By
I think it would be fair to say that a number of readers have been requesting I do a
feature on the "bundas" of Rio de Janeiro. I try to be very sensitive to
my audience of readers, so this section will be done with decorum, dignity, and taste as
humanly possible. At the same time, I do not expect this to be well accepted by the entire
readership. So be it. So with great care, thought, research (a heap of this), and because
it is getting close to Christmas, I am going to talk about the bundas of Rio de
Janeiro.
So here goes, if you do not like this, skip over it. Guys & girls, the bundas
here are great, just awesome. Bundas come in all shapes, colors, textures, soft,
plump, rock hard, pointed, round, pear-shaped, not-so-pear-shaped, you name it, they have
it. This is bunda heaven. When God gave out bundas, Brazilians were
given first choice. Bundas bump, grind, and bounce. Bundas lie everywhere. Bundas
go deep brown in summer and light brown in winter. A bunda is something to take in,
admire, sculpt, worship, hold in your hand (if invited), stroke, spank lightly (again if
invited), to adore, to cover in oil, to drive you crazy, to make your head turn, to
caress, to ohhhhhhhhh.
The female bundas are pretty nice as well.
Bundas in Brazil are generally shown to great effect on the beach with a type of
bathing suit called fio dental (dental floss). This type of bathing costume is
synonymous with Rio de Janeiro. The dental floss, as the name implies is designed to
reveal the maximum amount of bunda, let it all hang out so to speak. Now it does
not matter too much what shape the bunda is, a dental floss is still the go.
The Brazilian is very famous for their admiration of bundas. Some people like
legs, some like chests, some like waists, but for the Brazilians, especially the Carioca,
it is the bunda that counts. And they count them day in and day out.
Some days it can be a little hard not to break your neck looking at bundas. I
have seen bundas lined up like pears in a fruit shop. I have seen bundas
riding on bikes that would make you want to turn into a bicycle for the rest of your life.
I have seen bundas dance and gyrate in a manner that makes gravity seem to
disappear. The collective noun for a bunch of bundas is "pour beer down your
chest" bundas.
After much research, I have determined the optimal age for a bunda is about 30.
A 30-year-old bunda can sometimes reduce me to walking into telegraph poles. And I
have. I once saw a bunda so perfect, I just followed it around for twenty minutes,
then asked the bunda owner if it was bionic or surgically created. Nup, no silicon
here. He really was not offended that I asked at all, which was nice.
You know, you can have a crap day sometimes, but just glimpse one good bunda and
the sun seems to come out again. Once again, I am only talking about the male bundas,
but you are free to use your imagination otherwise.
I think it was Winston Churchill who said, "A cigar is a cigar, but a good bunda
is a smoke!". Or he would have, if he had visited Brazil.
Bundas, better quit while I am ahead on this one.
More Bus
Adventures
When I first arrived in Brazil, I noticed a lot of people would make the sign of the
cross on their chests when they sat on the bus. Initially I thought they were thinking
like me.
"Pray to God this bus driver will slow down".
But then I noticed that the drivers would do this as well.
"Attention bus passengers, we have a small malfunction with the main Mercedes bus
engine, it’s stuck on full throttle, and we have no brakes. Please remain calm and seated,
in the event this bus finishes up in Guanabara Bay, you will find the life jackets stowed
underneath your seat".
Now I realize it’s just another one of those "mic" things. Every time the bus
goes past a church, all the Catholics on board make the sign of the cross. With so many
churches in Rio de Janeiro, this can look like some cabin scene out of a Boeing 747
disaster movie from the 70s.
Samba on
the Buses
One of the really nice things about traveling on the buses is the free use of the buses
if you do samba as you enter the bus at the rear turnstile. Let me explain.
Usually it’s only done by teenage boys in casual beach attires (read thongs, shorts and
maybe a T-shirt). As you enter the bus at the rear, you approach the turnstile and start
to samba on your hands and knees. Gradually, you samba your way underneath the turn style,
then swing your body up and turn around and smile at the ticket collector.
If the ticket collector likes the way you samba, then you can enter the bus and sit
down, and it does not cost you anything. However, if the ticket collector does not like
the way you samba, (or sometimes the bus driver judges you as well), then you have to get
off the bus straight away, or pay. Whatever, I think it is a great custom, although for
some reason, not all the paying passengers agree with this. (Some of the bus passengers
even suggested to me that these people were not actually doing samba, but were entering
the bus illegally, but I could not believe this.)
