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| Friday, 21-Jul-2006 13:41 |
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The International Palate
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Maybe enough has been said about the natural wonders of this region in the south of Bahia and we should pay attention to Itacaré`s tour of culinary wonders where restaurant owners and chefs give the menu and ambience a distinctive international touch.
I can safely say that every kitchen from here to Salvador can serve and excellent "comida típica" and Bahian cooking is in a world of its own but take a look at the quality and diversity Itacaré offers on a "culinary tour" of dining options. Heads up to visitors; this activity can be enjoyed under clear skies or rain and anyone with an appitite can participate. Consider some of the choices; authentic sushi, French crepes wrapped around something salty or something sweet, pizza from a wood-burning oven or raviolis made from scratch. We even have a pair of sisters from São Paulo whose restaurant has a great recipe for chocolate brownies! This tour offers you restaurants unanimously considered the "best in town" by residents and visitors alike.
For me, "going out to eat" is worth doing in three stages; apitizers and cold drinks, 'the meal' and then coffee and sweets. Back in San Francisco I would take someone out to any good clam shack or oyster bar overlooking the water at the end of the day, then 'the meal' could be Italian found in North Beach, and on the way home, stop at Just Desserts for coffee and chocolate (and maybe a few things for the house.) For people who prefer to do all those things in one place that's fine but it doesn't make much of a "tour." So put on some comfortable shoes, I'll get my camera and cab fare in case it rains.
"Xareu Point" is where people gather at sunset because the views looking up the Contas River or out on the South Atlantic are spectacular. Eden Restaurant on one side of the point has a Dutch owner very proud to have an international menu. On the other side of the point you'll find Cabana da Luzitânia with authentic dishes served all day long at the head of Conchas Beach. "Casca de Siri" is a delicious appitizer combining fresh crab meat with a spicy vinigarette which is found up and down this part of Brazil's coast. Walking out on the rocky point we can hear a "berimbau" which usually signals a capoeira circle is forming to "play" a martial arts "game" with absolutely no body contact. This cultural tradition came from Africa and was tamed to adapt to slave life. The berimbau is an instrument made with a stick, a gourd and a string which the player strikes with a small rattle and stick to produce both rhythm and tone. No circle gathering today, just a capoeirista playing music to the setting sun.
The Berimbau Restaurant is definitely the place to have 'the meal.' I have 10 or 12 places on my list of "international crowd pleasers" and another list for best local cuisine and The Berimbau is on both, and if we're rating ambience, this charming little place would add that distinction as well. Sidewalk seating or cozy dining room, both are complimented with the owner's good taste in music, from his CD collection or local musicians. His good taste is also reflected in the kitchen where he learned many secrets from the German chef who created the menu still enjoyed today. Typical diners at The Berimbau are international travelers and Brazilians who brought their cultured palates from Rio and São Paulo. What really 'clinches the sale' for this place was demonstrated recently by four British tourists who shyly approached the restaurant and the waitress, having overheard their conversation greeted them in English as she produced a menu for their perusal. I could tell she 'closed the deal' when she said, "We have meat, pasta and fish." Simply put; The Berimbau has something for everyone prepared in a variety of ways that will please everyone.
Time for a stroll down Itacaré`s main street which coincidentally, is where you'll find the majority of cafés and coffee houses (NO Starbucks) which are all good, but tonight's choice is "Café Caramelo" because the location is excellent for people-watching. The French owner of this place is fanatic about detail and does his best to ensure that everything on the simple menu is prepared daily and has a homemade freshness. I don't claim to be a chocolate lover but it goes so well with good coffee that I occasionally indulge myself, after all we ARE in the heart of Brazil's cocoa producing region. By now it's approaching midnight and the energy on the street is shifting gears. That's right, in Itacaré nightlife is just getting started at this hour and music and dance will go till dawn but I'll have to write that story another time. For now, I've finished my espresso and chocolate and I'd better have a nightcap, "Waitress, can you bring me that brandy drink I like so much?"
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| Friday, 14-Jul-2006 14:11 |
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High Society
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OLD PROVERB
"Intelligent people talk about 'ideas.'
Common people talk about 'things.'
Ignorant people talk about 'people.'"
