Googling Gogol

Every year since 2001 Google has put together a list of the words or phrases most frequently requested through their search engine. So without further ado, the most common Google searches in Brazil in 2004 were:

1. Receita Federal [Federal Revenue and Customs Administration -- part of the federal Treasury Board / Ministry of Finance]
2. Hello Kitty
3. Bob Esponja [Sponge Bob -- pronounced Bobby Esponja]
4. Olympics
5. Sheet music for guitars
6. Linkin Park
7. Avril Lavigne [a Canadian on the Brazilian most wanted list. We have arrived!]
8. Harry Potter

Of course it is #2 and #3 that make me chuckle, particularly after the seriousness of #1. What else to say?

UPDATE: On further thought, lest people get the wrong impression, I thought I should add that the top four searches in the Global category were Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Christina Aguilera and Pamela Anderson. Yikes!

Weekend Fun

Yes people, that would be me!

This past Sunday I managed to hook up with a different eco-group that does day trips into the interior, and headed to São Benedito do Sul, last weekend's elusive destination. Aside from the early start -- up at 5:30am once again -- things commenced well. We headed two hours into the interior of Pernambuco and started the morning off with a delicious regional breakfast at a rural farm/inn. I knew that breakfast would be included in the deal, but had no idea that it would involve the choice of dozens of different hot and cold dishes, fruit, organic juices, and coffee all served on the charming and quaint veranda of the farm. There is no better way to start the day!

After eating until we could no more, we headed to a series of nearby waterfalls where some people chose to swim while others chose to risk life and limb by rapelling down the falls. Needless to say, not only was I part of the latter group, I was also quite pleased with myself, as the two rapel instructions independently noticed that I was wearing Salomon hiking shoes -- clearly the shoes of choice for Brazilian rapel instructors. I can't remember how many times they mentioned it, pointing to their own pairs of Salomons [this from a country where these are common hiking gear]. Although I tried to pass off my successful descent of the falls with nary a slip on my shoes, they insisted on giving me some credit as well. Crazy guys!

Why it's Hard to Walk on the Sidewalks of Recife - Reason #5

Although, to be honest, I would much rather walk around these big old trees than not have any trees at all, which is the other alternative. Long live the trees!

An Ode to a Pumpkin

Since today is a day that thousands upon thousands of pumpkins will sacrifice themselves for the sake of yummy pie, I thought that I should write about my latest pumpkin creation: Picadinha na Moranga or Beef in a Pumpkin. When I was growing up there were several vegetables that would make it off my plate only with great difficulty. Brussle sprouts, turnip, squash, sweet potatoes, and cooked green peppers being the main culprits with pumpkins only being eaten in pie formation. Oh, how the times have changed! Well, I still don't eat many brussle sprouts, or turnip, or sweet potatoes, but since moving to Recife, I have eaten so many pumpkins -- which really is just a variety of squash -- that's its hard to reconcile these two versions of me. So without futher ado, I introduce Picadinha na Moranga as suggested in Brazilian Cooking by Carla Barboza Pinto:

Ingredients
1.75 - 2.25 kg pumpkin
450g beef
4 Tbsp brandy
6 Tbsp vegetable or olive oil
4 onions shredded
6 cloves garlic, crushed
2 green peppers, cubed [I used red -- use above]
salt and ground black pepper
12 ripe tomatoes, peeled
1 red pepper
6 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley
3 Tbsp tomato purée
2 Tbsp Worcestireshire sauce
4 Malagueta peppers [optional]
200g can sweetcorn, drained
2 hard-boiled eggs, coarsely chopped

1. While this recipe suggests cooking the washed and seeded pumpkin on a baking tray at 160ºC/325ºF for 20-30 minutes, I actually followed Chef Cesar Santos' suggestion of cooking the pumpkin in a bain-marie for thirty minutes. It worked the first time and as they say, if it ain't Baroque, don't fix it.

2. Mince the beef [or buy ground beef directly from the store as I did]. Put the beef in a saucepan, pour the brandy over it and set aflame [I didn't have any brandy so I skipped this step....].

3. Heat the oil in a heavy sauce pan. Fry the onions until translucent. Add the garlic and beef and then the green [or red!] peppers and salt and pepper.

