Rio New Year’s Dispatch

Well, here it is past mid-February and I am behind on my record of travels and impressions, considering that we arrived in Rio for New Year’s Eve. Subsequent travels have impinged on my ideal writing conditions, so now that I am home and the craziness of Carnaval has passed (as of last night), I will start up where I left off:

OK. We left the dry, visual neutrality of the Nevada winter desert. The heat had been blasting inside Jake’s house, the extent depending on who mysteriously tampered with the thermostat last. My hair was so straight I could wear bangs. My skin was cracking and falling off. Now we arrive in Rio in summer. I have always described exiting the aircraft and walking the jet way into Rio airport as walking through pork soup, but this time it is pork gravy. The heat and humidity are a staggering shock, as are the damp, lush greens everywhere and the startling effort required to breathe. This is a dramatic change. My skin is happy, my hair is frizzy, and we are HOT.

Now that we have the 2016 Olympics in Rio on our mind, actually to be preceded by the 2014 Soccer World Cup all over Brazil, we look at the infrastructure and the shape of things in a new, panicked light. Luckily, we discovered a section of the battered airport under reconstruction, but the taxi ride through tawdry, graffiti-covered sections of the city overwhelmed us with the number of needed improvements. Will four years be enough?

We arrived at our friend Maria Candida’s apartment in lovely Leblon miraculously, as Newton had given the driver the wrong address. Ahhh – to be inside Maria Candida’s apartment is always a pleasure. It is beautiful, full of light, full of beautiful things, and cool. I can spend hours there just studying the objects, the décor, the collections of books and music, and the harmonious arrangement of all of the above. Without Elise in tow, our photo-taking diminishes greatly, but here are photos of a slightly more sparse version of Maria Candida’s apartment taken in 2005:

After a long nap to supplement our all-night flight, we faced New Year’s Eve with our friend. Maria Candida had a cod fish dish prepared for our dinner, and then we headed out the door with a bottle of champagne and walked the block to Leblon Beach – which is the western third of Ipanema Beach. Unlike my previous Rio New Year’s Eve in 1983 on Copacabana Beach, there were no fire crackers going off at my feet creating a war zone effect, there was plenty of space on the beach between scattered groups of celebrants, and the mood was very calm. Little ditches had been dug at intervals and filled with candles, cachaça and flower offerings to Yemanja, the African goddess of the sea. Everyone was in white, executing their jumps over seven waves for good fortune. I found this much trickier in those crashing waves than on our gentle Cotovelo Beach, but was determined. (My white leggings dumped out plenty of sand on the bedroom floor later when I changed into pajamas.)

Newton briefly joined a beach soccer game with some 11-12-year-olds, and then we selected the partying group we wanted to hang around according to music choice. The sand was very loose and deep in this spot, which afforded us a good work-out as part of a dancing circle. The champagne bottle made a perfect beach accessory.

New Year’s Day produced the same locale by daylight. There are new rules on the beach outlawing wandering vendors – “camelôs” – which I consider a staple of Ipanema Beach from way back - and pertaining to specific delivery times for supplies. I’m sure the organization of deliveries and established “barracas” for the sale of coconuts, beer, caipirinhas, etc. will pay off in less chaos, but one of my favorite memories is beer camelôs dressed in drag during Carnaval on this beach. For us, the change meant everyone was out of beer, except the fourth barraca we tried. I imagine the authorities will work out a balance of both supplies and orderliness, as odd as this concept seems to us for this particular culture, and as charming as the beach chaos has always been. Large groups of sunning celebrants had brought their own supplies, so a hot, sunny, happy New Year’s Day ambience remained. I downloaded this photo out of deference to Newton’s friends who always request this aspect of Rio’s beauty:We had a great Arabic lunch (this food is very popular all over Brazil, thanks to the Arabic immigrants –as in Newton’s forebears). Maria Candida started feeling sick to her stomach later in the day and went to bed very early. We had a Saturday planned in Niteroi, the “twin” city of Rio where Newton spent his teenage years.