A wonderful party recenlty made me realize that it's time to describe the multi-teared social life in this little town but I'm afraid it comes out sounding like a twisted "novela" or maybe a soap opera directed by David Lynch. (Twin Beaches?)
Over the past 10 years the population of Itacaré has roughly doubled with the combination of Brazilians and foreigners who arrived here. We landed here at the tail-end of an early wave of people who "invaded" when the asphalt was completed to Ilhéus facilitating our dreams to start a little tourist business among some of Brazil's beautiful beaches. Getting back to the point, we all became friends and colleagues; too close at times but it's a small town. Brazil is a muli-layered social cake from its rich frosting to its scattered crumbs and a class-conscious society still requires rules and proper etiquette or, simply put, follow the peoples' customs. Bahia's customs will come later as one adapts to the surroundings but I digress, let's just admit that we tend to gravitate to people of our own social class, not necassarily the "creme de la creme", but whose to judge? On the tree of life we will find a branch with similar monkeys. We're communicating and we enjoy dancing around together on that branch. At the party I was reminded how life tranforms itself from day to day and individuals and people collectively forge a trail into the future, all the time interconnecting, overlapping and weaving together the social fabric of life.
I found myself joining the "stag line" by the bar and realized that it consisted of guys who arrived in Itacaré married but have since divorced. Not even the owner of the resort, the birthday boy, is immune. My ex-wife caught me with my hand in a bowl of nuts at the bar so she approached and said quietly,' "Be careful, you're getting fat." then disappeared in the direction of the music. Good advice or cheap shot? Had to let it go because I was immediately distracted by a gringa from the States who had been here for 6 months, (not including some prior visits), to do some research in the field of cultural anthropology I believe, and she found these monkeys to be a lot of fun so she had a million questions for me.
As I described our group's relations, inter-relations and ex-relations, she exclaimed "Somebody should write a book!"
"I am!" I fired back with equal enthusiasm. Then I continued on about the artist's former wife who runs the art gallery with her partner who is the "ex" of the Brazilian woman who works in Washington D.C. and comes here to stay in her dome but has no friends because she is a kleptomaniac and she steals from everyone around her. The Dr. playing D.J.? The short Frenchman you just met nearly lost his wife to him. (As time went on she had the same uncontrollable urges for a local fisherman and a French photographer.) They're divorced now but still work and travel together. They have a restaurant together and that guy over there with the shaved head and tatooes is their head chef from São Paulo. The blonde on his arm is a Spanish tourist here at the resort. I proceeded to go on about people's relations with the guest of honor and the people behind the resort, (the 'resort' itself is a source of material), but before I could even talk about the green-eyed mulatta serving cocktails and apitizers my tongue stopped short as I accused myself of spreading GOSSIP!!!??!! FOFOCA!!!??!! I suddenly felt like a "fofoqueiro" so I stifled myself and changed the subject so fast the gringa appeared to stumble and pitch forward holding her wine in mid-sip. I then told her with conviction that I hate gossip and the bad things it creates, the Karma that follows and the damage it does. Of course, at the end of my speech I promised her I would introduce her to a large cast of characters and spoon out the dirt in small amounts if she would just keep reading my stories.
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| Wednesday, 12-Jul-2006 15:01 |
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Leaves of Grass
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I'm reading "Leaves of Grass" by Walt Whitman. Here are some garden flowers in homage to this epic poem.
"Smile O voluptuous coolbreathed earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset! Earth of the mountains misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid grey of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbowed earth! Rich apple-blossomed earth!
Smile, for your lover comes!"
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| Monday, 3-Jul-2006 04:00 |
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Prepare Your Heart
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Something funny happened that summer day in France back in 1998 and Brazilians every where have been longing for a rematch; a grudge match; a chance to even the score. What I saw on the screen that day was not world class football ("soccer" to the folks back in the States); it was not a game of champions, but a French team playing poorly and a Brazilian team lying down like submissive dogs. I was among some twenty-odd Brazilians back in the San Francisco Bay Area and the shocking loss made the atmosphere so thick with "tristeza," (sorrow), that you COULDN'T cut it with a knife. I was sad too but didn't really feel the depth of emotion experienced by the people around me. What happened there? It looked like Brazil just never got in the game. The star of the team, Ronaldo, held scoreless, complained about a bad stomach and a few other players jumped on board which created a conspiracy theory that it was a case of food poisoning deliberately inflicted by the French chef or someone else in the kitchen at the hotel. Many Brazilians chose to believe that their team was just being nice to the "home team" and allowed them to win. Personally, I think they were convinced by someone that it would be more lucrative to lose the World Cup. Someone "made an offer they couldn't refuse."
