|
|
| Friday, 4-Apr-2008 06:55 |
Email | Share |  | Bookmark |
|
The Olympic Torch Will Pass Through San Francisco
|
|
It's my opinion that, by virtue of its poor record on human rights, China does not deserve the honor of hosting the Olympic Games in Beijing.
Documented abuses include:
1) Chinese occupation of Tibet is an effort to destroy their religion, culture and people.
2) Christians are jailed and tortured for their faith.
3) Products for export are made by child slave labor.
4) China is funding the genocide in Darfur.
5) Organ harvesting from Falun Gong is big business.
6) China imprisons more reporters, and executes more prisoners, than any other country in the world.
The Olympic Torch will pass through San Francisco on its way to Beijing on Wednesday, April 9th and I hope my friends and neighbors around the Bay Area can find the kind of courage we saw in Tiananmen Square during the pro-democracy movement of 1989 when the military crackdown left thousands of Chinese civilians dead. Rallies and demonstrations are being organized around the City and we have to stand up and be counted. We owe it to more than a billion people living under this oppressive government.
Who, what, where and when:
1) GLOBAL HUMAN RIGHTS TORCH RELAY www.HumanRightsTorch.org
Saturday, April 5th at 11 AM in Union Square.
2) TIBET RALLY & CANDLELIGHT VIGIL
Tuesday, April 8th at 6PM, U.N. Plaza, 1150 Market Street
3) OLYMPIC TORCH RELAY
Wednesday, April 9th at 1PM, The relay starts at McCovey Cove (ballpark) and moves along the Embarcadero to Fisherman's Wharf and back to Justin Hermann Plaza accross from the Ferry Building.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Tuesday, 1-Jan-2008 12:00 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
Into the New Year
|
|
I've neglected my journal but the details that make a life have not escaped me. My year end review goes back about 15 months, when I returned to San Francisco from Brazil. Like everyone I've had my struggles and my triumphs; the year has had its share of comedies and tragedies, personal and universal.
In retrospect I have to say that working with the public has provided me with the most noteworthy experiences of the year. Friends and family keep busy and myself being no exception, spend more time at work than with loved ones. A year ago, I was couch surfing in the East Bay and working a retail, holiday schedule in Union Square. Christmas help has to be selected, trained and tested before "Black Friday," a name referring to the color of the ink in the profit column of retail sales on the Friday that follows Thanksgiving Day. I felt a little bit "fresh off the boat" after living abroad for more than 7 years, landing in the heart of San Francisco's shopping district. The land of towering Christmas trees and a menorah that requires a cherry picker to light the candles. I was selling gourmet housewares and designer accressories in a place where people shouldn't be allowed to drink and shop. Norman Rockwell heartstrings are always pulled when I see the windows at Macy's which aren't decorated with merchandise but donated to our local animal shelter in hopes of finding homes for puppies and kittens that will surely have and unpleasant fate without our help...
I had my had my "Hallmark stories" reuniting lost children with their parents, the "Kodak moment" helping 2 men in kilts select their party accessories and even a soap opera scene when a young Brazilian woman returned for a second shopping trip between Christmas and New Years. She became very emotional when I asked when she would visit her "terra nativa." It had been years and she was still too broke to travel. I dried her eyes by convincing here to write letters and make phone calls expressing her desire to visit, at least people feel better just saying and hearing it.
One thing nobody like to hear is, "Bad dog!!" especially in a department store displaying rugs and furniture. When did it become totally acceptable to take dogs everywhere? No respect for people who are allergic or children who get frightened? Does a dog really want to go shopping or out to dinner? I worked at Fisherman's Wharf over the summer and early fall where comedies unfold in rapid fire. At the door of the restaurant, my title vascilated with the ebb and flow of the foot traffic on the sidewalk among the crab pots and refrigerated seafood. Holding the line at the door I am 'maitre de'; receiving diners as they enter I am 'host' and pulling in the few people who are passing by I am 'barker.' A personal best, based on efficiency and pure entertainment; was seating 36 Italians in a small room (20 tables) in only 20 minutes and only one of them spoke English!
Funny stuff:
An attractive woman who stepped up real close to me and asked, "Is it alright if we kiss in there?"
I didn't have a snappy retort ready so while I was gasping for something to say, her husband stepped in to say, "I think she means with me."
Running gag:
The Mexicans in the kitchen used called me 'governador' or 'governator' because they see a resemblance between Arnold and myself. They constantly begged me for a driver's license.
Daily challenge:
Stuffing grotesquely obese people into tiny little booths, sorry no talbes. When did being phat become phasionable? C'mon guys, when was the last time you saw your dick? And if you want to cut off all the hair on the back of your head, I suggest you grab a hand mirror then go to a wall mirror and take a good look back there. Is there a name for that ugly roll of fat?
