Friday, November 9, 2012

pippo


Before we leave Paraty I feel you should know about Pippo. Because it's going down in history as one of my favorite dinners of all time, because it's beautiful and you should go there, and because funny things happened there.

Of the dozens of restaurants we passed and admired, we chose this one because it started to rain just as we walked by its door. I love Italian food, and the dining room was elegant and cozy and way dryer than outside in the rain, so we immediately started drinking wine to celebrate all of this. I'm usually not a big fan of vino but Tickby and Mark were into it, so I joined.

Well, the wine was delicious. and the little bruschetta and eggplant-on-toasty appetizers they brought out were delicious. In keeping with my reputation as the cheapest drunk ever, I started giggling halfway down my first glass, and Tickby and I turned our attention to the following page in the menu:




I honestly don't know what we found so goddamn funny about it.

So the owner is a dude named Pippo with a soulful gaze and a huge pepper mill. So what?

But it's kind of a little bit funny, right? He's all 'Hello. I grind you pepper so hard you eat make love it.' he's all 'hello. you eat you noodlies i make cannoli. hello.'

I don't know. We were drunk. And in hindsight, maybe loud. Um, I hope not.

My dinner was so good. It was a pumpkin and sheep cheese ravioli with herbs and I don't remember the rest. But it was so so delicious. To celebrate this I drank more wine.

'Hello. I shake my pepper mill you face you love the ravioli. Hello.'

After a good and thorough laugh at the founder of the restaurant we were enjoying so much, guess who came out of the kitchen to eat his own dinner at a table right near ours?

'Hello.'

Doubly intense: we were, at that point, the only people left. So we had to chat with him and, you know, say hello.

I'll be honest, I didn't feel so bad about having spent a long time making fun of him a lot because I knew i was 100% sincere in gushing about how delicious his food was. Also I was 'drunk.'

PLUS we discovered we have a mutual friend! The manager of a hotel in Sicily near Pippo's hometown, where my best friend got married.

PLUS - and this is where it all gets fuzzy, so I'm going by Tickby and Mark's telling of it - but apparently I was babbling to Pippo about how our mutual friend made the most delicious limoncello I'd ever had and how I had learned in Sicily that I love limoncello.

So guess what pippo sent us.


pippo's fave limoncello


OK in more hindsight I'm embarrassed. He couldn't have been lovelier or awesomer, and I worry that he needed his limoncello to be better than Nunzio's because maybe Nunzio's pepper mill is bigger? But nonsense. Pippo's pepper mill was so huge!

Pippo asked us to send a photo of the three of us to our pal Nunzio in Sicily. So we did.


me, tickby and pippo

Um, this is the end of the Pippo story. Yeah sorry, I guess it's not that funny. But drink some limoncello and read it again and see what happens.

schoonie love


So you know by now that at night in Paraty you're supposed to get drunk and fall down and hang out with pirates. But I bet you're wondering what you're supposed to do during the day. Well, i'll tell you. You're supposed to go on a schooner tour.

our rival schooner
Right near the historical cobblestone area of town, there's a HUGE, maybe quarter-mile long pier with hundreds of yachts and schooners lined up, waiting to take you on a schooner tour. Some of them are pirate themed. There are small private ones and big crowdy ones. They leave around 10am and return at maybe 6pm. In between those times your job is to find a spot anywhere aboard, plunk down, order drinks and food, listen to the live music playing in the cabin, and ... well if you're Tickby, get a massive sunburn. (If you're a normal person you wear sunblock to this kind of excursion, Especially if you're as true a snowflake as Tickby.)

The schooners take you out to pristine beaches on tiny islands and sometimes just stop at places where the water is particularly blue and beautiful, or if there are cool fish or dolphins. Once they drop the anchor (heheheheh) people just start diving off the sides and swimming around. It's pretty wonderful. Tickby and mark swam, I didn't. Little motion sick. All the fresh air and gentle rocking did me a world of good though.

can you find tickby and mark?
One of my fave parts of this schoonie love was the lack of organization. I kept thinking that if we'd been in the states people would have had assigned seating and everyone would demand  the same comfort and service as their fellow schoon-tangs. This was a clusterfuckedy free-for-all in the best way. For example, on the front deck where we spent most of the day, people were sitting and lying everywhere - on the boat's equipment, under stuff, where ever they could dig out a space.

