid-nineties. What do you do when you reach fifty and would like to celebrate in style? I decided that I needed to go see the wreck of the Rhone and NOT from the surface! So I spent a few weeks with a lovely young female instructor at a pool in Ohio who taught me the front and back crawl strokes; for someone who was terrified to put her face in the water, that was no mean accomplishment already. Now came the hard part: actually breathing underwater, through a regulator. Another woman (a fabulous divemaster at Peter Island) and another pool later and I was actually feeling pretty confident that I could manage that too. If you're thinking that I got this far to tell you that I failed miserably...well, you're wrong! As a matter of fact, I didn't want to come back up and haven't stopped talking since about how exhilarating (but peaceful) it felt to be down there with the fishes. I bought a book about the Rhone and the DVD of "The Deep" with Nick Nolte and Jacqueline Bisset and everytime I feel like revisiting that afternoon I pull them out of my shelf.

And there were countless flights across the U.S. in a Mooney 201 and crisscrossing Ohio on a Harley-Davidson and numerous hurricanes in Miami and starry nights in the Arizona desert and hikes and camping in the backlands of Brazil and walking in the Amazon with a (literal) spider monkey on my back. I'm really enjoying this ride!

That's my hand holding my precious book.

Perfume de Gardenia

2008-06-27T13:37:00.008-04:00

Last Sunday I went to a birthday party for my friend Alicia's oldest son, Andre. They're part of a large Cuban-American family who all live in the general vicinity of Calle Ocho in Miami, so such get-togethers occur with amazing frequency (and I'm not even counting weddings, christenings, quinces, and other assorted celebrations). I was enjoying a plateful of arroz, frijoles, and yuca con mojo while practicing my Spanish with her dad when I happened to glance out the back window. I just meant to check on the rain (which was coming down in sheets), but my eyes didn't turn back to my food for a long time. There in the backyard, in full view of anyone sitting around the dining-room table, was the most magnificent gardenia bush. Aha! That explained the freshly cut flowers I had been getting drunk on a few minutes earlier...I'm nuts about their scent; Perfume de gardenia, perfume del amor, as the song by Rafael Hernandez goes. So, yesterday during the long flight south to Brazil, I would close my eyes and revisit that garden. The white blooms scattered among the deep green leaves, a perfect trio of reddish mangoes hanging from the tree, and a typical Miami summer downpour.

But what my daughter asked me to write about are my daily trips from her island down to the heart of South Beach in the comfortable, smooth-riding, air-conditioned Miami-Dade buses. In a nutshell, using public transportation in Miami is a colorful, rather exciting, experience; after a few rides, you sort of learn to expect the unexpected and the bizarre. Apart from the youngish, clearly not-quite-there woman who asked me, in earnest, if I was going to sue her for falling into my lap when the bus turned the corner, there was this big guy screaming profanities and racial slurs from the back of the bus (I was afraid he would become violent at any moment and kept wondering why the young female driver didn't use her radio to call the police). My favorite, though, has to be the old lady in a loose print shirt, large hoop earrings with dangling blue beads, and a baseball cap in the style favored by Iowa farmers while riding their combines. Having been yelled at the day before by a tall bird who informed me on no uncertain terms that he had a right to sit down (whereas I, I assumed, being merely a 64-year-old woman who was about to faint from the 87-degree heat, could ride standing up in the overcrowded bus), I got up and moved back as soon as I saw her boarding the bus. Lucky guess, Sheila: even though there were about six or more empty seats in the front of the bus at that point, she proceeded to say out loud in Spanish (to no one in particular, but waving a finger in the air) that this was HER favorite seat.

I confess that I've come back to a transportation system that's best described as disastrous. Buses in Rio are generally dirty, rattling, hip-dislocating, hot-as-hell in the summer, non-handicapped accessible, and driven by maniacs to boot. On the other hand, your fellow passengers, from school kids to professionals to beautiful girls on their way to the beach, aren't likely to provide you with stories at the end of the day. Unless, of course, your bus happens to be the unlucky one where armed robbery takes place or urban tragedy unfolds (as in route 174).

The gardenia pictured here is not from a Miami garden.

A Foot in Two Countries

2008-06-15T16:09:00.009-04:00

I haven't written anything here in a whole month, but have been mulling over something for days on end. I could also call this post A Tale of Two Cities or A Word That Defines my Life. When you divide your time and existence between two countries, two languages, two cultures, something happens to you. Mainly, to use a great and fitting French word, you become dépaysée, that is, you uproot yourself, but don't quite put on new roots, or rather, you do, but sort of like those little bromeliads I love called tillandseas. They're air plants and will grow on trees, rocks, shrubs, and are quite content to be blown here and there by the winds.