4. Blend the tomatoes with the [original] red pepper in a blender or food processor. Pour into the sauce pan together with the parsley, tomato purée and Worcestershire sauce and cook for ten minutes more. Add the hot peppers if desired. Once the meat is cooked add the corn and chopped egg.

5. Fill the pumpkin with the meat mixture and cook for ten more minutes. Serve with rice!

Karen's Test Kitchen Notes: The ingredients as listed are waaaaay too much to fit in one little pumpkin. Twelve tomatoes?? One pumpkin?? I halfed the ingredients and still managed to freeze half as it didn't all fit in the pumpkin. It was great since the second time around, I only had to cook the pumpkin. The rest was ready to go! Obviously the ingredients are flexible. I had corn but not eggs and used all red peppers instead of red and green. It's all good!

Portuguese Words That No Longer Confuse

These two don't confuse me anymore, but in the beginning I was definitely wowing a lot of inappropriate situations:

Oba: Means wow! golly! or amazing! Usually exclaimed when you are impressed or surprised by something.
Opa: Means whoops! or oops! Usually exclaimed when you drop something, bump into someone turing a corner, or ram your grocery cart into another shopper's ankles, in which case it would be quickly followed by a well-timed desculpe [not that this happens very often].

They are clear in my mind now and I use both rather liberally, although being fairly similar one to the other, it is easy to imagine that there could be some level of cross-utilisation in early learning days. I actually learned oba and opa close to five years ago but didn't start using them until moving here, at which point I spent quite some time fumbling one over the other and would often find myself saying whoops when a friend would unexpectedly show up and wow or golly after dropping my papers all over the floor. Smooth....

One Dog ● Two Dog ● Red Dog ● Blue Dog

Okay, I can't say that I see this everyday. I can't even say that I see it every week or even every month. But, I can say that on several occassions over the past year I have run across dogs -- mainly poodles -- which have been dyed red or blue. Yes. We're talking about red and blue poodles. Poor little guys. I was going to write a More Differences Between Canada and Brazil post, except, that after talking to Mark, who is clearly well informed about the Canadian/Ottawa Celebrity Gossip scene, I was informed that in fact Marlen Cowpland, the somewhat extravagant wife of Canadian business man and Corel founder Michael Cowpland, in fact has a fushia-dyed Maltese called Bunny. Who knew? The duo even hosted Celebrity Pets, a short-lived [at least I assume it was short-lived] series back in 2000 [click for a picture of Marlen and Bunny]. Brazil and Canada, closer than you think!

Blogs vs. Work : Work vs. Blog

Okay, so by now eveyone knows that one shouldn't really use work material in one's blog. But what about using one's blog material at work? This morning I was providing comments on a document and as part of my comments I needed/wanted to describe the living conditions in the sertão or the semi-arid desert-like zone of the Northeast. Rather than deliberate over my words, I lifted my description word for word from this post minus the last sentence describing the photos. Didn't even change a comma! Is that so bad? Should I have quoted myself? Now I'm thinking that my blog could be billable time!

Note to those at work: The rest of my comments were quite specific to the document in question. Have no worries!

Sunday Night Report

Since I didn't manage to explore areas further afield this weekend, I decided to do a bit more exploring in Recife proper. Today's destination? Parque 13 de Maio [13th of May Park] located in downtown Recife. May 13th is a big date in Brazil as it was on that day in 1888 that Princess Regent Isabela signed the Lei Áurea or Golden Law which finally abolished slavery, Brazil being the last country in the Western World to do so. The date has added significance today, November 20th, which is also national Black Awareness Day.

Parque 13 de Maio, which in essence is the city's Praça Central or Central Square, is located a couple of blocks off of downtown Recife's main drag Conde da Boa Vista and is a small but pleasant urban park / playground / mini-zoo [birds & monkeys] where the Recifenses and their families hang out on Sundays. The atmosphere was relaxed and I enjoyed watching the children play, the vendors vend, the lovers love, the birds squak, and the adults soak up the sun. I didn't think to bring a book, but if I had, I surely would have parked myself on a shady bench for much of the afternoon.

Speaking of the Kids....

