My house smells damp. In fact I could rephrase that along the lines that my house is damp. It has rained here pretty much every day since we arrived. There were a record breaking forty plus consecutive days of rain followed by a few dry days, only to be followed by yet more rain. And when I say rain, what I mean is tropical thunderstorms. The sort that floods everything really quickly, causing power blackouts and localized flooding on the roads.
As a consequence nothing really dries. To give you an example, Steve uses my hairdryer every morning to dry the shirt, socks and underwear that he is about to put on. Boy do I miss my tumble drier and my AGA cooker (check that out on Google)
As Charles commented on his Face Book page whilst he was staying here “I now understand why the British never colonized Brazil – the weather”
We have a laundry room that is adjacent to the kitchen. It has two doors to the outside and both of these let in water every time it rains. So that has meant for most of the past 7 weeks, ever since we moved in, I have had a daily ritual of mopping out the laundry room.
Our landlord (who deserves a blog of his own and one day I will tell you all about him) employs an agent to sort out the problems with the house. She is so useless that I don’t suppose that she can even spell the words “fix it” let alone know how to do it. There have been and still are numerous problems in the house, but by far the most pressing is to fix the rain problem. It is not as though Sao Paulo is unused to wet days. We are living pretty close to the Tropic of Capricorn and you might think the fact that there is the word “Tropic” in the title of the line of latitude, one would have a clue as to the climate.
So Useless ( as we have taken to calling her) has been on several occasions to “look at the problem”. She knows that my Portuguese, (although improving by the day,) is still limited, but she insists on gabbling away in the local tongue. She has tried to fit a rubber phalange on the door to stop the water running under the gap – no success - followed by a 2 inch piece of marble which is intended to create a lip over which the rain water shouldn’t but does run.
It doesn’t help that
a. the doors don’t fit properly
And
b. She doesn’t want to spend anything more than peanuts to fix any of the problems.
So the consequence is that water floods the laundry room most days. Clearly for the Brazilians, this is not unusual, because my (rented) washing machine has feet about 3 inches off the ground. It wouldn’t do to have water mixing with electricity after all.
Useless is supposed to come back this coming Thursday so have another look at the problem. Trouble is my patience is running very thin. I have already been told that the real estate company that listed this house have completely washed their hands of her and are refusing to deal with her. Fine for them to do that but I am the one living in a house that she is managing and I don’t have the ability to say “I refuse to deal with you”.
The final straw came today when I went to get Tessie's (our fox terrier) heartworm tablet that she has to have every month. With hindsight it was stupid to keep her (2 years worth) of supplies in the laundry room but there is a very convenient cupboard there which could have been designed for the purpose.
I open the bag containing Tessie’s worldly goods and the smell was disgusting. Everything in there and I mean everything was covered with greenish grey mould - ugh.
So now, in addition to doing battle with Useless , I now have to set about finding a vet.
Whatever they are paying, today it is clearly not enough.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Fogo de Chao Sunday March 28th 2010
Fogo de Chão
The children have been on Spring Break with us for the past two weeks. There is a restaurant that we have wanted to take them to, but the trouble is that it is a serious meat restaurant and as Emma is going through a vegetarian phase of life at the moment, we decided that it was a total waste of time to take her to it.
So we waited until she had gone back to the United States before taking Charles and on Friday we went. He leaves tomorrow for the last ten weeks of high school and so it was a good choice to take him to.
It is classified as a “churrascaria” which translates as a Brazilian Barbeque. These are very popular in Brazil and most towns will have a selection of them. When you arrive, they bring “couvert” which at this restaurant, basically consists of baskets of bread, mandioc, chicks’ hearts and sausage. I guess they want you to fill up on carbohydrates and offal before eating the really good stuff. The secret is to avoid the bread, sample the rest and wait for the main event.
Then there is the most amazing salad bar. It is easy to go totally over the top on salad as well, but because it is an all inclusive price, you can go back to the salad bar as often as you want to.
Each person at the table has a disc by their place setting. The disc has red on one side and green on the other. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that green means “yes please” and red means “no thank you”. The minute the waiters see the green disc, they descend upon you, almost like a SWAT team to serve you meat.
Now, the meat is barbequed as I have said, and is served on enormous sword like knives. By your knife and fork are a pair of tongs and the idea is that as soon as they start to carve the meat, so you grasp the cut end with the tongs and then they carve the rest. As the meat falls away, so you have it safely grasped in the teeth of the tongs and so it doesn’t fall onto you and make a mess. You can always spot the newcomers who haven’t quite got the hang of it.
