Hutch in Brazil

Garulhos Airport : The End of a Blog

2008-12-07T14:14:00.000-02:00

As I sit waiting to hop aboard an American Airlines flight home boarding at gate 24 at São Paulo’s Garulhos Airport I’m in a sentimental mood about my 11 months in Brazil. The first time I came to Brazil I came on a Temple University study abroad program for 6 weeks in Bahia. I came for a musical experience and because it was a part time program and I was planning on being a member of the elite jazz band program therefore I wouldn’t have been able to make a long-term semester long commitment. I saw lots of Salvador but it wasn’t on my own terms, the professor was an egotistical baby sitter who didn’t allow us to travel on our own during weekends and insisted that we jotted down every single word he uttered in and outside of the classroom. So sitting at the Salvador airport 3 years ago I felt I had a great experience in Brazil but that the country was so vast and I had only experienced a thimble of what the nation had to offer. I left feeling disillusioned; I ended up partying so much on the program I didn’t exactly reap all the benefits of the rich music in Bahia and I became frustrated and discontent with my major at the same time. I went back to school, studied Portuguese--at times feriociously, and others lazily. I began dating Joice, my girlfriend for two years, whom I met in Brazil and coincidentally moved to my home town to be an Au Pair babysitter. I graduated college as soon as I could, not exactly sure if I wanted to be a musician. I moved back home to Maryland, worked random jobs from Phone interviewer, temp staffer, caddy, and even to spy. I was offered a job at a bank and it was then I had to decide if I wanted to stay where I grew up working a job I wouldn’t like making money, getting myself into a 30-year mortgage always kicking myself in the back for not going back to Brazil. When my great uncle Harold passed away in September 2007, sitting shiva at my Great Aunt Helen’s house she said some powerful words along the lines of “If you want to have memories when you’re old make those memories now.” The message really rubbed off on me as I was spending the afternoon telling the guests of the shiva I didn’t know what I was doing in life. So when Joice invited me to come back with her to Brazil as she needed to renew her Visa I accepted but on the conditions that I would live there for 6 months to a year. This wasn’t exactly the response I imagine she was hoping for. I booked my tickets, padded my resume and got a job teaching English at a local school. I taught there for two months while researching and applying for jobs in Brazil. I eventually found a guaranteed job in Jundiaí, São Paulo where I would go on to make many friends but hate my employer. I left Jundiaí for Florianópolis after 3 months on a conviction that there were greener pastures out there. After a few weeks of struggling and desperately regretting for a day I adapted to Floripa and eventually florished. I debated staying there to study but I ended up deciding I needed to come back to the states. (strong job market…) I began planning a great trip around the country and my friends from High School asked if they could come along. I gladly accepted and we made the preparations to do so. I resigned from my job on good terms with my boss, despite the fact I had unknowingly made out with his girlfriend and he found out about it. I recruited an English friend from Jundaí to resume the life I had made for myself there, my friends arrived and we traveled around Brazil for 3 maravalous weeks filled with inside jokes that were told out of the sides of our mouths. It was a pleasure playing ambassador to them in this captivating, idosyncratic, puzzling, eccentric, hospitable land. They helped me see Brazil in a new light that I hadn’t seen after living here for 10 months. They noticed quirky habits, arbitrary rules, salty food, gorgeous women, delicious fruits that I wouldn’t have noticed traveling on my own. The trip was a great success traveling to nearly a dozen cities without losing anything more than a jacket and a few hundred thousand brain cells. So now I’m back at Garulhos reflecting on my trip. I feel I’ve gotten the Brazil I needed to experience out of my system. I achieved most of my goals, I lived in Brazil for a year, I learned Portuguese, I worked in Brazil, I learned guitar, I took dance lessons, I played capoeira and soccer making sincere friends along the way. I came here a Brazophile and I’m leaving an even greater one. I’ve learned to love Brazil for its foibles and hate it for its arrogance. (As of writing this I just found some sand behind my ear.) Anyways I’m grateful I could live this experience now, however I don’t really have any solid idea as to what I’m going to do when I get back. I’m returning to a United States vastly different from the one I left. We’ve got dirt cheap houses, and loads of people not living in them, we’ve got an economy in the toilet and a job market that is flushing down with it, we’ve just elected a black president and the world is proud of us again, and I also think we changed the name of the country if I’m not mistaken. (I still need to clarify this) Anyways lots of challenges await me and I’m not necessarily any more directive in terms of career than when I came 335 days ago. I’m going to miss writing this blog and I thank all of my readers for their participation. I’m going to miss Brazil and their wacky rules, wild parties and kind people. Well I guess that’s it. In 12 hours I’ll be landing in Washington D.C. chocolate city and this year will be little more than a blog, pictures and a sunburn that will completely peel in a few days. But it will be so much more than that, it will be a broken computer, a pile of stories and at least some interesting ammunition for the upcoming holiday season cocktail party banter. In closing, O Brasil, eu te amo!