These aren't the same school kids that mobbed us for autographs back in May ... but pretty close! Although Michael suggested that this meant we were famous, I think that the word novelty would work even better! Just to be a little bit different, at the end of this particular visit, these students made each of us [we were three foreign visitors] dance with a feather boa on a little stage while they clapped and sang! Ah, the things they don't teach you during pre-posting training -- the tax-payers may scoff, but obviously these are skills we need to know! As a follow-up to the Fearing Small Children post, I thought that I should post something kid-positive. These teens are part of one of our projects in a local public school which teaches leadership and responsibility. I'll just say that these kids are an impressive bunch and leave it at that! Hopefully they will all do well wherever their paths may take them.

I had a Dream - Part II

As it turns out I should have heeded my anxiety dream more closely. Clearly my participation in this hike was in peril from the very beginning. However, contrary to my original beliefs, it wasn't the pants that brought me down. It was the trip itself. It just simply didn't materialize, and just when everything else was going so well. I got up in time, packed a nutritious lunch, grabbed a 2L water bottle, remembered my sunscreen and hat, packed an extra set of clothes and shoes since I knew that we would be rapelling in the waterfalls, caught the bus, and managed to find the pick-up location. All by 6:40. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. Since other groups also use the same pick-up location, I watched as packs of happy travellers headed on their way to different beaches up and down the Pernambuco coast. At 7:45, I headed home.

It's funny, as I am not really surprised by the turn of events. In fact, at some level of my subconscious, I think that I almost expected this to happen. Oh well! Since it is not really a surprise, my level of disappointment remains low. I will try to follow up with the group next week -- I am especially curious to see if it will be hard for them to refund my money. In the meantime, I will enjoy a relaxing day in and around home.

I had a Dream

Last night, I dreamt that I couldn't find my hiking pants. This was particularly tramatic since I had finally gotten my act together to go hiking tomorrow. There are a couple of hiking clubs in Recife which organize trips within a 200km radius of the city most weekends. Although I had hoped to hook up with one of the groups prior to this weekend, conflicting schedules combined with the occasional late trip announcements prevented any potential collusion. This week however, I found out in time, was free, and managed to deposit the required sum into the group's bank account [a whole other story in itself....]. The main downside is that the group's departure time is 7am from a location approximately 30 minutes from home. Those who know me know that very few things in life can get me up that early and those that do usually involve passports and massive turbo-engines.

Startled awake from my dream, I willed myself to remember to check my closet when I woke up. Luckily, I did manage to remember only to discover that my pants were indeed missing. Try as I might, there was no trace of my zip-offs -- which ten years ago would have labelled me as Dutch [kind of like a MEC bag for Canadians*] but now just labels me as a Dutch wannabe. Probably the Dutch don't even wear zip-offs any more! In any case, on the one hand I was erked that I would have to quickly buy and probably hem a new pair of pants. On the other hand, I was quite relieved to have discovered this the day before the trip as opposed to the morning of at 5:45am. After work I headed to the mall [yes, the dreaded mall, more on that later as well] and actually found a new pair of hiking pants. They aren't zip-offs, but maybe this is a good thing when one is trying to keep up with the latest trends. They have now been hemmed [nothing like a deadline to get a job done] and are waiting patiently for our early-morning rendez-vous. Update & pics to follow on Sunday.

* Note to Americans: the flag is no longer sufficient, you also need a Mountain Equipment Co-op bag if you want to travel as a Canadian these days.

Cashew Calling

More phone fun from last month's trip to Natal.

Life is Not a Constant Stream of Cocktail Parties and Soirées...

... however, every so often a pretty sweet invitation manages to drop itself in the mailbox. Yesterday's invitation was for a piano and violin recital by two young Italians held in the Teatro Santa Isabel in the historic centre of town. For someone who strongly believes that the location of an event is as crucial an element of success as the event itself, the opportunity to head to Santa Isabel was an outing in itself. Built in a neoclassical style and originally opened in 1850 after ten years of constuction, the theatre was all but destroyed in a fire in 1869. It reopened in 1876 after massive renovations/reconstruction. It's most recent "reopening" was a mere three years ago after a further seven years of renovations. Santa Isabel has been named one of Brazil's fourteen theatre-monuments recognized as part of the country's culture and artistic heritage. Overall, the theatre is a delight. Smaller (811 seats) than many others, Santa Isabel has incredible elegant yet simple lines, dominated by red velvet, white plaster, and gold trim. It was a joy to sit in the plush seats (hurray for the most recent renos!) and listen to a bit of Mozart, Brahms, and Schumann. Now that I know how terrific the theatre is, I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for its ongoing programming.

