| For now lots
of hard work, some stress, but things coming together and I'm beginning
to unwind...not sure I want to go back to work! I'm becoming Brasilian?
Things seem
to "click" routinely with the wife, never had that before. And best
of all, she is a great cook! She whipped up some pesto the other day, best
I've had anywhere and it was the first time she ever made it! Fresh herbs
and almonds…the way to a man’s heart?
Meanwhile it’s
life on the fringe in a small bairro called Montreal with a great view
of the Serra do Curral here called the “Rola Moça” meaning Rolling
Woman since their flanks are nearly vertical in places...once rolling down
those slopes you don’t stop.
Carolina was
most probably conceived here (latest ultrasound shows a face that looks
a lot like me!). We have a fantastic 180 deg view from the porch and
lots of fresh fruit and good bird watching. But the wife wants to move
into town for the convenience and to escape the reminders that her first
love got 5 bullets in his head a couple blocks from here.
As old Jim
said, "There's danger on the edge of town…”
Me, I’d rather
stay here or move further out.
Another
Day On The Beautiful Horizon - Um Outro Dia No Belo Horizonte
Another short
story that spins out of staying awake writing in the bairro. Late in the
evening, rising chants with a female lead cranked up. First, I wondered
if it was related to the evangelista’s or what I was told was instrumental
native stuff coming from the next door down.
Remember the
day’s street fest, food, beers, small objects and clothes. Spices, pure
honey, and fish and fresh herbs. Muscular men engaged in non-contact ritual
combat in synch with live musicians having features I assumed were native
types from the Amazon, the player had instruments that could be both plucked
and beaten. The entire scene was viewed by a tight circle of spectators,
I was glad to be in the outer row of viewers as the dancers were often
airborne upside down throwing kicks. These guys were seriously dangerous
dudes.
But moving
back to the ranting next door I decided to go out, have a smoke and listen
to this ever more frantic ritual, could not decide if it was something
native, chanting from a church, or an African sex rite. The red warm light
of flickering flames emanated from the same space as the sounds, somehow
eerie. It became increasingly violent but then just sorta stopped. Our
pup was scared but it made for good writing music. I had weird dreams.
Another absolutely
beautiful morning on the porch but have a date with the ornery-bus: off
to do paper work and house deals. Just another manic Monday. Standing in
Big Shopping and having a hard time standing this aspect of what had started
out as a perfectly good day, sipping coffee while watering the plants and
now…this. Dimly in the cacophony of the mall I hear him, but decide its
just imagination or a case of mistaken identity. But it was the Doors playing
something obscure on the mall muzak machine…when was the last time you
heard such broadcast at an American mall? Finally Jim asks “…when will
you stop……………the ……rain…..?”
Standing again
on the terrace of the Penthouse, working on the buy it deal. Gazing at
the big ridge and the other high knobs of the city, the pastel high rises
did not look too bad against the scene. Plenty of trees and clean streets.
There I stood, higher than Montreal.
We missed the
ornery-bus and got tired of choking on truck and bus smoke and noise. Was
fun to watch the motor bikers, gotta be a high mortality rate, high speed
lane splitting in curves perfectly lawful. Flagged a taxi and drove off
into the mechanized madness. Por Favor! Get me back to Montreal. Making
headway toward the highway home, we past the scene of something, several
military police smartly dressed in black berets, black flak jackets, black
boots and light brown, nearly tan khakis. The police kept the crowd at
a distance and the only evidence of an accident was a very large fresh
pool of blood on the street. Appeared as though a fatal amount had been
spilled; a bicyclist, motorcyclist, a shooting, not sure what. I thought
about the black 600 cc second hand enduro I had looked at buying today.
The taxi driver
was either too laid back or blind, not sure which, had trouble seeing the
various speed bumps after exiting the main lane. I could see the bumps
and I was not driving. Monday continued.
Got home, checked
the plants and watched the moon get brighter. Someone was playing sappy
country music on maybe the doe-bro…pretty broad spectrum, could not help
smiling.
Later that
evening I was told that the “Indian” sounds of yesterday were local boys
playing music and that the chanting I heard at midnight were either evangelista’s
or all in my head as my wife had heard nothing.
Went out on
Saturday with the brother-in-law, Anderson. He swapped bikes with me since
mine is such a piece of junk. We net gained around a 1000' but did not
make the big ridge. Just as we where on top of a high, steep foot hill
and about to escape the trash zone, my drive ratchet failed...so if you
did not pedal, the chain wound up in the rear wheel spokes. Again we swapped
bikes. Anderson rode that damn thing down a steep mountain with his feet
on the upper frame so the pedals would free wheel madly. Hell, I was scared
on a good bike with better brakes and good drive mechanism. Anyway, we
will make it to the big ridge one day but I will need a better bike.
To be continued.
The following
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