Where Does One Winter?

The royal we wintered in Rio this year. A marvelous choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend it. Before I share some photos to make a maharajah jealous, allow me to share some learnings I picked up about Brazil.

1.Rio de Janeiro was found and founded in the mid 1800s by some lost Portugeese sailors, who found an enormous bay with a Christ statue there and thought it was a sign from God, so they stayed.

2. It is appropriate to eat a chocolate cake, and nothing more, for breakfast. 

3. Following the success of the Beach Volleyball team in the 2000 Olympics, the government declared it a law that - like in this hallowed sport -  no citizen of Brazil may wear more than 17 cubic centimetres of clothing. This can be evidenced by the sporting of speedos in the supermarket.

4. It is appropriate to eat/drink acai in place of chocolate cake in Brazil. No one knows where acai comes from, but people whisper that it was a government drug used during World War II. 

It is highly addictive, and is a rare 'fruit' made from the digested berries of Squirrel-Lions, indigenous creatures to the Rio river. (See video clip.) 

5. Brazil's recent economic downturn is not related to the wider financial crisis, but is exclusively due to the unpronouncability of its currency, the Real. Don't be fooled. This is pronounced somewhere between an American Ye-Haa and a Chinese Judo chop noise. Exchange that.

6. There is not one cat in Brazil. I looked.   

7. Portuguese is no way similar to Spanish. It is similar in as much as it looks sometimes a little like Spanish, assuming that is the Spanish written phonetically by a dyslexic shorthand typist, then pronounced by a German speaking Japanese.    

8. The film Brazil is a very poor guide to the country.

9. Nakedness is to Brazilians what punctuality is to the British. Cherished, important, the basis of an entire culture.    

10. Our luxury beach house overlooking the white sand of Itaicu was very different to the film City of God. Which was a relief.     

11. Many people say that the statue of Christo is more impressive the further away you are from it/Him/It. Parisians say it is quite stunning. 

12. Getting lost in a favella is quite a lot like the film City of Men. 

13. Favella, literally translated, means 'banana'. No one knows why. 

14. Rio people don't like Sao Paulo people. They say Sao Paolo people work too hard and have no sense of humour. Sao Paolo people 'accuse' Rio people of only being interested in sex, dancing, having fun and hanging out on the beach. Which is about the worst accusation ever.  

15. Sugar Loaf Mountain is not made from sugar, nor is it a loaf, nor a mountain. This follows a long tradition of national landmarks and lying. For example, Big Ben (small), Arthur's Seat (I have never met anyone called Arthur in Scotland) or the Sydney Opera House (which is in Wales).

16. Pele's is actually a nickname. His real name is Eduardo Bikini Machu Pichi de Elordy Frankfurt Sanchez Vicario.

And now you know some things.

Palermo in pictures

One day people won't come to Buenos Aires, they'll come to Palermo. Nothing socio-political to say, just a few photos. The last one of which was quite a costly effort as my shades were nicked from my head as I was taking it. Still, a decent snap.

Fat Is A Feminist Issue

Quick bit of context. At the Unicenter (giant shopping mall place) last Bank Holiday Monday (you can imagine what an absolute pleasure that was, two weeks before Christmas). 

We were in Speedo, shopping for Speedos: Katie was trying on a bikini and I was playing with Leah, when a large maybe 35 year old woman came in. And I do mean large, as in UK or USA large, not Argentina, 'I heard she ate breakfast once' large.

So, Large Lady wanders in. The sales assistant, girl, skinny, maybe 20, goes over to her.

- Buenos dias, can I help you?

- Si, por favor, I'm looking for a bikini, but... well... it's always difficult to find things in my size. 

- Si, said the assistant, giving the woman a fairly blatant once over. Obvio.

And no. Large Lady neither punched nor sat on nor took the mildest bit of offense to the comment, and continued talking the assistant through her various weight gains over the last few years (second child crucial, apparently).  

As I've said before: the more you understand the language, the stranger the country becomes. Yeah, it might be better, but it's just weird. 

Wanna feel cool? Just compare yourself to Dan.

This is an email forwarded me from my brother, who lives in the United States. Now, yes, you could argue that he brought it on himself by a) living in the US, b) clearly somehow giving his email address to 'Dan', c) becoming involved in a 'Residents Housing Association'.

 

But never, and I mean NEVER, in my life - and I used to live in Scotland and currently live in Argentina - have I seen one person waste more time over something so pointless as 'Dan', sender of the following email. Quick glossary: a luminares is a lantern. The problem is that a candle is a flame of some sort, and is therefore dangerous, and flames, as we know, can burn people to death. 

Over to Dan: 

 

Hey all. 
 
