Old Town School – On The Road
Dispatches from the road from our wayfaring travelers.
Why Abbey, Dvorak, Maddox, and Tyler
On two days notice, Juha Reunanen filled his photography studio with 30 guests for a Thursday night concert of an unknown American band Abbey, Dvorak, Maddox and Tyler. Auli Lehto-Tähtinen did an enormous amount of legwork in order to produce Finland’s 2009 Rootsinpyhtaa Bluegrass Festival, including making a cheese cake for the American band. Wasel Arar gave up sleeping for a week so he could host the Americans as well as play in two bands and help with the re-enactment camp. Marija Karhinen-Ilo and Lassi Logren dedicated prime space at their Helsinki folk school, Kansanmusiikkiopisto, and many hours of organizing to host a workshop put on by ADMT. Why would these Finns do so much work to host an unknown band of known folks whose reputations are spread out evenly across bluegrass, old time,folk and rock music?
Well, the answer seems to be that this band was billed to these presenters as both a group of professional roots music performers and as a group of teachers who have been trained by their work to lift the human spirt with all available musical means. What a joy to tour under these terms. Released from the need to be sexy young things or super pickers or torch bearer for a singular tradition, we were able to just be ourselves, make great music and communicate with some folks who were ready to receive. Paul sang a mean baritone and pitched some great material that bridged the gap between bluegrass and old time (Prodigal Son), Mark played some super fine claw-hammer banjo and transformed his amazing songs into ensemble pieces, and John found his inner-hillbilly and made everything sound cool by holding the whole band in his bear-like embrace.
As for myself, I felt like I was getting a rare opportunity to communicate using the international language of music. Silly style divisions were removed in the company of this band, and as a result the quality of the performances shot way up and the Finns really dug the vibe. This is the kind of festival experience that give people a chance to practice the art of being better people, and I was happy to be on board.
Filed under: Country, DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from Colby by Colby | June 18, 2009 | Comments (3)
A Quest for Ancient Finnish Folk Music
After spending a weekend packed with Americana, I was eager to learn more of Finnish traditional folk music, particularly fiddling. What I didn’t realize at the time is that my quest would reach much further into the past.
Some of the best bluegrass-style pickers played with the Mappets, a band formed around Mappe Saukkonen, a red-headed mother of four. Mappe played a solid boom-chuck guitar in the big jam we had the first night in Ruotsinpyhtää. In conversation at the bar later, she told me in her halting English that she grew up in a house where both parents frequently sang Finnish folk songs. Mappe writes her own country-flavored songs in graceful and flowing English. But at the bar, she sang for me in Finnish a few verses of the Kalevala that she’d learned from her parents.
 Mappe Saukkonen in a bluegrass jam (click to enlarge) |
 The Mappets on the main stage (click to enlarge) |
The Kalevala is a multi-faceted tradition of sung poems comprising over two million verses collected from traditional singers and old printed sources over the course of several centuries. The epic adventures of Väinämöinen and other ancient Finnish heroes, lived for centuries in the performances of folksingers from Finland, Estonia and Karelia (the latter was partitioned between Finland and Russia after World War II). In 1835, Elias Lönnrot, a pioneering folklorist, compiled 22,795 verses, divided into fifty cantos, into a coherent narrative. The publication of Lönnrot’s Kalevala was one of the foundations of Finnish nationalism and the emergence in 1917 of a sovereign Finland, independent from Sweden and Russia.
On our first day in Finland, we four Old Town School teachers stumbled upon a monument dedicated to Elias Lönnrot and his unification of the Kalevala. Little did I suspect that the next night, I would have some verses from the epic sung personally for me by a singer who heard it sung at home by her mother and father.
