Surfing in Maracaipe

 A few weeks ago Mark humored me and tried standup paddle boarding with the kids. He liked it well enough but I could tell his mind was really on surfing. Upon the Schlink grandparent arrival, we whisked off to Maracaipe for a family beach vacay which would include daily surf lessons with Sergio Rocha, a local surf legend. (Check him out on Instagram too.) Beyond the basics of standing and balancing we learned surfing mostly involves extreme patience: when to paddle, when to stand up, or when to wait. Having a teacher made it easy because he gave us a push and yelled when to stand up. I loved this because it gave me a huge window for success without having to think about anything. I'd feel so badass and on top of the world! When I surfed by myself, I felt infinitely frustrated as I'd miss opportunity after opportunity to catch a proper wave. I got to the point of being sea sick from all that floating and bobbing. But Mark-- he practiced for hours despite exhaustion, sore muscles, and bloodshot eyes. He loved every minute of it.

Geared up and ready.

Getting ready to stand up.

Even Grandpa took a few lessons.

Deets catching a wave.

Sergio: he literally never stops smiling.
Schedule your lesson:
https://www.facebook.com/aulasdesurfsergiosurf/?fref=ps_result

Maria Amor Kids Wear Photoshoot

Margo and I participated in a clothing photo shoot for a friend of mine who started up a new business, Maria Amor Kids Wear in Recife. Her vision: clean lines, simple patterns, and "season-less design" for year round wearing. More importantly, her clothes are timeless. Seeing them brought back memories of my own mom dressing me in smock dresses with pleated school girl collars. 

The adorability factor shot through the roof as the girls donned the oh-so-precious frocks as they played tag, jumped off benches and pretended they were monsters. Even Deets let me take his photo wearing a cutie-pie henley and shorts. It only took an ice cream bribery. 

I never realized how stinking hard it is to capture the moments with effervescent children- getting them to look in the same direction and smile at the same time was damn near impossible.  Maria took one side and I took the other. Together we took maybe 400 photos.  The photo below was the only one with all three that turned out that Maria captured. I like to call it: The Blond, The Brunette, The Redhead. The following photos are my attempts to capture the sweetness and stillness of childhood. Man. I've gotta practice more. A lot more.  

Cheeeeeeez!
by Maria Joao Vaz

Those cheeks. Those eyes...

Getting ready to take off. Again.

Taking a breather. 

Male model.

Deets' fake business smile.

Margo's portrait was also featured here:
https://www.socialland.com.br/v1/zona-sul-recife-ganha-grife-de-moda-infantil/

The girlies.

Tag!

And... they're off. Again. 

Gyms in Recife II - Fight Warehouse

This week I reconnected with a couple friends I met earlier in the year. Facilitated by a mutual friend, I had the pleasure of meeting Renata and Andrew and their three children back in January. She's from Recife, he's from Kansas City. We managed to hang out a few but... life got busy for everyone in its usual fashion. I realized after missing them for several months, my promised night of homemade pizza was left unfulfilled. So I did something about it: I asked them for advice on anti-worm and parasite medications in Brazil. Makes sense, right? Isn't that what you would do in this situation?

In any case, Renata answered my questions right away as if it was a completely normal topic. We got to talking about other things and she apologized for having been off the map because she decided to open her own martial arts and fighting gym. She'd always been active with particular interests in boxing and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. In fact, I first met her with taped fingers and a body full of impressive bruises. The decision to open a gym was based on the desire to consolidate her time between raising twin toddlers and a first grader, running a household and a full time job, and getting in decent workouts. Before she even knew it, the idea grew from grew from having a small space with mats and a few punching bags, to an entire warehouse. Thus they christened the name: Fight Warehouse. She invited me over to check it out the next day. Or maybe I invited myself, I can't remember. 

Renata and her team collectively agreed if they were going to do this, they'd do it right. Renata flew to Thailand to handpick Muay Thai trainers. She accessed Brazil's impressive network of burgeoning boxers and Jiu Jitsu fighters. Culture, tradition, and respect would be taught in all aspects of each sport. They planned carefully, putting in an official size boxing ring and octagon cage for competitions, plus plenty of extra space for sparring, conditioning, bag training on the mat; showers, and kitchen space space off the mat.

When I walked in I immediately wanted to punch something. There's something about entering through a corrugated storage container and into a graffiti'd, 650 sq meter space. I wanted to do handstands on the training mat, and run around Mortal Kombating the punching bags. Even though the gym was still, I could feel the energy. And maybe a little intimidation, but the staff made it clear: everyone would be welcome regardless of experience or size. They should know- one of their bosses stands maybe 5 feet tall and 90 pounds. After touring the facility and catching up with Renata and Andrew, they talked me into trying a Muay Thai class with technical coordinator and trainer Ronaldo Calado. I learned a few basics: elbow blocks, kicks, and punches. We discussed Muay Thai greetings and customs.  I didn't feel patronized even after I punched myself in the face.  My natural tendency was also to revert back to the kicks and prances Billy Blanks' tai bo style I learned in high school. I appreciated his attention on my practice, relaying to me the importance of steadiness and consistency.

