Archive for Brazil

Seven things to make me happy!

Yemanja

Three years ago, I spent New Year’s Eve amidst two million people at Rio de Janeiro’s Copacabana beach.  As unbelievable fireworks lit up the sky, I watched the Cariocas all dressed in white, carrying candles and partaking in one of the age old traditions, or should I call it must-do superstitions of the night.  They jumped over seven waves and made seven wishes, before thousands of flowers were then thrown into the sea in honour of Lemanjá, the Queen of the Ocean, as the first spiritual offering of the year.

That wasn’t the end of the festivities, rather the beginning of a long wild night, where I got sucked into the Brazilian spirit of Cachaca drinking and samba dancing. Lively and loud, hardly an atmosphere to conjure up meaningful wishes, I reserved my seven wishes for later.  It looks like it took quite a while but I’ve finally decided on how I plan to redeem the wishes. Here they are and hope Lemanjá is listening -

1. Sometime in life, I want to teach Capoeira. I don’t know when. I don’t know whether I’ll be good enough. All I know is that I want to be able to share something I love so much with others and see the sparkle in their eyes as well.

2. I want to discover Africa. Not like a 2 week trip to some safari or the desert. I want to live in those small villages, wake up worried in borders, be lost in the wilderness for days, dance to the beats of drums and soak in the culture. Someday.

3. I want to delete all my social media accounts one day. Just disappear from the internet. (My blog is the only exception to this)

4. I will keep sending postcards in hope that someday, I’ll receive just as many. (I guess the problem is that no one knows my real address, but we can deal with that later. If they had the intention of sending me a postcard, they would’ve figured it out).

5. I will take my mom on a backpacking trip somewhere.

6. I will eventually work for myself or do something on my own.

7. This one wish – I want to keep reserved for a rainy day. Who knows when we go through that?

Unexpected attractions make a City

Last weekend, I was just checking out Timeout London and stumbled upon something incredible – ‘Films on Fridges’. The name caught my eye immediately. How many of you guys are aware (for the ones not living in London) that there existed a 20 ft. mountain of fridges in Hackney, East London. Such unexpected attractions make a city. And sometimes, unfortunately, they disappear.

The project was inspired by the disappearance of this East London’s ‘Fridge Mountain’ – an enormous pile of discarded fridges which previously occupied the London 2012 Olympic site. Towering and vast, the largest ‘Fridge Mountain’ in all of Europe became a bizzare sculpture in the East London landscape.

When the site was cleaned up in 2005, no one really knew where the fridges really went. Recently, some of them have returned as a part of this film screening event ‘Films on Fridges’. The project has actually picked up fridges from Wales, used duct tape to put them together and created a memorable setting. Fitting with the Olympic theme, they are airing sports themed films here. Well, I don’t think they are really using the fridges as screens.

Either way, this just got me thinking about the unexpected attractions that really make up a city and what would happen if they were taken away.

Can you imagine Mumbai without the Dhobighat?

Or, Rio without Escadaria Selaron – The famous steps made out of tiles from around the world, created by a Chilean artist.

Think about these places in your cities and see how you can keep them alive forever. Remember – they are a part of the soul of your city.

Anthropomorphic image of Mumbai – Figure this one out!

I’m reading this book by John Malathronas. – Brazil – Life, Blood & Soul. No guesses why I would buy a book with Brazil on the title. Anyway, within the first chapter itself, I find myself closing the book and getting into a very deep thinking exercise. John says ‘every city has an anthropomorphic image’. Firstly, I had to go and look up anthropomorphic. Wikipedia – Thank you! Anthropomorphism is a term coined in the mid 1700s to refer to any attribution of human characteristics (or characteristics assumed to belong only to humans) to non-human animals or non-living things, phenomena, material states and objects or abstract concepts, such as god(s). I guess the definition really doesn’t matter. The author has written statements about 4 cities – London, New York, Paris and Rio. Here they are –

London is a City gent in a striped double-breasted suit, holding his chin up as he rushes by without an umbrella in spitting rain.