I can explain A Tale of Two Cities: I shuttle between Miami and Rio. I call them respectively my blue and green city. Miami has that amazing turquoise water; Rio boasts the largest urban forest in the world. And if you're curious as to the Word That Defines my Life, that's easy: it's saudade, Portuguese for longing and missing. It's the story of my life!

I'm flying back to the U.S. again tomorrow morning. By a strange and fortuitous coincidence, every single time I go to Miami there's a show by Marcos Sacramento a day or two before. So, I get to say goodbye to my friends and Rio listening to this absolutely spectacular singer. It's almost as if someone is trying to remind me of the reason I came down here in the first place. And if this should be THE last farewell, I can't think of a better or happier finale!

Photo number one is from last night's performance at Teatro Rival in downtown Rio. For more on Marcos, you can access his site. Photo number two here on the left was taken at the Botanical Garden and features an assortment of bromeliads hanging in there, quite literally.

Marcos Sacramento photo courtesy of Alexandre Moreira, via Beto Feitosa. Thank you, guys!

Esgrefendo Popagen

2008-05-15T16:58:00.006-04:00

Say what? Even if you can read Portuguese you'll not have understood my title. The reason being that it's Portuguese spoken with a very heavy accent. Not anybody's accent, mind you, but aunt Lucila's. I wish I'd met this lovely Brazilian of German descent, but she's been gone for a few years now. Aunt Lucila has been immortalized by her journalist nephew in a book that had me in stitches in Porto Alegre. So much so that my friend managed to call him and get me a copy. Mind you, no one here is making fun of the way she spoke; we're just madly in love with her hilarious dialogs with him. In his small volume, Mr. Decker also briefly tells the story of German immigration (1824) in Rio Grande do Sul and compiles a vocabulary of the Hunsrück dialect, which has died out in Europe, but still survives in hamlets in the mountains of Southern Brazil. Side by side with what he calls "tialês" or Portuguese as spoken by his favorite auntie.

For me, traveling around this area of Italian and German immigrants was also an emotional journey back to the days when I studied at the Deutsche Schule (which at that point had switched to Portuguese, just as aunt Lucila had to, all of a sudden, because of WW II), bought schwarzes Brot, and ate polenta with radicci, drank red wine, and fell asleep in "nonna's bed." What a childhood that was...

This photograph was taken at our inn in the Valley of Vineyards (part of the region colonized by Italians starting in 1875) and features a tender moment between the owner, Mr. Sant'Anna, and his dog, Galileu.

Before I forget, I hope you've been enjoying all the popagens (bobagens, silly things) that I've been esgrefendo (escrevendo, writing) these past months. Brazil has a lot to offer and I'll be down here a little while longer...

Has anyone seen Franz?

2008-05-15T16:44:00.005-04:00

Kafka, that is. I'll explain: if you've been following this blog you're now sort of familiar with Brazilian bureaucracy. Well, it's risen to new heights in my estimation ever since I read the following story in the paper: A theater director in Rio applied for official financing. A few months later, not having heard a peep from the government foundation, he decided to call them. The reason his paperwork was gathering dust on someone's desk? One of the applicants had not signed the form. Who could it be? Yeah, you guessed, Franz. The play? You've probably guessed again: The Process.

Come on, Franz, leave boring Prague and Czech bureaucracy! Coffee is better in Rio, anyway...

Speaking of absentees...I've been on the road in the interior of Rio Grande do Sul (see next post) and will be trekking again as of this coming Saturday to a more urban destination: my favorite city in South America, São Paulo.

With deepest thanks to my friend Sergio for saving the paper for me while I was gone...

