Minha Mãe é uma Caipira

---

The plane I caught to Maceio belonged to a small airline called OceanAir. In order to board the plane, the other passengers and I had to get on a bus that took us to the other end of the airport. When the bus arrived in fornt of the plane all the passengers made a mad dash from the bus to the stairs which they ascended sheilded from the Sao Pulo rain by handsome young Brazilian men holding umbrellas. I felt like a movie star for about two seconds. Once inside and seated, a flight attendant acted out the safety instructions for the passengers that another flight attendant spoke into a microphone, first in Portuguese and then read from a card in English. “Thanks for flying with OceanAir. You make us grow.” On the way a woman sitting behind me sang softly. I looked out the window holding both the necklace that Marcelo gave to me and the little cross made by nuns in Greece given to me by my good friend Terry, between my fingers. We first made a stop in Recife where we dropped off some passengers and picked up a few more. The flight attendant walked through the cabin inspecting the paper covers that were placed over the head rests, and ripping some of them off with a look of disdain across her face. The offending covers were replaced with new ones, some men came on board to clean up bits of garbage, and soon we were airborne once again.

When I got off the plane in Maceio the airport was quiet. It was after 10pm. I went to the empty baggage carousel room and waited for my bag to be driven form the plane to the opening where it was thrown onto the belt. I looked to my left and saw Marcelo standing at the door. His skin had become so dark from the sun that his teeth gleamed like neon light from his face. I immediately felt shakey. The time it took my bag to reach me seemed like an eternity. When the doors opened I walked right into Marcelo´s arms and buried my face in his chest. I breathed his smell deep into my lungs and tried to steady the shaky feeling inside me. He shook a little too. “This is my mother!” he exlcaimed as he released me and turned toward a short, dark skinned lady standing behind him. She was just gorgeous. “Ah Jennifer!!!!” she exclaimed and hugged me. She laughed out loud (and I mean loud) and was wearing the loudest shade of pink lipstick you can imagine (and I do mean loud). A woman after my own heart, I thought. It was in that moment that I understood what Marcelo liked about me.

Marcelo refers to his mom with the word “caipira” which is about equivalent to calling someone a “hick” in english. Caipiras are small town people. The woman is what you call boistrous. She cackles when she laughs. She swears in portuguese, and shouts “Ave Maria!!!” the way I curse J@#3US CH%*#T!!! She owns plenty of hot bikinis and brightly colored gym gear, and she puts lipstick on to go to the beach. Marcelo tells me his mom is the best person in the world that he knows.

Marcelo´s father is equally wonderful but is a different sort of person than his wife. He is european in appearance. He is reserved and maintains a composeur that commands respect from anyone sharing the room with him. He is dignified, responsible, respectable, honest, full of integrity, and he treats Marcelo´s mom with the utmost respect. He reminds me so much of my Granddad. That particular breed of man is hard to come by. Marcelo´s mom knew what she was up to when she snagged him. He sits with me in the morning at the breakfast table and tries his best to converse. He speaks portuguese with broken bits of english, I speak english with broken bits of portuguese, and we manage to understand eachother about 60% of the time (which is better than 0%). He told me all a about his life. He began working from a young age with his father, he then joined the army for some time. He spent some time as an ambulance driver, and then worked for many years in the Braazilian Petrol company. After retiring he took a shot at becoming a helicoopter pilot. When that didn´t pan out he went back to school and studied common law. Lately he just graduated from studying criminal law. An interesting thing he told me about Brazilian law is that it is modelled after French or Italian law and is therefore studied partly in those languages here in Brasil. Facinating! I love talking about these sorts of things!

Now, a few things about Maceio that I like so far (some of these things are good everywhere in the North East of Brasil). Bikinis are cheap and ultra sexy. I bought a beautiful bikini from a local market for $R 30.00 (equivalent to around 20 bucks Canadian). Food is also cheap. The local food is delicious (North East cuisine is filled with seafood and is just incredible). The city is old and full of history (it has the largest temple in the North East of Brasil). The beaches go on forever and are lined with small bars and restaurants emitting tempting smells and live music. When you order juice ANYWHERE they make it right there - out of fresh fruit!!! You order pineapple juice, they put a pinapple in the blender and then strain the juice from the pulp. The fruit is indescribably delicious. Papayas are what Deus (God) eats for breakfast in the morning, believe me.

A few things I don´t like. Garbage all over the beach, sewage sent into the sea at the beaches located near industrial areas (which are also areas where people live), how little money people make, the huge gap between rich and poor...stay tuned for a later installment...

To come: life at French beach and the way people live outside the city...

Chiao!

---