Low Tide in Boa Viagem

Exploring Recife's beaches during low tide always ends up interesting. Besides exploring the reefs that are full of tiny crabs, fish and seaweed, the kids and I often find various remnants the ocean left behind: live, dead, and inanimate. I regularly see washed up jellyfish, all blown up with very threatening purple tentacles whether they are dead or alive. We wander amongst oyster shells, seashells, and the occasional dead fish and sand dollars. But as beautiful and colorful the beach is here, it is not immune to copious amounts of trash- plastic bags, shoes, and popsicle sticks seem to be the biggest culprits. Luckily glass and cans are recycled and fishermen take care not to leave hooks in the sand, so for the most part, fear of cutting our feet is only hampered by reef rock and forgotten broken plastic spoons or forks.

Avenida Boa Viagem

Mega low tide- no sharks here.

She dressed herself. I swear.

Today however, what should I find floating by our legs? A kidney. Yes, a kidney still attached to the previous owner's mesentery and ureter. With a couple of flies feasting away, the urine creator was a blood-sucked, yellow-white color, about  6" x 4" and bobbing like a castaway without direction or hope. Of course, being the dramatic realist that I am, started scanning the area for other body parts, maybe an arm or a head with eyes and mouth horridly frozen open to suddenly pop up. Maybe its sister kidney would suddenly wash up on shore too? Obviously I redirected my children to cleaner waters, but felt the zombie organ was following us, and it was. (Never mind that we were all following the current.) After calming my criminal intent paranoia, I surmised the kidney came from a goat or a cow, perhaps used as bait and either fell off a fishing line, or carelessly discarded into the sea. I'm going to think that anyway.

Exhibit A: Right sided kidney

96 Hours of Buenos Aires

You simply can't do anything wrong when visiting Buenos Aires. It's a gorgeous city: the second largest in South America, with plenty of green space, architecture, and  culture to keep any taste occupied. It's great for explorers, partiers, and adventurers. Budgeters and indulgers, wimpy travelers and fearless ones. Over the course of four days Mark and I planned a few events like "secret dinners" and a tango show, but mostly we wandered the various upscale, bohemian, or historic Argentinian neighborhoods as we found them. It was nearly impossible to get lost with the city's strategic street numbering system, and there was always a cafe nearby to plan the next steps if we did. Not once did we drink bad espresso either. Or beer. Or wine. God- the wine! They all said it would be good, but I had no idea. Malbecs, cabs, sauvignon blancs, chardonnay... all of it cheap and tasty (like 3 bucks a bottle), yet still with a touch of class. As much as a Schlink could have anyway.

Speaking of class, there was one thing that surprised me about Buenos Aires: the odd, uncomfortable return of the chunky treaded platform shoe. I mean- perfectly reasonable women with perfectly reasonable clothing choices were ruined with canoe sized jalopies scuffing the sidewalks. From stained off white foam-ish material to formidable black rubber, these shoes/sandals/boots were everywhere. I wonder if emergency room visits for sprained ankles have increased since this unfortunate comeback. But then again, I'm fully aware that my fashionable opinion doesn't count for much especially since I wear sensible flats with cocktail dresses.

Aside from all the shoe gawking commentary (who am I? Joan Rivers (R.I.P.)?), I did focus my energy elsewhere. I totally loved the weekend fairs or markets where tourists of all walks of life shopped for anything and everything Argentine. The vendors preferred US dollars over pesos, so we bargained, leaving everyone happy too. We elbowed our way through Florida Street, the city's HQ for all things buyable and gazed at a small gallery of photos (four to be exact) of Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges. Mark and I hit all the big architecture attractions, including Teatro Colón but skipped on the 32 USD tour on offer and the 30 USD bus tour and spent it at the bar instead. We walked until we were tired enough to get a taxi home where we'd see even more stuff we wanted to visit- on and off the "Top 10" list. But of course there's never enough time.

