"Malasemasa" My samba teacher used this word to describe the husband of a friend. I couldn't figure it out. Sometimes Portuguese sounds like one long song. Perplexed, she explained that it meant a suitcase without handles. Duh...mala...sem...asa!
My bedside companions. Santo Antonio, Sao Jose Baptista, Aparecida,
Isabel, Cosme e Damian, Conceicao. Soon they will have homes of their
own. Construction under way!
To find your Santos go to the church by
Praca Piedade. Look for the rusty gate to enter a little side store packed
with religious artifacts and literature. Plan to spend some time
investigating the leaflets, Santos, rosaries and more. This is the
place for divine orientation.
I love this place. Relaxed, straightforward, people. The music and the dance spill onto the street. Cars and buses make room for the tables and laughter. Easy dancing, smooth floor, hips circle the floor and find a sway across the room. Plastic tables and chairs, cold beer, musicians in the corner. Purses piled high next to half eaten plates of feijaoda. Fica feliz....seu vontade...there is always next week. “And where is he?”