from Sandy Needham

Thursday, December 7, 2006

Brazil Dispatch 6

December 8, 2006

This comes to you on the day before we move into our house! Fidel's movers had many delays, so the schedule we anticipated changed several times. We heard from him last evening that his container is filled up and on its way. We are very excited!


While waiting for this moment, we have enjoyed the beach here, have struggled with the bureaucracy, as usual, have signed the contract with Fidel, shopped for interim household goods, ordered beds, and almost got kicked out of our second hotel. (Thank goodness a cancellation came through soon after they saw the unamusement on my face in the lobby!)





Vendors on a crowded beach weekend include sellers of the national drink, Caipirinha (kie-peer-EEN-ya); espitinhos (es-pee-CHEEN-yos) - little delicious kabobs of chicken, chicken hearts, shrimp, meat, or cheese; crepes on a wagon with two round griddles on top; soup; fruit salad; roasted cashews; bikinis; sun glasses and sun block; hats; pareos; hammocks (we bought 3! - the guy walks around with about 30 of them over his shoulder, then walked uphill with us to our hotel to get the money; we were puffing more than he was!); ice cream; beer; homemade coconut desserts; oysters; macaxeira (mah-cah-SHEA-da) - fried yucca root, like delicately sweet French fries); fresh French fries fried on the cart; and several wagons with blasting speakers selling pirated CD's, among many, many other things. ALL of them stop to ask if you’re interested and wait there until you indicate you are not interested. Luckily, they do not persist. You can see that reading or even just having a conversation on this city beach on a crowded day is tricky. We love it anyway!






















































The adorable dog in this video is always a hit on the beach:



Our son Jake is arriving Monday night from San Diego (a 38 hour journey). Elise, our daughter, will meet us in São Paulo on December 20th for Christmas there with Newton's family, then she’ll return with us to visit our new, rather empty home. Thank goodness they won't be visiting us in a hotel. Tonight will be our 98th straight in a hotel!

Hope all of you are enjoying the holiday season. "Natal" (nah-TOW – ‘Christmas' in Portuguese) in Natal is very festive - bikinis and Santa hats, lots of city decorations and lights on the tropical trees. It is getting hotter, too! I'll be putting my small stock of Japanese ornaments on a potted plant at the house and humming 'The Nutcracker' while I walk to the beach!

Love,
Sandy

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Brazil Dispatch 5

November 29, 2006
It felt very good to get back to Natal, even if it was just back to our hotel. We sure don't miss all the packing and unpacking every few days. Even so, we got kicked out of our wonderful hotel Sunday because we had such a good long-term rate, and they had filled it with an arriving Norwegian group paying full price. The lovely, generous manager called up her friend down the block and negotiated almost as good a deal at another hotel, but we find that the internet here only allows for one of us to be connected at a time.

Fidel, the owner of the house we're buying, only just returned from his (successful) surgery in Argentina. He is having his furniture shipped out next Tuesday, December 5th, so we will move in then, even though the paper work won't be completed till mid-December. We have begun looking at mattresses!

After some frustrating shopping for household goods here, we realized that the expense to buy everything plus the expense to store all of our stuff in New York doesn't add up. We have decided to ship most of our things here. (Unfortunately, we sold all the beds.) We will stop over in New York late January or early February when Newt has a business trip to California and I visit my Mother in Tulsa. Whirlwind shopping for needed items will precede getting our things packed off. I am working on estimates for this now, and I imagine that container shipment will be a whole story! Our furniture will probably arrive by mid-March, so we will have both a house and chairs more than six months after arriving here!

We were finally successful in getting a bank account in Brazil on the fifth try. The magic solution: we bought health insurance, and that company was willing to use our hotel address on the registration, and the bank was willing to accept the health insurance registration as proof of our address. As an aside, we discovered that we didn't actually have health insurance after all, because our certificate of marriage says "Sandra Jean Needham," and my passport, Brazilian CPF (like a social security #), and resident alien registration all say "Sandra Needham." The bank opened our account based on a form that is now moot with an address that is now incorrect (our secret!). The insurance agent returned to our hotel and started the whole process over again, now using my full name. I can just imagine myself lying in a ditch awaiting medical attention and being denied it because my driver's license, passport and Brazilian documents don't say "Jean."

We also thought we had car insurance, but discovered upon our return from Europe that installments could not be paid on a foreign credit card. Now we're trying to pay in full on our credit card, but have no word yet if that has kicked in. We are trying to drive very carefully in the meantime!

After two weeks waiting to receive his CPF card being forwarded from our hotel in Fortaleza, Newton was told that it was still in the backpack of the guy who had been dispatched to take mail to the P.O. Now that another week has passed, he heard today that it will go out tomorrow! When Newt's new dentist sent him to another location for x-rays, it was only after a series of photographs, x-rays, two different space-age contraptions rotating about the head, and mention of the upcoming mold to be taken of his teeth that he asked the question, "For a root canal?" The place specializes in orthodontia and the receptionist hadn't read the dentist's instructions!

To transfer money from our New York bank to be converted into reais requires a form that is typed and signed by Newton authorizing money to be wired to a specific bank account. We sent a stack of signed forms to our bank in Pomona, NY via "Sedex," the FedEx of Brazil (part of the post office system here). Because Pomona, NY must already be listed in the Brazilian system online in order to fill out the mailing form and it was not (as no one as yet had ever sent a Sedex to Pomona from Brazil), and because hand writing or typing the Sedex form is out of the question, the woman waiting on us had to call Brasilia to have Pomona, NY added to the system while we waited. As soon as it showed up on her screen, she could complete the form! It took 39 minutes and $38 to mail this envelope. That was Friday, this is Wednesday, and tracking still shows it in São Paulo.

To counter the frustrations of both the bureaucracy and the relaxed pace here - perfect partners - and for our own 'third world relaxed pace training' we rely on a visit to the beach for whole grilled fish, beer, the aqua ocean and great people-watching. It always works! I am convinced after people-watching here and on all those trains, subways and sidewalks on our trip that you can find a counterpart to most everyone you know in any given country. I found the perfect Japanese version of my Aunt Ruth, for example, on the train in Tokyo, and the Brazilian version of our friend Joe Cerruto sold us our car!

One more week in a hotel...

Love,
Sandy

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Montpellier/Paris Dispatch

November 23, 2006

Just a footnote regarding the one night Newton and his partners and I stayed at the Radisson Hotel by Stansted Airport in London. In the 4-story atrium in the center of the hotel stood a large square glass column with an interior column lit with colored lights, looking like the giant insides of a computer. We did not know that this was a tall, 4-sided wine rack until we realized that the blond in a leotard on a bungee cord inside the glass was retrieving bottles as she moved acrobatically up and down, sometimes upside down, on her cord. Cirque du Soleil meets happy hour! Watch:


We caught the last of our budget flights to Montpellier on the Mediterranean coast of France. This airline, Ryan Air, actually charged us to check our bags! I must say, all these economical little flights we took were on time except for the one that had mechanical problems, in which case we were rolling away from the terminal in a different plane one hour later. Some lessons for the big carriers, or unusually good luck?

