Embaixada Dos Bonecos

Mark and I enjoyed a touristy afternoon in Recife Antigo (Old Town Recife) and Marco Zero, the official starting point of road measurements around the city. With his usual scoffing of the map, we simply wandered through the streets admiring old buildings, churches, and markets. Neither of us had visions of hitting up museums, but just as quickly as we discussed this we walked right into the Embaixada dos Bonecos Gigantes, or Embassy of Giant Dolls. It is the headquarters for these 88 pound, top heavy, fiber glass dolls that are worn over the shoulders of parade marchers, most notably during Carnaval.  

Tiptoeing in, the entrance felt a much like the mysterious entry of a carnival freak show; the rainbow streamers lifted in the breeze creating just enough to get a glimpse of hair, glitter and plastic smiles. I was startled when we entered through the curtain because there they were: big heads and unblinking eyes staring us down as if we interrupted their important meeting. We circled the room, exploring the faces and goofing off. It was short visit, but one definitely worth taking- especially if you have kids.

Want one with your own likeness? You could go all out and get a handmade boneco, mini-sized or giant. The process is fairly simple: you give them a picture and chitchat about clothing options and the artists get to it. They cost between 250 to 1,800 USD and takes 2-3 months to complete. Imagine one of these bonecos in your living room! I think it would be the greatest conversation starter ever. Mark morbidly jokes that when he kicks off, I should stuff him and put him on my couch. I'm thinking this could be more fun...

Beaching It- Practice Makes Perfect

Recife: 8.0500° S, 34.9000° W 

I don't know how other families do the beach thing with such finesse. All around me, I see tranquil children who are happy digging holes in the shade, others content with splashing together near the shore. They linger for hours, laughing and playing, snoozing between activities and eating fried cheese on a stick. After some hours these harmonious families head home, happy and without the telltale waddle of too much sand in their cracks.  And don't even get me started on their beautifully tousled beach hair. These families clearly are beach experts. Or- they have magical powers. 

I want to know their secret because on the occasions that I take Deets and Margo to the beach without Mark it usually goes down like this: first I have to negotiate with Deets. He always wants to swim- always in the frigid pool, never in the ocean (though I can understand why). When he finally acquiesces, I chase both kids around the apartment for about twenty minutes to slather on sunscreen and I end up pinning one of them down to put on a swim suit on while the other pretends not to know how. I then squish into my own bathing suit and put on an elaborate show trying to put sunscreen on my back. It involves a lot of grunting and reaching but eventually, I can feel confident that I am somewhere between 85-95% covered. 

We walk across the street with one child tossed over my shoulder, angry that she can't 'just walk into traffic' and, the other insisting pausing in the middle of the crosswalk yelling at the cars to stop- because he's a super hero. We've arrived to the beach and Deets immediately wants to go straight into the water clothes and all, whereas Margo runs in the opposite direction just to prove a point. This means I have to repeatedly drag Deets back onto shore, chasing her down and at the same time getting inundated with unwanted shark attack advice from other beach goers. Or questions about whether they are twins. What time we do have in the water together is relatively entertaining: Deets jumps the waves and I bend over swinging Margo in my arms, giving the onlookers a primetime view of me squatting like a sumo wrestler. We never do go in further than my knees. Because quite frankly, there are sharks out there.

At some point I convince them to retreat to the shade for some bubbly water while I catch my breath, profusely sweating from exertion, sunscreen running in my eyes. The break lasts about 30 seconds and the cycle of herding cats begins again. I am chasing them amongst the various vendors showcasing obnoxiously loud toys, kiddie pools, ice cream, nuts, and again- quail eggs. Finally, after forty-five minutes  a long day in the surf we slink back to the sidewalk half dressed, tired and dehydrated (because someone decides to use the bubbly water as foot wash) with an obscene amount of sand matted into our rat's nest hair. Our other, darker places are also crusted in sand.

When I finally cajole the kids into the shower for a rinse,  I swear I will never take them out alone again.  Then another day comes; the waves tease, the sun beckons and distant music lures all of us back out there to explore. I become entranced once again and fall in love with living here.  I am sure one day WE will be the beach experts with harmonious, glowing auras. Or maybe that's the sun exposure talking. 

