Happy Mummy Day in Brazil

Passion Every Which Way: Good For Your Health

I'm talking about passion of the fruit variety.  Brazil's large maracujá are glossy yellow with a juicy orange pulp and are my current addiction.  They have become a regular feature in my kitchen, taking up prime fruit-bowl real estate previously reserved for disappointing apples and pears, which I have finally given up on.

When buying passion fruits you want the ones with wrinkled skin which  are ripe and sweet (in the sweetest way a very sour thing can be).  They should also feel relatively heavy if they are juicy.  I whizz them in the blender with water and pass through a sieve for a righteous-tasting drink.  Add sugar if you want but I prefer it without.  (If you add cachaça and ice you get a caiprinha de maracujá). But my absolute favourite way to eat them is in one of Brazil's finest and the World's easiest to make desserts - the classic Mousse de Maracujá.  Whizz them in the blender again, this time with equal measure of cream and condensed milk and pass through a sieve before leaving in the fridge to set. Eat and die happy.

There is a conviction here in Brazil that the fruit has calming properties, and is therefore a great thing to give hyperactive kids in the evening.  Mine adore the mousse but I'm sure all the sugar in the condenses milk negates the effect.  I'm ok with that, since they're getting an alphabet load of vitamins, anti-oxidants and fibre.  A bonus is that the seeds work naturally to combat intestinal parasites, which is great for my kids who play in dirty sandy playgrounds!

Apparently even consuming the skins of passion fruits can be beneficial as it limits the effects of glucose absorption, helps combat bad cholesterol and improves digestive function.  You can cook it until it's soft and add it chopped to salads but that doesn't appeal to me much.  I bought it today in a powdered format to add to smoothies and baked goods and will report back on how that tastes!

However good they may be, I read that you shouldn't exceed four maracujá fruits per day!  Evidently too much of anything, especially passion, can be a bad thing.

What You Didn't Learn in Portuguese Class - Narco Slang

Stumbled across this list yesterday, when I researched Rio's illicit crack trade, of drug related portuguese slang.  It will come in handy for my undercover assignment reporting from behind the lines of the Comando Vermelho (one of Rio's infamous criminal organisations).   Oh would that I were so genuinely journalistic... 

Avião — (lit. plane) middleman  
Baba — good money 
Badaga — shoemaker's glue  
Badagueiro — glue sniffer 
Bagulho — joint 
Banhista — (bather) someone who steals from a friend  
Barato — high 
Baseado, bagulho, bomba — pot  
Bater pavão — steal  
Bater um — (to beat one) to prepare the cocaine for snorting it  
Bocada — (mouthful) — place to buy drugs  
Bob Marley — marijuana  
Boca-de-fumo — (mouth) point of sale of drugs 
Bode — (goat) urge to sleep  
Bodinha, bodinho — (little goat) girl, boy 
Branco — (white) cocaine, faintness  
Brecar — to dress well 
Cagoete — snitch  
Canaleta — (gutter) — vein  
Caô — craziness or boaster  
Chocolate — hashish  
Crackeiro, craqueiro — a crack user  
Dar o confere — to frisk someone while stealing  
Dar o gogó — (give the Adam's apple) to catch by the throat 
Dar uma luz — (give a light) transitory high  
Derramar — (to pour) steal from the 
boca-de-fumo Descuido — (carelessness) little theft  
Docinho — (little candy) lysergic acid  
Erva do diabo — (devil's weed) pot  
Fazer um ganho — (to make a profit) to steal  
Fino — (the thin one) pot cigarette 
Fralda — (diaper) pot paper  
Fritar pedra — (to fry stone) to smoke crack  
Imbalista — passerby who nabs a mugger 
Ir para Londres — (to go to London) to have sex  
Lombra — high 
Mardita — pot  
Marica — (pansy) any object used to hold the grass  
Matutos — (hillbillies) drug go-betweens in Rio  
Malhada — cocaine mixed with talc or corn starch 
Mela, merla — cocaine paste smoked in a pipe  
Mesclado — crack and pot mix  
Meter — to steal  
Metranca — gun or machine gun  
Mincha — metal bar to open cars  
Mocó — place to sleep  
Mula — (mule) person who carries drug in a bus or plane  
Nóia — (from paranoia) drug high  
Noiado — in a high 
Palha — (straw) bad quality pot  
Pedra — (stone) crack 
Pico — (prick) injection in the vein  
Pipar — to smoke a drug in a pipe 
Poeira — (dust) cocaine 
Plizzzzzz — mugging 
Preto — (black) pot 
Tuim — the almost instantaneous sensation provoked by crack  
Tyson — (as in Mike Tyson) strong, knocking-down pot  
Vapor — (steamboat) favela dweller who takes the drug to the consumer  
Viajar — (to travel) to be intoxicated by a drug 
Zoeira — high 

Thanks Brazzil for the info.