Concretise Your Dreams

So we had a bit of fun trying to arrange a place to sleep in Porto de Galinhas on Saturday night due to the fact that it is a long weekend in Brazil. Well, it's not really a long weekend, but today is a holiday [Republic Day] and whenever a holiday falls on a Tuesday or a Thursday, a lot of people tack on the bridge of Monday or Friday creating a four-day weekend. Makes sense, but means that there is often a lot of holidaying going on! The result is that hotels and pousadas [guesthouses/B&Bs] fill up and the ones which aren't full are usually reluctant to rent out a room for just one of the three or four nights.

After calling close to a dozen places, we finally decided to show up unannouced and see what we could find. Well, we did find a place and, after examining the room, were torn as to whether we should accept it and not waste any more time or whether we should keep looking and potentially not find anything better. It was a tough call, but we finally decided that the effort and time required to find a new/better place which may or may not exist just wasn't worth it. The best part of the room was that all the furniture was made out of concrete. Yes, concrete. Even the bed! Okay, the mattress was made out of mattress material, but that was it!

The television was also brought in and out of the room depending on the time of day. While travelling in Central America throughout the nineties we used to stay in some pretty simple/cheap/questionable places and I've seen a lot when it comes to the lower end of the accommodation market. This is however, the first time that I have seen concrete room furnishings! In any case, lesson definitely learned. I'm all for spontaneity, but peak holidays require a bit of forethought. Makes for a good story though!

Remember, when they ask, you heard it here first!

Weekend Roundup

I feel like I am just back from a vacation -- the kind of vacation when on your first day back, in addition to feeling like you need a vacation to recover from your vacation, you revise your To Do list and have debriefing sessions with the rest of your staff/team to find out what happened while you were gone. In this case, I was amazed to find out that in fact not a whole lot had gone on since Friday afternoon when we left the office. Why so vacation-like? Well, in honour of a friend's visit from Canada, an ambitious Recife-and-Environs schedule was planned and expertly, if I may so say so myself, executed.

One of the highlights was an overnight trip to Porto de Galinhas, 70 km south of Recife. In addition to the beach and the chickens, we even managed to get out of bed early enough to make the trip to see the natural pools that are created in the nearby reefs. The reefs are a pretty amazing phenomena as hundreds of fish get trapped in the pools as the tide retreats making for a pretty neat experience. For some reason low tide has been extremely early both times that I have been to Porto -- but I can now attest that should low tide be at an ungodly hour in the morning it is still worth the effort. Plus, one of the many cafes will be quite happy to serve you a double expresso once you are back from the deep!

Here fishy fishy fishy ....

Fortaleza, I still hardly know thee

I am just back from forty-eight hours in Fortaleza -- which is a whole eight hours longer than the last time that I was there. Unfortunately the only part of it that I can really say that I am getting to know is the complex of government buildings [Ottawans: think Promenade du Portage or Tunney's Pasture] and in particular the Ministry of Planning and Coordination. The Ministry is great, but I suspect that there is a lot more to the city which bears knowing! Fortaleza, Dear Fortaleza, I know you have a lot to offer, and I promise that soon, very soon, I will tack on the weekend and we will get to know each other properly.

The Doors of Olinda

A now for something a bit lighter! Olinda is a photographic treasure trove -- a few more doors, and I am sure that I will be able to rivel those of Dublin any day!

Brazil, the only country where small children make my heart seize

* Side Note 1 to Mom & Dad: Maybe best not to read this one ...

* Side Note 2: I always walk on the beach side now, which is just fine ...

This morning I woke up bright and early [although definitely not at the crack of dawn since that happens at 4:30am these days] and headed to the São Bento Monastery in Olinda for mass, complete with Gregorian Chants. I had been meaning to go for a while and finally decided to put my plan into action. São Bento was built in 1582 and was the second Benedictine Monastery built on Brazilian soil. Considered the richest church in Olinda, São Bento's main attraction is the 18th Century baroque cedar and gold-leaf altar. The altar, which measures 14m x 8m x 4.5m, even called the Guggenheim home for six months in 2001-02.

