Nathaniel in Brazil

Letter from Brazil: The Laughing Gourd

2012-04-27T14:10:00.002-03:00

One of my favorites things about making this life transition to Brazil happens to be the sheer joy that folks participate in dance. I have always loved to dance. Although people around the world associate Brazil with Samba the wide varieties of Samba steps and different types would confuse anyone.

From early on in every Brazilian that I've met, they learn dance early and enjoy it as much as possible. Standing around bars or concerts and twiddling their thumbs isn't part of the pact here.

The Samba does provide a host of unique sounds that blend percussion, history, movement, sensuality and timing that hypnotizes. One of those unique instruments that is sometimes incorporated in Samba and Bosa Nova is the Cuíca - pronounced KweeKA. The crying sounds of this contraption has earned the nickname of the laughing gourd.

A wide variety of Cuícas have been found around the world. The Cuíca is also known as a puita, boi or onca. Believed to have its genesis in Africa, it made the journey over the Atlanta courtesy of slave traders. In Africa, hunters used the instrument to call male lions closer because the sounds it generates mimics the utterances of need by the female cat. Imagine the surprise - if not total aggravation - of the male lion heeding that call when he arrived to introduce himself to an instrument player as opposed to a willing babe lioness.

Wikipedia describes the instrument as follows: The body of the Cuíca is normally made of metal, gourd or synthetic material. It has a single head, normally 6 to 10 inches in diameter, made of animal skin. A thin bamboo stick is attached to the center of, and perpendicular to, the drum head, extending into the drum's interior. The instrument is held under one arm at chest height with the help of a shoulder strap. To play the Cuíca, the musician rubs the stick up and down with a wet cloth held in one hand, using the fingers of the other hand to press down on the skin of the drum near the place where the stick is attached. The rubbing motion produces the sound and the pitch is increased or decreased by changing the pressure on the head.

A whole host of musicians have incorporated this specific sound (Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder and others - some by learning it and playing the instrument and others by vocally or synthetically imitating its sounds. For mainstream jazz fans, the Pat Metheny Group incorporated the Cuíca in their fusion number '(It's Just) Talk.'

Letter from Brazil: I Screwed Up

2012-04-25T20:12:00.000-03:00

As much as I want to contend that I know my way around the kitchen, I messed up bad this week. Well, I am not quite sure when I did it, but I do know it today.

Sometime last week, I cooked off a batch of fried chicken that could rival the world's best. As the lone eater of a whole chicken, I was forced to assemble the second and third pan fulls into a receptacle in the oven. The overflow of that receptacle came back to haunt me. One of those bad boys jumped - I'm positive - out of the bunch and decided to stay in the oven by itself.

Now ordinarily that would not have been a bad thing. The bad part comes in where I did not discover the escape. For more than a week, the escapee breast has been festering quietly in the oven. That would have been fine if not for the 300,000 plus maggots that decided to join it in the hibernation. Today, I discovered my faux pax.

Two days ago, I thought maybe that my cat company had dragged something else into the house out of sight. Because the oder wasn't overwhelming, I dismissed it. What a mistake.

As I prepared this evenings entre - marinated chicken breasts - I discovered the source of that putrid stench and a whole bunch of uninvited guests. I can only describe the smell of uninvited vermin warming up before the main course goes to eviscerate hunger.

The moral of the story hangs on an old principle. Don't be stupid.

Letter from Brazil: I Was Right

2012-04-14T14:17:00.001-03:00

It's a scary thing to move from anything. A job. A friend. A lover. A Dream. A country.

When you move closer to an intangible - and it turns out they all are - the move turns out to be more important than the result.

Today, through the magic of Skype, I can confirm this. In three short years, I have changed my entire life. As a man over 25..okay...35...muther fu...over 45, I can swear that life is better when you incorporate a theory espoused by the Isley Brothers. If it's your thing. Do what you want to do.

Eric Duval deserves kudos here. He and I met as he was corralling the beauties here in Florianopolis. His call today confirmed my hope. He keeps his head to the grindstone and wants more than just a convenient woman by his side. As he heads a huge development northeast of Rio de Janeiro, this Ivy league Adonis had yet to recognize that he could just sloth off. He works hard and we have made fast friends. He is sincerely proud of his work and loves his mother and father without reservation. The cool thing is that we have become friends. Reliant friends. Friends that seek opinion without judgment and friends that can withstand a harsh opinion.

But all that crap doesn't mean that work isn't hard. He must convince others that environmentally, economically, and with health this - the Cabo Frio Mall - is a good thing. I believe he can do that. The important point is that this represents a substantial change to all those in Cabo Frio. Will Eric's forays help you? Will Eric's foray's help the community?

I am just a man. I believe that his endeavors mean something positive. I have NO financial interest in the outcome. I hope that makes a difference. The coolest thing is that I am involved here in Brazil. I am sharing or listening as things are changing. I am just hopeful that whatever changes are for the better.

No matter what, I believe I was right to come here. I was right to investigate. I am the right person to watch as Brazil comes of AGE.

Letter from Brazil: I Have Taught a Cat to Talk

2012-04-12T22:34:00.001-03:00

This literally is breaking news that transcends the borders of Brazil. There are sure to be scientists, animal rights advocates and doubters lining up in droves but I have taught my recently adopted cat, Cali, to say my name.

When I ask her who is the best looking man in the world, she says...Naaaattt.

When I ask her who feeds her the best food in the world, she purrs...Naaatttt.

When I ask her who could possible fix all the world's problems, she naively says....Naaaatttt. The hardest part was getting the 't' down.

