Applebee's and Y Ddraig Goch 2

Whilst St. David's wasn't quite the huge celebration here as I would have wished, still, a pleasant evening was had by all at Applebee's, St. Patrick's found your intrepid (does that mean "between 3 feet" ??) reporter, that's me, at the highly publicised event of Shamrock's St. Paddy's Night, an' I'll be a Fried Pumpkin if I wern't jammied into being M.C. for the night. Viv the Boss, thrust a microphone (OOOeeerrr!) into my Phissog, and there I was a-talkin' like blazes, could be a future profession innit for me.

I spent the rest of the week wondering where I could get to see the Wales v. Ireland match, well truth be told, I did a whole bunch of other things too, like work, eat, sleep and go to the toilet but we needn't go into that, BUT the rugby was on my mind A LOT, especially so as the espn programme schedule showed nuffin but football football football poker football football football (see previous post), however on Friday last this all changed and it was football football football RUGBY football football football, and YES the Six Nations Wales v. Ireland match!! Snatch up, did I, the telephone (sorry I've been watching Star Wars over the weekend, I'mon Yoda Speak) to get in touché with Mr. Applebee to reserve the best seats. Best Seats gotten, a great afternoon was had in the company of good friends, REAL Rugby Fans!

Applebee's and Y Ddraig Goch

Last Friday 5pm local time found me frantically chasing around the neighbourhood in a vain attempt to find a bar which had cable and would show the Wales v. France match on TV5 the French channel. Not a chance. Football (or soccer, for my N. American readers). If you want to see a football game you'll find any street corner shibeen will sure to be tuned in to any championship from around the world. The Brazilian ESPN channel programme schedule reads something like this:

14:00 Futebol: Campionato Inglês
16:00 Futebol: Campionato Italiano
18:00 Futebol: Campionato Espanhol
20:00 Futebol: Campionato Alemão
22:00 Poker (Poker ?? A freaking SPORT?? PUH-LEEEEEZZ!!)
22:15 Futebol: Campionato Inglês (highlights!)
23:00 Futebol: Campionato Sub Sahara
00:30 Futebol: Campionato Outer Mongolia.

ad infinitum, ad nausium

Upshot was I missed the game on Friday and had to make provisions for a second chance, 7pm Sunday evening on ESPN International, the trick was to try and avoid all homepages which would show the result. Failed miserably.
Still, St. David's Day evening came round and I was in a very smart bar watching the game and explaining what was going on to a curious barman ("NO, it's NOTHING like AMERICAN FOOTBALL!!").

Rediscovering Porto Alegre. Part Two, The Piccies.

Lots of crisscrossy beams and upright pillars at the topdeck of the public market.

The Shrimp Man.

















The beermat says,
"Temperature between 0 and 3 degrees C. Brahma Draught must arrive at the table chilled to the perfect temperature. Thus all Brahma Draught arrives at the table at a temperature between 0 and 3 degrees C."
really Crappy Uncreative Portuguese (which translates into Crappy Uncreative English) their ad agent definately should be fired. Also it's bullshit for a GOOD lager but absolutely true for Brahma. A good lager can be served at 5 - 8 C. Brahma want you to drink it almost frozen because if it's served any higher than 3, you'll taste it.















The Illegal Top Secret Photo of Santander Cultural's Café Doors. (with the Good Lady, who protested to the posting of this photo due to an inoppertune open mouth).





The sign says, "It is prohibited to throw fruit skins or leave rubbish in the walkways and corridors of the market. Fine $20,000", God's Ribcage!! That's a pretty hefty one! (actually in the day's exchange rate, probably about 20p).



Loadsa books.