After the mass -- which incidently will now require more research on my part since I always thought that Gregorian Chants were unaccompanied and the monks singing today had the definite help of an organ -- I had a very enjoyable lunch in the leafy courtyard of the local creperie ...

...and then headed to the bus stop to catch the infamous 910 Rio Doce/Piedade home.

As I stood at the stop I wondered if I would have to wait five minutes or twenty-five minutes. Although the bus runs every half hour I have yet to figure out its exact schedule and often end up just missing one / waiting a long time for one. As I wondered, I glanced around and noticed three children near the stop; two young teenage girls (maybe twelve or thirteen) and one eight or nine year old boy.

The children were poor and without shoes. Not even a pair of tattered flip-flops protected their soles. One of the girls called out to another young boy across the street. The children were incoherent and had glazed eyes -- an obvious indication that they were high on glue or another easily obtainable solvent. One of the boys approached me and asked for money. I refused and he returned to the bench where his friends (siblings?) were sitting. He then went to the curb, an empty beer bottle in hand, and broke it, leaving the neck intact. He returned to the bench with the bottle tightly gripped in his hand, the ragged edge gleaming in the bright midday sun.

One of the girls called out again to the boy across the street. This second boy then crossed the street carrying a concrete cinder block on his shoulder, perhaps from a nearby construction site. This is when I decided that as the person standing closest to the quartet, I should move. And along with a another woman and her three small children/grandchildren, I moved closer to the small group of people waiting at the stop. The children made no obvious moves after this. They wandered around, tried to get in the back door of a bus or two, muttered amongst themselves, and cast frequent glances at us waiters. I eyed the taxis waiting patiently for their next client and again thought about the timing of the bus. Would today be the five minute or the twenty-five minute option? Just as I was sure that my heart would launch into a total crisis mode, the 910 rounded the corner and a wave of relief passed over me as soon as the numbers came into view. A couple of us flagged it down and hopped on with no delay.

I have no idea what happened at the bus stop after we pulled away. Maybe nothing. Hopefully nothing.

Fearing children is one of the worst things I can imagine and it conflicts my soul. One of the things we deal with a lot while wearing our work hats is programmes that aim to raise the self-esteem and leadership capabilities of young people. Often discriminated against simply because of poverty, a tattered shirt and/or skin colour, poor Brazilian kids frequently complain that they are treated like criminals, drug-addicts, or cast-offs for no reason other than their socio-economic or ethnic background. Giving these kids a chance in life through skills training and building self-esteem is often one of the best ways to change an individual life. On the one hand, I try my best not to jump to conclusions without just cause. But on the other hand, it is pretty hard to not feel nervous when a glazed-over gang of four is armed with a broken bottle and a concrete block. The incident reminded me of two things and made me sad:

First it reminded me of a moment back in June or July when Mark and I were walking home along the beach. It was evening and although some people were out for a stroll or jog on the promenade, for some reason we had chosen to walk on the apartment-side as opposed to the beach-side of the road [never again, I tell you!]. At one point a small gang of five or so children came into view. These children were very young, the oldest being again perhaps eight or nine. Clearly the leader, he also sported a large open golf umbrella even though it wasn't raining. I mentioned to Mark that I thought the situation odd. Why were these kids out so late? Why did they have such a huge umbrella? Where were their parents? Questions that don't really have answers. Our two groups passed each other without incident. A moment later I turned around to make sure that the distance between us was increasing and realised that Mark had also turned around. A split second later, something small and hard hit my back. An apple. Surprised, I let out a little yelp and exclaimed. It turned out that Mark had also been hit a moment earlier which is why he turned around in the first place. The kids continued on their way and we on ours.

The second incident was also back in June or July when we were having lunch in a nearby bakery. Three young boys came into the store to buy a bottle (plastic) of coca-cola. As the boys came in, again, perhaps nine or ten years old, the beefy security guard protecting the door also came in and stationed himself near the cash. The kids went to the fridge and pulled out a 2L bottle of coke. They went to the cash, opened their little hands, and showed the cashier their coins. The cashier counted the money and shook her head. The boys then went back to the fridge, replaced the 2L bottle and pulled out a 600mL bottle. They returned to the cash, paid for their prize, and left the store. The security guard followed them out and repositioned himself outside. My heart broke for these three boys. Carbonated, caffeinated drinks might not be the best thing for them, but there was no reason for the store to treat them as potential thieves. Whoever said that all chances are created equal?