It really is amazing. For whatever reason, she is more loquacious around dinner time. But I believe this discovery deserves immediate notoriety on all the talk shows and all the academic journals.

Before I get all swooped up with the media frenzy this is not the only time that something like this has happened. Back in the early nineties a band called Us3 wrote a great song about me that I am humble enough to provide the following link to this under-awarded tribute. If you listen close enough to the riffs, every pause they pay tribute to Naaaatttt.

My friends G. P. Givens and E. Braden can attest to the experience it's had on their lives.

But never fear, the universe works in mysterious ways. Even though my boys of Us3 were robbed of a Grammy for their efforts with the song called Cantalope, I can see that Cali the cat's recent vocalization will earn me a Nobel Prize in something. Do they have one for teaching? I promise not to forget all the little people.

Letter from Brazil: I Wish...

2012-04-11T10:00:00.001-03:00

The other night when the moon was in its full glory and the sky radiated clear, I happened to witness a falling star. I have been conditioned to believe that a wish was in order. That being said, I explain:

This experience in Brazil continues to get better. As I hone in on three years here, I have crystallized a couple of three thoughts.

I wish more people would travel abroad.

No matter where you are from, expanding the breath and opportunity of different cultures, different languages and different understandings will change you. I have no doubt.

Although I am a big proponent of reading about subject material until your eyes fall out, nothing replaces hands on experience. What I mean is that all the reading you can do in the world about Ireland, England, Brazil or the U.S. can not replicate when your boots hit the ground. Nothing prepares you better than finding out on your own. Like me, even if you have no idea what you are looking for, the truth will find you.

Don't accept the wisdom of others.

When people provide their opinions, their conclusions and their astute recommendations, please listen closely to what they are not saying. Your closest friend may mean well, but you should always distill your own experience. No one knows better than you what will serve as an exciting find. No one knows better than you what will pique your interests. It's not that you have to summarily dismiss the wisdom of others, but we all have our own minds and shouldn't be dissuaded by others.

I can provide examples.

Many people look to Brazil as some sort of third-world vacation spot. String bikinis, Sambathons and favelas. Without knowing and relying on the per-judgments of others, you could end up picking some destination like Cabo San Lucas. Sorry Mex. It wasn't too long ago that the sages of Europe - looking down their collective noses - looked upon the U.S. as a convenient if not low cost foray into hedonistic ways.

It's nice to see that the world is changing.

The changing world gives us all an opportunity to chase our dreams. I only wish you consider that those dreams should be yours and not those implanted by others.

I Wish You to be Fulfilled.

Letter from Brazil: My Cocaine

2012-03-26T17:07:00.000-03:00

The headline is a misnomer. Sorry if I gave my daughter, Natalie, a heart attack. But if you say My Cocaine fast enough, you can either do an impression of the British actor Michael Caine or I push you in a direction of a part in the first Jason Borne movie where the sales associate from the yacht company comes out to greet Matt Damon.

To be honest, I am trying to make myself laugh after a rather disturbing incident here in Brazil. Maybe it wasn't so disturbing as humiliating. The thing about men and their hairline has been memorialized in the fables of old Rome - think Hercules.

My incident wasn't so dramatic, but it stung. Admittedly, I have lost my hair. There I said it. The issue came up this weekend when I was helping a buddy get ready for a dinner or something. He, Raphael, calmly asked me, "So when did you start loosing your hair?"

Until that day, I have never considered admitting it. It's not that I'm blind, but to evoke those words from my mouth - as loquacious as I am - has never ever happened.

In defense of my buddy, he was just curious. He has since tried to smooth things over by saying stuff like, "you have the head to be bald." I don't know how the hell that is suppose to make me feel better. But Rapha can't be punished for this candid question or remark.

It would be nice if my head had more hair. At one time, I sported an Afro that would make Link from the Mod Squad jealous. But like most things that have diminished with time, I don't get as excited about the small stuff.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: The Worthless Hunter

2012-03-17T09:52:00.002-03:00

My adopted cat believes I am a worthless hunter. With that mindset, Cali has decided to help me out by providing her kills as much as possible to supplement my diet. Nice, huh?

The apartment I live in butts up against part of the jungle here in Lagoa. The hill I reside provides a picturesque view of Lagoa da Conceicao and also provides refuge for all sorts of critters that fall prey to my buddy's hunting prowess.

The trophies she provides tend to be half the size of her. The unfortunate thing is when she has scored one and I don't realize it until three days after its death and it has been rotting away under the sofa. The pungent odor gives clues that Cali has scored again.

Some behaviorists believe cats look on humans as poorly-equipped hunters unable to bring home the bacon without feline help. This has got to be the case here. Certainly, mom-cats often bring bugs, mice, or other delights home for their kittens to enjoy. I rue the day that happens here. Your cat may be somewhat like mine and even play catch-and-release live prey inside the home. Other experts theorize the cat simply brings his trophy to his nest—the house—with plans to enjoy and eat it later.

Probably the worst example of the non-catch and release is when Cali brought home a young bird. She must have scaled a nearby tree and removed this cute little rascal out of the nest. It was plucked clean when I found the carcass. The petrified mug of a birdlet is not pretty.

These actions may have something to do with my choice of grub for her. Initially, I was buying the more expensive Whiskers offerings, but I found another bag of crunchies for half the price. She apparently does not share my desire for thrift. When I give Cali the chance to eat nowadays, she just looks at the bowl, smells, looks at me with disgust and walks away. How picky can cats get?

