Beija-flor de Nilópolis

On December 30th, we were walking along Copacabana beach, watching all the frantic preparation for the big New Year’s celebrations when we came across a crowd surrounding something. Upon investigation it turned out to be that Brazil’s main tv news was doing a piece with the musicians from Beija-flor, one of the main samba schools in Rio and the winner of many carnaval parades. Apparently they were one of the bands slotted to play during the New Years celebrations. We waited for a while to see if they were going to play but we were basically waiting around for the folks at the news headquarters to cue us in. The musicians were surrounded by a crowd, with their backs to metal barriers blocking out that section of the beach, where a massive stage was going up. After watching and snapping some pictures of the samba guys I turned my attention to the stage and asked one of the workers if I could go past the barrier to take a picture of the stage. He let me through, I snapped a couple pictures and when I was going back to the sidewalk I realized that if I walked to the right a bit I would have a clear shot of the samba guys. They saw me and gamely played along. The result was this awesome picture with the Copacabana Palace on the background:

 

Beija-flor de Nilópolis

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2012: a year of travel?

The year has certainly began with a bang. After two years of a Alan self-imposed ban on traveling to finish the dissertation, I’m now free again. Being employed helps, of course. So after a wonderful two weeks in Brazil (more about that to come; I have nine rolls of film at the lab!), I’m now waiting for a flight to Chicago. [OK, so maybe it is not that radical to fly to two countries within the same week, but did I mentioned I haven't traveled much in the past two years?]
Chicago soon!

Alan and I always joke about how insanely early we arrive at airports. Our flight to Brazil was scheduled for 10:30 PM. We were at the gate (past security and all) by 5:30 PM. I’m flying to Chicago out of the downtown airport here in Toronto. Because it’s such a small airport, the airline advises those traveling to the US to be at the check-in counter at least 60 mins before their flights. I dutifully show up at 6 AM for my 8:30 AM flight.

I don’t know why we do it. Partly we don’t want to be late so we leave early enough that if anything (and I mean ANYTHING) happens on the way to the airport, we can still arrive on time. One time the subway broke down, we had to go back a few stations, line up for shuttle buses, total chaos, and we still made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Mostly we simply try to avoid stress. Being early means I get to walk calmly to security, I don’t panic if there’s a line up, and I get to sit at the lounge and relax while people-watching.

Beats pacing at home.

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Mineiros and Catalans

I immediately fell in love with Catalonia and its people when I arrived there in April of 2006 for my year of research. I couldn´t quite explain why. Yes, it is a lovely place. But all of Spain is nice in its own way. I loved the people in Madrid and the walking path outside the walls of Segovia. But none of those places plucked my heart strings in the way that Catalonia did. I became immediately defensive when outsiders complained noticed how reserved most Catalans were. I pointed out that although they were not immediately efusive, that in time they opened up and could become the truest of friends.

The more I wandered around Catalonia, the more images like these struck a cord:
Hiking_Vic (33).JPG

It is only now, four years later, that I´m starting to understand what is it about that land and its people that attracts me. It all comes down to my own identity and roots. Although I was born in the state of Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil, I grew up moving around throughout Brazil. Rio de Janeiro was the city I lived in the most and originally I thought maybe I loved Catalonia because of the mix of mountains and sea shore. But that wasn´t it. I don´t feel the same way about British Columbia, after all. I also never felt truly a carioca (a native of Rio).

The place I´ve always felt most connected to in Brazil is Minas Gerais, a mountainous state known for its rural way of life, its quiet and reserved people who nevertheless love to travel. I *get* and appreciate their reserved nature, their colloquialism. My father´s family hails from Minas (and so does my maternal grandfather) and it was in the small town of Leopoldina that I spent the happiest summer vacations of my childhood.

This holiday season, Alan and I decided to come and visit Leopoldina. I´m writing from here. Through the process of explaining the place to an outsider and re-examine once again the mineiros and this lovely land after 14 years away, I´ve started seeing the many similarities with Catalonia. Looking at landscape like this:

 

brought back to mind the image of the rolling hills at the plain of Vic, half way between Barcelona and the Pyrenees. I now, seeing this land and these people anew after fourteen years, understand better why Catalonia resonated so much and struck such a deep cord.

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The best speech

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RIP Steve

A very sad day. The world lost a genius.

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Keeping in touch

I went online for the first time in january 1996. In those days, at least in Brazil, the Internet was still limited to government institutions and a cousin of my cousin worked for the WHO and had Internet through his job. We browsed a couple sites (one on the castles of Ireland), which was ok, and then we went on mIRC. It blew my mind. The idea of being able to meet people from other parts of the world, so easily, was life changing for me. I remember getting home and telling my dad “we have to get Internet.” It took us a few months – our computer was too old, didnt have a proper modem – but in June 1996 I was logged on and have been ever since. I’ve met a lot of people on the internet since then – including my husband.

