LAST MINUTE INVITATION!

My duo, Polka Nova will be performing tonight during the Visual Arts Award at the Brazilian Embassy!– the event starts at 6.30pm! 
http://culturalbrazil.org/…/1st-embassy-of-brazil-visual-a…/

To be able to take part, you need to send an email with your name to culturalbrazil.rsvp@gmail.com as they do not allow walk-in guests.

Sorry for the very last minute invitation but I only found out how to take part! Hope to see you there! 

http://culturalbrazil.org/2015/05/01/polka-nova/

Contagem regressiva!

I suppose I should summarise 2014 which passed rather quickly. Maybe because I did a lot of what I love – music!! According to my maths I did 30 gigs last year!! 23 with my Polka Nova duo (or occasionally trio), 4 with London School of Samba (Unidos de Londres), 2 with the few vocal group, one with a vocal choir for the EFG Jazz Festival and one with Guilherme Tavares, a Brazilian musician living in London. Let's see if I can beat this in 2015!

Now, the news I’ve been waiting to share with you – I’m going to Brazil next week!!! It’s been almost three years since my last 4-month trip so it was long due. This time I can’t stay that much because of work commitments, but it’s still going to be three weeks! I’m excited, even though I’m not planning anything outrageous – just a quiet time with friends and my BF’s family in São Paulo. We bought the tickets back in September and now I can count the days left to my departure. The lucky BF is already there, enjoying the apparently sizzling hot weather. For me, it’s 8 more days. Let the countdown* begin!!!

Oh, and may you all have a Happy New Year, filled with smiles that are real, friends that care, prizes that you deserve, good deeds that you do and music that you enjoy! 

*Contagem regressiva is countdown in Portuguese - mystery solved!

POLKA NOVA at Ophelia Dalston (28th September)

Hello, you lovely people!
This Sunday 28th September we’ve got another gig! This time, we’ll be playing at a theatre on a proper stage. And if this wasn’t enough, we’ve invited a drummer to join us so he’s bound to give it some swing it!

What can you expect music-wise? A night of lively Brazilian samba, mellow bossa nova and some jazz to top it up! We will have support from Retro Velvet.

The doors open at 8pm and it’s £5 to get in. Can you spare that much to come see us play? I surely hope so.

Venue details: 
Ophelia, 574 Kingsland Rd, Dalston E8 4AP, London, UK
Map: http://buff.ly/1v9vLXo 

Here's the link to the event on facebook if you want to join: https://www.facebook.com/events/1448329425448448/

Image source: http://lounge.obviousmag.org/sala_de_cultura/2014/05/isto-e-bossa-nova-isto-e-muito-natural.html

POLKA NOVA at Number1 Bar and Restaurant

Bom dia!

This is just a quick post to let you know that I will be singing tomorrow with my other half in a cosy restaurant in London Bridge. This will be our fourth time at the venue; they clearly like us! ;)

As usual, you can expect an evening filled with the swingy tropical sounds of Brazilian samba and bossa nova, but also some jazz and other musical surprises. The idea is that you can enjoy the mellow melodies in the equally melodic Portuguese, but we’ve made an extra effort so that Brazilians and non-Brazilians alike can appreciate the music.

1 Duke Street Hill, SE1 2SW London, UK.

Nearest tube station: London Bridge

7 pm start

It’s free entry so if you’re around, do come down

https://www.facebook.com/events/1444721405807127/

Love and music

The last post was about food, so now it’s time for music. These are definitely my two passions ;)

And talking about passion, I never told you how me and my BF met. It was over three years ago, at another musician’s rehearsal at a London studio. He was there, tucked into the corner of a dilapidated sofa, quietly strumming his 7-string guitar. When we first started talking, he thought I was Portuguese. I wished he’d thought I was Brazilian but there was no way this paulistano* was going to take my attempted carioquês** for truly native… Oh well. It didn’t stop us from deciding to rehearse together with the view to maybe performing at some point. And believe it or not, it took us three months to take it to another level, although I still sometimes wonder whether this whole guitar trick wasn’t meant to seduce me in the first place. Bottom of the line is: it did, both romantically and musically; the latter is what I want to talk about.

A few guests appearances here and there, a number of intimate shows during our stay in Brazil, a performance in Prague… Little by little we were gaining ground. Winning London over is another kettle of fish, so we’ve been working really hard for the past year or so and finally it seems that all this effort is beginning to pay off. We’ve played at a few private events, wine tasting sessions, somewhere in Soho (but the place does not deserve attention so I won’t mention the name), and we are now getting regular gigs. Phew.