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

When Enough is Enough

2012-03-10T09:35:00.000-03:00

For the purposes of disclosure, I am an opponent of Bull Fighting. I have never been and may never go - mostly because I believe the name of the event is a misnomer. It should be called "Bull Stuck in a Closed Ring with Guys on Horses with Spears that Lance You (the Bull) until You are too Tired to Raise Your Head in Order to Face a Fruitcake-dressed Guy Who Will Stab You (The Bull) While You're Tired."

For those of you who disagree. I have a heroic tale of Juan Jose Padilla, a Spanish Bullfighter that does not understand the concept of Enough is Enough. Five months ago, Padilla fell down in the ring and was gored by a bull in the face (click on that link if you have a strong stomach) in Spain. The horn entered beneath his ear, and appeared to exit nearby his eye socket. At one point, it appeared as if his eye popped out of his socket. Ultimately, he lost the eye and suffers from paralysis in part of his face.

Now, wearing an eye patch and speaking with a lisp, Padilla fulfilled what he describes as an unquenchable desire to once again face massive 1,100-pound (500-kilogram) fighting bulls with the aid of only a cape and sword. He returned to the ring this week.

A capacity crowd of about 5,400 people, including die-hard connoisseurs, fashion models and well-known personalities, had packed into this town's historic bullring, which was built in 1854.

The matador, who is also known by his professional name of "the Cyclone of Jerez," wore a glittering matador's "suit of lights" outfit that had been made for the occasion in gold braid and olive green, "for hope," according to his tailor, Justo Algaba. Stitching on the suit traced the shape of laurel leaves because "they were used to crown the brows of audacious combatants and great heroes," Algaba said.

Padilla was greeted with loud cheers and enthusiastic hand-clapping as he walked into the ring to the traditional "pasodoble" brass band music, before having two unaccompanied flamenco style "saeta" songs dedicated to him, an honor rarely accorded to bullfighters.

Despite lacking the two-eyed stereoscopic vision that allows people to judge distances and the speed of approaching objects accurately, Padilla had little trouble killing his first bull before dedicating the second beast to his tearful father, who embraced his son after the kill. Padilla was awarded one ear for each of his two kills. The maximum accolade a matador can achieve is two ears and a tail for each bull slain.

Call me crazy, but it seems like Padilla must have a death wish. In this instance, enough is enough.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Fashion for the Ugly

2012-03-08T10:52:00.001-03:00

Let's say that you have an eye for fashion, but not necessarily the look. Lo and behold, the industry of couture has not forgotten about those who look more like the scarecrow than Dorothy.

In Paris a couple of times a year, uber-designers conspire to release a whole line of "prototype" men's and women's wear that could maybe, doubtfully catch on. This year, the slant appears to be Fashion for the Uglay! The trend of covering up that ugly mug helps keep lookers eyes on the clothes and not the monster wearing them.

I can attest that there are some that this look would appeal to, but my mother has always taught me not to speak badly about hideous looking people. The first picture illustrates a fashionista that has membership in the Klu Klux Klan. This hauteur style drives those good old boys crazy after campfires.

Next we feature a dovetail from the ugly duckling line. The outfit comes with a warning that you need special help for guidance purposes because not only can a courter not see your ugly helmut, but you cannot see through those feathers. Lastly, and the height of the line features an amoeba-like outfit with a super screen to block unnecessary glances from others. The purpose of the multiple black amoeba keeps the onlookers attention because those globs always appear ready to jump off and breed with the nearest human.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: Heroic Brazilians

2012-03-07T19:43:00.001-03:00

In an amazing show of human/dolphin interaction this week, a group of beach goers in Arraial do Cabo dropped the lotion to heroically steer a pod of wayward dolphins back out to sea. Arraial do Cabo is about 70 miles east of Rio de Janeiro. The pod appears to have got their signals fouled as they approached the shallow waters of the beach. Once within the small breaking waves, a substantial number of the pod lost their buoyancy as the water rhythmically retracted from the coastline.

The scene stunned some of the beach goers. Others though rushed immediately to the dolphins' aid – once they determined they were dolphins and not another creature from the deep. First five, then 10, then 20 volunteers braved the thrashing tails of the stranded clan, scampered into the surf and helped them into deeper waters.

The entire operation from beaching to freedom took approximately two and a half minutes. Once those misguided mammals had some water beneath their fins, they skedaddled to the open sea.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: Sacrificing Cerveja

2012-02-25T10:44:00.001-02:00

With all the hours of study, books, reports, research, degrees and accolades that have been strewn through my life, I couldn't be dumber. There was a time I didn't drink beer. And then...

But as my body has decided to revolt against contaminates, including my beloved cerveja. It turns out that my consumption of beer contributes immensely to the reoccurring and awfully painful bouts of gout.

Suffice it to say that gout is a pain in my... multiple joints on occasion. When it happens, you can barely roll me to the bathroom. I have even asked those around me during those terrible occasions to amputate the body part afflicted. Sometimes referred to as the king's disease - because of its propensity to attack those who consume purines - this poor man has been unnecessarily wearing that crown.

Now, I thought about giving up beer (or cerveja here in Brazil) for Lent this year. Fact of the matter is that I haven't been a practicing Catholic since I got tossed out of the altar-boy ranks back in the eighth grade. I just dug in and started to research this insidious affliction that appears to have globbed on to me from my genes. For whatever reason, every time in the past that I would read the research or pretend to listen to a doctor's advice I would ignore that part about alcohol - most importantly beer.

