Brazilian Father's Day

Brazilians know how to celebrate holidays. All the pomp and circumstance comes wrapped in revelry and layered with homages to all things sacred, particularly when it comes to families. So when Brazilian Father's Day rolled around, I had already spent several days mentally prepping Mark with his fatherly duties for the kid's school's Saturday morning presentations. He arrived early with Margo and walked into a gymnasium slathered in manly decorations of soccer balls, kites, and primary colors. Music blared through the speakers in between unintelligible speeches and directions for the kids and fathers to follow as they filed into their assigned spots. First task was to complete an art project together. The second task involved hundreds of men hoisting their children over their heads in a version of Simon Says: carry them like a baby, carry them like an airplane,  carry them on your back while your shirt clings to you and sweat runs into your shoes. Lastly, smile for the hundreds of moms holding their iPhones giddy to catch the memory forever. 

Thirty minutes later Mark got to do it all over again when I arrived with Deets. Several hundred more men filed in with their children to do some art and dance like monkeys. Only this time the kids and dads were assigned group work: build something out of trash. In general it was a great process for creativity if not for two dads who took over like Sith Lords who singlehandedly built a trash robot. No one seemed inclined to add Deets' contribution: an empty plastic bottle wrapped in tissue paper and glue. But he didn't care, he was stoked to have his dad right by his side amongst the throngs of warm bodies. Once the two dads built the robot, they unsuccessfully tried to name the robot Dilma as a sour humored jab to insult the country's president.  Not needing to be part of political mirth, Mark succeeded in naming robot something innocuous. Each class then paraded around the sweltering gym, forced to smile and pose for the cameras before I finally managed to make eye contact with him and sneak out with two exultant and proud children. 

Being a good sport. 

As for the American Father Day version, we spent the actual Father's Day celebrating all things sacred to Mark: eating homemade toast, watching soccer on TV and... happy hour at the gas station. Just the way he likes it.  

Brazil and Birthdays

Things you may see at a birthday party in Brazil: 

Cake presentation with party favors filled with candy. 

More party favors filled with candy. 

Fully casted "live" show. And then some more candy.

Cameo theme with party favors (filled with candy) at a video-arcade. 

Unlimited games and rides. 

Vibrant Transformer displays. And candy. 

Bumblebee cameo, fog machine, and dancing. 

An unbreakable pinata.

Homemade cake with peelable cake topper
that won't actually peel off.

Star Wars sugar cookies.
And candy... collected from past parties.

Swim noodle light sabers, Star Wars crafts, and capes.

Fancy parties or not, the effect is the same: elated children, molding international friendships, and creating memories. 

Marcos Pontes and Space Tavel

Astronaut turned life coach/
motivational speaker/
engineering consultant

After dragging my kids around a few too many beaches in the pouring rain, I decided to spice up the kid's "winter break" in Recife by taking them to a mall. Sort of. Specifically, a mall that advertised a month long "Children in Space" exhibit in honor of Marcos Pontes, Brazil's first (and currently only) astronaut who blasted into space back in 2006, spending a week at the International Space Station with the Russians. The exhibit's claim to fame promised a strict thirty minutes of unfettered space learning; with blue suits, hair nets and shoe covers. We watched a 6 minute video, walked around a few model planets, and stared at tiny models encased in glass. Well, I did all these things while the kids staggered under their ill-fitting, giant space helmets, totally distracted. 

I felt their space experience lacked any sense of awe and wonder but chocked it up to the stale circulated mall air. But then they lead the kids to a looming space capsule lined with 3 inch foam and spray painted stars for a galactic dance party. The kids went absolutely insane, dancing and body slamming in the black light. They refused to leave that sweaty fun pit for thirty more minutes, but to the space employee's delight who put the songs on repeat. In the end I managed to peel off their uniforms but immediate freedom allowed them to run back into the dance party. I'd say this made up for Schlink rainy day death marches in the sand. 

Margonaut

A slightly underwhelmed astro-tot
before the foam pit throw down.

Praia do Paraiso

I love when TDYers come visit. These "temporary duty" officers often arrive with fresh perspectives and want to travel as much as possible since they are usually only posted for a few weeks or months to help with staffing coverage. So when my unwieldy children started to suffer from rainy season cabin fever, I called up a TDYer here from Sao Paolo, Brazil and set off on another dirt road to check out the smallest beach in Pernambuco: Praia do Paraiso. Indeed the tiny praia stretched a mere 70 meters wide filled with grainy sand and high sea-weed content, but of course the kids relished hunting for treasure in the pouring rain. We hung around just long enough for me to slip on the rocks and smash my phone to pieces- which went completely unnoticed by a fisherman, clad only in a winter hat and Speedo mending his net. I lay there, spread out like a starfish dazed but the impact and ocean drenching my hindside. So we hiked back to the car which I had parked at the top of the hill due to massive worm-hole openings in the road.  At least it warranted spectacular views of Pernambuco's famous outlying reefs, and I enjoyed good company with a new friend; without her I would have been a total weeny. 

View from the top.

Where we decided to hike instead of drive.  

 

Beached seaweed

Deets hunting for dinosaur bones

Praia de Calhetas

For my kids' winter break I got it into my head that I would pick a new beach to visit per week. Today's choice was Praia de Calhetas, a teeny beach one hour south of the city. The reviews on Trip Advisor rave about its quaintness and beauty. They are right on both accounts: the boat scattered cove and beach is only about 100 yards long and is surrounded by thick tropical forest. I also read that the drive "might be tricky" which of course was a complete understatement. The pavement turned to cobble; the cobble turned to a mess of dried splattered cement, rocks and mud- all on a steep grade with roosters and dogs running around. 