Top 10 of Samba Recife

Double your pleasure. Well... they actually had three stages

Two days, thirty bands, and God-knows-how-many cans of Schin Pilsner beer played part in one of Brazil's largest Samba Festivals. I dusted off my Danskos and jeans for a high class, sophisticated evening and checked it out for myself this weekend. The spectacle was exactly as they headlined it- their 10th year would be bigger than ever, calling for more dancing, singing, and sass. So I did just that and more- until the wee hours of 9:45pm. Because well, I'm 90. Here is why next time you are in Brazil, you should go to a Samba Festival:

10. Snacks in sacks abound! You can buy sacks of nuts. Or maybe a sack of quail eggs for quick energy.

9. Giant waist high beverage coolers all within five paces of anywhere. Need a sugar lime vodka drink? Schin beer? Juice? Don't mind if I do.

Ignore the Schin trash and focus on the Schin cooler.

8. Schin balls floating around everywhere. Fun to see and more fun to say. They even had orange Schin can characters looming the stage accompanied by orange clad Schin girls tossing out Schin t-shirts. Or bags of peanuts. I couldn't really tell. I was pretty far away.

Fascinating advertising- in fact most politicians for the upcoming election
have their faces all over balloons like these. 

7. Forget expansive band shirts, go for the glittery hot pink fedora instead. I really wanted to buy one. I should've.

6. Freshly made potato chips in a glass container big enough to take a bath in. 

5. You can dance all you want! Elbows and thumbs out and no one cares. 

4. Seriously. Everyone already dances better than you. Just own it. There's no reason not to. The tell tale triple step, booty shaking samba moves were almost in unison amongst the thousands of concert goers.

3. Double stages. Double. Fused to together with a red carpet runway enviable of Fashion Week. And 50,000 square meters of space.

2. Who cares if you have no idea what they are singing on stage! The infectious samba energy seeps into your bones. Plus loads of couples were making out- next to me, behind me, on the giant screens. That certainly meant the lyrics were awesome.

1. From dreadlocked heart-wrenching soloists, to skinny jeaned boy-band heartthrobs, to bigger than life guayabera'd samba kings, the variety of talent entertained the crowd all night long. It was inspiring and energizing to be small part of a bigger musical picture. I look forward to next year- only next time I might need a few extra shots of espresso and a few extra dance lessons. 

Hot fresh eggs and nuts.

Recife's Diversity Parade

Yesterday, between 75,000 and 80,000 people marched down Avenida Boa Viagem for Recife's 13th annual Diversity March not just to celebrate the beauty of individuality, but to protest for change on behalf of the LGBT community in the state of Pernambuco, Brasil. This year they announced big news: this Friday, September 26, 2014 the Ministry of Development and Human Rights will launch a comprehensive health policy. Since the community endures regular discrimination and stigmatization, the changes with allow not only access to health services but will provide training and education to professionals working in the healthcare field. In addition, they also announced a project aimed to reserve a number of seats in professional qualification courses offered by the government- a vital opportunity for the LGBT population who have difficulty entering the job market.

The event was incredible. Twelve double-wide flatbeds equipped with dancing stages, mega speakers and signs stacked the avenue. Well known local companies, actors, musicians, and politicians showed up in support too. They sang, danced and marched in the blazing sunshine down the avenue, filled to the brim with buckets of drinks, water, treats, and memories. 

Deets hates loud noises and wasn't particularly pleased he had to endure the ground shaking bass for 90 minutes, but he significantly cheered up when I told him the parade was for people who wanted to love whoever they wanted. Margo on the other hand, was into it from the get-go. She waved at all the princes and princesses on the floats and danced her little booty off. She even charmed a young man in the parade as he hopped off a float and ran back to give her a rainbow flag.The crowd was overwhelming; for some time I stood there watching with my family, tears rolling down my face. I was thrilled to see such a huge draw but equally heartbroken that we have to have these marches at all. Maybe someday the inequality and injustice will feel like a bad dream. But until then...

"Enough of Transphobia"

"Where there is hate, I bring love"

"Peace"

"Recife without prejudice and discrimination"

Going to School

I am sure for most parents, the sticker shock of school registration, uniforms, and supplies is something that you get used to over time. I don't want to hear "Just wait until they get into elementary middle school high school college!" but I gotta say, this one felt like a labor of love and was an educational introduction to school, as I will know it be from here on out. I dutifully paid my fees to the school in exchange for a two page list of supplies each child needs to have. Considering my recent success with grease, I was up for the challenge of checking off the list. After two days of feeling stoned from all the fluorescent store lighting and being overstimulated from the business and roar of our local flea market, I finished!

Schools these days. They don't mess around. Amongst searching for things like puppets, hula hoops and very specific elastic blue plastic folders, I was also in need of roller paint brushes, play dough and memory games. Plus party supplies and of course books. Veterans of Brazil said stuff was expensive here, and for the most part they are right. So out of curiosity I decided to do some price comparisons inspired by The New Diplomat's Wife who showcases a few similar products within Denmark and the United States.  