While at the beginning it was all about meeting new people, learning new things, practicing language skills, now it has become a lot about keeping in touch. Having moved to a new country thousands of kilometers away means I don’t get to see my family all that much. I’ve also made my best friends in university here in Canada but the reality of grad school is that eventually we all graduate or quit and move away. And let’s not even mention our friends in Barcelona.

Lately, the best part for me has been rediscovering old friends or distant relatives with whom I used to be close but haven’t seen in many years. Having them on Facebook means we now feel like we are part of each others lives once again and although in some cases you might find you’ve grown in different directions, in others it can be the opposite – I’ve been finding out how incredibly fascinating and interesting some of my cousins and old friends are. And to me, that’s what’s all about. Making connections.

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Streetcar derailed

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One of the things I love about Toronto is the streetcars. Not sure why I like them better than other forms of public transit, but I do.

Today one of them derailed at a very busy intersection.

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Unfriendly Toronto?

When hubby and I moved from Montreal to Toronto back in 2003 all our friends reacted predictably each giving us a long list of why we would hate Toronto. Top on that list was the “fact” that Torontonians are unfriendly and don’t know how to have fun. In a recent Toronto Life article, Philip Preville discusses the trend of people leaving the city to live in the suburbs. The piece is problematic in many fronts and thoughtful reviews and responses can be found on Spacing and The Grid.  I won’t rehash them here. The interesting phenomenon generated by this debate was that people began to spontaneously share on twitter their stories of friendliness in the city under the hashtag #UnfriendlyToronto. Here are some of those:

@jessiesitnick When a neighbour passed after a long illness, our whole street planned a block-party celebration to honour his life. #unfriendlytoronto
@sumot Variety Store guy always gives my dog a treat #UnfriendlyToronto
@FrankMargani #UnfriendlyToronto a neighbor holds my mail when I’m away, another cuts my lawn. One takes out my green/blue bin. I return with wine.
@gravystation After G20 suspension of civil liberties. People lined up outside the eastern st jail to give rides home. #unfriendlytoronto
@AmyonPublishing The subway stalled when I was feeling faint. I said so aloud, and people gave me seats, fruit, and a bottle of water. #UnfriendlyToronto
My son’s friend was waiting for a bus, Jane/ Finch, today, in the rain, man came out of his house 2 lend him an umbrella. #UnfriendlyToronto
My personal favourite:
@luthienrising Moved to TO from the burbs, took the kids for a walk. Kid#1 asked after, why does everyone sit on porches & say hi to us? #UnfriendlyToronto

 

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Blogging from Android

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I would probably not be able to write long posts on my cheapie smartphone but if I could post images, it might revive this blog a bit. Writing this from CRRS.

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Coco Chanel

This blog is quickly running the risk of becoming a cat blog. I apologize to those who haven’t had the pleasure of living with don’t like cats. There’s much else I wanted to blog about: the beautiful summer we’ve been having here in Toronto, the Jarvis ride protest (we were there!), the current controversies over our mayor and proposed cuts, including the marathon meeting at city hall, the plans to go to Brazil in December, my new job, and so much more! Unfortunately, all my creative energy in the past few weeks have gone into planning two new courses for the Fall, endless meetings, and finishing the dissertation (it’s done!). In the midst of all that, there are the cats. They have become part of the family and we are quickly becoming those parents that can talk about nothing else… Although I haven’t had time to chronicle much the development of our own cats – Tigger and Casper – I feel I should document the fosters we get since they are with us for only a brief period of time. So meet Coco Chanel.

Little Coco was found with her siblings in the streets of Toronto at 5 or 6 weeks old. They stayed with the foster coordinator at ACR and while her brothers grew by leaps and bounds, something seemed amiss with Little Coco. She just wouldn’t grow. Since the coordinator had too many fosters in her hands and Coco desperately needed closer attention, she sent her to me. She arrived at our place on Bastille Day – July 14th. She was nearly 12 weeks old and weighed only 630g. To give you an idea how little that is, our guys weighed 1kg at 8 weeks. Gigi, who was a small kitten, weighed 800g at 8 weeks. Coco is definitely skin and bones and looked pretty sad. The day after she arrived, Casper, our five month-old kitten got sick with vomiting and diarrhea.  It was unlikely that he caught something from Coco since there hadn’t been enough time for something to incubate. It was likely a virus and I was immediately concerned for Coco because if she caught *anything* she would probably not make it.

After a few days of uncertainty during which Casper had to take fluids under his skin to keep him hydrated and we struggled to get him to eat and little Coco’s weight didn’t seem to budge, things started looking up. Casper suddenly began to eat, neither of the other two cats seem to have caught what he had, and little Coco suddenly began to put on weight. Fast track to today, August 6th, and she weighs a remarkable 1.1 kg! Except she is not a she, turns out little Coco is a boy, a fact that was discovered when we sent her him to be spayed neutered. And he loves his foster siblings!

 
Zzzzzzzzz

"What?"

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