The restaurant is very clever. Somehow, they always manage to serve the cheaper cuts of meat first. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, but they work on the principle that better to fill you up with chicken and pork rather than start with the Filet Mignon. But for the initiated, the secret is to wait because eventually the serious cuts of meat will appear.
This is my third “Fogo de Chão”. For Charles it was an initiation and I think, quite a success. He definitely got his money’s worth but then again he is a teenager with hollow legs. The secret to the success of the evening is to starve yourself all day and vegetarians need not apply.
The children have been on Spring Break with us for the past two weeks. There is a restaurant that we have wanted to take them to, but the trouble is that it is a serious meat restaurant and as Emma is going through a vegetarian phase of life at the moment, we decided that it was a total waste of time to take her to it.
So we waited until she had gone back to the United States before taking Charles and on Friday we went. He leaves tomorrow for the last ten weeks of high school and so it was a good choice to take him to.
It is classified as a “churrascaria” which translates as a Brazilian Barbeque. These are very popular in Brazil and most towns will have a selection of them. When you arrive, they bring “couvert” which at this restaurant, basically consists of baskets of bread, mandioc, chicks’ hearts and sausage. I guess they want you to fill up on carbohydrates and offal before eating the really good stuff. The secret is to avoid the bread, sample the rest and wait for the main event.
Then there is the most amazing salad bar. It is easy to go totally over the top on salad as well, but because it is an all inclusive price, you can go back to the salad bar as often as you want to.
Each person at the table has a disc by their place setting. The disc has red on one side and green on the other. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that green means “yes please” and red means “no thank you”. The minute the waiters see the green disc, they descend upon you, almost like a SWAT team to serve you meat.
Now, the meat is barbequed as I have said, and is served on enormous sword like knives. By your knife and fork are a pair of tongs and the idea is that as soon as they start to carve the meat, so you grasp the cut end with the tongs and then they carve the rest. As the meat falls away, so you have it safely grasped in the teeth of the tongs and so it doesn’t fall onto you and make a mess. You can always spot the newcomers who haven’t quite got the hang of it.
The restaurant is very clever. Somehow, they always manage to serve the cheaper cuts of meat first. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, but they work on the principle that better to fill you up with chicken and pork rather than start with the Filet Mignon. But for the initiated, the secret is to wait because eventually the serious cuts of meat will appear.
This is my third “Fogo de Chão”. For Charles it was an initiation and I think, quite a success. He definitely got his money’s worth but then again he is a teenager with hollow legs. The secret to the success of the evening is to starve yourself all day and vegetarians need not apply.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Bikinis. Wednesday March 24, 2010
This past weekend we went to the beach for the first time. To be precise we went to a resort called Riviera de São Lourenço about 120 kilometers (75 miles) outside of Sao Paulo. It took 3 hours to get there on Friday, which, by all accounts is not uncommon. Twenty five miles per hour is fast by Sao Paulo standards. At least one accident and the usual Friday traffic hampered our progress, but hey, we were in vacation mood so “nao problem”.
We arrived in time for lunch and afterwards set off for the beach. I had been warned that in Brazil, having the bare essentials covered up is de rigueur, but pretty much anything thereafter is fine. The main thing to remember is that less is definitely more. It doesn’t matter what shape or size you are, bikinis are the only thing for the beach. Swim suits and two piece cover ups, (commonly known as Tankinis) are stared at as much to say “what the heck are you wearing?”
Emma (14 going on 21) decided that before she even went to the beach we had to go and buy her a new two piece. We did and it is reasonably modest. I on the other hand, thought to hell with what is expected and donned my safe Lands End two piece, covering up everything.
Well, they don’t call them “dental floss” for nothing. For the body beautiful there is the three triangle variety with the thinnest of straps in order to maximize tan and minimize white lines. For the more modest there are thongs moving up to the four triangle variety and so on. Nappies (diapers for the Americans) complete the picture – go figure.
I can honestly say that it doesn’t matter what shape or size you are, more stares were elicited by not wearing a bikini than by wearing one that is for sure.
Even for the men. Some were wearing shorts, others Speedos. Some even wore both and took off the shorts to reveal the Speedos. Not a pretty sight in most cases.
I remember our first and only trip to a public swimming pool in France and was amazed to find that the men were obliged to wear Speedos rather than shorts. At first I thought it was just the French being, well, French, but then someone explained to me that it was for hygienic reasons – ugh.
