Here's an important read from the New York Times on the potential historic catastrophe awaiting our city this year. The article fails to point out that most of Brazil's electricity is hydroelectric, so when the water runs out, the lights go off.
Dani and I have already had the conversation about maybe having to abandon the country should things look dire. A megacity on the brink of seventeen million refugees.
The rainy season ends next month.
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/17/world/americas/drought-pushes-sao-paulo-brazil-toward-water-crisis.html?_r=0
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Monday, February 23, 2015
One Year in Brazil
Today marks one year in Brazil. It feels good. Really good. Honestly, I think of it as one of the biggest accomplishments of my life.
Let's take a look back at the year:
Let's take a look back at the year:
February 22, 2014. All packed to go.
My new home, St. Paul.
The new apartment.
Oi, moças.
My first Carnaval.
30th birthday.
With the world's best chef, Alex Atala.
At Nick and Roberta's wedding.
Oi, John.
First game of the World Cup.
Family time.
I remember this day.
Honeymoon in Fernando de Noronha, Brazil.
Yes, you.
Capybara time in Rio de Janeiro.
Ben and Jerry's, let me be the first to welcome you to Brazil.
Sundays at O'Malley's.
Dani in Santiago.
Patagonia.
Dani's shocked that it's already been a year.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Almost That Time...
As Was Written is happening Saturday, March 7 at the Lyceum in Alexandria.
Come hear some amazing writers, comedians and musicians.
About 40 tickets left.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Carnaval 2015
There comes a point in everyone's Carnaval when you finally say, "That's enough." Usually it's with a high level of disgust. Someone steps on your exposed toes. Or you wait for an hour in the rain for a cab. Or the stomach of the stranger you're sucking face with decides to throw in the drunken towel.
Either way, eventually, we all call it quits.
We also have to decide when to start.
On paper, Carnaval is only like a two-day event. Everything in the city shuts down Monday and Tuesday. Naturally, most everyone lumps in the weekend prior, adding two more days of fun. The day before that (Friday) is also easy to tack on. At that point, you're only looking at a four-day work week, so you might as well just write those off as well.
The truth is, Carnaval parties start about 10 days in advance of Fat Tuesday.
The classic image of Carnaval in Brazil is the tall, feathered, brightly-colored parade woman whose exposed skin shimmers with glitter and whose fast feet move in perfect synchronization with her nineteen identical twins. These kind of parades happen, but you have to go looking for them. Most take place in stadiums and the tickets cost top dollar. A friend of mine went this year and had a blast before eventually leaving the show early at 6 am.
The real Carnaval is a series of parties in bars, beaches, houses and, in São Paulo especially, blocos. A bloco is a street party that amasses in a set location around a huge truck with musicians on top. When they start playing, the party slowly moves through the streets. Drinks and food are sold by vendors that push their carts along beside you. About half the crowd wears random costumes. Bathrooms are TBD.
I think most bloco routes are planned, but the entire thing feels spontaneous. The roads aren't always closed off and traffic just has to deal with it. Drivers slow to a stop and many of them (if the party is big enough) just abandon their cars and join in. Some blocos are in the hundreds. Others probably hit about 10,000 people.
Our Carnaval got started Friday when my Japanese friend Hideki arrived. I first met Hideki in Tokyo on March 11, 2011. Less than an hour after that, we endured the infamous 9.0 earthquake together. We've been close ever since.
Hideki is a musician and a talented one at that. For the last three years, he's shunned the idea of leading a normal life in exchange for a once-in-a-lifetime world tour. Every week, he arrives in a new city, performs on street corners for tips, stays a couple nights, then moves on. We saw him a month ago when we were in Chile.
Brazil is country number 78 on his journey. After a few weeks touring here, he's headed to Africa for three months.
Hideki hasn't seen his homeland in a while, so we took him immediately to Liberdade--São Paulo's Japanese neighborhood. He set his gear up on a busy street corner and within one song, already had a decent crowd nodding along and handing over their Reais.
His songs are breezy, fun and beautiful. It's amazing how much a city around you can change with the right music playing. Dani and I were going to stay for a song or two and then head back home. We ended up watching him for an hour.
Let's hear from the man himself:
Either way, eventually, we all call it quits.