We were picked up by Jorge or “Crazy Jorge” as I call him – Newton’s friend since age 13, who was a child actor in film and television and later became a surgeon and then later became a lawyer. He lives in the state of Paraná and was visiting his relatives in town. We met their boyhood friend, Moarir (this is nigh impossible to say: Mo-are-EER), who lives in Rio, Jorge’s wife and 16-year-old daughter, and Moarir’s ex-wife at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Niteroi. This was designed by – guess who? Oscar Niemeyer when he was 89-years-old. I always say he is the only working architect in Brazil since he has designed so much, including the entire city of Brazília. Even now at age 102, he continues. The boys were reuniting for a tour of their old haunts in Niteroi, as well some new ones, such as the museum and the old fort from the 17^th century, which the Portuguese built to defend Rio from the Dutch. Niteroi is across Guanabara Bay from Rio – one of the longest bridges in the world joins them. The view from the museum and fort area includes both Sugar Loaf and Corcovado:

A highlight was the boys’ favorite beach, Itacoatiara, with its wall of waves which were responsible in 1983 for my deciding, once and for all, that waves were not for me. (I drank a significant portion of ocean while gasping for breath “between” them, except there was no between.) I frankly missed most of their reminisces because the Portuguese was flying way too fast for me. High points were brought to me in the excellent English most of them speak.

As the day wore on, I became sick to my stomach, as well. Maria Candida was still suffering in Leblon, so I joined her in an endless sleep through the night and the entire next day. Newton met a friend at Leblon Beach with whom he had studied English at the School for International Living in Vermont in 1978. A rogue wave surprised the group and engulfed Newton’s cell phone in salt water. More on being cell phone-challenged in a future dispatch. By our last night, I was better and able to eat. Maria Candida accompanied us out to the lively streets of urbane Leblon, where we selected an open restaurant for dinner, even though she was still unable to handle food. It is highly unusual for me to have stomach problems at all, so I was grateful for a quick recovery. At least Maria Candid and I both had a partner-in-misery for 24 hours!

We bid Maria Candida and Rio a fond good-bye and made our way home to lovely, temperate Natal. The neighbors had arrived for their January at the beach, so we had screaming children playing outside the office window and night spotlights on the bedroom wall… but it is always good to be home!

Love,

Sandy

Las Vegas Dispatch

I am known for burning out on card games in my family. My mother, son and husband can play forever. One time Newton, Mother and I were trying to finish a game of Hearts with the two of them waking me up every hand for my play while I sat there drooping, along with my hand of cards. I reached the equivalent in Las Vegas when I was slumped over a video Black Jack screen at 3:30am, occasionally opening one eye to push one button or another…and only one free martini was involved. My daughter showed me a recent twitter she sent to her friend, bragging that I could party till 4:00am despite being 60 years old (60 looks older than it is from the 25-year-old perspective). I was so grateful that the “Asleep on the Strip” scene had not been factored in!

I held up much better on all the games we played at Jake’s beautiful house. Being a game maniac like my mother, Jake had a range of choices available. I did not even try to catch on to the video games buzzing around on his flat screen at which Newton, Elise and Jake are all adept. I can hold my own on Hearts and Spades when awake; but on the anagram word game, none of us can compete effectively against Jake – even while imposing handicaps on him. By the end, he had stolen most of the words we had formed by making them into different, longer words and had many more lined up in front of him than the combined number for Newton, Elise and me.

We played a silly game called “Likewise” that requires, skill-wise, only that one guess which answer is most likely to match everyone else’s. Once I got used to the idea of giving up cleverness and going for the most ordinary, I gained some points. By the time we played this for the second and third times, the silliness turned into ridiculous fun and many laughs. The only advantage I ever had was in some game we played where historical facts were involved. Oh well.

Jake’s new house was my project, though it only needed a few tweaks to spruce it up. It had been pretty well renovated before he bought it and nicely furnished by him and his roommate, so just needed some curtains, pillows, hooks, coffee maker, softer light bulbs, etc., etc. I used an extra blow-up mattress he had to help furnish a huge space at the top of the stairs. Alas, a small leak requires that Jake pump it up every few days. This recent photo from his girlfriend, Larissa, shows how well that plan is going!

Our first surprise driving home from the airport was when Jake started to turn into the driveway of a house that was loaded with Christmas lights and decorations, including a countdown to Christmas clock. This would be so completely out of character for Jake that we were thoroughly shocked. Alas, just a joke. He then turned into the dark driveway of the unadorned house next door.