The New York Times did a piece on "secret restaurants" where people dine in the private homes of culinary school trained chefs with a set menu and wine pairings. It was great to relinquish control and try new dishes, though admittedly there were a few plates I don't care to try again. Basically, I sent an email to the restaurant with our available dates and assumed I wouldn't hear back since I did it the day before we left for Buenos Aires. Less than 24 hours later, all three responded with availability, contrary to the authors' experiences.

We ended up eating at Ocho Once, and Paladar. Both were great though for different reasons. The former, served us "an experience of carrot textures" which quite frankly were delicious, though we couldn't stop snickering about the description. We ate plenty of octopus and shrimp, chasing it with smooth chilled wine and devoured the strawberry sorbet. None of these items are personal favorites, but... it was all about the experience. Plus, we enjoyed our own private nook in their wine cellar where we would watch the legs of the waiters scurrying to/from the kitchen. Total cost: 1000 pesos (114 USD, 8.70 pesos to the dollar).

As for Paladar we had choices: meat or seafood selections, which made Mark joyously happy. We met the chef, Pablo Abramovsky, who introduced the menu which I found adorable and pleasing. His wife was another bit of amazing, continually refilling our glasses with crisp Mantra wine from Patagonia (we liked all of them, though the pinot noir was a bit too brown. Can I even say that?) It was another savory, gut-filling five course meal. Though I enjoyed all of it, I must mention the salmon carpaccio. It was all I could do not to lick the plate- Mark felt the same about the carpaccio carpaccio. So good. Grand total for two: 800 pesos (91 USD). Plus both restaurants kindly called us cabs as we rolled out of their homes. I would definitely do this again.

Of course besides Argentina's reputation for wine and good food, is their reputation for the world's sexiest form of dancing: tango. (And soccer, horse racing, horse polo, ice cream, mate tea drinking, leather goods, furs...) I wanted a show that would be saucy, energizing, and fun. Our first recommendation was Senor Tango. So was our second, third, and fourth. All my friends who visited Buenos Aires said it was the biggest, loudest, over-the-top tango show in town. Who am I to disagree? With our outfits squeezed into and tickets bought, we grabbed a cab to one of the seedier parts of town. We arrived hungry for dinner only to find out I only bought tickets for the show. My bad. The generous maitre d' told us Mark and I could pay an extra 2400 pesos to eat (275 USD), so we settled on a liquid dinner instead. Ninety "tranquil" minutes later, the show began. We got horses and Indians, cronies, dancers in 1/2 leotards, sexy shoes and sparkly show jewelry. We got singing and dancing, acrobatics and orgies. We got lessons in history and in nationalism too. I definitely think we got what we paid for.

I left Argentina tired but wanting more fun, and a belly (and bags) full of wine and a salad in which I sprinkled sugar instead of salt; both signs that it was probably time to go home. 

Recoleta Cemetery 

Recoleta Cemetery 

Skateboarding by the closed Libyan Embassy. 

Fruit, veggies everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

Why? 

Senor Bessini at Recoleta Craft Fair

Once a tangoer, always a tangoer. 

Belgrano neighborhood 

Carnaval 2015 in Olinda

Normally when I party, one day suits me plenty. I like quitting while it is still fun so I can reminisce the rare days spent gyrating, mixing my alcohol, and feel the crowded intimacy of glowing compatriots. After our serendipitous libations with the giant rooster, I knew I had to rally for our next day in Olinda. Celebrating day number three of Carnaval at a fancy pousada (hotel) snugly tucked in the row house streets of Olinda, the heart of intense and meaningful "Cultural Carnaval" for northeast Brazil. Of course, there was the predictable flow of cheap cold beer, grilled meats, trashed streets, and throes of drunkards too.