We decided to call our duo Polka Nova, which is a play on me being Polish and our main music style – bossa nova, as you might have figured out, served as the main course. We mix it with generous amounts of samba, lightly seasoned with some zesty jazz. See, I can’t even talk about music without thinking of food! It’s mostly covers of timeless classics and traditional songs that resonate with many Brazilians and non-Brazilians alike. But let me stop this babbling and let you get a taste (!) of our music on your own:

If you like it, then the next stop is to visit our facebook page and let us know by clicking the ‘like’ button. I will love you for this eternally. www.facebook.com/PolkaNovaLondon

And if you get so excited as to want to follow us on Twitter as well, we are here:

https://twitter.com/PolkaNovaLondon

Ok, done with this advertising!

* paulistano is someone who lives in the city of São Paulo, as opposed to the state of São Paulo; then it’s paulista

**accent from Rio de Janeiro 

Not suitable for vegetarians

After such a bloody long break, it’s hard to decide what to write about as it should be something that would justify the prolonged silence. My last post was hardly even a proper one – promise I’ll try harder. It is just that since coming back from Brazil (2 years ago!), nothing has impressed me so much as to make me want to write about it. I’m not saying all Brazilian things are better back there, but many of them are and no matter how hard we try, what we get here in London is only a substitute. Take Brazilian food. No bar or restaurant run by Brazilians themselves on the ‘terra da rainha’ (= the land of Queen Elizabeth, as they often call the UK) can compare with churrascarias* across the Atlantic. Although there is one that tries very hard. 

Being Brazilian, my BF gets meat cravings from time to time (ok, let’s not be diplomatic – often!) and it’s not enough to fry up a mountain of steaks; he wants real meat. By real he means proper Brazilian beef, prepared in a traditional way. I’m a meat-lover myself and I remember that what I had back in Brazil did not resemble the stiff, dry shoe-sole British beef usually becomes when you try to fry or roast it.  No, no, no. Brazilian meat literally melted in my mouth, inundating my taste buds with a flood of luscious meat juices mixed with delectably sizzled fat.  I am so getting hungry just thinking about it.

Source: http://redemeridional.liveradio.com.br/radio/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/picanha-1.jpg

Anyway, pra matar a saudade** of the ‘real meat’, we go to Rodizio Preto. There are a few in London, but we’ve been to the one in Shaftsbury Avenue, several times now. I’m not going to start praising them to the stars, but those guys know their business. The buffet offers an impressive choice of fresh salads, rice, beans, even feijoada*** itself. You could easily just eat the buffet food and be happy, but, frankly, that would be plain foolish. The meats that the waiters serve come in good quality and quantity – basically every few minutes someone turns up next to your table with another juicy cut. And the best thing is, you can actually ask them to bring you what you want. Picanha, maminha, lombo, costela de carneiro**** - they serve up to 15 different kinds of meat! 

Source: http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/02/7e/2e/d4/spits.jpg

I always finish off with corações de frango*****. I’ve loved them ever since I tried them at another Brazilian churrascaria in London years ago; soft, yet crispy, with plenty of flavour.

Source: http://culinaria.culturamix.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/196-300x450.jpg

There are, of course, plenty other venues where you can have meats served in the traditional Brazilian way, but choose wisely. You choices will, in most cases, be limited to the following: the wrong kind of meat, meat left to roast forever until it becomes dry, meat served every half an hour at best (apparently Rodizio Rico have a policy of purposely not serving meat too often…), poor choice at the buffet, unfriendly waiters. Been there, done that. I stick to Rodizio Preto. £19.90 may seem like a lot, but when you compare it with just about any main course at a good London restaurant, you’ll understand that you’ll be better off paying a few quid more for the ability to sink your teeth into prime beef (and other meats) WITHOUT limit. And if anyone from the restaurant happens to be reading this, please sponsor me :D. Rsrsrsrsrrsrsss…******

Source: Groupon 

*restaurants serving freshly prepared meat without limit

** an idiom literally meaning ‘to kill the longing’; so when you miss something or someone, you will try to ‘matar a saudade’ by doing that thing or being with that person, if that makes sense…

*** you will find an explanation here: http://thebraziliandream.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/reality-bites.html