Anyway, one Friday night, when I was coming home from the office, I entered the bus at
Cinelândia and decided to try the samba bus entry myself. I was dressed in a suit and
tie, and with my briefcase I hoisted myself onto the bus, and threw my briefcase over the
turnstile. I then started to lower myself on my hands and knees and trying to samba under
the turnstile. Well, I don’t know what I did wrong, but the next thing I know is I find
myself being shown the front entrance to the bus in Praia de Flamengo. MMMmmmm, must get
some more Samba lessons before I try this again.
The tunnels of Rio
Rio de Janeiro is very famous for its tunnels. The geography of Rio requires the major
roads go under the mountains in and around Rio (i.e. too steep to go over). There are
about eight major tunnels at present, and some more under construction. The longest tunnel
at present is about 3-km long, but one under construction is about 8-km long. All of these
tunnels are dual carriageway (2 lanes each way minimum). Driving in these tunnels is very
challenging, the speeds incredible.
One of the saddest sights you will ever see in Rio de Janeiro is the people sleeping in
these tunnels. It is impossible not to be moved by this, it is just so tragic. Sometimes
you see whole families sleeping together in these tunnels. I am not sure if they just do
not know the danger they are in, or just so poor, or do not care, or seek the warmth and
shelter at night that a tunnel offers. God, this city makes you cry, but also it makes you
feel so alive.
Telerj
Telerj wiped me out this month for two days, twice. No reason, but the whole apartment
had no phones for two days. No apology, no ringing to say sorry, no letter of apology.
Just wiped out. For two days we were going down the street to use the pay phone, waiting
in line with other people in the apartment to make a phone call. Gees….
The family that
manicures together
Question. How many guys out their get a manicure of their hands and feet from their
wives each week? If by some remote chance this is not the case (like sure, doesn’t
everyone), you may be interested in the following.
As your average Aussie sow (see how I keep sidestepping this Pig word so well, even
though Marta uses it as my second name), I have learnt a thing or two (belted into more
likely) about clothes, grooming, hair, etc., since arriving in Rio de Janeiro. One of the
rituals that takes place when Marta, Marina (Marta’s mom) and Barbara (Marta’s daughter)
get together on every second Sunday is to play pin-the-manicurist.
Usually it is a Sunday morning thing. Everyone sits around cutting, grooming, filing,
cleaning, painting hand and toe nails (I get excused from this part), combing hair,
waxing, picking, and preening. The precision with which this is done is amazing. Marta
does my hands and feet first, then Barbara does Marta, Marta does Marina (note the pecking
order). Me, you think a gringo would be entrusted with this important duty? I just lie in
my hammock Sunday morning and enjoy it, reading O Globo and having coffee.
Afterwards, all the finger and toe nail clippings, hair, belly button lint, dead skin
and pubics are gathered up, put in a bowl, mixed with incense and burned over a candle to
worship the Goddess of Brazilian Beauty. (Sick joke I know).
Brazilian women are just so fastidious about their appearance, they really pay close
attention to every aspect of personal grooming. It is to be admired, enjoyed, and
appreciated. So I do.
Novelas (Soaps)
How is Melrose Place lately? We got that here too. Ah, but the novelas of
Brazil. Rei do Gado (King of Cows) is my favorite novela. It is one hour
every night of the week. It is basically Dallas in Brazil. Situated around a family in the
south of Brazil, they own a cattle farm the size of Tasmania. I love to watch this show
just for the scenery of Brazil, the Pantanal wetlands, the fazendas, the old cities
and cobblestone streets. The acting and camera work is just first rate. The novela
is even exported to Russia. That kind of makes me laugh if you could imagine Boris Yeltsin
voice-overs on Brazilian actors. "Nyet Ivan, I will not bring my cows to Moscow this
winter!"
Xica da Silva
This novela is through the eyes of a female slave, the daughter of Portuguese
courtesan who has an illegitimate baby to an African slave. The Portuguese courtesan never
owns up to his deeds of course, so she is also brought up as a slave, but she knows who
her father is. Some scenes in this novela are very graphic, a bit like
"Roots", and quite controversial. The acting again is first class, the lead
female actress is just brilliant (and a dead set 12/10). Costuming is just outstanding. It
is largely situated in and around gemstone mining towns of Minas Gerais. You do see some
things on the Brazilian novelas that I am pretty certain would not make the final
cut and censorship in other countries. In one scene, the soldiers are looking for stolen
diamonds, so they stop a priest and his burro (f). The soldier then proceeds to put
his arm inside the vagina of the burro (in close up) to look for the diamonds (Man, took
me by surprise when I saw this I can assure you). Didn’t find any diamonds, but the burro
looked pretty happy and contented.
