Thursday, March 24, 2016

I don't really know what really kept me up until 2.30am...

I don't really know what really kept me up until 2.30am. 
I was hot. 
I was cold. 
I was thinking about the last moments of Harvey Milk (am finishing his biography - the moment he saw Dan White with a gun and must have thought 'oh no!"). 
I was thinking of the last moments of OJ Simpson's ex-wife and her friend (am watching American Crime Story - what terror). 
I was reliving the emotions of our Brazil trip. 
I was excited about doing pecs at the gym in the morning. 
I was singing Shirley Bassey's After The Rain to myself again and again ('after the rain has gone something inside me is dying for you'). 
I was thinking about the intense one-man theatre show I'd seen with Dan and Michael earlier that evening, and one of its monologues: who are we afraid of disappointing in life? Ourselves? Others? (who are they and why?). 
I was worried my phone battery was going to die (it did the night before, I couldn't explain it, no alarm that morning, it made me late for work). 
M thought I was asleep as I was very still, but in my mind thoughts and melodies were racing through, one taking over the next; in my body my senses on high alert. There seemed to be no end to it, but sleep did win over, without me being conscious of it. 
Normally I realise it's coming because I get a spinning sensation (like my bed is flying through a space tunnel) or I start having work ideas (which I have to jot down quickly) or I start thinking ridiculous thoughts (could I get Chaka Khan to sing at my 10th wedding anniversary, wouldn't that be a nice surprise if she just rocked up in the pub we've hired and sang us our song?).
Tonight, will you sing me lullabies?

Monday, March 21, 2016

Brazil trip #6

I did sleep a good 4-5th of our flight but still I feel well tired here on this couch next to a power socket by gate 43 of Lisbon airport. It makes me so emotional: I look wistfully at a beach volley competition TV broadcast (we played beach volley during our trip, it was hilarious), I cry at a Guardian video about an Iraqi cat reunited with his family now refugees in Norway ("Kundush! My life!" sobs the mother when he is returned to them - I can't wait for the cat's biopic to come out at the cinema), I friggin' go all "that-is-so-sad" reading that Umberto Eco has died (question: has anyone every finished one of his novels?), and I react passionately to the lack of available choice in fruit juices at the cafe (haven't they heard of acerola in this country??!). Time for a nap.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Brazil trip #5

So in the end there was nothing to fear about today (Sunday), because we said our goodbyes last night instead.
After a stunning day of hiking and swimming in 3 waterfalls and 4 water holes, and stressfully making dinner (gazpacho, Brazilian chicken), we went to dance forró in a bar. Why oh why did I decide to have a caipirinha with cachaca? (I blame my friend A) 
I started welling up as the singer/accordeonist was asking "meu baião... coração... arranca essa dor do meu peito pra eu não chorar" - I didn't get all the words but I understood the words for pain, chest and not crying. (Can you see where this is going?)
So in the end I just had to cut it short ("Shall we go, M? I am tired") even if  I didn't want to say goodbye.
So in the end I actually don't look down to hide my tears, I look up into the sky, as though gasping for air, my throat is too tight and my chest feels too heavy. I sob in V's neck, I cry on G's shoulder, J, A and T join them to make a circle around me and jump and sing and jump and flood me with their joy for living.
Here's to you, beautiful ones!

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Brazil trip #4



This morning Thamires, sat in the back of the VW Gol we had rented for the day to go around this gorgeous national park, told me how much she enjoyed reading my posts about the trip. "Even if I'm there anyway. They are so nice! They take you there!" (I paraphrase).
At the end of the day, as we hike down from the top of the Moro de Inacio peak (it takes 10 mins + Valmir did it in flipflops - we are not that adventurous), giddy with the breathtaking views we just enjoyed, and after having been to a waterfall deep in a canyon and swam in a lovely river creek, she says "Ben I can't wait to read your latest chronicle tonight!".
"Oh I don't know if I can write about today, there is too much to say", I reply, thinking that it would be hard to describe how beautiful the landscapes are here, how magical it is to see hundreds of butterflies flying across the dirt road and by the water, and all the flowers, insects, birds all around.
But also I thought I couldn't write because I am feeling quite anxious: on Sunday we say goodbye to our merry gang of friends, old (the ones we came to see on this trip to Brazil) and new (the ones we made during the recent intense days), and it breaks my heart already. 
I am dreading it so much. You know that sensation before hugging someone you don't want to part from... I tend to sort of clear my throat while looking down on the floor (as if the courage to face the moments ahead could be found on the floor!). Also I tend to hope the other person will cry too, and first, so I can say it is their fault I am crying now. Well it was always their fault, but not in that way.

