of masters and margaritas

28 Mar

I´ve had computer access all week, but not a blog entry to show for it, which is weird, because I feel like I´ve got a lot to say, just don´t know exactly what.

I´ll start with the apartment, which is where I left off last week, and which has been making my parents nervous I am sure.

It´s an open aired flat with veranda doors and large windows, hammocks and pillows, gardens and fresh fruit, and hindu touches, like a rule that says no shoes in the house.  And no meat too.  and I must say, I really like it here, epecially the comfortable white couch by the window over looking the favela. That´s where I like to sit back and do some reading.  There´s an exhaustive library, from which Ricky passed on a book to me, that of the Master and Margarita, a contemporary Russian novel that I´m currently trying to digest before its time to move onto Bolivia.

I should also mention that the author of the said Russian novel tends to write in long winded sentences, sometimes failing to take a breath, and I think this entry might be responding to 70 pages of such writing.

What else? I am good, maybe not happy, but comfortable.  I saw another soccer match, this time on my own with the pretty girl in white. An assortment of threatening Brazilians cut us in line while we waited for tickets and we found ourselves just a few people shy of getting the seats that we wanted. So we ended up in the less rowdy section of the stadium, away from the drums but closer to the field where we balacned each other while standing up top a single chair, trying to peer over the excited fans, who would get condsiderably less excited as the game went on, when their team failed to score any goals, just as the other team scored two.  We ducked out of the match early, upset that our boys had taken such a beating and whitnessed several crazy Vasco fans stealing the jersey of a man supporting the losing side.  Apparently there are two different subway stops for each team, existing exactly for this sort of reason.  But this was a fact we were unaware of, and apparently the fan of the losing team was too.

These were two teams with an intense old rivalry but we managed to leave the scene easily enough and unbruised.  Afterward we grabbed a few beers and food and the pretty girl in white also had a heart wrapped in white as well. How do I know? I growled unhappily at the passing beggars, who were interrupting my meal.  She passed them on gently though, and gave our food away when we were done. Brazil is a country of contradictions and as two people sat merrily at a cafe table outside, two others had not a bean to eat.

, but she setBujust took a just a few peopl

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