Rediscovering Porto Alegre. Part One

During the past few days, thanks to the country-bumpkin-in-big-city enthusiasm of the Good Lady who's not From Around These Parts, I've been rediscovering the wonders of PoA. In this previous post I wrote a little about the river front's potential and privately funded partial revitalization. The city centre, generally neglected by middle class Porto Alegrenses as being "dangerous and smelly", is actually quite a surprise when you really get onto the streets (and get used to the smell).
Our Saturday touristic itenary proceded thus: bus at 11am direct to the centre (I didn't want to be worried with parking spaces or spending a short spell in jail for having a glass or two and driving), slap bang in the centre is the 19th century public market, restored with splendour and a roof in the 90s, there are some excellent rustic traditional bars and restaurants that serve a good cheap lunch to accompany your chilled draught lager (be sure to ask for "pouco colarinho" or you'll get half a glass of foam). PoA has a goodly number of second hand book shops, we managed to spend a few hours in two before they shut up for the weekend. I found a "Reader's Guide to 'Finnegans Wake'", by one William York Tindall. Professor Tindall apparently wants us to "see that it is less formidable than it seems, and to see the fun.", hope it works. Pub. Thames and Hudson, London, 1969, in excellent condition and still has the price in Pounds Shillings and d. AND a 1951 book of "The Physical Sciences", which, in the chapter of "Man and His Machines" has a photo of "The Selective Sequence Electronic Calculator" which occupies a room four times the size of my living room and has a storage of "400,000 digits in punched tapes and contains 12,500 electronic tubes"! All amazing stuff! Zillions of books!
Next stop, two separate exhibitions in Santander Cultural by Brazilian artist/writers Gilberto Freyre and Ariano Suassuna. One criticism I have of the place is that photos are not permitted inside, while I understand this with respect to the exhibitions themselves, this is a standard rule in any art gallery throughout the world, It dumfounds me why they don't allow photos in the café, the corredor area, entrance and shop, which has some beautiful decoration and arquitecture. The building is an old bank, one of those massive city centre banks from a hundred years ago when real money and gold bars were kept in huge safe rooms in the basement with doors a foot thick , these safe rooms are now a cafe and a cinema, cool eh? There'd be some photos here, but... (actually I did manage to sneak a couple in before a guard saw me).
We ended the afternoon with a few more beers in the public market.

The Pineapple Kombi

Here's a collector's classic : The Pineapple Kombi

Ich Dien. NOT!

I don't recall Y Pant's history curriculum including a large slice of specifically Welsh history, apart from an annual pilgrimage to the namesake battlefield of one's House, in my case Caerau, perhaps it did but the only thing I remember from Miss Jones' class more than 30 years ago is Henry VIII and 1066 and all that. Since that time, I've learned more about medieval Welsh history through Sharon Kay Penman's Here Be Dragons trilogy and a tiny but interesting snippet just recently from Ken Follett's World Without End (backed up by Wikipedia and Simon Schama), that being the origin of the Prince of Wales' three feather symbol and Ich Dein motif.

At the Battle of Crécy on the 26th August 1346, the English, or perhaps I should say the mixed British forces, for there were Welsh and undoubtedly other nation's mercenaries amongst the ranks, were led by Edward III, the grandson of Longshanks (Hammer of the Scots). Edward II was the first English "Prince of Wales", the title bestowed upon him by the aforementioned Longshanks, Ed the first. Longshanks' great grandson, Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince (he never became the fourth but also held the title of Prince of Wales), was also there commanding one of the three divisions at only 16 years of age.

At the end of the battle the Black Prince had been so impressed with the deeds of another (mercenary) commander, John of Bohemia, who despite being blind stood his ground bravely on the British side. Blind?? How the blazes can someone fight in a battle of 30 thousand tightly packed screaming men in armour if one's blind?? I wonder how much "collateral damage" (a US defence secretary's euphemism) he caused. Well, apparently it was so. In an act of honour to the dying blind man, the Black Prince took John's sheild and symbol for his own, and it was thus incorporated as the symbol for generations of English Princes of Wales.

The three ostrich feathers and Ich Dein then are a symbol of the English (or half German, half Greek??) "Prince of Wales" and not of Wales itself. However, as I have already mentioned, amongst the forces were Welsh mercenaries and many of them making up a large part of the Longbowmen force, one of the main factors for the ensuing victory. Had one of the Welsh longbow leaders got to the dying Bohemian first perhaps we could have claimed the three feathers really for ourselves. This would be unlikely though I guess as the humble bowman wouldn't be allowed probably even to talk to the noblemen. Here's our real three feathers, courtesy of The Red Dragonhood (with kind, er..permission, thanks).