Evolution and a Singer in Rio

2008-04-14T15:19:00.011-04:00

It has become a (good) habit of mine to go downtown every Saturday. There are plenty of reasons: museums, churches, restaurants, antiquarians, traditional Portuguese desserts (your sweet tooth's got to be ready for these, though!) at Casa Cavé, the perfect draft beer at the centenarian Bar Luiz, Art Déco buildings, and rodas de samba. Oh, I'm forgetting the promise of increased security all around...This past weekend a friend and I saw the Darwin exhibition at the splendid Museu Histórico Nacional. I've been reading a lot about Charles Darwin and his travels, which brought him to Brazil and Rio de Janeiro, and Alfred Russel Wallace, for whom the Wallace Line and a lunar crater are named. Apparently, being quite content to leave all the credit and glory surrounding the evolutionary theory to his contemporary, Wallace is commemorated in other sciences. At least, Wallace's bones are resting in peace, unlike Darwin's, which must have turned a few times at Westminster Abbey recently. I'm talking about Florida's new science teaching standards and the controversy surrounding the theory of evolution in our beloved United States of America. I remind you that this is going on in the most scientifically-advanced country in the world in 2008, NOT in some backward nation, and NOT in the Dark Ages of mankind.

Anyway, we finally get to the best part of my weekend. Friday evening (weekends DO start with TGIF, right?) I went to a recital at Sala Cecilia Meireles, a temple of classical music in Rio. The program, mind you, were popular serenades from the 1930s and 40s, the kind that were (and perhaps still are in small towns in the interior) performed below a woman's window. Voice and guitar, no more. You don't need anything else when the voice and interpretation belong to Marcos Sacramento and the guitarist is his "partner-in-crime," Luis Flavio Alcofra. Where does this concert tie in with my musings on evolution and the state of things in our country? It's simply that I rejoice in the thought that at least some members of our species have evolved to the point where they're able to really contribute to the happiness of others. That some people are able to write such great songs and others to sing them with so much talent and sensitivity. This was for sure one of the best shows of my life! And I, like Charles Darwin, am glad that I came to Rio for a while.

By the way, this was part of a series that will culminate with a concert by Italian jazz pianist Stefano Bollani in December. Can't wait!

The City and the Mosquito

2008-04-01T15:06:00.005-04:00

Should I give you the good news or the bad news first? Well, let's get this part over with: For someone who's a mosquito magnet like me, these are not the best of times. I've just read that 1.4 new cases of dengue fever are diagnosed in Rio every minute! The outbreak has sickened over 45,000 people and caused 67 deaths, mostly children, mostly poor; so far, six people I know came down with the infection. Squabbling federal, state, and municipal authorities are pointing the finger at one another. Apparently, no one but the tiny, striped mosquito is responsible for this public health disaster...Meanwhile, as far as I'm concerned, Off is literally that: suffering from chemical sensitivities, I've armed myself with citronella candles and Burt's Bees Herbal Insect Repellent (which I brought from the U.S.), and some homeopathic pills that promise to strengthen my immune system. I keep the air-conditioner on, avoid leaving the apartment during certain hours of the day and evening, and have limited my outings to areas with low infection rates. I check the papers every day for news that the epidemic is tapering off. What else is one to do, except perhaps pray, as Rio Mayor Cesar Maia reportedly did, during a recent trip to Salvador, Bahia? (I'd bet people here are praying that he and his party lose the upcoming elections!)

OK, now on to the good news: For the second time this month, I've spent Saturday afternoon in the City, which translates to Rio's downtown. I wanted to see an exhibition dedicated to Debret, the French artist who documented life in the burgeoning capital of the Portuguese Empire between 1816 and 1831. The arrival of D. João and the Portuguese court in Rio in 1808 had dramatically and permanently transformed what was then a rather backward tropical city, along with the habits and lifestyle of its inhabitants. (By the way, my favorite watercolor depicts a little girl, all dressed up under an enormous hat, on her way to the "Escola de Senhoritas" (Young Ladies' School). Big changes, indeed!)

I've decided that one of the best things about being in Rio is wandering through the old cobblestoned streets. Especially when you get to sit down to lunch at a place like this!

Back Under the Christ's Armpit 2...

2008-03-24T09:44:00.010-04:00

I arrived around 11 p.m., exhausted after the usual TAM equipment change in São Paulo, and happy to be back in Brazil, but immediately got a reality check when:

1. There was no one at Immigration and Passport Control, even though this is a daily flight;
2. The young and dapper TAM employee that showed up after a few minutes didn't know what was going on;
3. When he finally showed up, the official responsible kept telling us (and the TAM employee) that we should have gone through Immigration and Customs in São Paulo, even though no one ever does, since this flight terminates in Rio and our luggage is always checked through;
4. The nonchalant young lady who checked my passport was more interested in carrying on what seemed an amusing conversation with her friend(s) or colleague(s) than in paying attention to a rather frazzled, perplexed, and obviously dead tired middle-aged passenger;
5. The airport in Rio is a total mess and getting worse every time I go through it;
6. I won't speak a word about anything else I observed that night...

