The Papal Visit

By now everyone knows that Rio de Janeiro was the city chosen to host this year’s Vatican World Youth Day, and that Pope Francis chose to attend the event for his first trip abroad as Pope. As I watched the television coverage I was struck by the amazing "pop star" side of the Pope’s visit, and couldn’t help but see a similarity between Pope Francis and another man named Francis, Francis Albert Sinatra. (It’s a bit of a stretch, but bear with me.) Both men are of Italian heritage. They were both born in the month of December. One was affectionately called St. Francis, Our Father of Song, and the other became Pope Francis, the Holy Father. And both were endowed from on high with charm, charisma, and an uncanny ability to make people swoon. Both became pop celebrities almost overnight.

Francis #1

Francis #2

Really, it’s the screaming and the swooning that most resonated with me. The World Youth Day event was meant to have a solemn and serious side, but this new Pope knows how to work a crowd. Of course this is not what was reported in the so-called First World press. Last Wednesday The New York Times ran an article, Missteps by Brazil Mar Visit by Pope, which highlighted the faulty organization, the tension among the various authorities and the breakdown of Rio’s public transportation system. The Chicago Sun Times, still smarting from Chicago’s loss to Rio as host of the 2016 Olympics, ran a front page story not about the Youth Day event, but about the violent street demonstrations contemporaneous with it, under the headline We Lost to This? Low blow, Chicago. How quickly you’ve forgotten the 1968 Democratic National Convention. What these and other articles completely missed, though, is the stunning emotional impact the event had on Brazilians of all faiths.



I’m no Pollyanna, there’s no question but that the organization had been faulty. And fingers have only begun to point. The Vatican pointed to the city authorities in Rio, Rio’s mayor pointed to the World Youth Day organizers, Rio State’s governor pointed to Rio’s mayor, and round and round they went. Well, they can point fingers all they want, truth is everybody who had any part in the event’s organization deserves a part of the blame. But the challenges were enormous, and in some cases unexpected, like the rain and chilly temperatures. In fact, the challenges were much greater than they will be for the 2014 World Cup (which at least spreads the headaches around to other cities in Brazil) and the 2016 Olympics. The number of expected visitors for those two events is dwarfed by the three million visitors who flocked to Rio from all over Brazil and from 180 countries for this World Youth Day. The Ministry of Tourism reported that more people visited Rio last week than have ever before visited any city in Brazil at one single time. My goodness, no wonder there were problems.

"The Church was only in charge of so much, we had nothing to do with the logistics . . ."

"The Republicans are trying to pin this on me? They won't pull it off this time!"

"Oh, come on, I really had nothing to do with it! It was the new guy."

"I'm just the mayor, I'm not a miracle-worker."

"I wasn't even in the city at the time! I was in a helicopter taking my dog to the vet."

"Everyone's been pointing fingers at me these days, Your Holiness, but I answer to a higher authority . . ."









Curiously, the World Youth Day event actually began a week before the Pope arrived, and there were no reported problems during that week. The "pilgrims" were separated by nationality and hosted all around the State of Rio. Búzios, for example, hosted a contingent from Peru, and the neighboring city of Cabo Frio took in Nigerians. We wondered why people had been separated like that, but we learned that each participating nationality had prepared a presentation of their country’s culture, and they needed to be together to rehearse. No, all was calm until the Pope’s arrival, when his star quality threw everyone into a tizzy. And get ready, Rio, he’s coming back in 2017. After all, he’s already got the keys.

The 20¢ Revolution

Okay, so we leave Brazil for three short weeks, our first trip abroad in over two years, and the Brazilians go and have a Revolution! There had been some rumblings just as we were leaving, but nothing like the news reports we began to read about in the papers, or see on hotel TVs, reports of mass demonstrations all over Brazil, waves of huge protests, with violence and vandalism, all because of a 20¢ increase in some bus fares. A 20¢ increase in some bus fares? No, it had to be more than that. And indeed it was. The 20¢ increase was merely the last straw in an avalanche of inequities that have been crushing Brazil for years, inequities and injustices that all at once — pushed by the 20¢ — have made the entire country stand up and shout out the window, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

We followed the unfolding story as best we could in the French press, and whenever we had a good enough Internet connection we read O Globo and The New York Times. Given the complexity of the issues, it was heartening to see that even most non-Brazilian reporters seemed to have a good bead on the story. Read Larry Rohter in The Times or James Surowiecki in The New Yorker and you’ll get it in a second. It’s not all that hard really. But I won’t regurgitate what those reporters have said. I’ll let the Brazilian people speak for themselves:

"Pardon the disruption, we’re changing Brazil"

"We don’t need tear gas, the government’s already given us plenty of reasons to cry"

"He’s not a bandit, he’s not a rapist, he’s not a drug dealer . . . he’s a teacher who’s just fighting to earn more than $363.85 per month"

"We want schools and hospitals at FIFA’s standard -- I can’t be bought for ten cents"

"Stop the robbery or we’ll stop Brazil"















We returned to Brazilian soil a few days before a scheduled one-day nationwide general strike. Half of me wanted to go out and participate, but I admit that my other half was happy to stay home and organize my recipes. The strike had mixed results, though, in that some cities were severely disrupted and some not affected at all. In Búzios it was business as usual, as if nothing were going on. But I firmly believe, along with many other people, that the giant has awakened and will not go back to sleep anytime soon. But wouldn’t you know it, just as the Brazilian people are clamoring for their rights, the tone deaf Brazilian Congress has gone and taken its vacation!

We'll Always Have Paris

We had emptied the refrigerator, packed our bags, hugged all our friends, said our good-byes. I had announced to my blog readers that I was taking a hiatus. We were more than ready to get on the plane to Paris, grab a car and drive south in the direction of Provence. You see, before we’d ever met each other, Mark and I had separately had intense relationships with France. I had spent years helping defend France’s honor against Amoco in the legal aftermath of the AMOCO CADIZ oil spill disaster. Mark worked in Paris for a French publisher. We were determined to see if France was still France, and if there was anything for us there anymore.

Then the French air traffic controllers went on strike to protest EU plans to create a single, unified European air space. Our Tuesday late evening flight was canceled, but, given the option between full refund and rescheduling for Sunday, we took Sunday. Actually, we got off easy. We had not been on our way to a congress or a seminar that was not going to wait for us. We were not on our way to a wedding or a funeral that was also not going to wait for us. We were not stuck in a city we barely knew with nothing but the dirty clothes accumulated in the course of a lengthy trip and no prospects except to mark time for days in a hotel that the airline might pay for and then again might not. We were comfortably at home. We spent a few hours rearranging car rentals and hotel reservations. (Thank goodness for the Internet . . . how did we ever manage before?) But then the clock started ticking more sluggishly than usual. Nothing on the calendar. Nothing on the agenda.

Françoise Forton and Aloísio de Abreu

But again we were lucky. Wednesday, the day after we were to leave, was Santo Antônio, the Dia dos Namorados, the Brazilian equivalent of the American St. Valentine’s Day, and Búzios’s tourism department had organized a first-time-ever four-day series of events called (most unfortunately) Búzios Love. Thursday’s schedule promised a show that has been playing in Rio for eight months called Nós Sempre Teremos París (you got it: We’ll Always Have Paris). Was someone telling us something? What an incredible thing to pop up in Búzios, just when we were supposed to be in the Lubéron!

"We'll always have Paris . . ."

The show, a typical boy-meets/loses/finds-girl musical, was actually much more than that. It was the story of a Brazilian Boy who breaks away from his tour group to go sit in a café in Montparnasse on his last night in Paris. At the next table is a Brazilian Girl who is spending her last night in Paris as well. Their eyes meet, they recognize that they’re both Brazilians in love with Paris, and in a flash they fall in love with each other. Paris will do that to you. But they each go their separate ways until twenty years later, when . . . well, you can write the rest. The story unfolded through the lyrics of all the great French classic songs, from Jean Sablon to Charles Trenet to Edith Piaf to Charles Aznavour to Yves Montand — all those songs I learned by heart when I was a kid, because back then I wanted like crazy to be French myself. Here in Búzios we were being reminded of the universal nostalgia for France. We were completely charmed. We sang along, we laughed, we choked up. So did everyone else. It was one of those magical evenings that don’t come around that often anymore, and it reminded us of what we love about France, and what we love about Brazil. Rick and Ilsa might think that they’ll always have Paris, but the truth is that we all will and we all do. And with any luck, Mark and I should be in la douce France as you read this . . . so now I’m really going on a hiatus. À bientôt!

The Right Side of Manguinhos Beach

Usually when Mark and I walk on "our" beach of Manguinhos, we turn left towards the commerce and the restaurants. It just seems more natural to head in that direction, and it’s an efficient and ecological way to get our shopping done. We rarely turn right, since, well, there’s no there there. And in order to walk to the right at all, you need an extreme low tide. But if we do manage to make the effort, and make the right turn, we are abundantly rewarded. The right side of Manguinhos Beach is exactly what many people yearn for in a beach: empty, quiet, remote, teeming with unusual vegetation, and even a little spooky.
                                                                                                                                                                                                 

               Lots of empty expanse.