Monday, March 14, 2016

Brazil trip #3

It's 6pm and the beach hut we stop at to have dinner has actually closed its kitchen. (Cause it's a Wednesday night I guess?) But the live band is still playing, and the small crowd of people is loving it so we decide to hang about. At first we watch from the side, then we start swaying our hips, then we get into the groove. Behind us the beach is long, sandy with waves perfect for the handful of surfers still in the water. We face towards many tall palm trees: at their root the sky is that light orange (the color of the fruit juice Valmir made us try yesterday - fruit name unremembed, am pretty sure it ends with a 'va' sound?), at their top the sky is the purple/dark blue of the coming night. People are dancing all around us. A little girl (7 years old or so, big afro with a bright yellow ribbon) makes a choreography (right arm round on 1 beat/left arm round on the other/both arms together slowly on 2 beats) and everyone starts copying her. 

Are we on the set for an advert for Havaianas, Coca-Cola, or the Partido de Trabalhadores?

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Brazil trip #2

So Sunday started scarily with that mugging (see previous post), but it also ended magically - with a visit to our friend Victor's grandma. 

Raised to be a lady, she was a natural hostess. She chatted and chatted and chatted (and Michael and I just nodded, understanding 1 word in 5...), asked questions and told us about her love for the local football team (she has written a story whose main character is the club's mascot, a canary bird).

 She also told us she loved playing the piano ('adoro tocar o piano!' - this I understood clearly), and then invited us to listen to her. I was a little late in the parlour, as I was admiring the several paintings she had made and were on display in the living room (some were naive collages, others on plates, many bouquets of flowers, and fishes on glass). And then I heard she had started to play. The instrument was really out of tune, but wow she could play it! 

What made it even more magical is the coincidence that she played Autumn Leaves (one of Michael's favourite songs), and then went into playing a fado she had composed herself for her parents (her dad was Portuguese, from Madeira). And I love fado! What were the chances? This holiday is an emotional overload.

Friday, March 11, 2016

Brazil trip #1


Things I said I would do if I ever got mugged (you know, the things one says while watching a stressful movie scene): 1. Scream loudly "I am being mugged!". 2. Scream loudlly "Police!" 3. Kick him in the balls. 4. Punch him in the face while holding my set of keys. 5. Throw what he is after across the street. 

Things I did not do when I got mugged by a crackhead with a very large knife: all of the above. In the typical post-trauma, guilt-trip way of thinking of my family, I would spend lots of time thinking about what I could have done: kick his knee? pretend to fall so he would stop holding my tee-shirt so tightly? Only later did it cross my mind that maybe he had another weapon, actually, so what I did do was the only right answer.

Things I did do when I got mugged: 1. Said "oh not my phone there are all my holidays photos in it!! Por favor!!" (our friend got his phone taken from him at Carnaval the night before so at this rate we aint gonna have many photos of the event to show you!). hahaha I tried to plead a poor crackhead for the mercy of my first-world digital memories! hahaha 2. I refused to take it out of my pocket, but then he started counting "one.... two...". 


Which made me realise I was, actually, one second away from disaster. (If not the big one, at least something very painful!). I thought about my partner, helplessly watching from the side, about my family, about our Brazilian friends. I gave him my phone and the little bit of money I had in my porta-dollar.


In the picturesque cobbled streets of this old Salvador neighbourhood, as the sunrise bathed the crumbling, colourful houses and the stray cats slowly walked in the middle of the deserted road, the likelihood of disaster striking was actually higher than I thought.