I went to the front tippy of the boat (is that the stern? what is that?) and climbed up onto the shelfy-storage thing where they were storing all the floaties and noodles. It couldn't have been cozier. Mark and Tickby joined me and we had a little boat-tippy party, really probably the best seats in the house. Cushiony with noodles, private, and with the best view.

Within minutes I saw a schooner-staffer heading towards us and was pretty certain she was about to ask us to get down from there because the tippy wasn't for seating.

In fact she was coming to take our drink order. (She must have thought we were a pretty big deal, sitting in the tippy, and wanted to get our drinks out first.)

Thursday, November 8, 2012

paraty


I know what you're thinking, and I was thinking the exact same thing when i first read about the town of Paraty: the name is only one letter away from being 'party' and two letters away from 'pirate.' So it's bound to be great.

Accordingly, Paraty is a town that wants you to party, and is also a town that is all about pirates. We learned these things early on our walk around, by the plethora of shops selling nothing but cachaça, and the tour guide dressed as a stunningly hardcore pirate. If you've read my post about the meat-pirates of Fogo de Chão, you know that my keen eye can spot semi-pirates and ninja pirates from muito afar. But this was an uber-pirate. a pirate who wants you to know he's a pirate. He had a real parrot on his shoulder, full pirate robes and regalia, an undeniable pirate hat, an elaborate pirate moustache-and-goatee, and of course pirate boots. I think the tour he was giving was about how pirates used to hang out in Paraty.

(OK I just went against my principles and like, looked up real information: in the late 17th and early18th centuries, Paraty became a major port for the export of gold from Minais Gerais to Rio and on to Portugal. And pirates fucking love gold. so that's why there were pirates around. In fact, pirates changed the course of history in Paraty in a way. They became so ubiquitous and dangerous that people stopped moving gold by ships and built a whole road on land just to circumvent the pirates. Also, though it kills me to post irrelevant information, the word 'Paraty' is Tupi for 'river of fish.' But whatever. It looks like party-pirates.)

welcome to my home of cachaça
The other big Paraty thing: cachaça, which for those of you who don't know yet, is the KICKASS liquor used to make Brazil's signature cocktail, the caipirinha. Paraty has an annual cachaça festival, which is probably awesome in all the ways you might think a liquor festival in a pirate town would be.

(My Portuguese teacher tried pretty hard to also tell me about an international book festival that also takes place there, but I don't remember this much. Only cachaça and pirates made an impression.)

Another thing making an impression: the streets in the historical section. They are cobbled, and while I'm sure the cobble-job done was impressive in the 1500's, when paraty was first settled by whitey, it makes for a lot of stumblies nowadays, especially for people who have been drinking. Also hazardous: the multitude of adorable shops selling gifties and pirate paraphernalia and exquisite antiques and indigenous crafties. You can't look in windows and walk at the same time because the cobblies will trip you. Just saying. Cause like, someone else told me.
 





Lots of bars. Lots of little clothing boutiques. Restaurants of every level of fanciness, though most were fancy. People standing in the streets handing out flyers for happy hours and dance club parties. Oh! And torches in the streets, and very old street lamps.

Cachaça rules.

RUA TRIP! part 2: the fog


It was so beautiful, so enchanting and atmospheric that we kind of forgot that it was also 'dangerous' and we maybe could crash and get dead..

We never bothered to find out if the thick mist hovering over the winding mountain roads on the way to Paraty was a weather condition or just part of that area's climate. And know what? I'm not going to. I don't want to know. It was just part of the magic of driving somewhere in Brazil.

