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 are Shane's previous articles for the magazine:

• Biking In Brazil ~ Up Into The Mountains
• Life In Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, Brazil ~“A Jewel In The Rough”
• A Marriage Map For Brazil ~ Getting Hitched In Brazil