Archive for February, 2009

Culture and traditions

We arrived in Recife at about 6am, and driving through Olinda in a taxi, I was actually really disappointed with the city. It was so dirty! The streets were litterally piled up with trash – plastic bottles mostly and bags and paper and just all sorts of crap. It used to look so pretty and quaint, but now, it almost looked like a dump.

We got home, and it was warm – not too hot, but definately hotter than NZ. We had showers and saw Jacqueline and Alvaró breifly, and I talked to you guys at home a bit. We had a breakfast of bread and cheese, which was a nice simple meal after three days of aeroplane food and Sao Paulo fast food. Then we just slept. Although by this time it had got so so so hot and the air conditioner and both fans in Neno’s house were broken, so I didn’t really sleep much.

At about 4pm we ventured out into the heat. Just walking down the hill was exhausting, but we had to walk cos Alvaró had Neno’s motorbike. The summer seems to be way way WAY more hot than when I came last time, but it also varies more, so at night time the temperature does drop to 24 degrees, whereas before, the temperaure always stayed within a couple of degrees, regardles of day or night. Anyway, we walked through the Olinda streets and this time they were beautifully clean and tidy again. Apparently the day before had been a huge pre-Carnaval party which why it was such a mess, and every morning, the cleaners go through the streets and clean it up again. We went to our favourite caldo place (caldo is a kind of hot spicy soup with chunks of meat in it) and had some beer, cachaça (which was a mission for me after the memories of SP) and caldo. There were already heaps of foreigners in Olinda (yeah I know – I’m a foreigner too (also, I can’t spell foreigner)). We saw about four groups of non-Brazilians, which never ever happened before. And they all eat and drink in the same place which kind of annoys me.

Although it seems like one of the most popular bars for tourists (including those from other parts of Brasil) is Aloma’s Bar – which is the one I was telling you about with medieval doors and long wooden tables and seating. I think most people will be shocked when Carnaval starts and they realise this bar is in the middle of the gay street. Haha.

Every night that week leading up to Carnaval had some pre-Carnaval party. That night was “The Night of Silence”. First we went to the local Frevo school and watched the frevo competition. It’s seriously the most amazing dance ever. We then moved on to watch the official bloco group of this night (a group of up to hundreds of people with percussion instruments and trombones and singing and dancing ), and dancing singing women who were wearing shiny off-the-shoulder old-fashioned dresses. It was so colourful and sparkly and beautiful. There were thousands of people in Olinda that night, and when we went to Aloma’s Bar, it was PACKED, so we drank beer outside from the street venders. Even though it was almost a week before cCarnaval started, the city was already packed, streamers were everywhere, everyone was colourful and ready to party…it was really nice.

Tuesday I woke up with a horrible headache and drank about three litres of Guaraná…man it was so good! I never bought any iBuprofen to Brasil, and man on those first few days I missed those magic pink pills. I didn’t really drink very much, but I was tired and jet-lagged and dehydrated and hot all the time, so it seemed like I constantly had a headache. Also, I could of hit myself, cos before we left, I was going around the pharmacy thinking of all the things I might need, when I saw Berocca. I almost took some, but thought that only 15 tablets wouldn’t really be worth it. But now I’m thinking even 15 mornings of waking up without feeling like I’m hungover would be better than none. Lesson learned.

A couple of days after we arrived was Neno’s mum’s birthday, and we had a surprise birthday party for her at Jaqueline’s house. Jaqueline had already decorated her house with streamers and masks and umberellas for Carnaval, so it looked really cool already, but we went over early and blew up hundreds of balloons, and Neno and Álvero went to pick up the birthday cake and little party foods.

Here, it’s traditional to have these little finger foods at parties – all in the shape of little balls. There are two main types which are literaaly translated to Little Salts (savoury types) and Sweets (sweet types funnily enough). They were so so good, but it did lead to difficult questions from Neno’s family like “What are traditional party foods in NZ?” And these led on to even more difficult questions such as “What cultural festivals do you have in NZ?” and “What is the culture of NZ?”. It’s incredibly hard to answer these questions, especially to people from a country which has such rich, colourful traditions and history. I mean we don’t have traditional festivals (I’m sure Waitangi Day doesn’t count, even when you’re desperate), traditional music, dances, we’re not a very religious country, and even our worship of rugby pales in comparison to Brasil’s adoration of football.

And I know Maori culture is supposed to be our culture but when I tried to explain that it became kinda hard to justify Maori as an actual culture. The natives or “indians” of Brasil still live very closly to their culture – language, rituals, religion, clothing, jobs… The majority of Maori seem to be more culturally similar to “gangsters” in America with their taste of music, dancing, language, clothing…And the culture of the indians of Brasil also seem to be alive…it has changed with time while still being distinctly native. For example, they can now use different materials for tools and crafts, and different instruments for music. They have new types of clothes for diffent climates as they travel through Brasil, but you always know which tribe they’re from. On the other hand, Maori seem to be clinging to a culture they had in the past. It’s more like they’re repeating things from the past, and can something really be called a culture if it isn’t progressing and moving forward?