I Want I Want

My guess is that our stretch of the riverfront has been revitalised with the finances from the enterprise of the newly opened shopping centre, BarraSul Shopping, as opposed to the city council whom it appears won't pay for anything that seems to improve the potential tourist magnetic qualities of Porto Alegre, oh yes the Porto Alegrensies will rave about theirs being the Best Sunset in the World - and it is pretty impressive - but to win such accolade to my mind there must be someplace from where to appreciate this Best Sunset ITW, after all a sunset is a dazzling display of pinkbluepurplecrimson anywhere around the globe; a safari tent shade, with an ice bucket and a few chilled bottles of Castle Lager in the Serengeti; a snowy peak in the Himalayas (with perhaps a bottle of Talisker?); a harbour-front pub in Kenmare, County Kerry (pint of Guinness); Porto Alegre has (FANFARE!), the (garbage strewn) banks of the (stinky, oily, polluted) Guaíba River (or lake, depending on your point of view), by Belenos, that was a long sentence! At the end of the 80s the former gas power plant, operational until 1974, was restored as a Cultural / Crafts Centre / museum. The large edifice has an immense terrace atop facing the river/lake (and therefore "BSITW") and a smaller lower floor terrace facing the city, tall ugly apartment buildings and bums sleeping under the disused concrete monorail. Where did they put the café/bar? Go on, guess...
My apologies, I rant, back to my stretch of the river/lakefront that I began with. Yes, it has been improved, restored and cleaned up, as has another stretch from the "Sun Set Amphi-theatre" to the gas plant (paid for I guess by Pepsi, judging from the advertising splashed all over), but where are the bars with decks, terraces, dockside tables and benches?? I want to enjoy a cold beer whilst watching the sunset, it appears the only way is to take your own beach chair and an ice box. Ipanema? Far out of the city centre and there are just a few crappy over-priced bars. WAKE UP YOU DUMASS CITY PLANNERS!!! PORTO ALEGRE HAS THE POTENTIAL TO ATTRACT TOURISTS!!!
The stretches that I refer are quite wonderful for a stroll or jog. The other day I came across this little fella. Before he hopped over onto the wall, closer to see me, he was perched on one of those white posts in the near background, before I had the camera ready, a Lapwing (here known as Quero-Quero) made a spectacular dive bombing attack and knocked my friend off with an audible resounding THWACK! Bugger'd I missed that photo opportunity. It was a warning shot, my little plump chump was standing around a might too close to Quero-Quero territory, lots of baby Quero-Queros were wandering around on the grass around there.
There's a wonderful sunset view from my terrace, I should open a bar. I'd make a bomb.

HWYL FAWR!

HO HO freakin' HO.

After 17 years in Tropical Climes, Christmas with air temperatures in the 90s is still something that impedes me from getting into the HOHOHO spirit of things. Actually I'm not sure at all if it's the high temperatures, the way Brazilians celebrate (well, more like "when" not "the way") or whether it's just that I'm getting to be an old cynical bugger. The Shopping Centres of Porto Alegre of course are having a grand time, despite the world crisis. What Credit Crunch?
Christmas here is celebrated on the night of the 24th. Families get together for the traditional Christmas Supper, which varies a little from the British turkey, roasts and cooked veggies with gravy. The turkey is still a part of the main dish but there lots of salads and cold dishes. Dessert differs a lot too, no steamy rum soaked pud in custard, instead there are sweets made of sugar (DUH!), milk, chocolate, whipped eggs, caramel (the thick stuff we find in mars bars and such, here called doce de leite and available in jars by the kilo, not the burned sugar variety). The family night thing I find a little irritating, boring, stressful. The matriarch commands the night's procedings and, in many cases, insists that the main meal be served and presents exchanged only at midnight. What happens is, everyone gets bored, tired, irritated, HUNGRY! Nibbles are allowed so we end up stuffing ourselves with peanuts, crisps, bread and dips; when midnight comes around, no-one's hungry anymore. Then there are the kids, crazy to open the presents which are in full view under the tree, how on earth Father Christmas leaves them there without being seen, I have no idea, that's another thing to try and explain for the kids.
Christmas in Aberbachgenbach with the blazing fireplace, friends in the pub singing carols that nobody knows the words to excepting "we wish you a merry christmas and Happy New Year!", "When Shepherds Wash their Socks" etc. Rolling home drunk at night and shouting Merry Christmas at the good humoured and patient Old Bill on Eve duty (are they still good humoured and patient?). Waking up to presents IN THE MORNING, Father Christmas having passed through during the night when everyone is sleeping. Turkey and roast spuds, Real Ale and Hot Noggin (OOEERR!).
Speen a long time!