 Kalevala monument on Lönnrot Avenue (click to enlarge) |
 Väinämöinen, hero and shaman (click to enlarge) |
The Kalevala tradition is larger than even Lönnrot’s 19th century compilation. Old songs and folk poetry dating from the misty beginnings of Finnish culture and history survived in oral tradition. Such rune songs or songs in the Kalevala metre contained charms and beliefs as well as legends and tales. The old songs expressed collective joys and sorrows, and belonged with the daily tasks, community celebrations and social rituals (particularly weddings) of the herding, fishing and farming peoples who lived in Finland, Karelia and Ingria.
Väinämöinen was not the only hero of this ancient tradition. But he was, indeed, a favorite. As a shaman he held sway over nature through his playing of the kantele, a five-string plucked zither often regarded as the Finnish national instrument.
In this song, from a CD published by the Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura (Finnish Literature Society) in Helsinki, Iivana Onoila sang about how an old man who had a grudge against Väinämöinen could not shoot him else all the world’s songs would die. Instead, he shot ’s boat and left him to the mercy of the seas, where he floated for six years.
Maailman Synty (The Birth of the World)
This short excerpt of “Maailman Synty” was recorded in 1905. Nearly a century later, Holtti, a group of women singers from Central Ostrobothnian University arranged some verses from the Kalevala to music composed by Pauliina Kumpulainen, a member of the trio. All were students in a folk music education program at the school
Another singer from the group Holtti is Kaisa Pudas, an accordion player who became amusical companion and friend as I continued my quest for traditional Finnish folk music. More to come on the kantele, jouhikko, and Torupill (Estonian bagpipes). And, of course, on Finnish fiddling.
Kaisa Pudas (click to enlarge)
Filed under: Finland 2009, Notes from Paul by Paul | June 17, 2009 | Comments (2)
Back Home
It’s been a week now since I left Banff, and two days since I’ve been home in Chicago. In between I jumped back into the rock world, playing 3 shows with Joe Lally in Toronto, Ottowa and Montreal. Then 2 days off and home.
It’s been a hard adjustment, and from all the emails from the other participants I feel that I’m late in coming to that reality. I’m missing being around the intense atmosphere – being surrounded by music 24/7 and being surrounded by musicians all day and night. Now it’s time to take what I experienced and bring it to my life.
First it’s the issue of money – inescapable. Catching up and trying to get ahead. Something I didn’t have to think about too much for 3 weeks. But now it’s front and center.
And then it’s where do I go from here with my music. How do I even get started? Maybe that’s just it – to start. I have very concrete ideas from working with Hank Roberts – and so much other information from everybody else. Almost too much to process. One thing I have decided is that I would like to bring other people into my music – to write for more than just my cello.
And I need to focus on my new record – which means lots of time on the computer booking shows, contacting people and getting some momentum going.
This will be my last post on the Old Town Site, but I will continue to post on my website If you’ve been following this, I hope you’ll keep in touch – read my blog and comment.
One thing I have learned is that the most important thing about making music is the people you play with and play for. I hope to achieve that here at home and to stay connected with you all through the process.
Filed under: Banff International Workshop 2009, Notes from Alison by Alison | June 14, 2009 | Comments (1)
Why Finns
Finns hold back until they can give you a genuine response. Being from God fearing, Southern Illinois stock, I was prepared for the reserved part, but I was genuinely surprised and constantly charmed by how genuine Finns can be. It might take a few beers, or it might take until the end of the night but I was often locked into close conversation with folks. This kind of talking did not feel selfish, invasive or demanding and only occurred after some initial relationship had been established.
Matti, banjo player for the Clayhill Brothers, approached me on Thursday night to talk about how he got his banjo from Chip Covington 20 years ago, and how he had the chance to take a lesson with Bill Keith. We hit it off right away and shared stories about Chip, a mutual friend, and about Bill Keith’s curious fascination with the Circle of Fifths as a teaching tool. After a really great Friday night jam session at the bar (good rhythm, good turn taking, no contests), Matti secured a drink for me and began to talk about how he regretted not keeping up with the tall, boastful American who had sold him his first banjo. Matti was truly savoring the moment and allowing his emotions to bubble out like sweat from a good Sauna, and it was a surprising change from the usual “beer stories” that guys like to exchange.