I've also noticed that young women's voices have changed, what happened to them while I was away? I often hear something like a gurgling sound in their voicebox. Tune in a TV show called "Smallville" and you can hear this "affliction" in the voice of the character called Lana. If it's hereditary then we have discovered a new gene! If it's an intentional manner of speach, then please stop it! It's irritating! Speaking of young women; where's the self esteem? Where's the pride? I suffered a minor shock when I heard a CNN report about one of our representatives in Washington on a drunken tear about a year ago. In the report they carefully tip toed around the 'n' word but casually used the word 'bitch.' They are equally hateful words in my mind. Has Oprah addressed this issue, any word from Condeleza Rice?
Since my return to SF I've seen a number of changes I can't get used to. Cell phones everywhere! I always think people are walking around talking to themselves, creeps me out. Pharmaceutical drugs advertised on TV! We can self diagnose and decide what what remedy we should take for an ailment we think we might have. Never mind the side effects. Things that won't go away - Why do people wear camouflauge patterns? Hunting and killing are fashionable, warfare is glamorous and the games are fun! "Shut up or I'll pop a paintball in your ass."
Fast forward the couch surfing and God bless the good friends and family for helping me over a rough patch. One good thing led to another bringing me to a photo studio in a growing art gallery. I got myself a studio apartment in a great location and left the smell of crab at the Wharf to suppliment my part-time income working with caterers through the 'holiday season.' The past 8 weeks have exposed me to the diverse web of life I enjoy in San Francisco. I served Sushi to Robert Redford at a Sundance opening, I was in the Tenderloin serving Thanksgiving turkey at Glide Memorial, served rare beef (I don't make the menu) at a benefit for Tibet attended by close followers of Dali Lama and MC'd by Sharon Stone. In the world of holiday parties I find it ironic that a stockbrokerage rented City Hall and took over the entire building with lights, music and four seperate kitchens, dining rooms and bars. Then leave it to a law firm to rent the aquarium at Pier 39 with its artificial tide pools where you can play with the starfish and a large, clear tube for 'tours under the bay,' (reality - large tanks in the bay) but it creates a strange, visual sensation especially when a school of herring passes. Imagine a bar down there serving drinks to a bunch of lawyers with sharks swimming in the background...
Small, private parties took me into the homes of people hosting family, friends and colleagues in the spirit of the holidays. I helped make 'latkes' at a Hanukah dinner, served ceviche to the people who run the SF AIDS Foundation, poured wine for local gourmet chefs and wine connoissers, tended bar for a gay couple entertaining colleagues and insisting that shoes be removed not to soil the white carpet, (I don't know what they do when dogs arrive.) The funnest event so far was a wedding held on Treasure Island in the 'Casa de la Vista' because of the view of the City accross the water. I didn't realize at first but it soon became obvious we would be serving an elegant, black crowd and they spared no expense on food and drink. They also turned down the chapel in favor of holding the ceremony and the reception in the same room. A sax player backed by a fully loaded keyboard did a beautiful segue from "Silent NIght" to the weding music that traditionally introduces the bride. The DJ took over after 'live dinner jazz' and played everything from Sam Cooke to Black Eyed Peas. In a flagrant breach of protocol, the bride caught me dancing around behind the dessert table then jokingly tried to get me on the dance floor. My New Years gig was cancelled because of a sad and strange turn of events. Someone had rented the Zoo as the site of their year end celebration but last week a tiger escaped its enclosure and killed someone. That tragedy ended when after the tiger attacked two more visitors then threatened to attack the police so she was shot to death. Her name was Tatiana. The subsequent closure of the Zoo bounced me over to a private party serving hors d'oeuvers and pouring champagne. The guests turned out to be a bunch of 30 somethings who all brought their babies and small children to the party. I immediately made friends with the nanny caring for three of the babies who seemed to know her way around the kitchen. Turned out to be a Brazilian from Sao Paulo. My beautiful table of appitizers was soon crowded by baby bottles and dishes of creamy stuff. Keeping the garbage seperated was a challenge getting the dads to put beer bottles on the right; and moms, disposable diapers on the left. By the time the New Year arrived I had washed more breast pumps than champagne flutes.
God help us if we have to start praying, but the human race appears to need help getting through the next year. Light a candle for those who have passed before us and raise your glass to 2008.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Sunday, 24-Dec-2006 23:45 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
Seen, Heard and Had Around Town
|
|
Adapting to San Francisco after more than 7 years in a remote region of Brazil has been an exciting and frustrating challenge. So often I'm mumbling to myself, "That looks pretty cool, can I try it?" or "I haven't got a clue what you're talking about." (or 'who')
Walking around Union Square I passed "Victoria's Secrets" and saw an enormous black and white photo of Gisele, Brazil's most famous supermodel. posing in very sexy black panties and now I'm seeing her in their TV ads. I thought I would miss her image plastered all over Brazilian media but now she's here.
Joke heard in a North Beach bar, "Somewhere in Texas a village has no idiot." Speaking of idiots in Texas, I can't imagine building a fence (wall?) on the U.S./Mexican border.
A sarcastic friend of mine says, "Yeah right. Who's gonna build it?"