New York is a loudmouthed, overweight baseball fan, cap and all, who pushes you away from the salt beef deli queue as you fumble for your change.

Paris is a chic grand-dame, ex-model, ex-actress, her make-up dextrously applied, who walks her Pekinese in the Jardin de Luxembourg.

And Rio is a calliphygian (refers to shapely buttocks) copper-coloured beauty, as naked as Eve, dancing in stiletto shoes to the blast of beating drums.

All this got me thinking. Just got me thinking about what is Mumbai’s line. And, I wrote this on the tube ride back home. And, I’m not very happy with it.

To me, Mumbai is the Rickshaw driver who tells you his life story and is certain that he is going to make it big. Mumbai is also the Taxi driver who refuses to take you a short distance. Mumbai is the lady who worries about whether her son would complain about the cauliflower she plans to cook that night, the one that she chops as she is riding the local train back home, after a long day at work. Mumbai is also the bunch of rich women, who spend more time on manicures and designer shopping than with their kids. Mumbai is the dancer who doesn’t want to give up her dreams of Bollywood. Mumbai is also a group of 19 year olds who sneak into a club, drink and smoke and spend more money than what a Bollywood extra dancer would make the entire month. Mumbai is the serious business graduate in a pin-striped shirt, burning the midnight oil trying to make his variable pay. Mumbai is also the lucky son, who inherited his dad’s business, without knowing much about it. Mumbai is the young college graduate, who is working on his American accent to answer customer service calls from God knows where. Mumbai is also the lost artist, who blends into galleries even better than the champagne glasses. Mumbai is the girl who runs away from home, because her parents want her to marry someone she can’t imagine even spending 5 minutes with. Mumbai is the crazy lover, who would marry the guy and then find a boyfriend. Mumbai is the helpful uncle, who gives you directions, when you are completely lost in a new city. Mumbai is the painful shopkeeper who refuses to budge from his original price, when you pride yourself on bargaining. Mumbai is the kid who never gets tired, rain or sunshine, selling books in the traffic signal and making just enough money to afford one meal. Mumbai is everything and nothing.

If you can think of what could be Mumbai’s line, let me know. If you have a picture for Mumbai, send it to me. I’ll just keep adding it here and hopefully, I’ll get back to finishing that book.

Nothing so chic about Favelas

Where did that come from?

Someone who knew that I craved for my dose of Brazil every once in a while recommended this place in East London to me. Favela Chic. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive in the beginning. Something about sugar coating the reality of Brazil isn’t something I enjoy. Anyway, I decided to head there with Roy and my cousin Dhruva on Sunday night, when I found out that ‘Afrikan Revolution’ was playing there.  Live band with some Rasta people on the Djembe didn’t hurt.

Anyway, as described by View London, Brazil is synonymous with samba, sunshine and sexiness, and Favela Chic injects a saucy shot of this Brazilian energy into Shoreditch. This East London hotspot is a venue with soul, which is why it has fast become a sizzling favourite among a sea of nondescript bars and clubs serving up designer wallpaper and house music.

Do I agree? Yes, I do agree about the sea of nondescript bars and clubs serving up designer wallpaper and house music. And, the rest is history.

You can look up definition of Favelas. You can listen to Brazilian music. Your mouth can water thinking about what people eat and drink in Brazil. And, you can dream and about the smells and sounds and senses that make up Brazil. And, for someone who has visited Brazil and soaked in the place, Favela Chic is a bloody disappointment. Maybe it is a real harsh call after one visit. Just something about the place put me off.

A comparison is unfair but for what its worth, these are the reasons -

1. The actual Gringo : Latin american buff ratio was in you know who’s favour. There were more short dress high heel drunk chicas (obviously not interested in the music or the dance) finishing crates and crates of Coronas and just uploading pouted lip photos on Facebook with some bunch of guys. The crowd just wasn’t what I expected.

2. The Caiprinhas were not perfect. Something about the brown sugar missing. You can’t call yourself a place with Brazilian soul and make lousy Caipirinhas.