Juha Reunanen, the owner of the venue we played at on Thursday night, found himself holding my mandolin about 30 seconds after I found out that he played mandolin. He played beautifully, and I figured if I gave it some time and slept on his floor for a few hours we would have some things to talk about later. Just before the show he introduced me to his musical friend who first gave him a mandolin, and as we were leaving he and his daughter Laura were overjoyed to receive a copy of the OTSFM songbook. A few days later I got an e-mail from Juha saying that Laura “got so carried away, that she is willing to pick up the fiddle after
years break.” Juha finally ended up in my Monday mandolin workshop where he picked everything up at lightning speed and was the first in line for my chord handouts at the end.
Kaisa, a musician and actor in the re-enactment camp, took on a whole bluegrass band with her accordion and beautiful singing at a late night Saturday night session. As the night wore on she was singing new verses to Shady Grove in Finish. The next evening when we returned to the camp we continued to exchange tunes with Kaisa, and by the time Paul and I had agreed on the titles, she had figured out the whole tune. Right click on this link to hear a sample.
After our Monday workshop in Helsinki we were treated to an incredible dinner by the folks at the Kansanmusiikkiopisto Folk Music School, and Kaisa dropped by after her work to say goodbye. Over a dinner of Reindeer meat and a dessert of fresh strawberries we got a chance to talk a little. She explained that her sister was attending the Sibelius Academy and that she had chosen to work a regular job, participate in a small theater company and enjoy developing her music at her own pace.
Wasel Arar, our endlessly friendly and helpful host, did not let on that he was a mandolinist until day two of our stay. Dressed in 19th century clothes from the re-enactment camp and sporting perfect English and a taste for American humor (both picked up from the American school he attended as a kid in Helsinki), Wasel became our bridge between Finnish and American sensibilities. By lunch on Friday I was playing early 20th century American instruments with a Finnish guy dressed up like an American frontier banker, and by late afternoon we were all crammed into a sauna cracking beers with our shaman, tour guide Wasel–mildly surreal.
Turns out Wasel is a really good mando picker, and I loaned him my mandolin on Saturday to play on stage with The Blue Velvet Band–his traditional bluegrass band. I spent the late part of Sunday evening playing Mark’s guitar while Wasel ripped through a bunch of bluegrass standards on my mandolin and Mark, John and Paul whooped it up with the Fins from the re-enactment camp (it takes a village to sell a mandolin).
Wasel arrived at our Monday workshop in Helsinki still in period costume handed me his 1996 Gilchrist Mandolin in exchange for my 2005 Gibson Sam Bush and sat down to participate in the workshop. I am honored to have one of the leading Finnish bluegrass teachers and musicians taking my class, thrilled to play his legendary and incredible mandolin, and floored at how fast the Finns are able to pick up the tunes I am teaching.
As the workshop is breaking up, Wasel lets me know he has decided to buy my Gibson. In the middle of making payment arrangements we find out that both of us lost our fathers and went through stressful legal battles in 2006, the same year that I won the Gibson at a Colorado competition. We took some time to share our experiences, went out to an excellent dinner with Lassi and and Maija from Kansanmusikkiopisto Folk School, and then Wasel maxed out his ATM card and brought two big piles of Euros to my hotel room in exchange for his new instrument–very surreal.
Filed under: DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from Colby by Colby | June 13, 2009 | Comments (0)
Why Bluegrass
What is it about bluegrass music that drives people in far flung parts of the world to invest in instruments, form clubs and bands, and play and perform the sacred music of the American South together? In this June 2009 Finnish/American cultural exchange designed by Bau Graves, the role of bluegrass in the Finnish music scene was initially a concern for us teachers. The obvious question going in was “are we bluegrass enough for them?” I’m always a little concerned when my co-workers look to me to be the bluegrass authority, but on this trip I was never really worried. As we prepared to leave and put together material for our little band, I got the strong feeling that bluegrass would became a vehicle for communication with the Finns and not just a bad script that none of us could really follow.