For example Margo needed a backpack. I perused and found:

Brazil: 250.00 Reais = 105.90 USD
US: $25.00

Needless to say I decided she could use my existing messenger bag until our boxes arrive. I also felt very thirsty. That led me to wanting to drink a fine sour beer...

Brazil: 52.90 Reais = 22.41 USD
Europe: 4.30 Euro = 5.54 USD
US: 15.00

Ok- so maybe I bought the beer anyway. To be fair, I didn't drink it because it's Mark's "Welcome to Brazil" housewarming gift. Instead, I stayed the course and bought all of this instead: 

Grand total: 498.80 Reais = 211.74 USD
With haggling. 

I am not complaining one bit. In fact- I am grateful because our children are fortunate to have a great education and opportunity. Mark works very hard to provide for them and so far they love school. According to Deets they have "the coolest airplane collection ever" and he likes riding the bus like the big kids. Margo? Not so much. Once the fervor dies down I am told she enjoys music and dancing. She even gets a shower every day before coming home. It happens to be one of her favorite things (next to running around naked of course.)   

I'm not sure of hot pink shirts are allowed, but I had to pick my battle. 

Waiting for the bus. Margo's holding a bottle opener ready to help.

My First Greasy Jeitinho*

*Jeitinho: comes from the expression "dar um jeito," literally- "find a way." It implies the use of resources at hand, as well as personal connections, and creativity. -Wikipedia

_______________________________

Ever since we arrived, I had been battling my stroller. I would muscle through the turns, dodging potholes and curbs or dragging it backwards through the compact sand just to ensure my rug rats would have a place to rest (or rather- be contained) once we wandered farther than 500 yards from the apartment building. I ignored all my pulled muscles and achy rib cage at the same time complaining to Mark how I needed to get some grease for the wheels. His natural, problem solving response was "Then this weekend, we will head to a bike shop and pick up some grease." Seeing as how this is the only place I have ever purchased grease, it seemed like a sensible idea.

I refused to wait until Saturday so on Friday, I spent some time on the Internet checking out local bike shops and mapped my way. I decided the stroller wouldn't be worth my time since its condition deteriorated rapidly with a nearly frozen front wheel. With Margo in the backpack and Deets willing to walk so long as I promised him popcorn afterwards, we headed out for our projected 15 minute walk. Thirty minutes later I walked into the store carrying both kids; one about ready to pee himself, the other very eager to get away from my sweaty self.

First thing she sees: chairs and table. First thing she (repeatedly) says: "I'm hungry."

Chatting with the local bike mechanic (in Portuguese! -mark), I asked where they keep their bike grease. He stared at me blankly. Clearly no one ever asked him this question, or maybe he didn't understand my accent. Turns out it was neither- they simply don't sell grease. Like, ever. He showed me his store's single tube of industrial blue grease and pointed out that all people in Recife bring their bikes in for maintenance. No one ever does it themselves. Well I refused to give up and asked him if they could at least sell me a little dab of it, I'd even take it wrapped in toilet paper or a coffee cup. Apparently that was absurd request and whilst laughing me, I asked where I could find a tube to purchase. He responds with, "Go that way 10km and you will find a construction store. They can sell you grease." And he walked away.

Well okay then. Relieved at least to be in some air conditioning, the kids found the store's toys and happily played fought over the plastic-rocking-chair-snail-thing, and running laps around their store. I sat down to formulate my next plan, and ten minutes later the mechanic walked back up to me and said they were trying to figure out if they could sell me their sole tube of grease. Conferring with four other staff members, they finally agreed: 15 Reais, or about 6.15 USD. Before they could change their minds, I accepted immediately and while I was waiting for a sixth staff member to come to the register (only she could ring me up) I asked the mechanic what type of bike he owned. He laughs again, (just as Deets knocks over the torso of a mannequin) and explains to me not only does he not own a bike, he doesn't ride either. The bike mechanic. Go figure. He then asks me if I am from Norway. That was pretty cute.

I also met the store owner who called himself Robinson. He thanked me for coming into his store and then he told me all about his recent trip to Miami, followed by the question "do you know so-and-so at the Consulate?"  He said he was happy to make a special exception in selling the grease to me. When I thought about this special dispensation, it made sense because I guess most people on the US prefer bike specialists to fix their bicycles as well. Like Mark, my brother is also a well skilled bike mechanic agreed to this theory. He laughed, remembering the thousands of bikes he'd maintained or fixed that never once saw a drop of grease or lube. Or a bike pump for that matter.

