A valet parked and retrieved our cars. Our table had a grand total of four waiters assigned to silently glide around it. No pizza was on the menu, which was in Italian. When the food arrived it was covered with silver cloches, which were removed from our plates with a dramatic flourish... I'm thinking it was real silver because they used gloves. Utensils came. Utensils went. They even provided me with a finger bowl to tidy my fingers should the sauce on my partridges and strawberry risotto have sullied them.
Despite the novelty of exaggerated refinement, my favorite Italian dinning experience was in Spain at some hole in the wall where the patrons at one table were charged with flipping a breaker switch because the lights kept going out. I will never forget the aroma that drew droves of patrons every night... or the food when it came. That plate of hot carbs, cheese and spices kicked my partridges' little feathery asses.
It was joked recently that I like poverty... I prefer to think I'm increasingly coming to value good company and good food (wherever I find them) over massaging an idea of myself as a priveledged member of society.
30 September 2009
24 September 2009
Are you freaking out of your mind?
I have always loved the beach. Yesterday, it was my birthday and I tried, I really did. I plopped my towl down on the deserted Ipanema beach and tried to appreciate the beauty of the waves and moutains. The huge drops of rain persisted in their insistance that I take the hint and have the good sense to desist. I gave up when the wind started lashing my face with sand. Oh well.
I settled into one of those ubiquitous little beach stands with the plastic table and chairs to read. Suddenly, I was surrounded by six large, loud American men. Four of them, from my own beloved Texas, were buying those crappy knock off soccer jerseys that fall apart the first time you wash them from a street vendor. They then began to complain about how the water made them sick. Right... (the water is absolutely fine and drinkable, I imagine the week of high risk sex, binge drinking and overeating they excitedly told me about had nothing to do with it...)
Despite the inclement weather the two Chicagoans had set up a large Bose iPod player on their table and were chilling to instrumental rock music.
Now. for context.
I wouldn't walk around in Rio with even a watch. When taking pictures, I use a disposable camera or take pains to hid my digital, only whipping it out quickly when I already have the shot planned, then promptly stuffing it back in my pocket. Brazilians shed all jewelry before going out and are careful to keep a low profile. In fact, during my taxi ride earlier that day, the driver and I congenially discussed strategies for best avoiding a mugging. While I emphatically do not share many Brazilians unfair characterization of Rio as a "very dangerous" city, I freely admit only an idiot would ignore its high crime rate.
People recount stories of kidnapping and muggings and murders with pain in their eyes I would never want to experience.
So imagine my absolute shock at seeing a piece of high technology worth multiple thousands of dollars displayed prominently in a public place. I absolutely could not resist the question... ummm? aren't you a little... er... worried about that?
The Chicagoan's response surprised me even more than the stereo. He was deeply offended and irritated with me. He had never had a problem, ever. He had never felt unsafe. And who do I think I am? As if he didn't know how to handle himself... As if he didn't know Rio... He had been coming down there for over a year, staying for long periods of time and he had a friend and he was learning Portuguese with Rosetta stone! He was not some inexperienced tourist and I might as well mind my own business, because he wanted to sit at the beach listing to music. Damn it.
Wow... very taken aback, I simply tried to explain where I was coming from. How every single one of my Brazilian friends (without exception) had been mugged at some point or threatened with a weapon as they tried to quietly go about their business. I told my own stories of close calls with fights and carjackings.
I live here. I have spoken Portuguese fluently for four years and while I too love this city, I have the humility to accept the rules that govern this place and the good senese to heed the advice of the natives who are only concerned with my wealfare. I freely admit I am a foreigner who has much to learn about life in Brazil.
By all means, display your material wealth prominently in the shadow of the one of the largest favelas in Latin America in the city with one of the world's highest violent crime rates.
Oh... and those men were laughing at you two because you were freaked out by that bug. It's called a dona joana and is basically a glorified lady bug. Have a nice stay.