Even at my age, I don't feel like an adult. I still feel attached to the sensation of being a kid, figuring out what to do with my life, even though I am exactly where I should be right now. I asked Renata and Andrew if they felt old enough to be owners of something so colossal- they both laughed but said it definitely felt right to invest in something so personal and meaningful. I have certainty their adventure will take off with the attitudes and priorities they've already established in their lives. Now speaking of priorities: pizza. We promised it would happen before the end of the year. I feel good about that and I will make sure I don't talk about parasite medications while we eat. How's that for a plan?

The FW team

Traditional blessing: autographing  the wall with
Patricky Pitbill Freire

View from the VIP section (ie: top of a storage container)

The Octagon - I can't believe I didn't think to get in there.

The VIP Box

Stand Up Paddle Boarding in Recife

Going on a social cue, the kids and I crashed someones birthday party that was held at a vaguely described restaurant "just past Barria de Jangada but before the Paiva toll" on the right hand side. Already 2 hours late due to an unpredictable nap, my timely anal self I doubted I could find the place, let alone enjoy it. But fun doesn't make itself, so I ignored my stress sweat and set about. Thirty minutes later and a 100 feet before the toll I was desperate to avoid, I found the 'secret' dirt road leading to the place I was looking for. Relieved and a little embarrassed about how easy it was to get here, I met my friends at a restaurant located right next to the Paiva Bridge, on a calm inlet of water which eventually splits into two rivers. It makes you feel so far away from the city.

Upon returning the next week to go paddle boarding, I learned the name of the dock/restaurant is called Imporio de Sabor- and there are two others squished together on the dead end road. Each has a swimming pool, plenty of dance space, and opportunities to rent boats, jet skis, and paddle boards. All three are popular places for parties. In fact, a lucky couple got hitched on an overlooking patio that same day, starting their future just as I drifted by, half squatting on stand up paddle board. Lucky couple. 

The Escola de Stand Up Paddle is based out of Imporio de Sabor. While people can make reservations, we just showed up. The instructor, like any water-based sport junkie I've met, was laid back and happy to help. We received a quick how-to and got on our boards. I enjoyed the scenery: birds, trees, and clouds, a very buff man doing yoga on his board...  I considered trying some briefly, but then a fat old man nearly "drove" his wooden boat into us. I say "drove" because was actually taking photos of either himself, or his roaring engine. I couldn't tell, but with danger averted we continued our fun. In the end customer service was top-notch and the school offers up great package deals- it's something I'm excited to do again and again. Plus I know what do to when my in-laws visit.

In between paddling, we enjoyed the classics: shared bombers of ice cold beer, hot soups, tuna steaks and fried macaxeira (manioc or disconcertingly bright sour-nutty flavor. It is, after all a legume so I shouldn't have been surprised but it's times like this I realize how little I know about the world. My friends determined that I was in desperate need of trying more Brazilian street food and later that night introduced me to acarajé: a giant ball of deep fried bean paste cut in half, stuffed with spicy shrimp, cashew and peanut paste, and topped with green tomatoes. They said "you have to get through the first one, and after that you'll be hooked." Verdict is still out on that one, but I ate my bean ball with enthusiasm. 

View from the restaurant patio. 

The dock.

Suco de tamarindo 

Live music every weekend

How can you not love Brazil with views like this?

acaraje balls

Best served piping hot.

Gyms in Recife

For a long time I had successfully avoided going to the gym to exercise. I despaired the financial commitments, and the seemingly tortuous routine of lifting weights and setting them back down, pretending not to stare at myself in the mirror, but really obsessing about my every move in a pair of sagging of sweatpants and Goodwill t-shirt. I never cared for sharing the machines, doing 60 seconds of work and waiting another 60 seconds while someone else's sweat mixed with mine on the abused pleather. I loathed the idea of swimming laps, locker room athlete's foot, and the anxiety of trying beating someone else to the sole spin bike that inevitably lost a pedal or had a broken computer. But, after nearly heaving up a lung taking the stairs to our 4th floor apartment, I decided it was finally time for attitude change and a gym membership. Even with regular yoga and walking the dog, my cardiovascular health and overall energy dwindled to an unrecognizable point. Something needed to be done- avoidance wasn't cutting it anymore and I know for darn sure I'd never go for a run on purpose. 

My physical commitment caught up to my mental commitment about a month later. I toured several gyms in my neighborhood and settled on one that fit  my priorities being proximity, variety, and friendliness. In Recife the options and package deals are endless. The city has basic treadmill-type gyms, Italian themed gyms, gyms for women, gyms that give you free headphones, gyms exclusively with weights and stale mats and no air conditioning, tiny gyms, and huge gyms with valet and spa services and child care. 

In any case, I signed up, handed over my dough and got started at R2 Academia. The weight and universal room was milling with red shirted trainers. I avoided that section like the plague with hopes of being ignored. I opted to start with a spin class and afterwards quickly got roped into another one called "functional training." It consisted of 30 second circuits like tugging a rope, yanking on rubber bands and flinging myself in the air all wrapped up in a velcro harness. I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it- and the people above all were very friendly. So I came back.