Then all of a sudden, there’s a small, discrete mangrove right smack dab in the middle of nothing.

Most Búzios beaches are lined with huge mansions. These houses are more modest, if not totally abandoned. They do have a certain charm, though.

 No sense calling this meeting to order . . .

I never had the honor of meeting this surprising and surprised visitor to Manguinhos Beach. But ever since he was spotted wandering down our beach, and photographed by a courageous person for the local paper, I keep my eyes wide open!

            


                            ***NOTE TO READERS***
I’m taking a little hiatus for a few weeks. See you all around mid-July!

Batata Baroa



the divine batata baroa

If I were a complainer I could easily complain about not being able to find a real thick-skinned Idaho baking potato here in Brazil. Sometimes a person wants comfort food, and a baked stuffed potato on a chilly, windy night fits the bill. So when the mood strikes, we have to substitute what’s called batata inglesa (English potato), which is close, but no cigar. And if I were a complainer I could also complain about not being able to find real honest-to-goodness sweet potatoes, or yams. Oh, there is something called batata doce here, and that does literally mean sweet potato, but I’ve learned not to be fooled by the translation. Batata doce isn’t even a distant cousin to an American sweet potato, and it makes a lousy sweet potato pie. But I’m not a complainer. I have happily foresworn Idahos and given up yams because Brazil has something else, something so special, so delicious, so different, that a person just swoons when the aroma starts wafting from the kitchen. Brazil has batata baroa.

Batata baroa [ba-TA-ta ba-ROW-a] came rolling down the Andes, originally known by its Quechuan language name of arracacha, and took root all around South America under as many different names as there are ways to prepare it. It’s called Creole celery in Venezuela and Ecuador, Peruvian parsnip in Peru, and mandioquinha or batata baroa in Brazil. It’s sometimes referred to as "white carrot" in English, and pomme-de-terre céleri in French. But whatever it’s called, it’s got an extraordinary and distinct flavor. My first taste came many years ago via a spoonful of batata baroa soup on a cold, rainy night. I nearly fell off my chair. Wikipedia describes the flavor as "a delicate blend of celery, cabbage and roast chestnuts." I don’t think that does it justice, though it does hint at the nuttiness. To me it’s elegant, it’s subtle, it’s to die for.

You can roast batata baroa, or boil it, mash it or purée it. You can reduce it to a flour. You can make dumplings, gnocchi, soup, pastries, biscuits. You can make batata baroa chips. You could probably make a batata baroa knish, because anything you can do with a potato, you can do with a batata baroa. Here are our preferred preparations:

batata baroa soup, with leek and bacon

batata baroa gnocchi, with gorgonzola sauce

***QUESTION TO READERS*** As best I can tell, batata baroa is unavailable in the States. If I’m wrong, please let me know?

You Call This First Aid?

...one, two, three....pause....one, two, three...

Remember those high school gym classes when some handsome volunteer fireman would come and show us how to administer emergency first aid? We learned CPR, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation (with lots of blushing and giggling, of course), how to tie a tourniquet, how to apply direct pressure and "elevate the area." And whether or not any of us have ever used these skills, we learned that running to help someone who’s hurt should always be your first response. In fact, it’s not for nothing that the new name for emergency personnel is First Responders. Thanks to the First Responders in Boston last month, the death toll was held to the initial three victims, because in an emergency you don’t have time to think, you just act. What else is first aid if not the aid you give first?

That’s why I’m obsessed by the absurdity of a new law in the State of São Paulo. This new law, promulgated in January 2013, prohibits police from assisting people injured in serious crimes. The police must keep civilians away from the victim, too. Everyone must stand back and wait for an ambulance to show up, while some poor guy bleeds to death, or dies of shock. I mean, think about this law in practical terms, particularly in a country where the ambulances come when they come. Last week in São Paulo a college student was walking home from evening classes when he was assaulted by an armed robber. The student immediately handed over his cell phone, but was shot anyway. Police arrived quickly, but the ambulance took 29 minutes. For 29 minutes the student lay on the cold, hard asphalt, bleeding and in pain, all the while surrounded by police and witnesses. Nobody was allowed even to staunch the blood. To me, this is not only absurd, but inhuman and criminal. (The following video is grainy, but shows the moment of the assault. The kid was finally taken to a hospital and to this day his condition remains serious, unsurprisingly.)

