In the morning on the way to work, I walk by the Paulista University.  So, it is common that I end up walking with many of the students on the way to class.  The other day, just as I got about 50 yards from the school, one of the public buses made a stop and the driver helped a young blind man off the bus.  He reached out to grab someone nearby to help the man get to his destination, and … well, that person ended up being me.

If it wasn’t for the language barrier which is more than any other place we lived, it would not be a problem.  The driver grabbed me by the sleeve and placed the young man’s hand on my arm as I tried to tell him I did not understand Portuguese.  He rattled off something in Portuguese and boarded the bus and drove off, with several people gawking at me from the bus windows.

So, I started to panic.  I removed his hand from my arm, and grabbed hold of his arm in case he tripped … or something.   I had no idea what to do with this man.  I couldn’t get my phone out to use the translator app, because he was blind.  So, I did what I usually do when get thrust in with the Brazilians.  I say, “Eu não entendo português”. (I do not understand Portuguese).  He looked toward my direction with his eyes rolled up into his eye sockets and replied, “I speak leetle  English.”

Okay.  First hurdle, now the next.  “Do you need to go to the University?”

He moved my hand from his arm and gently slipped his hand under my arm.  That simple gesture made me relax.  I was no longer leading him, but simply walking with him.  He said, “Yes.  I am study computer science.”

Okay.  Second hurdle has been reached.

So, I gently moved him around the corner and walked to where I thought the students entered the building.  He kept tapping his cane back and forth in front of him, until he came to a point where the ground shifted to a slight incline near a corner of a wall.  At that point, he knew where he was and thanked me for my help.

I found such a simple act of helping a young blind student get to his class, a thought provoking moment for those of us who take our sight, and everything else for granted.

But I was happy to let him go, and as I continued walking to the consulate, I was reminded there are people walking among us not born of woman, who are placed here to test/teach us.  I wondered if he was such a person, and if he was, did I pass?

Several months ago I helped the Marines host a Wingfest to raise money.  I supplied several bottles of the hot sauce used in the original Buffalo recipe thanks to Terese, who had the foresight to put two cases of the magical stuff in our household shipment.

When the Marines sold the wings, only the Americans and a few brave Brazilians dug in.  If you remember from some of my earlier posts, the Brazilians are not into spicy food.  Not even black pepper.  So last Monday, being President’s Day, I decided to spend some time coming up with a Brazilian-wing sauce recipe.

I put a package of wings in the air fryer to cook and looked through my cabinets to see what all I could come up with.  There was a bottle of raspberry vinaigrette dressing with an expiration date of June 2010, but it still had the proper color.  And a bottle of Kraft’s Original BBQ sauce, dated sometime in 2011.  I had a bottle of Texas balsamic vinegar given to me by a boss about 4 years ago, and I also found some Texas olive oil.

Now I must tell you, there is a gentleman at the Consulate, who along with his wife loves cooking.  They produce an abundance of food at any setting they prepare.  He told me, “Hot wing sauce is easy to make.  Take any hot sauce, add vinegar and oil and Voila!”

So I figure I could take anything, add vinegar and oil and Voila!  I could see my future where the City of Sao Paulo would have a parade in my honor for creating the perfect wing sauce for Brazilians.  The recipe would go “viral” and I would reject any idea of patenting it, instead giving it to all mankind (and womankind).  Even the small town where I was born in Texas would have a Main Street parade in my honor.  Both blocks would be lined with my fellow Texans and we would end up at the Knights of Columbus Hall for drinks.

Well … the best laid plans often go awry.

I mixed the raspberry vinaigrette with some Texas olive oil and I notice strange flakes in the sauce, and the smell was not as enticing as I had hoped.  So, I put the mixture in the microwave to “meld”.  Within the 20 seconds in the microwave, I realized this was not going to be the mixture I had hoped for.  There is nothing I can compare to the smell of the ‘melded’ mixture.  It had turned into a slightly jelled mud and I quickly placed it in the sink and flushed it down with bleach.

I turned my attention to the 7-year-old BBQ sauce and decided it needed some hard liquor.

Now, let’s have a quick side note here.  Several years ago in Ankara, Terese took a flight home for a week and I decided to pamper myself with the perfect steak.  I went to the commissary at the local air base and pick a small flawless medallion steak and marinated it overnight in whiskey.  I did not want to use any of my good whiskey, so I choose a cheap bottle that I only offer to people who don’t know what good whiskey is.