I repeated this line to my sister who obviously heard it before, beacause she didn't miss a beat when she answered, "The Irish." (If this is about "Homeland Security" somebody should inform that jack ass in the White House that one of the foreigners who attacked the U.S. on 9-11 entered the country through Canada.)
Later that night in Specs, a woman squeezed in next to me at the bar and ordered a 'Grey Goose and cranberry,' prompting me to look over and say, "That sounds like Thanksgiving." I enjoy a dry vodka martini but I stick to the labels I know. Can somebody tell me what started the Baskin-Robbins of flavored vodkas?
San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsome was walking down Stockton Street in Chinatown the other day with a small entourage and a large video camera waving a stiff arm to people in the shops as if he were a princess on a parade float. Being young and good looking never harmed a politicians career although being single with a 20 year-old girlfriend might have some drawbacks. People are making a big deal about seing her with a glass of wine. Get a life folks.
One day while keeping a slow pace behind a homeless guy pushing a shopping cart through the Tenderloin/Civic Center area, a young woman yelled at him, "You got a syringe? I need a syringe to shoot up my heroin." He just mumbled and kept walking as did I.
Hey Muni! What's up with the 45 Union bus line? I'm glad I have a sense of humor because I'm often left wondering, "Which came first, the screwy passengers or the surly bus drivers?" I sometimes ride that bus through Chinatown from North Beach to Market Steet and in less than two months I've had some rather unusual encounters. It's been my experience that where ever the bus stops along the designated zone is where we board so when I was accross the street zig-zagging through stopped cars to catch the bus stopped at the corner I ran in front of the bus to board the front door. Well of course when I was square in front of the bus it lurched forward and hit me. Nothing major, I instinctively put up my arm and got a bruising from this new bike rack the busses have now. Reaching the curb I found only one other passenger trying to board, an older black guy in a wheelchair and as we both looked at the driver he started yelling at me through the closed doors. "What are you trying to do? I almost hit you!"
"Hey you did hit me but I'm alright. Why don't you open the door?"
"I can't believe I almost hit you."
"You DID hit me, but come on, I gotta get across town."
"I'm not gonna let that drunk on my bus."
I looked at the guy in the wheelchair and concluded he looked a little down on his luck but harmless enough at which I turned back to the driver and shrugged my shoulders as if to say, "What gives?"
Suddenly the guy in the wheelchair jumped up on his one leg and started yelling something incomprehensible at the driver which came to me as a cue for me to give up and catch another bus. A week later I was left wondering if these drivers aren't just a bit sadistic. Why won't they wait for a passenger (me) running in the rain? Maybe they just don't pay attention. I saw a similar incedent to the one that bruised my arm but this time a driver turning the same corner (Columbus and Stockton for the record) stopped to converse with another bus driver headed the opposite way. When he proceeded to curb his bus a pedestrian was right in front of him causing him to slam on the brakes. I was right behind her yelling at everyone to be careful. I then crossed while waving my arms and signaling to the driver NOT to move while I crossed. Boarding the bus I said, "You didn't see her, did you?"
"She's not supposed to be in front of the bus. That's why they have crosswalks."
Sitting sown, I shot back, "Your bus was blocking the crosswalk."
Which came first? continued...
While standing on a crowded 45 Union waiting to pull away from a stop on Stockton Street, a tiny little Chinese woman held us up by putting one foot on the bus while the other stayed planted on the asphalt. She was yelling up the street in Chinese while we started to giggle at her companion weighed down with bags and waddling up to the bus like a busy duck. Giggles gave way to laughter when this tiny woman's little head finally appeared smiling sans several teeth. She was wearing a toy fireman's hat backwards, chin strap in place and thanking the driver for waiting.
The big black woman driving our bus said, "Thank them," referring to the crowd of passengers, "they're the ones you're holding up."
"Oh. I sorry."
Driver; "No you're not. Now go take a seat."
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Thursday, 2-Nov-2006 12:00 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
My Country is at War (Again)
|
|
This is the beginning of a new chapter in the ongoing chronicle of my life. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I returned to San Francisco after living in Brazil for more than 7 years.
The move was filled with doubt and trepidation because a lot can happen in 7+ years and it did. My family has changed in the wake of two deaths; my career, photography, took a radical turn then accelerated with digital technology, leaving me in a desperate race to catch up; and finally my country was irreversibly altered by a muderous attack and subsequent related events. My country is at war. The president has launched two unsuccessfull military invasions and the American people appear to be in denial.
Since the September 11 horror show, I have been glued to CNN International, the online London Times and New York Times. I've seen Michael Moore's controversial film, "Farenheit 911," and I've had a number of emotional conversations with Americans, Brits, Isrealis, Australians and Spaniards, not to mention South Americans. Among all of these sources I can say, without hesitation, that the general consensus is that the U.S. president is a blundering fool who is provoking more violence. At this point I have to get out my soap box and vent my personal feelings about the commander-in-chief of the U.S. armed forces, before moving on to express my disappointment with the American people.