Certainly the history and rituals associated with bluegrass are compelling, and after picking with the Finnish people I can say they know their history and seem to be naturals at the reserved, patient, focused group rituals that are necessary to bring bluegrass to life. Like the blues, bluegrass provides the participant and the listener the chance to exercise emotions–from the most personal and specific to the most mystical and general. Half of the bluegrass songbag deals with the perfect, natural state of early, rural America and the other half deals with all the ways we became divorced from that state. It was a thrill to hear my new Finnish friend sing songs like Old Home Place, Lamp Lighting Time In the Valley, or Danville Girl because I knew right away that they understood the emotion that they were communicating. Here is a clip of the Clayhill Brothers singing in church on Sunday morning (right click on the link to listen).
Fortunately the Finnish are way too smart and talented to turn bluegrass into some wooden code of conduct or, worse yet, a secular religion. So, in my next couple posts I will introduce you to some folks we met and explain how we used the elegant rituals of bluegrass to get to know one another. Hopefully these pictures of Paul and John in bathrobes will tide you over until then (jet lag is like a big pajama party).
Filed under: DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from Colby by Colby | June 11, 2009 | Comments (0)
“The Finnish” or (”The Finnale”)
Monday morning we left for Helsinki. Workshops were set up for fiddle, mandolin banjo and guitar at a Finnish folk music school. The turnout was great we all taught the respective groups the same songs and got together for “2nd half” with everyone knowing the same as everyone else. A beautiful culmination to a week like no other. Tuesday morning Colby, Mark and I packed our bags to head home.
I was honored to be part of this group. I’ve had the pleasure of playing with and knowing Paul, Mark and Colby in some capacity in my 7 years in Chicago. Perhaps I’m stating the obvious but I feel I know and understand and respect each of them much more deeply now.
All of us who work at The Old Town School do so because of a passion for music, a passion to teach, to pass along our experiences that make us each unique but when the daily routines our lives impart upon us it is easy to overlook just how good and passionate and committed our fellow teachers and friends really are. The cultural exchange in and of itself is educational and rewarding butI learned more from listening to and watching my three comrades this past week than I ever thought possible….for that I am grateful.
Thank You
Filed under: DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from John by John | June 10, 2009 | Comments (0)
Finnish Americana, Part II
As I mentioned in my previous post, Finns are often described as reserved and quiet. But that is only part of the story. They also show a lot of fire and passion. It helps to know the word they use to describe their spirit as a people: sisu. There is no exact English translation for sisu, but the term suggests strength, courage and Finnish soul.
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Ruotsinpyhtaa fire house and an iron works building (click to enlarge)
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Their character was reflected in the music we heard performed by the local bands in Ruotsinpyhtää. In my humble opinion, with a admitted bias for old-time music, the best were the Virtual Reality Boys, a band with two fine fiddlers, Ville and Patrik. Our host Wasku (aka Wasel) played guitar and an English immigrant, John Sheppard played a fine clawhammer style banjo.
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Fiddler Patrik Weckman in 19th century dress (click to enlarge)
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The Clayhill Boys do solid bluegrass, with true singing and clean picking that falls on the reserved side of the Finnish character.
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Matti Lehtola with the Clayhill Boys (click to enlarge)
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The Blue Velvet Band plays and sings with more fire. Wasku’s mandolin picking is much closer to the Bill Monroe sound than anything I’ve been able to generate. Both of these bands were enjoyable to listen to, and we had a good time jamming with all of them.