After the marination, I placed it gently on a grill and cooked it to a perfect medium.  Laying with a large baked potato and a salad with Ranch dressing, it minded me of a Rembrandt painting.

The salad was refreshing.  The potato was delicious.  And the steak tasted like the cheap whiskey.  I did not finish it.

So, with that lesson learned I decided to use good liquor, and this time I chose Captain Morgan rum.

I mixed the ingredients together and proceeded to taste.  It was acceptable.  I dare say the Brazilians would approve, and it was decided by a majority vote, this is what I will use at the next Marine Wingfest.  … along with the original Buffalo sauce for the crazy Americans.

It may not make me famous among the Brazilians, or the townsfolk of my birth, but will suffice in bringing the Brazilians together with the Americans who like hot spicy food.

If nothing else, upon my demise when I arrive at the Pearly Gates, the kind gentleman with the white beard and flowing robe will say to me, “Oh, you’re the guy who made the perfect wing sauce for the Brazilians.  Yeah, I hear of you often!  Come on in and report to the kitchen immediately.”

With my luck they will hand me a list of things to do, with the first being, Empty the kitchen trash, and ending with C Me.

I attended our usual Tuesday afternoon RSO meeting, where I found out the monkey was too decomposed to tell if it died from Yellow Fever.  But it was reported, there were four monkeys found in a 3 block radius from the Consulate that had died from the disease.

The week following the discovery at the Consulate, there were several teams from the Brazilian Government who combed the grounds for more evidence.  I am told the disease is transmitted by mosquito, and will only affect primates. (humans and the monkeys)

This is not a matter to be taken lightly, and something I am not used to.  In Moscow, both Terese and I contracted the H1N1 virus, which to me was just a very bad cold that last three or four days.  Ignorantly, I did not know I had the virus at the time and just went to work.   Terese evidently contracted it from me.  No telling who else did.

If you need an ambulance in Sao Paulo, you may have to wait up to four hours for one.  Find a dead monkey and emergency crews will arrive within the hour.

Last week, one of the Local Guard Forces (LGF) was making his rounds when he happened across a small dead monkey on the grounds near my shop.  I personally would have thought nothing of it after spending two years in Ethiopia, but here it is a different story.

This was on a weekend and within minutes, the Consulate was on lock-down.  No one was allowed on compound unless they have been vaccinated against Yellow Fever.  This was a shocker to me.

I went in to the Consulate the next day, Sunday, to do some work and yellow tape had cordoned off the area around my shop.  Terese and I both were vaccinated before going to Ethiopia so it was not an issue for me.  I was able to slip in around the building to get to my shop.

The next day, Monday, guards were positioned at the entrance to the Consulate allowing only those who had been vaccinated into the compound.  The rest were directed to a vaccination post, where Bombeiros (Brazilian Fire Fighters) gave Yellow Fever vaccinations to those who did not have them.  This was not a trivial matter.  It was an active attempt to control a possible outbreak of a deadly disease.

This is Monday, a week later and the monkey still has not been determined to have died from Yellow Fever, but it is not an issue they will take lightly.  Since I am in the Security Office, I saw the pictures of the monkey.  It was only about 5-6 inches long, still very young, yet it sent a shock wave through the Consulate and the Brazilian Government.  No small matter.

We often take for granted what we have and never realize how close we are to our demise.  Many things in our lives can be our ruin, yet we are still able to walk the streets comfortably, thanks to Science and Technology.

I have become good friends with the nurse at the Consulate.  She is Brazilian and spent a few years in Tennessee of all places, where she learned her perfect use of English.  I am often amazed how many of the foreigners I meet in the world who learn our crazy language, can speak it better than this old Texan, who lived in the US for a crazy number of years, and then some.  One of our beautiful friends we met in Adana, Turkey learned her English in Tennessee also.  I don’t know what it is about Tennessee, but it has made a difference in many lives.

I have had a few short discussions with this Brazilian friend, and realize her personality is unlike any I have interacted with.  Although she is a nurse, she is also a mathematician.  That alone raises all sort of interests in my mind, because it points to someone who I can have a good discussion with.  For some reason, I am drawn to people of intellect.