****different kinds of meat, will explain in a separate post

*****chicken hearts

******a Brazilian equivalent of ‘hahahaha’ in written slang (consider the fact that initial ‘r’ is pronounced almost as the /h/ sound and you’ll understand)

Só canto samba (e bossa nova)

I can’t believe I actually didn’t write anything for the whole of 2013! I had a few ideas but there was so much going on in my professional life that blog writing was the last thing on my mind. Originally, 'the Brazilian dream' was meant to tell the story of my time in Brazil, but my everyday life in London is still very much “Brazilian”. As my BF is from São Paulo, I speak more Portuguese than my mother tongue to the point where I’ve begun mixing them up. Not surprisingly, my mind thinks Portuguese is on the same priority level as Polish and if you woke me up in the middle of the night I am not really sure which one I would speak, given that I also teach English…

Linguistic confusion aside, musically I can’t get more Brazilian than through samba and bossa nova; the two genres that identify my singing style. So folks, here’s a glimpse of what I do, never mind that I’m revealing my identity once and for all. Anonymous blog writing is so 2013…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewkM7_xFZQ8

Feel free to post your comments here or under the video on youtube. 

P.S. The title of the post vaguely alludes to "Só danço samba", a bossa nova (!) classic by Antônio Carlos Jobim

All that glitters in not gold

I got in quite by chance. I found out about the auditions through our samba school. Shall I be a dancer or a drummer? I pondered... At the school I was neither - I sang. I'd done some dance classes so I was pretty certain I could shake it. Not sure if I'd dare in front of the supposed 8 billion. Scrapped. As for drumming, I'd had literally one bateria class. Oh well, I've nothing to lose! Shake it, shake it, shake it, shhh-k-chk, shhh-k-chk, shhh-k-chk... I went for chocalho* because I discovered that playing it was quite similar to playing the "egg" - a small shaker that I had already mastered. Only a hundred times faster and with both hands.

And there I was, suddenly part of the 80-strong bateria, rehearsing twice a week for god knows how many hours in some horrid warehouse with acoustics that reminded me of Heathrow Airport during rush hour. Having to put up with delays, misconceptions, lack of organisation... and the worst sandwiches London had ever seen. All because I wanted to perform at the Olympics Closing Ceremony, representing Brazil during the 8 minutes generously assigned to the Rio Flag Handover team. Of course I was excited. It was going to be BIG, they told us, the whole world would be watching this greatest ceremony on earth.  

 

At every rehearsal I learned something new. How big the stage would be. Where we would stand. How many steps left, how many steps right. What great an honour it was. That our costumes would be golden. And our faces. That we would wear these huge drums over our heads. Hmmm... drummers with drums before them and drums above them.  Movements restricted by harnesses and antlers. Still expected to smile and dance (and play the drums!).

    Hanging around aimessly in plain sunshine duirng one of the final rehersals. Patience. 
 

I learned that people from various samba schools could play together and have fun.

With guys from Portela, one of the oldest samba schools in Rio de Janeiro  

 

I learned the meaning of the word volunteer (and wasn't impressed). Once I even learned, 2 weeks before the show, that I wasn't on the list anymore. They had taken in more people than needed in case some dropped out. I DIDN’T drop out. My name was just thrown out like a useless prop. Welcome to showbusiness.

 

My tears hadn’t dried when I got a call from the team congratulating me that I was back on the show. No joke. Pride in my pocket, I dragged myself to Dartford again and again, and then to Daggenham. Put on the harness. Check. Put on the golden costume. Check. Golden make-up. Check. Antlers. Check. The crown. Check. The drum. Check. Chocalho in hand. Check. There was only one occasion to see the Olympics stadium from the perspective of a performer and I didn’t want to miss it.

On our way to the stadium

 

And here's the video from the moments leading up to the show:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfpqdxO1LVw

 

Try squeezing 8 weeks into 8 minutes. What do you get? Three seconds of excitement before they say “go” and a feeling you watched it all fast forward in HD and with lots of fireworks.   Boom, boom, done. My memory of that night includes switching the effing drums with someone next to me, just before the show, because they were all numbered and were going to light up in a special order; queuing nervously at the starting line waiting for the signal, that one second I caught a glimpse of Marisa Monte singing, and walking off the stadium.

Seconds before going in....

