Bicho´s and Bean Burgars
Trail Blazing
We just came back from a very very long trailblazing session-each of the 6 of us taking turns wielding the machete and me the only girl. It was fairly intense work and the sun was quite hot-my legs are a mess of scratches and bites-they almost look ridiculous but that´s what happens when you don´t wear pants as you trail blaze..
People tell you when you come-wear pants when you walk on the trails-cuidado para cobra (insert snaking hand movement and wide eyes) snakes-cobras- we saw one -was from a distance. It wasn´t venomous..this one
Menos linda-less lovely and unlike the one we saw behind our bathroom just the other day-curled up and enjoying the sun as much as we. Unfortunately because its so venomous-Jacaraca it´s called-and so close to where we sleep we had to kill it. It was actually quite lovely to look at-before its head was crumpled by a old Italian man with bright eyes and a small stick. Much like the bicho´s (a word for little animals or insects) I had to kill today in the viveiro-using my fingertips to end the little slug-like yellow insect´s life-not really my style and an interesting excerise in practicality.
´YOU´RE A WANKER NUMBER NINE´-the feminine call to arms from a film that was sweet enough to remember-rang in my hands as I squished and squished and realized some ideals are just luxuries for people in different parts of the world-like being vegetarian and choosing not to kill things-not always possible for people. (´And for me?´ I wonder) Desculpe-I´m sorry-I said when my fingers were covered in yellow mass that used to be life-life that was eating away at life that was planted-life I was trying to give a chance. Ridiculous I think-and think again-desculpe.
So I left the viveiro this morning-for a parar para pouco café-ou pequeno pare para cafezinho-little coffee break-with tender fingertips still covered in yellow mess (tender fingertips that I keep bringing back to the source-to the foreign frets and cutting strings of the violon-the guitar- back to the source-too much like the moths and bischos that throw themselves on your lanterna-flashlight-and fly wickedly about and make you wonder if the light gets them drunk-But it´s different of course-because learning the guitar doesn´t make me drunk-only slightly happy in that way that it´s one more thing that will concrete this whole experience inside my body-which is much lighter than it´s been in years-my fingertips will remember Iracambi...will remember these nights where I eat too much and too little depending on the day...).
Tonight I ate too much-in part because I made dinner again-but God it was strange. We have around 25 people here right now, and 4 of cooking instead of three. I made bean burgars which tasted fine and healthy and which fell apart during the frying process. They came out looking like little balls of red messiness. Mashed beans, batatas-potatoes, sauteed cebola-onion, alho-garlic and gengibre-ginger-farinha-flour and because we ran out of eggs-flax seed which was soaked in água quente-hot water and then mixed. My first ever bean burgars.
The German made a type of mashed potatoes-batatas-and Bob Marley´s newphew-the one from Rio-made deep fried zuchiini, and David from the USA made two pots of rice and a carrot salad-which if you can believe it-went over as poorly as my carrot soup. It took too long, and people arrived before we ´banged the pot´a ritual where we let people know the meal´s done by hitting a spoon around a pot in a rythmic way. My skirt play about my calves as I swayed and bobbed and hit the pot-and they all teased me because someone was playing Indian music and I was being cheeky. They played chess-and teased us a bit more about our Brasilian cooking film we put on for them-a show of brincadeira-jokes and calls of names -ooh la la-Filipe-ooh la la Michelita-ooh la la- Alamao-you see I´m sure.
I don´t have a roommate anymore-I had one for one day-and then she decided (because of the slightly crazy festas that happen at Centro) to move to a quieter house. So I won´t have a roommate for Feb.-Portuguese or English..which is too bad in small ways and better in bigger ways.. I do get a room to myself-which is a bit of a luxury at Centro.
My work in the viveiro continues and is really very relaxing and very healing-despites times where I have to kill things-as I weed or kill bicho´s. The evenings always seem to get full though....
We just came back from a very very long trailblazing session-each of the 6 of us taking turns wielding the machete and me the only girl. It was fairly intense work and the sun was quite hot-my legs are a mess of scratches and bites-they almost look ridiculous but that´s what happens when you don´t wear pants as you trail blaze..
People tell you when you come-wear pants when you walk on the trails-cuidado para cobra (insert snaking hand movement and wide eyes) snakes-cobras- we saw one -was from a distance. It wasn´t venomous..this one
Menos linda-less lovely and unlike the one we saw behind our bathroom just the other day-curled up and enjoying the sun as much as we. Unfortunately because its so venomous-Jacaraca it´s called-and so close to where we sleep we had to kill it. It was actually quite lovely to look at-before its head was crumpled by a old Italian man with bright eyes and a small stick. Much like the bicho´s (a word for little animals or insects) I had to kill today in the viveiro-using my fingertips to end the little slug-like yellow insect´s life-not really my style and an interesting excerise in practicality.
´YOU´RE A WANKER NUMBER NINE´-the feminine call to arms from a film that was sweet enough to remember-rang in my hands as I squished and squished and realized some ideals are just luxuries for people in different parts of the world-like being vegetarian and choosing not to kill things-not always possible for people. (´And for me?´ I wonder) Desculpe-I´m sorry-I said when my fingers were covered in yellow mass that used to be life-life that was eating away at life that was planted-life I was trying to give a chance. Ridiculous I think-and think again-desculpe.
So I left the viveiro this morning-for a parar para pouco café-ou pequeno pare para cafezinho-little coffee break-with tender fingertips still covered in yellow mess (tender fingertips that I keep bringing back to the source-to the foreign frets and cutting strings of the violon-the guitar- back to the source-too much like the moths and bischos that throw themselves on your lanterna-flashlight-and fly wickedly about and make you wonder if the light gets them drunk-But it´s different of course-because learning the guitar doesn´t make me drunk-only slightly happy in that way that it´s one more thing that will concrete this whole experience inside my body-which is much lighter than it´s been in years-my fingertips will remember Iracambi...will remember these nights where I eat too much and too little depending on the day...).
Tonight I ate too much-in part because I made dinner again-but God it was strange. We have around 25 people here right now, and 4 of cooking instead of three. I made bean burgars which tasted fine and healthy and which fell apart during the frying process. They came out looking like little balls of red messiness. Mashed beans, batatas-potatoes, sauteed cebola-onion, alho-garlic and gengibre-ginger-farinha-flour and because we ran out of eggs-flax seed which was soaked in água quente-hot water and then mixed. My first ever bean burgars.
The German made a type of mashed potatoes-batatas-and Bob Marley´s newphew-the one from Rio-made deep fried zuchiini, and David from the USA made two pots of rice and a carrot salad-which if you can believe it-went over as poorly as my carrot soup. It took too long, and people arrived before we ´banged the pot´a ritual where we let people know the meal´s done by hitting a spoon around a pot in a rythmic way. My skirt play about my calves as I swayed and bobbed and hit the pot-and they all teased me because someone was playing Indian music and I was being cheeky. They played chess-and teased us a bit more about our Brasilian cooking film we put on for them-a show of brincadeira-jokes and calls of names -ooh la la-Filipe-ooh la la Michelita-ooh la la- Alamao-you see I´m sure.
I don´t have a roommate anymore-I had one for one day-and then she decided (because of the slightly crazy festas that happen at Centro) to move to a quieter house. So I won´t have a roommate for Feb.-Portuguese or English..which is too bad in small ways and better in bigger ways.. I do get a room to myself-which is a bit of a luxury at Centro.
My work in the viveiro continues and is really very relaxing and very healing-despites times where I have to kill things-as I weed or kill bicho´s. The evenings always seem to get full though....
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