Sure, the hairpin curves and sharp climbs and drops were all pretty hard on my balls. (HEHEHEH hard on my balls HEHEHEH) But I'd do it again right now. It was just so lush and green and dewy and Narnia, even with all the SUV's and road signs and Tickby's gangsta rap.

It could have been frustrating, to be slowed down so much after the open highway, but this was easily my favorite part of the rua from São Paulo to Paraty. I felt like we were in Escape From Witch Mountain. I don't know why, because I can't remember anything about that movie other than the names 'Tony' and 'Tia' and 'Grandpa,' but there we were. It was witchy and mountainy and we were on an escape.

This foggy noise did turn into rain-and-fog though, and as we got closer and closer to Paraty it still felt farther away as the rain intensified or the occasional traffic stopped on the country roads.

So it ended up taking like eight hours to get there.

It was late when we arrived. And it was raining. So we were kind of bummed about these things, but it was so wonderful to be out of the car that I just didn't care. Plus, as you'll see if you read on, Paraty is bananas-awesome.

RUA TRIP! part 1: a word on my balls

My balls are all f-ed up, and they have been for like four years now.

I'm not talking about my cojones, which are obviously huge and made of steel; I'm talking about the balls in my ears, which are supposed to be like on human hydraulics that keep your balance and don't let you get motion sickness.

My balls crap out and let me get motion sickness all the time. It sucks. I hate them. Cars I'm not driving, trains-that-aren't-underground, and taxiing planes, all make me greenfaced and moany, and if I could make upset-stomach moany-sounds the whole time I would. But I can't because this is 'socially unacceptable' or whatever. So I tend to just become very quiet and stare straight ahead, in a semi-meditative state, echoing with whispers of the mantra 'Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke.'

So the plan was a five hour car ride from São Paulo to Paraty, a night and day there, then a three hour drive to Rio and three nights there. Then Mark would drive the rental car back to São Paulo while Tickby and I flew from Rio to Manaus on our way to the jungle.

I wasn't looking forward to the motion sickness, but could not WAIT to see the sights, even if they were just monotonous freeway-type sights. mark and I have been exclusively in São Paulo for almost six months now, and while this city is expansive and bananas, well, i'm an American. I like my highways, my 70mph rides, I like covering long distances in mere hours and seeing it all fly by.

VIVA VULVA caught tickby's eye
Yeah. So we were stuck in a little over two hours of standstill just trying to get out of our neighborhood. Tickby took some cool pictures of graffiti, and the happy WTF that is Brazilian sex shops. I drained the soda I'd brought as a stomach settler just to combat the oppressive heat, and of course had to pee within forty minutes.

Our spirits weren't f-ed though. We were finally on our rue trip! Just the stop-and-go motion was a little hard on my balls. (Heheheheh hard on.)

you're not the only one with a gay zorro fantasy
Finally the traffic broke and we were out of the city, savoring our freedom, the wind in our hair! So we pulled into a rest stop immediately. To pee. We also needed more sodies and snacks. And to see if my balls couldn't settle down a bit.

The rest stops in Brazil are impressive. This one had the same kind of food-plaza setup as you'll see along I-95, but the restaurants had buffets of fresh food, there were snack options that were natural and delicious, and there was a bakery where local folks were stopping by to get their bread and cakes. So the whole place smelled nice. We loaded up on sweets and some kind of  awesome caramel corn, sodas and sparkling waters, and gum. Then back into the car, ready for the REAL ACTUAL rua trip to commence. And it did.


Tuesday, November 6, 2012

my sister tickby

i forgot to set all this up with some expositionz: my sister tickby came to visit and stayed for 2.5 weeks. eager to see brazil and not just me and mark, she initiated an adventurous trip from here to paraty, from there to rio, from there to manaus, and from there to the innards of the amazon jungle. all of this noise will be reported on.

but some info on tickby:

Tickby is a nurse anesthetist. 

Tickby likes: giving people intravenous drugs, traveling, cooking, meeting eccentric people, meeting salt-of-the-earth types, mayhap just meeting new people in general, people who are funny, drinking wine, drinking beer, drinking caipirochkas, making fun of me, reading crime novels, Wesley Willis, muito gangster rap, most other kinds of music, taking photographs, and many other coisas.

