Fun is just another word for mirage

The real cranky faux carioca is growing tired of talking about herself. For your pleasure she includes some photographs. You will note that she has not included photos taken out-of-doors. This is because whipping out fancy digital cameras here is an invitation to trouble unless done with great care.

The first photograph is of a showdown between the duck cleanser and the duck hairbrush one recent Friday night.

The second photo was taken from her bedroom window. In the background you can see posto 6, an old person's beach in Copacabana.

The third is completely gratuitous (unlike the others) and includes the faux carioca's towel for drying herself after the refreshing use of the bidet. You will note that the towel says, 'Mãezinha', which is an affectionate way of saying mom.

The last photo is of a delicious hunk of chocolatey goodness.

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The language program has been keeping the faux carioca very busy and has prevented her from writing charming or dull blog entries. This Wednesday the group is traveling to Salvador where no doubt people will be herded from one place to another and assured that free time is on the horizon. The excursion is a week long though sadly only several of those days will be spent in Salvador. The other days will be passed at some resorty type place staring into the sea, listening to the siren's song that beckons you to walk in and never leave.

The faux carioca grows old and wears the bottoms of her trousers rolled.

Cranky Carioca

Having only the most basic language skills in a foreign country is not unlike being a two-year-old. You know what you want but grunting, gesturing, and using all of your limited vocabulary just doesn´t seem to help. Yours truly nearly had a meltdown in her capoeira class yesterday afternoon.

The faux carioca had woken up in a foul humor and was crabbier than usual when she arrived to her language class that morning. It was only a matter of time before she lost patience with her impatient classmates who found her slow manner of speech impossible to listen to. Each time she began to speak the other students (more 'advanced' than she) talked over her. Finally she left the discussion to get a drink of water and collect herself so that she would remain civil. During this break she contemplated the delight she would experience in pretending to crack heads and ribs in capoeira class later that day. Sadly it was not to be. Somehow all coordination escaped her. This clumsiness resulted in extra attention from the mestre who yanked her limbs hither and thither and barked orders that she didn´t understand.

Only the day before your gentle blogger had been considering how charming it was to be yelled at in Portuguse. She thought to herself, "How much more charming to be yelled at in Portuguese than in English since I can´t understand a thing that´s being said." Not so this time around. The two-year-old's lack of comprehension and frustration at not being able to communicate made the faux carioca's lower lip quiver and her eyes well up with angry tears. Incidentally, this seems to be an effective way to frighten a black belt capoeirista though it does little for one's morale and self-esteem. In any case, she managed to avoid a full-blown tantrum. Still, this was by far one of the more unpleasant days thus far in Rio.

Your faux carioca knows how to take care of herself so instead of leftovers (aipim--more on that later) she went out to eat in a restaurant to forget about the day's irritations. Afterwards she went to a cafe and paid handsomely to eat a pastry that the worker had dropped to the floor. Yours truly saw her drop the pastry on the floor and asked if it had fallen. The worker looked the faux carioca straight in the eyes and lied. Baldly. Pleasantly. Rather than argue or simply leave, your delicate blogger accepted her defeat for the day and ate the pastry.

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One gentle reader wonders what real cariocas listen to in the way of music. People listen to hip hop (pronounced 'hippy hoppy'), rock ('chockey'), funk ('funky'). Do Brazilians listen to Bossa Nova? Somewhat. But it´s often very bad. Today the faux carioca heard a CD in a used music/book store that seemed to consist entirely of Bossa Nova versions of popular American music from the 70s and 80s including Donna Summer´s 'On the Radio.'

Tomorrow night the faux carioca is going to a nightclub to listen to traditional samba music. She promises to report back.

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Last Sunday was the faux carioca's first day of rest in weeks and weeks. What a delightful day it was! According to plan, the weather was perfect for the beach. Most of the day was spent at Posto 9. (The beaches in Rio are numbered.) Posto 9 is in Ipanema (near where the song 'The Girl from Ipanema' was written) and is known to be the gay beach. While there are a smattering of faghags and the random pairs of lesbians (for those of you who may not have heard, lesbians apparently only come in pairs unless one gets lost in the dryer and then the solitary lesbian is largely useless), Posto 9 is raining men. Europeans, men from North and South America, Brazilians. Mostly these men are frighteningly fit. The gay tourists take endless photos of the comely Brazilian men as they lie in the sand, frolick in the surf, bend over to pick something up, etc. I post no photos here because there are no doubt pages and pages of such stuff on the Internet for those interested. So the faux carioca passed the quiet Sunday afternoon watching the men watch each other.