Meanwhile, the weekly news magazine Veja tells me that the Minister of Tourism refused to have her hand luggage x-rayed at the security point on boarding a plane to Paris (but the captain wouldn't take off because of that, so she was forced to do it after all).

Wouldn't you agree that it's impossible to take this place very seriously, if you are to keep your blood pressure under control?

The photograph today is to let you know that we are celebrating the 200th anniversary of the arrival of the Portuguese royal family in Brazil, on the run from Napoleon and his troops. Whatever evils D. João and his court brought along that survive in Brazilian society and politics today, he was also the founder of one of my favorite places on Earth, Rio's Botanical Garden...

Sad News Here...Great News There!!

2008-03-07T09:57:00.006-05:00

Remember the lady who owns (rather, owned) the newstand across the street? She has decided that enough is enough and closed her business a few days ago. I stopped by to say goodbye and chat a bit. She's tired, she said, and it's not a healthy way of life: she's been there from dawn to dusk, seven days a week, for years on end. She doesn't eat well, doesn't exercise, and tends to drink Coke and smoke, because of job stress. I never thought of her line of work as stressful, but I could see that she didn't have much of a life. She says she'll open another business at some point, but she doesn't want to work 12 hours a day, everyday, including holidays. We exchanged mobile numbers and e-mail addresses and hugged. I told her I'd miss her enormously. She was one of the first people I met here and certainly one of the nicest.

I took her photo as a souvenir. I'm flying back to the U.S. tomorrow and I feel a bit melancholy. Perhaps opening up my Store.Barack Obama package (one t-shirt size small) will cheer me up? Considering the sad state of politics in Brazil and the alternatives at home, Mr. Obama's candidacy is the best thing that has happened to me (on the public sphere!) in the past few months...Hey, everyone! Let's go to the polls in droves. He could be the best thing that has happened to our country in a very, very long time!!!!

Imagina!

2008-02-15T07:45:00.008-05:00

This title refers to the way people in São Paulo respond to your "thank you!" As you may well have guessed, it's the Portuguese equivalent of "imagine!" It's accompanied by smiles and very strong body language that tells you that "there's absolutely no need to thank me, I'm here to be helpful to you, and I enjoy doing it." This pretty much defines the megalopolis in my opinion. Spending a few days wandering around a few neighborhoods doesn't make me an expert, but I got a general feeling that the city is considerably better managed than Rio and that people are better educated and have a more professional attitude, from the Japanese ladies at the Saturday market to museum guards and uniformed (and polite) taxi drivers. Their cars, by the way, don't seem to be falling apart, and neither do police vehicles. This makes you feel like you can ALMOST trust the officers driving them...

São Paulo also managed to eliminate outdoors and other obnoxious visual pollution and this made such a huge difference. I sampled Middle-Eastern food at Arabia in Jardins and had a grilled salmon at Sushi Lika in Liberdade, the Japanese neighborhood. Both were excellent and I'm told there are countless such great places to eat in this tropical New York City. I also found some heavenly shops in Vila Madalena and Liberdade...Next time, it's on to the Italian and Jewish neighborhoods and on and on...

If you look carefully, you will, for sure, realize that you are still in Brazil, but it's one that we wish was more the norm than the exception.

The first photo was taken outside the Pinacoteca, which has a magnificent Tarsila do Amaral show on right now. Question for you: Why is all this great art practically unknown north of the Equator?

The second is a picture I took of Melona popsicles from Korea, which are all the rage in the Japanese neighborhood. I chose melon, which seemed (and tasted) delish, but had I been a bit more adventurous, corn, rice, and even fish were among the available flavors that afternoon.

And Carnaval Came to Me...

2008-02-03T17:04:00.000-05:00

Night is falling, the rain has finally stopped, and a bloco is going by...impossible to resist! As they don't move very fast, I've been downstairs dancing a couple of times already. I also called my daughter in Miami a few minutes ago, so she could hear the singing outside my windows.

This is one of dozens, perhaps hundreds of groups that form spontaneously all over Rio. I can't find it listed anywhere in the so-called official lists...If you can't go out in search of carnaval, it'll come to your doorstep. So, you just step outside and follow them for however long, singing all the great marchinhas of old. Life is good!

I took these few shots about an hour ago as they were approaching the square where I live. This little girl's grandfather kindly let me take her picture. A lot more people were willing to pose, but there was too much going on!

