Our Finest Hour - São Paulo

Recently I was at an event that was attended by some of the super rich of Brazil. I, unfortunately, am not one of them but got to brush shoulders for a short while. Inevitably the conversation moved to the upcoming presidential election here and the World Cup. I don't understand enough about politics here to get too involved in the presidential discussion, and while I understand less that I should about international football, I am going to get involved in that discussion. Because it's about more than football.

The people I talked to at the event were all leaving for the month-long Cup (June-July). They were heading to Europe or the US or just elsewhere. Why? They said it would be a gigantic mess, dangerous with protests and a complete embarrassment for Brazil. By the way, others I know who are not super rich are also leaving during the Cup--but only because outgoing flights are cheap and school holidays will last 8 weeks in some cases. 

I am staying. Enthusiastically. I can't wait. I am going to dress in yellow and green for a whole month (except on days when Uruguay plays and then all bets are off--kidding, BH, kidding). I have no idea what goes on during the game--okay, I admit I am in training for the Cup studying  Falcao (oops, he has about a 50/50 chance of coming),  "gol de placa" and a large list of swear words. 

This morning I got a link from a NGO where I used to volunteer. In the clip, there is a TV journalist talking about how no Brazilian should volunteer for the World Cup. That it is a FIFA event, money is going not into the pockets of those who need it and that you'd have to be a clown to want to work there for free. 

And this is where I completely disagree. No, not with the point that FIFA is the organizer and that they come away with most of the money. My point is that now, at this moment, the World Cup is not FIFA's. It is Brazil's. It is Brazil's to win, both on the field and off. Brazil can win new fans of soccer and of this wonderful country. Or it can piss it away along with all of the money that was supposed to go to infrastructure projects.

The fact is that it is too late to say "we should never have gotten the Cup." I remember the announcement of it being in Brazil. The country celebrated. BH and I looked at each other and frowned. Did anyone really think that infrastructure (hospitals, schools, etc) would be built as promised? Really? No one here is that naive. Or that optimistic. But it's too late. It's coming in four months.

The fact is that it is too late to demonstrate about the money going to stadiums and not to the residents. That money is gone. And will be more gone soon as some of the stadium projects go into overtime and money is dumped into repairs (São Paulo), grass (Curitiba) and canvas airport terminals (Fortaleza). If I could counsel the protestors, I would say find a new way. Let's not accidentally kill more videographers like in Rio last week--that does not help the discussion. Let's not scare the tourists away.

The fact is we need some of this money back. That means we had better convince people from abroad to come to this Cup. I want them to spend weeks here. I want them to visit deserted beaches, national parks, city museums and restaurants. I want them to love Brazil. There is a lot to love. 

As I've said before, I fell in love with a country during a World Cup. I have been back to that country three times since then and spent lots of tourist money. I tell everyone to go there for wonderful people, food, adventures. That country is South Africa.

I also lived in the US during the World Cup there in 1994, and in San Francisco where the Brazilians were based. It is an indescribable event--so much intrigue, so much theatre, so much fun. For an American, we cannot grasp the emotions at play--the deep-rooted need to win.

I was here in Brazil during the 1998 Cup. I cannot tell any of you what it is like to be in a country that STOPS when its national team plays. It stops. São Paulo, population who knows but close to 15 million, stopped. Not a bus on the street. Not a person on the street. I could have laid down in the middle of Avenida Paulista and taken a nap--not one car. And then a goal and the place explodes with happiness.

So, I'm staying. I'm staying to support the athletes who have trained for years to be on this or that field (really hope Curitiba gets some grass for it). I do not promise to not call them babies when they grimace and roll on the ground when someone touches them (Italy, this means you). I do not promise to like Ronaldo or to cheer against Argentina (close your eyes, BH). But I promise to welcome all the tourists who come here and help them however I can.  I want people to love Brazil. And start a lifetime love affair that will bring them back again and again.

Does anyone remember the lines in Apollo 13 about success and failure? One of my favorite movies of all time (here is the link if the movie doesn't come up: http://youtu.be/eOkAyUmyQko.

