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Friday, May 26, 2006

Who was it?

Security in my building is pretty tight. It is not as tight as it was in my building in Sao Paulo when a group of security guards spent ten minutes analysing a letter with my signature on it authorising entry for a friend who had been staying at my place for a month, but it is tight nonetheless. No one in Brazil has the key to the front door of their building. Access is only by being buzzed in by the security guards. Visitors must present themselves at the door and the guards phone up to the resident to obtain permission prior to letting the person in. Here it is a little looser as the guards sometimes let in my regular friends without calling up, but still, people don't usually get in without prior permission. This afternoon, I left work a little early to finish packing my bag. Just after 2pm, the internal phone rang and it was the guard requesting permission for someone claiming to be a carpenter to come to the apartment. Neither expecting nor having requested a carpenter, I asked for the person's name and what sort of work they were expecting to do in my apartment. The answer came back that he was a carpenter. No name. No workplan. So I refused entry. I wonder who it was.... Mistaken location? Or something else? Thank goodness for the interfone!

Not One for Letting the Grass Grow Under my Feet ...

... I am off! Off for a week's trip to Belem, Sao Luis and Teresina (circled on the map, click to enlarge), the last three state capitals in our Rock 'n Roll Brazil tour.

Part I was last May when we went to Fortaleza, Recife and Salvador while Part II was in October when we went to Natal, Joao Pessoa, Maceio and Aracaju. Next week's trip will be a little more relaxed [three cities in five days, imagine!] and I have managed to take both weekends off so that I will be able to take advantage of the chance to visit a little more. Belem is the mouth of the Amazon and boasts some pretty unique sights; Sao Luis, founded by a French naval officer in 1612 and named after Louis XIII, is home to amazing colonial architecture; and Teresina, the only non-coastal state capital in the Northeast, is hot, extremely isolated, and begging to be discovered. If I don't manage to blog over the week, pictures and stories will surely follow upon my return. Até lá!

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Alive!

Contrary to popular belief, I am still alive! Alive and back from a week of lots of working and lots of ... eating! They do go hand in hand, don't they? We had a VIC* in town this week which meant much work and much restauranting at night. So? Where did we go?

Assucar: Regional Chic with a view, Assucar is located on the top floor of the Paço Alfândega mall and has a suberb menu and view over the Rio Capibaribe. Yum!

Moqueca in Porto de Galinhas: The moqueca was good, but took AN HOUR to be served. I think that they had to go catch the fish first! Can't remember the name of the resto which is just as well, I guess....

Ponteio: Death by Meat, Ponteio is one of the city's many churrascarias, at which I have, on occasion, been known to overeat. We are talking about meat-on-a-sword here, afterall! Managed to be reasonable this time.

Oficina do Sabor: Shrimp in a Pumpkin and flambayed bananas. No contest! One of the city's best.

Paraxaxá: Regional without the chic, I had a much better experience at Parraxaxá last night than my first time there the first night after moving to Recife last June. Maybe the fact that I was not i) just off the plane; ii) worrying about my cat who was then living in the office; iii) wondering when my furniture would make it to my apartment; iv) wondering how the heck I was going to fill in the holes in the walls; and v) generally wondering where to start in the setting up of home and office, helped.

In all, all good choices and all fun. Tonight, I fast.

* Very Important Canadian

Friday, May 19, 2006

It's Not About the Driving ...

... it's about the parking.

I promise that this will not become an All About My Car blog (too late, some might say, I hear you snickering in the background...), but I do need to say that it isn't always about the driving. Sometimes it is about the parking.

On Wednesday night, I headed out to the neighbourhood just south of Boa Viagem called Piedade. The occassion was a small reception at someone's apartment. Of course, my first challenge was to get there. After getting caught in a traffic jam due to (surprise surprise) an accident and then missing the building twice, thus necessitating huge Recife-style turn-arounds, I managed to locate my destination. However, my greater problem was where to park. The building was located on one of the neighbourhood's main drags and traffic whizzed along at quite a clip. There were no cars parked anywhere that I could see and the kerb on both sides were pitch black. Not wanting to do to yet another switchback, I decided to park the car kitty corner from my destination, even though there was not a soul to be seen. When I got to the entrance of the building, I discovered that my co-receptioners had either parked right on the sidewalk or had parked in one of the four parking spots allocated to the bakery across the street.

Unfortunately, I found myself spending most of the reception glancing out the window worrying about my car....

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Au Secours!

Help! Socorro! I am stuck at the office because I don't want to drive in rush-hour traffic! I knew that I should have left on time.

update: It's now 20:05 and I think that it is safe to leave. I really need to get over this!