São Paulo

2008-11-22T17:32:00.002-02:00

So after a 20 hour bus ride we arrived in São Paulo with our new Japanese friend Ryo who has been traveling around the world for months. We went to lunch at an all you can eat BBQ place where Ari was confident one of the staff members was a tranny. Ryo's friend arrived and Ryo instantly exclaimed how old his friend looked and how he had aged since they last time they saw each other. We got some açaí a Brazilian super fruit that we have become addicted to since traveling around. We got back to the hostel asked what was going on that day and because it was Black Consciousness day there was a huge concert in Praça da Sé, a famous square in front a huge church in São Paulo. We arrived in time for a DJ to start playing all the famous Brazilian hits, "That Thing" by Lauren Hill, "Don't Stop til you get enough" by Michael Jackson, and "Hip Hop Hooray" by Naughty by Nature. Then a band came on and played the best of the music of Tim Maia. It was a great concert and Thomas realized that Tim Maia ripped off the Ohio Player's brickhouse. Then Seu Jorge played, Seu Jorge is a burgeoning actor featured in City of God as Knockout Ned, and also in The Life Aquatic. He is also a famous Brazilian singer. As the sun set and people started lighting up marijuana joints. Seu Jorge plays a hybrid of samba and rock which is in the genre of samba rock. As Thomas and Ari wandered off to get some booze I made friends with some people who were in the same section as us and I charmed a young lady with my dancing skills. (dance lessons are totally worth it.) We met some girls after the concert winded down and they offered to take us out to a happening strip. We stopped in for a mediocre overpriced dinner and then went to a club. The club was named Vegas and it was featured in a Brazilian movie called Magnata. There was a crappy rock band on the top floor and a great DJ spinning house music on the bottom floor. The club was packed and lots of beautiful women were thrown in the mix. Ari met a girl who was dressed in a Moo-Moo, Thomas met a girl who we were convinced was a tranny, she had a tattoo that said Axl Rose, and she was quite disappointed when we told her it wasn't spelled that way, I met a girl who turned out to be a bit of a bigot. I got home at 11 Am. We easily spent over $75 a person. We woke up late and Ari wanted to buy some "sweet" T-shirts so I asked the front desk for some recommendations and we were off. As I stopped to buy some abacaxi, pineapple on the street a woman catwalked down the street wearing nothing but flip flops and pink panties. She looked to be strung out, and she had the hairiest ass I've ever seen. As she passed by men changed directions to follow her, stopped and cracked up, or started discussing the possessed creature. She instantly had a large parade trailing behind her. Anyone who can walk down the 3rd biggest city in the world nearly naked is ok in my book. We then went to a shopping center to look for said "sweet" t-shirts. Each floor was a different theme, Thug attire, Goth/Hard Rock Attire, Emo attire. No "sweet" t-shirts were found. We then went walking looking for the huge fruit market in São Paulo. When we finally found the market we were in a sketchy part of town, the streets were littered with cardboard boxes and derelicts, and the market was closed. We went on the metro to a mall and Ari bought some "sweet" board shorts. Got back home, took a power nap and then met up with my friend Luanna to get some drinks. We went to a trendy hipster bar, (yes there are hipsters in Brazil) then went to a dance club in the Jewish neighborhood of town. We were hoping it would be a Jewish singles night but we were deceived. We danced, drank and left at 6 am to go and get some overpriced hamburgers. We managed to spend $R400 without even trying. We got home at 6:30 planned to sleep for an hour and then catch a bus to Ilha Bela on the São Paulo state coastline, but I didn't turn on the alarm so we over slept and had to catch a later bus. We met a beautiful girl on the bus and her cousin. Arrived at our hostel at 3:00 and the rain is raining. However our hostel is the nicest we've stayed at so far, with a Polynesian theme, plush couches and an ocean side pool. Going to relax, I come back home in 3 days.