Victory was mine. I walked away with grease, two relatively happy kids who got to blow off steam (though they were supremely annoyed that I wasn't buying them new bikes or helmets) and the name of a good bike shop should I need one in the future. I plan to grease everything that I can in my house now. 

My one and only true form of transportation/punishment for the kids.

Jim's leash has practically rusted from the ocean. 

After repeatedly scraping my knuckles trying to slide open the lock.

Mark's knee. 

The First Four Days

Good God I have never showered so much in my entire life these past four days! I always said I prefer humid weather over dry and in theory I still stand by that, but my body seems to disagree. With my hair and face greasier than a diner stove top and sand that lurks in all my creases, I've been forced to rinse and re-rinse several times a day in addition to watering down the children as many times too. They are experts in performing Down Dog in the shower to get all the sand out. Deets and Margo keep figuring out the hard way that when they sit in the surf and their swim suits fill up with heavy sand, chafing their cracks.  But of course it has not stopped any of us from taking multiple daily swim trips to the ocean or the pool. They love it. Even Jim-dog loves the beach and he hates water.

As for me, I love that they love it. Never having been a beach-person, I am learning what not to do. For example: don't bring a water bottle that your daughter will inevitably bury in the sand. Don't bring a bag for towels and snacks; they are useless and actually encourage more sand.  Don't try to hide cash in your bikini top, especially coins (where DO I put it?!) But the good news is the vendors will still take it, even if it is mashed against your personal parts. We've already teamed up with a couple of gregarious beach vendors to use their chairs and umbrellas in exchange for purchasing drinks.  Turns out coconut water served really cold isn't half bad. That is, until your daughter drops it in the sand and you end up drinking the beach. 

Let's talk about the weather really quick: yes many of you saw on FB the gorgeous sunny day picture of Recife when we arrived on the first day. Traditionally, that's how it is here. A piece of humid (80-90%) paradise 6 degrees south of the equator with a coastal breeze that keeps the temperatures steady between 72-75F at night and 84-89F during the day. Starting "last night," (sunset is around 5:30pm) the wind and rain started. It hasn't really stopped, and resulted in our family looking like drowned rats when we took the dog out during a break in the storm.  According to weather.com, the wind speed only clocks at 15 mph as I write this, but from our apartment the roar of the waves and wind blasting through the windows make it sound far more violent. I could've sworn I saw the Wicked Witch flash past our balcony. 

Despite the rain, Deets still begs to go swimming. When he's not also begging to watch movies, we are playing on the playground and walking the dog. I don't know how Deets even has energy these days because he's not eating much with exception to yogurt. Since Margo does whatever Deets does, my children have pretty much boycotted all food when normally, the kids voraciously eat anything we put on their plates.  It makes for interesting diaper changes and bathroom breaks. I am sure it's just a phase, and I am not trying to sweat it too much. But we all know that's easier said than done. 

Yesterday we walked to the store to pick up some groceries, and Deets demanded we buy him a kiwi. That's right: urgently demanded- as if it was a matter of life and death. Because it was his favorite.  I bought it even though I knew for a fact he'd refuse to eat it later. So we made a deal: he would eat three pieces with dinner and if he did, he could watch Cars in Portuguese. Poor kid gagged and it took him 30 minutes eat the kiwi, but he did it. And now he knows not to ever demand for things when we are at the store. I wonder how many times Margo will need that lesson when it's her turn? On another positive note, Deets did try a piece of papaya without any solicitation before spitting it out... can't say I disagree with him, I think this fruit might be better in a blended and very boozy cocktail. 

At any rate, between these ventures we have been spoiled rotten by Mark's work sponsor/neighbor and her family. Not only did they have our apartment set up with dishes, sheets, groceries and flowers, they helped setup Internet! (My friend Dina in Kiev wrote a post about how happy she was to have immediate Internet access over having a place to sit upon their arrival and I couldn't agree with her more. Yes, I am a slave to staying connected with friends and family. It's the motor that keeps me going with this chosen lifestyle.) Besides all this they've fed and watered us, they put together a newbie Happy Hour over the weekend which was chock full of similar aged children running around. It was a joy. They've taken us shopping and sightseeing some personal favorite spots already. They even call just to check up on us! Mark and I are so grateful for their company and they are making the adjustment quite pleasant. 

Tomorrow I will wrangle the kids and check out their potential school. I also plan to buy the following: vegetable peeler, cheese grater and trash bags. Watch out world.