Eduardo picked us up in his sporty black Peugeot and took us for a brief walk around the park in front of the old Palace and government center. Two rows of palm trees lined a center walkway between the Palace at one end and a row of fountains at the other. Purple Ipe (e-pay) trees were scattered throughout.
Most of the historic buildings surrounding the square had scaffolding in front of them and were being converted into different museums and cultural centers. In front of one of the buildings, some sort of Portuguese-Spanish celebration, replete with marching band, Virgin Mary statue and brightly dressed dancing girls with castanets was going on.
Eduardo explained that the entire government has been relocated to a massive new building out by the airport. Touted as another architectural triumph by the 103 year-old Oscar Niemeyer [Oss-ca Ne-ah-my-ah], the city workers cried bullshit and said that the place was in the middle of nowhere and that it was an eyesore. We saw the complex when we arrived. The city workers are right.
Mercearia do Lili [Mer-say-ah-ree-ah doe Lee-lee] or Lili’s Grocery, is another no-frills street-side bar. The place used to be much smaller but expanded when the drug and alcohol rehab center next door went out of business. Lu’s friends insisted we meet there because Lili’s owner, the mercurial Dias [de-us] with his shock of white hair and bushy mustache (a dead ringer for John de Poo), will only serve the fried pigskins to Luciana. They are not on the menu and should anyone ask for them Dias will deny their existence. Legend has it that the old proprietor even turned Luciana’s mother down when she tried to order them!
Dias greeted us all and then dashed off to the kitchen. Moments later, a big, cold bottle of beer materialized along with a passion fruit caipirinha made especially for Lu. A little while later, out came a tiny pan of bite-sized chunks of fried ham and fat-laced pig skins. My arteries threatened to walk but my taste buds told them to man-up and shamed them into staying.
Reni [hen-ee] and Adriana arrived and we shared a cutting board of beef with grilled onions and mandioca, and then another of chicken, ham and parmigian. Simple, inexpensive bar food that to my mind was just as good as anything one could hope to find at more expensive restaurants.
Adriana and Eduardo are surgeons and Reni is a cancer specialist. When not working they are intrepid world travelers. Adriana was just back from Croatia. She told a funny story about walking down the street of Zadar, a small, beach-side village on the Adriatic. A beautiful Spanish woman walking in the opposite direction put her hand over the cell phone she was talking on and mouthed the words, “What is the name of this place?”
“Zadar,” said Adriana.
“No, no,” said the woman. “What’s the other name?”
“Croatia?”
The woman nodded her thanks and moved on.
Later in the day Mariana picked Lu and me up and drove us out to their parent’s house in Casa Branca (white house), a tiny village about thirty minutes outside of Belo. To get there we drove atop a mountain range that offered spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. Belo Horizonte is the capital of the Brazilian state Minas Gerais [mee-nus dger-ay]. While Belo is mostly a manufacturing center (Fiat, Mercedes), the surrounding area is known for its coffee (which I am drinking at this very moment), milk, cattle, hydroelectric and, of course, gem and ore mining. As we made our way the radio we were listening to suddenly went haywire. Lu explained that there was so much iron in the ground around us that it messed with radio and cell phone signals. It was a weird experience. The landscape, while already beautiful, suddenly seemed alive. It was all very Close Encounters.
The air at the country house was crisp and cold and we had just enough time to drop our bags, throw our jackets on and head out the door to the Festa Junina (June Festival) celebration. Essentially the inverse of a European midsummer festival, Festa Junina gives thanks for the summer rains that have just ended and the dryer winter months that are now to follow. Typically a rural celebration, people dress in overalls and straw hats, they square dance, have a bon fire and eat traditional country foods that everyone prepares. Associated as well with the Catholic saint, St. John, the festival also celebrates matrimony with a mock hillbilly-style wedding. This was appropriate, as the festival happened to fall on Lu and my second wedding anniversary.
After an hour or so of eating too much and watching some ten-year old boys play hide-and-seek in the dark, Lu, Xande and I walked home along the dark and tranquil country road. The stars and Milky Way were bright overhead except where the silhouette of the mountains blotted them out. As we walked, Xande and I taught each other words in our respective English and Portuguese and made fun of one another’s terrible pronunciation. At one point Lu commented about how dark it was but Xande, who is five, told her not to worry because he had special superman vision and knew exactly where we were. Then, as if to prove his point, he spied a bizarre, hawk-like bird perched on a fence post a few feet in front of us. The bird was about the size of a softball but had a long tail that hung in a loop beneath it. As we neared, it gave a high-pitched cry, flew up in a circle in front of us and then landed on the post again. I think it was trying to divert us from its mate or nest. I tried to take a picture but it was too dark. The bird made another couple of loops and then took off.