The other wonderful detail about this bloco: a lot of women percussionists! Actually, they have slowly and quietly taken their long overdue place in drumming sections everywhere, even in the large samba schools. More power to them!

See You on Ash Wednesday!

2008-02-02T11:22:00.001-05:00

Carnaval is in full swing. So, we're allowed to forget what ails this beautiful place...at least, til Ash Wednesday! The streets have been taken by clowns, ballerinas, hula dancers, pirates, and lovely butterflies. Drums, assorted percussion, bands...leis, masks, hair adornments, and confetti for sale everywhere. Mercifully, someone thought of prohibiting those awful cans of white foam. But, since there aren't any chemical bathrooms for the thousands of men drinking beer on the streets...you know what's going on behind every tree, bush, and on car tires...Women manage, of course, somehow...

I've been going out and checking a few blocos, the neighborhood street dancing groups. They all have hilarious names that reference a landmark, like Sovaco do Cristo (Christ's Armpit, because the statue is right up there from us); a profession, as in Imprensa Que Eu Gamo (Squeeze Me And I'll Fall in Love With You, because imprensa happens to be also the word for "press" and the group was founded by journalists); or a favorite bar. Some are now so gigantic, it's become impossible to join them. Others are still more or less limited to people in the general area and I tend to favor these.

One of my favorite carnaval songs is called "See You on Ash Wednesday." It's about a couple that last year didn't go out dancing in the streets, and their costumes, which were left hanging, unworn, in the closet. This year, though, they're taking a different approach: each one is going his or her separate way and they'll be back together on Ash Wednesday, no harm done. The last verses go something like this:

If my bloco runs into yours, by chance
No harm done, no one has died...
There are three days of fun
You there, me somewhere else
See you on Ash Wednesday!

Well, that's it, then: See You All on Ash Wednesday! Have a great Carnaval everyone!

PS - That's my Simpatia É Quase Amor t-shirt from 2005, maybe, and my necklaces from Mardi Gras in New Orleans...quite a few years ago, for sure!

PPS - I found out to my dismay that women don't manage, actually. Thanks to a young lady with her panties down, crouching next to my building, peeing behind a parked car.

Through the Looking-Glass

2008-01-20T13:25:00.000-05:00

Well, a week later and I'm still not 100%. Nor is Rio...far from it, actually. Now there's a bit of civil unrest: people fed up with paying high real estate taxes while they watch their property value take a dive, due to mushrooming favelas, widespread drug traffic-related crime, and non-responsive city agencies, are actually refusing to pay their bills and putting the money in escrow. Who knows if they have any chance of success; the Mayor's reaction, so far, has been to thumb his nose at the citizenry. The city is indeed suffering from years without a decent administration, both in the municipal and the state spheres. All you need to do is walk around and you'll see what I mean: signs of neglect mar the cityscape everywhere. On top of that, officials seem to be incapable of curbing unlawful activity, from illegal utility connections for water, electricity, and cable, to unlicensed and unregulated transportation. And don't get me started on the number of people living on the streets, parks, and squares. Everything seems to be the reverse of what it should be, if there was someone good running the show! Sad state of affairs...

Meanwhile, Carnaval is fast approaching and there's dancing in the streets everywhere. Music is one of the things that keeps this place from becoming a complete disaster, I think. A couple of weeks ago, I went to hear an all-female band called Orquestra Lunar. Boy, do these ladies rock and, as my friend Ellen says, how cool can they be? Here's a picture taken at their CD release concert. Enjoy!

Photo Credit: Ana Paula Oliveira

Surreal Rio!

2008-01-13T13:47:00.000-05:00

I have been sick with a flu for a few days now and catching up on my reading. The pile in the living-room includes several past editions of the daily O Globo. And what do you know? For the first time, (and I can mentally hear a collective "DUH!" from my Brazilian friends), it has struck me that Rio is totally surreal. I offer you a couple of examples only, because I need to go lie down again:

A musician from a popular Brazilian rock band came across an illegal street vendor hawking pirated copies of his work downtown. He picks up all the copies this guy has and walks away. The guy shouts: Hey, come back, you've got to pay me for those! He walks back and gives the man a lecture on piracy and so on, telling him, so should he, the artist, be paid for these, and leaves!!!

Second instance of seemingly widespread insanity: A series of car robberies, assaults, and attempted murders are committed by young men on (mostly stolen) motorcycles. The solution proposed by the state governor: to prohibit bikers from carrying passengers (the reason being that they're the ones carrying the guns). I kid you not! And, on top of that, he was totally peeved when the public and assorted authorities objected on grounds that his fix just might restrict civil liberties, constitutional rights, and so on.

