Today is one of those days when I seriously think I need a reality show.
When we moved to Brazil, one thing that Helena decided she wasn’t willing to let go was her Cross Cultural consulting work. For the past 10 years she’s been working as an executive coach and trainer for some of the world’s biggest multinationals, most of them pharmaceutical companies. Although we both detest the idea of supporting the pharmaceuticals in any way, she usually ends up leaving most of her clients on a new regimen of green smoothies, so it’s something.
Today, I have no qualms about telling you just how thrilled I am that Helena’s doing this work. Why? Because for the next two days, I’m hanging out at one of Brazil’s award winning resorts while Sugar Mama works. Don’t hate me. Right now I practically hate myself for being so safada….except for the fact that there’s table service on the beach.
Last night I got on a plane for the first time in almost a year; a total out-of-body experience, given that in my past life I was flying at least a few times a month. We were picked up at the airport in Salvador, in the state of Bahia, by car service. We were greeted by a woman dressed in traditional Bahiana clothing who promptly tied a narrow blue ribbon around my wrist that was printed with the words: “Lembrança do Senhor do Bonfim da Bahia.” According to legend, I must wear the bracelet until it falls off or my wishes won’t come true.
We arrived at the Eco Resort in the dark, a place so exotic and magical that apparently, it needs to cost $800 Reals a night to maintain the mystery. The room is exquisite, full of biodegradable organic soaps, crisp white sheets and a hammock surrounded by long linen curtains swaying in the nighttime breeze.
Helena was required to meet up with the company for dinner, a group of Latin American execs who are working to develop the generic line of medicines for a French pharmaceutical company. Good times, right? I figured that as the “trailing spouse,” I’d just do my best to look cute and stay out of trouble…something that doesn’t come naturally, but probably the best move.
We were seated at a table full of Venezuelans, who while very simpatico, were pretty stiff. I made polite conversation, switching between three languages throughout the meal. “Agora eu tenho muito trabalho” became “Ahora yo tengo mucho trabajo,” which translates to “Now I have a lot of work.” It’s clear that in the land of multinationals, working too hard and feeling stressed out is pretty much a universal language. Muchas gracias, but NO.
Just when I was thinking it was time to snag the waiter for another glass of Malbec, the evening’s entertainment suddenly shifted from a gentle Bossa Nova to…La Bamba! Within 10 seconds, everyone in the room had risen to their feet. The Venezuelans led the charge, closely followed by Uruguay, not to be outdone by a table of rowdy Brazilians. They swayed and clapped to the music, their ID badges swinging wildly around their necks.
Yo no soy marinero
Yo no soy marinero, soy Capitan
Soy Capitan, soy Capitan!
These people could party! A gregarious Venezuelan in charge of product control (or whatever) ran to the front of the room and grabbed the mike. Within seconds, ten other people had joined him, bumping and grinding their pleated chinos in time to the beat. That’s when the caipirinhas kicked in. Suddenly, no one could remember the lyrics. In seconds, half the group had yanked their I Phones out of the front pockets of their button down shirts. They madly ticked away until they’d pulled up the rest of the lyrics. Buoyed by their cleverness, the group belted out La Bamba as though they were channeling the ghost of Ricky Valens. By the time the band shifted to the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout,” there were more people on stage then there were in the audience.
Helena and I clapped and sang from our table, our faces hurting from laughing so hard. Last night would have been my brother’s 40th birthday, and all I could think was that only he could have cooked up something like this. You just can’t make this stuff up.
I joined Helena for breakfast this morning at 7:00, where we were kept company by a tiny pão de queijo snatching monkey. The day’s schedule invites me to partake in some gentle stretching on the main lawn at 9:00, an African dancing lesson at 10:00, and water disco aerobics at 11:00. I’m not sure what’s happening on the Promenade Deck, but I’m more inclined to visit the turtle preserve about a half mile or so down the shore. Then I’ll head back for my date with Stephen Hawking’s new book, a beach chair, an umbrella, and an umbrella drink.
Such is the life of a kept woman.
Eu tenho muito saudade do Brazil. You’re killing us. Brazil is that rare and perfect combination of great beauty and beautiful, generous, lovely people.