We can choose: believe this could be our biggest disaster, or believe it will our finest hour. I know which one I choose.

House calls and Haifa - São Paulo

Haifa last week at the fazenda

It turns out that this is going to be animal week. No, not really. I was about to post political observations that always get me into trouble, but then yesterday happened. Yesterday, my 11-year old labrador fell down the stairs after losing control of her hindquarters and is in some weird state of neurological no-man's land. She is now sleeping at my feet--so I have decided to tell you a little bit about her, and the spectacular veterinary care that my dogs both get here in Brazil. Back to my political meanderings tomorrow.

I have two labradors. The first, named Caju, has been with me since he was a tiny puppy. He will turn 14 next month and has all the ups and downs of a senior dog.  In early 2012, he was losing his mojo. I thought adopting a canine companion would help. I didn't think a puppy would work (attention diverted from Caju), and with two small kids, I did not want to get a street dog that might have a history that involved kids torturing it and he might turn on them. I wanted a senior girl.

I called the vet who had sold me my first Brazilian lab, Chopp. Audrey knows well Caju--mostly because Caju has had every single problem known to doggie-kind (cancer, pancreatitis, canine tick disease, arthritis, various varmints living in his skin). She was no longer breeding dogs and did not want to give up any of the 9 seniors currently living at her home. She suggested I contact Brazil's largest labrador kennel, called Tokay.   

I sent a note to Tokay and three days later I heard back. The owner said she had never heard of anyone wanting to adopt a retired breeding lab but yes, she had three females, all age 9, all retired. She suggested I look at their photos on the web, which I did. And I saw one, Haifa, was related intergenerationally to Caju. Her grandfather was Caju's father.  Haifa came home with me.

The story gets too long about her arrival here. She was not in good condition, is partially deaf, and needed minor surgery to fix a number of issues. But she is a complete love. She is my shadow now that Caju can't walk so well. She wants nothing more than to be with someone, principally me, all of the time.

Yesterday, she was behaving strangely. We had gone for a big hike at the ranch on Sunday, and she had exerted herself more than usual--jumping a creek, uphill and downhill on various trails. Still she was fine on Sunday. On Monday, she fell over when she got up. She tripped and fell into her bed. She crashed into the door when trying to get out of the house. At one point she got up and ran for the back door and seemed not to hear me calling her. Even yelling and whistling. Her eyes are more than a little vacant.  She is having accidents all over the house.

I called Daniela, who is the vet at PetHelp, the closest vet clinic to me, and who always comes in on the senior dog emergencies. She makes house calls--and when you have two elderly dogs, you need house calls. She has pulled bernes (fly larvae) out of one, cleaned and cared for wounds, assisted on eye surgery, etc. She said that she suspected some kind of neurological problem, some pain in the spinal column, and said that we should start with painkillers and then move to anti-inflammatories if things didn't get better. The worry was brain swelling. The worry really is a brain tumor. The neurologist she recommended can only see Haifa on Monday.

After Dani left, I called Audrey. I love a second opinion. This is at 6 pm on a Monday afternoon and Audrey picks up the phone, and I explain and Audrey says that she'll come by after her last patient--around 8:15 pm. The diagnosis is the same--anti-inflammatories, pain killers--and monitor. At this moment, Haifa has taken her first pills and is sleeping at my feet after face-planting into her water bowl. I am hopeful that she will get better.

As I tell you this dog soap opera, I will tell you that Haifa and her survival are not the points of this story. The point is that I have spoken often about bad customer service in Brazil and not enough about great customer service.  So here it is, another reason why I love Brazil:

I have two extremely competent vets who come when I call--I don't mean that in a "come-hither" way. I mean, these are two dedicated knowledgeable women who come to my house and see my old labradors when they have an issue--and they have them fairly often now. When I don't understand a medication, I can ask either one and the response is immediate through text or facebook or phone. There is no "after-hours" charge. There is no "I'm on my way home so just bring him to the emergency room." There are two vets (and three with Audrey's husband Gilberto who has also come on a Saturday for dog care) who I will place at the very top of the list of best client care experiences anywhere, anytime.  