 

Good job they allowed us all back in when the official ceremony finished to celebrate with everyone who’d participated throughout the night and the medallists who joined the dancing crowd. Suddenly, the pressure now gone, I forgot all about the blood, sweat'n'tears that were the inextricable part of the preparation for the Olympics. I forgot, for that bit, about the frustration of hanging around aimlessly for hours on end before we got to practise, sweating in our golden attires and having to fight for our ancient right to have a cup of tea (and I mean fight!).  I didn’t feel the weight of the drum that kept bouncing off another drummer’s, the antlers didn’t bother me anymore, my gold-painted face didn’t itch. Shaking my chocalho tirelessly, absolutely elated, I was overcome by the ultimate sense of accomplishment. But the best thing of all was doing it with a bunch of really cool people who, like me, love Brazilian culture. Thank you fellow drummers and RFH participants. It was worth it.
 

 Pure bliss...

As for the show itself, it's not for me to judge, 'cause I didn't see it! You can't have a cake and eat it, eh, so I'm only catching up on it now. If you want a reminder of how it was, we start at 7 minutes into the video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iY6-TEOUwBQ

Source unknown or rather forgotten, but all rights (of the rightful owners) reserved.

 * a large powerful shaker made of wood or metal with a number of steel jingles

A Brazilian Dream... in London

London life indeed did suck me in (hope you enjoyed the silence). But if you think I’ve given up on my Brazilian Dream, think again. I am living it, every day, here under the grey sky, where the weather is cold and the beer is warm.

My BF finally came to the UK, 3 months after my return (!), and he is here is to stay. In the UK I mean, and hopefully by my side. And no, we didn’t have to marry.  He would have it stamped on his forehead that he is now Portuguese as well, if he could. That’s why it took so bloody long! So, I now speak Portuguese more than my mother tongue* (I even dream in Portuguese, for those of you who’ve asked me about it) or even English, and my exploration of Brazilian music has gained new heights. We rehearse regularly (did I ever say he’s a flippin’ good guitarist?), that is, if we manage to find time in our crazy, mutually exclusive timetables.

I continue to sing with Paraíso Samba School, doing gigs at least once a month**; not that it’s terribly creative – those enredos really are repetitive, mas uma coisa é*** – it’s good fun! I may come home nearly deaf, having stood next to the bateria during the show, hardly being able to hear my own thoughts, let alone my voice, but there seems to be a direct link between the intensity of rhythmic drumming and the level of endorphins in my brain. That’s why I do it. Oh, and also so that I can say I belong... Hey, you will surely agree that passing all these delirious crowds at the Notting Hill Carnival, waving at them while trying not to drop the mic, and basically giving it all, is not something you do every day. OK, I do it every year (this was my 3^rd time) and I am still not bored.

Photo by bellaphon

Can it get more Brazilian than parading in the carnival? Yes it can. Taking part in the Olympics closing ceremony beats it. Damn hard. And frankly, that deserves a separate post. Promise! A little teaser beneath, but what I want to say is – you will now be hearing news from Brazilian London. One thing though; I will be absolutely subjective, partial, biased and frank. If something deserves my praise, it will get it, if it’s below any standards, I won’t think twice about tearing it to pieces. You’ve been warned.

*Polish

**usually at Guanabara, the next one is this Saturday! http://www.paraisosamba.co.uk/events/

***one of my BF’s favourite phrases, which simply means “one thing for sure”

That Paulistan feeling

I’ve been back from Brazil for over two months now and the memories of my 4-month-long trip really seem like a dream... It looks like London life has sucked me in and is determined to keep its clutch on me with the cold, wet and jobless reality. My BF still in São Paulo (according to the latest news, he should be coming back to London in three weeks’ time, yay!), I have to resort to browsing through my facebook photo albums to remind myself that it all really happened. And my saudade is not just about him, it is, strangely enough, about the city, too. Just the other night I had a dream that I was going to perform as a singer with a group right there, in São Paulo. I woke up disappointed it wasn’t true. But then again, who knows; maybe someday!