I passed a lovely Sunday morning street market in the center of a boulevard as I was whisked to our Montpellier hotel by the boyfriend of the partner-company's owner (this was just a one-day meeting on a Sunday). I found my way back to the market on foot, enjoying the feel of the sleepy neighborhood on a Sunday morning. The market provided me with a circle of fresh goat cheese for breakfast, which I ate while listening to a young woman with a sax and two young men with guitars playing snappy Django Rheinhardt gypsy-jazz. Several children shared my enthusiasm for the group, and gladly placed my euro-change in the hat. I was fascinated to watch a very aggressive salesman feeding bites of persimmon to a gathering entourage of women. The faded orange color suggested to me the bitter, furry taste before that red stage which renders persimmons my favorite fruit in Brazil, hence a pinched up face among the curious.

I joined the business group for a true Sunday afternoon French lunch at a lovely, typical restaurant by the shore. It lasted four hours, and one could learn the art, observing the natives there, of eating as an end, not a means. The cast of characters at lunch was really something, and only more exaggerated later at dinner when we were missing the seemingly well-adjusted young engineers that had joined us for lunch. There was the snobby Brit who wouldn’t speak to most of us; his French Vietnamese boyfriend who exhausted everyone except the adoring Brit with his pursed-lip impersonation of himself. The smart German bachelor engineer arrived in his red Corvette with his Russian girlfriend in tow (who does not speak French or English). We all tried not to stare at the clearly anorexic, E.T.-looking face (mostly only eyes left), the emaciated shoulders and arms on this woman, who was exhibitionistic about eating mostly lettuce both meals. I don't even want to ponder the ambiguities this suggests about the Corvette. The foie gras still managed to stand out!

We all walked and walked through the glorious old center of the city before and after dinner, then said our good-bys. Newton and I were catching the TGV (bullet train) to Paris the next morning.

After an afternoon of wandering around the left bank of Paris, we met our dear Manhattan friends, Dick and Nancy Taylor, and their big fluffy white Samoyed, Troisieme, at the apartment they are swapping in Saint Germain. This is another of many stints in the neighborhood, where they also lived for eight years. We had a fairy tale dinner at an exquisite art nouveau restaurant. Troisieme was casually welcomed there! Dick and Nancy are the actual travelers of the globe, and I mean the desert, African tribes, and freezing tents in Ladakh, from which Nancy had just returned. The evening was way too short, and we were flying 'home' to Brazil the next day, so we look forward to a continuation of all those trains of thought!

Our 11th and 12th flights of this trip took us to Lisbon, then Natal. Whew.

Love,
Sandy

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Athens Dispatch

November 21, 2006

When it's November and the weather is 73 degrees and sunny in Athens (and it was freezing there the prior weekend), you feel like you're really getting away with something: seeing Athens at its best with fewer tourists, perhaps? Our approaching airplane offered gorgeous views already, but no Acropolis on our side of the plane. Our hotel room was pretty high up in one of the few tall buildings in the city, but our view did not include the Acropolis. I caught a subway, changed trains, and emerged from the station, my heart stopping: there it was! I last saw the Acropolis at age 17, when one could wander around the Parthenon and catch views of the building that revealed its unfathomable grace - feeling light and rooted all at once. But the side I could see from the station was not the Parthenon side. I started up, loving the low, white sprawl of Athens below, embraced by the three hills and the sea.

I felt some disappointment upon arriving at the Parthenon because they are restoring it and have one side and one end covered with scaffolding. I am also convinced that the ancients knew more about beauty than we know today (as a young native physicist later agreed). I suspect that those miraculous columns, after the patching and re-stacking, may not breathe again as they did in the 5th century BC. Most of the fragile statues, bas reliefs and caryatids have been replaced by copies, while the remaining originals are on display in the museum next to the Parthenon. Inside, I walked among the early kore and kouros figures with their sweet smiles; among the robust, writhing later Hellenistic figures, but my heart stopped once more when I beheld the classical torsos from the Parthenon frieze. The mathematical perfection of nature is all there in the subtle torque of diaphanous drapery over breathing marble flesh, in proportions that define timelessness. It was almost too much beauty to contain.

I considered the day a perfect gem, and did not try to surpass it with sightseeing the next day. Instead, Newt got me all situated at the hotel lobby computer to do some dispatch writing. He said he would hook up with his pre-paid internet card that evening when he came back and e-mail the dispatch. I spent 1 hour and 45 minutes writing, and then tried to log off so that the file was not just sitting there available to the next person. Because I know so little about these things, I requested help for this. A young whippersnapper came over and said it was not possible to save anything on these computers, as the sign says, and immediately pushed the button to turn the computer off. He was not being mean; he just didn't understand my confusion. I could have hooked up quickly with Newton's special password and e-mailed the work with his help, but he thought I wanted to remove it and happened to be a bit hasty. I wanted to cry, because every word was lost. I went up to our room and spent the next hour trying to recall as much as possible in longhand. Then I went to a beautiful plaza for an outdoor lunch, even though the day was greyer and chillier than the previous one.

Athens has a beautiful subway system, complete with translation in Roman letters, as a part of the improvements made for the 2004 Olympics. I tried in vain to come up with the pronunciations by applying my limited acquaintance with the Greek alphabet, but later learned that there are several combinations that can make one sound. Verbally, I stuck to the "kalispero" - 'good evening' - that I had learned at 17.

We had the double pleasure of two nights out with the natives - a group of young, sharp, adorable Greek geeks who comprise a great partner company. The first night was a rowdier, more casual place with many plates of everything Greek and delicious wine. The second night we went to a restaurant on top of one of the other two hills in Athens, to which you must take a cable car. One would expect such a place to be hopelessly touristy, which means there is no obligation to have great food, but this place, with its glass-surrounded views of the Acropolis and the city, was entertaining some government ministers and other wealthy locals besides our techy group. The meal was elegant and sumptuous, the company ideal.

The next day Newton, his two partners and I were off for one night at a Stansted Airport hotel in London for another cheap flight connection to Montpellier, France the next day.

