BRAZIL, HOW I LOVE THEE. . .

LET ME COUNT THE WAYS !

Ever wake up and ask yourself, "how did I get here?" Well, I know how I got here. I wrote about it in my last post which I must say turned into a much too long post. I had intended to split it into two posts. Needless to say, I'm okay with a pencil and a paintbrush, but computers aren't my forte.

The real question is. Why did I come here, and the answer is an on-going daily experience of my life here in Brazil. To begin, I retired from a good paying job, to a poor paying pottery studio in my garage. Sitting at the wheel creating mostly utilitarian pottery, bowls, cups, pitchers, etc., I had time to remember my forgotten dreams. Some of those dreams were to explore the world, live by an ocean, and or make a living as an artist. While married the dream was to retire to Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula on the Caribbean. However, that dream was dashed with the death of the marriage. I began my "exploration" with a move from Idaho to Florida. Not exactly a worldly move, nevertheless a beginning. Before I could get a pottery studio set up in the newly acquired garage attached to a house in Florida, my son Pat offered an opportunity to adventure a little further south. So initially you see, my first reason for moving to Brazil was 'because I could'!

We landed in Sao Paulo at midnight, with 5 cats. Remember? We expected to be met by a Taxi Driver dispatched from Itanhaem a small coastal town a couple of hours from Sao Paulo. He was almost 3 hours late. The Currency Exchange booth was closed due to the hour which meant we had no Brazilian currency, we couldn't even call Pat's girlfriend who had assured him that the Taxi would be there to pick us up. We didn't speak the language and found no one who spoke English. We tried to remain calm, wondering if we'd been bamboozled. At last a driver emerged from the shadowed parking lot. The Taxi ride from Sao Paulo is one that will linger in my mind as the most hair raising event of my life. I truly believe he was Kami Kaze trained. The only reason we reached Itanhaem without being rear-ended or broadsided or simply run over by a big diesel fueled semi-truck was because God heard my desperate pleas to not let us die on some Sao Paulo freeway. There were moments out on the open freeway when I relaxed enough to feel the warmth of the humid air and smell the ocean even though I couldn't see it. Life in Itanhaem was simple. We lived with Pats girlfriend Ana and her two children in a small neighborhood which boasted 5 churches in a 4 block radius and 6 small neighborhood bars, which were open to the street not having a door or even a front wall. Just up the street from where we lived was Chitaus, a very small corner bar. Everyone we met there were so friendly and gracious and most curious about we "foreigners"! I dubbed it "Cheers".

The first thing (after hating that Taxi driver) I lovaed about Brazil was Music. There is always music. On Wednesday night, Sunday morning and that evening, I could sit on the wide veranda on my little wooden bench and listen to the lovely choirs of the various churches. On Friday and Saturday night I sat on my little bench and listened to the live music from the local bars. There was the mother next door who sang, harmonizing with her small children. On the other side, the home was owned by people who lived in Sao Paulo, but their teenage son would bring his friends down for the weekend and eventually they would all wind up sitting around the pool singing for hours. Rose and Barboza lived across the street and she had several birds who would break out into bird song every day. Street vendors selling everything from ice cream to the wonderful homemade bread and candy and bottled water sang as they made their way down the street.

My first impression, my first love of Brazil is the music. I can hear it without turning on a radio or T.V. Music from the streets or the open air concert halls or the churches and little neighborhood bars or music wafting from the windows of our neighbors. The music of a small town on a Brazilian coast. My reasons for loving Brazil are many and I hope to explore them in subsequent posts. Dance to the music, - if you will.