Mark, my father-in-law, and I caught a cab and arrived at the foot of Olinda around 10 am and began our adventurous hike up the streets. Drum groups called batucadas dominated the cobblestone streets like the Pied Piper, drawing crowds of people behind them. Giant bonecos (dolls) dotted the crowds like landmarks, and the colors- oh gosh, the colors of costume clad partiers competed for attention against the already colorful city. The energy was undeniable and nobody couldn't not dance or stomp around. We wormed our way to the Quatro Cantos Pousada and past the ginormous security guards and into the shady oasis. From the patio above we watched the mayhem and settled in for a day of raucous behavior. 

I loved every minute of it. Traveling bands passed through the streets which meant so the noise and crowds would ebb and flow too. We had our own live music and again- everyone knew every single samba song and every single word. As our afternoon wound down we said our goodbyes and ventured out into the twilight against the never ending flow of people. At the party in Recife we caught a cab early enough in the game that we didn't wait at all. This time however, we weren't so lucky. Or maybe we were, because after 90 minutes of trying to hail a cab, Mark ended up doling out some cash to an "off-duty" taxi driver (he was clearly hanging out for people like us willing to pay double) to get us home- totally worth it for everyone involved. 

Around 7:30pm we arrived to the back of our building where our magazine stand guy was hosting the second night of his street party. The dancing more or less continued but admittedly with less enthusiasm on my part. Tired and sore, I called it a night and promptly passed out from exhaustion. Now the question is, do I attempt to do this again today? Too early to tell, but I could totally see me rallying, maybe after a nap.

Mark Schlink, you literally MAKE my blog.
Thanks for the photos.

Galo da Madrugada

I hadn't planned on joining the masses of Galo da Madrugada (rooster of the early morning) for the 2nd day of Carnaval. My Brazilian friends told me it would be a sweaty infernal heat box if we stuck to streets, so unless I was really into slithering amongst the masses, or had purchased tickets to a camarote (a safer, fenced off party with a view) then I ought to stay home.  Well, I hate crowds. And sun that I can't escape. And pointy elbows. I intended to heed their advice. Then Mark and I took the kids out swimming and met one of our neighbors who chatted me up in the pool. After exchanging pleasantries and stories of her trips to the U.S., I learned our neighbor's name: Margot! We discussed this uniqueness and then she invited us to join her husband's camarote at the Police Delegation of Pernambuco. In fact, she invited us three times- including an offer to give us a ride there. So what could we do? We said yes and had twenty minutes to get ready. Luckily, my mother-in-law had little interest in joining the festivities so our babysitter was already built-in. 

Live samba music: essential at any Carnaval.
Everyone here knew every single
word to every single song. 

Camarote companions.

Frevo dancer.
How he didn't break his feet
I won't ever know.

My father-in-law, Mark and I piled into the car with Margot and her son and sped off toward downtown. Margot eloquently barked out directions through one-way streets and we arrived to the back door of the Delegation. All the while filling me on on her interesting and overwhelming job as a public health nurse- yet another coincidence! She ushered us in and we were literally handed a shot of Johnny Walker in one hand and an official Galo t-shirt in the other.  The latter was our "ticket" for entry. Before I knew it I was seated with a group of police officers, retired and off-duty, eating feijoada with quail eggs. Dancing, singing and people watching ensued for the day. 

Our table mates and main whisky supplies.

At one point Mark took off to take some photos of the towering rooster watching over Carnaval. This rooster themed celebration was created in 1978 to revive Recife's spontaneous street parties prior to Lent. Apparently it worked, and the rooster came back year after year. Naturally we wanted to capture the true amount of people who gathered to celebrate: millions- and I mean millions of people were there. I enjoyed the scene from afar and got ready to head back. But Mark announced we'd be making a "quick lap" through the crowds. In we went, walking against throngs of people and looming floats equipped with a ridiculous power sound system and band that plays on the roof (aka trio elétricos). These double decker flatbeds stop for no one and more than once I was forced to sluice my body between hot metal siding and hot glistening bodies. If the crowd jumps, you jump. If they sing, you sing. If they squash together, you go too. I admit for a few moments I was scared out of my wits as I jostled my way to open air and eventually back to the camarote for a bit more socializing and dancing before heading home. 