Is it indeed that strange that I should miss Sampa, as it’s colloquially called? A city with lines of cars longer than from here to the moon, more rain in a week than London had this April (and trust me, it was a lot) and thousands of skyscrapers in an apparent fight for the last bits of sunshine, like thirsty plants in this urban jungle. I remember when, on my first, four-day-long, visit to this city, I asked my host: “So what is the landmark? Where is that place that everybody instantly recognises as pertaining to São Paulo, where people meet, the heart?” He seemed puzzled. What, no Paulistan Big Ben? I silently wondered. No Eiffel Tower? Not to mention Cristo Redentor. Let’s not even go there (there is a fierce competition between SP and Rio de Janeiro that I will talk about a bit later). I just couldn’t believe there isn’t anything characteristic that would help me create a mental image of São Paulo by means of just one token. “Avenida Paulista is quite famous” my friend didn’t give up. Right, a big street that runs through the whole city like a pulsating vein, never stopping pumping more traffic in and out of its borders. That didn’t even come close to meeting my expectations of this specific something.

I discovered what it is during my second trip which was ten times longer. It’s just not where I was looking for it. You know, with such Rio it’s easy; the overwhelming statue welcomes you from the top of the hill with its arms wide open (and says goodbye in much the same candid manner), the extreme heat hits you in the face right after you get off the plane, and walking along the ridiculously and undeservingly famous Copabana beach is bound to leave you with sunburn you won’t quickly forget. With SP, things are rather intangible. Relatively far from the sea, much colder and flat as an ironing board, it doesn’t have much to offer. At the first glance. But it’s enough to start walking the streets to notice. Or to feel, I should say. And four days are not enough to discover what I’m talking about. You need to come, take a bus, visit the MASP, gorge a coxinha*, get lost, lose your flip-flop when running in the sudden downpour, have a cold Brahma in a corner bar or dig into a feijoada after a roda de choro on a Saturday afternoon, get stuck in a traffic jam with a full bladder, leave for a party at 1AM and be sure you’ll still get there before the show starts, have another beer, chat with a taxi driver, watch at least one episode of Ratinho**, have a shot of cachaça to recover from the shock, see your friends play a gig with more swing than all your dance and music teachers put together, visit Museu da Lingua Portuguesa, sink your teeth into an indecently ripe mango and let the juices run down your chin, have one more beer, find out what guioza, hashi and shoyu mean, see live samba somewhere in Vila Madalena, eat in a kilo bar, forget what time of the year it is... and then we’ll talk. For the time being, enjoy this HD video (not mine) with views of the city and please, please, ignore the extremely naive music.

*a kind of pastry filled with shredded chicken (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coxinha)

**Programa do Ratinho, a Jerry-Springer-type TV show for the dumb masses

Aprenda a língua com música!

Olha que coisa mais linda
Mais cheia de graça
É ela menina
Que vem e que passa
No doce balanço, a caminho do mar

If you are one of those lucky ones able to understand those words (from "Garota de Ipanema" by Tom Jobim), don't bother reading the rest as this post is not meant for you. If, however, you're dying to find out what they mean and using google translator just doesn't do it for you, you've come to the right place. 

Why? Well, having brushed up on my Portuguese which is now more fluent than ever, with fresh colloquialisms and a myriad new expressions picked up straight from the streets, bars, clubs and educated daily conversations in Brazil, I am offering language classes. They're not just your regular (i.e. boring) repetitions of grammar or memorizing lists of words. No, no, no, no. The lessons I am now offering are a skilful combination of the language and... music. 

Senhoras e senhores, what some of you have been dreaming of - learning Portuguese through songs! This may come as a surprise to some, but I am actually a fully trained and experienced language teacher. So, it doesn't have to be the Girl from Ipanema we'll be working on, but any song in (Brazilian) Portuguese you like (I unwillingly accept even Ai se eu te pego, if that tickles your fancy) and soon you will not only be able to understand your the lyrics, but even hold a proper conversation with your Brazilian friends.  No miracles though.    If you don't do your homework, don't expect to suddenly start chatting like a carioca or a paulista (mineiro/baiano/pernambucano, etc.). 

The reason why I am offering this kind of classes (apart from the obvious), is that you learn the language a lot faster with music, as you will unconsciously repeat the melody in your head, which is bound to solidify words and idioms in your memory. This is how I learned Portuguese and I can assure you, it works. 

Interested? Drop a line at: portuguesethroughsongs@gmail.com

Mind you, the lessons are available in London only!

P.S. For any Brazilians out there who read the post anyway, pssst, I also give English classes. 

Because love is not a sin

After a longer pause, I’m back. My absence was due to a virtual whirlpool of events in my family life which has seen one person leave this vale of tears and another one appear, on the same day. It was a time that made me appreciate who I am, where I am and where I am going. And perhaps what life is all about.

