morning walkabout

This morning's revelation:  pao is bread in Portuguese. However, pico-pau is not some form of bread. I wandered this morning looking for a coffee shop, and found a place in Avenida 24 de Julho that indeed serves coffee and even offers an American breakfast. But I wasn't that hungry, so I asked what pico-pau was. The answer in Portuguese left me no more informed, but what the hell, right? Turns out it was a dish comprised of some sort of I think beef pieces, seasoned and swimming in oil, plus tiny little sausage slices, and a side dish of a mustard dip. It was not my typical breakfast, but like so many things, an experience.

I can hear the call to prayer out my open window, along with the sounds of the neighbors sweeping, talking, children playing. It's supposed to be in the mid 90's today, which I am soaking up in anticipation of the opposite in the last couple of stops on my journey.

I'm intrigued by the women who carry bundles large and small on their heads, often balanced there with -look ma, no hands!-more large and fine motor skills than I shall ever possess.

I saw a woman with a mid sized propane tank carried on its side on her head this morning.