I figured the drive would be worth it all to escape the massive rains and floods Recife's dealt with these past few days. For the most part it was- even when a storm rolled in with rain so heavy, our exit became impassable with muddy water runoff overflowing the stairs.  Of course Deets and Margo delighted in the rain, climbing rocks and hiding under tables while I tried not to have visions of our car falling through the earth above us.  In the end, we fought waves, ate piping hot fries,  and checked another beach off the list. I only have 1,000 more to go.

View from the top of Praia de Calhetas. 

Playing King of the Insanely Prickly Rocks game.

View end to end.

The entire path was drowning  in fast flowing water up to the tree trunks.
Until it wasn't-  like it never even happened.

Festa Junina

Festa Junina in Caruaru. Credits: Camocim VIP News.

Perhaps less well-known than Carnaval, but definitely just as important, northeastern Brazil's Festa Junina marks a day (more like weeks) of parties integrating traditions from Brazil, Europe, and Africa involving a mash-up of saints- Johnny, Petey, Paulie and Tony. It's also a day of honoring the end of the rainy season and the sanctity of marriage. Throw in a little bit of country square dancing called quadrila, costumes, and a whole mess of music, food and drink, and you've got the makings of bewildering yet meaningful traditions. Recife alone will host 200 parties, shows and concerts around the city wheras 2 hours inland the city of Caruaru, the capital of Forro, hosts the biggest Festa Junina party in the world.

I say bewildering because every single decoration and costume blasts with color and design. Multicolored flags and plastic lanterns cover the ceilings. There are so many pictures of saints and icons that it gives an Orthodox church a run for its money. Ladies sport loud dresses all pinned with ribbons, pom-poms or miniature dolls. Even the mock bride, who represents matrimony and re-birth wears a white dress with neon pieces of flair. Men might wear plaid button downs with tattered pants and straw hats. Others might wear gaucho costumes or bandit outfits from the sertão or backwoods of NE Brazil. Those without naturally large freckles, gap teeth or pencil thin mustaches- are drawn on. 

Mercado Sao Jose- HQ for... everything. 

A whole ton of lace and polyester. 

Decorative lanterns. 

The music and dance, called Forró is just as colorful, sounding like a mix of salsa, country, polka, mariachi and blues. It's heavy on the accordion, acoustic guitar and triangle with catchy syncopated rhythms and tells stories of homesickness, love (lost or found), passion, or jealousy.

Then there's the food. I have never seen so many things made out of corn before: bread, cake, porridge; popcorn, couscous, and cookies. Only Brazilians call them broa, bolo de milho, canjica; pipoca, cuzcous, and aberém. Corn on the cob, meat on a stick, soups in a pumpkin. At Festa Junina, you go big or go home- eating is mandatory fun. It was here where I discovered my daughter's love of farofa covered steak (toasted cassava root)  and Deets enjoying corn flower based cookies.  

Of course, the kid's school spent a large amount of energy organizing and executing their own Festa Junina. Normally my son keeps a low profile and doesn't like mass group performances. Believe it or not, he embraced the loud music and cheering fans as his class took the floor to dance. He's also repeatedly asked to wear a mustache. Margo wanted to sleep in her dress and asks me every day to wear batom- Portuguese for lipstick. I think Brazilian indoctrination is working. For me too because I am just starting to understand the love and respect this country has for the classics. On the surface these celebrations seem over the top, but Brazil has a unique way of embracing its heritage- and I certainly could use more of that. 

 

Boys getting ready for their guitar solos.

Buying in Bulk at Ceasa

Did I ever tell you about my neighbor who brought me 40 star fruits and 20 pounds of caja? Or the time she handed over about 50 bananas and 16 mangoes? Well today she took me to the same market she bought them from: Ceasa.  While many tourists and locals delight in the brightly painted walls of Mercado Sao Jose or Boa Viagem, with piles of beautiful foods, crafts and art, the market of Ceasa looks more like the ugly step sister. Its worn and rusty warehouses stand covered with ripped canvases flapping in thew wind;  gritty trucks and matching drivers roll over potholed asphalt and mud to unload thousands of pallets daily. It's definitely big and definitely ugly, but functions surprisingly well as headquarters for food sale and distribution coming into the state of Pernambuco. 

Perhaps what is most interesting is that many warehouses contain several companies selling a single product. We visited the orange warehouse, the pineapple warehouse, the onion warehouse... bananas, potatoes, and coconuts.  It was a lesson in bulk buying, something I feel I should excel at as a card carrying member to Costco. I thought was I able to keep up with my neighbor as I bought 4 pineapples for 5 about $1.50 (USD).  She deftly purchased 50 pineapples for $10.  She picked up 200 oranges for $7.60 and a whole smear of other things at jaw dropping prices. Then she introduced me to one of her cousins who owns a banana company and I ended up with 10 bunches. Along with four packs of grapes and 5 mangoes. It was delightful and a little bit of crazy. I was getting all sorts of revved up to buy! buy! buy! Then I realized I'd be the one washing all the stuff once I got home- maybe I didn't really need 75 pounds of potatoes.

This stall cleverly named "Swimming in Oranges"

Fresh coconut.

Bushels of green stuff..

Banana warehouse.

33 pounds of margarine for $21

Potato warehouse

Pineapple warehouse. 

Fitting it all into the Fiat.

Now deciding where to put it.