Pantanal

2008-11-20T17:32:00.002-02:00

A few months ago I read a report about a fisherman who left his 19-year-old son sleeping in the Brazilian Pantanal, a marshy wetland, along the Paraguayan and Bolivian borders. The fisherman had left to go get some bait, upon returning he heard thrashing sounds and screaming and in terror he saw two grown jaguars shredding the tent his son was sleeping in. As he only had a knife and there were two grown jaguars he was helpless. I decided in my thrill seeking to go into the Brazilian Pantanal and to bring Thomas and Ari along as a diversion.
We woke up early Monday morning at 5:00 to catch a 6:00 bus. We paid for our tickets and I noticed a group of three white tourists who obviously weren’t from the region. I asked them if they were going to the Pantanal and if they had a place to stay. I gave them some information about the Fazenda (farm) we would be staying at, and if they came with us we could get a better deal. They agreed to think about it and we got on the bus. A majority of the 4-hour ride was spent on rumbling, bumpy, unpaved brick-red roads passing through small towns. I woke up at our final destination, Buraco das Piranhas, Hole of the Piranhas. Whenever you get out at a stop that has Piranhas in the name you know you are getting yourself into trouble. The people we met at the bus station had agreed to stay with us, they happened to be a trio of Dutch, a couple Mireca and her boyfriend Bert, and Bert’s father David. We, the Dutch, and others who were on the bus piled into a small pickup truck with all of our luggage and started out down a long dirt road seemingly towards no man’s land. Thomas, Ari and I volunteered to sit in the back of the pickup. Big Mistake. The pickup truck banged and buckled due to the uneven, unpaved, ahem…rustic road. With ever jostling bump our backs slammed into the bed of the truck. We bounced around on the deplorable road for what seemed like ages until we eventually arrived at the gate of Santa Clara Fazenda. We got out of the truck and I haggled a price with the administrator who looked like she had some gypsy blood, maybe it was just because she was driving a hard bargain. I had gone on some advice from my friend Peter, who had stayed at the fazenda for a week paying but a few dozen reais per day. I negotiated to stay 3 nights for 300 reais. Pete’s advice didn’t seem to play out. We ate lunch and were given our beads that served as currency at the farm. We were given $25 reais worth of currency in bead form, apparently to simplify payment, my theory is that the beads make people feel they aren’t using real money, Ari believes because they don’t trust people handling money so they designate one sole person to deal with the cash. We ate lunch and quickly realized 3 nights might be too much. We checked into our room which we were sharing with the Dutch. We hopped into the pool which had a thick layer of mosquitoes on the top. We took a nap in the hammocks sprawled across the grounds waiting for our afternoon activity. We met some other Dutch girls, who were both of Asian descent. We also started chatting with a cute young German girl, when suddenly mid sentence one of the workers on the farm came up and jammed his tongue down her throat. Conversation ceased to exist. This love affair between the 18-year-old German girl and the 39-year-old house painter became a talking point amongst the guests for the next few days. We got ready for our “Safari” wearing long sleeve shirts, pants, and shoes to deal with the bugs. We climbed into a large flat bed truck equipped with benches and barely enough room to fit all the people from the group. The truck got a flat within minutes of leaving the premises of the fazenda and we had to go back. Our guide Carlos, who looked like a professional wrestler recommended us to change into sandals, and shorts for our walk which was to replace our safari. We hiked into the brush painfully hopping over flesh eating anthills to see howler monkeys and toucans high above in the trees. After wading through muddy waters the hike was finally coming to a close. I was near the back of the group behind a Portuguese guy but in front of an Australian couple. I looked ahead and saw panic in the group as people swatted and ran simultaneously. I told the Portuguese guy to run, but he didn’t listen and the Wasps descended upon us. I batted at them for dear life but one landed on my eyelid and defended his nest, which had recently been built. I screamed in agony as more wasps began to surround me, I managed to swat them off and escape nearly losing my sandal in the process. I blame the Portuguese guy to this day, and I now understand why Brazilians think the Portuguese are stupid. I’ve added them to my shit list of nationalities along with Kiwis, Haitians and Ethiopians. Anyways I got stung on the eyelid, it swelled up and I felt a feeling of drugged euphoria. I got off easy the Australian guy got stung 4 or 5 times and it looked like he was allergic. We gladly returned to the camp, one of the guides saw my face and told me “Welcome to the Pantanal!” We ate dinner and got into our bottle of vodka that we smuggled into the camp. We chatted with the Dutch girls we’d met in the hammock that day, we relaxed in the hammocks for a while and then realized the jaguars might be out there and went to our room. We woke up the next day for a boat trip. We inched along full-grown caimans, a member of the alligator family close enough to peer into their cold and inhuman eyes. Our tour guide pointed out the various types of birds scattered in the trees. We stopped at a little bank where we were handed a bamboo pole with a hook and a piece of beef fat attached. We threw it into the water and within seconds a golden piranha was attached to the end. We spent thirty minutes catching piranhas, which were a little less than a foot long at their largest. Their razor sharp teeth clung to the hook as they gyrated after being taken from the water. We went back to the farm exhausted, lunched and napped in hammocks, (sound familiar?) We got ready for our second stab at the safari. We drove for literally hours down a beat up dirt road in the back of a shoddy pickup with a group of disgruntled Brits, our kind Dutch friends, and our charming Japanese friend with an immature sense of humor that was only surpassed by our infantile sense of humor. The ever-present caiman and bird selection became tiresome after the sun began to set and the group became agitated. We begged the driver to turn around and the Brits threw a hissy fit complaining that trip wasn’t what they expected. Thomas had long ago decided the Pantanal wasn’t his cup of tea; this 6-hour “safari” was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We rode back with the bugs surrounding us, our guide using a spotlight to identify wildlife such as spiders and other eclectic beasts such as cows and capybaras, a large rodent the size of a dog. We got back to camp, ate dinner and looked at the stars while holding each other gently. The stars were beautiful and I’ll probably never see such a pristine collection of southern hemispheric stars again. We woke up the next day, took a horse ride through the forests and plains of the pantanal. Our guide Carlos singing Brazilian country songs about lost love. My horse, Buttercup got along well with Ari’s Molasses, Thomas’ horse was aggressive and was trying to bite everything and one. The highlight was when the horses came to a stop and all in unison they began to urinate, needless to say our Japanese friend Ryo laughed hysterically. We got back to the ranch after hours of singing the few country songs we knew, such as home on the range. We ate, hammocked and packed. We piled once more into the rickety pick up truck. We were halfway down the road when a man ran frantically towards our truck telling us to back up. Abelhas, abelhas! He screamed. Bees. The group gathered all protective gear we could find and suited up for the push through the bee’s territory. No stings. After we finally got to the end of the road we were all a little relieved. We got into a van for a 4-hour ride to Campo Grande traveling along desolate roads, passing through humpbacked mountain ranges and cowfields. We said goodbye to our Dutch friends and got on the bus for our journey back to relative civilization. São Paulo.