Anyway, I have no idea how that turned from a birthday party into an analysis of culture. Instead, let’s look at some pictures; it really was a cool birthday party:

 

Leave a comment »

The gay buggy

Guess what? When we left NZ we were passing through immigration and had to show our passports and we happened to have the same man who was in customs when Neno passed through. And when he saw Neno’s limited purpose permit, he asked why he had it. I felt like saying….”ummmm, because you thought he was going to sniff the guaraná powder?” He seemed really surprised cos “NZ and Brasil have a VISA waiver”. Yeah, like we’ve only spent three months trying to sort it out….bastards.

Anyway. It’s funny how fast things come back to you.

No matter how fussy I was in NZ, everything changed as soon as I landed here. Toilets don’t need toilet seats, hand-washing doesn’t need soap, fruit doesn’t need washing, toilet paper cant go in the toilet, restaurants are dirty..actually Brasil seems really awful with that list, but it’s just different really.

We arrived in Sao Paulo at about 8pm. I think the lady at immigration knew I wasn’t really alowed back in, cos she kept us there for ages, looking on her computer, whil everyone else sailed through. But she let me enter anyway. We got our bags and had to get two different buses and the metro to get to Luciano’s house. He wouldn’t even pick us up in his gay buggy. When we finally got to his house, Neno had had about an hour of sleep since we left NZ, and I had only had a little bit more. But, since we were in Brasil, we had to go out for a drink. We went just down the road a bit to a bar/restaurant/kareaoke place, where me and Neno had what’s known as “the first cocktail” It was so so gross i wanted to throw up…it had like, cachaça, vodka, and something that smelt like honey, but tasted like petrol. We had a few more beers, and took pizza and more beer home. I don’t know why but Luciano desn’t drink. I’m going to find out why now actually.

The next day I couldn’t get up. Actually I did get up, but felt like I was going to spew. I think I’m suddenly not used to drinking so much…I automatically assume that because I’m in Brasil again I can drink as much as I want, even though I hardly drank in NZ. So I slept a lot that day…or at least laid down a lot. Luciano doesn’t drink cos he has prbems when he starts drinking. He’s such a angry, stressed out little man when he’s sober, so when he’s drinking….I’d hate to see that.

That night, still with a hangover, me and Neno and Luciano went to visit Sylviana, Neno’s sister, in the gay buggy. When we arrived at her apartment, the lights were off, and downstairs was deserted. Brasil has this funny thing where they don’t have glass windows or grills…they just have steel garage doors that they pull down when closed. Or in emergencies. And all the steel doors were pulled down in the whole area. So we got back in the gay buggy – the top was up cos it was raining, so I was squashed in the back, bent almost double. As we started, Neno suddenly put his hands in the air and was shouting “Calm down! Calm down!” I thought there were hijackers and I just knew that I was about to see Neno’s head shot off. He tried to take off his seatbelt but they were shouting “Don’t move, just get out of the car!” We all got out of the car and it actually turned out to be the police (although the police in Brasil are almost indistinguisable from the baddies in Brasil, so it didn’t really make me feel any better). And when I say “got out of the car” in my case it was actually “fell headfirst out of the car.” Stupid gay buggy.

There wer six police cars and about 15 police men, about six of whom had guns pointed at us. They searched and questioned Neno and Luciano at gunpoint, and made them stand against the wall with their hands behind their backs for the whole time, while they took me seperately and questioned me about who they were and whether was there against my will. There was another silver car they’d stopped just across the street and just one policeman was there and asked the man for ID. No lights, no guns, no searching, nothing. I asked the policeman who was questioning me, why no one was questioning him and no one had guns on him. He said “calma” which translates to calm down, but I think it’s Paulist police talk for “because we’re racist.” The man f the other car was white.

So eventualy they let us go. Apparently, a silver car with three people in had tried to rob the store, about two minutes before we arrived. They acually shook Neno’s hand and said “Go with god.” Me and Neno were the only ones who found that strange.

Neno told Luciano it was because of his hair that we were treated differently – he has black, rastafarian dreads. He didn’t believe us, but the next day he chopped them off.

On our last day in SP, we went to Solo Sagrada which means sacred ground. We went in the gay buggy again, which was so embarrasing for me, cos I had to sit on the back (this time the top was down), and Luciana played gangster music at the top volume, and tried to race every car he saw. He has some serious self-estee problems that man.

But Solo Sagrada was beautiful. It’s a beautiful little buddist oasis in the middle of a big, ugly city. So it was a nice way to spend the last day. After that we basically chilled out at Luciano’s apartment and then got a couple of buses back to the airport to go to Recife – the proper Brasil.

Leave a comment »

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.