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Hovering

Since there were too many photos from which to choose when I was creating my Rio montage, I decided that this one, taken from the Pão de Açúcar, deserved it's own post.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Don't Cry For Me Pernambuco

To anyone reading this weekend's and today's reports on violence in São Paulo, fear not, Recife is safe from these acts. São Paulo is currently under seige by one of the cities' largest drug factions. The rebellion is in reaction to the decision to move the gang's already jailed leaders to a more isolated prison and take away their cell phones, thus decreasing their ability to continue to control the drug trade. So far, eighty people have been killed since the weekend, in an almost even split between gang members and the police plus a few civilians caught in the crossfire. The role of Brazil's drug trade and gangs are complex, perhaps a post for another time....

Sunday, May 14, 2006

A Sad Little Story Which Still Has Hope for a Happy Ending

A Story in Five Acts and an Epilogue.

Act I: In which she scoffs at the training offered to her

The Department of Foreign Affairs offers a series of pre-posting training courses that soon-to-be overseaers can sign up for, one of which is how to deal with household staff. Knowing that I would only have a part-time cleaning lady and wondering what kind of people needed a course to tell them to be respectful with their staff, it didn't even cross my mind to sign up. In fact, secretly, I suspect that I scoffed at the idea.

Act II: In which she forgets to pack appropriate clothing

In December 2004 I joined some friends in Rio for New Years and forgot to pack any beachware (except my bathing suit) for our four-day stay. Fortunately, one can buy pretty much anything while toasting one's feet in the sun and I quickly purchased a white beach top which would then become part of my standard beach uniform.

Since moving to Recife, however, the blouse started to accumulate odd orangey beige-coloured stains on it. Even stranger was that the stains, as far as I could deduce, were not from any aspect of my time spent on the beach. Finally, bearing the mystery no longer, I asked my cleaning lady if she knew what the stains were from. She indicated that they were from cajá juice, which I also found odd since i) I have never drank any juice on the beach; and ii) I would have to be fairly inept to have spilled it in so many different places over the months. My cleaning lady said that she would see if she could get the stains out and I was grateful. Perplexed, but grateful.

Act III: In which she acquires a funky new skirt

Last weekend, I went shopping at the Paço Alfândega [the old Convent turned Custom's House turned mall] and found a skirt that I quite liked in Anna Paes. While most of the clothes in Anna Paes are often a little bit too alternative for me, there is usually something that catches my interest, quite a feat as we know. The skirt that I bought is a straight skirt in the front, cut on the grain, and an a-line in the back, cut on the bias. Overall, it gives a nice, funky, but not too funky, look. I wore it to work on Wednesday, quite pleased with my find.

Act IV: In which the inevitable happens

This past Thursday, my cleaning lady asked me if she could use bleach to try and clean my beach top. She had tried to clean it the week before to no avail and it was time to bring in the heavy. I agreed that she could use bleach, but asked her to please be careful to not get it on any other articles of clothing. [Can you see where this is going?] Yes, yes, she agreed. It would be a disaster to spill the bleach on something of colour. When I got home from work that night, after what I have to say was a Very Stressful [note the capitals] afternoon and evening, I found a note waiting for me on the diningroom table: Dona Karen, something very awful has happened. It was my fault. Please do not fire me. Please....

Yes. As it turned out, my fear came true and bleach had been splashed all over my new skirt. It was unsalvageable. If it weren't already, it immediately became a double-vodka evening.

Act V: In which the silver lining is found

After wearing the skirt to work during the week, I had decided that I rather liked it and that I would use it as a template to sew a few more versions. On Saturday, I called the store to enquire if they had any more. They did not. Decision made. Today, I headed off to the fabric store and bought a couple of metres of beige linen -- the bleach incident simply propelling my idea to a more immediate level. The cloth has now been washed and is hanging to dry. Tomorrow, I will iron it and start my next project: Operation Recreation. Stay tuned for more!

Epilogue: In which she dreads tomorrow

Maybe I should have taken that course offered by the Department way back when. One of things I find hardest when dealing with my cleaning lady is the fact that she -- and millions of other hardworking but low-earning Brazilians -- is not used to be treated with respect. This is not the first time that something has been broken or mangled. Every time that something like this happens, my cleaning lady asks me to deduct the cost from her salary. I never do. My usual tactic is to reassure her that accidents happen to everyone, me included, things break, nothing is infallible, and that I will not deduct the price from her pay, but that she should try to be as careful as possible in the future. In most cases, the cost to me is minimal while the deduction would be disastrous to her and her family.

We had a difficult moment a few months back, last time something broke. When I reassured her that I would not deduct her pay, she cried back at me For the love of God. Deduct my pay. I have to admit, this caught me off guard. While I was trying to be as supportive as I could in relation to the accident, she yelled back at me to essentially not respect her as a person. I kept my position and things were back to normal by the next week.