Amigos de Coração pt. 2

2008-11-20T12:07:00.003-02:00

I made friends with a few girls whom I met outside of the club. I went inside with them as Thomas and Ari went to retrieve the rest of the cash. They never returned. I spent the night dancing with Indian descendant women in their early twenties grinding out to the Electro-Funk stylings of MC Negão and the Funkeiras. I figured Thomas and Ari spent the night by themselves listening to the rap stylings of Devin The Dude, as has been a popular pastime on our trip. I got home at 5 O’clock and was extremely soaked because of the heavy rains. I woke up at 8 O’clock with a knock on the door from the receptionist; our ride to go on one of the popular excursions would be there to pick us up at 8:30. I was just a little tired, as I didn’t drink because they didn’t accept credit cards and I had no cash, however because of Thomas and Ari’s vodka filled night, waking up proved to be easier said than done. We ate breakfast and then hustled to get into the van. We left the town center, rumbling down red dirt roads, the van packed with tourists from The Czech Republic, Italy, and Brazil. Our first stop was a huge hole called Buraco das Araras. It is as the guidebook says, forgettable. The sole highlight was the Red Macaws that flew from side to side of the enormous abyss. The hole was located on private property and was used previously as a car, trash, and even body depot. When they turned the hole into a tourist attraction and they cleaned out the bottom they found over 20 corpses. After the hole tour we went to one of the main attractions of Bonito, Rio da Prata. Rio da Prata is a river also located on private property that because of high levels of calcium in the water and riverbed the water is crystal clear. We all dressed in wetsuits, hopped into a truck and walked through the humid rainforest until we plunged into the water. They gave us snorkels and we explored the unique waters. We rented a camera for 50 reais and documented the entire experience. We floated down the 2 KM of river encountering various types of fish of all shapes and sizes, at times hovering inches above the river floor and at times having a deep bottom beneath us. The pictures say more than I can, but it was the closest I’ve ever felt to being a fish, (with the exception of that one time somebody slipped me that pill in my drink) We got back to the hotel and there was a raucous party across the street that I wanted to take pictures of. Before I could even cross the street and take out my camera, they were enthusiastically motioning for me to come to the party. Once I arrived I quickly realized that if they stopped drinking right then and I drank for the rest of the night I still wouldn’t be as drunk as they were. Thomas has described them as a bunch of hick Mexicans. The West of Brazil borrows and contributes a lot of culture from Bolivian and Paraguayan cowboys, which results as a hybrid hillbilly. The men wore cowboy hats and boots, the women wore inebriated smiles, and loud Brazilian country music blasted and blared out of a pickup truck parked in front of the house. They invited us to stay for dinner, we accepted and we went around to the back of the house. They entertained us with a charming pooch that leaped teeth first to clench on to a hanging tire, which one of the hosts boasted the dog could do for five or more minutes. The drunken grandmas insisted we dance with them. Thomas’ dance card was quickly filled and the host grandma took a strong liking to him. Her grandson, or some random relative told Thomas of her powerful crush and Thomas said he wasn’t interested in said Grandma. The guy called Thomas a homosexual and that if he ever comes to the United States he will have no qualms about having sex with anything that moves or breathes, young or old, skinny or fat, etc. He then told Thomas he would have sex with his sister, Thomas told him he didn’t have a sister. He ignored this comment and said he would get her pregnant. He then stumbled off and the grandma’s returned. One particular grandma would bash a bottle on the ground before drinking, pouring or moving. It was only a matter of time before she broke a glass. The grandma’s got drunker as we got more uncomfortable and we began to brainstorm exit strategies. The host grandma was passionately falling for Thomas; Thomas was desperately trying to leave as we figured their extended hospitality would perceive our exit as rude. One of the most drunken grandmas said she would feel so sad and depressed when we left; she called us Friends of the heart over 30 times. Eventually the party naturally ended. And we could leave, but not without breaking a few hearts in the process.

O Amigo Da Coração (Friend of the Heart)

2008-11-16T23:53:00.008-02:00

So after a 20 hour bus ride from the city of São Paulo--which at times resembles a Chinese Megacity with all of the hazy pollution attached--We arrived in Bonito, Mato Grosso do Sul. We were delayed because of a faulty air conditioning system, which resulted in the entire bus being transferred much to the chagrin of the passengers to another working but visibly elder Bus. We traveled for hours until the earth's soil changed from brown to a dark brick red. It was at this point, where the landscape changed from buildings, skyscrapers and concrete, to cows, grass and everlasting horizons when our bus suddenly stopped for an hour to repair a wheel. We finally reached Jardim, Mato Grosso do Sul, we descended the bus and the thick humidity and heat immediately reached our pores. We bought our tickets for the next bus that would take us to Bonito 63 Km away, but had to wait 2 hours before it came. We ate lunch with a Japanese baker, who had been traveling around South America for 10 months out of a 3 year stint of world travel. She spoke little English, nearly no Spanish, and barely any Portuguese, however she was thriftier than us and seemed to have a love for travel and life. We kept a watchful eye on our bags across the street as we ate at a little lunch spot under shady trees. The bus came 1 hour late and we arrived in Bonito in the late afternoon. Bonito is an ecotourism model within Brazil. The city is blessed with amazing natural phenomena in its municipality which it charges tourists an arm and a leg to see. The town has boomed in the last few decades due to a popular soap opera that shot on location in the city. Because of the success of the show Brazilians have come in flocks, however most of the city's roads remain unpaved, and the location is very rural. We caught a taxi to the local swimming hole. A lazy moving river with locals mingling amongst themselves, it would have been a 14 year olds dream. We saw giant blue, green and yellow macaws flying and perching upon trees, as well as drunken grown men drinking cheap Brazilian hooch belting out country songs for which the area is known for. We partook in the drunken activities by buying some cheap booze, beer and heckling with the attractive owner of the bar to buy her establishment. She lived in the Netherlands for 9 years so she spoke English. We jumped, dove, and flipped into the refreshing water continuing with our trends from the trip. Our taxi driver picked us up as negotiated and he dropped us off at a restaurant that specialized in Jacaré, Alligator. We sampled jacaré cooked in various styles and left the restaurant well fed. That night we wandered the lazy city center looking for something to do. We eventually came across a funk party that only accepted cash. -To Be Continued...