Tickby dislikes: vegging out, people who aren't in the medical profession spreading misinformation about human physiology, watching movies, most movies, watching television, vapid political banter, people who aren't respectful of waitstaff, people who analyze themselves aloud, and ... she didn't really like the caipirinhas. 

Yeah, so besides me doing and being a lot of the things Tickby doesn't like, we get along very well, Because we have muitas coisas importantes bonding us together. Loving Wesley Willis and hating people who are rude to waiters, for example.

So stay tuned for the adventures of Tickby and Cill.

tickby is like me only smart, employed and with big boobs

and a giant fig tree in the middle

(Ooh how nice, 'fig tree' looks like 'f-ing tree' in the title of this post. Both apply.)

So then we went to Figueira Rabaiyat, a São Paulo restaurant famous for having a gigantic fig tree in the middle of the dining room. the tree is mad beautiful and mad old. They built the restaurant around it so it could live on through the gentrification of its neighborhood. (I think.) So that’s pretty rad. I wish they could also do that with people who are fixtures in neighborhoods. Instead of pricing them out of their homes, build beautiful restaurants around them and make them the themes of these restaurants. Hm, maybe with people it would be degrading. But with trees it’s romantic.

We all admitted to feeling apprehensive that there would be another pirate type vibe. Like that as another famous restaurant they would feel they had to live up to their reputation and go over the top trying to make their service unforgettable. And piratey. (Mayhap by threatening with body language and 100 free refills to rob and pillage and stuff.)

But it was remarkably low key. No swarming service folk, no befuddling bells and whistles. We even discussed how it wasn’t even a bloggable experience, cause like, nothing absurd happened.

Then a busboy came over and restrained my purse to the chair with a plastic zipcuff. 

Aaaand we’re bloggable. 

We laughed quite a bunch at how weird this was. I know chicks spend a lot of money on their purses, but wouldn’t you think that’d make them (purses) more durable than to perish if they fell on the floor? 

Or were they perhaps worried that a thief might grab my purse and make a mega-awkward run for it through the labyrinthine mess of tables, in the middle of which stood a ginormous tree? 

Whether theft or purse-soilage, the concern reminded us that we were once again in classy-people territory with classy-people eccentricities. And that alone was funny.

Full disclosure: much as like like to make fun of rich people, their food is fucking delicious. Go to Figueira Rabaiyat if you ever get a chance. So so delicious. 

And when we paid the check the dude came back over and released my purse by cutting the zip-cuff with a knife. 

Sunday, November 4, 2012

the meat pirates


If you don't already know this about me it's time you learned: I like pirates.

I like pirate figurines, movies with pirates, pirate-themed bumper stickers and other paraphernalia, dressing like a pirate, the episodes of the simpsons with the pirate, and skull-and-crossbones-shaped ice cubes.

Tickby likes pirates too, so we were pretty pumped upon entering Fogo de Chão in Santo Amaro and seeing the staff's uniforms. 

They weren't all-out pirates with peglegs and eye-patches - because this restaurant seems to take itself pretty seriously - but they wore knickers, holsters with wine keys and meat knives, and high pirate boots if i've ever seen pirate boots. They were like pirates hiding in plain sight from anyone who doesn't know as much as I do about pirates. They were ninja pirates.

In other evidence, I saw exactly 0 female employees there. 

Furthermore, there were way too many of them. the pirate-waiters outnumbered customers 2 or 3 to 1.

As Tickby and I waited for Mark to meet us there from work, the pirate-waiters surrounded our table -widely at first, but inching closer and closer with every passing minute. They kept a semi-frenzied activity going to keep us from noticing. But they were closing in. 

When I stood up to go to the bathroom, one pirate pulled my chair back and another pirate pushed it in. When I reached for my sweater, I swear three different pirates helped me pull it on. Every time I took a sip of water a pirate or two or six would come over to replenish my glass. 