I will be ordering the materials for the luminares today.  The newest item for discussion is the bag weight.  In years past, we have hand measured play sand (one cup per bag) and dumped it into a grocery bag for each home owner (If you had ten luminares, you got 10 cups of sand)  The homeowners then dumped equal portions into the bottom of their bags and put the candle on top.  The problem was that if the sand was wet the bottom of the bag would disentigrate.  I was trying to figure out if there is a better way of weighting the bottom of the bags.  I asked a guy I know that packages peanuts in heavy duty plastic bags to make me a re-usable "sand bag" sample.  Attached is a picture of what he made.  These would be reusable, storable weights that would keep us from having to measure out sand each year. 
 
The down side is that they are rather expensive (.60 each)  We will need close to 900.  The old way, the annual cost of sand was probably under $100 and it took two volunteers about 3 to 4 hours to prepare all of the bags.  I've laid out some pros and cons for the board to consider.  If we decide to do the plastic sand bags, we have to order them before Friday in order to get them in time.  
  
**Good                                                            
-Saves 2 people 3 to 4 hours of prep time
-Easier to use year to year
-Doesn't get the paper bags wet
-Less general mess
-Saves a TINY bit of natural resources by re-use
 
**Bad
-Up front expense of around $550
-Somebody has to collect and store them
-Some people may throw them away or destroy them accidentally
 
Please give me your thoughts
 
Dan

 

Well, I'd be delighted to give you my thoughts, Dan.

 

Dear Dan, 

 

Get a bag. Climb into it. I will then, and I stand by this promise, personally volunteer however many hours are necessary to 'dump sand' until I have filled the bag in its entirity. I asked a guy I know how long it takes to bury a grown man in a bag. He looked at me strangely, and could not provide a photo. The old way, we'd never be having this conversation, because people didn't really care about dying (due to flaming lumieres), they cared about living.  

 

PS Under your point GOOD, saves 2 people 3 to 4 hours of prep time' I have two points.

Number 1: judging by the depth and research of your email, it looks a little bit like you have the time.

Number 2: Why don't you just DIE?

 

My thoughts,

Dougal

Human sacrifices and lunch time chats.

One of the worst things about not going to Church - yes, you do get free time on a Sunday - is that you increase the chances whereby religious types might try to convert you.

 

Now I have no problem with religious peeps per se, but having someone else's beliefs forced upon you - whether they be spiritual, political, dietary - is never enjoyable. That's a fact.

 

I do, however, enjoy hearing about other people's discomfort, and have lived through the ranting and rapturing from my brother in North Carolina - a hot bed of hot heads uncooled by Holy Water - who can't seem to go more than a day without someone trying to ruin his Sundays for eternity.

 

Well, I am disappointed to have to sacrifice that lamb for my own first hand, Apocalyptic Horse's mouth hell-like experience.

 

A woman who joined the Primary school staff this year, let's call her Miss Eve, has slowly but steadily been developing into a mental, as demonstrated by our conversation over the course of the last 8 months, which I shall abridge.

 

Genesis, where the problems begin.

Suspicions were aroused by the fact that she spoke very softly and lovingly to one and all, using words like 'love' and 'wisedom' a lot. Neither word, clearly, has any place in the classroom. But initially, I mistook her for something of a hippie. My original sin.

 

And whilst the poem she wrote for Leah was so lame even the recipient was unimpressed, the sentiment was rather sweet. She did a cover lesson for me once when I had to go home for a doctor's appointment with Leah: she was having a kidney scan, I think. She seemed to find that bonding. We have someone entered into some kind of a covenant.  

 

Exodus, where the law is laid down.

But that's how they start, isn't it? It's all How are you? How's Leah? to start with, and before you know it conversations are ritualistically brought to an end with...

 

"I'll pray for you."

 

Which I find terrifying and confusing. Don't Pray For Me. I don't drink for you. 

 

And then you innocently ask her what she's doing at the weekend, and she says, like it's normal, that she's having a 72 hours sceance (which I think is some kind of a prayathon) to give guidance and stength to the world's leaders. 

 

She asks me if I have 'a golden calf', which is weird.

 

Leviticus, where it all gets propery weird 

And then she asks for a picture of Leah. I show her one. How lovely, she says, but she explains she meant could I email her one. She'd like to put a picture of Leah on facebook next to her neice who also had a problem with a kidney, and because our church would like to offer them strength in their time of need. 

 

Oh no you don't.

 

I'm not fooled. I know what you're up to you loon. 

 

Human scarifice.

 

There it is, I said it. Every time you think a someone's just being nice and you should respect their views, you end up having to protect your daughter from being sacrificed.  

What is wrong with these people? And how do you get them and their knife sharpening, false smiling, cult gathering, soul catching, baby stealing antics off your back?

 

Advice, please.  

Once

Have you watched the film Once?


Well, do. It's magical.

Food is awesome.