Love,
Sandy

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Krakow Dispatch

November 18, 2006

The windows on the van were steamed up on a rainy night as we drove from Krakow airport to the Polish town of Gliwice, where a partner company operates. I could not form much of an impression, except that our modern hotel was extremely nice, and dinner in a typical Polish pub featured "cheese of a rich shepherd!" The hotel breakfast was the most elaborate of the entire trip. When I emerged to shop the next day for desperate boots, the town was rather forlorn and grey. I found the shopping adequate; the people rather distant (can be a blessing when shopping!). Interestingly enough, I found Polish faces the most similar to each other of all the places we'd been, and continually had to confirm that I had not walked into the same shop twice! A sea of consonants that are not pronounced the way they look typify the language, and I found, again, that my mouth wouldn't wrap itself around even 'thank you' in Polish. Most clerks and I could function with a word or two of English.

We had the usual highlight: dinner out with the natives from the company in a beautiful old hotel. The owner of the company is a dignified and elegant Pole - who actually kisses my hand! He is very proud of his country and very astute regarding European history. His wife, Eva, was commandeered to take me to Krakow the next day - I imagine against her will and at an inconvenient time - but she was wonderful about it.

Eva picked me up midday and we drove the hour to Krakow with relatively little conversation. Her English is limited, but she is very smart and interesting. She explained that we were meeting up with their daughter, who studies law in Krakow, and then going to a salt mine. We had lunch in a very typical Polish restaurant, and I believe I shall never forget the sauerkraut soup with a small pork rib in it - so divine! She forced me to stand in front of the little mill wheel, then the mantle, then the little typical chairs for photos, which made me yearn to see Krakow by myself, but it all turned out to be well worth the crazy photo aspect. When it looked like we were going to run out of time to make it to the salt mine, I wanted to say it was all right with me to skip the salt mine. After stopping for a couple of photos of her daughter and me, we were all sprinting down the street on our full stomachs to catch the last bus to the salt mine.

Well, the salt mine is just unbelievable! It is outside Krakow in Wieliczka. Mining began there in the middle ages and lasted until 1996, but a 'tourist route' was laid out at the end of the 18th century. This route is only a fraction of the miles of tunnels going down into the earth. We walked down 800 stairs to go 400 meters deep, and then shot back up like rockets in an elevator at the end. The air is kept at an even, comfortably cool temperature at all times, and the well-lit, spacious passageways and gigantic chambers preclude claustrophobia. The crux of the matter is that miners have hand-dug (and later dynamited) these chambers and sculpted the salt into chapels (for praying that you wouldn't die each day from methane explosions or mine collapse) and even a huge cathedral with salt architecture, statuary, bas relief, and chandeliers (out of crystal salt). The baby Jesus is sculpted out of a special pink salt! Most of the sculptured salt is a grey color, and has taken on a finish over the years very much like marble. The work is magnificent, especially in the cathedral, which was carved by three miners over 80 years. The other crux of the matter is that as you move down through the mine, the history of Poland travels with you. Copernicus was here; Goethe was here (besides a poet, he was the director of the mining commission in Germany). There is even a chamber with a stocky, muscular Soviet sculpture. Some chambers have salt lakes with the salt concentration of the Dead Sea. These render the air very pure and healing, hence the existence of the allergy/asthma clinic there for two-week underground cures. There are huge spaces for concerts and weddings, as well. I must say, who knew? I just loved the tour, and there are about 100 photos of me standing in front of nearly everything!

We spent the rest of the evening seeing the beautiful old city of Krakow. The university where Eva also studied law is 640 years old; the huge town square is alive with students (Krakow is like Boston, student-wise), the imposing Mariacki Cathedral with its two distinctive towers, and the old guild hall; finally, the most endlessly gigantic round castle imaginable overlooks all from a fortress hill.

Up at 4:00 the next morning to fly to Athens!

Love,
Sandy

Thursday, November 16, 2006

London Dispatch

November 16, 2006

Our flight from Tokyo to London was "allowed by the Russians" to fly the shorter route over the Artic Circle. The ground was visible nearly the entire way over China, Siberia, and the Artic Circle - in early evening moonlight! There were mountains, lakes, rivers, all in white, and even a small, lit up settlement. The vision of ths frozen world was one of the most magical of our entire trip!






We had our most expensive, smallest and dirtiest hotel room in London. The disenchantment stopped there, as we found the city absolutely vital and thriving. I believe the tremendous influx of diversity has stirred up the British city marvelously since I was last here at age 17.


By accident, while trying to locate the place we found on the internet that sells the toothpaste we like, we discovered a great neighborhood nearby full of fantastic shops and restaurants of every imaginable cuisine (Marylebone High Street, near Marble Arch and Bond Street). We had lunch there with my grandniece, Mary Tarpley, who is continuing her serious ballet studies from Interlochen Performing Arts High School at Marie Rampert's school here.


After much wandering around and scarf shopping in the chilly wind, we grabbed our chance to see Martin Scorcese's "The Departed." We forgot about the new law which closes down the restaurants and bars at 11:30pm, about the time we emerged from the film hungry and thirsty. We found out that if we walked from Marble Arch through Piccadilly to Soho, there was a restaurant that stayed open till 3:00am. Once again representing the older generation, we had a very hip late-night dinner and walked all the way back (about 2 miles) at 3:00am.


We were pretty whipped Sunday morning - a combination of jet-lag and general fatigue. We dragged ourselves to Victoria Station and caught the #11 bus, which takes you past Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's. Once we were front and center on the top deck of the bus, we were too lazy to move, so rode back and forth, missing our stop to return for our bags. Eventually we made it to our friends' house in Chiswick. Roch and Christine Pellerin and their four beautiful children are longtime friends from Manhattan days. We attended their heavenly French wedding in 1990, and loved this reunion with them.



The next phase of our trip began the next morning when we met two of Newton's business partner-owners at the airport for one of several cheap flights on these new airlines that take you all over Europe for practically nothing. The four of us flew to Krakow for around $25 each.


Poland coming up!

Love,
Sandy

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Seoul Dispatch

November 15, 2006

Arriving at night and driving past bridge after bridge lit up along the Han River in the middle of gigantic, lit up Seoul was encouraging. Full disclosure: I am very biased towards Japan. Our Seoul hotel was very nice. I can truly attest to the quality of the toilet paper being superior to that of Japan!

I was determined to get on that river in the pleasant, though hazy weather the next day, so took off to catch the ferry. I noticed on the way that there was literally block after block of high rises, all in the same mid-stage of construction. I later learned that this is typical all over Seoul, it is growing so fast. The ferry ride was fine, if uneventful, save for the rather slick, oily character who tried to flirt with me by taking my picture with his cell phone. I did not have a pleasant expression. My lack of enthusiasm paid off, and he slunk away and didn't come back.

