By John Malathronas
Brazil is an eclectic state that conjures up pictures of bright carnivals, crowded shanty cities and soccer at the seashore. formed by means of its many cultures, the Portugese, African, local Indian and eu groups have ensured the evolution of a colorful, varied inhabitants. John Malathronas fell prey to Brazil's seductive attract within the early Nineteen Eighties, a fascination that keeps to at the present time. His odyssey during the adrenaline-fuelled, chaotic urban bars, the extravagant carnival, the plush rainforest and the destitute shanty cities finds the throbbing heartbeat of the rustic.
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Additional resources for Brazil: Life, Blood and Soul
They too told him of the Amazons: that they only kept the female babies and that they only allowed men once a year for the inevitable orgy. ’ 50 THE MYTHS ARE ALIVE The Tupi told him exactly where they lived: four tribes above, close to the present border of Brazil with Dutch and French Guyana. And it is there where Acuña scores an accidental hit. He mentions that the tribe immediately on the junction of the Amazon with the Trombetas are the Cunuris: the name is far too similar to Carvajal’s Queen Coñori to assign to coincidence.
It was dusk and the mosquitoes were out; I was being devoured alive. Malaria! I dashed to my hotel in search of DEET. When I opened my door and turned the light on, I froze. The place was overrun by cockroaches. I sprayed them with insecticide; I stepped on them; I chased them from inside my clothes, off my luggage, around the walls. Where were they coming from? I looked at the bathroom. Sealed. The ceiling. Sealed. Outside the door? No, none. I examined my bed carefully: a mattress on a cement base.
When everyone started taking their clothes off, we could observe the transplants better. Pity the poor transsexual whose nipples were pointing down like two ripe mangoes, the silicone having descended almost to her abdomen. I followed Emílio, conga-dancing through the astounding frocks, dodging plush Carmen Miranda headgear, being scratched by strawberrysized nipples that could cut glass and generally colliding with naked flesh and painted faces for the best part of four hours. Next day I read that the whole Who’s Who of transvestites had descended on Scala: Marisol, Roberta Close, Verônica, Baby de Montserrat, Tammy La Close, Paulette Pink, Negrine Venturi; most of them household names even amongst Rio’s most conservative circles.
Brazil: Life, Blood and Soul by John Malathronas