I settled into one of those ubiquitous little beach stands with the plastic table and chairs to read. Suddenly, I was surrounded by six large, loud American men. Four of them, from my own beloved Texas, were buying those crappy knock off soccer jerseys that fall apart the first time you wash them from a street vendor. They then began to complain about how the water made them sick. Right... (the water is absolutely fine and drinkable, I imagine the week of high risk sex, binge drinking and overeating they excitedly told me about had nothing to do with it...)
Despite the inclement weather the two Chicagoans had set up a large Bose iPod player on their table and were chilling to instrumental rock music.
Now. for context.
I wouldn't walk around in Rio with even a watch. When taking pictures, I use a disposable camera or take pains to hid my digital, only whipping it out quickly when I already have the shot planned, then promptly stuffing it back in my pocket. Brazilians shed all jewelry before going out and are careful to keep a low profile. In fact, during my taxi ride earlier that day, the driver and I congenially discussed strategies for best avoiding a mugging. While I emphatically do not share many Brazilians unfair characterization of Rio as a "very dangerous" city, I freely admit only an idiot would ignore its high crime rate.
People recount stories of kidnapping and muggings and murders with pain in their eyes I would never want to experience.
So imagine my absolute shock at seeing a piece of high technology worth multiple thousands of dollars displayed prominently in a public place. I absolutely could not resist the question... ummm? aren't you a little... er... worried about that?
The Chicagoan's response surprised me even more than the stereo. He was deeply offended and irritated with me. He had never had a problem, ever. He had never felt unsafe. And who do I think I am? As if he didn't know how to handle himself... As if he didn't know Rio... He had been coming down there for over a year, staying for long periods of time and he had a friend and he was learning Portuguese with Rosetta stone! He was not some inexperienced tourist and I might as well mind my own business, because he wanted to sit at the beach listing to music. Damn it.
Wow... very taken aback, I simply tried to explain where I was coming from. How every single one of my Brazilian friends (without exception) had been mugged at some point or threatened with a weapon as they tried to quietly go about their business. I told my own stories of close calls with fights and carjackings.
I live here. I have spoken Portuguese fluently for four years and while I too love this city, I have the humility to accept the rules that govern this place and the good senese to heed the advice of the natives who are only concerned with my wealfare. I freely admit I am a foreigner who has much to learn about life in Brazil.
By all means, display your material wealth prominently in the shadow of the one of the largest favelas in Latin America in the city with one of the world's highest violent crime rates.
Oh... and those men were laughing at you two because you were freaked out by that bug. It's called a dona joana and is basically a glorified lady bug. Have a nice stay.
17 September 2009
BH is for lovers
Every night for several weeks now, I pass by this couple who meet each other under a tree in front of one of the shuttered shops by my building. I know they must come here after work because they're always wearing the same uniforms.
They stand there for literally hours giggling, occasionally making out, talking in low voices or just
sitting close
huddled on the steps.
It moves me to see two people so obviously, so relentlessly in love...
They're young and apparently lower on the socioeconomic chain, so their relationship is structurally disposed to a high likelihood of failure. Marriage is rare among Brazil's marginalized poor, the ability to form a stable family unit seriously complicated by a host of social challenges and insecurities. My research harangues me about all the barriers to resources, the power differentials, the unrelenting poverty that looms over their lives.
But when I pass them, I can't help my smile... and wish them all the best. Seriously, who knows what that bond they are forging can enable them to accomplish...?
They stand there for literally hours giggling, occasionally making out, talking in low voices or just
sitting close
huddled on the steps.
It moves me to see two people so obviously, so relentlessly in love...
They're young and apparently lower on the socioeconomic chain, so their relationship is structurally disposed to a high likelihood of failure. Marriage is rare among Brazil's marginalized poor, the ability to form a stable family unit seriously complicated by a host of social challenges and insecurities. My research harangues me about all the barriers to resources, the power differentials, the unrelenting poverty that looms over their lives.
But when I pass them, I can't help my smile... and wish them all the best. Seriously, who knows what that bond they are forging can enable them to accomplish...?
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