Just Another Murder In Rio

It's common to hear about people being murdered nearby.  Last month a homeless guy was stabbed in the neck in Largo do Machado, a busy square I walk across with the kids at least twice a day.  Last year during carnival a young girl who lived in a squat in Lapa was murdered on the Gloria end of the Aterro do Flamengo, her body dumped near modern art museum.  That's where I jog.

Thankfully I didn't personally see either scene.  Until now I have soothed myself with the conviction that as a middle class woman whose reality is far removed from that of a homeless addict or street kid, I'm not a likely murder candidate.  I'm also neither a fraudster not exciting enough to inspire a crime of passion, so I feel pretty safe.  These murders seem completely abstract.  It doesn't mean I don't feel compassion for the victims -I think about that young girl every time I go for a run - but it's just that those sorts of things don't happen to people like me.

But then I hear about a 30 year old French guy who was murdered this weekend on rua Silveira Martins, just outside the clinic where I vaccinate my kids right here in Catete.  Apparently a 56 year old deranged crack addict randomly stabbed the victim, who was taking an ironic fag break during a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.  Now that makes me freak.  Crazies totally losing it just around the corner from my home killing Europeans in their thirties. Yikes.  How am I supposed to protect myself and my children from that?

Researching Rio's crack problem makes for scary reading.  The drug arrived here relatively late compared to Sao Paulo, allegedly because the city's drug lords decided it was so destructive that it would be bad for business in the long run.  But it's here now.  It's claimed that as many as 90% of Rio's homeless are crack addicts but that it's also an increasing vice of the 'respectable' classes.  More than half of crack users who ask for help through the public health system are middle class youngster.

It seems that it's naive of me, then, to think in terms of us and them.  The risks of living in Rio are not limited to the 'marginais'. The middle classes are just as much a part of this complicated equation. Whether they are crack addicts or, more likely, just enjoy a spliff once in a while, they are greasing the machine that destroys the lives of many people here in this city...it's just a shame that it takes a murder of 'someone like us' to make us realise that we all have blood on our hands.

Sunday Snap - Holy Guarana

Spotted at the Feira de São Cristóvão, Jesus' own brand of Guaraná - so that was his secret!  Guaraná is a perfumed, sweet fizzy drink made from the Guaraná plant, a natural stimulant which is indigenous to Brazil.  The drink is hugely popular here, normally under the Antartica brand, but the Jesus brand is owned by soda Gods Coca Cola.  Have a happy Sunday!

What No Beach? Phew for Playgrounds in Rio

Little Bear Scoots the 'real roads' in Peter Pan Park

So, it's not beach season anymore here.  Not because it isn't still hot and sunny here in Rio, but because my patience for sand in every nook and cranny of the house has been exasperated.  We're back to weekend plan B - the parks and playgrounds routine.  I thought I'd share our top three (or so).

Playgrounds in Rio are pretty underwhelming.  Antiquated designs for metal, finger-chopping slides and roundabouts, the likes of which I haven't seen since my own childhood, are still the norm.  There are no fences around the playgrounds or swings so you have to be aware at all times about where your kids are.  That bouncy ground covering I've seen elsewhere also hasn't been adopted here so usually you have sand under the toys.  It's a soft but grubby landing, and probably the reason we have to 'de-worm' our kids on a regular basis.  Despite this, there are a few gems.

Our default stomping ground, because it's so close to home, is the leafy park behind the Palacio de Catete.  It's a gorgeous, tranquil park with sculptures, fountains, lakes, a grotto and a playground in the shade of the tall, knotted-trunk figueira trees.  We throw broken biscuits at the ducks and geese, watch the elegant white egrets catch fish, laugh at the little mico monkeys and play on the swings and climbing frames.  Fenced on two sides by the park wall, the playground feels relatively 'safe'.  There's a cafe by the art-house cinema that sells great pao de queijo and ice lollies.  The only drawback is that you can't play with balls or ride bikes or go on the grass anywhere in the park.