Sampa

2008-11-14T10:15:00.005-02:00

We planned on leaving for São Paulo early yesterday morning, however we missed our bus. SO we rented some bikes and climbed a steep mountain chasing waterfalls. (TLC had warned us against this but we were sick of the rivers and lakes that we were used to.) After nearly giving up because of the great incline this hill challenged us with we came across a man who smelled of early morning liquor, sweat, and work. He asked us if we were looking for the waterfalls and he said he would show us where they were as he was walking that way anyways. We pushed us bikes up the nearly vertical turn and he pointed us in the right direction. We locked up our rented bikes and stumbled upon a group of onlookers gawking as a teenaged showman scaled up the slick rock which water trickled down only to surf back down on his bare feet plunging into the water with little to no regard for the rocks that sat in the water. He invited us to do the same only sitting on our butts. We all went down and all reached the same feeling of panic, as the rocks seemed to imminently loom in the water waiting to bust a skull. We all survived. We walked up further chasing waterfalls and found a precarious suspension bridge. We crossed the bridge and dove into the cold, pristine water. We jumped off the top of another waterfall back into the water. We rode our bikes back down the hill, took showers and caught a taxi just in the nick of time to catch our bus. After a white knuckled bus ride through curvaceous mountain passes--coincidentally spent sitting next to the lovely receptionist from the hostel, we made it to São Paulo, the biggest city in Brazil. We said goodbye to our smoking traveling partner and went off to find a cab. The Hostel had told us that the cab should cost no more than 25 reais so when the cab driver started talking about 40 reais I knew he was trying to screw us. I started negotiating, telling him the hostel had told us one thing and he couldn’t charge us more. He was a middle aged black guy with glasses and his shirt unbuttoned half way down his chest. He haggled until he eventually agreed to 30 reais. We shouldn’t have paid a dime; he was quite possibly the worst cab driver I’ve ever had. It turns out he was from Bahia, a state in the northeast of Brazil. I started to ask him where some good Bahian restaurants were and where we could find some exciting nightlife. He got extremely distracted by my questions, crossing over lanes of traffic, swerving at the last minute to catch exit ramps, and dancing while driving. He finally dropped us off at our hostel, after a slow and nerve-wracking journey. We only had a 50 and he only had change for 35. Insufficient change is a common occurrence in Brazil. In fact we almost missed our bus from Paraty to São Paulo because of this exact same phenomenon. We checked into our hotel, went across the street to get a cheap meal of steak, beans, rice, greasy French fries, and manischevitz-esque wine. The middle-aged waitress seemed as if she could be out of a Jewish deli in Philadelphia or NYC. We wandered around looking for a bar the receptionist had recommended and gave up after the directions he had given lead us on a wild goose chase in a dark and sketchy neighborhood. This was our third night in a row without partying substantially, something is amiss.

Paraty Time

2008-11-13T08:03:00.002-02:00

After realizing we stayed one day too long in Rio we planned to leave continuing on with my itinerary. Next stop Ouro Preto, Minas Gerais! Only problem was I looked at the bus schedule wrong the night before and we didn't want to wait around all day, so we left for the bus statoion and took a bus to the first beachside town. We winded up in Paraty, a colonial town where most of the gold the Portuguese extracted from the mines of Minas Gerais left for Europe. Only the bus ride was significantly longer than anticipated. We checked in that night, got a salty but delicious dinner (for Brazilian standards) and played cards in our idlyic garden patio, drinking overpriced wine. We all fell in love with the voluptuous, stunning beauty of a receptionist only to have our hearts broken last night to find out she has a motorcyle racing boyfriend. We woke up the next morning and prompty bought 3 cases of beer for our boat scuna trip. The boat ride was spent, sleeping, swimming, getting unconciously burnt, and jumping from the top of the boat into the deep aqua marine water. I was made fun of for my diving skill which was compared to John McCain. My friends, I never learned how to dive, but Thomas is much too experienced to make the plunge. We got back to the hostel and the sky looked ominous. We went to buy some meat for a BBQ which proved to be 3 times as much as we needed. The sky opened up and rained the rest of the night. We are planning on leaving Paraty today for São Paulo, moving into the direction of the Pantanal wetlands. I got really burnt yesterday. My collarbone aches.

Favela

2008-11-10T12:04:00.003-02:00

The postcard image of Rio has traditionally been the lush, rolling, green hills, vast waters all blending together to become one of the disctinct urban landscapes to in the world. The 70 ft statue of Jesus perches over the city visable from nearly any spot you may walk. The beaches that stretch for miles laden with surfers, tanners and vendors selling nearly anything you could imagine. However in recent years that image has been tainted with the unorganized, precarious, sprawling favelas, or shanty towns. This reputation in no small part has been fueled by the massive international success of films such as Cidade de Deus, City of God. In Rio it is now possible to tour the favelas with a guide.
The biggest favela in Rio, and in Brazil is Rocinha; a towering, densly packed, city slum glued to the steep mountain hosting 300,000+ habitants and growing. Rocinha is one of the most visible and talked about and Ari,Thomas and I decided to get a tour. The company picked us up at our hostel and we packed into a van with 10 other tourists eager to see the other side of how Rio works, or maybe just to score some cheap pot. Our tour guide was a flirtatious, tatooed, energetic Carioca--A citizen from the city of Rio De Janeiro. She had been giving tours in the Favela for 6 years and got interested in the communities after seeing the film City of God. They escort the group to the bottom of the favela when the entire group is shuttled up to the top of the hill driven upon an individual motorcyle taxi. My driver was a mere 16-17 years old. He slomened around the well-worn roads, accelerating past buses, cars and pedestrians. He hurtled up the steepening roads, and shouldered into turns with little regard for the safety of the gringo who clung to the back of his motorcylce for dear life. ( let me just note that the one thing my Mom said she didn't want me to do this trip was get on the back of any motorcylces. Sorry mom, no choice.)
The group convened at the top of the hill and a few probably had to change their pants. The center of Rocinha is organized and commercial with a post office, a water company branch, clothing stores and moto-taxi hubs. There are massive electrical power sources overflowing with so many excess wires they resemble an urban pine tree. We entered the narrow alleys where people tried to pass around us carrying sacks of food, politely asking in English excuse me. The residents are used to seeing gringos on these tours so they speak enough English to be able to sell someone a box of cookies. We went to one of the higher points of the favela which is consequently the most expensive real estate. The reason the houses lower down are less expensive is because the sewage system runs down hill, trash is thrown obstructing the flow, when the heavy rains of March come, they flood the drain overflowing with trash and open sewage affecting the houses at the bottom the most. We trekked down the cramped walkways stopping to buy overpriced food and jewelery. How these particular vendors got the gringo contract must have been one of the fiercest bidding contracts in Favela history.
We passed through structures that had collapsed after their weak foundations were tested to the limit from story after story built ontop of the original structure of the home. The abandonded areas flooded with a thick, black sludge of trash where toddlers frocklicked about as if it were the sandbox in their backyard. There were kids who couldn't have been older than 10 smoking weed in back corners. However despite the destitute conditions the habitants of Rocinha live in the majority of the people passing by were jovial and cheerful. We finally got to the bottom of the 3 hour tour when the guide explained the economics of the drug trade within the favela. She said the gangs running this particular favela clear more than 4 million US dollars per month, most of the drugs being bought by upper middle class drug dealers who live in the city's wealthier neighborhoods. The residents of the favela starting popping up in hte 1930's when a great drought afflicted the Northeastern states of Brazil bringing them to cities such as São Paulo, Rio, and Porto Allegre amongst others. The populations have multiplied at an alarmingly unsustainable rate since. The favelas have formed due to the lack of job opportunities on the outskirts of the city. The residents of the favelas have moved to the hills because of the proximity to their employment.
The tour was meant to help break some of the notorious stereotypes about the favelas, however I feel the tour guide only reinforced some of the sexier images. It was an interesting experience to say the least and as we were leaving people were shouting Barack Obama! Barack Obama! as we piled into our van.