In the Philippines, there was a massively Australian influence of the “slip it, slap it slop it”. For the uninitiated, Slip on a shirt, Slop on sunscreen and Slap on a hat. They encouraged swimsuits that were more like mini wet suits, commonly known as solar suits. They were designed to stop as much sun reaching the body as possible. The children wore them and with the fierce Manila sunshine on their then, very young and European skin it seemed a necessary and wise precaution.
But back to Riviera de São Lourenço. My untanned body and Cover Up swimwear was too much. I didn’t like the attention and craved anonymity. I caved and that evening went and bought a two piece. Stretch marks, scars, middle age spread and cellulite, it doesn’t matter. Anything really does go on the beach in Brazil.
We arrived in time for lunch and afterwards set off for the beach. I had been warned that in Brazil, having the bare essentials covered up is de rigueur, but pretty much anything thereafter is fine. The main thing to remember is that less is definitely more. It doesn’t matter what shape or size you are, bikinis are the only thing for the beach. Swim suits and two piece cover ups, (commonly known as Tankinis) are stared at as much to say “what the heck are you wearing?”
Emma (14 going on 21) decided that before she even went to the beach we had to go and buy her a new two piece. We did and it is reasonably modest. I on the other hand, thought to hell with what is expected and donned my safe Lands End two piece, covering up everything.
Well, they don’t call them “dental floss” for nothing. For the body beautiful there is the three triangle variety with the thinnest of straps in order to maximize tan and minimize white lines. For the more modest there are thongs moving up to the four triangle variety and so on. Nappies (diapers for the Americans) complete the picture – go figure.
I can honestly say that it doesn’t matter what shape or size you are, more stares were elicited by not wearing a bikini than by wearing one that is for sure.
Even for the men. Some were wearing shorts, others Speedos. Some even wore both and took off the shorts to reveal the Speedos. Not a pretty sight in most cases.
I remember our first and only trip to a public swimming pool in France and was amazed to find that the men were obliged to wear Speedos rather than shorts. At first I thought it was just the French being, well, French, but then someone explained to me that it was for hygienic reasons – ugh.
In the Philippines, there was a massively Australian influence of the “slip it, slap it slop it”. For the uninitiated, Slip on a shirt, Slop on sunscreen and Slap on a hat. They encouraged swimsuits that were more like mini wet suits, commonly known as solar suits. They were designed to stop as much sun reaching the body as possible. The children wore them and with the fierce Manila sunshine on their then, very young and European skin it seemed a necessary and wise precaution.
But back to Riviera de São Lourenço. My untanned body and Cover Up swimwear was too much. I didn’t like the attention and craved anonymity. I caved and that evening went and bought a two piece. Stretch marks, scars, middle age spread and cellulite, it doesn’t matter. Anything really does go on the beach in Brazil.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Wednesday March 17 2010
Steve is not a gardener. He claims that it takes too much time and he would rather be playing golf. When we were both working it was easy to justify having someone to cut the lawn and keep things tidy. When we left the UK and went to Manila, no one ever did their own gardens and so the trend has continued to the present day.
We loved our garden in Princeton, I pottered in it, Steve dug the occasional hole and when Charles bumped first his father’s car and then my car into the garage wall and needed to earn money to pay for the damage, he did so by digging lots of holes so that I could plant lots of shrubs.
When we first saw the Princeton house before buying it, there was snow on the ground. I asked the then owner what was in the garden and the reply was “grass and plants”. This was true to a degree but in reality, the grass was coarse, under fertilized and full of weeds. The “plants” were two climbing akebias and a clematis. The “garden” consisted mainly of Brunswick Shale, a dark red stone that is very prevalent in our part of New Jersey, and clay. In very nearly wept when I saw the reality of the situation. Digging was very hard. We had always wanted to have a pool in the garden and but it took 1 year to construct, ran 50 % over budget and took 96 stick of dynamite to blast the hole. You can see the problem. Now though, our garden is beginning to look lovely, and I do love it. Last summer, a friend commented to me that he had “garden envy”. I can’t tell you how much those words meant to me.
But back to the present. Today our new gardener came to cut the grass. Our new house here in Sao Paulo has a patch of grass that is “L” shaped and at most 45 feet by 45 feet, but it took him literally all day to mow the grass. Actually “mowing” isn’t the word I would use. He used a strimmer to go round and cut it. I was amazed that he could be so inefficient when even a small mower would yield quicker results. Then of course the problem was that he had to pick up all the grass clippings. So after strimming, he took some time off for lunch and then spent the best part of the afternoon raking. Now here is where it gets clever. He has to work in tandem with the pool boy because the slightest breeze and these grass clippings blow into the water. I sat and watched in amazement at the two of them making an absolute meal out of doing the grass. They obviously have nothing better to do with their time.