I can imagine you'll be as baffled as I am or, not having spent time in Brazil, perhaps considerably more so. I must tell you that I have been talking over these topics with my carioca friends, asking why didn't the musician call the police or why don't they increase police presence in the streets and take other repressive measures to protect life and property? The almost universal answer is "não adianta!" or "what's the point?" Which inevitably leads to further discussion about a corrupt police force and crooked politicians and...I could go on, but I really must rest and recover!

Color Coding My New Year's Eve

2007-12-30T12:00:00.001-05:00

I live in a city that takes New Year's Eve extremely seriously! By now, store windows are chockful with everything from evening dresses to shorts to shoes and accessories in white, silver, and gold. Florists are stocking up on white, yellow, and red flowers for Iemanjá. Street vendors are popping up here and there offering all manners of souvenir T-shirts (in white, silver, and gold, again) and noisemakers. My wine seller greeted me with a glass of champagne as I walked by his shop this afternoon. There are tons of superstitions or simpatias, as they're called in Brazil. Here is a short list of things to do when the spectacular fireworks show on Copacabana Beach rings in the New Year (you can pick and choose, of course!): eat a pomegranate (for money); eat a spoonful of lentils, ditto; eat seven grapes (for prosperity); jump seven waves in a row (for good luck); throw white flowers into the sea (choose your wish or prayer). Also, for the ladies: wear brand new panties in white, yellow, or red. Are you wondering why? O Globo, Rio's major daily paper, recently published a list of colors and their meanings. Here is a summary (you still have time to go shopping tomorrow morning!):

Blue - Power, action, force.
Pink - Love, understanding, conciliation, attraction.
Gold - Wisdom and prosperity.
Yellow - Same as gold; it also stimulates creativity.
White - Harmony, peace, stability.
Red - Passionate love, desire.
Green - Vitality, positive energy. Green also brings health.

They didn't mention silver, by the way, but my friends tell me it's supposed to mean the same as gold, at least as far as prosperity goes.

This year, I'm avoiding the beach (and a couple of million people) and spending a much quieter New Year's Eve with a friend watching the fireworks by the splendid floating Christmas tree near where we live. Ah, before I forget: I'll be in white, gold, and blue (2008, here I come!). Happy New Year, everybody!

And a Merry Christmas to All!

2007-12-24T07:57:00.000-05:00

What does one wish the world on a holiday such as this? I pondered this question for a while and decided we could start with a healthy dose of solidarity and common sense. That should take us all a long way!

What does one give a person who has it all (meaning I, me, myself, who need very little these days!)? This one was easy! I got on a taxi and braved a spectacular traffic jam in Copacabana to enjoy a show by singer Marcos Sacramento at the Hotel Sofitel. A savvy, gifted, elegant performer, Marcos embodies the undying spirit, wit, and charm of Brazilian music. Equally irresistible whether performing a swinging samba or a romantic, plangent serenata, this gorgeous guy in dreadlocks (I couldn't resist this one!) is a superlative interpreter, who makes every song his own. What a Christmas treat!

On this happy note, quite literally, I leave my best wishes for a very joyous and prosperous 2008!

PS - You can see Marcos on YouTube, of course.

Squeeze Me!

2007-12-01T07:52:00.000-05:00

If you've seen "Wayne's World," you know what this title means. Otherwise, go google it! I'm writing about something that I find incomprehensible in Brazil, namely, the widespread use of (bad) English. Reading the paper this morning, I came across (for the nth time!) the word botton. No, it's not bottom misspelled. It's a Brazilian version of button, you know, the little round thing we wear to advertise our candidate or opinion or whatever. The question that comes to mind is, if you're going to use a foreign word, why not spell it correctly? Beats me. Just like the T-shirts and tops. I went shopping the other day for one to take with me to the U.S. as a Christmas present. I was looking for something very carioca, obviously, with sayings in Portuguese, but was only able to find stuff displaying very incorrect English phrases. Why is that?

The article I mentioned was titled "Cool," just like that, in English. Now, since this word has a perfectly serviceable equivalent in Portuguese, I assumed that they were trying to be, well, cool, by using American slang. I thought: How totally uncool to make a mistake like that. But I suspect it's one that's so entrenched in the urban culture here that it's become impossible to eradicate.