Fast forward four years to 2002 and think about how definitively the Brazilians dominated the field and how quickly the French were eliminated from the competition. There would be no grudge match in Asia and the conspiracy theories appeared to gain validity. I was living in Brazil by then and no one around me had any doubt that their boys wouldn't bring the trophy back home. Celebrations were planned BEFORE the games.
This year Brazil was poised to take on the world in defense of their title. Some people had doubts about Ronaldo but everyone had faith in the younger Ronaldinho, said to be the best player in the world. Hell, this team looked so strong that their young second string could eliminate half the teams in the competition. Confidence amoung the fans around here reached new heights and people wanted to see the team humiliate the Argentinos and annihilate the French. It's always a good day in Brazil when their rivals in Argentina lose a match and to exact revenge on the French would have been the sweetest victory since the heroics of Pele of years gone by.
That just wasn't meant to be. In the quarter finals this year's home team, Germany, sent the Argentinos home in a match so close that Maradona must have wet his pants. Saturday Brazil stepped up to play the game that took eight year to arrive and my friends and neighbors were delirious with anticipation. Everywhere were flags and banners, balls and balloons, beer and barbeque; it was a sea of green and yellow churning with excitement. The first half of that game was such a nail-biter that I felt certain we would see a scoreless game followed by a scoreless overtime and a penalty shoot-out to decide who would advance to the semi finals and play the Portuguese team. Unfortunately France's most beloved player, Zindane, scored a goal and ruled out that little scenario. I was astonished like everyone around me but I had faith that Brazil would come roaring back. That wasn't meant to be either. The French started this tournament looking weak and impotent while Brazil came charging in kicking ass and taking names. What I saw over the past couple of weeks was a team gaining strength and picking up momentum while "our team" spent its energy like a rocket that couldn't escape the pull of gravity. Like the flight of an arrow, the arc of the diver or a bell curve inverted, but the team peaked too early and on Saturday we could see their brilliance slightly diminished in the face of an adversary still gathering steam.
Brazil's sports announcers like to tell the fans before each game to prepare their hearts (for an exciting match) but I'm sure no one in Brazil was prepared to lose that game to France and give up possession of their precious trophy. I even saw a little plastic Brazilian flag imprinted with, "A copa é nossa." (The cup is ours.) Countless dreams of "Hexa Campeão" (6-time Champions) will be put on hold for another four years while hard core fans in Brazil will now lend their support to Portugal, an underdog team led by coach Luíz Felipe Scolari, known as "Felipão" in his native Brazil. And yes, it was he who coached Brazil to victory in 2002.
The final whistle in that game is still echoing in my head making this hangover worse than it should be. Brazil's collective heart sank like a stone in still water at that moment and my own heart went with it. Antônio Carlos Jobim wrote that sorrow has no end but happiness does, and that clock in Germany ticking off the last seconds of Saturday's game told the whole world when Brazil's "felicidade" would end. France threw a big, wet blanket over us, burst all our green and yellow balloons, then rained like hell on our parade. I left the now quiet bar and walked around town looking for friends and consolation hoping that maybe a hot meal and a cold beer would wash down the lump in my throat. I saw a friend in a local creperie so I joined him and he said that he watched every game from the chair he was sitting in (every place in town has TVs tuned in) and now he was having trouble getting up. His daughter finally dragged him away and when I stepped up to the cash register to pay my bill, the guy jokingly said, "If you're French, I have to charge you more." (Yes, my blue eyes and accent make it obvious that I'm a foreigner.)
I hit the streets again to see nothing but long faces and watery eyes, then bumped into another friend (Itacaré is a small town) who offered me a drink and we agreed on a little café owned by a friend of ours from Paris. Arriving there I asked the (Brazilian) waitress where the boss was and she said, "He hasn't got the courage to come around tonight. He knows we'll kill him." She had been crying.
