Terrible Tuesday

Monday afternoon, the rains began in earnest. I kept wondering throughout the day what was the Portuguese equivalent of "raining cats and dogs" and "raining buckets" (it's "chovendo canivete, by the way; raining pocket-knives or pen knives).


Monday night, we stayed home. Too rainy. Tuesday morning, rain was still falling hard, cousin Evelyn drove me to work. I was worried because it was only my second day of work, I didn't want to be late. The surrounding road, Avenida Neimeyer, was flooded. Of course, we did the stupid thing and drove through the flood. Traffic crawled and the what I could see of the ocean just to our right was fierce.

You have to cross through two mountains between Sao Corado and Leblon. These tunnels burrow through two large hills called "Dois Irmaos," which translates into "two brothers." Partway through, we lost the radio signal. After crossing the second tunnel, we were in Leblon.        


Just outside tunnel #2, a violent waterfall where none existed before. The downpour spewed red earth. in Leblon, large trees were downed, uprooted liked dollhouse landscape. A schoolyard, flooded. The radio only played one tune -- disaster news.



I arrive at Fellini 45-minutes late. 
Inside the kitchen, it was just me and the prep cook. 
Most of the staff don't have cars and rely on  public transport. Few live nearby. 
Black beans and rice were already on the stove, but little else had begun.


We two, prep cook and I, weren't sure if anyone would come to work that day. We discussed -- I'd make salads, he'd prepare meats and hot dishes. 


Frantic phone calls volleyed bac-and-forth betweens owners and the prep guy. Don't make anything, the restaurant may not open today. Then, yes, open. Closed. Open. Open. I cleaned and trimmed a dozen beef tenderloins and about 10-kilos of chicken breasts and thighs.


Slowly most of the crew arrived, each with his own travel story (the majority of Fellini's crew are men). So-and-so waded through thigh-deep water to come in. Buses ran late (some folks never made it in). The city was declared a disaster area and all government offices closed. For many, work was canceled.


By 10 a.m. the kitchen was buzzing. Everyone pitched in to get lunch on the buffet. In an hour and a half, there was food for hundreds ready to go. Owner, Ana, congratulated everyone on the kitchen miracle. Business was especially brisk (somehow).


When it was quitting time, no one was sure how they would actually get home.


I sat with Ana to figure out my strategy. Ana introduced me to Avi (that's his spiritual name), an American from Oregon who's lived in Brazil for 17 years. He decided to brave the rain, and flagged me a taxi (another miracle). I was home in 15 minutes.


Then came the news of the killer landslides.