We bought a Christmas tree on the 24th, had Christmas music on our iPod and loads of delicious food, including an artichoke dip and devilled eggs made by Larissa before she went home (to Albany) for Christmas; plus tacos, Brazilian moqueca, and my only “mom” dish, macaroni and cheese (twice). Jake gave me a very funny, very large certificate on Christmas morning for a family meal out at the restaurant of my choice, from “llamagifts.com”…based on his poker moniker and matching license plate, “Jllama.” He took us to a great Italian restaurant called ‘Bootleggers’ where I had the best white wine, the best muscles, the best sautéed greens and the best chocolate gelato since Rome! Elise gave me, among other gifts, an original drawing in a frame she made to evoke the four seasons – a prized possession!

I liked the 'good luck' feel of such street names in Vegas as ''Blue Diamond" and "Rainbow." To balance out the intensity and 'bad luck' feel of the Las Vegas Strip we all went hiking and rock scrambling at Red Rock Canyon. I always find it easy to imagine that I am on another planet when in the spare beauty of these southwest settings full of odd-shaped rock formations. Another world. We packed a picnic, but were too cold to eat outside, so carried it back home. I managed to wrench my shoulder and elbow while trying to hoist myself up between two rocks, then Newton injured his shoulder that evening wrestling with Jake on the living room floor. The bad news: age. The good news: mostly recovered.

Besides a couple of evenings on the Strip, we hung out one night at a little nearby dive that had video poker screens installed at the bar. I did a tutorial with Jake in preparation for my own gambling fling later. The bad news: didn’t win anything the whole trip. The good news: didn’t lose much.

We made it to one show on the Strip, Penn and Teller. They are wonderful magicians, raconteurs and old school libertarian spokesmen. Jake and Elise managed a photo with Penn Jillette after the show.

After some additional editing, Elise finished one more present for us - a montage of recent family video footage. She incorporated music and made the whole thing rather hilarious. We never suspected that she was taping us from the back seat of the car back in Napa Valley last summer, so the ending sequence, titled "Why We Have GPS," is an endless recap of Newton and I trying to follow maps, continually turning them every which direction in hopes of establishing our bearings...or, at least bearings we could agree upon. I say all sorts of highly mitigated things, such as "a left turn would be really cool" - thank goodness my actual thoughts were not recordable! It ends with Newton turning around from the driver's seat and saying laughingly as if on cue for the video, "Where's GPS when we need it?" In truth, Newt volunteered for all sorts of errands in Jake's car in Vegas just so he could fiddle with the GPS.

Our two kids are so much fun, so sharp, so humorous, so interesting. We couldn't ask for better company! Big time gratitude for that.

Elise stayed and Larissa returned for New Year’s Eve. Newton and I flew to Rio in time to celebrate on Ipanema Beach. Thank you, Jake, for such a memorable stay!

Love,

Sandy

Tulsa ‘09 Dispatch

Believe it or not, I was traveling from Brazil to colder climes for the first time since the fall of 2007. All subsequent trips to the northern hemisphere had occurred in the warmth of summer. What I’m getting at is that I had been wearing only flip-flops and sandals on my feet for two years when I headed to the US for Christmas. I left my worn-out flip-flops next to the ladies’ room garbage bin at Rio airport en route to Houston and struggled into the boots I bought in Poland two years ago.

As soon as I stepped off the carpet of the jet way exiting the plane in Houston and stepped onto the slick granite airport floor heading for Immigration, I fell all over the place. I felt like an indigenous person after the missionaries make them wear shoes. I’d love to say I acclimated, but there was yet another splat at another airport. We found homeopathic arnica first thing in Tulsa, so luckily – I mean in a big way – my knee and ankle did not hurt for long. I really hate injuries.

My 95-year-old, beautiful mother was just back in Tulsa from Thanksgiving in Denver, and was anticipating Durango, Colorado for Christmas. Elise flew in from New York the same day we arrived, and we all converged on Mother’s new single room. The room suits her very well and has all the charm Mother has brought to her every dwelling. Despite her shoulder and neck pain, naturally Mother was in good spirits and sharp and funny as ever.