A few weeks ago, she sent me an email politely suggesting me to drop by the Health Unit to visit.  So, I dropped everything and went by to see how she was doing, where she told me she and her fiance were getting married and asked if I wanted to attend.  I was elated!  “Ah … yeah!!  Will there be Brazilian women there?”  She laughed and said, “Of course!”

The wedding was in Brasilia, the capital of Brazil, and hour and half by plane.  I quickly made reservations for air-flight and hotel.

So below are pictures I took of the ceremony.  The wedding was announced to be at 5:30 pm, but it did not actually start until 6:30.  This is Brazil.

There was a small string ensemble with a flute, playing light music that seemed to float among the trees.Then it was down to business …Afterwards, the quests headed for the food as the couple prepared for the reception.  Food ….  that was an understatement, and as would be expected in Brazil, the Country of passion and colors, the settings themselves were works of art. And here is the table with the wedding cake, in the center.These two people are completely opposites and yet I see how they will compliment each other throughout their marriage.  She is vibrant and sociable and he is quiet and reserved.  Where he is subdued, she will boost him up.  Where she is bouncing off the walls, he will calm her down.He is an American from Tennessee, who is an engineer for the automobile manufacturer Nissan, and they are planning to move to Japan with his job soon.  These are good people, and I look forward to seeing what happens to them in the next 10 years.   … a new Adventure for them.

As for us, keep kicking butt.

RSO stands for Regional Security Office.  It is the office in charge of all things relating to security at an Embassy/Consulate.  It is also the office that I work under.

Yesterday, the RSO had a BBQ for all its people and I, of course attended.  As with any Brazilian BBQ, the meat just keeps on coming.  There is only one other place on Earth that I have eaten more meat in one day, and that is the backyard of a good man know as Ron Luke.  (my brother-in-law)

I took several pictures of the meat before, during and after cooking.  See below: I added some of Terese’s chicken wings and they disappeared before I could get a picture of them, except in the image above, in the shiny bowl.

I cannot express to you the amount of meat that was cooked.  As I stated before, the Brazilians cook meat in such a way, that it is shared by all as the meat is cooked.  When any is ready, they will place it on the counter and cut it into strips.  People will come around and grab a strip or two to enjoy.  The process of cooking is part of the social aspect of the BBQ.

And the people …What you see is just a small fraction who attended.  The local guard force (LGF) is under RSO so many of them came with their families.  Below is a picture of me with two couples.  The two men I work with often and I have great respect for them.  The two lovely ladies are their spouses.Now the next picture I am posting is one of my favorite families:The tall husband with the thin face is Tommy Hale.  He is the Office Manager for the RSO.  I call him Professor Hale and he calls me Dr. Nolte.  Of all the people I work with, he helps me more than I can express.  He has a very dry sense of humor, and is ornery at the core, where you don’t see it.  He is an American.  He told me where he lived, California being one state among several others.  He said he drove through Amarillo Texas one day and got a ticket; that’s all he remembers.  Since he speaks Portuguese, I get him to do translating for me.  When Camila leaves me a note I will take it to him to decipher.  After he paraphrases what she says, I will detect a very slight smile on his face which tells me the next words out of his mouth will be … if you pardon the expression, BS.  Usually, it is something like:  … and she says you are a sexy hunk of a man.

I can honestly say that my respect for Professor Hale is enormous.  I will always find an excuse to drop by the office just to visit with him.

… and then at the BBQ yesterday, I met his wife, Lucy and daughter, Lula.  I fell in love with both of them.  The discussion I had with Lucy was both serious and comical.  She has it in her mind that I will find a lovely Brazilian woman and marry her.  Much was discussed yesterday with her, but the last words to me before she departed, was, “I will be at your wedding.”

I am planning for a wingfest in the next few weeks and will definitely invite them.

In other news, I have a batch of beans cooking away and have added several super-secret ingredients.  I will let you know how they came out.

MotherDear, I received your pickling recipes and find them tickling.  Especially the watermelon pickles.  Perhaps I can conjure up some in time to bring them to you for the reunion.  We will let Marsha judge them.

As I stood in my kitchen cutting up chicken wings to pre-cook, along with ribs brought home from the BBQ, and chopping up onions, peppers and garlic for the super-secret ingredient beans, I realized I have never in the past spent so much time in the kitchen as I do now.  Perhaps someday, I will become a world renown chef!

… it would be another adventure of Life.

Kick butt, D.