Warming up

After a few days of rehearsal, our first performance is in the food court of a shopping mall. Enéias describes this as an "open rehearsal".

He says that if I need to stop and start again, it's OK - it's a rehearsal in public.  But that doesn't really feel right to me, and I resolve to treat it as a performance.

Before the show we meet the Centre Manager, and from our conversation it seems that she's expecting a performance.

We set ourselves up on the large stage.  There are a few people seated at tables in the large open space.  No one has cone to listen to the music. It's lunch time, and they are here to eat.

But this is a great opportunity for us to warm up and get used to working together again.

I have been struggling with a cold and a chesty cough, and I do my best to stay in control and not collapse in spasms of coughing.  I've been using everything at my disposal - cold pills, nose drops and a nasal spray. But my airway is gurgling and I've been coughing harshly, which is not good for the voice.

Enéias introduces the show, and I try to relax and just let it happen. My voice comes out surprisingly well. I've been taught how to take quiet breaths, down low,  instead of shallow chest breathing that can irritate the airways. I manage to hold it together for the duration of the performance.

Family and friends arrive to support us.  Some of the diners also applaud, which is an unexpected bonus.

In the afternoon we do some impromptu performances, at the GATS theatre and at the advertising agency run by Enéias' brother.  By the end of the afternoon I'm feeling tired fand sounding hoarse. My husband urges me to rest my voice and insists that we go back to the hotel.

Our next performance is on the following morning.  When I awake, I'm relieved to find that my voice is no worse than yesterday. It seems to have recovered reasonably well during the hours of sleep.

It's an open-air performance, in a large square outside the museum. Market stalls are being set up.  For this show, we are joined by a young percussionist, Jean.  We draw a good crowd - forty or fifty people stand around to listen.  I recognize some of the faces. The audience is attentive and applauds enthusiastically.

I recall what the journalist said about Bossa not being relevant these days.  So I decide to sing out and be animated, like an outdoor rock concert. It has to be lively and I think we hit the mark. Eneias tells the audience that I used to sing rock 'n' roll (which he pronounces "hoknholl").

During this performance I feel very relaxed.  I feel "in" the songs. The singing seems easy, and even though I'm sick, I have plenty of breath control.  I've discovered the secret of life.

At the end of the show Eneias brings his friend Rubens onto the stage to join us for an improvised rendition of "The Girl from Ipanema".  We have not rehearsed this, and it's a bit of a mess, but never mind.

I am invited to sign the Civic visitor book.  Lots of people want to meet me and my husband, including Carol, a funkily dressed young English teacher.  She wonders if we could attend an English language meeting at the end of next week. Unfortunately we will be gone by then.

In the afternoon I duck into the pharmacy and inquire if they have a steamer.  Steam is meant to be the best thing for the voice.  I can't make any steam in the hotel because I don't have a kettle.  The shower is good, but I can't stay there all day.  Yes, they do have a steamer.  I carry the big box back to the hotel and set up the machine.  When I plug it in, steam immediately appears - it's a cool-steam vaporizer, but I guess it's better than nothing.

This is good progress.  I can use this machine several times a day, and even take it to the theatre to use before I go on stage.