The TV was still on broadcasting a local news program which was interviewing some very emotional fans and a friend of the waitress, also very upset, abruptly turned it off and asked to hear some music.
My (Italian) friend said, "Wait. I was watching that."
The waitress snapped back, "Enough about the game. The TV is off now."
"But I'm a good customer." he callously insisted.
Sensing an argument was brewing I stood up to intervene and I could see her eyes were filling with tears again. Luckily I called them both off to neutral corners and avoided a shouting match that might have been heard as far away as the next state.
Later, as we walked up the street in search of a good cachaça (cane liquor) I asked him to be a little more sensitive because beyond football and carnaval, Brazilians have so little to be proud of. He countered with, "That's just ignorance. This country has a lot to be proud of." My friend is some kind of provocateur salting the fresh wounds of every Brazilian we met by saying, "So explain to me what happened to the Brazilian team today." There weren't too many coherent responses but I was amused by some new conspiracy theories.
"It's all politics, man," etc. I like the Patoxó Indian who explained that the games are rigged so that a European team (which the four finalists are) will win because the Euro(dollar) is so strong right now. Huh? "Yeah, They're bolstering the economy of re-unified Germany with tourist money and focusing the world's attention on members of the EU. You don't see any third world countries in the semifinals." This guy would have gone on for hours if the owner of the place didn't remind him to pick up his guitar and start the next set. We finished our cachaça while discussing a loftier subject, women, then parted ways.
Walking alone I remembered the previous weeks of background stories and interviews with players and coaches broadcast at the end of the nightly national news. At the end of each segment it would fade to black and this quote would appear, "Um país. Uma paixão." - "One country. One passion."
I would add to that, "Um povo MUITO apaixonado." - "One VERY passionate people."
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| Wednesday, 17-May-2006 05:28 |
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Accidentally Astonishing!
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Boy walks on Water
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Turtle on the Run
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"This is the age of miracle and wonder,"
Paul Simon
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| Thursday, 11-May-2006 14:46 |
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Who I Am and What I Do (A little bio.)
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About the Photographer:
I am a veteran studio photographer who left San Francisco, CA, 7 years ago for Bahia, Brazil. Since arriving in Itacaré I have worked for the growing tourist industry and mounted several local exhibitions. Relatively new to digital photography and photo-journalism, I feel like I am re-learning how to make photographs. The ease of reproduction and velocity of distribution (of photos) has forced me to re-evaluate the impact and value of each photo I make. Anyone can be a photo-journalist today; mass media is in the hands of the masses,but the challenge remains the same; to create personal images and memorable stories. In my case I have always found sensual beauty and eroticism in nature and I write about (and photograph) my "new life" in Brazil.
I have recently mounted three sites intended to explore these challenges. One is the photoblog you are viewing.
Click to "view all photos", then just click on the thumbnails to enlarge photos.
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| Tuesday, 9-May-2006 05:10 |
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Fresher is Better
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It doesn't matter if your diet is animal, vegetable or mineral; who doesn't like fresh food?
In Itacaré we're constanly reminded that we live between an agricultural belt and the warm Atlantic Ocean. The small town is inhabited by fishermen, farmers and the rest of us. The photos above give you an idea of how we shop for food around here. If you like Mexican food you're probably thinking the boy's wheelbarrow could make a lot of guacamole, but not in Brazil. Avocados are big and plump, without a hint of bitterness; they're treated like fruit! Throw one in a blender with milk and sugar and you have an incredible smoothie. The storefront pictured above might make more sense with a loose translation: 'Chickens slaughtered (and cut) to order, with quality.' You can get a force-fed, hormone engorged, industrialized "Chester" (think big breast) in the supermarket or stop by this shop for a free-range "frango caipira." You can even ask them to save the blood to make a delicious chicken stewed in its own blood. Crab? What can I say? I'm from San Francisco. This area will never have any as big as the dungeness or king crab but the three most common species here will supply crab meat almost all year long; even the soft-shell crab that people on the "right coast" enjoy so much.