Folha de São Paulo's reader poll

What is the idea behind this nonsense? Well, the reasons are twofold. First, the São Paulo authorities say they want to offer quality care to the victim, the quality care that only trained medical personnel can provide. After all, the police might aggravate the injuries, right? And civilians, goodness knows what a mess they might make. So let’s all just wait — and wait, and wait — for the ambulance. The second reason given by the authorities is the need to ensure that no one interferes in a crime scene, neither police nor civilians. Really, I think people are watching too much CSI. I can’t imagine I’d prefer bleeding to death so as to preserve a crime scene. And I’ve found that I’m not alone in my outrage. The newspaper Folha de São Paulo conducted an online poll which found that 85% of the poll’s participants were against the new law.

Let’s not even mention that this new law contradicts Article 135 of the Brazilian Penal Code, which states that any failure to assist someone in need (omissão de socorro) is a crime. A classic damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t situation. All I can do is shake my head and plan to steer clear of São Paulo. I’m a product of my upbringing, and I’m used to laws that speak to a citizen’s duty to rescue, or duty to act, as well as Good Samaritan laws that protect those who offer emergency first aid. Remember Seinfeld? That show was syndicated in Brazil, and was wildly popular. Doesn’t anyone in São Paulo remember the show’s famous finale? The four protagonists find themselves with a few hours to kill in a small Massachusetts town, where they are arrested under a Good Samaritan law for failing to help someone in need, and are later sentenced to one year in prison. I think the authorities who promulgated the new "hands-off" law in São Paulo ought to watch this:

***NOTE***
Well, I was right, this new law sure is controversial. A week before I wrote this blogpost the law was stayed, but it was reinstated the next day, so I didn’t bother mentioning that detail. However, just days before the blog was set to publish, the law was stayed again, with the absurd contention, made by the Secretary of Public Safety, that the police were never actually prohibited from assisting. It was just a recommendation. I elected not to change the blog since in all likelihood some other authority will weigh in with more changes, leading to more confusion. That the law was even on the books for five months is, in my opinion, worth noting.

Imagina Na Copa!

Hard to forget the many catchphrases of my youth, like Eh, what's up, Doc? and Heeeeere's Johnny, and the always sturdy Go ahead, make my day. And then there was one of my favorites, Where's the beef?, from Wendy's successful ad campaign to convince the public that Wendy's hamburgers had more meat in them than McDonald's or Burger King's. So popular were the commercials, and so infectious was the catchphrase — not to mention Clara Peller, the woman who delivered it — that even the normally dry and boring Walter Mondale got a big laugh when he used it in a 1984 democratic primary debate against an insubstantial Gary Hart.

There's a hilarious and wildly popular catchphrase making the rounds in Brazil these days. It's Imagina na Copa!, something like If you think this is bad now, just wait 'til the World Cup! At first people used it about traffic jams and chaos in the airports, but as the catchphrase got traction it was expanded to anything that might be bothering you: bad service in restaurants, black-outs, slow mail service, crowded beaches, surly taxi drivers, a bad hair day, in short, anything at all. I admit that I use it as often as I can. It's a terrific way to end a conversation without having to resolve anything, and to get a sure laugh to boot.

To get the full flavor of the catchphrase, watch this very funny YouTube video entitled "Shit Cariocas Say" — a parody of the video called "Shit New Yorkers Say" which, if you haven't yet had the pleasure, can be found at  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRvJylbSg7o. The Brazilian version here, with English subtitles, is completely intelligible even if you've never been to Rio or met a carioca (a Rio native). During the course of the video, Imagina na Copa is used about seven times, and each time is funnier than the last.

The irony of this catchphrase is that the World Cup won't even be held in Brazil until 2014. Why are Brazilians trashing their future preparedness level when they have the FIFA Confederations Cup set to kick off in just a few short weeks? The number of Brazilian and foreign fans estimated to attend the Confederations Cup is around 950,000. That ought to test Brazil's mettle. And one month later Brazil will host World Youth Day, the triennial international event organized by the Catholic Church. Number of people expected? I've seen quotes of 2 million, 3 million and 4 million. Any way you look at it, that's a lot of bodies. As for the onslaught of visitors expected for the 2016 Summer Olympics, well, I haven't seen any official attendance estimates yet, but most people think things will be far worse during the Olympics than during the World Cup. Even so, it's Imagina na Copa that's caught everyone's imagination. It's simple, it's rhythmic, it's — well, you know, yada yada yada.