Beach Culture continued…
Thought I had done this to death, but I have just scratched the surface on this one. My
notes on this topic are going to be a little more random now, just observations, rather
than a time of day thing. See, to know the beach, is to know a lot about Brazil, and
especially the Carioca. The beach is life, death, spiritual, therapy, the office,
the backyard, the playground, the culture, the warehouse, the shopping center, the place
to meet, to play, to romance, to surf, to sell, to tan, to parade, to work out, to chill
out, to ah, life is a beach.
Rio de Janeiro is one of those tourist destinations you either love or hate, and if you
love it, you keep coming back to it. You just cannot get enough of Rio. There is so much
to do in this city, its natural beauty is its very essence. So, even if you have been to
Sugarloaf 20 times, it is still magic to go back and see it again. I never tired of
crossing Sydney Harbor Bridge, or going on Harbor Ferry rides in Sydney, and it is the
same here. You just keep on coming back to find more and relive the moment.
One of my favorite sights is sunrise over the Atlantic and Sugarloaf. I see this most
mornings when I ride my bicycle, and there are so many different sunrises here, I never
realized the sun could make so many different colors. I hope one day to capture this
properly on film, so far I think I have seen about 15 different types of sunrises here.
One in particular is my favorite, I call it "The Fire from Africa". It is like
seeing a fire come racing out of Africa and goes on around the planet as it sweeps up in
the sky and engulfs Rio de Janeiro in a scorching hot day. It has flames that streak the
sky in arrows of light just prior to sunrise, then in a matter of seconds the fire spreads
and the sun engulfs the whole city in a day of 40C temperatures. It is just magic.
Beach Volleyball
I mentioned that I sometimes played beach volleyball with some old dudes in the
morning. It has been pretty sporadic of late, just too busy, and well, let me explain.
All of the guys I play with are retired or semi retired pensioners. The youngest would
be in his late 40s (some people in Brazil get to retire on full pensions pretty young much
to the economy’s sadness), the oldest is 81, and I think one of the best players. They
have been playing all their lives and they just know every trick in the book. None of us
can get too much daylight under the soles of our feet when it comes to spiking at the net,
so we are all pretty equal in this regard. But they are just so skilful, and know exactly
where to place the ball. It always seems they hit the ball to me just out of reach of my
fingertips.
Anyway, lately they have been acting a little bit "stand-off". You know what
I mean, like "Ah John, can you let one of the other guys play this time" or
"John, do you mind if Eduardo, our blind and crippled pensioner play this game to
sort of even things up a bit". I don’t know exactly what is going on here. Maybe it
has something to do with me being the last one to be picked on the team. Or I seem to
always play on the losing team or something. Anyway, one guy is eventually sent over to
explain that they are getting ready to compete for the senior or veterans division final
for beach volleyball in a couple of weeks, and you know, would you mind letting another
older guy play to get some practice.
I think I just got told, "You are not good enough. Go find another team."
Very humbling, and somewhat humiliating. "Hey, anyone want to have a game of fresco
ball? Carlos, Márcio, Romário, come on, I am getting better at this boing boing thing,
truly!"
Another dimension to the beach volleyball is that the summer competition has just
started. This is Saturday afternoon serious stuff, like cricket in Sydney. I have
developed a keen appreciation for the finer aspects of the female beach volleyball teams,
so athletic, so skilful, so much teamwork, so strenuous, so "pass me another beer, por
favor".
The BBQ (Churrasco)
Now, the beach would never be complete without a BBQ would it, especially for
Brazilians as they love their churrasco. What you won’t find though is a Weber or a
gas BBQ with volcanic hot rocks, or God forbid an electric public BBQ.
The best BBQs are made from the rims of car tires (the older and rustier the better) or
a stainless steel beer keg cut in half. Mount it on a tripod of scrap metal poles, throw
in some wood and charcoal, put a grate on top, hey presto, the perfect portable BBQ to go
to the beach. Sausages and kebabs are the standard meat on the BBQ. Also toasted cheese
pieces on a stick, which is just heaven. The wood/charcoal they use is very slow burning,
and just makes the most delightful low visible smoke yet high flavorsome char grilled
meats you ever tasted.
John Miller is an Australian, living in Rio de Janeiro, selling
Australian wine. `Postcards from Rio’ is a journal of his journey in the land of the Cariocas.
For contact:
John and Marta Miller
Rua Joaquim Nabuco, 106 / Apt 1001
Copacabana CEP 22080-030
Rio de Janeiro
Brazil
Tel: +55 (021) 521 8568
E-mail: millerj@gbl.com.br
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