3. The place was trying too hard. Crushed brown paper bag meets blackboard with gold frame meets a random Jesus Christ frame meets benches meets records hanging from the ceiling. Best comparison is people spending hours trying to get the out of bed look with their hair or restaurants refurbishing to make the place look more vintage and stuff.

4. Live music to me should be live music. You just blame Favela Chic for that. Somehow, music has changed so much. Its just the times. There is too much of DJ whoever whatever meets a great live band and f***s it up.

5.  They say they have Brazilian cuisine, French style and London attitude. Obviously, the cocktail wasn’t very well presented.

Anyway, to me, anyone who would consider using the word Favela should think about the character that goes with it. Here, I’ll leave you with what I think is one of the best descriptions of a Favela, from one of my favourite artists in Rio – Selaron from Chile.

Favela Chic – am I going back there?

Maybe. The bartender was a mean ass juggler and I loved the way he juggled the limes, the bottles and the glasses and moved every bit like someone who would be in one with the music and Brazilian way of life. Maybe I’ll go back when there is a real Brazilian gig and I’m sure I know what I’m getting.

Around the world in many Cups

People are clearly coffee people or tea people. Just like you find Dog people or Cat people. Just last week, a good friend of mine made a remark about how I had changed in 2 years. Apparently, when he met me 2 years ago, I would drink nothing but black coffee. Agree. About a year ago, I was overworked and I would drink nothing but Red Bull. Partly agree. Recently, he mentioned that my preference has changed to tea. Disagree. All this hype about Coffee, Tea and Red Bull, I decided to think about my life, my travels and really figure out who I am. So, here are plenty of coffee moments, some tea moments and many life lessons.

Nothing inspires me to write more than coffee – Coffee has been the savior. When I blog. When I write in my travel diary. More than anything, when I had to write innumerable mails at work. When I had to especially frame politically correct emails. When I had to apply for a job. When I had to write my resignation. You get the drift. (Infact, right now, that’s what I’m drinking)

Starbucks should not even be your last resort – If you are anywhere near North America, they sell you brown liquid in the name of Starbucks Coffee. I detest Starbucks. I avoid it all costs. Whoever came up with Tall, Grande and whatever? I know Americans like everything ‘supersize’ but it is ridiculous making anyone drink that amount of bad coffee. (I know my sister is probably going to kill me for this, but to save humanity from bad coffee, I had to write this). If they worry so much about the coffee farmers and so on and so forth (as it reads in their promotional material in store), they would stop spending so much money on real estate and give it back to society.

The best coffee can be brewed with socks – Honest to God. In Brazil, they have this coffee maker called a Cuador, which is nothing but a sock like cloth attached to a metal ring and handle. You put the coffee powder in this and Voila, you have a hot cup of awesome coffee. This makes a fabulous travel companion. All you need to do is buy the local coffee from a supermarket and boil water and you can make your own coffee, about 10 times cheaper than drinking coffee outside. If you do not get a cuador, fresh clean ankle socks works.

Meet the people behind the scenes and hear the coffee stories – Whether it is in the Guatemalan coffee farms or the Bali coffee estates, you’ll find coffee farmers to be warm and loving and ready to make the 100th cup of the day just to share with you. I remember sitting and chatting with this lady who was roasting the ‘Luwak’ beans in Bali and telling me the history of coffee. Known as Kopi Luwak, it is among the most expensive coffee in the world. The process of making this coffee will disgust you – they make the little Asian Palm Civet’s eat the berries and excrete the same. Then, the beans having gone through the intestines and out, are separated, cleaned and roasted and so on and so forth, till the most amazing coffee is made.

Sometimes, the only thing that can get you through bad coffee is good company – I love black coffee. Hanging around a bus station in Brazil with a friend, I was deeply disappointed to find only coffee chains with milky coffee and not the usual Cafezinho (small black coffee). Remember cribbing a lot. Then, the adaptable calm friend of mine picked up the coffee and literally thrust it on my face. One coffee slap was good to get me slurping out of the cup. And surprisingly, I enjoyed it as she cracked jokes about bus stations, travel, losing weight and all that. So, it is true. Bad Coffee + Good Company = Great memories.