Parties took place on the streets, bridges, rooftops, boats...

By the time I realized what was happening,
I couldn't back out; in I went.

I relayed this generous and bewildering experience to the same Brazilian friends who explained to me the intricacies of partying at the Galo, and without missing a beat, they said that was a) unsurprising that we were invited to experience true Brazilian hospitality and b) was exactly how some of their friendships were borne into fruition. I don't know why we were so fortunate to experience Galo up close and personal, and I am so glad I didn't weenie out on anyone though I might skip the crowd surfing next year. 

Rooster again.

The BIG Question about Fernando de Noronha

If visions of my pale body flopping behind a boat haven't dissuaded you from wanting to experience Fernando de Noronha, I heartily support anyone remotely interested in visiting "Brazil's Hawaii" and will continue to explain a bit more about our trip including how much we paid (gasp!) for this whole venture. Yes, I am going to talk about the forbidden topic. Yes, it was expensive. Yes, it's a Brazilian rite of passage. Yes, it's worth every penny.

Before we could book our rooms on the island, we needed to have our airline tickets purchased. Luckily for us, we could fly directly there from Recife in under an hour. We used GOL airlines, and the kids (ages 2 and 4) were considered a discounted price. So tickets cost us 2,518.00 USD respectively; 2 adults for 383.00, 2 kids for 230.00. Maybe we got a good deal, maybe not- but if you find a cheaper flight, I don't want to know. Can't spoil the fantasy, now can we? I will admit that the GOL website wouldn't accept our credit cards and ended up paying via PayPal.

I sent on this information to reserve our rooms at Lenda Das Aguas. We paid around 3000 USD for 3 rooms (the kids, in-laws, Mark and myself) for 7 nights, about 142 USD/room/night. Not too shabby! The rooms included breakfast (fruit, cereal, meat and cheese plates, eggs, pastries, juice, tea, coffee) AC, and mini fridge, and the occasional wireless Internet. We were warned the satellite in FDN is tricky sometimes. Our rooms were cleaned daily, and the staff could make reservations or inquiries on our behalf. Despite getting gouged by the falling window pane, I was pleased with their service and attention given to our kids. Since we went through Your Way, I wired the money directly to her, and she followed up with payment (and she does not charge any fees).

Once this was completed, Mark and I could breathe easy for a few months. A few days closer to the trip, we knew we'd have to pay a Nature Tax and the rate varies by the number of days on the island. The good news is, kids under 18 don't pay. Seven days equaled about 115 USD per person. It seems all normal people can pre-register online and print out the forms ahead of landing. I did that, but the documents I produced couldn't be found in the system- so they had to register us again before handing over our credit card (cash works too). All this took place at the airport. They do hand you forms on the plane to fill out if you don't do it ahead of time. I was strongly advised NOT to lose these receipts of payment; they are proof to get off the island too and I had to show them to multiple people before even passing security.

Of course once on the island, you need to purchase a national park entry card if you want to enjoy their trails and beaches. A fee equivalent of about 66 USD gets you 10 days of adventure if you are a non-Brazilian resident. Again- keep the cards with you. If you register to do some of the fancier guided activities, like doing the boat tours, hiking certain trails or swimming at Praia de Atalaia (protected water where you can't wear sunscreen or touch the ocean bottom to due a delicate ecosystem) you need the cards.

With plane, hotel, taxes, and cards paid for we were free to roam the island. Luckily Fernando de Noronha is a remarkably easy island to navigate. It has one main paved road, with various rocky dirt trails that divert to trail heads and beaches. During our week we used the public bus (around a dollar a person/ride) and the occasional taxi to navigate the bigger stretches of travel (7-15 bucks/ride) and hiked for the rest.  Mark and I put the kids on our shoulders, and off we went. Other people chose to rent dune buggies a raucous form of fun and noise as their form of travel. Personally I loved the idea of easier access, but loved the idea of built in exercise more. On average we walked five miles which included some moderate hiking up/down to the beaches. Every day we'd come home coated in dirt, staining our flip flops and clothes with an earthy brown.