Wasel ‘Wasku’ Arar with the Blue Velvet Band on the main stage (click to enlarge)
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Wasku also presented a band of Workshoppers, he has been working with for the last couple of years. Don, a techie from Texas and a good singer, played some fine guitar in the Carter Family style, and a young 15-year-old banjo player showed that Scruggs style is thriving here in the Northland.
When we got back to Helsinki on Monday night, we did some Old Town School style classes for a dozen fiddle students, a half dozen mandolinists, and a handful of guitar and banjo pickers. Through the equivalent of two class sessions, we taught each group two old-time tunes from the Songbook, “Waterbound” and “Goin’ Down to Cairo,” plus a fiddle tune I learned from my southern Indiana mentor, Lotus Dickey. We invented a new kind of Second Half by bringing all the students back together to play all three of the songs, first slowly and then more up to tempo.
A Second Half at the Kansanmusiikkiopisto in Helsinki
(right click title and choose ’save link’ to download file)
For more about the Kansanmusiikkiopisto, check out the resources posted on the Flog (Fiddle Blog)
Filed under: DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from Paul by Paul | June 9, 2009 | Comments (2)
Finnish Americana, Part I
The Finns are absolutely wonderful people. Many of them speak English well, most understand it better, and all are incredibly patient and helpful during our tortured attempts to communicate. I feel quite dumb, because I speak only one language and know only two Finnish words: kippis and kiitos. I learned the first word years ago as a toast, thinking it meant nothing more than ‘cheers’ or ‘bottoms up.’ It literally translates as ‘keep peace.’ Kiitos means ‘thank you.’ And if you say kiitos to a Finn after he has made the effort to help you in English, his face will light up. The Finns are a peaceful people.
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The Clayhill Boys do a gospel set at the Lutheran Church (click to enlarge)
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We’ve been hanging out with a bunch who are crazy about American old-time, bluegrass and country music. John and Mark have reported on our opening concert in Juha’s photography studio, and the jam session in the bar on our first night at the Ruotsinpyhtää bluegrass festival. I’m sure the others will weigh in with their take on our main stage set at the festival (we were frozen) and our night time set at the bar (there it was much easier to generate heat). We also did a nice impromptu gospel set in the octagonal shaped Lutheran church that dates back to the 1800s. And we participated in one long jam at the old west rendezvous scheduled in conjunction with the festival.
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DMT jams with the Blue Velvet Band outside the “saloon”(click to enlarge)
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The re-enactors, by the way, fed us with food cooked around their campfires. At the “Indian” camp we feasted on beaver (American beaver were introduced in the Baltic region some years ago when it was thought the European beaver was extinct). At the cowboy camp we were fed a kind of rice and bacon jambalaya that cried out for some spicy andouille sausage.
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(click to enlarge)
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But I digress. After eating we played for another couple of hours, then adjourned into the “saloon” where our “western” hosts continued to ply us with strong homemade beer and even stronger shots of other brown liquids. Plus they entertained us with a mock theater troupe and all manner of tomfoolery.
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The Finns are generally described as a reserved and quiet nation. And that is often true in one-on-one encounters. Collectively, however, Finns are full of spunk and passion. They love to have a good time. At the bar on Friday night, I found it remarkable that even though quite a few men were a bit wobbly after several hours of revelry, they handled it by withdrawing into themselves. There were no bellicose scenes observed, no hostilities expressed. Kippis! (Keep peace!)
Filed under: DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from Paul by Paul | June 9, 2009 | Comments (0)
Can You Tell Me Which Way is North?
Elovena is a kind of instant breakfast cereal. We’ve been calling it “porridge,” which somehow seems appropriate so long as we are in Finland. Elovena is produced by the Hetki Company and only requires some boiling water and one minute of your time. There is a graphic on the box of a lovely Finnish lass in her peasant dress and bonnet, somewhat reminiscent of the St. Pauli Girl, carrying a bundle of wheat and looking out across the table at me. There are some red things in my Elovena, which resemble bits of dehydrated berries, and I have chopped and loaded on the other half of yesterdays banana and a half an apple.
