An ill-timed lanche, naked pan-handler and weirdly named pizza

Time to leave the city? 

Happy Easter

One of my favorite lanches (snacks) is suco de limão (cold, sweetened lime juice) and a coxinha (literally, “little thigh,”), a pear-shaped morsel containing shredded chicken, sometimes green olives, spices, covered with mashed potatoes and then FRIED until it’s crispy. Believe me, you want one. Occasionally I enjoy this lanche in a busy, open café near a leafy, green park. I’ll call it Café Onde Eu Costumava Comer to protect the innocent. Today there was some crazy action. A man lurched in, staggered around, mumbling, then lifted his shirt to show a waitress a hole in his back – it looked like a very deep belly button. He stuck his finger in the hole and wiggled it around, apparently wanting something from the waitress for it. As most of us café-goers simultaneously watched and tried to avoid attracting the attention of this person, a rat ran from the street into the café. I quickly lifted my legs and put them on the seat in front of me, but most customers were standing and wearing flip flops or sandals. The rat darted around for at least four minutes – which in human time is probably like 18 hours – scurrying over people’s feet and smashing into the display cases (which, by the way, contained a gardening spade to scoop baked goods). The man with the hole in his back started trying to catch it but the rat was too fast. He even looked in the trash can, like the rat might have run up the side, opened the lid, and jumped in. Meanwhile, a staff member had gotten out a large, long knife and was also chasing the rat. He was faster than the man, but not fast enough. There is a happy ending, sort of. Na final o rato conseguiu. He finally ran between two cases and disappeared. But that’s probably the last of my lanches at this café. Though I really love those coxinhas.

Another thing in Belém that has me looking forward to going to Portel involves a naked pan-handler. I see her most nights on the street (usually clothed), but one night I walked by and noticed she was completely naked. Not sure what to do, I kept on walking (seriously, what would YOU do?). I told an anthropologist-friend in Belém about this, and she said, “Oh, yeah, is she short with short dark hair? Everyone knows her. One day at the art fair I felt someone tap on my shoulder. When I turned around there was a totally naked woman standing there, so I gave her 5 reais. My friends told me I was crazy. Later she wandered by and tapped me on the shoulder again! Like I wasn’t going to remember a naked pan-handler!”

Things aren’t all bad in the city – my home away from home

Last but not least, a waiter at one of the Italian restaurants I sometimes go to seems to find me, uh, fascinating, so much so that he stands only at my table, and no, this is not a routine cultural practice in Brazilian restaurants. While I could be flattered, I suppose, I am instead creeped out and won’t visit that place again, which is too bad, because I really wanted to try the Pizza Saddan Husein, which according to the menu has been approved by something called the Roxy Club.

What?