The Magic of Forró

             Before boomboxes, CD players, IPods and such, my exposure to music was limited to sing-along family gatherings and house parties. My parents usually had to drag me to those reunions because I did prefer to organize my own time and play with my friends, but I always ended up enjoying myself and refusing to return home afterwards. Grandma, on the paternal side, was the initiator and the main voice in the singing that made an indispensable part of every party: birthdays, holidays, and just your regular weekend get togethers. I always marveled at how many songs she had memorized and how she managed to have others sing along with her. The main attraction of those parties was certainly the fact that we all shared in the cooking, the eating, the singing and the cleaning afterwards.

            Only now do I see how important this little tradition was and how much we have lost when we replaced the sound of our own voices with portable machines that do the job for us. I wish there were a recording of my family singing together because now it seems practically impossible to reproduce the experience with some people being gone, others dispersed around the world, others yet unwilling to come and sit together with the family. It saddens me deeply to see something so nurturing go and so I vow to myself to never stop singing and to bring my family together as much as possible without any regard for old grudges or hurt pride.


            What incited this reminiscing was a party that a group of friends and I attended in Ilha Bela. It was June and, appropriately, the happening was called "Festa junina." This is the month designated as a celebration saints and, especially, of São João (St. John) and, for that occasion, Brazilians engage in what they call Forró. When asked what the word meant, my friend Marcelo suggested: "Forró - like 'For All,' but pronounced by a Brazilian." I found the idea clever and hilarious all at the same time, but made sure to research it further because something told me the explanation was rather far-fetched.

             The one thing that checked off was the fact that the party had its door open to everyone: children, youngsters, adults, elderly and even us, gringos. And to make the point of its indiscriminate character, it was organized in the courtyard of a middle school among multi-colored walls and the students' artwork. This was the most pleasant academic structure and environment that I had ever encountered in my life and what a great space for a dance party! It made it that much easier for everyone to unwind and even regress a bit.

            Returning to the label though, I looked up Forró and it does list "For All" as one of the possible influences. Apparently in the 19oos, the English engineers that were hired to work on a railroad up in the North of Brazil tended to organize parties either only for the workers or "For All." A more plausible explanation though is that the term is a derivative of forrobodó, or a "great party." Finally, Wikipedia also suggests that it might come from the engine number "40" (four-oh) that the English railroad engineers kept on repeating as they worked. Bottom line, it is uncertain who coined the term and based on what, nonetheless, the name stuck and it has been used widely to denominate the style of music and the type of party.

             It took some time to get used to the sounds of accordion, zabumba (bass drum) and triangle played by three very original looking fellows (notice the picture), but soon enough the music took me back to those house parties and the Polish folklore. The accordion especially made me think of my friend's dad who would always bring it out and unfold and fold its bellows filling the room with a robust sound. There was something very rustic and yet very comforting about the accordion. As I hopped around in a circle holding hands with complete strangers, I was suddenly back in my grandma's house and, for all I knew, the language I was hearing was Polish and all these people were my family and friends who have gathered to celebrate yet another birthday.

For an interesting explanation of forró look up:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcwKEGzpy-E&feature=related

And for music you must check out Luis Gonzaga, the master of forró. I found a great podcast on ITunes called brazilianbeatz. DJ Vivo (haha) compiles all types of Brazilian music and makes it accessible for free!

Those Cows Were Really Looking at Me!

            All my yoga teachers have stressed the importance of giving up meat if you were serious about achieving corporeal and mental balance. Having already had eliminated a lot of things from my diet since my celiac disease diagnosis, I decided to pay little attention to the yogis' recommendation, especially that I was planning a trip to Brazil and a visit to a churrascaria was quite inevitable.
            While in Sao Paulo, I dined at several of those meat meccas indulging shamelessly in the prime cuts that I was being offered. Now, just a quick word about what kind of dining this is: it is pigging out. Before you even get a chance to settle down, plates start filling up the table in a manner so swift, you barely get a chance to reflect on it or protest. If this is what you wanted, then you are certainly in the right place. My experience, however, has proven to me that, no matter how starved you happen to be or how much you love food, at some point you will begin to feel a rising frustration as dishes multiply in front of your eyes, meat incessantly circles around you, and more a more food enters your mouth. Suddenly you will find yourself gasping for air and hissing at the staff to just leave you alone! But, hey, maybe it is the right price to pay for volunteering to blindly patronize the meat business.

            One weekend we decided to go to Brotas, a place known for rafting and other outdoors 
activities. The first day I was talked into going on a 26-mile bicycle tour around the area. Throughout the trail we encountered many different animals. We took pictures of them and went on our way. Right when the sun was about to set, we arrived at the peak of a hill where a big herd of cows began running our way. They were not aggressive, rather contemplative and curious. They ran only until a certain point and then just stopped observing us from the distance with those charcoal eyes. There was so much pain in that look, so much disappointment, but also a trace of hope. Here we were - the encounter between the killer and its prey with each of the parties having the possibility of becoming one or the other. Suddenly the picture from the churrascaria with the cows body partitioned for consumption popped in my head and it became evident that we were the ones with blood on our hands. These majestic animals, in turn, were giving us a moment to reflect, a moment to redeem ourselves.

            We left the scene embarrassed and, finally, it became clear what my yoga instructors were trying to convey all this time. How I wished I would have listened then.

Off-road in Ilha Bela, Brazil

When we got to Ilha Bela, an island off of the coast of Sao Paulo state, I looked around and, noticing so many pickup trucks and four by fours, I concluded, "the Midwest at its best." Soon enough though I was more than grateful to be sitting in one of those. Ilha Bela, apart from its fantastic sailing conditions and impressive natural beauty, is a destination for off-road riding. The trail takes you on a 2.5-hour drive (under good weather conditions) through the jungle-covered mountains in order to arrive at a breathtaking beach, Castelhanos.

Now, when the locals caution that you need a 4 by 4, they know what they are talking about, especially if it has rained recently. We were lucky enough to make that trip with Marcelo, the owner of the pousada where we stayed; lucky because his car was equipped for that kind of riding and because Marcelo was an experienced driver. He let us enjoy the beach well after sunset despite knowing what the return trip would bring. Let's just say that some twenty minutes into the trail, we found some 5 cars hopelessly stuck in the mud. To help them out, all of us in the car had to step out and walk in complete darkness. We found ourselves falling into thigh-deep pits or slipping uncontrollably on the mud. The good thing was everyone kept their spirits high, especially with the amount of beer that was going around.

Two hours into this pushing and pulling of other cars and then of ours, we looked at the clock on the dashboard, then at each other and laughed hysterically. Two and a half hours had passed and we were nowhere near the top of the mountain. All this time we had deluded ourselves that we'd make it back in time for dinner. At that point, it looked like we'd be lucky to get back at all that night. Marcello was the Angel sent from the above, the Good Samaritan, the Savior for all those bigger-than-life dudes who thought their skillful driving could get their lousy cars through hell.