What is most difficult about these incidents, is that I know that her reaction is based on how she is used to being treated by her employers; that they do charge her for every chipped glass, that they have fired her for ruining a piece of clothing. It's more draining than it sounds. Every time she comes I have to spend time reassuring her that yes, it is okay that she moved the cushion from one couch to the other [actually, I hadn't even noticed]; yes, it is okay that she moved the mirror to the floor because of construction on the outside of the building; yes, it is okay that she opened a tin of food to give to the cat; yes, it is okay that she closed the window because dust was coming in; etc.

So the saddest part of the story is not that I lost a skirt. But rather, the saddest part is that I live in a country where not everyone is respected. Not everyone is able to earn a decent wage with decent working conditions. Not everyone thinks that they themselves deserve respect. This is what makes me sad.

post scriptum: Domestic work in Canada isn't much better. Jan Wong of the Globe & Mail recently worked and lived as a maid for a month and recounts her stories here. Brutal stuff.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Have Car, Will Travel

Well, I've had my car for a week now and have taken it out three times (that's me, living the high life!). So far, I have:

- had to pass a garbage-pulling horse: once
- taken a wrong turn and ended up "on the wrong side of the tracks": twice
- gotten lost: once
- seen the results of an accident (all minor): three times
- been sandwiched by exhaust-spewing buses on three sides: once
- gone through red lights*: too many to count
- stalled: less and less each time
- arrived safely at home: three times

So far, so good. The next challenge is to try driving on a weekday! So far all my ventures have been on the weekend or at night, when things are a little calmer on the streets.

* de rigeur once the sun sets and the sidewalks have been rolled up.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Woodcuts with a Cause

Back in October, I posted a blog entry on Literatura do Cordel, epic poems or songs written to inform as well as entertain the inhabitants of Brazil's vast and isolated interior. Introduced in the early decades of last century when illiteracy rates were high, Literatura do Cordel remains popular to this day. At the end of October's entry, I mused that perhaps we should be using the typical woodcut-and-poem style for our outreach and public relations work. Enter the Federal Government of Brazil, stage left...

... the following banner is currently hanging in Recife's airport warning people that if they have been offered a job which includes transportation to the location, a place to stay, food to eat, and a salary that sounds too good to be true, it probably is. All too often, poor Brazilians with very few alternatives accept these offers only to find themselves living and working in conditions of abuse and near-slavery or being trafficked to other countries. In an effort to use traditional as well as modern means of communication, the awareness campaign sponsored by the Brazilian Government includes woodcuts and literatura do cordel as one of its ways of accessing potential victims. Let's hope that it works....

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Minor Celebrityhood

In which she discovers that lots of people are up and watching television at 6:30am.

It's all downhill from here. The peak has been reached. On Tuesday morning, I woke up at 5:00am [usually the only thing that gets me up at 5am is an airplane reservation], was picked up by a private driver from the local chapter of Brazil's main media network, and was whisked downtown for a live interview on one of our projects. I have to say that after preparing for several hours on Monday afternoon, reading all that there was to read, my 23 1/2 [not really an exaggeration!] seconds of on-air time were fleeting. Very fleeting! How I wish that I had had another 15 seconds to explain just a little bit more.... However, these 23 1/2 seconds, however fleeting, were witnessed by most of Recife, including the doormen in my building, the nephew and family of my cleaning lady, the guards at work (who saw it on a bakery's television as they walked to work), and colleagues from other offices. Overall, it's pretty funny to be walking out of my building and have someone yell after you Oi Dona Karen. Dona Karen. Parabéns! Parabéns! Passou na televisao! Vi voce na televisao! Nossa! Parabéns! Ah, the price of fame. As I said, it's all downhill from here!

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Zero

zero = having no measurable or otherwise determinable value;
zero = the numerical symbol indicating the absence of quantity or mass;
zero = a character in Beetle Bailey;
zero = a song by The Smashing Pumpkins;
zero = nothing, nix, nil, nada, naught;
zero = zilch, zip, zippo;
zero = not a sausage;
zero = the number of kilometres on MY NEW CAR!!

Yes! It is true! My license plates finally arrived last Friday. I then spent Saturday morning picking up the car and Saturday afternoon drinking caipirinhas trying to get over my driving-in-Brazil stress. Sunday I headed out again and got in lots of practice (read: got totally lost driving a friend home). Now my car has 71 km! All that from two whips around the block so to speak. Maybe Recife is a big city afterall!

