Brazil for Group

 

As I walk past an Italian Supermarket I wonder where I am. Yesterday in Carrefour I heard Robbie Williams singing angels. At the moment I can hear "New York City".

I spent the morning in an internet cafe. Surrounded by skyscraper flats and hotels it could be anywhere in the world. The noise of the traffic is deafening and fatiguing. A barefooted youth passes me carrying a surf board. I follow him. Is he going to the beach? No he's not so I change direction hoping to reach the beach and a more peaceful space. I glimpse the sea and quicken my steps. I wait 5 mins to cross the road. When I reach the beach the noise of the traffic beats the sound of the crashing waves. I wish I was a surfer at least I could escape the thundering traffic.

Despite not being able to speak the language except for the compulsory hello, please, thank you and how much (very important) I manage to order chicken and chips. It took half an hour to cook but it was delicious. I normally try to eat vegetarian but being worn out from the incessant noise I fancied comfort food. Also this country does not understand vegetarianism and prides itself in having restaurants which serve practically only meat.

Whilst eating my meal I watch a barefooted old man pass amidst the heavy traffic. He is pushing a handcart laden with rubbish. In the opposite direction a horse and cart driven by two young men whom I suspect would be in school in many other parts of the world pass by. The cart is also full of rubbish. A third man stands by my table and looks at me with pleading eyes. He leans forward with open palms requesting food off my plate.

Later I succeed in buying an international telephone card from a lottery kiosk. It took some time but with the aid of two or three assistants who were desperate to help me I succeded and I paid knowing that it probably wouldn't work. It didn't. A young man had pointed to a phone which I tried but after several attempts I gave up.

I am now sitting in a supermarket drinking hot Amarillo, delicious. I look outside. It is raining again. It has rained for two weeks-since I arrived. I was told to bring warm weather clothes, beach clothes. I have spent one afternoon on the beach. The waves are too big to risk swimming and the under current grazes and bruises ones body as it is draged over the coarse sand.

I have bought lots of traditional rubbish but never expected that I would have to buy an umbrella.

When I return to the apartment we will watch the daily diet of soaps on TV interspersed with adverts which are given more time than the actual programmes.

Yesterday when I was looking at underwear and nighties a young man asked if he could help me. He spoke English but I really didn't want a young man helping me to choose knickers.

The women here are beautiful and obviously frequent the many beauty salons which are as prolific as pubs in England. I noticed the fashions subtly accommodate the women's stomachs. There doesn't seem to be the same desire to look like a stick insect that I have noticed in other countries. The young men spend their days and evenings either in the sea surfing or on the beach playing football no matter what the weather. Oh and the footballers are mostly barefooted.

Last Saturday I went to a wedding. It was the wedding of a couple who had been living together and had a child. So there was a wedding reception and a fourth birthday party for the daughter. It was held on the terrace bar of a football club. By hanging over the balcony I could see two local teams training - all bare-footed. I think I could see one pair of boots.

There was the biggest display of balloons I have ever seen and sweets. Smarties, marshmallows, chocolate ladybirds and wrapped toffees heaped and piled in patterns. There were heaps of BBQ-ed meat too with a serve yourself salad table and a metre square cake.

The young people set up a sound system - I say sound system because what I heard barely resembled music, not music as I know it. The sound became louder and louder.

A smartly dressed but stern looking woman was placed opposite me because she spoke English. She said, "How are you?" then turned to my friend and rattled away in their own language.

Jocara said, "Why don't you talk now that you have someone who speaks English?"

I thought why doesn't she speak to me. Eventually she looked down her nose at me and said, "What would you like to say?" So I politely asked her where she had learned English and had she been to England. She said that she had travelled all over Europe, her father had worked for the German government. She spent 3 months every year there. I asked her again how she had learned English.

She replied," It is very easy for me to learn. I read newspapers and children's comics, it is very easy for me."

I ask her if she has been to England.

"No the English are very cold."

Why do people find it so easy to insult me. I am never knowingly been rude to people I meet here.

"Have you been to France? " I asked.

"I would love to go to Paris, it's my dream to go to Paris."

"Why do you want to go to Paris?" I asked.

" The perfume. The perfume", she said

I burst out laughing. (Was that rude?)

"Are you interested in Art?"

"Not at all".

How can I communicate with this woman.

The music gets increasingly louder, the wind blows across the terrace. I have no warm clothes. I am freezing. I try to think of a plausible excuse to leave. Just as I am composing a sentence to speak to Jocara to say I am leaving, they send in the clowns. Really. A young couple, and I mean young. Like policemen are getting younger are clowns too? They appear from the toilets.

Continuation of the wedding reception and birthday party.

The woman begins her patter to gather the children. A game of musical chairs is organised. The usual sequence of event, losers weepers-winners all smiles. The younger children don't understand the concept of elimination and continue to run around. After the children's game the adults are persuaded to play. This I thought was a good strategy because there was little else to do other than eat and drink. I filmed the whole game which I managed to do from a position near the BBQ which was considerably warmer than my draughty corner.

I have eyed the table of sweets frequently since I was hungry on arrival. I noticed that a couple of older women, grannies like me I presumed, are surreptitiously sauntering past the table and taking handfuls of smarties. I decide to do the same. I was amazed from the start that the children hardly looked at them and I didn't see one child take a sweet. It was us grannies ----. Then the organisers started to bag them up. The sweets not the grannies. They took the balloons down too and distributed them amongst the children. The girls danced with the balloons shaped like flowers and the boys fenced and fought with the ones shaped like swords. We could be anywhere in the world. Do you have any ideas?