After lounging and peeing in the ocean several times, the faux carioca went to the market for dinner. There she bought delicious fare from the Baianas--acarajé. Acarajé is a kind of open-faced sandwich that consists of a deep-fried ball of mashed beans. The ball is cut in half and slathered with hot sauce, some kind of lentil-type concoction, and vatapá. Vatapá is a mixture of shrimp, cashews, and tomato sauce that includes onions and various herbs. Delicious!

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Tonight a futebol (pronounced 'foo-chee-bol') game is on the agenda. The faux carioca trembles at the mania that awaits her.

Faux Carioca Talks Back

A certain Mr. Cranky Pants (speaking in the first person plural--King David?) has protested against the Faux Carioca´s use of the third person. This is a fair objection. The problem with the blog and contemporary popular culture in general is the emphasis on confession. Writing in the first person carries a whiff of the confessional that gives the FC gas (but what doesn´t?). She needs to maintain her analytical distance from herself for fear of falling down the rabbit hole of Too Much Information. Confessions will be reserved for face-to-face encounters and then King David will be sorry.

The average beachgoer in Rio is better looking than the average Midwesterner.

A Fruit´s Fruit Paradise

Your gentle writer never meant to be a blogger, but even this analog moll must admit that it´s a fine way to stay connected to people when you´re on opposite sides of the world. A letter or collage sent through the mail would be so much more personal and interesting to create, but who has the time? On the other hand, these things only happen when we make them happen. If someone asked this delicate blogger to write to them she most certainly would.



For those of you who may not already know, your faux Carioca arrived in Rio de Janeiro on 11 May to take language and culture courses through Duke University for seven weeks. During those seven weeks she plans to do some preliminary research for her dissertation--talking to people about Carmen Miranda, looking at costumes in the Carmen Miranda Museum. When the program ends the faux Carioca plans to stay until the middle or end of July. How long she stays depends on how the research goes. She is interested in talking with people who impersonate the star about what is essential for their performances. How do they craft their costumes, persona, etc.? Impersonators interest the faux Carioca because they can provide some insight into how people think about Miranda as Brazilian national icon now. (This project begs for comparison in the U.S., by the way.) So far the faux Carioca has met with Prof. Ligiéro who wrote his dissertation for NYU on Miranda as an Afro-Brazilian paradox and she´s met with the director of the Carmen Miranda Museum who provided some key contacts.



But the gentle reader is likely not terribly interested in the too-too academic side of things and so your faux Carioca solemnly promises that this is merely a way of positioning herself in Brazil and providing context.



What the gentle reader wants to know is, 'Are there black people in Brazil?' No wait. It was our president who posed that query. No. The gentle reader wants to know about produce.



Such fruit! Good heavens! Your delicate blogger delights in (so-called) New World foods and some day plans to make an entire meal of items indigenous to North and South America. For your pleasure here is a list of fruits lately encountered:

banana da terra--different and larger than the banana typically found in U.S. grocery stores this fruit should be cooked.
maracuja--passion fruit
mamão--there are at least two different kinds. One is exported to other countries and might be recognizable to you as a papaya. The other is from Bahia and is larger than the one for export.
aipim--a type of root vegetable. Peel and cook in water with a bit of salt until the center opens up a bit. Delicious for breakfast with butter or cheese.
abacate (pronounce 'ah-bah-cah-chee')--this is like a giant avocado (see above photo). The Carioca´s host mother prepared it by peeling it and blending with about a 1/4 cup condensed milk and half a lime (to prevent it from blackening). Mmm, mmm good.

Gentle reader: Do you want to know what people wear on the beach, how to use a middle-class bidet in a third world country, whether Brazilians are better looking than the average person from the Midwest? This blog promises to be interactive. Tell your delicate blogger what you want to know and she will do her best to oblige.