An authoritative study reported these interesting results:

Compared with non beer drinkers, those who drank two or more servings of beer per day suffered a 2.5 times greater risk of gout.
Compared with non liquor drinkers, those who drank two or more servings of liquor per day suffered a 1.6 times greater risk of gout.
Wine was not associated with an increased risk of gout compared with those who did not drink wine.

The risk grew as servings grew. For example, the risk of gout increased by 49% with each serving of beer per day. The risk of gout was increased by 15% per serving of liquor each day. Because liquor is more alcoholic in beer, researchers concluded that a non-alcoholic factor in beer was the real culprit of the risk.

With this information, it appears that if I continued my habit of downing a six pack a day then the recurrence would ultimately haunt me forever. The last little nugget of the study though provides a glimmer of hope for me. Moderate consumption of wine appears to be okay.

So. In the future if you see me drinking beer, bust my chops. If you see me drinking hard liquor, slap me. But if you see me sipping delicately on wine, don't make fun of me. I am trying to live a pain free existence from now on.

Beside the cessation of drinking beer, I have also altered my diet. There are certain foods in the chain that promote purines and the generation of uric acid - the nasty stuff that creates all the pain. I have nearly eliminated the consumption of red meat. Total elimination is too much to ask. If I start looking like a chicken though, I will revisit that mandate.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: Carnival Closes as Lent Begins

2012-02-22T18:26:00.002-02:00

The drums have stopped. The dancing has subsided. The singing, parading and flamboyance has come to a dead stop as the Carnival festivities give way to the traditional recognition of Lent. So begins a 40-day period in Brazil renouncing the ways of evil with repentance, abstinence and in a large majority of households an adjustment of dietary consumption.

Even though Brazil has a growing population of other religions, the influence of Roman Catholicism affects a huge portion of the 200 million inhabitants here. According to a majority of Brazilians, during Lent they eat their daily meals on their normal pattern, and the idea of only one full meal a day is mostly restricted to religious communities. Abstaining from meat on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday is a common practice among Brazilian Catholics. Many Brazilians although not Catholic still choose to remember the religious significance of those two days by not consuming meat. Fish is not considered meat.

A common substitute for meat is fish - specifically a fish called bacalhua.Balcalhua is the Portuguese word for codfish and - in a culinary context - dried and salted codfish. There are numerous bacalhau recipe variations, depending on region and tradition. According to some, there are more than 365 ways to cook bacalhau, one for every day of the year; others say there are 1,001 ways. Whatever the exact number, bacalhau is an ubiquitous ingredient in Portuguese cuisine that the Brazilians have adopted as their own.

Bacalhau is often served with potatoes. Green (Vinho Verde) or mature wines (Alentejo Wine, Dão Wine, or Douro Wine) are served alongside.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: Photos from Carnaval in Rio

2012-02-20T10:51:00.002-02:00

Thousands of revelers gathered at the Sambadrome Sunday night for the crown jewel of Rio carnival as thirteen samba schools vied for a prize. Their elaborate floats, massive percussion sections and troupes of sequin and feather-clad dancers made their way down the avenue as spectators looked on from the bleachers. On Saturday, a record-breaking 2.2 million people had attended the Cordao da Bola Preta parade, one of the city's oldest carnival street parties. Click on picture to enlarge.
Carnaval in Rio Brings Color

A Dancer of Porto da Pedra samba school parades on a float during carnival

Worker Polishes Elaborate Samba School Float

Samba School Queen Prepares for Her Showcase

Part of the Drum Corp from one of the Samba Schools

Thirteen Samba Schools Face off to Obtain Title for the Best

Elaborate Float of one of the Samba Schools

Dancers in the Sambadrome Don't hold back

Performers from the Grande Rio samba school

Read more here: http://blogs.sacbee.com/photos/2012/02/brazil-carnival-2012.html#storylink=cpy

Dancers of Sao Clemente samba school

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: Understanding the Nuances

2012-02-17T12:13:00.000-02:00

As I become more acclimated to my surroundings here, the necessity of communication in the native language of Brazilian Portuguese festers in my crawl.

My friends, both Brazilian and some foreign born speakers, have been pestering me about the tempo of my learning curve. As it turns out, this beautiful Island of Magic - Florianopolis - plays host to a multitude of international travelers who seek out the Brazilian jewels of beach, nature and tranquility. Some of them of have become very proficient with the words, the verbs and the difficult syntax that accompanies any second language.

I don't claim that level of familiarity.

But I have discovered another aspect of these beautiful musical utterances. Called idioms in English or "ditados" here, I describe them as commonly accepted sayings a grouping of words that do not mean the literal translation, but convey a much more astute message that poignantly collapses a secondary message into what all native Brazilian Portuguese speakers understand. Those who have only learned or adopted the language itself may miss the meanings entirely.

With the help of my new friends Carla Debiasi, Raphael Raillard and Miguel Augusto Carneiro Pinto Ribeiro, I put forth a grouping of the aforementioned in order to convey my novel discoveries. It makes for fun to dig up these common expressions and imagine how they arrived in the lexicon. I also believe it teaches me a nuance of the Brazilian culture that one cannot absorb by language lessons alone.

In an effort to make this easier, I will provide a highlighted expression in Brazilian Portuguese, then provide the literal translation and ultimately provide the real meaning behind its utterance.

Ditado: "Chorar de barriga cheia"

Literal Translation: Crying on a full stomach

Real Meaning: Complaining about something without real reason when the complainer happens to be in a comparatively good situation.