Strange Math

As I ponder my plans for Christmas I realise again that distances are a strange thing. When I moved to Recife back in June, I actually moved closer to home [home being my P.O. Box at the corner of Sparks & Elgin, for the purpose of this exercise] as Recife is 7207km from Ottawa while 8220km separate São Paulo from the world's second coldest capital. Flight patterns, however, laugh and snicker in the face of these distances, as the flight from Recife to Ottawa crosses 10,676km while the flight from São Paulo to Ottawa crosses a mere 8,548km. Living in São Paulo, I could head to Canada after a full day of work and arrive first thing in the morning (ah, the night flight), whereas I now have to take an extra day off to arrive at the same time, as all flights north still have to route south through São Paulo. Ditto for the trip back. There used to be a direct flight between Recife and Miami, but 9/11 put an end to that nonsense. So sad. On the other hand, only 5,848km and a direct flight separate Recife and Lisbon! Good thing I have a healthy disrespect for distance in the first place.

The Backlands

Brazil's Northeast is divided into several climatic zones ranging from the coastal region and remnants of the Atlantic Rain Forest to the semi-arid scrublands of the sertão in the interior. The sertão is characterised by desert-like conditions, hot temperatures, erratic rain falls, and extremely challenging living conditions. Serious droughts are recurrent, the most recent of which occurred in the late 1990s and threatened the lives of millions of inhabitants. The Rio São Francisco which cuts through parts of the sertão -- one of the few rivers which doesn't evaporate during the dry season -- offers some limited relief, but overall, life in the scrub is pretty challenging. These photos were taken in the interior of the state of Sergipe last weekend, the first on the way to the Xingó Canyons and the second on the São Francisco itself.

More Differences Between Canada and Brazil

The other day I was trying on a pair of pants in a store. The pants were too large and in an effort to convince me to buy them, the saleswoman stuck all kinds of pins into the seams indicating that they could easily alter the garment to fit. As she was measuring the hem, the conversation went like this:

Saleswoman: Now, will you ever wear these pants with heels?
Me [looking down at my feet which are in 2¼" heels (the highest that I have ever owned -- blogged about here)]: Um, yes. These ones.
Saleswoman [looking at my feet and sandals]: No. I mean heels. Are you ever going to wear these pants with heels?
Me: No.

Cangakaren

Who are you afraid of?

The notorious king of the cangaceiros, Lampião, who terrorized the Brazilian backlands or the equally sinister and clearly unamused Cangakaren? The choice is yours. Make it wisely.

Maceió and João Pessoa, I hardly knew ye

Well, I've blogged a bit about Natal and Aracaju, leaving our other two Rock 'n Roll stops of Maceió and João Pessoa a bit of a mystery. Our work schedule [I do work when I am not out adventuring!] unfortunately didn't allow much time for getting to know either location although both looked like fun cities from what I could see. With João Pessoa being two hours north and Maceió four hours south of Recife, I suspect that I will head back at some point in the not-so-distant future. In particularly, Maceió looked like a great place, not yet fully discovered by the tourist trade -- plus the expat Paulistano events coordinator at the hotel gave us a list of the coolest places in town. Coming from a Paulistano, where gastronomy and nightlife are fine arts, these suggestions should not be taken lightly! Another sure-win destination to which I will definitely head is the fishing village of Maragogi, two hours south of Recife which we passed on the way to Maceió. A few days there might just make me a beach person yet.

John Person

João Pessoa -- literally John Person -- was a popular state governor of the state of Paraíba [of which the city of João Pessoa is now the capital] who was assassinated in 1930 [in Recife no less] following the highly contested national elections of 1929. Pessoa was the running mate for Getúlio Vargas, the ex-governor of the state of Rio Grande do Sul who subsequently lost the election for presidency. Vargas and his backing lobby contested the election results as fraudulent and Pessoa's assassination was the catalyst that sparked the ensuing "revolution" that brought Vargas into power.

It's like being John Doe, only different.