The one thing on top of my sightseeing list in every city is the oldest café – Whether it is Café Sperl in Vienna or Café Tortoni in Buenos Aires, it was top priority for me to visit these cafes. All the museums and palaces of the world came next. Old world charm, black and white photographs, the history adds to the nostalgia.  Imagine sitting in the room where the King of Spain sipped coffee. I’ve landed up spending a bomb across such cafes but you never think money when you think coffee. These are far stronger memories than seeing a hundred paintings in a museum and not remembering one.

When in trouble, find an Illy - For those who take their black coffee seriously, visiting a new country and not finding the perfect blend can be worrisome. I’ve had terrible terrible coffee in Malaysia, North India and Egypt. A wise woman I met in Mexico told me that the easiest way to find good coffee in a country is to find the Italian Embassy or Italian Cultural Centre and hope they have a cafeteria. Illy rocks. (Now, I can’t help but remember the day my Italian neighbour in Chennai taught me how to make an Italian espresso – Read more here)

Never make the mistake of ordering coffee in Tea land – Was in Egypt last year and craving for coffee one day. Made the terrible mistake of ordering a coffee in the old markets of Cairo. With tons of Elachi and a terrible fragrance, one sip made me cry out Allah. I had the impression it would be close to Turkish coffee or Arabic coffee, dark and strong. Had no idea it came with spices. Prompty, I switched to Tea. It is not about the drink at all. It is about lounging around in a Sheesha place with a glass of tea for hours.

When you in the wilderness, coffee or tea, have it hot – After a long day bushwhacking or trekking or hiking or whatever you do in the wild, the only thing I yearn for is a hot cup of whatever. (This is obviously second to a cold beer, but I generally don’t carry a mini fridge when I go hiking). So, for a change, its not about coffee or not about tea but about hot water. As the kettle gently sways over the camp fire, you have this warm feeling within you that doesn’t go away. (Tried and tested in many places around the world – Special moment was in Swansea in Wales and Smoky Mountains in the USA).

While coffee goes with backpacking, tea goes with luxury – Unless you are backpacking in the Middle East or roughing it out in a guesthouse in Varanasi, I would suggest the best companion to backpacking is coffee. Anyway, coming back to tea, why tea and luxury? Recently, I was invited to a Champagne Afternoon Tea at the Dorchester hotel in London. No, I’m not kidding. With scones and jam, champagne and perfect little sandwiches, they served a whole bunch of us tea in fine china. I was so worried I was going to knock down something or break something. It was like being in the Titanic, with all the cutlery. Rated as one of the best Tea experiences in all of Britain, this was something way out of my league. (Ok.. someone else was paying.. Haha) Anyway, I’m not bad at role playing. I promptly held the cup like most of them do, with the little pinkie finger sticking out, pursed my lips and slurped away. And, I felt like the perfect lady when the waiter actually asked me, ‘Would you like some more teaaaaa?’. And, that is the London experience I worry about.

Saving the best for last, nothing beats South Indian Filter coffee – Yes, I’m that South Indian girl who grew up drinking filter coffee from a tumbler. So, now you know why the obsession to find coffee everywhere I go. This was just a few moments before my wedding (early in the morning), drinking a strong cup of filter coffee, freshly brewed at home. (My aunt was hyperventilating that I would spill the coffee on my Sari, but I managed). I absolutely needed to clear my head before taking that big step towards marriage. Like I said, nothing beats South Indian Filter coffee.

So, brought up in coffee land (South India) and obsessed with coffee land (Brazil), moving to tea land (Britain) is a bit of a worry. Especially after I read this quote. “Coffee in England always tastes like a chemistry experiment.” – Agatha Christie

And, such is life. No fear. What lays ahead is a path of discovery. I cannot wait to begin my coffee crawl of London and add to these stories here.