We had arranged to stay at my friends Vivian and Mike’s house. They live in the house where Vivian grew up down the block from us Needham’s on 22^nd Street. I am still unable to look at the now completely transformed and refurbished version of my childhood home when we drive by, always turning my gaze across the street to study the ravine and creek in old Mrs. Johnson’s yard where we were allowed to play. My memory of the house where I grew up is too sacred to mess with.

Vivian and Mike raised their three kids on this street. Now Vivian teaches ethics to little kids for the public school system, and Mike is the dedicated and honest version of a lawyer. The four of us seem to be able to gab incessantly! They had several Oklahoma-gothic tales, like the one where the babysitter tried to come over with a loaded gun to kill them all, and the one where the raving neighbor lady jumped on top of the neighbor’s car sun roof and stomped while they were driving by – while the children were outside. Plus the one about the knocking sounds and mysteriously knotted curtains in empty rooms at the lake lodge. It is fascinating to hear about their non-neo-conservative, non-evangelical life in Oklahoma amidst the cynical religious/political scene that has changed dramatically since I grew up there. Guess I’d be in trouble pretty often with my big mouth. Mother has addressed her problems with some negative and strident fellow-residents at the Methodist Manor with her usual dignity and grace.

Newton had a project to make a Brazilian (Bahian) dinner for all of us called moqueca, so we unpacked the coconut milk, dendé (coconut) oil and malageta hot peppers - which leaked a bit in the suitcase but were well-wrapped! – and shopped for shrimp, peppers, onions, rice, etc. (and mango sorbet). Mother, who has an almost non-existent appetite, had two good-sized helpings of moqueca. Guess the Methodist Manor needs some hot peppers! Vivian and Mike’s daughter is married to a guy who photographs rock groups. He invited Elise, who videos rock groups, to accompany him on his rap assignment later that evening. Between that venue and a jazz place next door, Elise had a full night of partying Tulsa style with his friends.

We also got to spend an evening with my nephew Mark’s family. His three daughters were almost unrecognizable since the last time I saw them, so I fulfilled the true great-aunt “how you’ve grown” role! Lainey, the brunette, is almost 17, around six feet tall, looks like a model and is so chic I really felt like a (short) country bumpkin next to her! Madison is 14, also beautiful, and is, get this, a big-scoring soccer player on a boys’ team! My heroine. Taylor is 9 and impish and cool interchangeably. Her dimple on one side says it all. Mark and his wife Jenny are a package of good looks and charm and kindness and astuteness all rolled together. I am indebted to them for the willing help they offer Mother constantly.

The only real culture shock that amused me as we went around the city was the way everyone apologized for walking near anyone else. I am always annoyed in the northeast of Brazil how, in a grocery store for example, people come right at you with their grocery carts like one big game of chicken. Or just walk as if you are not actually standing in their path! I have no idea how to play this game, so spend a lot of time getting out of the way and waiting just to get around in the store. And one inch is considered passing space! A young worker at the store actually ran right in front of my heavy cart as I was pushing it away from the check-out. I almost slipped trying to stop it before it hit him, and felt better after yelling an expletive in English! Anyway, all the “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” when people entered a room or passed our table in a restaurant in Oklahoma – with plenty of space to spare – was now funny. I especially appreciate the driving version of this courtesy in the US!

I stopped by to see my former high school gym teacher, Lynne Morgan, who keeps up with the gossip on everyone from school days. She paints incredible reproductions of Picasso, etc., one of which is soon to be framed over our living room bar. She is battling cancer again with rounds of chemotherapy. Fortunately, the prognosis is mostly good, but better than that, she seems healthy and hearty as ever.

Elise and I got to help Mother pack her Christmas-specific wardrobe for her Christmas trip. It was nice to contribute in some small way and fun to hunt down the jewelry she wanted in her dresser drawer! Besides several holiday earrings and sweaters, she actually has a necklace of Christmas lights that light up…lucky to have an electrical engineer around to fix the batteries for that. Anyone who knows my friend Carolyn McMonegal in NY can guess who sent that to Mother! We just missed our nephew Brad from Durango when he flew into Tulsa to pick Mother up right after we flew off to Las Vegas for our holiday with Jake.

More on that…

Love,

Sandy