Ditado: "Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar"

Literal Translation: Who is standing in the rain is going to get wet

Real Meaning: When someone chooses a particular experience, they should accept all the rules and consequences of this experience.

Ditado: "Mais vale um pássaro na mão do que dois voando"

Literal Translation: Better a bird in the hand than two flying

Real Meaning: You better have something solid, than to risk and be left with nothing. Keep right instead of opting for the doubtful.

Ditado: "Deitar o cabelo"

Literal Translation: Lying Hair

Real Meaning: Running away from a situation so fast that your hair lies flat from the speed of your escape.

Ditado: "Focinho de porco não é tomada"

Literal Translation: Snout (nose) is not an (electric) outlet

Real Meaning: A situation where someone is decieved by appearances and confuses something for something else that has an entirely different purpose.

Ditado: "Fungar no cangote"

Literal Translation: Sniffing the Scruff

Real Meaning: To breathe down someone's neck.

Ditado: "Perdido no mato sem cachorro"

Literal Translation: Lost in the woods without a dog.

Real Meaning: Being lost or stuck in a situation with no exit strategy.

These are a mere sampling of the numerous idioms that I have heard, witnessed or experienced. I suspect I will learn more as I become more acquainted with the fluid nature of the Brazilian tongue. Because I have been assurred that the sampling about barely scratches the surface, on a semi-regular basis I will provide more of the same as I accumulate them and hear them used.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Lula Suffers Setback

2012-02-13T11:04:00.002-02:00

Brazil's popular former president, Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, was hospitalized on Saturday for exhaustion resulting from chemotherapy, complicating his swift recovery from throat cancer and casting doubts on when he might return to political life.

The gravelly voiced Lula, 66, had been expected to assume a greater role in the politics of Brazil's ruling party as soon as next month after doctors reported on his "extraordinary" progress in December.

Lula remains in good health, but the radiation therapy has inflamed his throat and caused "reduced appetite and fatigue," Sao Paulo's Sirio Libanes Hospital reported on Saturday.

His medical team said he would stay in the hospital for nutritional support and further testing, but there was no change to his chemotherapy program.

Lula is a former metalworker and union leader who rose from poverty to become Brazil's first working-class president. He led the country between 2003 and 2010, a period of robust economic growth in which more than 20 million Brazilians were lifted out of poverty and joined the middle class.

He left office with a sky-high approval rating of 87 percent and could play a vital role in this year's municipal elections, helping stump for candidates from his left-leaning Workers' Party, known as the PT.

But it is in the next presidential election in 2014 that could be key. Speculation has swirled that Lula could run for the presidency again if President Dilma Rousseff, his political protege, decides not to seek re-election.

Since beginning chemotherapy after his October diagnosis, Lula has lost his full beard and a head of grey hair, but held on to a salt-and-pepper mustache and kept up public appearances in a striking black fedora.

The progress of his treatments, which advanced twice as fast as doctors expected through December, have also added to his legend and stoked expectations of his political future.

Lula has done little to quiet the speculation since leaving office, founding a public policy institute, playing kingmaker in regional politics and traveling the world speaking on democracy.

Letter from Brazil: The Cachaça Diaries

2012-02-08T13:35:00.000-02:00

Admittedly, I have ripped off the moniker from Hunter S. Thompson. What the hell, he is dead so he won't care. I can't speak for his estate. And just because Johnny Depp has decided to portray Jack Kemp as the "gonzo journalist" in a recent flick with a similar name of The Rum Diary, I promise this piece not to blemish the memory of either icon - writer or movie star.

Much like the alcoholic beverage rum has its reputation from the Caribbean,
Cachaça (pronounced kuh-sha-sah) has established a 500-year-old legacy in Brazil. Although there are those who compare the two as similar, the only similarity between them is that they both originate from sugarcane.

Brazilians identify Cachaça and the caipirinha on the same level as soccer and string bikinis. Because of its unique fermentation process and its metamorphosis through time, getting good Cachaça measures similar to having a shot of good Tequila. The caipirinha relies on a mixture of lime, sugar, Cachaça and ice.

My experiences with this local treasure hasn't been too rewarding. During my very first week here, I made sure that I went to a Samba Nightclub. Down on the road that outlines the big Lagoa da Conceiçao, there use to be a Samba Club called Jinga Bar. Becasue I was an estrangeiro (a foreigner) the locals were happy to suggest the local beverage caipirinha - the mixed drink with Cachaça. How I got home, I will never know.

Then there was the time my buddy Todd decided that my birthday was a good day to teach me all the ins-and-outs of Cachaça. I went to a luncheon the next day and I could not talk. I mean, I could not emote one sound out of my mouth. One of the pretty hostesses asked, "are you always this quiet?" As all my friends doubled over in laughter, in sign language I cussed Todd, Cachaça and all things loud.

I believe that I have now assimilated to its unique taste and it does have a variety of them. But if you are new to the country and someone recommends a Cachaça cocktail, limit yourself to two the first time. That way you will safely survive and be able to write about it.

Letter from Brazil: We Have Been Reduced to Initials

2012-02-03T18:39:00.001-02:00

Do you recognize the initials UFC?

Do you recognize the initials MMA?

I can only suppose you understand these initials of WWE, WBO, WBC, et. al.

Life should be more than about initials in my humble opinion. Digging down and finding out about fight and its orgins may give you a step up toward understanding if not implementing.

Today, I rant about Brazilian capoeira. Huh ? You say.