Rio

2008-11-09T19:04:00.002-02:00

I'm in Rio and alive. I haven't been able to blog because of constant partying and tours and what not. So I'm being rushed to go to the grocery store now.

Curitiba

2008-11-07T19:37:00.003-02:00

We woke up at 7:00 Am which Ari and Thomas said easily beat the earliest they’ve woken up over the course of the trip. We took our respective showers and partook in the mediocre breakfast which the hostel had provided. We ran outside found the first cab we could and rushed off to the train station. Our cab driver hopped out of the cab midway to grab his car stereo faceplate which was stored in the back of the car. I noticed he had a Brazilian Portuguese dictionary in the front of the dashboard. We paid the cab and rushed in to buy our train tickets for the Serra Verde Express a train that leaves from Curitiba and goes all the way to the coastal port city of Paranaguá. The train has three classes, and we chose to sit in the cheapest. We chugged along at a slow pace leaving the urban landscape for greener pastures, literally. We passed through rural farms, moving on to rushing rivers, crossing over teetering bridges, bisecting pitch black tunnels, and emerging upon stunning canyons and valleys all complimented by the frequent waterfall or banana tree. Ari ooed and awed at every turn mocking the magnificent views that after 3 hours can become a little tiresome. The highlight of the train ride was when a bushy-eyebrowed German tour leader chastisied the inexperienced trainee tour guide the train company had assigned our section of the train. We got off the train at the city of Morretes, bought the next bus ticket out of town and found the closest restaurant to grab some lunch. We paid 8 reais for steak and an all you can buffet which was lackluster in quality. We got on the bus and all took a well deserved power nap. I sat next to a friendly youthful mother and her adorable but cranky baby girl. I assisted her by placing her duffel bag in the overhead compartment of the bus, but erred when I ripped the edge extracting at the end of the ride. We got back to Curitiba, and wandered back to the hostel passing through the construction/ Christmas district of the city. We got to the hostel and asked for tips as to what there was to do in the city. The staff was unhelpful and acted as if they were bothered by the fact we were asking for information. They were incompetent throughout the entirety of our stay there, knew little about the city’s restaurants, bars and attractions. Not to mention I’ve never stayed at a duller, less youthful hostel in my travels. We left the hostel and found a busy promenade to spend the afternoon drinking beers out of steiners. We watched an untalented clown shout remarks at passerbys much to the dismay of the clients of the establishment and the passerbys themselves. He tried to sell us a DVD of his work which we promptly declined. After more or less than a hour we all came to the conclusion that Curitiba had one of the ugliest populations we’d seen to date. Ari went off to get a set of cards and when he returned we began to play rummy only to be told minutes into the game that playing cards was prohibited at the restaurant because it gave the impression that there was gambling going on. Just then behind us the crowd broke out into a sound which I had only since heard in middle school the taunting of a man attempting to convince a portly woman to eat an olive out of his hand. Check please! We went back to the hostel and Ari and I played backgammon in the park across the street. We quickly noticed that we were the only ones there who were not either smoking/rolling a joint, making out, or both. We got a cup of sugar cane juice. Ari and I walked around the shopping mall sipping on the cup and Ari convinced me to get an estimate on the price of Viagra for his Mexican co-worker. 12 dollars a pop! We got a mediocre but expensive dinner at the same mall, when we received a call from Mozar, a friend of one of my students. He invited us out that night to grab some drinks with two of his lady friends. We went back to the hostel and pre-gamed by shotgunning many a beer. (translation, we started getting drunk by poking a hole in a can of beer, popping the top and chugging the liquid out of the gaping hole.) We met up with the girls passing by hobos smoking crack in the street on the way to the bar. We had some laughs at the bar, after they closed we attempted to go to a gay friendly bar, but to no avail. Then we walked back to the girls’ apartment. It was more comfortable than any apartment I'd been to here in Brazil, which may have been facilitated by the fact they worked at Tok &Stok, the Brazilian IKEA. We remembered the election results may have been in and we checked on the outcome to be pleasantly surprised. We thought the Brazilians would have been keen to discuss the conclusion of the disputed historic election but they were too immersed in their country music DVD to even notice. We left the apartment but one of the Blond girls who Ari and I dubbed “The Joker” had made eyes at Thomas and we ended up ditching him. Ari tried to grab a few paintings as souvenirs but was caught in the act and had to return them. No hurt feelings. We left the apartment and Mozar ended dragging us around the empty town that evening looking for late night love. He convinced us to go to a seedy go-go club which included a drink. Ari got a great picture for his facebook profile. We eventually found our way home and Thomas was sound asleep with my computer turned on emanating the soft unmistakable sound of internet porn. We woke up the next day, at 11 AM for checkout and wondered if we had imagined that Obama truly won. We searched around for a sushi restaurant which the guidebook had recommended, resisting cheaper unhealthier alternatives along the way. We got some bento boxes and or a la carte buffet. After lunch we took the unique bus system of Curitiba to go and get our bus tickets to Rio leaving that evening. Thomas forced me to call my newfound friend Mozar to get the number of the blond girl from the night before. We got the number and went off to find where the Joker worked. As Thomas worked his magic Ari and I drank away our lonely misery. Thomas somehow set up a date with the girl and we went off to play pool to kill time before she got off work for the date. We went and played some pool and Thomas went off to meet his date and Ari and I went off to have our own romantic evening. We got some tapioca as the rain started to fall, and then found a unique local bar that served great pork roast sandwiches and the local delicacy of carne de onça, jaguar meat. (not really jaguar meat) it was basically uncooked raw beef served on an open slice of white bread topped off by sliced green onion. It was interesting. We went back to the hostel, collected our belongings and waited for Thomas to arrive. He arrived 15 minutes late with his hair out of place and a smirk on his face. We caught the bus with a little time to spare thanks to our hard of hearing taxi driver who was either messing with me or needed aids when he incorrectly repeated destinations after I told him where we wanted to go. We got on the road and left Curitiba but not before I saw the first corpse I'd ever seen in my life. The lifeless covered body of a pedestrian who had been hit by a car.