First of all that man never should have set foot in the White House - suspicious election - to close to call - Do over! Do over! His re-election? I have to take issue with the voters. "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." said the people to the president.
A military invasion of Afghanastan made sense to me. After all it was the U.S. who armed the Taliban against the "Big Red Threat" of the Soviet Union so DISarming was like a moral obligation to the region. (Better late than never.) And while you're there do something about the al Qeda military training camps would ya? Osama Bin Laden? I suspect he's back home in Saudi Arabia or holed up on some Indonesian island. In either case he's probably armed with cel phones, internet connections and credit cards. This campaign was a dismal failure. 5 years later the Taliban is participating in Afghan politics, Bin Laden can't be found, al Qeda has moved operations to Pakistan and Iraq and the opium trade which finances the Taliban and furnishes heroine to Europe and the U.S. has reached an all-time high! Invading Iraq against the consensus of th U.N. was the work of a madman hell bent on world domination. A peaceful solution to the "Saddam Hussein problem" was already in place; economic sanctions weakened their economy, the no-fly zone kept their airforce grounded (missles too) and the U.N. weapons inspectors in Iraq all held the "menace" at bay. The Bush agenda was clearly fabricated from paranoid dillusions or his thirst for Iraqi oil. He didn't have any real evidence of the existence of weapons of mass destruction or any terrorists operating in Iraq. On the contrary, the largest stockpile of WMDs in the world iis in the U.S. and Saddam would never tolerate terrorists in his country. In fact, one of "America's Most Wanted Terrorists" was in an Iraqi prison but Bush wouldn't pay Saddam the million dollar reward (sanctions) when he tried to turn him over. Before I get down from my soap box I want to remind the president and his followers that Hans Blix, the scientist leading the U.N. weapons inspectors was quoted as saying, "Global warming is a much bigger threat to the world than Saddam Hussein." Another reminder: well before the U.S. led invasion of Iraq, North Korea was moving ahead with its nuclear ambitions and Sudan was already suffering from years of "ethnic cleansing." Why did the U.S. president choose to ignore the clear and obvious crises in persuit of his hallucinations AND why did people let him?
It's been 5 years since the World Trade Center was razed and there are many people who believe that our country is safer and more secure due to the U.S. military invasions in the Middle East. Huh? Was anyone paying attention to Hurricane Katrina? Millioins of dollars spent on "Homeland Security" to protect American shores from disaster and destruction, for what? Hell, the whole world saw that one coming and where was the emergency response? ("Homeland Security" is a new name for "Big Brother," don't kid yourself.) You better keep your prescriptions filled because if your meds wear off you might get a glimpse of reality. Check the daily body count and evaluate the loss of precious resources to the tune of one and a half million dollars a week. Yes, I'm wagging my finger at the American people. I've been in California only a month now, quietly observing and noting the changes in the land where I was born and raised. I arrived in San Francisco during "Fleet Week," when the U.S. Navy fleet sails into the Bay and docks here to give the sailors and pilots a little R&R, rest and relaxation. The "Blue Angels" put on a show of their precision flying and the bars and massage parlors filled up with horny sailors. I don't know if it was by design or by coincidence but I also South Korean sailors on shore leave in SF. They were much better behaved than our own. They bowed as Korean women on Market Street handed them flags of their homeland along with U.S. flags. I also saw a pathetic war protest of a few thousand people each with a different axe to grind.
One night in a North Beach bar I heard a naval officer proudly proclaim, "The Middle East is my life. I've been there four times." When he raised his glass to take a drink I saw his wedding band and my heart went out to his wife. In a conversation with a friend recently she told me of her daughter's divorce from a veteran of the war in Iraq. After living on base in Hawaii agonizing over the welfare of her husband overseas he finally returned uninjured but not without emotional scars. He refused therapy for his irrational and erratic behavior and the poor girl concluded that she couldn't stay married to an abusive husband that she really didn't know.
I hope the people I see driving SUVs and Hummers, Governor Arnold's car, a gas guzzling vehicle designed for military use that even comes in a limo style; will stop and think about all the blood and tears that are shed to keep their gas tanks full. My country is at war. Again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Thursday, 19-Oct-2006 20:19 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
Am I Going To Miss Brazil?
|
|
This is the final entry in the "Gringo's Journal", my life in Brazil is slipping into a place in my heart, memories filed in my mind among others and feelings whose vibrations are becoming echos in my soul. I simply didn't want to leave and upon arrival in San Francisco I have one overriding priority - return to Brazil. Every thought and deed from day-to-day has one objective; a singular purpose, and that is to go back and embrace the thing I grew to love.
Am I going to miss Brazil?
Does bossa nova soothe my savage breast?
Does a samba radiate with "alegria'?
Can a parrot learn to talk?
Is a tropical beach made for sun worship?