Unfortunately I couldn't avoid the downstairs area much longer. They'd likely notice my aimless milling and obvious lack of planning- so when a friendly red shirt approached me asking me what my goals were, I couldn't run away. Instead I told him exactly what I was thinking: I have no idea what I am doing here or how to get started, fulling expecting to be patronized. But his introduction to the equipment was no big deal and within minutes I had a plan and strangely enough, motivation and confidence too. It took me a couple of weeks getting over my pride as the trainers guided me to every machine and making the adjustments "just so." Seriously- they do it every time and there's no use in trying to avoid it. You simply have to embrace it. The trainers in Recife, at least at this gym, take their jobs very seriously. Most of them graduate university with a physical education degree, and moonlight as personal trainers too.  So they actually want to be there, standing by the gym's motto: better together. Plus the training plans have expiration dates in efforts to change up the monotony.

Of course, like any gym it's got its characters: the makeup'd bunnies with perfect hair and pouty lips, and the old men who croon at them. There's meaty men and ladies grunting through their sets, cuddling their protein shakes, and there's  bored looking teenagers sauntering around pretending to do actual work. I have developed an appreciation to the various personalities, because I have one of my own: the American who speaks English.  That's not to say people don't speak English here, many Brazilians do to some degree, and they often approach me to practice or to laugh at my bizarre accent. They learn idioms like "charlie horse" and "coin slot moisturizer,"  whereas I learn that "macina crucifixa" refers the "pectoral fly/chest enhancing machine" and not Jesus. 

Fashion trends are fascinating. I've not seen a single person wearing cotton shirts (except myself), but plenty of thick push down socks. Unitards are totally in, as are neon colors, big headphones and Air Jordan's. I think the 80's are enjoying a renaissance. All this in symphony with those high-tech selfie taking things.  No one can go far without their phones- but the trainers never have them. They probably aren't allowed to at work, but I love this. 

I am glad I joined. I feel so much better and I can now climb the stairs without getting winded. I even started swimming- at least when I think I can stand 30 minutes of clogged ears and water up my nose. They don't clean the water with chlorine and the water isn't witch's tit cold, so it's way less painful than the one time I joined swim team at age 11.  All the cool kids wear caps, so I bought one of those too. I swim so slowly that apparently the coaches use my form as a model to beginner adult swimmers. They think it's funny to deliver such a fine-tuned backhand compliment. I will take what I can get. 

There are two things I wish I could change: more than one person has told me to not clean the equipment based on this luxury of having housekeeping who do it all for you. Yet day after day I see drenched individuals hop on and off the bikes, ellipticals, treadmills without bothering to mop up in between. It kind of wigs me out. The second thing is that nothing starts on time, surprise surprise. Classes usually start 10-15 minutes late and the extra machine-side socialization means I often get out of there later than anticipated. Besides that, the gym is fascinating on many levels- sights and sounds galore, plus... a little bit of fitness.

Oh who am I kidding? I check myself out too.

Happy Birthday Margo!

A successful Minion Margo birthday party- my cake pop experiment is completed. And I only "wasted" six hours of experimentation, 2 failed batches, 6 giant bars of chocolate, and 16 bucks for a very un-magical cake-pop maker. Turns out they are best made by hand; a delicate and steady hand which I've never been known to possess. But I made do and the guests devoured them along with the cake and other treats.  Eating, drinking, playing, chatting and nary a tear shed. The kids behaved too. 

The set up.

The drawings. 

The cake.

The pops. 

The Margo. 

The Minions (not pictured: four other mini-Minions)

Praia de Japaratinga

 Mark and I took the kids to Praia de Japaratinga for Labor Day/Brazil Independence Day weekend and it was here that I finally found something I love do to at the beach. And it only took me a year to figure out. Each morning I meandered along the beach looking for seashells and instead of stressing about sunburns, whining children, and the pending dread of combing sand out of my daughter's hair, I felt something vaguely... like happiness. My kids and husband thought my enthusiasm for exploring low-tide was overkill, but they humored me anyway as I yelled at them to come look at the washed up eel, or sand dollar that was desperately escaping to sea while I spilled a shirt-full of shells. This strange feeling of joy and repose kept getting caught in my hair, and I almost didn't know what to do with myself- except collect more. Wander more. It was awesome. Happiness. Huh- go figure. 

Of course our weekend wasn't totally confined to my monastic shell collecting, we actually came to the beach by invitation of some new friends we made at Carnaval. They rented a huge house where we stayed with a group of people we never met before. The arrangement was fantastic with each person  more helpful and laid back than the other, which made the weekend incredibly easy to navigate. We grilled, drank beer, made pancakes, played games and went to the beach. The town of Japaratinga is definitely a beach destination having hundreds of rentals, pousadas, and resorts, but it doesn't feel touristy at all. Not once did I see vendors selling fake tatoos, hair braids, paintings, or ice cream- even with the multiple tour buses that clogged the narrow roads. Instead we saw people crabbing and fishing, playing soccer, and bathing leisurely. Just like the way it should be for a three day weekend. 

Praia de Japaratinga, Alagoas

View from the balcony- eating pork ribs.

My stash.