My throat is better today and my sinus has improved. I feel more rested than at any time I can remember over the last month and that is a good thing. The sun is out and it is warmer. We are scheduled to participate in a concert at the church at noon today, and we are scheduled to entertain in the saloon at the Wild West Village later today, also a kind of church, where familiar images of the American West have somehow taken root and been reborn as a hybrid of culture and stereotype that is somewhat peculiar.
It is a beautiful morning in the town where I am though I am still unsure of its name or where it is located. I have devised an impish little game for the purpose of my own entertainment and it goes like this. I will be walking and encounter another passer by. If our eyes meet I wave. If he or she waves back or acknowledges my gesture, I pause and ask, “Excuse me, can you tell me which way is north?” Sometimes the language barrier is too much. One guy tried to give me money. Most other times the guy will stop and look at the sky and then the tree line and point in this direction or that. I have pulled this ruse successfully perhaps a half-dozen times while here in the village whose-name-I-can’t-pronounce, and standing in front of the restaurant across the street from the lagoon I can now point you north in six different directions.
We are making do in our little duplex. On day one I blew the fuse on my adapter trying to recharge camera batteries, and have bungled many attempts at trying to access the internet with some ethernet rig Wasal has lent us for our stay. I have endured two cold showers before figuring out how to turn on the water heater and made a disaster of trying to operate the Mocha Master, a thing they call a coffee maker here in Finland. I have lost three flat picks and broken one string. The battery in my tuner died in the cold while on stage yesterday afternoon, and then after I put in a new one, the whole thing died during our set in the cold during the pub show last night at the restaurant. I wound up giving it to a boy who was perhaps ten years old. I asked him if he could point in the direction that is north. Without hesitation he pointed to the sky, by far the best answer yet, so I figured he deserved a prize.
Filed under: DMT in Finland, Finland 2009, Notes from Mark by Mark | June 8, 2009 | Comments (0)
accordian to me
got lost yesterday. streets go in all directions here and
as far as i can tell, up is down, unless it´s not, as far as
i can tell.
did our last classes in the morning, went up the road to the
mountains overlooking town just in time for sunset, dazzling,
drenching the whole city of 3 million that i could see all of
almost in one eyefull. the mountains are red from all the iron.
roads are coated wih the red run-off, and every building and
vehicle has a dusty red patina.
we drove down the other side to the tiny town of casa branca,
and when i say down, i mean there were hairpin turns where
we went around and down at a 45 degree angle. and busses
and trucks use this road. i always wonder if there are people
careening off the sides of mountains all over the world every day
but it never makes our news, but, then what does? does
anyone know anything about the minas gerais state of brazil?
everyone here knows about obama.
at the bottom of the hill, as we rolled into the dusty red town square,
we turned a corner and had to slow as a horse and a calf on a rope
were trundling across the stone street. the calf was being pulled by
a young man. other than the simple rural pagentry of this task,
i thought nothing of it until we went around the square, which took all
of 20 seconds, and we spun arounf and the scene had changed.
in the near dark, at the yellow streetlight lit corner, the calf was
lying in the road, unmoving. we went by so fast, and i felt like we
should have stopped and found out what was going on, whether
it was fatigue or tragedy, but it was a day in the life that wasn´t mine.
i have to keep reminding myself that i am so far from home.
on the way back, myself and andrea got ourselves dropped off
on the south end of the city center so we could take our evening
exersize, strolling the hills and stone streets randomly. within one
block, we had found a scoop-your-own, 70 flavor ice cream shop.
so much for fitness, as i scooped random flavors into my cup,
vowing to walk an extra kilometer before we got the bus.
little did i know that it would happen that way, maybe a few more
kilometers even. i thought i had conquered the cities´ confusing grid,
where streets run every direction, and what seems like a
square is suddenly a triangle, and a couple of turns later,
you are wandering aimlessly in what could be any direction.