For those of you in Brazil with fluffy folks at home, I highly recommend Pro-Cão (Audrey) and PetHelp (Dani). 

And keep your fingers crossed for Haifa.

Venom Retires - Joanopolis

Veneno, in younger days

This past weekend we were at our rented country house. We have access, through the owners of the ranch, to a number of very good riding horses. Some have been there since they bought the farm (not in the dead sense) 12 years ago and some are newer additions. The horse I have most ridden during our rental years is named Veneno or Venom, which is not the most auspicious name though he turns out to be a pretty good horse. And he has just retired--out to pasture with the other un-rideable horses--Zeus, Quartzo, Whiskey...

I have both scary and fond memories of Veneno. He was a wonderful horse to canter and gallop, and pretty much always up for a ride. On the downside, he was easily spooked and quite large.  He was a horse that needed at least an intermediate rider to control him. And I am firmly intermediate, having had numerous riding classes as a pre-teen, but none since then.

The view of the trail from behind Veneno's ear

One of the many stories I have of my friend Veneno is the day he nearly cut my head off.  Well, not him. One of the things that most spooked him was tree boughs down on the trail. And the ranch is a eucalyptus tree farm and frequently has trees down and across the trails. One day we were going down a much overgrown path through some bamboo when Veneno got spooked and ran through the bamboo and one of the limbs grabbed at my neck and left a bamboo burn that I did not soon forget. Yes, I do wear a helmet. No, that did not save me.

On another visit a few years back, I had just tied up the horse at the rail and was walking back to get my 2 year old twin boys from the woman who was helping with them that day. The kids had come down the road from the house and were near the barn, across the concrete saddling area near some trees. As I was walking towards them, I heard a noise of wood breaking and turned to see Veneno yanking his head up and ripping the tie-rail from the supports. Something had spooked him and now he was running towards me and the kids with a three foot long eucalyptus rail see-sawing in front of him from his reins. 

I was so shocked that I froze. BH yelled at me "RUN!" and so I did. I grabbed a kid and ran behind a tree, and the caretaker grabbed the other and hid behind another. Veneno thundered by, the pole barely missing us, his eyes rolled back in fear. We were lucky that day, and so was Veneno. He easily could have tripped and broken a leg.

The last funny story I have of Veneno took place a couple of years ago at the ranch. We were there with our kids, and there were about eight other kids around waiting for their parents to unsaddle.  I was holding the reins of Veneno who was behind me, as we waited for some room to open up on the tie-up rail (what do you call that thing, anyway?). The rail had been repaired and the supports sunk farther into the concrete since the last horse spooking.

Then Kefir freaked out. Kefir is a horse I have never ridden and never want to ride. He is an Arabian with an attitude. He is really controllable only by his owner, who was, at this time living in England. That day  BH had taken Kefir because we were in need of an extra horse. He has since been forbidden by me to ride that lunatic--his life insurance payout is just not that good.

Kefir ripped the rail out by yanking his reins and started bucking and freaking out much like Veneno had two years before. Several things happened at once: quick-thinking non-riding parents got the kids out of the way and inside a Land Rover.  The horse manager started trying to talk to Kefir and calm him down. BH moved to a safe place.Then Kefir turns and heads my way.

So there I am holding the reins of Veneno, not the world's most zen horse, and I look back at him then drop the reins and run like heck down the hill and jump over the corral fence. It is not an easy run down, you have to jump the small concrete rise and then down a few feet of hillside. After I jump over, I turn back---to stare straight in the face of Veneno. He has chased me down the hill as if to say: help! take me with you! That Kefir is a NUTBALL.

Kefir was finally calmed down and everything was fine. I only rode Veneno once after that--about six months ago. He is now over 22 years old, and while we didn't even trot on our outing, he was panting so hard, I asked the owner to retire him. I admit that his retirement has caused mine. I no longer ride at the farm--though I may do so in the future. Without Veneno, the adrenaline just isn't there.