We also have to decide when to start.
On paper, Carnaval is only like a two-day event. Everything in the city shuts down Monday and Tuesday. Naturally, most everyone lumps in the weekend prior, adding two more days of fun. The day before that (Friday) is also easy to tack on. At that point, you're only looking at a four-day work week, so you might as well just write those off as well.
The truth is, Carnaval parties start about 10 days in advance of Fat Tuesday.
The classic image of Carnaval in Brazil is the tall, feathered, brightly-colored parade woman whose exposed skin shimmers with glitter and whose fast feet move in perfect synchronization with her nineteen identical twins. These kind of parades happen, but you have to go looking for them. Most take place in stadiums and the tickets cost top dollar. A friend of mine went this year and had a blast before eventually leaving the show early at 6 am.
The real Carnaval is a series of parties in bars, beaches, houses and, in São Paulo especially, blocos. A bloco is a street party that amasses in a set location around a huge truck with musicians on top. When they start playing, the party slowly moves through the streets. Drinks and food are sold by vendors that push their carts along beside you. About half the crowd wears random costumes. Bathrooms are TBD.
I think most bloco routes are planned, but the entire thing feels spontaneous. The roads aren't always closed off and traffic just has to deal with it. Drivers slow to a stop and many of them (if the party is big enough) just abandon their cars and join in. Some blocos are in the hundreds. Others probably hit about 10,000 people.
Bloco coming through.
Our Carnaval got started Friday when my Japanese friend Hideki arrived. I first met Hideki in Tokyo on March 11, 2011. Less than an hour after that, we endured the infamous 9.0 earthquake together. We've been close ever since.
Hideki is a musician and a talented one at that. For the last three years, he's shunned the idea of leading a normal life in exchange for a once-in-a-lifetime world tour. Every week, he arrives in a new city, performs on street corners for tips, stays a couple nights, then moves on. We saw him a month ago when we were in Chile.
Brazil is country number 78 on his journey. After a few weeks touring here, he's headed to Africa for three months.
Japan's own, Hideki Sakomizu.
Hideki hasn't seen his homeland in a while, so we took him immediately to Liberdade--São Paulo's Japanese neighborhood. He set his gear up on a busy street corner and within one song, already had a decent crowd nodding along and handing over their Reais.
His songs are breezy, fun and beautiful. It's amazing how much a city around you can change with the right music playing. Dani and I were going to stay for a song or two and then head back home. We ended up watching him for an hour.
Let's hear from the man himself:
Follow Hideki's travels on his blog:
Friday night, we took our Japanese friend to his first bloco. It wasn't the best of times. We arrived on Rua Augusta late to the party, which meant we needed to hurry down the street to catch up. The farther down Augusta you walk, however, the sketchier it gets. And we were going pretty far.
When we finally caught up with the fun, some of the characters around us worried me. Carnaval is famous for being a place where strangers come together and kiss. This happens within seconds (as opposed to the usual minutes) and often requires no verbal exchange between the participants. Two folks come together, make out passionately for 10 seconds, part ways and find someone else. No exaggeration.
The cold and flu rate here has to shoot through the roof later this week.
It's all harmless fun, but on some of the guy's faces around me, darker forces were at work. At Carnaval, they are ready to consume--they expect to consume--and the women are there for no other purpose.
Friday night on Augusta, if I wasn't physically touching Daniela, the wolves were at the door. It's not enough to stand beside each other, their eyes saw a lonely female and their hands wanted to know what that hair felt like.
After a quick look around the scene, we got out of there without incident. Like everyone eventually does, I was almost ready to say, "That's enough," and call it quits on Carnaval. But luckily, the rest of the weekend went off without a hitch sans, of course, some mornings that came in much brighter and earlier than expected.
It was a real joy to have Hideki around. He would sing during the day and hang out with us in the evening. He brought the house down at a karaoke bar with "Let It Be." He closed his eyes in joy as we introduced him to plate after plate of authentic Brazilian food. It was sad to see him off Monday evening to his bus bound for Rio.
But the show must go on.
We rebounded on the bloco front, too. We found a good afternoon one that strolled across Avenida Paulista down into the Bela Vista neighborhood. The crowd was friendly, the music loud, the drinks cheap and the kisses looked very consensual. The rain couldn't stop the drum line from marching on. Passion was born between lips and then quickly abandoned for another.
