It's a long way home

On Thursday morning I pack up my room and check out of the hotel.

Enéias collects me, and his mother cooks lunch for us.  Airport food is not very good, she says, and she's right.   We eat a substantial meal - chicken, steak, vegetables, and of course, cake.

Junior arrives - he's coming to the airport with us.  Enéias drives us to Navegantes, the airport town nearest to Jaraguá.  It's about an hour's drive.  The boys come into the airport with me.  I had expected to farewell them at the check-in desk, but they are such gentlemen, they wait with me until it's time for me to pass through the gates into the departure area.  They each embrace me for the last time.  For me it's a hard farewell to make - who knows when I'll see them again?

My flight from Navegantes to São Paolo is delayed for an hour, but fortunately there is plenty of time before my international flight to Adelaide via Dubai, and I'm able to make my connection.

I get onto the plane in São Paolo and settle into my seat.

It's a long way home to Australia.  The interminable flight gives me a lot of time to think.

A little over three years ago I set myself the somewhat audacious goal of performing my favourite Brazilian music in its birthplace of Rio de Janeiro.  I was just a hobby singer, having taken up singing in middle age.  I had never been to Brazil, didn't know anyone there, and didn't speak the language.  I had no idea how I would do it, or what form the show might take.

I achieved my dream.  In Rio I sang at a historic venue, on the same stage where my music idols had performed, and was accompanied by wonderful Brazilian musicians.

In addition, I gained so much else along the way.

Step 1 was "Learn to sing better", and I did.

I learned and performed lots of new songs, including some brand new, original compositions.

I learned to speak Portuguese, and discovered the Brazilian community in my city.

I performed with excellent musicians in Australia and in Brazil.

I visited other parts of Brazil as well as Rio.

I met the famous Brazilian composer, Marcos Valle.

I have made some very dear friends in Brazil.

All of this has lasting value, and has enriched my life immensely.

This is the end of my blog, but it's not The End.  I am sure that Enéias and I will continue our musical collaboration.  He has written some new songs for me to translate, and our plan is to record a CD.

So.  That was our Concert in Rio.

I wonder where our next one will be?

The end is nigh

Wednesday.  It's raining in Jaraguá do Sul, Brazil.

My voice is wrecked.

Enéias' internet is broken.

It all seems to be a portent of things coming to an end.

Things are coming to an end.  Tomorrow I'm flying home to Australia.

In Enéias' apartment, we record our new song in English, "I Dreamed".  Then we do a bit of jamming, playing some Bossa Nova classics.

We have our last lunch at the local restaurant.

Then we drive to Samuca's big house on the hill, where we collect the video of our show in Jaraguá.  Enéias also wants him to record a video of our new song.  Samuca undertakes an elaborate set-up, with lights, umbrellas and expensive professional  equipment.  Then he films us with a hand-held camera, moving it around to give the effect of an amateur movie made with a cheap mobile phone.

I guess this effect will appeal to some people - probably people younger than me.

We are happy with our first "take", so we decide to leave it there.  I really don't have much voice left at all.

On the way back, we stop off at a bakery, and have coffee and cake.  Later I find a street market where I buy some gifts to take home.

That evening, there is a small farewell gathering for me in a local pub.  It's very enjoyable to catch up with these friends.

But I'm exhausted and thinking of home, and that's the way it should be, on this final night in Brazil.

Yes! We have bananas!

Despite the vocal problems I'm having, I am enjoying this restful time in Brazil.  It's nice to sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast and then relax with friends and make music.

On Tuesday, we move on to another song that Enéias has written.  Again, he wants English lyrics.  I'm starting from scratch with this song.  A literal translation won't be any good - the equivalent English words have very different sounds, and the ideas need to be expressed in a different way.

The song in Portuguese is called "Amei" (pronounced "Armay" - "I Loved"), and that word creates a motif that is repeated throughout the song.  Straight away, I can see that we need a different one in English.  We need a sound that can be sung on a long note.  We decide to substitute "I Dreamed".  OK, we're onto something.  I begin to ask myself - what things might you dream about if you were keen on someone?  A couple of phrases come into my head and I jot them down.

By lunchtime we still haven't got very far.  Enéias suggests I go and rest at the hotel while he is busy doing a few things.  I lie down in my room for about twenty minutes.  The song is floating around in my head.  Suddenly, lyrics start to form.  I sit up and grab my notebook.  Quick - write down the ideas, before they evaporate!

Two hours later I return to the apartment.  "We have a song!" I declare, triumphantly.

It's true - we have a song.  Funny how creativity works better when your mind is relaxed and you're not rushing around like a crazy person.