When Africans were forced to Brazil for slavery in the 16th century, they created a dance with music to disguise their fighting practice under the watchful eyes of Portuguese and Dutch colonialists. Not to say that the overloads were dumb, but overlords usually have other things on their minds.

It was called capoeira. The Afro-Brazilian martial art form was used as a tool of hope in a hostile land in their fight for liberation. They were outnumbered and unequipped, but learned to move in ways that confounded their captors, using a fluid, acrobatic dance with low cartwheels, leg sweeps, knee and elbow swipes, handstands and takedowns. Take a close look at those octagon moves.

The practice of capoeira conditions the whole body by building strength, flexibility, balance, coordination and self-esteem.

Capoeira nowadays is not only a martial art or a small aspect of Brazilian society, but an active exporter of Brazilian culture all over the world. Since the 1970s masters of the art form began to emigrate and teach capoeira in other countries. Present in many countries in every continent, every year Capoeira attracts to Brazil thousands of foreign students and, often, foreign capoeiristas work hard to learn the official Brazilian language, Portuguese, in an effort to better understand and become part of the art.

Renowned Capoeira Masters are often invited to teach abroad or even establish their own schools. Capoeira presentations, normally theatrical, acrobatic and with little martiality, are common sights in the whole world.

I have a hard time getting out of bed so don't ever believe that I can manage any of these moves. But, it would behoove the naive to pay attention to any adversary - whether they be their employer or overlord.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: She Sure Seems Strong

2012-02-03T09:10:00.001-02:00

When Dilma Rouseff obtained the presidency of Brazil under the cloud of collusion late in 2010, I had my doubts as to her motive, backings and vision. When I initially arrived here in 2009 as a willing student to the language, I heard all the gossipy talk about "Dilma" being nothing but a mouthpiece, a technocrat and crony for the outgoing - albeit popular - former President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva. I believe she has shed any resemblance to his eight-year tenure and has distinguished herself by decidedly moving the country in some positive ways.

This week, for example, Dilma traveled to Cuba on a diplomatic/economic mission to pursue a closer relationship with the Carribean's ostrasized cousin.

She fluffed off criticisms from other countries of Cuba’s human rights record that have intruded on her first state visit to the communist island, saying a U.S. detention camp for suspected terrorists at Guantánamo Bay is also a concern. Dilma has been quick to castigate those who believe that Brazil cannot make its own decisions. I like that.

Rousseff, who was inspired by Cuba’s revolution to take up arms against Brazil’s military dictatorship in the 1960s, said that while she’ll discuss human rights in meetings with President Raul Castro and his brother Fidel, their government’s record won’t be the sole focus. All countries, including Brazil, must protect the rights of their citizens, she said.

“We’re going to begin talking about human rights in the U.S., in regard to a base here called Guantánamo,” Rousseff, referring to the U.S. detention camp, which is located on Cuba’s southeastern tip, told reporters in Havana. “It’s not possible to use human rights as a political and ideological weapon.”

Another notch in Rousseff's positive virtues include her continued mantra and actions against government corruption. This week, the eigthth minister in her cabinet went bye-bye under allegations of cronyism, self-enrichment and corruption.

Brazil's minister of cities resigned Thursday amid allegations of irregularities, the eighth member of her Cabinet to step down since June. Rousseff accepted Mario Negromonte's resignation and wished him luck in his new projects.

The Cities Ministry coordinates urban development policies in a country where more than 80 percent of the population live in cities.

Negromonte denies accusations that he awarded public work contracts to companies that had financed his party. He denies all accusations and said his resignation in no way indicated he was guilty.

Since Rousseff assumed office on Jan. 1, 2011, the ministers of cities, defense, transportation, agriculture, tourism, sports and labor have stepped down. The president's chief-of-staff, also a Cabinet member, resigned amid questions over how his personal wealth soared while he was a legislator in 2006-10.

Despite all her positive moves in the last 13 months as its commander-in-chief, she still looks bad when it comes to environment concerns. Her administration has continuously backed the Belo Monte dam project that aims to be the third largest hydroelectric producer in the world. The government has marched forward fending off lawsuits, protests and environmental concerns that will directly affect more than 50,000 indigenous people in that region. Under the guise of progress and energy demand, the Belo Monte project seems like a thorn in her side as she attempts to show the people of Brazil her strength.

She has - in short order- shown the hard nose necessary to clean things up. It would behoove her to show some compassion to Brazil's natural resources and its poor, indigenous inhabitants.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Read more here: http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/02/02/2621406/brazils-minister-of-cities-steps.html#storylink=cpy

Read more here: http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/01/31/2617968/rousseff-in-cuba-points-to-us.html#storylink=mirelated#storylink=cpy

Letter from Brazil: Getting My First Taste of Carnival

2012-02-01T11:12:00.000-02:00

With close to three years under my belt here in Brazil, I have been purposely avoiding all the hoopla that surrounds Carnival. Not that I don't want to experience all the glory of it, but I wanted to get a better understanding of the entire process and put myself in the right company in order to fully understand how it's become such a worldwide phenomena.

I have now shed that mindset of caution. This year, I have pledged full participation. The cool thing is that I now have friends born and raised here that can hand-hold me through the tough times while giving me the right advice on what to participate in and what to avoid.

For those who don't know (just released from prison or been living in a vacuum), the Carnival of Brazil is an annual festival held forty-six days before Easter. On certain days of Lent, Roman Catholics and some other Christians traditionally abstained from the consumption of meat and poultry, hence the term "carnival," from carnelevare, "to remove (literally, "raise") meat."