I walked past a neighborhood of side streets, all bursting with an outdoor food market. It was the most vivid I have ever seen, with an amazing variety of seafood (from live to dried), huge baskets of hot red peppers (so that the kimchi cabbage can set you on fire), endless vats of various kimchi, a stunning assortment of grains and beans, bins of neatly bundled greens and scallions, meat shops - mostly pork, and the wondrous cast of characters to go with it all.

I visited Seoul's traditional village, which was just begging comparison since I had just visited the equivalent in Japan. As lovely as it was, it was a rougher version, particularly with details such as the use of linoleum to mimic the patterns of wood in a typical traditional floor (they don't use tatami mats). The sheer care and fine materials that define the Japanese tradition is a hard act to follow for most any culture. It was a warm, sunny day at the village and the school children were there in droves, so I was happy. The children around age 12 liked to approach me and try out their English. I was flummoxed when trying to repeat their names. The Korean language is much more like Chinese than the easy syllabics of Japanese, so I failed to master even "thank you" here.

I'm sure you are asking, "What about decaf?" When I ordered decaf espresso at the Starbucks, they said they were not allowed to import decaffeinated coffee to Korea.

The highlight, as usual, was our dinner out with the distributors, John and Jimmy. We had a typical Korean meal, the burning hot spicy aspect perfect for me and the thin slices of beef and pork barbecued in the middle of the table and folded up in lettuce leaves, perfect for Newton. Beer is necessary with this food.

The best Korean pub name: O'Kim's Brauhaus.

In general, the culture is just rougher around the edges than that of Japan. It appears that the Koreans are also looser about all that conformity, thankfully.

We flew back to Tokyo for our flight to London and stayed near the airport in the town of Narita. Even though we were inundated with Asian food, we had not exhausted our love of gyozas - sautéed dumplings with pork and veggies inside - so we were happy to end our stay with more of those. (You can see that waiting to get hungry again is the only deterrent Newton and I experience in a travel agenda!)

Europe next -

Love,
Sandy

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Osaka Dispatch

November 11, 2006

We caught the shinkansen "bullet train" to Osaka. Unfortunately, it was too cloudy to see Mount Fuji, so I never had a glimpse of it's magnificence this trip. Newton's company (5 partners and several partner companies with compatible products) has distributors in both Yokohama and Osaka. I cannot really describe what Newton's company does. Software for chips for boards for electronic design is as far as I get.

Newt and I had a Saturday in sublime Kyoto. The weather was beautiful, so we shared the trek to the Golden Pavilion and Ryoan-ji Temple with hundreds of mostly Japanese tourists. The green sculpted trees and perfect composition of lily pads on the ponds were the ideal respite from the big city. There was plenty of bustle and noise at Rioan-ji - the famous Zen rock garden with raked gravel - but I recalled with deep joy a quiet day 19 years ago when I sat on the viewing steps with my father, observing the serenity and the ancient profundity of the place. Another contrast this trip, the new modern Kyoto train station, which provided a startlingly futuristic, "Matrix"-like ride up the escalator, seemingly to the top of the universe!

Osaka has its own vision of the old and the new. But I must say, the highlight for me was the evening out with the distributors. We had gone out with them in New York several times, so this reunion was just plain fun. We had a yakitori dinner(chicken kabobs - small skewers of various parts of the chicken, including cartilage and gizzards - we stuck to breast) in a typical 'working man's' train station restaurant. There is no 'no smoking' section and the beer flows mightily. I was accustomed to being one of about three females in such a place, and I don't know whether to be proud or appalled that I could keep up just fine with the tall draft beer. You don't count beer or other items with the usual ichi, ni, san...in Japanese. One draught beer is "nama biro hitotsu," two is "nama biro futatsu," etc. Beer in bottles has a different system, one being "biro nippon," etc. I find it interesting that Nippon is the word for 'Japan' in Japanese. I'm sure there is an explanation. After dinner Takeshi, the shy, retiring distributor, and Kevin (his Japanese name is too hard), the more direct one, took us to a place with private karaoke rooms. This was very high tech, with remote controls, phone drink ordering, a large screen with music videos and lyrics highlighted-as-you-sing, plus four phone books' worth of music selections. We planned to hire the room for one hour, but stayed three! It was the greatest relief after a week of unrelenting Japanese reserve and politeness to hear Kevin belt out selections from Queen, his favorite group. He has a formidable voice and is a fearless belter! Takeshi, whose English is not so strong, sang only Japanese pop and traditional songs, but in such a sweet and lovely voice. Newt and I stuck mostly to the Beatles, Steely Dan, BeeGees and Jobim. It was intimate fun.

I would be remiss if I did not document the control panel on the toilet in a fancy Japanese public bathroom
(inscribed in both Japanese and translation):

stop spray bidet flush sound(with musical notes)

water pressure volume powerful deodorizer
-........+ -........+ on/off

warm water warm seat energy saver

You can see they are way ahead in toilet tech.

On to Korea.

Love,
Sandy

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Yokohama Dispatch

November 08, 2006

It is wonderful to be back in Japan after 19 years (we lived here for 14 months when Elise was 3 and Jake, 1). It is fascinating to note changes alongside the enduring order, courtesy, and unequalled traditional beauty. The ever-amazing train system enables us (or me, during Newton's busy days) to get anywhere easily. Even in the outlying stations where the train charts are not translated, there is always someone willing to help you figure out the direction or the amount for the ticket machines.

Changes:
-More people speak English! Before, we found that even though everyone studied English in school, they learned to read and write, not to speak it. Now, many will hesitate when asked and say they don't speak English, or speak it very little, then proceed to help you with perfectly passable English!
-More people say "no" to a question when "no" is the answer. In the past, it was considered impolite to say no, so we encountered many problems regarding the vagueness of situations. This time, you ask if they have decaf espresso, for example, and they bow with their forearms in an "X" and say no. It makes life much simpler!
-When I first saw the young people upon arriving here this time, I thought, 'what a scruffy lot, but at least there is evidence of more self expression in such a conforming society.' Alas, 10 days into our stay I must report that nearly ALL the young people have the SAME scruffy look! About 90% of the young, male and female, (and many of the older women) in the cities have dyed their hair varying depths of reddish-brown... in the ONE cut that the young and not-so-young women share. This is the shaped, sculpted cut that thins out at the ends and leaves long straight strands sticking out. The young women's fashion at the moment consists of layers of unlikely combinations, topped off by the absolutely de rigueur jean jacket - also worn by many middle-aged women.
-The quality fabrics have been replaced by much cheaper goods, with the exception of some older women who still insist on exquisite quality and line. Besides the always breathtaking view of a female in a kimono, I consider the workmen the best-dressed in Japan at the moment, with their lovely knotted kerchiefs and their wonderful sculptural pants, all ballooned out at the ankle and stuffed into beautiful rubber work boots - a shape worthy of a wood-block print!
-The school children still have their respective hats color-coded by class and their uniforms, but some of the backpacks don't match now. This was unheard of in '88!
-It is more common to see fathers with their children on the weekends.
-There are more escalators at the train stations (3-year-old Elise and I with 25-pound Jake had to traipse up and down stairs at all 3 stations it took to get to preschool).