Thinking about a lot of things that happen to us during our existence, I realised it’s all about love. Now, mind you, I’m not going to share my very personal love story with you, uh-uh. Let’s keep private stuff private. What I want to tell you is how Brazilians love, or where, to be precise.

Motels. If you think I mean roadside hotels, think again. It’s Brazil we’re talking about. A motel is a place where you never go alone. It’s a love spot. The suggestive names leave you in no doubt; Belle, Black Horse, Free Love Motel, Lamour, Sedutti... The more obvious the name, the more raunchy the atmosphere and decor. More classy places have less explicit names (Magnata, Lumini or Elegance Hotel) but they all have one thing in common: you pay per 4, 6 or 12 hours and are guaranteed maximum privacy. Motels are usually located in less frequented zones, and are guarded off the main road by high walls. You register at the entrance from the safety of your car and then drive straight to the private garage linked with the chosen room. There are no corridors (to avoid bumping into an acquaintance in the least suitable circumstances), no “windows with a view” (except for the most luxurious venues) and you never see the staff. If you make an order, for anything from snacks, to drinks, to food, to lubricants and sex toys, they bring it to you on a silver plate through a rotating window.

In São Paulo, motels are highly visible from the road, with their neon signs blinking seductively at night. They are sometimes so clustered together in one area that for example Rodovia Raposo Tavares, peppered with tiny and bigger motels of all sorts, earned itself a name of a Love Road (Rodovia do Amor).

Source: http://www.guiademoteis.com.br/sao-paulo/zona-oeste/moteis/Motel-Belle

What can you expect inside them? A large bed, of course. After all, that’s what you’re going to need most. And then, depending on the chosen standard and theme (luxurious, super-luxurious, African, Romantic, Erotic, etc.) , you can enjoy a swimming pool, jacuzzi, sauna, a solar roof or even a spider-looking erotic chair and god knows what else.

For the curious, and Portuguese-speaking, I can recommend www.guiademoteis.com.br, a comprehensive guide to motels in Brazil, which aided my research.

A bit about the history. Apparently, motels started to spring up in the 60s when unmarried couples needed somewhere to exchange affection and most hotels wouldn’t let them stay unless they produced a marriage certificate. Obviously, that attitude started to change with time, but these days, due to strained budgets, some young people still live with their parents and thus the motel is the only place they can enjoy the so-much-needed intimacy. Let’s not be so prude, though. The fact that many people are attracted by the brash façades, at times extremely kitsch interiors with fake waterfalls and wild tiger wallpapers, plus a variety of porn channels on TV, is ever so glaring. Also, the season when motels are bursting is... surprise, surprise, the carnival! 

Source: http://www.guiademoteis.com.br/sao-paulo/zona-oeste/moteis/Motel-Belle

Interestingly enough, motels are often recommended in travel guides as a cheap accommodation alternative to the ridiculously expensive hotels, especially in Rio. In fact, it has been suggested that participants of the upcoming UN summit be put up in the city’s numerous motels, as a solution to the apparent bed shortage. (read the article here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-17656123). Hilarious. But then again, who would object to sleeping in a large comfortable bed, relaxing in a sauna and then jumping into the whirlpool while admiring the night sky? I suppose they would prefer to have company, since, as one of the motel’s slogan says, “love is not a sin”. 

Is it the size that matters?

Think about Rio de Janeiro. What is the first image that comes to your mind, even if you've never been there? And I mean image, not your late-night fantasies.

Copacabana and its snaky black and white cobbled pavement?

Sipping cold coconut water on the hot sand?

Golden bodies in Brazilian bikinis?

Carnival parade?

Hopefully some of you did think of Christ the Redeemer with his outstretched arms, overlooking Guanabara Bay. Whether you are religious or not, there’s no point denying that this statue is one of the most commonly recognised landmarks of Brazil (and Rio de Janeiro in particular) and due to its impressive size (between 30 m /98.5 ft and 39m – there is contrasting info) has often been envied.

I was surprised to find out that in my motherland, Poland, a similar construction was raised in 2010 in a tiny winy towny of Świebodzin. I think the intention was to make it even bigger than the one in Rio. Was it to show the magnitude of Polish religiousness or ego, I wonder. So, our Polish Christ the King is 33 metres tall, to mark the age at Jesus’ death, apparently, and together with the mound on which it is built it reaches 52.5 metres. One way or another, it’s taller than the Rio statue. In your face, Rio!