Friday, May 05, 2006

rio by caipirissima

Ah Rio. A Cidade Maravilhosa. The Marvellous City. Heading to Rio is always a treat as there is lots to do and plenty to see. We easily filled up our days there, heading up Corcovado and the Pão de Açúcar, strolling on the beaches, going to a samba house in Lapa, staring in awe at the various churches, museums and cultural centres, eating at the famous Confeitaria Colombo, a century-old café where Rio's intellectual and artistic elite congregated during Rio's belle epoque, hanging out with friends, shopping, and of course, eating. Unfortunately, as always, there was more adventure than stictly necessary.

This trip's memories include:

1. Pão de Açúcar, as seen from Corcovado.

2. The bar, previously called Veloso, now named Garota de Ipanema [The Girl from Ipanema], where Tom Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes used to spend their days. Inspired by the frequent passings of eighteen-year-old Heloísa Eneida Menezes Paes Pinto they were inspired to pen the music (Jobim) and write the lyrics (Moraes) for the hit A Garota de Ipanema. Quite possibily the single most recognised bossanova tune out there.

3. Ipanema's sidewalk.

4. Copacabana's sidewalk.

5. Copacabana and Praia Vermelha as seen from the Pão de Açúcar.

6. The gardens of the Palacio Catete, the former official residence of Brazil's presidents and now the Museum of the Republic.

7. Floresta da Tijuca, the world's largest urban forest.

8. Ah, the beach!

9. Getting robbed at knife-point outside the Museum of Modern Art.

Rio: Take a Cab and Hold on to Your Bag

Although a treat, I have mixed feelings about Rio, and not just because we saw the gleam of the robber's knife and our lives flash before our eyes (living in Brazil, I co-exist with this possibility on a regular basis). Depending on where you are in the city, it can either be a tropical New York filled with top-of-the-line boutiques and snazzy restaurants and bars, in addition to the beaches and sun, or it can be home to desperate living conditions, tightly crammed favelas, a large population which does not enjoy access to the basic necessities of life, and a thriving drug trade which alters minds and mentalities. I hesistate to write, kind of like New York....

The precarious co-existance of, and confrontations between, these two worlds does not sit easy. The neighbourhoods in which the two do not meet are even stranger. Although Rio is a microcosm of Brazil in general, somehow the potential for violence always seems stronger and higher in the cidade maravilhosa, particularly when it comes to tourists with bags.

We were robbed only a few metres from the entrance of the Museum of Modern Art. For some reason (intuition?) I had decided to leave my camera back at the hotel, so the only things that we lost were my bag (a very cheap bag bought to be stolen), one credit card and R$70 in cash (about CAN$40), my guide book (a good excuse to upgrade it), and my cell phone. No documents, no passports, no bank card (never carry the two together!), no emotions. Well versed in the possibilities of Rio, I never carry a lot with me and I only carry things for which I have no emotional attachment or that would not cause prolonged grief or re-procurement processes were I to be separated from them. The cell phone is a bit of a bummer considering the hurdles it took to get it in the first place, but other than that, everything is cancelable and replaceable. Fortunately mother's bag was spared, and of course, no one got hurt.

Getting robbed is always traumatic. Getting violently robbed, even more so. My advice for Rio? By all means go! It is a terrific city with lots of benefits. But please, take a cab and hold on to your bag.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Reflections

Paraty was built so that every day at high tide, the cobbled streets would flood. As the tide receeded, it would take with it the grit and grim accumulated since the last tide, leaving the town clean and freshly washed. The flip side being that the reflection of the buildings in the water makes quite a site.

Although our schedule and the tide's schedule did not coincide, we did manage to catch the last vestiges of the flooding before it seeped back from where it came. Three hundred and fifty years ago, did the engineers know that their public health model would become a tourist attraction?

Monday, May 01, 2006

Paraty by caipirissima

Today was my first day back at the office after a week off with my mom in Rio and Paraty. Fortunately, the transition wasn't too bad since it is Labour Day in Brazil and the office was fairly quiet with no outside emails or phone calls.

As expected, our days in our first stop, Paraty, were perfect.

Founded in 1667, Paraty was the main port for gold and diamonds being shipped out of the interior of the country, as it was the only place that the mountains between the coast and the interior could be traversed. However, fifty years after its founding, it had already fallen into disuse due to the construction of a road between Rio de Janeiro and the mines which cut fifteen days transportation time off the route. Partially revived during the 19th Century coffee boom, Paraty is now a delightful and quaint tourist attraction, loaded with restaurants, artists' ateliers, simple colonial architecture, and ringed with mountains and beaches; all located 280 km south of Rio. As an added bonus we even got to see little monkeys playing in the trees!

The windows of Paraty

It's a funny thing. Living in a country as large and diverse as Brazil, I never know after visiting a place, if I will manage to visit it it again. There is so much to see and do that even the most beautiful locations may sometimes only be visited once. In the case of Paraty, it was my third time there, and I enjoyed it just as much this time around as I did the first and second times....