Um pedaco de pao

I've been listening to Brazilian music for the past few days. Inside the confines of objects - my house, my car, my mind. I travel to memories of Brazil. The beaches in Rio - Ipanema, Leblon, Copacabana. When I think of Copacabana a mix of memories. Myself sitting on the sidewalk getting picked up by a Brazilian at least 20 years my senior, Ann and Willie's stories of sleeping on the beach during the day and out all night long, Lars watching the prostitutes come out at dusk from our apartment.

Always on the day I leave the country, a last dash onto the beach into the brazilian ocean. Atlantico. To write my name in the sand to always return.

There are the other memories. The beaches in Fortaleza. All the people I met. The redwood forest mixed with tree ferns. The 48 hour bus ride from Foz do Iguacu. The moon rise at Jericoacoara. The drama of brazilian boyfriends. Suco de acerola e graviola. Muitas cervejas antes de almocar. Marisa Monte.

Brazil is a hub that connects much of my soul to others. It's a place like no other. It resides not only in the southern hemisphere, but beyond - in memories, passions, dreams, despair. My return to Iowa after living in Brazil was a blow unlike anyother. Leaving the hot vibrant Brazilian summer to return in time for Christmas snow and 90 degree below weather. My Brazilian tan hidden under layers of long underwear, sweaters and coats.

I was at Foz de Iguacu with my brother. We swam in the water falls. It was my second visit to those waterfalls. At my first visit I wanted to throw my body off the rocks into the crashing powerful water. It was the most beautiful and powerful place I had ever been. I could not imagine continue living. Somehow, some part of my will, pull me away from the water crashing over the rock and got me on that bus to Belo Horizante, where I went to the heart of pao de queijo e cafezinho.

I look outside my window. I see the twin peaks tower. I can superimpose my memory of Pao de Asucar on it. And in front of me where the outer mission sprawls, I see the wavy lines of the copacabana sidewalk and the slight waves lapping. I see the barracas and know the waiters before are waiting with cafe con leite (sem leite for Clint).

I'll put on my bikini and some shorts and walk over to Ipanema. Rent a chair on the beach and start reading Pattern Recogonition - the most recent Barbarino borrowed book.

Yes, I think I'll do that today.

Comments

[davis]

Heather, it's Sutro Tower, and it's on Mount Sutro, but it's not too far from the Twin Peaks.

Since you're new to San Francisco, we'll excuse it this once. And since you're providing recipies via your blog. And since you're painting lovely pictures of Brazil. And since you're writing in Portugese (about beer and Marisa Tomei, I think).

All perfectly good excuses.

[heather]

Ah, Thanks Rob. I was looking at it again today and I've decided that I'm just going to think of it at Pao de Asucar. San Francisco is not that much different from Rio. ;)