Tag: My Brazilian

In the scheme of things when you spend two hours in traffic each work day, or half an hour waiting in line for a coffee, or forty hours a year gathering together your receipts and filling out your tax return, what % of your life are you spending doing things you don’t want to be doing?

…

[A deleted scene from My Brazilian]:

At a restaurant in Argentina, after many-a glasses of Malbec and chocolate fondue, I found myself in an existentially mathematically reflective mood.

“How many hours am I to be on this planet?” I asked, taking pen to paper.

Let’s say I’m really lucky (or not, depending how well I maintain health) and I live to 120 years old.

120 years (x 365) = 43 800 days, which (x 24) = 1 051 200 hours.

‘A million hours! That’s really not very much.” I frowned at my diary.

(x 60) = 62 412 000 minutes.

‘Hurry up with that bill,’ said Rosa after I’d shared my calculations.

‘Not many hours left,’ Kellee joked.

‘Changes your perspective doesn’t it.’ I remarked.

…

So… say I spend 50 years working somewhere it takes an hour in transit to reach each day… 50 years (x 48) = 2400 working weeks (x 5) = 12000 working days, (x 2) = 24000 hours in transit. That’s (24000/1051200) = 1% of my life sitting in traffic! Crap!

How long did I just spend posting this? How long did you spend reading it? Tick tick tick tock… 🙂

Ok, given my travels, my book, and living with Latinos most of this year, I should know more Spanish than I do. And considering the “peace” and “environmentalist” stereotype it may shock you to find out I’m (A) not a vegetarian (which really has nothing to do with this post), and (B) that in Granada I had my first ever experience with volunteer work.

Given volunteering in Granada didn’t cost money (in case you didn’t know, most volunteering projects do) and the bonus discount it gave for my Spanish school (yep self-interest) I decided to give it a go.

It’s school holidays, so basically this volunteer work equated to entertaining kids 8-12 years old, for a couple of hours.

“Bring games. Teach them something you are good at.” I was told.

They were a well-behaved bunch, welcoming Mark (a fellow estudante de espaniol (- yes, I know my Spanish is probablemente incorrecto…)) by taking our hands, showing us the garbage bin (anywhere you like) and leading us into the school grounds.

We spent a couple of hours playing skip rope, limbo, soccer, and even trying to do a little yoga when the more competitive games started to cause havoc.

“Hasta mañana?” they asked, as we said goodbye.

I looked to Mark, who looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Ah… próxima semana!” we smiled.

The next week Mark and I came prepared: corn cakes and cameras.

The healthy(ish) cakes worked a treat. So did the cameras. The kids loved posing, and I always love being behind the camera.

With my shockproof/waterproof point & shoot, they learned to take their own. An interesting insight to the world from a child’s perspective. A couple of them had quite the creative eye.

Can you guess which were my photos, and which were theirs? You might be surprised!

Colour fills the streets: the houses, the clothes, the people, the air. Excitement. A familiar joy. Why did it take so long for me to return?

Even the smell is familiar — a raw combination of trees, humidity, food, and dirt.

The sound of scooters, olden-day cars, horses trotting, children playing, salsa music and a sea of Spanish words — music to my ears.

Every day is the same: the sun rises at 6, sets at 6, 25-30 degrees — mi paradiso.

It’s been almost three years. I fell in love with it then. And again with it now……… Latin America!

Last time it was South America: Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina and Brazil.

This time I’ve landed in Central: Granada, Nicaragua.

I planned to stay two weeks. Now I’m planning for two months…

Porque no?!!!

When it comes to Brazilian butts, as you see in the clip below, SIZE DOES NOT MATTER. You got it, you flaunt it baby. But according to a drug dealer Rachel and Lola meet on the streets of Lapa, when it comes to something else size does matter…

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56sdnxQucuk[/youtube]

Here’s a funny little snippet from Chapter 28:

‘Cool. Ok, so what happened next?’ I ask Rachel, interested in where this story was going.

‘Next we walk up the hill, and meet a young girl in really tiny shorts, a very tiny top and a belly button ring which kind of sat on top of her very big stomach like a cherry on top of a cupcake. She was showing us how to samba, in a very expressive way. She was a bit rough around the edges but the story we got was that she was the mother of five because her boyfriend doesn’t like to wear condoms. I guess they haven’t heard of other forms of contraceptives, I don’t know. And she went on to say that she doesn’t like Brazilian men, she likes blonde men. And one of her children had blonde hair, she is not quite sure how. She said black Brazilian men are not nice – their penises are too big and they hit their women.’

‘No stereotyping going on here,’ I laugh.

‘We later found out, 20 or so min later, when the police turned up, that she was a drug dealer. But on the way home we surmised she must have been a pretty good drug dealer, because she didn’t try to tell us any drugs. She was more interested in telling us about her life and her existence than selling us drugs. She must have been a drug dealer with a conscience. She loved sex. She made a point of saying that. And she hand shake she went like this, like this, like this and like that, and then she hit her fanny!’ Rachel grabs my hand in different arrangements and slaps her pubic bone. I start laughing uncontrollably. Trust Rachel to leave nothing to the imagination.

‘Then she was doing the whole dance behind you, let it all out, thing. So she was a very very expressive woman. But she was out and proud, you know, like the belly was there. It looked like she had had had children, but she wasn’t hiding it. She had the belly button ring going. It was good. She looked young. Younger than us. But maybe that’s the Brazilian skin. And she said to us, “Do you like black men? You want a black man? Have you been with a black man? Just warning, you they have big penises. Do you like big penises?” and I said, “well I don’t know” and she said, “well theirs are really too big.” She goes, “I can’t do it.” And coming from a woman who loves sex, I thought, that’s saying a lot!’ Rachel laughs.

‘Well… there you go,’ I say, shaking my head and with a big grin across my face. ‘Maybe size does matter.’

MUSIC CREDITS:

Cash Money, The Beautiful Girls.