There are maybe 3 grocery stores on the island and all easily walkable. I neglected most of what was on offer here, with exception to purchasing 5L bottles of water and snacks. Instead we loaded up on breakfast, snacked through lunch, and tried a different restaurant every night. A few, I might add we came back a few times for desserts on "date night" if I stayed awake past 8pm. Independently owned restaurants, each had their own style and various menus. Luckily, we received a handy list of Adriana's favorite restaurants and the ones we tried were great. The ones not on the list were meh. I think we spent an average of 100-150 dollars/day on food for everyone. 

The boat tour was mind blowing. It blew our minds so much, we went back for more. For the price of 60 bucks/person, a shuttle picked us up at our hotel, we enjoyed a boat ride that covered the length of the island, an hour of snorkeling or swimming off a beach only accessible by guide, and a meticulously prepared lunch. Again- Worth. Every. Penny. My belly became round and happy eating sashimi, baked fish, fried fish, crabs, veggies and fruit. Even the kids ate it! Even Mark ate it. 

I suppose equipment rental added up a small sum, 6 dollars/day for snorkel and fins, 4 dollars/day for an umbrella and 7 dollars/day for chairs. But we didn't do this everyday. Some beaches offered natural shade while others simply didn't offer anything at all. To us, it was a matter of enjoying the environment and heat with the resources we had. And lots of sunscreen. I slathered one liter's worth of sunscreen on my family during the week. 

Before we add up the grand total, just for sticker shock, I would like to mention the many free activities we did enjoy: a recently added playground in the "downtown area," a lesson on turtle management with real researchers and real turtles, child friendly hikes and swims including big waves and tidal pools.  We visited old churches, cannons, and the historic square where prisoners would receive their punishments. Apparently during the early 1900s Fernando de Noronha served as a prison, especially of the political kind. The kids loved relaxing in hammocks, burying each other in the sand, and visiting the Shark Museum. Even though the island (at least during January) is rather dusty with hibernating greenery, we got to rub our feet in some real grass too, just outside the museum. The open space is dotted with iron sculptures that flocks of tourists pose and dance around. Seriously, I saw a group of Brasileiros whip out their articulating selfie sticks, dancing around with utter abandonment. 

In total? A week in Fernando de Noronha cost my family of four: 6,200 USD in my estimate. It was magical. Hot and sticky. It was momentous and fun. It was trip also done in the honor of Mark's grandmother who passed away July 2014. She'd highly approve. 

Keeping a watchful eye.
Praia do Meio.

Nap time on Praia Cacimba do Padre.
Passed. Out.

Adolescent turtle weighing in at 60 kg, or 132 pounds
and 2.5 foot shell length.

TAMAR researchers hanging on for dear life.
PS: I love this man's beard.

Pedra de Urso (Bear Rock)

Right before he got taken out.
Praia Cacimba do Padre

Small mouth grunt fish, often mimicked by
the yellow goatfish as a form of protection. 

Right out of Finding Nemo.
I moved, they moved. 

Baia dos Porcos.

Score 2 for mom.
Passed. Out.

Useful sites

Ecotourism planner:  http://www.yourway.com.br/

Fernando de Noronha government and information on the Nature Tax: http://www.noronha.pe.gov.br/

Boat/SCUBA/Planasub tour company (there are many more ready to show you a good time):
www.trovaodosmares.com.br/

Noronha turtle project: http://www.tamar.org.br/

Brazil's conservation organization: http://www.icmbio.gov.br/portal/

Hotel we stayed in: http://www.pousadalendadasaguas.com.br/acomodacoes/index.html

Beach info: http://www.world-insider.com/practical-travel-guide-for-fernando-de-noronha/

Yellow grunt fish research: http://www.biotaneotropica.org.br/v4n2/en/fullpaper?bn02704012004+pt

Fernando De Noronha- A Sign of a Good Vacation

Maybe I set the bar too low, but to me, a sign of a good vacation is when...

