Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro: 23oC, cloudy, rainy and shitty.
It is Easter Sunday, it is cold and rainy, and I woke up in half-dead mode. Yesterday, I had a drink, two glasses of wine in a pizzeria near where I live and a bottle of wine at home, half the bottle in the early afternoon and the other half when I arrived home after my walk.
It is clear that drinking is not for me anymore. I do not know whether it is because I am getting old, now fifty-six, or the fact that I have lost the habit of drinking. Because both my body and mind are not used to either the side effects whilst drinking or the sequelae of the next day, or is it because I have been drinking since my late teens, so now probably my kidneys and liver are permanently shot? Only now have I noticed the effects.
I am sure that I do not miss drinking beer. Even when I pass by two people enjoying a cold beer on a sweltering day in Rio, I do not feel tempted to drink one. However, when it comes to wine, it is different. I enjoy wine and appreciate the culture surrounding it, such as the diverse types, pairings, acidity levels, and so on; nevertheless, I am starting to drink less and less wine as well.
It is good; I can go through a whole weekend without drinking a glass or bottle of wine. The weekdays are easy, as drinking does not really enter my routine. The question is the weekend, and if it is cold, it is the most potent excuse to open a bottle, but as I said before, it is becoming less and less of a problem for me. If you do not miss something like you did in the past, then that something is unimportant, or you no longer need it.
So, I slowly got up and dressed for working out. I slowly prepared my small rucksack and left my flat to go to the street. When I left my building, it was cold, with a chilly breeze and an inconvenient drizzle that was coming and going. I had to take chocolate and Easter eggs to Jessica’s and Cibele’s flats in Leme.
Walking slowly, still half dead, I eventually arrived at Jessica’s building, where the porter reluctantly addressed me. Then, just crossing the side street next to Jessica’s building, I left chocolate in the reception area of Cibele’s building. They live a stone’s throw from each other.
Cibele’s porter warmly greeted me, and we exchanged Easter pleasantries. However, Jessica’s porter seemed arrogant and reluctant when I requested him to deliver chocolates to my daughter.
This is something that I have seen many times here in Brazil, where the porter of a residential building shows a blatant prejudice against foreigners, more commonly known as gringos.
I am not sure if it is a pre-judgemental thing that all foreigners look down on Brazilians or porters on a lower-class level and that we are arrogant idiots. Or do porters, at least some of them, have an inferiority complex, so it is worse when they meet a foreigner?
I do not know; it is neither my problem nor my fault. I try to treat all people the same with the utmost respect, and if people treat me with kindness, naturally, I return that kindness with kindness, too.
Over the long time I have lived in Brazil, many people have said that I am lucky to live in Brazil because Brazilians receive foreigners with open arms. The culture is very favourable for receiving foreigners well; in some ways, it is true, but in many cases, there is an anti-gringo underworld feeling that despises foreigners and what they represent.
Obviously, I am talking in a general form, but I can often feel it and cut it like a knife in the air. Even more interesting is that if a foreigner understands and speaks Portuguese, especially a native, it can be very annoying, disturbing and even inconvenient for some Brazilians in some situations. Again, I am saying this in a minority of cases, but it is present, and there is no pretending that it does not exist.
After dropping off the Easter chocolates, I walked to the end of Leme, where some dog owners I knew were there. I again wished everyone a happy Easter and returned home as the drizzle turned into rain. At home, I showered and changed to go out again to deliver chocolates to Yasmin and Nalva. I had not bought Easter eggs this year; I thought the prices for even a tiny, simple egg were too expensive.
Instead, I bought small boxes of chocolates, M+Ms, large chocolate bars, etc., an assortment of chocolates at more realistic prices. I took the bus to Botafogo, gave Yasmin and Nalva their chocolates, stayed with them for about an hour and then came home.
It was still cold and drizzly, so I decided to read my book, study some more things related to e-commerce on the internet and then got ready to go to bed.
A pleasant long weekend during the Easter period, nothing too exceptional as in travelling to a special place etc., but good.
In bed by 9.00 pm.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading my blog. Check out my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.
Richard