Newton was meeting with his company's distributors in Yokohama, so we stayed there and I caught the train to Tokyo for my chance to wander. I loved visiting the 'kitchen town' district in Tokyo, where an entire avenue offers all things for the kitchen and restaurant supply, including shops with the plastic food models displayed in front of Japanese restaurants! I bought 4 red bowls and a turquoise colander for my new kitchen (yeah - I know - hard to pack, but worth it!). The district is an older neighborhood with many traditional buildings, always a sight I love.

I had a rather miserable day in blustery, rainy weather, finding our apartment building from the '80's in the Kamikitazawa neighborhood of Tokyo. I was determined to look up our landlord to see if he had the new address of my neighbor, Chisayo, who helped us so much when we lived here. She sent me some beautiful bags she had made from a new address around 10 years ago, but when I tried to send presents back, I realized I had lost the new address. I sent them to the old one, hoping they'd be forwarded, but they came back. I have been hoping to find her ever since, so made this effort. I didn't remember her husband's first name, and her last name -Kitamura - is very common, so I hoped the landlord would know. I was underdressed for the cold, wet winds and completely lost when I got off the train! With some help and the sudden appearance of the little park where I used to play with the kids, I found the place. The landlord's little fishery is now a parking lot, and the landlord is no longer there. Chisayo, I haven't forgotten you.

The rest of the days were warm and sunny, in the '70's. I saw an exquisite life-size replica of an Edo period street at the Museum of Housing and Living, and the lovely ukyo-i wood block print museum in the fashionable Harajuku neighborhood, where Elise’s old preschool was located. Mostly I just walked and walked.

THINGS WE LOVE IN JAPAN:
-The 'set-your-watch' timing of the trains
-The street panorama from the pedestrian overpasses
-Japanese maples, bonsai trees, and all manner of plants that look like they just stepped out of a painted screen
-The way a Japanese person will accompany you to the destination to which you are asking directions
-The unrelenting beauty of tatami mats and shoji screens
-Japanese food

THINGS WE LOVE TO BE ANNOYED BY IN JAPAN:
-The shrill, infantile female voices welcoming EVERY person that walks in or passes by a store or restaurant
-The 'set' plates for meals, so if you want two eggs instead of one, or if you want that chocolate mousse that you've been eyeing in the case the whole meal, you CAN'T have them because they are not part of your set
-The insipid "jingles" that play on each train line to indicate that the doors will be closing soon
-Over-bowing. This tends to be older Japanese or hotel and restaurant help (or the dreaded part at the end of Newton's business meetings)
-Japanese food after 9 days

Yep...there will be MORE soon!

Love,
Sandy

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Brazil Dispatch 4

October 11, 2006

So our purchase of the house is guess what?? - complicated. The original owner, Ricardo, has tax evasion problems among various other creditors, so the house has passed to the current owner, Fidel, without anyone changing the deed. This is because, even though Ricardo paid the entire mortgage, he never officially "retired" the loan with the bank so as not to attract the attention of his creditors to his ownership of the house. No one can officially take over the deed from Ricardo until certain documents clearing the way are acquired and the retirement of the loan has happened. Fidel did not actually realize the extent of risk, owning this house, and did not mind getting around a few problems by leaving it in Ricardo's name. By the way, it costs 6% OF THE SELLING PRICE to transfer a deed; one reason it is commonly not done.

A very nice lawyer here, Ribamar, who is a friend of a friend of Newton's Dad and a native of Natal, knew first thing that Ricardo has tax problems. When he was unable to get the documents we need to buy, he just encouraged us to find another house. Well, no way I'm doing that, when this is THE house for us! The deal here in Brazil is that in the middle of all the strict limitations are very loose ways of getting around them. Fidel is managing to "get" all the needed documents to pass the title into his name by way of the realtor he originally bought the house through, then we will take it over from him. Whew! I think it's going to work out. Newton had to ask me to stop pacing twice in the last two days, but now I am sitting still to write! Since we leave in a week for Newt's big business trip, we'll see what's left to do after we return on November 14th. Someday we'll have a home!!
Ribamar, the lawyer, told us about the different feel Natal has compared to other Brazilian cities. During WWII, Natal was a "trampoline" for Allied forces getting to Europe via Africa. Among various nationalities of soldiers, the base was actually American, so this city became like a little American colony. As I wrote last year, the popular music of the northeast, called forró (pronounced "for hall") actually got named via this American base, where there was one party at the officers' club, and another big party "for all," typified by this particular northeastern dance rhythm and quick-step dance. Today, pedestrians here still have crosswalks that must be honored by motorists - the only place in Brazil of which Newton is aware. Ironically, flights from the US to Natal do not exist, so I seem to be the only American here now!

I need to defend our little red car, after calling it 'unexciting' in the last dispatch. It's true, the red is very bright and shiny. The only other colors offered on any lot are black, white, grey, and neutral metallics. Cars are one of several things here that simply cost a lot more than in the US. (Technology, fuel, also.) I guess I thought for the price, the "power windows' referred to both the front seat AND the back seat windows. Anyway - back to the defending - I am completely thrilled to be driving a car, at last, that does not run on gasoline. Even though this one can handle either gas or alcohol, we always fill it up with alcohol. It was costing US$50 to fill up our tiny gasoline rental car. The alcohol costs less, but burns faster, so is not a big savings. BUT IT BURNS CLEAN!!!!!!! With petroleum self-sufficiency in Brazil and alcohol from the cheap resource of sugar cane, we're mystified by both prices.

We spent last weekend a little further south along the coast at a "famous" beach called Pipa. As in Natal, there are loads of Europeans, with higher prices and fantastic restaurants and shops. We were determined to find a cheap pousada to stay in, so settled for one whose room door didn't actually lock and whose A/C didn't actually cool. (This was the third room we tried there, where the toilet had a seat and the frig and TV worked simultaneously.) We found a great beach where a little barraca is perched on the last remaining feet of a sand 'shelf,' soon to disappear completely with the global rising of the oceans. Note the attached photos of the same coconut tree taken one day apart:




This barraca was too simple to have any music, so we actually got to listen to the ocean the whole time!
On our first day there, Newton was the hot-shot body surfer among the Europeans getting pummeled in the head by the strong waves. (I stay out altogether once it gets rougher in the afternoon, as a wall of water suggests death to me.) On our second day there, Newt decided to
have a more humbling surf board lesson, since he has never really tried that. He is excited to keep learning, once he is no longer sore in the hands, knees, ribs - and elbow, where another beginning surfer collided with him.