The corral fence I jumped over and got followed by Veneno

Things I will miss. Fazenda. - Joanopolis

And if anyone asks why I do love Brazil given its many problems of security, corruption, etc, here is how I answer. The place we go on weekends, in a photo essay:

Hillsides and horses

Kids with bug examination kits

Hydrangeas and pretty houses

Sunsets

Rainstorms

Dogs and barbecues

Without words

Where's my mail? - São Paulo

Say what you will about other mail services, it is just not possible for any one to be worse than Brazil's. It's just not. Yesterday I received an envelope that was sent to me on November 20, 2013 from Toronto, Canada. It took 2 1/2 months for a guest pass for the Air Canada lounge to reach me here in Brazil. I have three weeks left to use it--I took the trip for which this friend had sent me a free pass in December.  By the way, any São Paulo friends heading to Canada and want a free three week pass? Seriously. 

Two and a half months. One envelope. And this is not an isolated case of idiocy. A friend in Alabama sent me a plaid hat last year, used and without value (other than emotional). It has not arrived to this day. It's a wool hat so I am doubting that the customs guy is wearing it but what the heck happens to this stuff? Why do no Brazilians care? You do realize this is unacceptable right? I get in trouble for criticizing this country (I pay taxes, I am allowed to complain--don't worry the US is in for it when I get back in August) but seriously, there is something wrong with a country that wants to sit on the UN permanent council yet cannot get me a piece of mail for two and a half months.

Also they messed with girl scout cookies. Two years ago a friend in Maine sent me two boxes of Samoas and they arrived three months later in tiny bits. I ate every last crumb. I am not proud. But no one messes with girl scout cookies. That is when I made my plans to leave.

Grrrr. Today's cranky post now over.

This just doesn't stick - São Paulo

Pizzolato. Photo credit: http://www1.folha.uol.com.br/

When I lived in Miami from 2002-2008, I briefly volunteered for an organization run by the sister of IndyCar driver Tony Kanaan. Tony is Brazilian as is Karen, and I did some translations from Portuguese to English of their literature. During a meeting at their headquarters, Karen taught me an expression that I love. 

Frustrated by a particular argument about how the place should run an event, Karen pinched her index finger and the side of her thumb together and made a pinching motion a couple of times, saying "isso não cola." Literally this means "this doesn't glue" or "this doesn't stick." I had to ask what the expression really meant and she said "that argument doesn't work" or "that argument doesn't hold water." Basically you are saying that the glue that was holding together your argument is not sticking.

This just doesn't stick! Image: Sprint

I thought of this expression today as I am reading the news that one of the men sentenced in the Mensalão corruption scandal had been caught. After being sentenced to 12 years for his role in the scheme, Henrique Pizzolato had fled through Argentina to Spain and then to Italy. The Italian and Brazilian police found him in his nephew's apartment in a small town in Italy. Personally, I don't think he was trying too hard not to get caught. You see, Italy has no extradition law, and Pizzolato is an Italian passport holder (lots of Brazilians of Italian descent are able to get an Italian passport, even a hundred years after their family has left the old country). 

Now, how did he get into Europe, where the Brazilian police suspected he would go, if he had no Brazilian passport to leave the country? It had been confiscated during the Mensalão judgement. Apparently he walked. Not on water. No, he drove to border of Brazil and Argentina in Santa Catarina, walked across then flew onto Spain, and finally got to Italy. 

But here's the part that gets sticky...then unsticky.  Since 2007, this Henrique Pizzolato has been planning his escape route. His brother Celso had died in 1978 at the age of 24 in a car accident, I believe. But he was resuscitated in 2007. He still had his identity documents in order (don't you have to report death here and wipe out the numbers? Hmmm) and so he registered to vote and to get a passport. And Celso, the dead guy, voted in the 2008 election (for which candidates, I'd like to know) and got himself his Brazilian and Italian passports. 
 
