Sandflies and Serenatas
8 July 2005 (Friday) – Olinda, Brazil
I spent a sleepless night, scratching myself silly last night. Although the window had been shut, unbeknownst to me, a mosquito or sandfly was already sharing my prison cell. I could have used insect repellent, I know, but I hate to sleep with that sticky stuff. I love my legs to be clean and smooth when I sleep.
Clean and smooth, my foot! Look at my legs now!!! They were covered in spots, yes… many were sandfly bites!! Darn!! Next to ticks, they are the worst! My mother said it is unlucky to count spots on legs, some old wives’ tales of which the reason (or curse) I absolutely cannot recall anymore… so I counted spots on just ONE of my legs. About 30 bites on my right leg. So, that makes about 50-60 bites in total!!!!!!! Horrors!!!!
Then, after breakfast (or semblance of breakfast… just crackers left over from the bus-ride to Recife), I headed up the steps to my prison and TRIPPED, busting my knee and taking some skin off my shin and elbow. What the hey!?!?!?? Trisha takes her first tumble already??
I would rather be running a fever than have abrasions on my skin as I heal very, very, very badly! I am very ashamed that even for the tiniest abrasion barely the size of a coin, for other people, it would have turned into a hardened reddish scab in a couple of days and life goes on… but for me, it would get infected, oozing with yellow pus… and I would actually have to go to a doctor to have it bandaged.
Did Ahmed and Anita transfer their streak of bad-luck to me?
Anyway, I hobbled painfully around the streets of Olinda today, yelping in pain each time I walked down steps. I checked out various little streets and found it strange that many places seemed to be closed. I would see signs proudly declaring for AQUI TEM KODAK FILMES (Here we have Kodak Films) or AQUI TEM INTERNET, for example, but the doors would be shut and locked. Yesterday, I had had the same feeling. Now if on weekdays, these places are shut, when are they ever opened? The guide book had mentioned certain areas have many bars and restaurants. Huh?? Like w-h-e-r-e?? Thank goodness, I already had the intention to cook my meals these two days. Otherwise, I would certainly be clueless as to where to get myself fed.
Katharina, a Hospitality Club member from Recife whom I had contacted and whom I would be staying with tomorrow, had mentioned something about the local snack – tapioca, in her email. I recalled seeing some snacks being sold in the square Alto da Se, in front of the cathedral and walked up there for a look.
It was 2pm and the ladies were just setting up the tapioca stalls. I stood near one and observed her taking out her wares. She asked if I wanted a tapioca… yes, and asked me to take a seat. No, I want to watch how it is made, I told her. After she got the charcoal burning, she spread white manioc powder on a small pan. After some moments, she cut slices of cheese, sprinkled coconut strips and added two squares of butter. Then, she folded half of the by-now solidified manioc powder over and voila! Hmmm… not bad, not bad. This is the traditional one. I would try one of the variants next time, with banana, sweet paste of pineapple or whatever.
The square here had some touristy craft stalls lined up. The state here seemed to be famous for clay figurines and wooden carvings. A few carvers were chipping away under the shade of the trees. I observed some elderly guys playing dominos for a while, and soon, found myself chatting with an artist standing behind his little stall, painting some figurines.
This is great… by now, I could more or less have a conversation going in portuñol (Portuguese mixed with Spanish) with a Brazilian. Not an intellectual conversation, but a simple one about simple things. I did not always understand everything that they said, but seriously, I talked to this guy for maybe 20-30 minutes about this and that and perhaps, only once, did he totally give up trying to describe a particular book to me.
Katharina had also mentioned in her email that on Friday nights, there would be a serenata (serenade) along the streets of Olinda. But she did not mention where. So I asked the artist now. He showed me where to go on the map and said to be there from 9pm onwards. OK, I would.
After dinner and some Brazilian soap operas, I strolled down to Praça Jose Alfredo. The place was engulfed in darkness. I thought maybe there would be a stage, but no, nothing. There was a couple sitting here, 5 elderly folks chatting by another bench, a trio of young men and a woman walking her dog while her children played around the square. Just local folks enjoying the evening, all very quiet and peaceful. A world apart from Salvador. I took a bench and sat there, waiting.
After nearly 45 minutes, I figured perhaps I had gotten some information very wrong and was about to make my trip back when I heard the tinkling of a guitar. As it was really dark, I spun around the square for a while before spotting a small group sitting on the steps of the church at the square and… yes, what looked to me to be a drum. There they were!
I went to sit on the steps of the church and soon, the banjo player started a little number to some small applause. The group consisted of 2 elderly men and 1 elderly woman, and 3 young men, 1 of them looked about 12 years old. The woman was the violinist and she later took the lead in the rest of the musical pieces… little serenades of love songs. A few other members were here for the singing and soon, as the serenades went on, the public was singing along as well, declaring ‘amor (love) this’ and ‘amor that’. Oh… how sweet! There were young, middle-aged and elderly people… some came as couples, others as families and yet others alone, swaying to the gentle beat, singing with gentle love.
After an hour or so, the leader announced that we would take a little walk around the streets. So, the serenaders took the lead and everyone followed right behind and around, singing, clapping, dancing.
Gosh… can you imagine the scene? I felt as if I was in the middle of a musical where the extras milling around in the background suddenly gather behind the main actor and actress and all of them move in synchronised choreography, instinctly knowing the dance steps and song lyrics!! It felt absolutely surreal!! I was twirling around, looking at the faces of these people, bathing in their shared passion. I would not be able to translate actually how I felt now at all to paper. It was… er, for want of a word… just beautiful.
Two nights ago in Salvador, the Pipe Piper was a loud Oludum group of crazy, energetic drummers. Tonight, lovely little serenaders playing pieces after pieces. Different types of music but still music with passion. They sometimes stopped under a window, or in front of a door as a resident popped his or her head out. We lingered especially longer at a particular residence for there was an ancient, wrinkly little lady, possibly in her 90s, standing out there (supported by someone, of course) and swaying to the beat, smiling slightly (a tad difficult with no teeth). How very sweet and touching!
Naturally, with music in their Brazilian blood, some people danced away. As the music turned to popular pieces, which I thought might be sambas – in the serenade version, the crowd drunk with passion, sang out loud, waving their hands in the air. More and more residents switched on lights in their houses and stuck smiling faces out. The crowd grew to more than 80, I counted at one point. People exchanged nods and smiles with me as they spotted a bewildered me, unable to follow the lyrics, but yet valiantly attempting to mouth the words, especially choruses with lots of ‘la’.
Amor! Amor! Travelling and experiencing this very, very sweet but thoroughly fascinating little serenade which happens every Friday evening in this quiet little pretty town of Olinda is amor!
Tags: 03) The Land of the Spirits, Olinda
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