Like every other day of the year, if you're in the right place with the right people, Brazil is the best time in the world.
And by Wednesday morning, when the shops reopened and the music finally stopped, I had certainly had my fill of Carnaval. This year, it was just the right amount.
The quintessential bloco video clip. Music, dancing, fun and I even inadvertently captured the insta-kiss. Get your timer out.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
The Crumble
My first visit to Brazil was in March of 2013. Vacation in Rio. My first time spending Brazil's currency, the Real (pronounced: "hey al").
When the dinner bills arrived that week, there was a simple shortcut to figuring out how much we were really spending: Just divide it by two. You say the cab ride costs R$25? Well, that's just US$12.50, my friend.
Those times are gone. As of this moment, 1 Real is only worth US$0.35. That means by next week, those same dinner bills can be divided by three instead of two.
To bring it home even more, consider this: The maximum amount of Reais you can withdraw from an ATM here is R$1,000. I just checked my bank statements online. The first time I withdrew that much money was May of last year. It cost me US$457.89. Earlier this week, I withdrew the max again for only US$365.81.
In essence, I'm playing with about 93 extra bucks for free.
All of this is good news for American tourists who want to come down and get a little more bang for your buck. You may not see the savings when searching for flights or hotels. You will see it on the cab meter, the restaurant bill and at the local shopping mall.
For the 200 million Brazilians who call this place home, however, things are going from bad to worse to worser.
In many ways, I've lost a lot of patience with Brazil lately. It's clear that the simple solutions that everyone from the President to the corner grocer could make to dramatically improve things overnight will never be grasped. The old adage that "Brazil is the country of the future...and it always will be" rings louder every week.
The worst outcome of a faltering economy, though, is one that Brazil knows all to well. And for one of my friends, it just hit home.
Recently, a fellow gringo told some friends and me an unforgettable story. One day before, his girlfriend gave him a ride to work. She pulled to a stop on a corner in Jardins--the city's wealthiest and safest neighborhood--and he got out. This was around nine in the morning.
Before shutting the door, my friend turned around to get a sandwich from the car. When he turned back around, there was a gun in his face. A man on a motorcycle shouted a few orders at him. My friend coughed up his wallet and phone.
"No," the man said, "I want her Rolex."
He was referring to the watch on his girlfriend's wrist. Keep in mind, he's standing outside the car on the passenger side. How was he able to see from there what kind of watch she had?
My friend later realized that they had been targeted blocks before that. Nice car. Nice watch. They had either sat at a stoplight next to the motorcyclist or they had been spotted by an accomplice of his in a parked car who radioed his friend. Police are very familiar with this racket.
Either way, they had been followed.
The girlfriend handed over the watch. My friend put his hands in the air. Just then, he told us, a cop car turned the corner.
The motorcyclist took off. The cops sped after.
"You idiot!" A woman selling stuff on the corner called out to my friend. "Why didn't you grab his gun? It was a toy!"
My friend didn't have time to think about it. He and his girlfriend cautiously followed in the direction the cops went. A few blocks later, they saw the cops and the motorcycle and the thief--in custody. All their belongings returned.
They went to the police station next where, as Brazilian custom mandates, a lot of paperwork had to be filled out and processed. My friend talked to the police. He asked about the gun.
"That was no toy," the cops told him.
In fact, the police told my friend they think the gun was used to kill somebody a week ago.
They graciously thanked the cops. Their lives will go on as planned. For the thief, a long road either begins or continues.
My friend told me and some friends this story as we waited for a table outside of our favorite restaurant. Minutes later, we were ushered inside where we dined on steaks, duck, fish and one bottle of wine after the next. All of it cheaper than the last time we went. All of our pockets and bellies a little fuller.
After we paid the bill, we stepped back outside. I was headed with my friends down to the corner to catch a cab. My friend who had told us the story was going the other way.
"You sure you're alright?" I asked. It was 11:00 pm by now and he was going to walk the last few blocks home alone.
He said he was.
We said goodnight. We went our way. He turned and went his. On the corner, I hailed a cab and said bye to my friends.