Now we are running around a bit, getting to know Natal a little better, hoping to find a dentist for Newton and a hairdresser for me before our trip (it's really getting old putting that dark brown eye shadow on my graying temples!). The hotel will let us keep our stuff and our car here. Of course I HOPE we'll be here for just one night when we return, although the closing on the house may require more days.

Hope all of you are enjoying fall, my favorite season (I'm not complaining about the green here, be clear!).

Perhaps you'll get some reports from other parts of the world soon.

Love,
Sandy

Tuesday, October 3, 2006

Brazil Dispatch 3

October 3, 2006

OK - so this one will be long, sorry!

I told you we were finally opening a bank account, but we have not been able to make that work, after all, without the required permanent address. Newton's Dad opened one for us in Sao Paulo, but if we write a check to move our money from the US, we must first have the account for 6 months! This is one of the many funny little obstructions of which Brazil is so fond. I will spare you the complications of wiring money, the exchange rate, etc.

We met the owners of our favorite house in Morro Branco. They actually agreed last Tuesday to let us rent the house for a brief period so we could install a radio system with a very tall antenna to determine if this mode of internet access would be sufficient for Newton's work - before committing to buying the house. There is no cable available in the beach town, and the satellite companies only offer large commercial contracts for internet access.

In the meantime, we had found the only Volkswagen Gol with the 1.6 engine for sale in the city of Fortaleza, saving ourselves an additional 20 days of car rental waiting for car delivery. The little red, rather unexciting car was ready for pick-up the next morning. Tuesday evening, Newton had a conversation at our hotel with a guy who works up and down the entire Northeast coast. He was very partial to the smaller city called Natal, down the coast in the state of Rio Grande do Norte. He noted, without any provocation from Newt, that this beautiful place had much less garbage and much more civilized traffic then the other northeast cities.

We had been running around Fortaleza looking at cars and buying the one printer in a Soviet style computer store. The traffic and the streets are so crazy that every errand takes up most of a day. We had found an elaborate, chic restaurant (that actually served decaf espresso!), rising like a white mirage out of the weedy, sandy wasteland going inland from Praia do Futuro - complete with an old horse grazing next to its sign; we had bought exquisite hand woven place mats for our new home from one of the most gorgeous stores I've ever seen; we had checked out the barracas near the beach house, and determined we would never go hungry if we lived near them…but we just felt like everything was some sort of trade-off. We were developing a strong love-hate affair with the outrageous contrasts of Fortaleza. The house was even a compromise, as it sits on the beach but has no view of the beach as other, uglier houses do. SO, we decided that very evening to pick up our new car in the morning and head directly to Natal, 8 hours away, to check it out before moving into our potential new home.

We packed all our suitcases (everything we own here) and stuffed them in the rental car, which, thank heaven, was getting picked up at the car dealership. We mentioned during the paper work on the new car that we were going to Natal, but uh-oh: in Brazil you cannot take a new car out-of-state with the 'temporary' paper work...you must wait until you receive the official form. Our wonderful salesman knew a possible way to get this form by the end of the day, so we went off to get lunch. We realized that the siren-like sound we heard was coming from our new car. The air conditioner has a fan that roars. In our haste to nab the last Gol in the city before some guy returned in an hour to buy it, we had not given it a test drive. A lovely dove-tailing of the service department's attempts (only partially successful) to tame our A/C and the arrival of our official car document enabled us to take off around 6:00pm.

Since driving at night is disconcerting even to the Formula I - Walter Mitty - Newton, we drove only the one hour to Morro Branco and stayed in the dopey little pousada (motel) that is the ONLY place we knew of with wireless internet connection in the rooms. (Newton has continued to work several hours per day since our arrival here.) That left only 7 hours of driving on Thursday. The highway to Natal (pronounced Nah-TOW, and it means ‘Christmas’) goes inland first, then heads east to the shore. It passes through the God-forsaken "sertão” of Newton’s most tedious childhood geography lessons: the semi-arid miles and miles of strangely grey, low thorny growth - with the unlikely appearance of green palm trees at infrequent intervals. Newton even admitted that the idea of Rio Grande do Norte (pronounced Hio Grahndgee du Norchee) was a hurdle for him after the lifelong perception of desolation evoked by the state’s name.


But then we arrived in Natal. It is twice as beautiful and twice as expensive as Fortaleza - but only about the size of Tulsa at around 700,000 people – so 3 times easier to navigate! We found a gorgeous hotel on Ponta Negra beach, which has a mosaic stone ‘boardwalk’ and loads of restaurants. There is even a little Italian café that serves – you guessed it - decaf espresso! This area is full of Scandinavian, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and English tourists, some homeowners. Americans are rare also here, but English is the second language. We especially notice the lack of blasting TV’s and music, the cleanliness, and the overall calmness. The mix of tall blonds and Brazilians on the boardwalk gives a checkerboard effect.

On Friday we scouted for ‘For Sale’ signs ALL OVER AGAIN, covering 4 different beaches in one exhausting day. On Saturday morning, having narrowed our preferences down to two beaches, we went to see a beauty that was for sale by the owner, leaving time for an afternoon appointment with a real estate agent. Well – we finally did find THE house for us! We went ahead and saw some houses with the agent to appease Newton’s prudence – the perfect balance to my impetuosity when faced with the ideal house – and, of course, found nothing to compare!
THE house strikes one immediately as an Italian villa, which serves our fantasies of moving to Italy instead of Brazil - an unaffordable prospect. The charming owner is a bon vivant Argentine, so it could pass as a Spanish villa, as well. He and his family have lived there for 14 years as their permanent residence, so, unlike the many vacation beach houses we have seen, this one looks like a real home. Unfortunately, they are taking their beautiful, sophisticated furniture, so we’ll have to furnish it beyond the built-in sofa in the living room. Fortunately, the wife’s taste is impeccable, and there is little about the colorful interior walls I would change. The house is already hooked up to the internet via radio! We have to wait till Wednesday now to discuss our offer, since the owner had to go out of town, so I catch myself pacing from time to time! There most likely will not be a problem settling the deal, and the owner’s bank account is in the US to boot, so we don’t have to have a bank account here to pay him! It is one house away from the beautiful, quiet Cotovelo beach and on a corner, so you get an ocean view from the second floor veranda and have a short, lovely walk to the water. Despite no swimming pool, the yard is overflowing with lush plants. I just love it! Cotovelo Beach is about 10 minutes from Ponta Negra in Natal and about 20 minutes from the airport.