When we first arrived the day before, I was standing outside next to the pool when a pride of four fully-grown feral cats sauntered out of a tree and then vanished into a bush. I turned to Mariana. “So, how many cats does your mother have here?”
“Six,” she said, clearly guessing.
Ligia had just then stepped outside. “No, no,” she said. “I have eleven.”
Right on cue my eyes started to puff and the damns inside my nose opened to full. I had known that Ligia had allowed the cat that gave birth in the crawl space above the pool house to remain, but I didn’t know that she had also allowed all the her offspring and a few friends from college to remain as well. It was a rough night.
Later in the day Mariana picked Lu and me up and drove us out to their parent’s house in Casa Branca (white house), a tiny village about thirty minutes outside of Belo. To get there we drove atop a mountain range that offered spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. Belo Horizonte is the capital of the Brazilian state Minas Gerais [mee-nus dger-ay]. While Belo is mostly a manufacturing center (Fiat, Mercedes), the surrounding area is known for its coffee (which I am drinking at this very moment), milk, cattle, hydroelectric and, of course, gem and ore mining. As we made our way the radio we were listening to suddenly went haywire. Lu explained that there was so much iron in the ground around us that it messed with radio and cell phone signals. It was a weird experience. The landscape, while already beautiful, suddenly seemed alive. It was all very Close Encounters.
The air at the country house was crisp and cold and we had just enough time to drop our bags, throw our jackets on and head out the door to the Festa Junina (June Festival) celebration. Essentially the inverse of a European midsummer festival, Festa Junina gives thanks for the summer rains that have just ended and the dryer winter months that are now to follow. Typically a rural celebration, people dress in overalls and straw hats, they square dance, have a bon fire and eat traditional country foods that everyone prepares. Associated as well with the Catholic saint, St. John, the festival also celebrates matrimony with a mock hillbilly-style wedding. This was appropriate, as the festival happened to fall on Lu and my second wedding anniversary.
After an hour or so of eating too much and watching some ten-year old boys play hide-and-seek in the dark, Lu, Xande and I walked home along the dark and tranquil country road. The stars and Milky Way were bright overhead except where the silhouette of the mountains blotted them out. As we walked, Xande and I taught each other words in our respective English and Portuguese and made fun of one another’s terrible pronunciation. At one point Lu commented about how dark it was but Xande, who is five, told her not to worry because he had special superman vision and knew exactly where we were. Then, as if to prove his point, he spied a bizarre, hawk-like bird perched on a fence post a few feet in front of us. The bird was about the size of a softball but had a long tail that hung in a loop beneath it. As we neared, it gave a high-pitched cry, flew up in a circle in front of us and then landed on the post again. I think it was trying to divert us from its mate or nest. I tried to take a picture but it was too dark. The bird made another couple of loops and then took off.
The next morning Lu and I went for a walk. She brought a banana along and, just like she does with the squirrels back home, she fed the Marmoset monkeys. About the size of a small cat, they have long, stripped tails, expressive faces and a blondish star shape above the eyes. Not exactly the whiz kids of the primates they are nonetheless highly social and fun to watch. The way they ran and soared among the trees was really cool. (Way cooler than squirrels!) One came with her babies. They looked like Twinkees with tails.
At first the monkeys would only take the banana if Lu left it on a branch and then moved away. But then Lu’s charm (and their greed) got the better of them and they would scramble down, sometimes two at a time and eat out of her hand. The conversation among the monkeys too afraid to come down from the trees was hilarious. There seemed to be a whole world going on up there complete with jokes, dares, put downs, admonishments and advice.
At first the monkeys would only take the banana if Lu left it on a branch and then moved away. But then Lu’s charm (and their greed) got the better of them and they would scramble down, sometimes two at a time and eat out of her hand. The conversation among the monkeys too afraid to come down from the trees was hilarious. There seemed to be a whole world going on up there complete with jokes, dares, put downs, admonishments and advice.
When we first arrived the day before, I was standing outside next to the pool when a pride of four fully-grown feral cats sauntered out of a tree and then vanished into a bush. I turned to Mariana. “So, how many cats does your mother have here?”
“Six,” she said, clearly guessing.
Ligia had just then stepped outside. “No, no,” she said. “I have eleven.”
Right on cue my eyes started to puff and the damns inside my nose opened to full. I had known that Ligia had allowed the cat that gave birth in the crawl space above the pool house to remain, but I didn’t know that she had also allowed all the her offspring and a few friends from college to remain as well. It was a rough night.
I love the monkeys!!!
ReplyDeleteI love the monkeys too! xo When do you guys head to Argentina?
ReplyDelete