The River near Our House

Of Laundry…

 It seems every year washing machines get bigger.  And fancier. 

Our Brazilian washing machine was small and white.  Our dryer was our patio where we would hang out our clothes to dry in the sun.  It worked well, except for the days when humidity was so thick even the clean clothes were sweating.

After moving to the northern part of Brazil, we were often faced with no electricity.  No power meant no washing machine, and wearing clothes more than once without washing, might just result in asphyxiation.

We were left to do it the old-fashioned way.

And I mean the very old-fashioned way, since when the power was out, we couldn’t afford to use water to wash laundry.

Instead, we headed for the river that ran about fifty yards from our house.

There were several things to keep in mind while washing in the river.  The piranhas and who knew what else lurking beneath the surface.  The strong current that threatened to carry your clothes away if you should lose your grip.  And then there were the pinkish-orange cast left on all the clothes from the mud in the river, and the funky smell that weaseled its way out of the scent of the laundry soap.

On the plus side, our clothes no longer reeked.  We had gotten a bit of a workout.  Cooled off.  Had a little fun.

And developed a deep and abiding appreciation for washing machines.

 

Over the speed bump, and down the pothole, on Brazilian roads we drive…

My dad likes to say that in America you know someone is drunk if they’re swerving all over the road.

In Brazil, you know they’re drunk if they’re NOT swerving all over the road.

This is due to the potholes (and by potholes I mean, canyons deep enough to swallow a semi and still have room for a car).   A quick flick of the wheel might allow you to avoid the pothole or send you into a deeper one in the opposite lane of the two-lane highway.

Driving at night is not for the faint of heart or really anyone who values their life or car.  Missionary friends were once driving at night when they hit a pothole-that-was-really-a-car-swallowing-monster.  The top of the car kept going, but the chassis had decided that the pothole was a nice place to stay.  No one was injured in the accident—except the bisected car that is.

To make up for the huge potholes, or perhaps to add more fun to the already obstacle-course-like roads, speed bumps also rose out of the ground—often unexpectedly— like veritable mountains.  And what they might lack in road building skills was more than made up for in their speed bump building skills. They bore little resemblance to the speed bumps that dot parking lots across America.  These things were the grandfathers of those picayune little bumps.  Or maybe even the great-great-grandfathers.

And then there were the trucks.  Big trucks loaded with goods that were also trying to avoid the potholes.  More often than not you shared a lane—going opposite directions.

A friend once took a video while driving with my dad who was swerving in and out of the opposite lane with a truck coming towards the car.  Absolutely horrified by the danger he’d been in, he insisted on showing it to the rest of my family.  We shrugged our shoulders wondering what they big deal was.

After all, you’re only really in danger if you drive straight.   

 

 

Of Juice…

Juice is a wonderful beverage that you can justify to yourself far more easily than other sweet beverages like, say, soda pop, which apparently rots out your teeth, dissolves pennies, and make you fat.

In Brazil, there are myriad of juices from which to choose.  Many of them unfamiliar to the American palate.

One popular juice is sugar cane juice.  It is primarily sold on street corners.  The sugar cane stands have juicers with gears and gizmos that press the juice out of the sugar cane while you wait.  The juice is a mildly sweet, grass-flavored beverage.

Another is Coconut water, although this is making the journey north as a health food beverage as has Açaí berries.  On a side note, açaí berries also make beautiful jewelry. 

However, a vast majority of Brazilian fruits have about the same make up.  Slime-covered seeds.  To make the juice, the idea was to remove the slime from the seeds and make it drinkable.

                                                                               Passionfruit

 

My personal favorite was maracuja or passionfruit.  It takes some effort to make, but the results are worthwhile.  Passionfruit is generally a smooth, shiny orb which when cut open reveals yellow-slime-covered black seeds.  After being ground in a blender, strained and having water and sugar added, the juice is well worth the effort it takes to make.

One of my not so favorites is cupuaçu.  The shell is hard to crack and not worth the effort.  I would describe the taste as sour dirty laundry.  My mother tried to make it palatable by turning it into ice cream.  Although, I have a hard time turning down ice cream, I had no trouble sticking to my diet with that bowl in front of me.

I much preferred to watch it melt while sipping a tall, cold glass of maracuja juice.