Yesterday, at a 4-way intersection, I got whacked by a small, fast-looking Datsun. The neon-lit, double-spoilered, fancy-painted old car came to an astonished screeching halt, leaving behind a part of its bumper lovingly entwined with my bumper. The Datsun and my van stood staring at each other, the two bumpers on the pavement in between like a thrown gauntlet.
Silence.
Two guys came out, beefy young Brazilians with pained expressions. Although they spoke no English, I was led to understand they didn't like me very much at the moment, and I gloomingly realized that we have a communications problem. One of them handed me a phone. A translator, who shows up at the scene a few minutes later.
Several things become clear: The guy is an illegal alien, has no insurance, is concerned about the consequences of the accident.
I looked at both, and realized that in spite of their earlier belligerence they're both sweet guys, good natured and heartbroken about the car. "Just go" I told their friend, "I'll tell the cops some car hit me and ran, I'll deal with my insurance company. I'll say I never got the plate number".
They all conferred, and asked me to follow them, they want to do something about the van.
So I followed them to a 3 family home in Dorchester which seems to have about 100 loquacious Brazilians living in colorful harmony. There was a smallish shop in the back that they asked me to drive into.
They served me the best salty fish I've had in my entire life, taught me some capoeira, and made me feel welcomed and even loved. I gave some massages, and have never met with such astonished appreciation before.
I left 2 hours later, feeling full of warmth and love for these wonderful people. My van once again had a bumper, and even if not perfectly placed it was good enough for me.
So tonight I'm going there for some Brazilian shindig that sounds sort of like ecstatic dancing which starts at midnight. I hope to pick up some Portuguese.
Leaving now, can't wait! I love these people.
Thank you, Universe!

Edited to add: I was wrong - not ecstatic dance but something called Maculelê; wiki doesn't do it justice: It's danced with sugar canes, not sticks, and with machetes, not long knives. Alas, no grass skirts. The machetes are coated with something that makes HUGE sparks when they strike each other. Awesome displays of athleticism and grace! Grisha - you would love it.

And thank you for the concerned e-mails and replies to the post - I'm completely unharmed.