Source: http://www.giganticstatues.com/christ-the-king-statue/

 Ok, perhaps this take is a bit unfortunate, let’s try again...

Source: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?p=67552699

Erm... the view doesn't seem quite right...

But what do I see? Another Jesus? In Cochabamba, Bolivia. No way Jose, only 40 metres, including the pedestal. What a joke. 

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cristo_de_la_Concordia_02.jpg

The priest of Świebodzin must have been sad to learn that it stands competition also from Lima, Peru, where Cristo del Pacífico was kindly left by the president to look after the Peruvian nation. 30 metres. No chance.

Source: http://ayaviri.info/2011/06/presidente-alan-garcia-inaugura-cristo-del-pacifico/

Early this year, news spread that a replica of Cristo Redentor might appear on the skyline of... Wait for it, wait for it! London. Primrose Hill to be precise. With the permission (and financial contribution) of the Brazilian government, the monument would mark the moment London passes the Olympic torch over to Rio. Metaphorically, of course. Primrose Hill may not be Corcovado, but perhaps it’s worth a go.  From a mass of comments under the article in the Guardian on the matter, I picked the following few: 

"how about a 6 inch marquette of Borris the irredeemable instead"

"The Olympics are surely a secular celebration of physical excellence? If you MUST align it to a fictional deity, surely Zeus would be far more appropriate in this instance?"

"Can we have Gisele instead?"

Hilarious.

They’re all forgetting one thing. You may have the tallest Jesus on this planet, but what really counts is the view! 

Source:http://www.lovethesepics.com/2011/04/christ-the-redeemer-statue-1-of-7-new-wonders-of-the-world-45-inspiring-pics/

The truth about the Internet

I have a confession to make. I have been checking the blog statistics. Religiously. Well, for one, it doesn’t hurt to know who’s reading your blog and where most of the traffic source comes from. Understandably, my audience is mainly from the UK, Poland and Brazil, as I’ve got friends and family in all three of them. Thanks to a fellow blogger link, I’ve gained relative popularity in the US, which now tops the list. Two, by finding out which post are most read I get valuable insight. Or so I thought.

Obviously you can stumble across my blog just by typing in google (or some other browser) key words which I happened to include.  Hence, I wasn’t surprised that suddenly people read me in, say, Germany, Russia, India or Canada. Normal. After all, the blog is entirely searchable. But then suddenly Kuwait, Ghana, Saudi Arabia. Wow, I’m getting popular around the world, I thought naively. And don’t get me wrong, I’d be more than happy to know that residents of those and other countries have an interest in Brazil and my Brazilian adventures. You’re welcome, guys!

But somehow I failed to notice, until last night, that I can actually check by which  searchwords my blog is usually found. So here we go: “carnival 2012 boobs”, ”breasts samba”, ”sexy carnaval 2012”… True, I did write about boobs at the sambadrome (and that post is the most popular indeed), but how come typing in “miss bumbum” redirects to The Brazilian Dream??

It dawned on me. Most Internet users are interested in Brazil not as a country, but as a land of big bums and boobs, hot bodies, Brazilian bikini and ass-shaking. How sad. I think I need to drown my sorrows in a caipirinha. And in a few days’ time I’ll check if this post got the most visits. C’mon, it’s bound to. 

Heaven and... earth

One of the other good memories from Brazil, and specifically from São Paulo, is a music show my BF took me to in December 2011. I'm not a particularly big fan of instrumental music, but having seen this one, and been exposed to tons of Yamandu Costa and Raphael Rabello (because of my guitarist BF), I might be considered a convert in this respect. 

The star of the night, though quite a modest one, was Swami Junior, a guitarist, bassist, arranger, composer and producer. Apparently, he is now one of the most sought after Brazilian musicians! On December 12, when he performed at SESC Consolação, his band was formed of the following members: Swami Jr. (7-string guitar), Alexandre Ribeiro (clarinet), Douglas Alonso (percussion), with Chico Pinheiro (guitar) and Marco Pereira (guitar) as guest musicians.

When they started playing, I felt like in a dream, being transported somewhere to cloud 9 with the wonderful arrangements. I’ve got this particular, physical reaction when I experience something truly magic that tickles my musical taste; I get goose bumps. So that night, it must have looked as if I was cold, but I was simply wrapped by the veal of exquisitely delicate, yet precisely placed sounds. At times though, I was brutally brought down to earth by a neighbour from hell.