Carnival celebrations are believed to have roots in the pagan festival of Saturnalia, which, adapted to Christianity, became a farewell to bad things in a season of religious discipline to practice repentance and prepare for Christ's death and resurrection.

Here on my island of Florianopolis, a parade cluminates the height of the festival. Five local samba teams face off in the Samba Drome - much like the Big Daddy of Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. In this southern state of Santa Catarina - very much like all the different regions in Brazil - they implore music, dance, singing and verve to capture the feeling of fun, humanity and community.

A local dress shop owner, Marcia Ribeiro Ferreira, held a warmup event to the official Carnival festivities last night in front of her shop ComSenso. I managed to finagle my way to the front of the show. Marcia recruited representatives from the five samba schools on the Island of Magic (as Floripa is known) to model modified/stylized versions of their school's colors all while being serenaded by last year's competition winning drumline or bateria. HOLY COW! The combination of sound, dance and crowd creates its own energy.

If that is any example of my self-imposed resistance to participation in this festivities, then I need to have my head examined. Suffice it to say that Carnival is not for the meek or shy. As most of my friends know, shyness does not really reflect any component of my personality.

If this is the start of things, the next three weeks should be something to journal. I will do the best I can to capture, film and write about my experience with my first real taste of Carnival.

I attach both youtube video and its translation provided by my friend Carla. I have highlighted my favorite part. Maybe she was making fun of me.

Sung by João Gilberto.

"The samba of my land makes us soft, when it´s sung everbody swings.
The one who doesn´t like the samba, is not a good fellow,
has a bad head or has a foot sick.
I was born with samba, with samba I was raised and from the damed samba never got parted."

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available right now at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Brazil's Banks Under Hacker Attacks

2012-01-31T15:44:00.001-02:00

A group of Internet hackers says it has attacked the website of Brazil's second largest private sector bank, one day after doing the same with the country's largest private bank.

The group that calls itself "Anonymous Brasil" says on Twitter: "Attention sailors: Target hit! The http://bradesco.com.br is sinking. TANGO DOWN."

Banco Bradesco SA says in a statement that its site suffered "momentary interruptions," due to high traffic, but that it was never forced offline. However, The Associated Press was unable to access the site Tuesday.

On Monday, the group attacked the website of Itau Unibanco Banco Multiplo SA, Brazil's largest private sector bank, saying it was the first of several such attacks.

No word has been disseminated whether customer accounts have been infected, pilfered or compromised.

Letter from Brazil: The First Time

2012-01-27T19:15:00.000-02:00

Have you ever thought back about the first time that you believed that you fell in love? For me it was some 37 years ago. Of course, I didn't know squat and I was being led around by other than sensible (libido) things.

Her name was Becky Scott and God forbid she finds out. As a high school sophomore, I managed to get by pretending I knew things I knew nothing about. Persuasion has always been my business. The humorous thing about this story is that pops, or Nathaniel Hines Senior, changed the course of my love life.

Some of you may ask, "What the hell does this have to do with Brazil?", but please understand that my love life has been stunted from that early morning in 1972 and continues to this day as I attempt to repair the proximity of amore.

During that period, I was attracted to cheerleader types. I know, I know. But, as a young buck, I was also attracted to anything the slightly resembled a women. Becky fit that mold. We worked together at North's Chuck Wagon off of Mill Plain Blvd., in Vancouver, Washington.

Becky and I had managed to convey to each other - despite her advanced age of 18 - that a meeting after work would be in order. Somehow I lost track of time - despite my curfew of midnight. Unlike Cinderella, I blew threw the curfew after an excursion to Washington park and the eventual goodbye kisses that were supposed to be our parting salvos.

As Senior pounded on the roof of my Mazda Rx-2 at 3 in the morning at my work parking lot, he thundered, "Nathaniel Hines Junior!, you have five minutes to beat me home." At this point there are some that would challenge my quotient for empathy, but I had to push Becky out of the car with no clothes on. Due to my naivety, I was fully clothed mind you. But, she did not understand that my father really meant five minutes. I did have a tremendous desire to stay alive. I did leave her clothes in the lot...that says something about something.

Needles to say, our love did not last. But as the fateful evening crested, I remember being spellbound by Roberta Flack's rendition on James Taylor.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: The Cat

2012-01-25T18:31:00.000-02:00

I have always considered myself a dog person. I don't have any real animosity toward cats as pets, but throughout my entire life dogs have been my pets. My favorite dog was Tiger...sorry El Tigre.

Considering that history, I believe a change may be occurring here in Brazil. I would not call my newest friend a pet, but the Cat seems to have taken to me and the environment around my humble apartment here in Lagoa da Conceicao.

I'm not sure that people would describe me as all warm and fuzzy. So I have no idea why this Cat has decided to team up but the he or she continues to voice its opinion regularly. Somehow this Cat manages to enter my abode through some nefarious means. While I think the place is shut down, here it comes - meowing its head off. I can't shed the feeling that the Cat secretly wants to kill me.

For the first few weeks, it would not let me get near it. I did notice however that as the days melted away so did the distance between us. The Cat is still hesitant to give the all out rub down approval, but a couple of Friskies treats collapsed considerable distance between us.

I haven't given the intruder a name yet, but I am considering calling The Cat Cali. It's a calico and looks quite fragile. It seems to keep its coat clean and I can't detect any noxious odors yet so that has not been an issue. One of the biggest issues is whether I speak to the cat in my native tongue or in Brazilian Portuguese - or my rendition of it.