I could ask rhetorical questions till the Amazon River dries up but that wouldn't sufficiently emphasize my point. Brazil doesn't grow on you , it grows IN you. She is sensual, sexy and seductive. You can fall in love without knowing it. While you're busy trying to understand a spectrum of new emotions provoked by Brazil, something is quietly growing in your heart. Brazil is as endearing as a child at play, as beautiful as a woman's eyes and as unforgettable as a first kiss.
Brazil is immense, Brazil is diverse, Brazil is exotic, Brazil is ancient, Brazil is mysterious, Brazil is romantic, Brazil is exuberant, Brazil is energetic, Brazil is desire, Brazil is lust, Brazil is far from me and my heart aches with love and longing. (E' pau, e' pedra, e' o fim do caminho...)
Brazil is a promise, a wish and a dream. You can't hold her in your hand but she'll find a place in your heart. Like an ocean wave, you can't embrace her but you can bathe in her. She's both sacred and profane; not a goddess, not a whore, but a free spirit with no shame. She's a gentle breeze, a ray of sun, a sleeping serpant and a gathering storm. Take courage, have strength and keep the faith; she provides in her own way on her time. Don't be willfull, be patient; infinite possiblities exist in Brazil for one with an open mind and an open heart.
Meus queridos brasileiros,
Eu sei que na lingua portugues, o brasil e' masculino mas para mim, o pais sempre vai ser uma bela mulher com poder sedutivo.
Beijos e abracos,
Eric
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Thursday, 21-Sep-2006 12:00 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
Never Up a Creek Without a Paddle
|
|
The Canoe Association of Itacaré continues to offer alternative activities too our local youth who are responding in growing numbers. For more than 10 years, the founder and president of ACI has held the club together with a shoestring budget and a persistence of will that has garnered the club several trophies in statewide competitions.
I have to tell a personal story about this remarkable woman whom I have known for more than 7 years. Soon after arriving in Itacaré I became acquainted with Sandra, Marcos and, a short time later, their daughter Laura because of their restaurant's reputation for authentic Bahian cuisine. I then learned that the most charming Baiana in town who sells "acarajé" in the "praça" is her mom. The second most charming...is her sister. (Acarajé is a delicious snack made with beancake and dried shrimp, deep-fried in dendê (African) palm oil. Tip: When they ask if you want it hot, they're talkin' spicy.) All over Bahia these women in white have come to symbolize Afro-Brazilian culture and in our little town it seems they're all related to Sandra. I jokingly call her family the "acarajé mafia." The day arrived when Marcos and Sandra decided to marry and they honored me when they asked me to be the photographer. A simple wedding in the old church, a few close friends (half the town), and a reception at Sítio Paraiso, a well-known pousada. Not so simple. Remember this is the land of Jorge Amado and this wedding turned out to be typical of our hero's novels. Most of the arrangements had been made before visiting the padre about performing the service in his church and that's where it gets complicated. The man became very indignant with Sandra as he vehemently refused on the grounds that Sandra had never set foot in his church, as he scowled at her infant daughter. The reason she never went to "his church" is because her family devotly follows condomblé, the African religion brought to Brazil by slaves. The reason their baby, Laura, would be in attendence is because the couple had been living together for years before deciding to marry. These simple truths were not very persuasive to the padre who acted very insulted by it all; he crossed his arms and flatly refused them a ceremony unless, ...unless...they were all properly baptised before of the wedding. So it came to be; Marcos was baptised as a child so his bride-to-be and his daughter had a double baptism on the morning of their wedding day! And, like Amado's novels, it was an extraordinary day.
Around the canoe clubhouse everyone calls her by her first name and she calls everyone, "meu filho," my son. Eventually everyone around the club picked up 'meu filho' which, with Bahia's accent sounds like "meu fio." I spent several days with the group and never learned anyone's name, we're all sons of one another. Mind you it has nothing to do with age or gender, it's just a way of feeling like family. This club has never turned away a new member for any reason and you will see a wide cross-section of Itacaré`s population represented here. The youngest ones who may not even know how to swim or hold a paddle are accepted as long as there are enough life vests to go around. No 'girl' is considered to weak and in fact, that blonde wearing the big smile has prosthetic legs. Yeah, Sandra just lifts her into the canoe and away they go.
Sandra is very excited these days because the club is expanding through generous donations from Nelson Moraes at Txai Resort, who was recently honored by the city for his many contributions to the municipality, especially in the area of youth programs. First she received an order of much needed life vests for her young members and then Sandra's dream was realized; the club received more than 24 school desks, a dozen lockers and a desk for her office. That means the clubhouse now serves as a classroom for canoing, kayaking and also a place for afterschool studies and supplemental education in general. Now 'my sons' at the Associação de Canoagem de Itacaré are excercising their minds as well as their bodies.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Saturday, 9-Sep-2006 17:33 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
If You Weren't There, You Probably Missed It
|
|
Itacaré is showing signs of positive growth. Hosting "Girls Pro Itacaré," the international female surf championship was a major sporting event made bigger by a musical event staged at the peak of competition.
