Brazil

1988 -- One of the most beautiful yet poor in the world. It was just lovely; we all enjoyed this country, despite the militia on the streets that spoke of the tempestuous times we were in. Honest, one could not turn around without seeing someone in uniform; the sad thing is that it seemed natural to see them there, as if they belonged.

The first touchdown we stayed at a club of sorts; I think. Not an accurate memory, but I remember flashes of memory of some posh place. Damien and I played there; no children that I can recall, just ourselves. Ma did have fun there … she spoke to everyone in Spanish, and they to her in Portuguese. The weird thing is that they understood each other to a degree. Not totally; but enough. One episode that stands out in my mind is my mother and I walking down the street, at a market? Anyway, we met two ladies, and my mother asked if they were sisters. They were not, but mother and daughter. To cover her faux pas, my mother said to the mother that she looked very young. At the time I thought they both looked old … now, remembering, they looked in their forties. The hard life age them quickly.

At one place Phil and ma went to a US$100 into local currency—and we had left the note there to be valuated to see if it was real, when a person from the bank came running up to us—in the street!—to tell us that it was not real. Parents were not impressed by this -- loss of a fair bit! After that they decided to use the black market, and indeed we continued to do so throughout our travels overseas.

Something we liked to do was buy fresh juices from street vendors. Coconut juice, fruit juices, sugar cane juice … right there in front of you, squeezed before your very eyes.

The militia stopped my father one stage and searched him, because he was a foreigner. Not my mother, just Phil. They pulled him into a truck, asked for papers and stuff … pushing my mother away. I don't know how I know this, since I don't think I was present at the time. I could be wrong, though. Another thing that stands out in my mind is where my mother was walking down the street—wearing my necklace—and a guy ran up and snatched it off her. It wasn't gold -- just plated—but it was mine, damnit.

Some time later—or was it before?—we saw an older lady get brass earrings ripped from her ears. Phil saw the guy—we were sitting down on the seat in a park—and he seemed to want to stick out his foot and trip the guy up, but he could have had a knife, and so didn't. We witnessed it and went to comfort the poor lady, whose ears were torn and bleeding.

We also travelled the coast—all mentioned so far happened in the one city. I don't recall that much about anything else … I know that we met some people, stayed in a bay somewhere, where Damien and I played in the sand under a club.