I arrive to my hotel room every day, with a singleminded obsession of showering off a day's worth of toddler smear, sweat, and dirt, yet forgetting to shave my armpits or pluck my sprawling unibrow. A good vacation is when I'm too tired to drink a beer, worry about scanty internet, or stress about paying for a dessert that is twice the price of dinner. It's when my family successfully avoids sunburns, food poisoning, or hideous injuries; which depending on perspective, we either avoided by the skin of our teeth- or failed: Mark and his epic toe stub where he ripped off a dime sized portion of skin; the thigh gash I received when a window pane crashed in our bathroom shower; or my mother-in-law's tragic black eye when she tripped and fell while hiking to the beach. (Don't worry, she's fine.) On the other hand, I know it's a good vacation when I see my children try new stuff and actually enjoy it: eating seafood, getting buried in the sand, swimming in open waters, even snorkeling.

All this (and more) was accomplished on my family vacation to Fernando de Noronha, an island located 220 miles from the coast of Brazil. Check any Brazil travel guide, this island is easily rated in the "Must See Top 10" with its ridiculously clear water, diverse sea life, and dreamy beaches. It didn't take much convincing to make the commitment.

Normally, we enjoy the challenge of finding our own adventures and places to stay, but found on initial searches it was difficult to find what we were looking for: a place to sleep the in-laws, kids, and ourselves. Preferably with AC and without visiting tarantulas. Quiet enough for our kids to fall asleep, but with enough white noise to keep them asleep. Turns out, these ideals didn't exist unless we shelled out $2,000/night- in which we'd also get a maid and butler. But the beach side mansion was booked anyway. Then we turned to "mid range" and "budget" options but became overwhelmed and bored with reading vague hotel reviews, and feeling nervous about finding something that would keep the whole family happy. So Mark ended up using a ecotourism planner named Adriana, to assist us in bookings. Her site is called Your Way and showcases handpicked resources for all budgets and tastes, and offers to set up as many or as few activities you would want. We're talking any activity you could conjure up: snorkeling, surfing, SCUBA, yoga, hiking, biking, jeeping, turtling, boating. Her story is adorable and filled with all sorts of do-good, heart warming, love the environment can-do attitude. We liked that- and thus our email relationship began. I didn't know at the time just how authentic and helpful this woman would end up being. She was amazing.

She set us up with three rooms at Lenda Das Aguas for the win. It ended up being a perfect setup with the basics: breakfast, hammocks, AC, and space for the kids to roam and play. There were little things too: a long clothesline to hang up the day; coffee with cookies every afternoon; fresh cut flowers on our pillows; and free range access to their kitchen or computers should we need them.

At Adriana's prodding, we signed up to do a boat ride with the company Trovao Dos Mares (amazing!) that included a bonus activity of snorkeling with a rope tow. Mark and five others took the first round, expertly jumping off the boat, breathing and swimming like dolphins to depths of 12-15 feet. The pull lasted only about 15 minutes and everyone emerged exultant and satisfied. Then it was round two. My fellow snorkelers gracefully plunked in the water immediately gliding into the crystal clear water. The guide took one look at me, laughed, and readjusted my mask with a sharp yank on the strap that my eyeballs almost popped out. Mark yelled "stay calm and you'll be fine" as I sprawled in the water, missing the last rung of the ladder. I understood my task at hand, but couldn't quite find the same rhythm as the others: while they spied thousands of fish, soared above blossoming reefs and encountered the mysteries and secrets of an old shipwreck, I enjoyed an instantly fogged mask and lock jaw on my snorkel straw as I fought to breathe through the salt water assaulting my nasal passages; I felt the sea simultaneously cool and warm my chest as the pull of the water yanked my halter bikini top down- which I couldn't do anything about lest I let go of my tow. I saw bubbles, shadows and the pale bodies of my sea-mates floating below me as they explored the depths. Fifteen minutes later, with bloodshot eyes and cramped hands, I gurgled my way back to the boat exultant in my own way.