I was always proud of California's reputation as "America's fruit basket" and I think now that Bahia might be called "Brazil's fruit basket." The variety of fruit found here is mind boggling, even for Brazilians. Although my own fruit bowl is nearly empty I have passion fruit, mangoes and "pink" limes. Looking out the window of my new place in town, the little yard has a couple of banana trees falling over from the weight of their own fruit, there are a number of green papayas ripening above and a small fig tree has taken root nearby. In this region nearly everyone has cacau growing somewhere and this garden is no exception. The young tree should be yielding fruit in a year or two and that means more than a sweet, pulpy treat because the large seeds can be dried and processed into chocolate! The caju trees back in the sitio also give the consumer a double delight because attached to each exotic fruit grows a cashew nut.
I can't leave this subject without mentioning Bahia's oranges. At the risk of sounding like some kind of traitor I have to say without a doubt that these ugly, green and yellow "oranges" in Bahia are far better than what I had in California. All over Brazil, wherever food is served you can get fresh-squeezed OJ and if those oranges come from Bahia, prepare yourself for a transcendental experience. No one can argue: fresher is better.
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| Tuesday, 4-Apr-2006 11:47 |
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This is Tropical Goth - Please Don't Feed the Vultures
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This tropical climate is killing me, I never felt so alive!
The yin and yang of life and death in the tropics is accelerated to an extreme I haven't known since exploring the volcanoes of Hawaii. Volcanic activity illustrates how a single act of nature can wipe out everything in its path while depositing fresh, virgin earth in its wake. I'm talking about the active forces in the universe, creation and destruction, which occur simultaneously, and so vividly in this tropical climate. The erosive power of pounding rain and perpetual himidity can bring down buildings, rust any steel structure and disrupt the normal functions of the most advanced technology. Every moment of this destructive potential germinates seeds, feeds the forest and brings fresh water to all of God's creatures. To witness the work of nature is to live in awe.
Here in Itacaré we embrace the elements as we constantly fight those same natural forces. Fishermen and surfers both watch the tides, the turbulent sky and the moon to find harmony with the sea. Farmers and ranchers also monitor the moon and the passing seasons to plant and harvest accordingly. They won't even castrate an animal until the moon is favorable. The rain leaves its mark everywhere. A river overflowing its banks leaves a huge path of destruction while it 'redistributes' valuable topsoil and the same clean, clear water will leave a 'stain' on nearly everything as you can see in the photo of the neglected mansion. In a very short time the rain leaves a petina, a sign of age, and on these old buildings it creates a gothic look, a backdrop to the old horror movies I used to love. Bring in the vultures and you have the opening scene of any one of those classic films. The black vultures of Brazil's coast are certainly a misunderstood creature. Not only are they ugly, but they have a dirty job to do. The tropics is no place for a seagull because it's too damn hot so the vulture steps up to fill the niche of coastal scavanger. Unlike the picturesque bird of cooler climes our vulture appears to be a disgusting creature with bad habits and an appitite for carnage. (So does the gull, but you wouldn't think it to look at him.)
So now, one is left to ponder the yin and yang in visual terms; on one side you see a gothic mansion with vultures nearby and on the other you may see small green parrots feasting on mangoes that appear to be dripping from the trees.
Love it or hate it - I never felt so alive!
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| Tuesday, 28-Mar-2006 02:17 |
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Cows Found on This Property Will Be Killed and Eaten
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Neighbor's Cow On Our Land
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Our Dog, Cavu, With a Cow's Foot
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That's the sign I'd like to post around our land. I would do it too if I thought it would do any good. It's too bad that posting signs would be in vain because the yokels who handle farm animals around here can't read.
For the third time, our neighbor's cows broke the fence causing trouble and trashing the gardens around my house. The first sign of trouble came a few years ago when our neighbor on the east side had a mule that was out of control. That dumb "bicho," (beast), kicked down a couple of posts putting the barbed wire on the ground then came over and kicked and bit our mule; yeah, he broke the fence, beat up our mule and split! Turned out the owner wasn't much more intellegent or agreeable than his dumb jack ass. He made no apology, wouldn't call a vet to look at our animal and wouldn't repair the fence. To add insult to injury he tried to SELL us the wood to repair the fence! I told him what to do with the wood and likewise his mule. Another sort of humorous incident occurred just after lunch one day when I heard a lot of yelling about 100 meters from the house, up toward the road. Of course the dog was barking and I took him by the collar and went up to find some guy thrashing around in the bush and yelling something incomprehensible. I thought, "Oh no. I've got a drunk on my hands!" Turned out that one of his herd strayed while they were passing on the road and pushed his way through a small opening in the fence intended for human traffic. OK. "Tudo bem." Just get her out of here before she damages something.