An organization called "Music Without Frontiers" brought some world-class musicians from Cuba and São Paulo here to create a music and dance performance with our local artists. What a spectacle! The result was worthy of any major stage in the world. I attended auditions, rehearsals and stage preparation so I got to see a lump of coal transformed into a glittering diamond for the whole town to see. It took hundreds of people to make this happen but once again Nelson Moraes of Txai Resort can take a bow for contributing his energy and financial support from concept through execution. On stage, let's hear a big round of applause for the great jazz pianist from Cuba, Yaniel Mattos who stepped up as "maestro" and Bahia's own Jorge Rasta who provided his rhythm on percussion, a rehearsal space, contact with local musicians and Itacaré's talented group of drummers and dancers known as "Casa do Boneco." I hope I'm forgiven if I can't name all the many participants and soloists on stage; hell I don't even know what to call this energetic musical mix. How about: Afro-Brazilian, Cuban jazz, Hip-hop & blues, samba-reggae with a touch of Brazilian folk music. And that's just the music! The drummers and dancers provided plenty of rich color and movement to the wildly diverse music. Let me invent a name; let's call it, "Moqueca Pimentada," a spicy Bahian stew made with fish or shrimp and African dendê palm oil.
El Maestro, my name for Yaniel Mattos, was a consumate pro and incredible diplomat from his first meeting with Jorge in São Paulo through the final encore. That rehearsal in SP created a spark which convinced the artist to bring his Cuban band and Brazilian studio musicians to Itacaré to work with Jorge and a number of amatuer musicians completely unknown to him. Let's call these musical partners "El Brujo" and "O Bruxo" because they really performed a bit of magic for the local public. To my "untrained ear" the rehearsals sounded pretty ragged but El Maestro could quickly identify each musician's strength and in collaboration with Jorge they each found a place in the show; only a few auditions failed "the test." Jorge is an incredible percussionist, so with his group combined with seasoned musical veterans there was never any doubt about the rhythm section; it was a talent search for soloists.
Meanwhile in another part of town a state-of-the-art stage had to be constructed on Ribeira Beach by Andre and Rodrigo Moraes, (yes, sons of Nelson), whose young production company was recording, filming and documenting the entire event. I arrived there early on the day of the show to find a stage, the quality of sound and light never seen before in Itacaré. The crew, the producers and promotors were all anxiously preparing the ultimate stage for the ultimate jam session. An army of people laying cables, adjusting spotlights and digital projectors, testing mics, PA and mixing boards all to make way for a battery of musical instruments and their owners. I talked to a number of Itacaré's young artists/participants hanging around nervously looking for some way to help out. As I left the site, I could imagine their stage jitters being amplified by the scale of the project, afterall they're just simple folk from a small fishing village in Brazil.
Well in typical fashion nothing was ready at the designated time that evening, but I was warned not to arrive until later anyway. Also in typical fashion, not one ounce of "alegria" was lost; the performers and their audience finally syncronized and we all felt that 'magic' I keep talking about. The first ones on stage were the senior devoteés of condomblé (African religion) who perormed a simple blessing to start things in a pure and sanctified way. (To them, music and dance are holy, not profane.) The band's intro and warm-up solos driven by Jorge and some extraordinary percussionists delighted the audience as well as El Maestro who graciously thanked everyone in Spanish before giving the spotlight to the evening's M.C., Jorge Rasta. Jorge had a lot of praise for his new-found colleagues, some words of musical inspiration and then he introduced with great esteem, Sr. Miguel, one of the oldest members of Itacaré's music community. He taught himself to play a hollow-body electric guitar by ear, in just about any style you can name. He sat in for a jazz-blues instrumental and when the accordian player joined with a mandolin player, they played a "chorinho," one of Brazil's varied forms of folk music. The evening continued to slide around the musical spectrum as a young local girl took the mic and rocked us with an original hip-hop number followed up with a straight ahead jazz tune composed by El Maestro. This gave way to the percussionists who moved the musical mood toward tribal Africa and the introduction of "Cabelo," a multi-talented mestre of capoeira, (an African martial art form), who plays and African stringed instrument called the berimbau. During Carnaval Cabelo also leads an energetic bloco de samba. His solo did not disappoint. He even played capoeira with his wife on stage. Cabelo provided a perfect segue for Jorge's group, "Casa do Boneco." These kids stepped up with a powerful drum battery as the dancers illustrated the "orixás," (African dieties) in costume and movement. The youngest girls wearing colorful Afro-Brazilian costumes took over the sandy beach "dance pit" to augment the extravagant performance. Of course the audience exploded with enthusiasm. If they didn't somebody would have to check their pulse, give CPR or something.
How do you top that? Bring back the band and call Val Laranjeira up to sing a hand-clapping, stomp-and-shout number so EVERYONE can participate. We did. The crowd was jumping like sand fleas on the beach, the stage was crowded with all that talent joining in and the show closed on a note of "magia pura," pure magic.
Like I said, if you weren't there............