Curitiba

2008-11-04T02:22:00.002-02:00

So this morning I woke up still extremely inebriated from last night's festivities. I threw a party for 200 reais. I had my student Tulião help me purchase what we needed. Meat and Booze. I had invited and planned for about 10 people to come. We got ready to start the party at around 7:00 PM. I quickly put all my friends to work. Thomas was making a mix for the party, Ari cleaned out the fridge, Tatiana made caiprinhas, Vinicius started the BBQ, and I simply mingled. We had a great turnout with about 20 people in attendance. I made a speech thanking everyone for attending but really had an ulterior motive of collecting money for the party. I received a total of 23 reais. The party continued until the security of the condominium kicked us out. The party continued from there to my friend Marcos' house. We dubbed Marcos an insurance salesman named Bob who was visiting from Ohio. We partied at Marcos' until late and then went back to the Condominium. Ari, Katherine and I continued drinking beers until late in the morning when the security once again asked us to shut up. We continued being obnoxious until I fell asleep on the bench outside of my apartment. Thomas came back early in the morning as he had met a young lady who Ari and I entitled a Bug's life. We got up the next morning still inebriated. We packed our stuff and called a taxi to take us to the bus station. We left the apartment like a bomb went off. I should have cleaned but I wasn't in the right mindset to really handle the cleaning. I forgot lots of things such as socks, boxers, and my battery charger. Shoot. We got to Curitiba and caught a cab to our hostel. The cab driver dropped us in the garage and the door had a sign hung on it that said glass door. I thought it was funny and I commented about it. We entered the lobby, Ari closed the door behind him and with a thunderous crash the door shattered into a million pieces. Our jaws dropped, we were speechless. I looked to the cab driver who was flabbergasted. It was the best entrance and we've decided that every hostel we go to from now on we have to break the door there as well. We got some dinner at a mediocre Mexican restaurant, played some pool after giving up looking for a place to watch the Redskins Monday night game and finally came home. We've been partying pretty hard so tonight we took it relatively easy.

The Gringos Arrived...

2008-11-02T12:54:00.003-02:00

So long ago I hatched a plan to do this big trip around Brazil. I mentioned it to my friends Thomas and Ari and they expressed interest in coming. Weeks went by they dropped out and I started liking my job and I gave up on the trip. Months went by and they simultaneously wondered if it was too late to do the trip. I said no and we started making plans. The culmination of all those plans came together yesterday when I picked them up at the bus station.
I got back in from a refreshing bike ride and saw that I had received an e-mail from them saying that they'd been waiting at the bus station for my "booch ass". I hustled down there and there ensued a heartfelt reunion. We went back to my place I introduced them to my roommate Ramon, who remained relatively quiet, and my friend Peter who will resume my "lease" and job. Peter, Thomas and Ari hit it off quite well due to the English charm of my friend whom I met in Jundiaí.
We got some lunch at an all-you-can eat feijoada restaurant I frequent, however they didn't have feijoada. My friend Kathrin from Germany tagged along. After the filling lunch we caught the bus, and then another bus and then another bus all the way to a beach on the south of the Island called Armação. Armação was a former Whale Blubber processing plant. I'm not quite sure how one would go about processing blubber these days. From Armação we trekked along the beach called Matadeiros where I assume many of the whales were slaughtered. From there we hiked along a rocky trail to the secluded beach cove of Lagoinha do Leste. We marched along the trail being poked by plants and slipping down a well walked trail. We arrived at the beach and immediately plunged into the frosty water. The waves tossed around leaving our bodies purple from the forceful surf. We took a few shots for our upcoming 2009 Best of Silver Spring Hunks calendar and got dressed. Along the way to the exit trail we encountered dead penguin after dead penguin and even the impressive skeletal cage of a large fish of some sort. We meandered finding the trail exiting to the neighborhood of Pantanal do Sul. I received flack that I didn't know where I was going but my keen sense of direction eventually lead us to where we needed to go. The trail leaving the beach was much steeper, aerobic and direct. At the height of the trail we stopped at a miranda and too some more goofy pictures. We finally were spit out at the bottom of the trail and the mosquitos annihilated us.
We went to a legendary restaurant of the Island called Bar do Arante. Arante is some guy and this is his bar and restaurant. We ordered some beers and looked out upon the ocean as the sunset. We decided to get some fish dishes complimented by salad, rice, beans, pirão and lots more beer. They brought complimentary shots of cachaça, (Brazilian rum.) We got ourselves more beers by quizzing the waitstaff about world capitals. They in return quizzed us about Brazilian State capitals. It was a draw. Our waitress told us about the witchcraft legends of the island and the stories they inspired. We were given scraps of paper to leave our mark upon the massive collection of notes written and posted to the walls ceilings and any other spare spot available.