On the other side of us is the "Cattle King." He pays little or nothing to graze his cows on other peopl's land, including ours, while he clears the forest to make pastures on his own land. I wrote about him before in a piece titled, "What Part of 'Rainforest' Don't You Understand?" His cows can be seen moving up and down the road on any given day. Anyway, it's his dumb animals that are making me crazy. Once they got loose over here when I wasn't home and my wife and dog had no way to round 'em up. Although the dog is part German Shepard he never had any experience herding animals so he just barked like crazy while my wife, a city girl, trying to defend a new bed of flowers, found herself between a cow and calf on one side and a protective bull on the other. Eventually they moved away from the house and our hired hand appeared to restore order. On the second occaision I was home when I heard the dog going nuts down by the banana trees. I arrived there to find him moving the small herd back through the broken fence just like a veteran, running circling and barking. All I had to do was get a stick and start whistling, the cows got back to their side quickly. Last week they were here when nobody was home and the dog was tied up on the patio. He must have made a lot of noise all for naught because no one could hear him and the cows had no fear. They crushed pineapple plants, broke stairs and retaining walls, ate every young fruit tree we planted and left manure everywhere! We returned home to our neighbor's apologetic farm hand who could only assure us that there was no damage to our house. He also kindly fixed the fence and has had the good sense to keep himself and those cows far away from my angry ass.
I think the good old American proverb is right: "Good fences make good neighbors."
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| Friday, 24-Mar-2006 10:30 |
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The "Rhythm" of Bahia
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Neighborhood Porch
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This photo is my homage to the great photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson. It also illustrates something about life, its precarious nature, uncertainty about the present moment and the unpredictability of the future. Think about those unanswerable questions like, "How could things come to this?", "Who's responsible for this mess?" or "What in the Hell is going on here?"
Leaving the U.S. for Brazil 7 years ago guarenteed some life changes but who could have forseen what specific changes would occur. "If I had it to do all over again, would I?" I don't know. See? Even the past is uncertain! Adapting to my new home has been a huge challenge. Learning the language was (and still is) difficult, but even more so is understanding what people mean. I keep saying I understand the words but I don't understand what the person means. Recently doing a translation I came accross something called a "mão francesa," a French hand, which is attached to furniture and storage units. Huh? I asked many people who made up any stupid answer until It was finally determined to be a 'shelf bracket.' My daily life goes along like this, I know the words but the meaning still eludes me.
I continue to search for a rhythm to this life; a flow, a wave to ride but I see myself and those around me moving forward(?) in fits and starts, stop and go, take a detour, breakdown dead ahead. It's like long periods of inactivity (disability?) punctuated by utter chaos, the peaks and valleys of life are quite extreme. If I were to compose a 'sountrack' for my life, it might sound like a very small child playing with the remote control of a TV at extremely high volume. Silence interrupted by a loud cacaphony of music, laughter, screams, applause, sales and all the other crap broadcast on the tube. A week ago I couldn't find enough to do and then on Monday this week everything I had been trying to do broke loose. I had to move at light speed to wrap up those projects and still some of those things are unresolved. Everybody knows the feeling of having a 'full plate' of things to do and not a tiny bit of space for one more thing, right? Well, around here the plate is empty or it is overflowing! Things are made worse by my American work ethic and middle age anxiety. How can I relax in the hammock knowing there is work to be done but materials aren't available, and how do I overcome my anxiety to travel while waiting for the rain to stop? Hey Eric, lighten up, smoke a fat one and chill dude. Holy shit, nothing would get done!
Actually, a good remedy is a walk in the forest or a little beach time, weather permitting. Travel should also be considered. Some of my best friends are foreigners (from Europe) and they have never lost their connection to "the old country." They return annually to renew relations, recharge the energy cells, earn some money and to kill the thing that is killing them (us). Homesickness!, a longing for things familiar. It may sound funny but my stomach gets homesick too, longing for a decent cheeseburger with grilled onions.
At times, my poor memory is heightened by this sense of longing, but for the life of me, I can't remember the last time I said, "I know EXACTLY what you mean."
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