Really? The Brazilian federal police didn't notice that the RG (like a social security number) was for a dead guy? Yes, it had Pizzolato's photo, not a dead guy in a casket photo but seriously. Isso não cola. It doesn't stick. Maybe I should apply for citizenship of random countries by checking through the obituaries. It sure would be easier than applying the legal way through the federal police as an American. (Dear US authorities aka NSA, I do not want dual citizenship. I am not applying under any person's name, dead or alive, for Brazilian or Italian citizenship).

Photo credit http://oglobo.globo.com/pais/pizzolato-preso-na-italia-com-documento-falso-diz-policia-federal-11509979

So here's a copy of "Celso"'s passport. Wow, does he look like Henrique. And not too bad for a dead guy. Now what I hear the Italian authorities are saying is that he cannot be deported because he holds Italian citizenship. But do both Celso and Henrique hold Italian citizenship? Because if Henrique's got revoked, I think there might be a loophole on sending the dead guy Celso home. 

Why does Brazil even bother coming up with original stories for novelas? Piada pronta! Ready joke! No one seems to worry about "isso não cola" here. So what if it doesn't make sense?

In any case, Pizzolato seems to think he's pretty safe where he is. As one of my other favorite expressions goes (blog post here): "Tudo acaba em pizza." Everything will be fine...for him.

 

Backdoor - São Paulo

Late last year, BH sent me a link to a video on the internet. He does this quite frequently and there is only so much I can watch about Palmeiras or politics or the economy, so I didn't open it right away. Later that night he said: no, seriously, you need to watch it. It was called "Depoimento" (filing a police report) and was on the youtube page called "Porta dos Fundos."

In the video, link here, a woman is at the police station describing being robbed. Or not describing, as the case may be. No matter how many times the detective asks direct questions like "what was he wearing" or "was he black or white?", she returns inoffensive vague answers like "He was wearing what I suppose he could afford" or "I'd like to think of him first as a human being." There is nothing the detective can do to extract the race of the suspect, the exact clothing he was wearing, or anything that would help locate the suspect. It is hilarious (to those of you who speak Portuguese) and I am always so amazed how comedians can keep a straight face.

Created in mid-2012, this comedy troupe Porta dos Fundos does all its work online. They don't have a live show. They don't have a TV show. It is all on youtube. They poke fun at most parts of daily life here, and have been so successful that a company they ridiculed online enjoyed the farce so much, it hired them to do two commercials for them. 

I don't really know where their name comes from but I'm guessing they are using Backdoor in the internet sense. A way of bypassing internet security is my best non-techy explanation. BH says there is another definition of porta dos fundos, but this is a family page and I won't go into that.

Their Christmas special was more than a little on the edge when they suggested that the Virgin Mary had sex with the Holy Spirit and the Father to make the Son (Holy Trinity), and also showed Jesus negotiating to not be nailed onto the cross. The evangelists have not taken kindly to this and have a full-fledged campaign against the comedy troupe.

At this point, Porta dos Fundos is the fifth most popular (in terms of subscriptions) online comedy channel worldwide (source here). I crack up most of the time when I watch one of these. A friend sent me this one called Moda or Fashion which shows two women shopping for a new burqa.  Without speaking Portuguese, it might be hard to get the nuances, but in the end the choices are black, black or black, and the one woman who risks a burqa with a "decolletage" (showing her eyes) is stoned by another shopper. 

My all-time favorite is "Suborno" or Bribe. It shows a couple pulled over by the police, and the policeman asking, in a roundabout way, for a bribe. The driver doesn't understand, calls over his wife, who doesn't understand, and slowly a whole crowd builds up as they all try to understand the policeman subtly asking for some money. 

This cracks me up the most because I had no idea there were so many ways to ask for money..."we could find a way to resolve this situation with an alternative solution that is beneficial to both sides" or "we could have a collaboration that would resolve this." Okay, those are my translations but it's worth a couple of minutes even if you don't speak Portuguese to see the faces of these people as they try to understand the officer.

As Jose Simão, my other favorite comedian/journalist says, it's a country of the ready joke. Piada Pronta. You don't have to look too far.