We drove past the restaurant again, headed for home. I turned in my seat and looked out the window for my friend, but couldn't find him. Maybe I had missed him. Maybe he had rounded a corner. The dark streets whizzed past. The city's safest neighborhood drifted to sleep. I shook my head and turned back in my seat. The meter in front of me slowly ticked.
No matter how high it went, I could afford it.
When the dinner bills arrived that week, there was a simple shortcut to figuring out how much we were really spending: Just divide it by two. You say the cab ride costs R$25? Well, that's just US$12.50, my friend.
Those times are gone. As of this moment, 1 Real is only worth US$0.35. That means by next week, those same dinner bills can be divided by three instead of two.
To bring it home even more, consider this: The maximum amount of Reais you can withdraw from an ATM here is R$1,000. I just checked my bank statements online. The first time I withdrew that much money was May of last year. It cost me US$457.89. Earlier this week, I withdrew the max again for only US$365.81.
In essence, I'm playing with about 93 extra bucks for free.
All of this is good news for American tourists who want to come down and get a little more bang for your buck. You may not see the savings when searching for flights or hotels. You will see it on the cab meter, the restaurant bill and at the local shopping mall.
For the 200 million Brazilians who call this place home, however, things are going from bad to worse to worser.
In many ways, I've lost a lot of patience with Brazil lately. It's clear that the simple solutions that everyone from the President to the corner grocer could make to dramatically improve things overnight will never be grasped. The old adage that "Brazil is the country of the future...and it always will be" rings louder every week.
The worst outcome of a faltering economy, though, is one that Brazil knows all to well. And for one of my friends, it just hit home.
Recently, a fellow gringo told some friends and me an unforgettable story. One day before, his girlfriend gave him a ride to work. She pulled to a stop on a corner in Jardins--the city's wealthiest and safest neighborhood--and he got out. This was around nine in the morning.
Before shutting the door, my friend turned around to get a sandwich from the car. When he turned back around, there was a gun in his face. A man on a motorcycle shouted a few orders at him. My friend coughed up his wallet and phone.
"No," the man said, "I want her Rolex."
He was referring to the watch on his girlfriend's wrist. Keep in mind, he's standing outside the car on the passenger side. How was he able to see from there what kind of watch she had?
My friend later realized that they had been targeted blocks before that. Nice car. Nice watch. They had either sat at a stoplight next to the motorcyclist or they had been spotted by an accomplice of his in a parked car who radioed his friend. Police are very familiar with this racket.
Either way, they had been followed.
The girlfriend handed over the watch. My friend put his hands in the air. Just then, he told us, a cop car turned the corner.
The motorcyclist took off. The cops sped after.
"You idiot!" A woman selling stuff on the corner called out to my friend. "Why didn't you grab his gun? It was a toy!"
My friend didn't have time to think about it. He and his girlfriend cautiously followed in the direction the cops went. A few blocks later, they saw the cops and the motorcycle and the thief--in custody. All their belongings returned.
They went to the police station next where, as Brazilian custom mandates, a lot of paperwork had to be filled out and processed. My friend talked to the police. He asked about the gun.
"That was no toy," the cops told him.
In fact, the police told my friend they think the gun was used to kill somebody a week ago.
They graciously thanked the cops. Their lives will go on as planned. For the thief, a long road either begins or continues.
My friend told me and some friends this story as we waited for a table outside of our favorite restaurant. Minutes later, we were ushered inside where we dined on steaks, duck, fish and one bottle of wine after the next. All of it cheaper than the last time we went. All of our pockets and bellies a little fuller.
After we paid the bill, we stepped back outside. I was headed with my friends down to the corner to catch a cab. My friend who had told us the story was going the other way.
"You sure you're alright?" I asked. It was 11:00 pm by now and he was going to walk the last few blocks home alone.
He said he was.
We said goodnight. We went our way. He turned and went his. On the corner, I hailed a cab and said bye to my friends.
We drove past the restaurant again, headed for home. I turned in my seat and looked out the window for my friend, but couldn't find him. Maybe I had missed him. Maybe he had rounded a corner. The dark streets whizzed past. The city's safest neighborhood drifted to sleep. I shook my head and turned back in my seat. The meter in front of me slowly ticked.
No matter how high it went, I could afford it.
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