If we are in the mood for bikes and scooters, we usually go to the Aterro de Flamengo, the most amazing park that runs the length of the beach from the domestic airport, past the Marina in Gloria to the beginning of the Botafogo bay.  It deserves a post of its own so I won't dwell here, but we have another option for bikes which is also really fun:  Parque Peter Pan is a tiny park that takes up a block of space in Copacabana where Rua Francisco Sá meets Raul Pompéia.  It's been around since Mr Becoming was a lad and has real roads with road signs and traffic lights which makes little cyclists feel very grown up.  It also has big stone castles and toadstool-shaped kiddie loos.  Love it.

Finally there's the obvious one - the children's playground in the Jardim Botanico.  It's to be avoided on sunny weekends when it is over-run with birthday parties, but during the week or on cloudy days it is magic.  Surrounded by rain forest, you can sometimes see quite big monkeys playing in the trees outside the playground while the kids monkey around on their own toys in a safe, walled-off area.  The snack bar is right beside the playground and there are, in typically hygienic Brazilian style, bathroom facilities that extend to a shower where you can clean your kids before you leave the park.

I should think that in a couple of weeks I'll be exasperated with pushing my kids on the swings and by then it really will be too cool for the beach...plan C is the indoor activities in Rio itinerary.  Coming to a blog post near you soon.

The Joke That Wasn't: My Royal Wedding

My Princess Bling

About six weeks ago, before I knew what time the ceremony would start, I started planning a Royal Wedding party.  With my mother dispatched to the tourist shop at Windsor castle to pick up some commemorative memorabilia and union jack bunting, the wheels of the metaphorical horse-drawn carriage were put in motion.  When it dawned on me (pun intented) that my party would have to start at 6am - due to the time-difference between London and Rio - I remained resolute.  There was no turning back.

I realised pretty quickly that I was going to have to do some serious cramming to get my kids up to speed on the British monarchy, since it seemed likely that they would be the sole attendees.  For the last week we have been cutting out pictures of royalty and weddings to make a huge wall-frieze, and dressing up in our crowns and tiaras.  The realisation that queens, princes and princesses actually do definitively 'exist' (as opposed to superheroes, sea monsters, mermaids and God) was hugely exciting for Little Bear, who is now a staunch royalist with a cute crush on Princess Diana.

By Monday I accepted that my package of wedding kitsch was lost in the post and would never going to arrive, so I had to source my own.  In downtown's Saara district I found heart-shaped balloons in red, white and blue as well as crowns and tiaras, and in Largo de Machado I found rip-off royal sapphire engagement rings for a bargain R$7.   I even had a Blue Peter moment and hand-crafted a Union Jack cushion cover to lend the TV room a patriotic tone.  The final seams were finished at midnight last night.

As I was setting up my 'party', I thought I was being ironic.  It was all just a good laugh.  An excuse for a cup of Earl Grey in the bone china set, a bacon sandwich and some bucks fizz, wearing my blue sapphire engagement ring and a tiara.  Just me and the kids.  But then just before heading to bed I blew up the heart shaped balloons, and they started systematically bursting in my face at point blank range.  My eyes started watering copiously from the shock of the balloon-shrapnel whacking into them and wouldn't stop.  After a while I began to wonder if I wasn't actually weeping for real, from the heart.  How terribly un-British. 

This morning, 6am, the doorbell.  Hurrah!  A British girlfriend actually came to my party! The kids were still in bed so we snuck into the decked-out TV room and completely lost ourselves in the proceedings.  I was completely surprised at how moved I was at the whole thing and how hard it was to keep it together.   There was no chance of a singalong to the hymns without a breakdown.  I couldn't really put my finger on what I was feeling, but it appears that somewhere buried deep inside me there is something approaching patriotic sentiment!  It is the first time I remember being genuinely proud and excited to be British, and sincerely sad not to be there.

In the end the only joke was that of the lost package, which was of course delivered at 6pm this evening!  Seriously.