But then I thought about Jesus, who used to cut the grass in Manila. There we had very broad leaf grass that is common in the tropics. He used to use a pair of hand shears. Nothing as mechanical even as a strimmer. In fact, Steve reminded me that sometimes he would even use scissors. Imagine cutting grass with an overgrown pair of scissors.
Of course, in America we had a couple of guys with “sit-on” mowers. In 45 minutes they could cut an acre of grass, strim the edges and blow all the leaves away with one of those petrol driven blowers that they would strap to their backs. $ 45 very well spent thank you.
In Istanbul we lived in an apartment, in Tel Aviv we did have a company that came in every week and in Sweden it was so cold the grass hardly grew at all so about 4 or 5 times during the summer was all we needed. In Paris we had a fabulous guy although Steve was non to impressed when he broke the mower during the first week of service. He got it fixed but for the price of a new mower.
But, as long as it isn’t me or Steve cutting the grass, I don’t mind what method they use or how long they take.
We loved our garden in Princeton, I pottered in it, Steve dug the occasional hole and when Charles bumped first his father’s car and then my car into the garage wall and needed to earn money to pay for the damage, he did so by digging lots of holes so that I could plant lots of shrubs.
When we first saw the Princeton house before buying it, there was snow on the ground. I asked the then owner what was in the garden and the reply was “grass and plants”. This was true to a degree but in reality, the grass was coarse, under fertilized and full of weeds. The “plants” were two climbing akebias and a clematis. The “garden” consisted mainly of Brunswick Shale, a dark red stone that is very prevalent in our part of New Jersey, and clay. In very nearly wept when I saw the reality of the situation. Digging was very hard. We had always wanted to have a pool in the garden and but it took 1 year to construct, ran 50 % over budget and took 96 stick of dynamite to blast the hole. You can see the problem. Now though, our garden is beginning to look lovely, and I do love it. Last summer, a friend commented to me that he had “garden envy”. I can’t tell you how much those words meant to me.
But back to the present. Today our new gardener came to cut the grass. Our new house here in Sao Paulo has a patch of grass that is “L” shaped and at most 45 feet by 45 feet, but it took him literally all day to mow the grass. Actually “mowing” isn’t the word I would use. He used a strimmer to go round and cut it. I was amazed that he could be so inefficient when even a small mower would yield quicker results. Then of course the problem was that he had to pick up all the grass clippings. So after strimming, he took some time off for lunch and then spent the best part of the afternoon raking. Now here is where it gets clever. He has to work in tandem with the pool boy because the slightest breeze and these grass clippings blow into the water. I sat and watched in amazement at the two of them making an absolute meal out of doing the grass. They obviously have nothing better to do with their time.
But then I thought about Jesus, who used to cut the grass in Manila. There we had very broad leaf grass that is common in the tropics. He used to use a pair of hand shears. Nothing as mechanical even as a strimmer. In fact, Steve reminded me that sometimes he would even use scissors. Imagine cutting grass with an overgrown pair of scissors.
Of course, in America we had a couple of guys with “sit-on” mowers. In 45 minutes they could cut an acre of grass, strim the edges and blow all the leaves away with one of those petrol driven blowers that they would strap to their backs. $ 45 very well spent thank you.
In Istanbul we lived in an apartment, in Tel Aviv we did have a company that came in every week and in Sweden it was so cold the grass hardly grew at all so about 4 or 5 times during the summer was all we needed. In Paris we had a fabulous guy although Steve was non to impressed when he broke the mower during the first week of service. He got it fixed but for the price of a new mower.
But, as long as it isn’t me or Steve cutting the grass, I don’t mind what method they use or how long they take.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sunday March 14th 2010
You might wonder where I have been for the past couple of weeks. After all, in this day and age there is no excuse not to be wireless, enabled, and portable anywhere in the world. The simple answer is that I was having so much fun that there weren’t enough hours in the day to sit down and write. Apologies also to anyone that is awaiting a response to emails.
Two weeks ago, Steve and I went back to the United States. He was on a four day conference with work colleagues but the main reason was so that we could go and get our visas from the Brazilian Consulate in New York. I had to come as well, so it made sense to travel with him, rather than sit here alone and come later.
We arrived early Sunday morning and had been warned that it was freezing with snow still on the ground. Of course all my winter coats are no-where to be seen so I borrowed a coat from someone I have met a total of four times. This is one of the things that I love about the spirit of living away from home. She has also just arrived in Sao Paulo and like me is living without most of her possessions, but saw my need and immediately came to my rescue. She also threw in a pair of seriously good boots and the sort of socks that you absolutely have to have when the temperatures are below freezing. Thank you D.