so eventually, we hit a street that looked familiar to me.
avenue brazil. this would take us to the big square and we´d be
all straight. but it was rue amazonias i was thinking of, and
it became clear after a lot of walking that we were, in fact,
heading the near opposite direction.
it was saturday night, and the bars and cafes were abuzz.
most places are outside, many on the sidewalk, music blaring,
laughter, people really enjoying the sweet night air.
i felt like i needed a cervega, but wasn´t ready to stop
my sweaty parade up and down the hills, and the bars were busy
and noisy.
we kept walking. the road started to curve and i realized
how bad a wrong turn i took. then we heard music.
it was an accordian, at least it sounded like it. at the end of
the long block of noisy bars, was a dingy bar with dilapidated
and scuffed plastic tables, just a few people sitting.
it was the neighborhood dive, and i mean that in the best way
imaginable.
in the doorway were two cowboys; hats, boots, cigarettes
aflame and big bottles of beer on the bar that they were standing near.
they were singing close male harmony in portugese,
guitar and accordian, with soaring and heartwrenching
vocals.
they stood in the doorway, facing each other. we sat at a table
on the sidewalk and got some really cold beer and listened for a
long time. from the dark, they were almost a painting of smoky
shadows, framed by the harsh light on the inside of the bar.
we waltzed to one tune on the rough sidewalk.
they never really took a break. a slender, dark young man
with rasta hair, with had beads woven into it, had a small
shoulder bag with some bamboo flutes. he started
playing with the duo, sometimes on his airy, mournful sounding flute,
sometimes tapping the flute against the beads that were hanging
on his chest. i wanted so bad to have my fiddle and join the band,
but was so content listening and watching, late in the evening
at a bar on the street in the center of town of belo horizonte, brazil.
life kept feeling pretty sweet.
the 2004 bus back to our flats didn´t run too much past midnight, so we had to
start walking again. i twisted the map this way and that, took out
the 3x reading glasses and finally figured out where we were on the map,
and we started on what was maybe the right direction.
we saw a street vendor, selling popcorn, hot powdered chocolate covered
peanuts, and sugar crusted fried coconut chunks. andrea got som popcorn.
the vendor, an older man, kept talking to us in portugese, even though
andrea kept saying “ne parle portugese, ne parle portugese!“. she kept
pointing at the popcorn, trying desperately to communicate what she wanted,
but he kept babbling on, in a very strident way, about something.
finally he scooped a bag of popcorn. she handed him a 50 reija bill.
he handed her back 40 and started talking about who knows what again.
there should have been change, at least 7 reijas, but he kept talking.
then he reached into his cart and got some bags of peanuts and coconut
and shoved them into her hands.
he may have been out of change, or maybe he just liked the feel
of the dough in his hands. whatever was the case, andrea said “okay,
okay“, accepted the goods and we walked away.
we were looking for our bus stop when we saw people walking through
a gate, and we heard music. hell with the bus. we went in, and there
was a small festival going on.
the was an older black man on stage with a guitar, and behind him were
two lines of beaufiful woung people, dressed in white with red trim,
playing big, thumpy, deep drums. he had the crowd worked up.
they were singing and dancing. sang along to everything. at one point
he was singng what sounded like might have been a patriotic anthem,
with the name of the state, minas gerais, repeated over and over, and
the crowd sang and clapped. andrea danced blissfully. i watched
the band and the crowd and felt the deep and powerful bang of
the mallets on the drums.
i guess we´re here on a cultural exchange mission. i hope anyone
we taught learned as much about us as we joyfully learned about them.
the people of this area are lovely and sweet, in every meeting, event and
transaction. having been to two other countries and ours in the last month,
i hesitate to compare, but this has been a wonderful experience, and
everyone we met here was part of it.
beijos
steve
Filed under: Brazil 2009, Notes from Steve, Uncategorized by Steve | June 7, 2009 | Comments (0)
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