In the days before his trip to Australia, I send some final messages to Eneias via Facebook. I tell him about the interviews that I am doing to promote the show. I tell him that we have been invited to perform in the Mall on the opening day of the festival.
I want to assure him that this visit is real, that it's not some hoax.
I want to make sure he gets on the plane.
I tell him that he will be tired when he arrives, and that on the first day he can relax. He replies that he will arrive fresh and alert and ready to rehearse.
Somehow, I don't think so.
We exchange mobile phone numbers and I try to send him a message. It doesn't reach him. I phone Telstra to find out the correct configuration of numbers, and try again. Still he doesn't receive it.
How will we establish mobile contact? What if he runs into trouble during the flight?
I suggest he install Skype on his mobile, and I do the same. We message each other - hooray!
I wish him bon voyage, and that's it for the next couple of days.
I keep checking my phone - Messages, Facebook and Skype, in case there is a message from him. But there is nothing.
The night before he is due to arrive, I go to La Boheme's jazz night. I drink two glasses of wine and let the music pulsate through me, in order to avoid catastrophizing.
I post on Facebook that I am trying to stay calm. Several people respond, including one of Eneias' friends in Brazil. He is concerned for me. He advises me to chant, and sends me a link to some information about how to do it.
I go home and take a sleeping pill.
Next day, I finish my work at the office, then visit the hotel, to see where I will park the car and where the bar/restaurant is.
I make a big sign with his name on it so I can hold it up at the airport.
In the remaining couple of hours, I go to a class at the gym. The exercise feels wonderful, but when it comes time for the relaxation segment I pack up my mat and leave. I don't want to be late to the airport, and there is no point trying to meditate.
I get the the airport at 8.30 pm. The flight is due at 8.50. The Arrivals board says it's running 15 minutes late.
I sit down and look around me. There is a Hudson's coffee shop. I don't think they offer gin and tonic.
After 45 minutes, the first people start to emerge through the sliding door in the International Arrivals area. Business class passengers, flight crew, sporadic arrivals. I am not expecting him to be amongst the first. Brazilian passports are not of the type to get priority.
And he has to go through Immigration.
Immigration. He will show his visa. Will it work? You cannot get into Australia without the correct papers. Will he be detained and deported?
I stand there holding up my sign, listening for a phone message.
I am half-expecting a diplomatic incident to occur.
Larger groups start to arrive, and there are whoops of joy as the welcomers are reunited with their family and friends.
Finally, just after 10 pm, he emerges with his luggage. I recognise him straight away. I am overcome with emotion. I shake his hand and say in Portuguese "Welcome to Australia". He gives me a big smile and says in English "Thank you for the invitation."
In that moment I know that everything is going to be all right.
We make our way to the car park. He tries to get into the driver's seat and we laugh about his mistake.
As I drive towards the city, there is a big goonish grin on my face. I can hardly believe that this plan has succeeded. The novelty of something going right for a change feels very overwhelming.
Along the way, I point out The Promethean theatre where we will be performing. Then we reach La Boheme. The place is open, there is a band playing, and there is a carpark right outside. I know that I should take him straight to the hotel, but I just can't resist stopping and taking him inside. There are some regulars there and I introduce him to them. I observe the charming way he engages with these people.
We are going to have a great week and it will be a good show.
We go to the hotel.
I help him to check in, and tell him to sleep for twelve hours.
I want to assure him that this visit is real, that it's not some hoax.
I want to make sure he gets on the plane.
I tell him that he will be tired when he arrives, and that on the first day he can relax. He replies that he will arrive fresh and alert and ready to rehearse.
Somehow, I don't think so.
We exchange mobile phone numbers and I try to send him a message. It doesn't reach him. I phone Telstra to find out the correct configuration of numbers, and try again. Still he doesn't receive it.
How will we establish mobile contact? What if he runs into trouble during the flight?
I suggest he install Skype on his mobile, and I do the same. We message each other - hooray!
I wish him bon voyage, and that's it for the next couple of days.
I keep checking my phone - Messages, Facebook and Skype, in case there is a message from him. But there is nothing.
The night before he is due to arrive, I go to La Boheme's jazz night. I drink two glasses of wine and let the music pulsate through me, in order to avoid catastrophizing.
I post on Facebook that I am trying to stay calm. Several people respond, including one of Eneias' friends in Brazil. He is concerned for me. He advises me to chant, and sends me a link to some information about how to do it.
I go home and take a sleeping pill.
Next day, I finish my work at the office, then visit the hotel, to see where I will park the car and where the bar/restaurant is.
I make a big sign with his name on it so I can hold it up at the airport.
In the remaining couple of hours, I go to a class at the gym. The exercise feels wonderful, but when it comes time for the relaxation segment I pack up my mat and leave. I don't want to be late to the airport, and there is no point trying to meditate.
I get the the airport at 8.30 pm. The flight is due at 8.50. The Arrivals board says it's running 15 minutes late.
I sit down and look around me. There is a Hudson's coffee shop. I don't think they offer gin and tonic.
After 45 minutes, the first people start to emerge through the sliding door in the International Arrivals area. Business class passengers, flight crew, sporadic arrivals. I am not expecting him to be amongst the first. Brazilian passports are not of the type to get priority.
And he has to go through Immigration.
Immigration. He will show his visa. Will it work? You cannot get into Australia without the correct papers. Will he be detained and deported?
I stand there holding up my sign, listening for a phone message.
I am half-expecting a diplomatic incident to occur.
Larger groups start to arrive, and there are whoops of joy as the welcomers are reunited with their family and friends.
Finally, just after 10 pm, he emerges with his luggage. I recognise him straight away. I am overcome with emotion. I shake his hand and say in Portuguese "Welcome to Australia". He gives me a big smile and says in English "Thank you for the invitation."
In that moment I know that everything is going to be all right.
We make our way to the car park. He tries to get into the driver's seat and we laugh about his mistake.
As I drive towards the city, there is a big goonish grin on my face. I can hardly believe that this plan has succeeded. The novelty of something going right for a change feels very overwhelming.
Along the way, I point out The Promethean theatre where we will be performing. Then we reach La Boheme. The place is open, there is a band playing, and there is a carpark right outside. I know that I should take him straight to the hotel, but I just can't resist stopping and taking him inside. There are some regulars there and I introduce him to them. I observe the charming way he engages with these people.
We are going to have a great week and it will be a good show.
We go to the hotel.
I help him to check in, and tell him to sleep for twelve hours.
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