Would I do it again? Ok, maybe. I also would consider this a sign of a good vacation.

Eastern view of Morro de Pico.

Bird poop can be so beautiful. 

Things seen on boat ride:
1 dolphin x 700 others and their babies.
Seriously.

Things seen on boat ride: Dois Irmaos
and western view of Morro de Pico.
The water- I'm not even kidding. 

He's four and a better snorkeler than me.

Me: clearly not understanding the purpose of the snorkel.

Bury her. Unbury her. Bury her. Unbury her. 

Pre black eye and thigh gash, but post toe stub.
View of Praia do Leao, where turtles lay their seasoned eggs.

Late Birthday, Early Christmas with Ninhol

While I can't say when I started following Ninhol on Facebook and admiring his artistry, I can pinpoint it was between liking the pages of Steve Martin and Bored Panda. I was immediately drawn to the vibrant colors, striking against the black lines and not a single space of white. Most of his paintings are done this way in fact.  On one hand, it goes against what little I know about art, where white space is sometimes the most important aspect. On the other hand, like great art, his paintings remind me of people, places and moments I hold dear. For example, my mom used to read me the story Rain Makes Applesauce, a non-sensical story filled with odd-end imaginative figures like monkeys eating chimney smoke. Ninhol's art reminds me of this: pages filled with detail and character, being read in the security of my mom's lap. He also reminds me of my childhood (and adult) obsession of filling in my pictures with full, even color. I never did like drawing outside the lines: an early sign of anal retention, I'm sure. 

At any rate, I loved the art and announced to Mark we should track this guy down once we arrived to Brazil and eventually buy one of his works. He went ahead without me and commissioned a piece for my birthday and Christmas gift. That was in September. By December, the artwork was completed and shipped to our home. Mark was so excited to give it to me, he didn't bother wrapping it. He proudly showed me the art in the kitchen while I was elbow deep in dishwater.

I stared at it: a familiar scene of two children and a woman, surrounded by daisies. Mark sent Ninhol a picture of us in similar form for him to work with, and the results were simply beautiful. My only disappointment was Mark's declination to be in the painting. He explained to me this was because he wanted me to pretend he was the photographer/painter- seeing his family as he sees us everyday. That man really does have a romantic side. I routinely look at the picture when I am chasing the kids with the vacuum, wiping up thrown spilled food, reading Richard Scarry books for the millionth time, or the rare moment of stillness in my house... it fits right into my life. 

Doting on my children, in art and in real life.
They've got me trained.
And no, my hair never looks this good.

A little bit about the artist- he's an expert of Pernambuco art and context. (Pernambuco being one of the 26 states of Brazil and is where we live.) If my research is correct Ninhol is from Olinda, a city with a phenomenal cultural reputation (especially known for Carnaval), representing northeast Brazil. Having a knack for bright colors, expressive scenes and historical context, he drew attention across the country with images of stacked apartments and homes, scenes of local neighborhoods, religious icons, dancers, and lovers. He's done artwork found Antarctica beer cans, a Brazilian beer brand (owned by Anheuser-InBev) and more than once has been sought after, create anything from Moleskine sized paintings to murals. Ninhol has a pretty good gig going.

To celebrate the New Year and his Facebook-following reaching 1500, Ninhol announced a raffle to receive a painting. It's a gorgeous painting of a woman and child, filled to the brim with, well everything... so until January 15, 2015, fans of his art can do the following steps to enter: 1. Like his FB page and, 2. Like and share the contest post (from December 31, 2014) to spread the word. So easy- and who knows? A little Brazilian artwork is always fun!

Now part of the permanent Schlink collection.