Enéias' Mum has been bringing us cakes as a late afternoon snack.  Her cakes are sweet and sticky - and very delicious.  Each day, she brings us two different ones.

I'm slightly concerned about consuming all these calories.  But I can't not try the cakes, and I guess there will be plenty of time to diet later.  When I get home.  After Christmas.  Or New Year.  Maybe.

That night, I travel to the nearby town of Corupá.  I've agreed to visit an English language school there, to give the students some conversation practice.  Enéias' mother drives me there.  We're a bit late, but it doesn't seem to matter - they are pleased that I've arrived, and lead me into a classroom where about a dozen students are seated.

The students are aged from about eighteen to thirty.  The teachers encourage them to ask me questions.  They want to know a lot of different things:

"How many people live in Australia?"
"What is the climate like there?"
"Is there corruption in Australia?"
"Are things in Australia cheaper or more expensive than in Brazil?"

The teachers themselves speak excellent English, and from time to time they correct the students' expression and pronunciation.  Sometimes I am able to explain a concept in Portuguese.

I would have liked to be a language teacher - if it didn't mean teaching in high schools - which it did, so therefore I am not one.  But I enjoy working with language, and to witness these students grappling with my own language is fascinating.  We share our opinions about what makes each language challenging.

At the end of the class, I give each student a tiny toy koala.  They also present me with a gift - a basket of banana products.  There are banana chips (salted, not sweet like we have in Australia), whole dried bananas and chocolate-coated bananas.

Well, I guess there will be plenty of time to diet.  Later.

Words and music

All our shows are now done.  I've got four more days in Brazil.

We have planned to record a CD of Enéias' original songs.  There are just two minor problems:
1. I haven't got much voice left, and
2. The songs aren't finished yet.

But I guess we can try a few things.

Enéias has some recording equipment in his apartment, so we are not paying for studio time.  We record a song that we performed.  After a few "takes" we listen back to the recording.  I am not happy at all with the sound of it.  My voice doesn't stand up to the scrutiny of a studio microphone.  It sounds very rough around the edges.  The bronchitis is taking its toll.

I guess I would have sounded OK yesterday in the cafe, amongst the sounds of conversation and grinding of coffee beans.  But now my voice is more velcro than velvet.

What are we going to do?

We move onto one of Enéias' songs.  I've already translated it into English and sent him a copy, but he's not sure it will fit with the music.  I think it will, because I've spent a lot of time trying to get it right.  He plays his guitar and I sing my English lyrics.  We reach the end of the song.  "Yes!" he exclaims, putting down his guitar.  He comes over to where I'm sitting, takes my hand in both of his and kisses it.  "Yes!"  He's happy with my translation.

I'm happy that he's happy.

Enéias has to do some teaching, and Mara invites me to a theatre production which is playing at lunchtime.  It is a tragi-comedy called "Maria the Washer-woman" and is played entirely by a man.  It's a commentary about domestic violence.  The piece is based on original research and was written by Mara's husband.  There's a good audience, and they respond appreciatively.  It's both entertaining and sad - I can follow it to some extent, though I need Mara to explain the ending to me.

In the afternoon we try recording the song with English lyrics.  Enéias says my vocal will be a "guide" recording only, and I can record over it again in Australia.

That's just as well, because right now my voice doesn't sound good at all.

Speaking in tongues

I've never eaten as many cakes as on this trip to Brazil.  Here, it seems, it is quite normal to eat cakes for breakfast.  And they are very sweet and sticky cakes - chocolate cake with chocolate icing is a staple breakfast food.

After my Sunday breakfast of fruit and cakes, I go for a little stroll, and then it's time for lunch.  

We have lunch at the shopping mall where we will be performing in the afternoon.  

Then we make our way to Bliss cafe, and Enéias sets up his equipment.  

Again we have a two-hour session.  The coffee shop is open to the surrounding mall, so we play to the cafe patrons and to the passers-by.  

My voice is holding up reasonably well.  Our friend Rubens arrives and takes a turn at singing, and I take a break.

Some members of Enéias' family are in the cafe.  A little niece has her birthday today, and we sing Happy Birthday to her.

At another table there is a group which includes an elderly lady in a wheelchair.  A couple of people from that table come over and tell us that she has enjoyed our show.  She only speaks, German, they say.

I have been aware that our town is near an area where a large number of German people settled.  I've heard that some of them refused to learn Portuguese, and steadfastly continue to speak German.  Now I am going to meet one of them.