We'll see how this situation works out. But it is nice to have a friendly mug greet me whenever I return home. I still can't get over the feeling that Cali secretly wants to kill me.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: I am a Monkey

2012-01-23T18:23:00.000-02:00

Now before you get all politically correct on me, hear me out. Today is the Chinese New Year - The Year of the Dragon.

Most of the world believes I will have a very prosperous year (counting the population of China). With that in mind, I have a tendency to believe in Feng Shui, the Chinese art of balancing yin and yang to create harmonious surroundings.

According to one of their masters, certain years possess traits that reward those born during that year - rewards beyond their imagination. This is my year babe.

Chen Shuaifu, the 59-year-old chairman of the Chinese Feng Shui Association, predicts that this will be a prosperous year for those born in the year of the Dragon (those born in 1940, ’64, ’88,’ ’12), Rat (’36, 60,’84,’08), Monkey (’32, ’56, ’80, ’04) and Rooster (’33, ’57, ’81, ’05). Of these zodiac animals, those born in the year of the Rat are poised to have particularly good luck in 2012.

That being said is enough for me. I can just sit back and wait until my piece of the pie arrives.

Be warned though, Chen goes on to say that those born in the year of the Dog (’34, ’58, ’82, ’06) seem poised for a bad 2012 and Chen strongly urged Dogs to postpone major life decisions like weddings until next year when their luck should improve. Even without the Chinese designation, I know some dogs. Whatever choices Dogs of the world make in 2012, Chen especially urges them to think twice about marrying a Dragon this year.

With this wonderful discovery and the advent of the Chinese New Year today, we hear in Brazil say Feliz Ano Novo! Esse e' o ano do Dragon.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: We Just Lost a Good One

2012-01-22T12:09:00.003-02:00

The world took a collective hit earlier this week as a form of cancer claimed the life of Etta James. James belted out earthy blues as a distinguished member of the Rhythm and Blues genre. One of her signature songs made you believe that she would rather go blind than see her love leave. She passed at the age of 73.

She was adored by rock's elite, including the Rolling Stones, who drafted her as an opening act on their 1978 U.S. tour, and voters at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, who inducted her in 1993.

She is best known for "At Last," the powerhouse ballad that became a hit in 1961 and which has been enshrined in the Grammy Hall of Fame. Bending and stretching the notes of the bluesy melody to reflect the hard-won realization of a lifelong desire, and channeling a sense of joy that sounded as though the gates of heaven had just opened to welcome her in, James sang: "At last, my love has come along/My lonely days are over/My life is like a song."

When President Obama and his wife Michelle celebrated his inauguration in 2008, Beyonce sang James' song at one of the post election parties. It couldn't have been more fitting for the moment.

James, the child of a single teenage mother growing up in South Los Angeles during World War II, grew up believing that her father was none other than the pool shark Minnesota Fats. With her blond curls and light complexion, she stood out in the African American community, and she started to make a mark singing in the choir of St. Paul Baptist Church. The church's music minister, a prominent figure in gospel circles known as Professor James Earle Hines, quickly singled her out for solos when she was just 5 or 6, said David Ritz, who collaborated on her 1995 autobiography "Rage to Survive."

This week though, we lost her. We lost a good one.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.

Letter from Brazil: The Greek Influence

2012-01-19T10:56:00.000-02:00

I didn't realize until just now that I have been influenced throughout my life by the Greeks. It continues until today. Some may jump to the conclusion that I am making reference to difficult economic times that haunt the Isles, but I am not. I am speaking purely about music and the late, great Johnny Otis.

Johnny Otis, who is white, grew up in a predominantly black neighborhood and had a deep connection to black culture. He discovered Etta James and Little Richard. Born white, the son of Greek immigrant parents, and raised in a predominantly black neighborhood in Northern California in the 1920s, Otis decided as a youth that he'd rather be black (you gotta love that).

The choice put him on a path to a life in music during which he created the sensually pulsing 1958 hit "Willie and the Hand Jive." It also gave him a deep connection to black culture that helped him discover such future stars of R&B and rock as Etta James, Little Richard, Jackie Wilson, Hank Ballard and Little Esther Phillips.

Otis died Tuesday in the Los Angeles area, where he had lived for much of his life, said Tom Reed, a black-music historian. Otis was 90.

Inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994, Otis continued leading a big band R&B, jazz, soul, gospel and roots-rock revue in recent years, literally and figuratively beating the drum for the music that fired his imagination.

He was born John Veliotes on Dec. 28, 1921, in Vallejo, northeast of San Francisco, and was raised in Berkeley, where his father ran a grocery store in a largely black community.

"When I got near teen age, I was so happy with my friends and the African American culture that I couldn't imagine not being part of it," Otis told the San Diego Union-Tribune in 1991.

He started playing drums with big bands and jazz combos, and in his early 20s came to L.A. to join Harlan Leonard's Kansas City Rockers, the house band at Club Alabam on the thriving Central Avenue jazz-blues-R&B club scene.

"Man, you could go into one club and there'd be [jazz saxophone giant] Lester Young jamming, go into another and you'd find T Bone [Walker, the Texas blues guitarist and singer], and down the street Miles [Davis] would be blowing," Otis said in 1979. "Yeah, L.A. was happening."

I know I grew listening to his stuff and its impact still gives me a great feeling. I think its the Greek part that I like the best.

Note: I have assembled a collection of my thoughts and experiences in Volume 1 of Letters from Brazil. They are available at Amazon.com - for cheap, cheap, cheap.