This is a Goodbye Kiss you Dog!

What a way to get international fame! (and doubtless, future TV appearances, interviews and lecture tours, bringing in possibly thousands in dosh) - Hurl your shoes at a U.S. (outgoing) president! This defiant, and I at least find hilarious, act, has united Sunni and Shia in countrywide protest, "We wunt freedom to Zaidi !" say the banners (to which the reply is perhaps "Well, we cunt give it for him!"). US patrolling troops are being pelted by shoes in protest for (or maybe "to") Zaidi's release.

Which makes me wonder.

Do they sneak back later, perhaps at night to cover their embarrassment, to recover their shoes? I mean, are they lobbing around quality footware here? Do they all walk home from the protests stocking-footed? Or do they take along extra pairs of shoes to the protest? Are there specialist shops or bazar stalls that sell crappy shoes, as single items, just for throwing in protests? Rather like the rock stall for the stoning in Python's Life of Brian. Do you have to haggle to buy a throwing shoe? Does a flip-flop carry as much weight, psychologically speaking that is, as a patent leather Italian designer shoe? And there are also some deeper, theological questions - Is a shoe thrower entitled to A Thousand Virgins in Paradise?

Would all world conflicts be resolved if the leaders got together, at the United Nations perhaps, and threw their shoes at each other?

Yours in Bewilderment.

CHARRÚA

ODDS BONKIN'S ! The last time I had played rugby was in 1979. When I went to 'Twit in '74 then Y Pant in '76, rugby was compulsory PT once a week. We formed up two teams and just ... well played! 20 or 30 kids just running around, bashing into each other and trying to get that ball over the line. I didn't have a clue and don't think I ever scored a try at any time!

Now 30 years later, in the far south of Brazil, Gaúcho country, beef and pampas, barbecues and enormous moustaches, on a blazing Sat'day afternoon, at 45 years of age (me that is not the blazing Sat'day afternoon) - I SCORED A TRY!!!!! The roar of the crowd! The glory and Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau ringing in my yers, mun, Arms Park (yes, yes I know I'm hopelessly out of date, now it's "Millenium Stadium" I believe) as one rose to its feet (arms, feet???) and roared with 50 thousand Welsh voices, the commentator exulting in ... uhm uhm... exulting in exultation, "Fear has done it! In the last minutes of the game! mun. Curingas' winning try against... against... what was the other team called again??"

Charrúa Rugby Club was founded in 2001 by a bunch of guys who were fed up with that whoozes game, football (or soccer for my North American readers) which everyone likes here in Brazil. Rugby here is still relatively unkown but there are a few clubs around in the major cities. Charrúa have won several major championships and players have been selected for the Brazilian national team (yes, Brazil has a national rugby union team!).

The occassion was an end of season fun afternoon, they had organized 6 teams for 7 a-side tag rugby, that is - you have a coloured ribbon attached to either side of your hips and a "tackle" is when the ribbon is whipped from your person. As I had been taking my son to regular training each week I found myself recruited into one of the teams - "Curingas" (jokers, as in a pack of cards). No one was more surprised than me when I found myself with the ball and ran like the blazes! As soon as the line was within diving distance I took that dive! Hell, my first (and I hope not my last) try was going to be spectacular, I was sure there was someone right behind me about to whip that ribbon away.

As I was a guest player, my try was worth double (in our 7 a side tag a try was just one point). Curingas 3, The Others 0.

I want to do it again. Are the WRU Dragons recruiting?

Notes from the Pampas

Amongst recent news items from the BBC site that have arrested my attention is one of a "naked woman tied up near station" (in fact "naked woman" arrested my attention, as they usually do, and I was compelled to read the rest). It appears that a couple driving past a railway station in Hampshire saw a tied up naked woman and a man in camouflaged clothing beside her, of course their duty as law abiding citizens was to call the Bill. On Bill's arrival there was no sign of naked woman or camouflaged man. Police say it could be a prank or "some misdirected leisure activity" !!!

