(DISCLAIMER: This entry is kind of blah and the accompanying video oddly somber (it's the music). I shot without thinking much about what I was documenting or how I would use it. I don’t want to overstay my welcome with these blog posts and videos. I realize your time (and patience) for appreciating a vacation you're not taking is limited. Nevertheless, here they are.)
I tried to create a family tree depicting Desiree’s family and what I had learned about each of her siblings while watching the Brazil vs. Netherlands game but it proved too overwhelming and I gave up. On the drive over the traffic was intense. The traffic is always intense here but today it was especially so with everyone trying to get somewhere to watch the big game. Everywhere people were blowing those infernal vuvuzelas and lighting firecrackers and M-80s. Fortunately we didn’t have far to go and Lu’s father, Eduardo, is a very aggressive driver. Lu hates it but I thought he did a great job. In back, Xande kept us entertained by singing songs in Italian, English and Portuguese. He's five. Whatever.
Desiree’s parents' house was palatial. To enter you walked through a gate at street level, down a flight of stairs and, essentially, into the hillside. The downstairs rooms were small and dark, but the ones at the back were lined with windows that overlooked the city and surrounding mountains. To the right of the front door was a large white spiral staircase with a Playboy mansion-style brass railing. As we said hello to Nathan and Edgad [ed-gar] we moved past into a tiny room beyond whose furniture had been arranged for the game. Lu and I were offered beer but opted for Mate soda. A plate with sliced sausage and olives was set on the orange footstool in front of us. The old TV with its blurry picture was hooked up to an even older looking tape cassette speaker system. The whole apparatus sat atop an ornate dark wood cabinet. Next to me was a mod 70s canvas chair and next to it was what looked like a really uncomfortable church pew. I felt bad for whoever was going to end up watching the game from that thing and wondered if it was there to encourage prayer. Subtle.
Desiree arrived with her husband and two-year old son, Gabriel. Lu and her old pal grabbed each other and screamed. I reached for my camera but then changed my mind. The Netherlands was all over Brazil’s goal and this was no time to fool around with photos. Brazil cleared the ball and I went into the foyer and said hello. Desiree’s husband had to work and ducked back out the door. Gabriel pointed to a bruise on his forehead and said something I didn’t understand. "That’s a beaut all right," I said. "How’d you do that?" Gabriel looked at me with a look that seemed to say, "I just told you I hit it on something." I went back to the game.
Desiree’s brother Nathan was home on holiday from Australia where he works as a graphic artist or mailman. (We’re not sure which). A couple of his large canvases hung in the house, one in the foyer when you first come in and one on the opposite side of the wall in the living room.
Nathan, like everyone we have met, was very nice and open. He spoke perfect English and was curious about what I thought about Brazil. It was clear by the way he spoke that he both loved and hated his native country. Nathan was quick to criticize the government, the economy, public education, etc., but had a deep love for his countrymen and culture. "We have a saying," he said. "Brazil is very bad, but it is good. The U.S. is very good, but is bad." I sort of got it.
Nathan was traveling with his thirteen-year old daughter, Veronica. Still knocked out from jetlag she was a little out of it. She wore a pink jumpsuit and spoke not a word of Portuguese. "Just like me!" I said. "Want to be friends?" Veronica blushed and with a charming Australian accent said, "Ye-ah… Aw-right."
It was great to have someone I didn’t need to use my hands to talk with. On holiday for a month, Veronica would miss two weeks of school. "Everything comes with a price," she said. Indeed.
Two of Desiree’s sisters, Bethsaba [betch-ay] (or Beth) and Cintia [cint-e-a], were at the house. Beth had straight blond hair, striking blue eyes and seemed dressed for the gym in purple windbreaker, black tights and running sneakers. Throughout the day she tried now and again to say something to me in English but it never worked. When Brazil finally lost she said something to which I responded by saying, "Yes, it is very sad." For clarity I made sure to over-enunciate while tracing an imaginary tear running down my face. Beth froze for a moment, smiled as one might to a mental patient, then turned and walked away.
Cintia, the baby of the family, had brown eyes and short bronze hair that she kept checking and teasing in the mirror above the buffet. Catching her at it Desiree said something that made everyone laugh. Cintia laughed too and then said in English that it was a new color for her and that she didn’t like it. Cintia lives in Sao Paulo where she teaches English and Portuguese at a local college. When Lu went off to catch up with Desiree, Cintia very graciously stepped in as my translator. Full of family gossip she dished it out with impunity in between and underneath what other people were saying. Because she did it in English and no one knew for certain what she was saying they looked to my reactions to figure out what she was revealing. It’s a good thing I will be starting grad school in the fall, I thought, because I am a terrible actor. Every time Cintia said something my eyes would bug out and I would look straight at the person. “You mean him!?”
After the game the family’s elderly mother insisted on making us lunch. Desiree laughed and said to Lu, “We may not have much, but we always have food.” We were all ushered into the dining room and in no time two huge bowls of pasta materialized along with a salad of sliced ice burg lettuce, tomatoes, olives, corn and peas. My plate loaded for the second time I vowed that after today I didn’t care whose feelings I hurt, I was going to start saying no to all of the food people keep offering. We’re just two days into this trip and already I can feel the pounds around my middle reuniting like long lost friends.
Then came dessert. Dulce de Leche, one with coconut, one with prune. Death by insulin.
“Veronica,” I called to the end of the table. “You ever have this stuff?”
Giggles, blush. She shook her head.
“Do you know what caramel candy’s are? The mushy, soft kind that come in a wrapper?”
“Ye-ah.”
“Imagine a bowl full of them,” I said, pointing. “That’s Dulce de Leche.”
Her eyes lit up.
At home later, Lu and I watched the sunset and then watched the brush fire into the night. I thought the whole city would go up in flames when Brazil lost, but people seemed to just go about their day. Later there was a huge street party somewhere in the distance. We couldn’t see it but heard the groovy, live music and cheering crowd into the night. We are without a car so couldn’t seek it out. It was just as well as we were both exhausted. We ordered Chinese food (bizarre) and called it a night.