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Monday, 28-Aug-2006 17:32 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
Good on ya, Amiga
|
|
Itacaré`s famous waves just became more so with the arrival of the international Billabong WCT - WOS Girls Pro Itacaré That's right, some of the best female wave riders in the world participated in the biggest surfing event this little town has ever seen. Tiririca Beach is not exactly a well-kept secret among surfers anymore and Billabong is no longer a "Mom and Pop outfit" hidden in some Australian garage so I guess the two were bound to meet. Kudus to both the organization and the participants. I think the operative word here is "pro" and I sure hope our civic leaders were taking notes.
When you first meet people around Itacaré whether residents or visitors, one inevitable question will come up, "Pega onda?", 'Do you take a wave?' I always drop my head in shame and admit that although I'm from California, I've never even tried the sport. No one's terribly shocked but the follow-up question is usually, "California, eh? Ever been to Hawaii?" When I answer truthfully that I've been there about a half a dozen times, THAT causes surfers to shake their heads in disbelief that I've never 'taken a wave.' After all Hawaiians invented the "Sport of Kings." Brazilians have a well-known phrase for a lack of knowledge or interest in a subject; they say, "Não é minha praia," 'It's not my beach,' and when I use that as a comeback, I usually win a few smiles.
My dictionary defines 'surfboard' as "A board used in the sport of riding toward shore on the surf." Sounds simple enough but they don't mention a word about how these young women assault a wave and sustain the attack until there is nothing left but a few inches of foam. That same dictionary weighs several pounds but nowhere in there could I find, 'hang loose' or 'hang ten.' And what the hell is a 'goofy footer?' Goofy himself probably couldn't answer that. The girls I saw in this event, (Yes, I think it's 'politically acceptable' to call them 'girls'.) came from The U.S. (funny how they consider Hawaii an independent country), South America, Europe, South Africa and Australia to compete for cash prizes, international rankings and a heavy dose of pride and joy. It's a competition of individual effort but to see them hanging out together on terra firma you'd think they're all on the same team because there's so much comraderie. I guess the real adversary in this sport is the ocean itself. There was plenty of Bahian sunshine at Tiririca Beach but unfortunately the surf was weak and uneven during the four days of competition and the girls had to impress the judges with style and finesse rather than power and velocity. On the first day I spoke to some Australians (heavy favorites) having lunch and having fun at the "Mahalo Restaurant" and I was impressed by their light mood and good attitude; 180˚ opposite the mentality of locker room jocks. The following day I met Maria "Tita" Tavares, one of two Brazilians in the competiton and favored by our local surfers. She was incredibly relaxed and self confident. (Also very kind and patient with yours truly trying to get a photo and ask a few questions with my 'funny accent'.) Sad to report that Hawaiian surfers were eliminated early and on the third day, quarter finals eliminated my personal favorite, Julia Christian, from California of course. When I met her later in the afternoon she walked with poise and wore a warm smile. There was not a hint of sour grapes anywhere among the surfers already eliminated and I thought to myself, "These are the real champions."
Unable to attend the final round I did get an emotional account of events from a co-worker, an avid "surfer girl." She and her closest friends live and breathe with the tides and moon. I like to call their little group, "A mulherada da onda," 'Womanhood of the wave'. In fact one of them wanted to enter "Girls Pro Itacaré" but wasn't allowed to because she is already 3-time Bahia State Champion.
For the record the final results are as follows:
Silvana Lima from Ceará, Brazil finished 3rd with Chelsea Georgeson from Australia. 20 year-old Australian, Jessi Miley-Dyer who eliminated my girl from California finished 2nd AND to no one's surprise, the event dominated by Australians was won by an Australian veteran, 38 year-old Layne Beachly, 6-time champion. By nearly all accounts, people say she deserved it. Me; I'm just a goofy, bow-legged, gringo/haoli who thinks that sex wax is a marital aid but even I could see her potential in earlier rounds. Good on ya!
One last word of praise to all the visitors who came to Itacaré during this past week; Thanks for showing so much respect for the ocean, the earth, the town and its people. "Volte sempre."
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Monday, 7-Aug-2006 15:52 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
It's Like Running Away With the Circus
|
|
Rhythm and dance rule in the creative world of "Casa do Boneco," dedicated to education, art and popular culture. "The Puppet House" is the natural outgrowth of a man's committment to the performing arts, the community and the children. I'm talking about Antônio Jorge de Jesus, aka Jorge Rasta, founder and artistic director of this enchanting theater group. Jorge hails from Salvador, Bahia and his dream is being realized in Itacaré, a fast-growing tourist destination in the south of Bahia; blessed with tropical beaches, lush rainforests and Afro-Brazilian culture.
Jorge's goals are ambitious and admirable. Through activities like origami, paper maché and art craft, the puppet theater has been the foundation of outreach to the youngest members of our community. These children are the people who create the backbone of Jorge's performing arts group. African folklore, music, dance and religion combine to become a vehicle to preserve history and popular culture while involving young people in artistic activities aimed at local tourism. The public attending any performance will testify to the "magic" created by these talented young artists. Percussion and driving rhythm provide a background for an original dance performed for each of the "orixás," the African dieties who remained with their worshippers through the period of slavery up to modern times. All of the costumes are handmade as are many of the musical instruments. The performance includes a narrative by Jorge that comes straight for his heart, based on written and oral history handed down to Brazil from Africa.
