Brazil: Life, Blood and Soul by John Malathronas

By John Malathronas

Brazil is an eclectic state that conjures up photographs of shiny carnivals, crowded shanty cities and soccer at the seashore. formed by means of its many cultures, the Portugese, African, local Indian and ecu groups have ensured the evolution of a colorful, different inhabitants. John Malathronas fell prey to Brazil's seductive attract within the early Eighties, a fascination that keeps to at the present time. His odyssey in the course of the adrenaline-fuelled, chaotic urban bars, the extravagant carnival, the luxurious rainforest and the destitute shanty cities finds the throbbing heartbeat of the rustic.

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Jim spoke first. ‘Well, John,’ he said, ‘you’ve travelled in many places. ’ I choked on my whisky. ’ I thought of Alex in bed that morning. ‘I’ll tell you another time,’ I said timidly. ’ ‘It was in Fortaleza,’ Jim reminisced. ’ the American asked me. I was. Jim was still silent. ’ the American insisted. ‘It was in Fortaleza,’ Jim repeated. Glória’s entrance killed off all this masculine back-slapping to my relief. –5– The next morning Alex called. I would find him on the gay beach outside the Copacabana Palace Hotel – the most famous in Latin America – inaugurated in 1923 (the hotel that is, not the beach) by a visit from King Albert I of Belgium.

It’s the heat,’ I said. The silence made me consider my comment again. ‘Oh, and the view,’ I added quickly. We nodded, and in a new bout of contemplation I nearly dozed off. Jim spoke first. ‘Well, John,’ he said, ‘you’ve travelled in many places. ’ I choked on my whisky. ’ I thought of Alex in bed that morning. ‘I’ll tell you another time,’ I said timidly. ’ ‘It was in Fortaleza,’ Jim reminisced. ’ the American asked me. I was. Jim was still silent. ’ the American insisted. ‘It was in Fortaleza,’ Jim repeated.

Sealed. Outside the door? No, none. I examined my bed carefully: a mattress on a cement base. I pulled out the mattress and recoiled in disgust. The inside of the concrete structure that held my bed was hollow. It was sheltering a full-blown cockroach nest teeming with brown twoinchers, which became very aggrieved when hit by the light. Needless to say, I fled. ***** Fifty-five years after Orellana (who also confirmed Carvajal’s reports about the Amazons back in Spain), Sir Walter Raleigh sailed up the Orinoco specifically to reach the ‘Inca empire of El Dorado’, as he put it in The Discoverie of the Large and Bewtiful Empyre of Guiana; with a Relation of the great and golden City of Manoa, which the Spaniards call El Dorado.

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