I do actually speak German.  That is, I can speak German when I'm in a German speaking country, have attuned my ear to the language and the local dialect, brought my German vocabulary to the front of my mind, and trained my mouth and facial muscles in the German way of speaking.  Now, here in the middle of southern Brazil, I try to make the switch from Portuguese to German.  I wrack my brain to think of things to say to this lady.  It doesn't come out as well as I would like, but she's happy and surprised that I've made the effort.

That night, in my hotel room, I search the TV channels to find the Brazilian program I've been watching all this week.  Yes, there it is - Vai Que Cola - on the "Multi-show" channel.  

I'm not sure why I like this show.  I'm not sure what the title means.  I can understand some of the dialogue, although I can't actually follow the plot.  But this show has numerous other elements, and maybe that's why it's got me hooked.  It's a melodramatic comedy, very over-acted, with brightly coloured sets and costumes.  It almost has the look of a children's program, but it's for grown-ups.  It is played to a live audience, and the actors play overtly to the audience.  The audience is part of the show.  When a character comes out on stage they cheer and applaud enthusiastically.  The camera pans across to show the delight on their faces.  And there is also music, which adds energy to the mix.  Sometimes there is a scene change, where the stage rotates to reveal a different set.

I think it's the physical and visual comedy that makes it so addictive.  It's not hard to recognise flirting or sexual rivalry.  It keeps me watching, and while I'm watching I'm also listening to the language.

I watch until I'm nearly falling asleep.  Now, where's the remote?

Open rehearsal

This year, we've reversed the order of our shows.

Last year, we did some "practice" shows before our main concert.

This year, we've done our two big shows first, and now we only have the two small ones left.

On Saturday morning, we head for the Angeloni shopping centre, where we will once again perform in the food court.  It's a two-hour event - one that Enéias describes as an "open rehearsal".

The pressure is off.  I feel happy, tranquil, relaxed.  People are having coffee and early lunch.

Despite my ongoing battle with bronchitis, singing feels easy this morning.  We improvise and play around with the music.  I feel confident to lead, and to enter assertively.  My voice is working pretty well today.

When we've finished, we have lunch in the food court with some members of Enéias' family.

In the afternoon I have free time.  I walk from my hotel to the other shopping mall, where I  know there is an excellent chocolate shop.  I buy some blocks of chocolate to take home, then I have a coffee at Bliss cafe, where we will be performing tomorrow.  I want to get the feel of the place before I sing there.

For dinner, we go to a restaurant called Leon Gourmet.  Marlí and I have hamburgers while Enéias and our friend Rubens entertain the diners.  They get me up to sing a couple of songs, and then I happily return to my seat to enjoy the amusing show.

The Deadly Caipirinha

Our show on Friday night is in the nearby town of Itajaí.

In the morning, Enéias and I rehearse in his apartment. Not too much, as I need to save my voice for tonight.

Mara drives us to Itajaí, a journey of about an hour and a half.  I let her and Enéias chat in the front, while I take in the vistas of lush green rice fields and banana plantations.  The landscape is dotted with charming little churches.

After a bit of searching, by car and on foot, we find the concert venue.  It's at an Arts Academy, in a beautiful, historic building near the harbour.  The organisers welcome us, and then they show us around the performance space.

We will be performing tonight with a guest guitarist from this town.  Josias arrives and we rehearse a little with him.  He is an amiable young man and his guitar has a different sound to Enéias', so they complement each other very well.

This is our last formal performance, and I resolve to give it everything I've got.

The place has the feel of a large lounge room.  So I pretend I'm in my lounge room - the "sing as if no one is listening" principle.  It's a bit difficult as the audience is in full view, but I try not to let that put me off.

When we come to our final song, "The Girl From Ipanema", the audience joins in and sings along.  Which is good, because I haven't got very much voice left.

Afterwards, some of the audience members stay and chat, and a group of them invites us to join them for a late dinner at a a popular place which used to be an old market.

We set off in separate cars.  I go with Mara and her husband Leone.  We drive around looking for a park - it's obviously a popular spot on this Friday night.  Eventually we arrive at the historic market.  The place is packed, and it's noisy.  There is not a spare table to be seen.  It's picturesque, and I'm sure it would be fun if you were eating and drinking there, but to us, looking in, it looks like bedlam.  The others are nowhere to be found.

Eventually we drive off and find a row of waterside restaurants.  We sit down and order meals.  Mara and I share a caipirinha cocktail.  I take a sip - it's delicious but very strong.  I cast around for things to talk about, but I'm really, really tired.  I wish I could make better conversation, but I'm wilting, fast.

On the journey back to Jaraguá, Mara and Leone share the driving while I sleep in the back seat.

The deadly caipirinha has finished me off.