I recently had the immense pleasure of spending some 24 hours with Jorge, his immediate family and his extended family, the young performers of the theater group. The boundless creative energy, industrious talents and musical background swept me up and carried me on a wave of "alegria." The real "magic" begins backstage where the group lives, works and performs as a family, some members having been involved for up to 10 years. Many of Jorge's objectives unseen, or unknown to the public are to keep his artists involved in a continuing process of education, to build self-esteem (not egos), to supplement a healthy diet and teach the value of preserving the natural environment. HIs recipe works! Casa do Boneco is a caldron of creative talent, tempered and seasoned with love and affection, mixed and stirred with the spirit of cooperation, then served with reverence to the creator and joy to all. Jorge's nuclear family; his wife and children, provide support and inspiration beyond measure. Without Jorge's wife, the basic infrastructure and business administration would collapse, not to mention her invaluable talents in wardrobe, make-up and styling. His son is a stand out in the "Puxada de Rede," depicting the toil of fishermen. Their daughter is the youngest in the group and simply the object of EVERYONE'S affection. (If you need a hug, she provides.)
I know the young people who participate and I know their families and this community, which is to say I am familiar with their hardships at home and the lack of resources offered by the community. Casa do Boneco is an alternative home and community, based on the highest aspirations of both institutions and it provides a positive environment in both aspects. There is no lack of love in this place and there is always a helping hand; always someone to catch you when you fall. The spirit of this group is the "magic" I keep refering to; the comraderie, the fellowship and sense of responsibility toward one another that provides a loving bond and the fuel that drives this group. Jorge calls the environment, "Quilombo," a mythical place where Brazilian slaves could enjoy peace and freedom, harmony and grace; I call it the circus of my childhood fantasies, a magical place where anything beautiful can happen when drums and dance invoke the spirits of Africa.
CONTACT:
Casa do Boneco Itacaré
Rua Praia da Concha, s/n - Concha
Itacaré - Bahia CEP: 45530-000
Tel: 73/3251-3417
email: casadoboneco@yahoo.com.br
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Tuesday, 1-Aug-2006 03:02 |
Email | Share | | Bookmark |
|
The Seasons in Bahia Are Different
|
|
It's the end of July and I'm looking out on a day as grey and drizzly as any in San Francisco. Small, spotted doves come and go among the trees outside my window night and day. Between showers, the window is wide open and there appears to be a mating dance starting on a prominent branch front and center. She struts and squats while fanning her tail feathers and calling with a high-pitched cooing; volume and tone proportional to the bird's small frame. Nature, in her shameless fashion, is displaying a female in her sexual cycle as she innocently attracts a mate. In my dirty mind, if she keeps up that behavior, lovey-dovey will probably be x-rated before lunchtime.
Here comes another shower and as I get up to close the window, the sound of kids at the beach goes up like celebrations at an Indian Pow-Wow as they get pelted with the first wave of rain rolling in. Itacaré`s urban beach, "Coroinha," hosts a number of small boats and canoes alongside two sandy football fields and volleyball nets. Activity along the waterfront is constant. With a few stadium lights placed among the coco palms organized leagues play into the night. Opening the window again a cheer comes up from the football field and drum rehearsals start straight accross the water from me on the opposite side of the crescent shaped "orla." (waterfront) A rastafarian from Salvador has organized a theater and show they call "Afro-tropical" where Itacaré`s children sing and dance in a theater production that portrays the African dieties, the "Orixás." The young percussionists jamming are being answered by an echo from this side which has a slightly different pitch and accents the backbeat and that seems to have kicked up the energy along the sand, even under grey skies.
"Porra!" (POha) is the cry from the beach. This guy obviously missed a goal and yelled something as equally vulgar as America's anguished cry of "Fuck!" (For the record, they're saying "Come!", the noun, not the verb.)OR... could be a player got a used condom stuck to his foot since you might say that all of Itacaré`s beaches are littered with lust. "Camisinhas" and their wrappers are the flotsam and jetsam riding the romantic tides on waves as endless and regular as the human search for an affectionate and intimate companion. We have a tourist season, a shrimp season, a low season, a mango season; we have seasonal surf, seasonal prices, seasonal sports and seasonal seafood; but "futebol" and "sexo" are things we enjoy without interruption. For those times when we have the passion but not the energy to join a team and get up a game we can always watch either one of them on television. Participation is simple, if you're not already on a team, just go to the beach and get into a "pick-up game." Get to know the other players to find out which "clubhouse" is hosting the after hours "meeting."
WARNING: There's a very physical game (no red cards-no penalties) at the beach called "baba" which means "slobber" or "drool" and it's not for the timid so be aware.
|
|
|
|
|