So we were set for the frozen temperatures of New Jersey. We landed at 5 in the morning, got to the hotel, had breakfast, two hours of sleep, and were ready to face a serious day of retail therapy. As all good American consumers do, I went and downloaded my discount coupons for the stores I knew I would shop in and full armed and primed with credit cards at the ready, proceeded to single handedly rescue the ailing US retail sector of the economy.
Replete with shopping, I spent the next few days catching up with friends, slotting back into life in Princeton and most importantly playing bridge. Not having played since I left in January, I managed to have seven games. Now, here is another interesting observation on life which may seem like stating the obvious but is worth saying anyway. It is comfortable to slot into a routine of life – I know because that is exactly how I was in the United States. Bridge on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes Wednesdays, discussion groups, book clubs and such like. Intersperse that with the school run, dog walks, shopping, cooking etc., and you get the picture.
All of a sudden I am deprived of that routine whilst I build new contacts and routines in Sao Paulo. It is coming and I won’t deny that I am enjoying all the new encounters with lovely people, but it will take time. So thank you everyone in Princeton for welcoming me back with open arms, girly gossip and too many lunches that now need some serious work to get rid of the aftereffects. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing each and every one of you – multiple times.
But the serious business of trip was to collect our visas. This meant a trip to New York and then another trip a week later to collect the passports with the all important newly minted stamps inside.
We also had to do fingerprints for Uncle Sam, to make sure that the people leaving the United States are really the same people that arrived five and a half years ago. Tedious but necessary.
So now we are legally here in Brazil. In the coming week we will have to present ourselves at some office or another to be officially given our tax id numbers. I thought I would never hear myself say this but I am happy to report that we are officially eligible to pay tax in Brazil.
More importantly, we are now able to open bank accounts and finally get our furniture moved from the warehouse somewhere in New York State and onto a ship headed south.
Two weeks ago, Steve and I went back to the United States. He was on a four day conference with work colleagues but the main reason was so that we could go and get our visas from the Brazilian Consulate in New York. I had to come as well, so it made sense to travel with him, rather than sit here alone and come later.
We arrived early Sunday morning and had been warned that it was freezing with snow still on the ground. Of course all my winter coats are no-where to be seen so I borrowed a coat from someone I have met a total of four times. This is one of the things that I love about the spirit of living away from home. She has also just arrived in Sao Paulo and like me is living without most of her possessions, but saw my need and immediately came to my rescue. She also threw in a pair of seriously good boots and the sort of socks that you absolutely have to have when the temperatures are below freezing. Thank you D.
So we were set for the frozen temperatures of New Jersey. We landed at 5 in the morning, got to the hotel, had breakfast, two hours of sleep, and were ready to face a serious day of retail therapy. As all good American consumers do, I went and downloaded my discount coupons for the stores I knew I would shop in and full armed and primed with credit cards at the ready, proceeded to single handedly rescue the ailing US retail sector of the economy.
Replete with shopping, I spent the next few days catching up with friends, slotting back into life in Princeton and most importantly playing bridge. Not having played since I left in January, I managed to have seven games. Now, here is another interesting observation on life which may seem like stating the obvious but is worth saying anyway. It is comfortable to slot into a routine of life – I know because that is exactly how I was in the United States. Bridge on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes Wednesdays, discussion groups, book clubs and such like. Intersperse that with the school run, dog walks, shopping, cooking etc., and you get the picture.
All of a sudden I am deprived of that routine whilst I build new contacts and routines in Sao Paulo. It is coming and I won’t deny that I am enjoying all the new encounters with lovely people, but it will take time. So thank you everyone in Princeton for welcoming me back with open arms, girly gossip and too many lunches that now need some serious work to get rid of the aftereffects. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing each and every one of you – multiple times.
But the serious business of trip was to collect our visas. This meant a trip to New York and then another trip a week later to collect the passports with the all important newly minted stamps inside.
We also had to do fingerprints for Uncle Sam, to make sure that the people leaving the United States are really the same people that arrived five and a half years ago. Tedious but necessary.
So now we are legally here in Brazil. In the coming week we will have to present ourselves at some office or another to be officially given our tax id numbers. I thought I would never hear myself say this but I am happy to report that we are officially eligible to pay tax in Brazil.
More importantly, we are now able to open bank accounts and finally get our furniture moved from the warehouse somewhere in New York State and onto a ship headed south.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)