I get used bad translations in texts, shop advertizing and film sub-titles, obviously having been done by an incompetent speaker of the target language. I've never seen a NON-translation though, somebody should have checked this bi-lingual roadsign:




Due to the wonders of e-mail auto-response technology and some Swansea City Council Twp not bothering to check, in Welsh it says something like: "I am not in the office at the moment, please send work to be translated".

I got the photo from the BBC site, which I assume is pretty reliable, but to me the photo looks a little doctored in some way so I'm really not sure of the authenticity of it.


Another road sign in Cardiff:

Says, "Look Left" in Welsh, put down as another admin oversight, personally I think it's a deliberate ploy to confuse the English into looking the wrong way and getting smashed on the back of the cranium by a ten ton truck, hmm, actually that wouldn't make sense as Cardiff, I assume, still complies with the rest of Great Britain in that the vehicles are conducted on the left side of the road, well just to confuse the sais anyway.


Porto Alegre Book Fair is under full swing and also under lot of rain (traditional Book Fair Rain), annual orgy of intelect and beer. This year there has been a great improvement on the beer tent arrangement, the Opinião bar no longer has a monopoly on beer sales but there are fewer food stall choices, the decor is a tasteful deck and wooden bar tables, much better than the plastic stacking chairs and tables and ground level tarmac floor of previous years. However there is a smaller space and fewer tables which now means one waits for 3 hours for a place as opposed to the previous 1 or 2 hours. This didn't spoil a pleasant afternoon spent in the quaffing of Fine Brazilian Ale and perusing the literary delights of the second hand book stalls. The rest of the weekend I spent with lots of misdirected leisure activity.

Arte na Mesa

With absolutely no intention of upstaging my good friends Helô and Airton with their wonderful table art, I felt I have to post this photo of last Saturday's lunch.  Alone at home, around 11am and wondering what to do for lunch I felt suddenly inspired to do something particularly fancy with no idea as to what.  Off I pops to the supermarket to buy: entrecot, a bag of ready cleaned mixed lettuce, mushrooms and a kind of pan - that I've seen but never actually used before - with a hole in the middle and grill and domed top.  You place the pan over the gas ring and the meat comes out a treat.  Oh and two bottles of wine;  can't remember which exactly, one red and one chardonnay, both from Chile.

I cleaned and cut up the 'shrooms, put half with the lettuce and cooked the other half in a pan with olive oil and garlic then I thought of what they would be like with half a glass of red wine in there, so I dumped that in also.  Another bunch of chopped garlic cloves went into a mix of olive oil and lemon juice and a wee pinch of curry powder; this was duly poured over the lettuce and mushrooms.

Meanwhile the meat was cooking great on my new fangled doughnut grill-pan.

And the result you can see in the photo.

Go Vote; But don't Fuck Up my City Streets

Wonderful; democratic elections! I cannot imagine how it was during the years of dictatorship here. It's great now that we can express ourselves freely without fear of persecution and possible jail sentences, censorship, oppression.

Go vote!  There's a nice, almost carnival atmosphere on the day; wave your flags on the street corners; drive around in your cars and beep constantly on your horn (it's a little annoying, but hell - free elections!); exercise your right!

BUT IS IT REALLY NECESSARY TO THROW THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF FLYERS AND LEAFLETS OF YOUR CANDIDATE AROUND, CHOKING THE STREETS WITH GARBAGE???

Beer and Wine.

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Pub

Dylan Thomas pub crawl. I'll raise a few pints to DT's (there's an unfortunate pun there!) memory today, just for the heck of it, keep an eye on THIS for the results later. Our chief bard Dylan would regularly down a bottle or two of Whisky for inspiration. Now Blast me for a Pumpkin if I cannot get the taste of the stuff, I know it's a noble drink, ranks with Real Ale and a good Red Wine, but the Gods know, I've tried. A friend of mine gave me as a gift a small bottle (200ml) of Bowmore single malt from Islay, and I took a dram last night to see if my tastes have changed... but no, I have a sensation that I'm going to vomit, a hot sensation rises up my chest to my throat and I have to do some serious gulping! So no change there.

Still on the subject of Scotland, I've just been in contact with a friend in Edinburgh and she told me about the RED HOT CHILLI PIPERS !!! Well worth a peek.