Newt spent ALL of Sunday changing the many airline tickets we had lined up via Fortaleza: Jake’s from California, Elise’s from New York and ours for São Paulo for Christmas, along with ours for the Asia/Europe business trip coming up on October 18th. It took hours! He just negotiated a much better rate for this hotel for the next 16 nights until we go, so we can stay put. They have 70 television channels here, so I have replaced my study of Portuguese via soap operas with CNN news and Italian movies with Portuguese subtitles. Among the Japanese, Arabic, etc. channels, we find the Portuguese from Portugal channel equally unintelligible! It sounds so different. To pronounce my last name in Brazil you do not use the ending “m” sound, which doesn’t exist here. You just say “Needha(n),” holding your nose at the end (or at least feeling a tickle in your nose) to achieve the nasal sound the ‘m’ requires. This applies to the word 'yes' here, for example, spelled 'sim.' I use ‘Sandra’ to avoid the confusion which changes ‘Sandy’ into ‘Sandgee,’

This morning Newton called the lovely owners of the Morro Branco house to inform them we wouldn’t be coming back; they generously offered us kind wishes for happiness. Looks like Natal is our new home!

We send all of you our love -
Sandy

Monday, September 18, 2006

Brazil Dispatch 2

September 18, 2006
Hello again -

We have been slowly-but-surely making our way around the city, the beaches northwest and southeast of Fortaleza, car dealerships, government offices and, at last, we are getting a bank account so that all may proceed.

Our initial scouting to the beaches southeast of Fortaleza resulted in finding some beautiful houses for sale at mostly affordable prices, but Newton thought the hour and fifteen minute drive too far away from the city. We then looked at nearer towns in both directions and became discouraged over the sharp contrasts of elegant houses inside walls and garbage everywhere outside the walls. The little beach towns in which Europeans and wealthy Brazilians build these huge vacation houses are very poor, usually quite ugly, and offer little in the way of grocery stores and restaurants. Newton was not fond of the beaches themselves, either. We decided the initial trade-off of being a little further from the city was the best option, so we went back to the southern points we had seen earlier, and continue to look for the right house there. The place we like most - Morro Branco - is not immune to garbage and bad roads and a typical little town, but the beach is astoundingly beautiful and the neighborhood of houses very nice. We've looked the whole weekend, and, so far, have many to choose from, none of them clearly the best choice! We have to do a spread sheet and see if a decision emerges.




















In the meantime, we see many sharp contrasts in this burgeoning place. It is the poor Northeast of Brazil - even poorer than other parts - and yet is a growing city of 2 million with tourists and residents from all over Europe (most are Portuguese and Italians). We encounter cows on the highway returning from a fabulous Italian dinner, or we get stuck in rush hour traffic alongside a donkey cart! Usually one to love a mix, I sometimes have to remind myself that if everything were too pristine, I'd hate it! For me the issue is always visual, and this does not require luxury, just less garbage and the relentless writing on walls. This does not refer to the graffiti, which is often there, as well, but to the habit of using exterior walls to advertise and explain everything. It is particularly intense right now because Brazil has a presidential election coming up in October. Instead of the modest placards we know, entire walls around houses are hugely painted with candidates' names. (We expect Lula will be re-elected. Despite all the corruption in his party, he finally doing something for the poor here.) All of this is alongside the turquoise Atlantic, breathtaking with a completely uninterrupted horizon - no rocks or islands. We find the same contrasts regarding sound, or noise in many cases. The ocean sound is just my favorite; there was live samba - not too loud - last night earlier at the barraca across the street (this are what you call the beach restaurants, pronounced 'bahaka'), which stays open past six on Thursdays for live music till 3:30 am. We tend to close up the window and turn on the AC as these occasions proceed into the night - never low volume samba after 10 pm. There are the ubiquitous TV screens in so many places, as is common in the US now, too, but the VOLUME is often unbearable. We actually found a gorgeous, chic Japanese restaurant with a huge flat screen on the wall playing music videos, but could not eat there because the volume hurt the ears. Luckily, our hotel plays very soft jazz at breakfast and has a TV going only in the lobby.
Speaking of the barraca across the street, called Crocobeach, we spent most of Brazilian Independence Day there last week. It was teeming with people in all sections, and we were amazed at the efficiency of the operation. Granted, having dozens of employees with the cheap labor here helps, but the organization of the place is just unbelievable. We had amazing grilled shrimp, always very cold beer, good service the whole time, then after a rest, went back for dinner. The beach area had been completely cleaned up after the hundreds of people hanging out there all day. Everyone was in the covered area in the front - also hundreds of people. We actually couldn't find a place to sit down, but spotted an extra plastic table from the beach section sitting around. We found 2 free chairs and reduced the waiters' traffic area to a mere fraction of its former self. Brazilians usually face this space impediment without the least objection: as long as they can squeeze through, they consider it all fine (more later on this idea when I discuss driving here). The music was actually not too loud and included a sort of rock violin that was beautiful. We had more shrimp! There is no dance floor, but soon the place looked like one huge dance floor, with hundreds of people dancing beside their tables, and no tables visible anymore. We do love the spectacle! The next morning when I looked out our window, there was one guy left sweeping up the last small trace of garbage by the curb. This is not one of the places with the garbage problem! We just had to ask our waiter the next time we went to Crocobeach how many bottles of beer they sold on Independence Day (these are tall bottles in styrofoam holders that you pour into small glasses). He said they sold 2,400 bottles that day! This does not include the soda, caipirinhas (the national drink) or other cocktails, bottles of scotch, or mineral water - to give you an idea of the numbers they were serving so efficiently.

OK, about the driving. I have never been amused driving in Brazil; just call me a chicken - not to be confused with the drivers who pass on two-lane highways with insufficient space and actually play 'chicken' with the oncoming car. The particular feature around here in the city that keeps me ready to jump in my shotgun seat is the tendency of vehicles and pedestrians to plow ahead from the side streets or the curb into the oncoming traffic. Pedestrians not only prefer the street, but tend to step a little further into your path as you approach. The guy on the bike or the motorcycle waiting by the curb has his foot out so far into the street, I'm just sure we're going to run over his toes. Now if there is room to swerve left slightly and make room - OK - but the streets are narrow, the bus drivers are wild, and there is rarely space to move over at all. Drivers come full speed at the side streets, stopping only when their noses are in your path and they see they can't go right now. I am always squirming to the left in my seat, hoping to save my right side. On the highway, besides the 'chicken' players, you get swerving bicycles which are invisible at dusk, and the inevitable driver who, on four-lane roads, loves to hug that center line (we call them ‘straddlers’) just when you thought it was safe to pass. One such pick-up truck we followed was filled with furniture and 9 people in the back, two of whom were just sitting on a sofa as if in a living room! The corollary to all of this: dogs and cats likewise move into the path of your car in the road if they move at all. Luckily, Newton knows how to drive here, and I'm counting on a personal lack of velocity to make driving possible for myself here eventually.