This guy in his late 50s, sat next to me, stretched his legs onto a seat in front of him as if he was about to watch a football match and… would not stop tossing and turning, visibly still uncomfortable. I tried not to pay attention to him so as not to lose touch with the heavenly music. Suddenly, the man got up, walked along the back wall (looking for the exit?), a bunch of keys ringing unmercifully by his side. I winced once or twice, but was determined to enjoy the show. He came back to his seat. And started teeth-kissing. Not in a disapproving way, rather as a means to remove hell knows what from his gurgling throat. At times like these I wish I had a gun. He was obviously enjoying himself though as he would shout an out-of-place “Bravo!” each time a track finished. The last straw was when his mobile phone rang (of course!), luckily for him - in a pause between songs, at which sign he left the hall. Luckily for him.

I was able to enjoy the rest of the concert, undistracted and, frankly, I had never heard a better quality sound at any show in Europe. I must admit, and will probably reiterate in the future, that São Paulo’s music scene is truly impressive. And so are its music venues. 

So here, a fragment of this exact show, in a neighbour-from-hell-free version, especially for you. (filmed by sesctv) Sound by Rafael Valim. 

Stay tuned! 

Reality bites

Why didn’t anyone warn me that coming back after nearly four months in Brazil is so... bad? The first day in London was a nightmare. I was tired, confused (language, driving on the left, bland food), irritated, I felt cold and spaced out, and to top it all, I argued with my flatmates. I miss the heat, I miss the samba, the cold beer, the delicate raw tuna melting in my mouth at the Japanese restaurant, the properly salty dishes (have the English given up on salt altoghether?!), I miss requeijão*, and, of course, I miss my boyfriend. Yes, saudade, jet lag, holidays coming to an end, mixed with a heavy dose of reality which I’m going to have to face from now on is a hard one to swallow. Obviously, there are things I’m NOT going to miss; the absurd traffic, the expensive and unreliable transport, the littered streets in the less glamorous areas of São Paulo, but, all in all, positive memories prevail.

So, para matar a saudade**, I’m going to indulge in re-living the best moments of my trip. And what’s better than trying great food? I remember I never mentioned the famous feijoada (from feijão – beans). The origin of the dish goes back to slavery times; hard-working slaves needed a substantial, nutritious meal to endure their daily grind. African cuisine included a bean stew, which on Brazilian ground acquired some meat ingredients. I suppose meat is an understatement. In truth, the masters relished the best parts of pork and whatever was left of the pig they gave to the slaves. Thus, the original feijoada had ears, tails and noses floating around among the beans. It would have been considered the meal of the poor, but today it can be found in the fanciest restaurants all over Brazil. Being a heavy dish, it is usually served only twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, although you’ll easily find places where feijoada is available non-stop. In cheaper venues, everything comes in one pot; the bean stew, chunks of pork meat, pork ribs, sausage, carne seca (dry beef) or corned beef, bacon and the chef’s other secrets. More luxurious ones will usually have a feijoada special, meaning that you pay a certain amount (the most expensive I’ve eaten was R$50, which is slightly less than £20) and you eat as much as you want choosing the ingredients. There is a pot with the beans (in a nicely flavoured brine), followed by pots bursting with all the sumptuous meats separately! To complete the dish, you also will have to help yourself to the following:

-        -  rice (obviously!)

-        -  couve (collard greens)

-         - farofa (lightly roasted coarse cassava flour, often with bits of bacon in it)

-         - torresmo (deep-friend pork rinds)

-         - hot pepper sauce (to spice things up!)

-         - a salad of finely chopped tomatoes and onion

-         - a slice of orange (to refresh)

and if available:

-         - deep-fried cassava

-         - deep-fried banana

Feijoada definitely tickles my buds, so I tried it on a few occasions, but the best one was when my boyfriend took me to Armazém Paulista. We could eat à vontade (as much as you want), but after the starters and the first round, I was full! You’re supposed to wash it down with cachaça, caipirinha or beer, and wash it down we did, with all three, I believe, which allowed me to eat a little bit more of the divine dish. After that though, you could roll me out like a ball... It was our lunch and I didn’t touch food until the next morning!

* requeijão is a type of cream cheese, sold in plastic cups, with a mild but very characteristic taste

** an expression meaning to get rid of the longing (literally to kill the longing)