(I wrote this on my first trip to Brasil sitting in a Boteco..2007)
Thunder....lightning, the clapping of hands for the guitar player. I sit and watch Brasil pass by my chair as I drink a “Skol” beer. What an experience...my mind drifts back to Portland Oregon, USA, but am I really in Brasil? All that I know and have known are just memories. This is a sacred experience that a person can only dream about. Beautiful people, wonderful music and cold beer, very cold beer.
Rain and thunder...the rain is like a lover, wet, wild and unpredictable. It falls like a river going over the falls. The thunder has a sound that reminds me just how small and insignificant I am in this world. All who know this rain and lighting come under the shelter, as they have felt the sting of hard rain before. The waiters with their red turbans on their heads, frantic and moving with the grace of a ballerina from table to table. Today I have experienced Brasil up close and personal, great food, wonderful company. My new friends I met at the Federal Police office while getting visa information have just arrived and we are sharing a beer. He is from the US and married to a beautiful Brasilian lady. They plan on living in this amazing country…I wish them well.
I leave my chair to go talk to the musician, he has stopped playing his guitar to take a break...no English and with my infantile Portuguese, we still communicate...are these words I am saying only for me? He looks at me with curious eyes and a smile.
The thunder rolls across the sky and then silence.... the noise of the crowd grows louder, it is like a symphony, it keeps your heart pumping and you feel alive...thank God, I am alive.
A young man hears me speaking English to the musician; he looks at me as if I am from another planet.... I am.
A beautiful woman walks by and looks for a chair to set in...She sees friends and they all hug, laugh and talk in a language that I wish I could understand...I can only guess what they are saying. She greets them with a kiss to one cheek and a hug, as I watch with a voyeur’s curiosity, I think to myself, why don’t we do this...why don’t the people from the North have this closeness....maybe someday we will. We all see it when we travel abroad and slowly we are incorporating this kind of greeting into our own ridged customs.
The rain has stopped...it is quiet now; the volume of noise from the crowd has increased, people talking and laughing. Brasilian rain requires you to stop and enjoy life, because in the silence of no rain, they all know it will return. For this is the rainy season of Central Brasil. I again realize that I am a world apart from who I was and what I have known. My insecurity’s keeps me aware of my surroundings and I feel blessed to be a part of all of this.
Brasilians come and go, full of life and having hope for whatever they may become in their futures, I am sure of this.
The waiter is coming to our table to see if we want more beer... I must go now. I say my farewells and give a kiss on both cheeks of my new Brasilian female friend and pat her husband on the back. I enjoy these customs.
I will walk through the streets of Belo Horizonte, Brasil back to my home, and I am careful to walk around the water puddles and small rivers that run down the streets. I have heard that a man disappeared in one....I am in Brasil and I know that the rain will come again... pouring from the heavens.
Soon again, I will hear the familiar sound of the thunder, and feel the sting of the Brasilian rain.