I was speaking with the woman at the hotel front desk, who said she has a daughter in kindergarten. I told her I just stopped working at a little school after many years, and just adored the children. At that moment, Newton came up and started talking with her, and the clock, which I had never noticed, struck one with the sound of a bird call. It was exactly like the clocks in the second grade and the 5th/6th/7th grade classrooms at Blue Rock School, where different birds are represented at each hour and chirp according to type. I was overwhelmed with emotion and teared right up, knowing that exactly at noon in NY - that moment - I would have been taking a grade for their lunch story, the best part of my job there. I expect, now that I am not crazy with pressures, I will find all the emotions that have been on hold while I left my life in Nyack behind.

The only reasonable thing to do during this move is to feel gratitude for the opportunity to "be sure" of very little!

So, this is too long, but I'll end with a list of what we love and what we don't here:

DON'T LOVE
-Plastic bags that get stuck in the weeds in vacant lots
-Streets on which you cannot get to the other side because, even if you go around the block, there is a barrier down the middle
-Waiters made to wear costumes (safari outfits, 'cowboy' hats and kerchiefs) - embarrassing for everyone
-Afternoon strong wind at the beach - they say worst in August and September
-Two different musics blasting at once
-Children used for begging at stop lights with a fake, pathetic look on their faces (that goes back to normal when the light changes)
-Bad evening soap operas on TV (perhaps responsible for the previous item?)

LOVE
-Temperatures between 75 and 85
-VERY cold beer
-The friendly, helpful people
-Beer that tastes great, but doesn't fill you up
-The turquoise ocean and almost-white sand
-Beer that doesn't make you drunk
-Good food everywhere - not expensive
-Beer that doesn't make you gain weight
-A huge blue, blue sky without any clouds

More later!

Love,
Sandy

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Brazil Dispatch 1

September 10, 2006

We are, indeed, in Fortaleza, state of Ceará, in the Northeast of Brazil with nothing but our suitcases. Once we decided to move here during a trip to the Northeast last summer, we have spent the past year inching towards that goal. Newton can work anywhere if internet is available; I need a rest!

After exchanging a rather deserted beach hotel with an internet problem for a nicer one with a good deal negotiated for Newton's internet use, we feel like we have a "home" for the time being! We are across the street from the ocean and sleep well with the combination of ocean sound and breeze. This is a great improvement over our diminishing bed arrangements in Nyack after we sold the bed (on one desperate occasion - the day we moved things into storage - we actually just fell out on the bare box springs we planned to throw out the last day - it was disgusting!) Frequent bouts of insomnia near the end of the move also primed us for these deep 'ocean' sleeps.

Our various send-offs were magnificent - and so much thanks to all of you – as were two elaborate weddings near the end. Our grueling preparations for disposing of or storing our treasures and junk (too much of both) always had incredible respites interspersed, involving delicious food and the best company! My sister Donna's farewell party included a Bingo game she invented with Elise's help: What Sandy & Newton Will Miss Most. It covered so much - yoga, Blue Rock School, jazz in the Hopper House garden, our red living room, tennis, soccer, Nyack Farmer's Market, our espresso machine (I know...but so far, no decaf found here) - among many other cherished items - plus the name of each relative at the party! I must add each of your names to the grid, as well!

We simply would not have made it on to the plane without the help of our amazing friend and neighbor, Lucia. She brought all her skills and charms to our yard sale, helped with the distribution of tons of items left at the end, and not only drove us to the airport, but brought mozzarella balls to eat on the way, without which we probably would have fainted!





We had so much fun monitoring the disappearance of some great throw-aways on the curb. The garbage truck compactor got very little, once it had completed the mangling of the formidable remains of our old, old, heavy, heavy upright piano that Newton and Jake sledge-hammered on the front porch. That was the most surreal (and sonorous) event of our move. A close second and third would be when Newton hit a parked car while turning the corner with the 26' U-Haul truck he had just rented, and when my carry-on suitcase inspection at JFK revealed a pouch full of our favorite (lethal looking) knives and two large pairs of scissors. The look I got! How embarrassing that I was mixed up on which bags were carry-ons, worrying about new restrictions on lipstick and lip gloss the whole while! (Newton actually ran back and checked the bag in the very nick of time, rather than lose our great German knives and best fabric scissors.)







We are in the throes of the Northeast of Brazil's version of bureaucracy. We went to the Federal Police for my resident visa registration - this took a whole morning and I got finger printed AGAIN after the Brazilian Consulate in NY required fingerprints cleared by the FBI. They did not allow shorts (like the Vatican??) so Newton had to wait outside until I heard from some American students inside that they had been allowed in previously in their shorts. This meant Newton could tell me what the little bureaucrat was saying, since I only recognized intermittent words dashing by in Portuguese. Then we went to a truly horrible government office on a truly horrible street in the center of downtown Fortaleza for this number we need. But the people are very nice in general here, and NEVER in a hurry! We were rewarded after these endless hours with a short drive back to the beach and an afternoon of cold beer, grilled chicken and the aqua Atlantic in front of us.

The beach 'restaurants' along this Praia do Futuro have large, thatch-covered areas by the street, then a section of tables with thatched umbrellas on the sand, then the section close to the water. Vendors roam throughout, allowed to sell even food (shrimp and lobster tail!) to the restaurant's customers. They have a different entrepreneurial sense around here. We moved during a light shower from the beach to the large covered section the other day, just as a "friendly" soccer game between Brazil and Argentina's World Cup teams started on the TV. There was an aisle with people passing between the TV and the tables, and what a show! First the table in front of us had various people coming and going, some pouring beer from the tall bottle in the styrofoam holder into the same single glass sitting there. We never knew whose beer it actually was. One guy arrived with his own small cooler and didn't buy anything. Then a 3-year-old girl who belongs to the place was hanging around that table and decided to play with the remote, finally managing (after keeping us in great suspense) to change the channel - to the horror of all the transfixed guys in the place. Then various vendors would start their way through, but stop when they saw there was a soccer game on. I laughed so hard at the whole scene - the popsicle guy left the whole cart right in the aisle and grabbed a seat, while the coconut sweets lady leaned on the popsicle wagon to watch, and the waiters managed to serve all (who were ordering, that is) while keeping their gaze on the screen.

Today we drive to the beach towns south of the city, scouting for a home. There will be more...

Love,
Sandy
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