Some people like being gang-pampered like this but I found it disconcerting at times. For example I dropped my wallet on the floor and almost had my head tramply-crushed by a stampede of pirate boots when I reached down to pick it up. I also found myself keeping my eyes downcast to avoid contact with pirates, who interpreted most movement as a signal to come over and put more cheesebread on the table. 

Tickby and Mark became too blissfully high on the pirates' meats to worry about the coup underway. Fully relaxed, their eyes glazed over, they began to talk about how they couldn't eat any more, but didn't want to stop. As a vegetarian I was immune to this noise, this pirates' 'table-side meat service' spell. I knew that something terrible was afoot, and the power of this knowledge made the room begin to tilt. As if we were on a slowly capsizing pirate ship.

Yeah it might have just been the sight of all that rare steak after the previous night's copious vodka fraudtinis making my stomach flop around. Add to that the effort of hiding the fact that I felt ill at the dinner table and the energy required to thank twenty-seven pirates per minute for their various solids, and you have an overstimulated altered state.

Or it might have been a pirate invasion.

In spite of such dark turns, I need you to know that I still like pirates. I mean, you wouldn't expect a kid who likes dinosaurs to stop liking them just because a stegosaurus ate his backpack. The kid who genuinely likes dinosaurs would understand that that's what stegosauri do.

Accordingly, I understand that invading tables and being mad fiendish is what pirates do. and I have nothing but respect for that.



the meat pirates provide you with a cow-shaped brochure that is a map of the most delicious parts of cows

fraudtinis!!!

ingredients:
vodka
limes
agave nectar
pirate themed ice (skull and bones-cicles)
maybe other stuff

Tickby and I were gearing up to go to the Skye Bar yesterday afternoon - so she could take some São Paulo photos before she heads home on Saturday - when she got an interesting email from her bank. It read something like:

Dear Tickby,

We're sorry we didn't let you buy all those thousands of dollars worth of electrical equipment in São Paulo today and yesterday. We just thought the purchases seemed suspicious. So please like, call us and tell us you're good and you want all that electrical equipment, and we'll let the next purchases go through no problem. Also, mayhap you should put a bunch more money in your checking account, seeing as you've debited like over $7,000 in the last few days, mostly on electrical equipment.

Toodles!
-Chase Manhattan

A bunch of time ended up spent on the phone with those guys, who said we had to stay by a computer for the rest of the day to fill out time-sensitive paperwork as it was sent to us. No skye bar. paperwork.

So-

Me: Yeah, you know it's so hot out anyway it might be nicer to stay in.

Tickby: Yeah, I was thinking that anyway, it's kind of late.

Me: …Want to get shitfaced?

Tickby: Yes.

I don't know how much I drank. There are large chunks of the evening I don't remember at all. But funnily enough I do remember three different moments at which I thought - hot DAMN I've had a lot to drink! I shouldn't have any more to drink.

someone bought mad electrical coisas
Also, as we got more and more thoroughly hammered, we learned stuff. Drunk googling is still googling. Apparently what happened to Tickby is that her debit card information was stolen by way of a tiny hidden camera installed somewhere in an ATM in Rio de Janeiro, which recorded the number and her PIN. Then someone used it somehow to go shopping for electrical equipment in São Paulo.

Now that I'm sober though I'm realizing there are some story-holes here. How would they use her card number in a store if they didn't physically have the card? Wait I think I asked that when I was drunk because an answer just floated into my head from some vague memory: they put that number on a different card, and ... I don't know. I mean they have tons of electrical equipment. They prolly used that.

Chase Manhattan is currently 'doing an investigation' to determine for themselves that the information was actually stolen. tickby is afraid they will conclude that because the PIN number was used in the purchases, it must have been Tickby making them. I doubt this, but it will still be a nice relief when their investigation is over and they have apologized to Tickby and put $7,000 back into her account.

And I wish I could remember how I made the fraudtinis, because they were friggin delicious.