Thomas wrote
Dawg,
The Food Was Mad Good Dawg.
-Cooney

Katherin drew,

We took our elaborate system of buses back to my apartment as the wind started picking up. We showered up and got ready to hit the town. We were about to go to a college party but got word it was weak. So my friend invited us to go out to one of the biggest clubs in Floripa to dance the night away listening to thumping house music courtesy of a German DJ. We accepted, I braced the gang that my friend Marcos drives like a maniac and he did not disappoint. We all sighed with collective relief when we finally got to the club in one piece after many close calls along the way.
We danced, hit on girls and drank some beers. Most of us were rejected except for Marcos who escorted a young lady back home leaving us without a ride. We had to take a taxi back home and I fell asleep on the way. As I write this entry at 1:45 I'm the only one awake and they are loudly snoring.

A Baiana, Barbie Pimp and Tulião

2008-10-30T23:50:00.003-02:00

I recruited two friends from high school to accompany me as we jolt from small beach cities, to world-renowned urban planning achievements, to postcard peaked cliffed landscapes, to epitomizing quaint colonial cities, to uber contemporary capitals, to western frontier one horse towns, to even further western frontier no horse towns, to Eco-tourism nature reserves, and finally to the aortal megacity that drives the country; all while partaking in debauchery along the trail. That's the easy part, the hard part is saying goodbye to the city and friends and students I've made. Brazil has a way of captivating people unlike no other. It's no coincidence that you or probably someone you know has a friend who has packed up and moved to Brazil after falling in love with it on a trip. The people, the nature, the culture are all mesmerizing in their own right. I certainly have been taken under it's charm. After soul searching, and decision changing, and arguing with myself I eventually decided that I'd come back to the states. My students and friends all tried to convince me to stay, making persuasive arguments but to no avail, I could not be swayed.When asked as to why I'm leaving this seductive country, I say my return ticket was too expensive to be wasted, I say I'm homesick and I miss my family and friends, I say I'm sick of Brazilian TV and food, all truthful reasons but not really quite good enough to appease my students and friends. I guess the real reason is despite all the friends I've made over the past 10 months, and as hard as I've tried to delve into the culture and people of this world, and though I've made a place for myself in this world but I've never truly felt at home. Perhaps it's the lack of Jewish humor, perhaps it's the lack of El Salvadoreans and Peruvian chicken, (go figure) perhaps its the lack of Andy Rooney bickering on my television every Sunday night, but all these little factors combined to push me over to the side of returning to the USA just in time for Thanksgiving. (no cranberries here in Brazil.)
So this week I've undertook the bittersweet task of saying goodbye to my students and teachers who have really made my time here in Floripa worthwhile. I ate a delectable lunch with my Portuguese teacher Dona Valda on Wednesday. She insisted I drink a beer at lunch, and we enjoyed a salad featuring carrots, lettuce, avocado, tomato and a Brazilian vegetable called xuxu, topped off by vinegar. The main course was a beef casserole that she pretexted with a disclaimer that it had been the first time she'd ever made it. The meal was capped off with a chilled banana served with a sugar cake doused with a sour grape sauce. The meal left me drowsy and I fought to stay awake during our subsequent class. My classes with Dona Valda helped me to smooth out many of the rough edges Portuguese creates.Valda lived in Germany for 35 years, raised a family there and only recently came back to her hometown of Florianopolis. She instilled upon me that during her time in Germany she felt many of the dual contradictory feelings of the loneliness of being a foreigner mixed with the fascination of a new culture.
The day continued with a guitar lesson with my teacher Leo Garcia. I met Leo my first week in Floripa when I stumbled into his classroom at the local university. We played a few tunes for the students to demonstrate improvisation. Afterwards we exchanged information. It wasn't until July when Leo could take me on as a student. We mostly worked on Bossa Nova guitar these past few months. Every week Leo would challenge me with a new song. You can all expect a concert when I get back. Our last lesson was spent running through all the songs we had learned over the course of the semester. Samba de Uma Nota Só, Samba de Verão, Wave, Corcovado, Chega de Saudade, Aquele Abraço, Insensatez amongst many others. Leo is a great teacher and an excellent player. He also speaks English quite well, but we generally relied on Portuguese during our lessons, with the exception of the occasional expletive.
My city tour was finished off by my final dance class which was spent dancing with 15 year old teenage girls or 45 year old MILFs and not anything in between. I'd been taking ballroom dancing classes with the anticipation of meeting friends and taking advantage of my time in Brazil. The classes were fun and my teachers, Tatiani and Raphael were a passionate duo of lovers. We danced a variety of styles but my favorite were Forró and Samba de Gafieria. I left the class just as my hips started to thaw through the thick dense ice that being a Caucasian North American has congealed upon them for 23 years.
Then I began saying goodbye to my students.My students took me out for a going away party last night. We went to a fancy restaurant in a neighborhood called Santo Antonio de Lisboa, a traditional Azorean neighborhood located on the northwest side of the Island. They explained the fish heavy food we ate such as moqueca, and pirão (a paste made of all parts of stewed fish including the eyes, heads, and poop.) We recounted dramas of the school, and gossiped about the staff. My students have all adopted Nicknames during the semester. Baiana was a TOEFL student I taught at a breakneck exhaustive speed over the past two months. We called her Baiana because she talks very slow, she's lazy and she's always late. But in actuality she's one of my brightest students and she's a unique girl who is trying to become a jewelry designer. In fact we made a bet, and we wagered one of her pieces. Tulião is a sponge. Any slang, term or new vocabulary I throw at him he can regurgitate with the utmost of ease. He gives me a ride home every night after class and he insists that I practice Portuguese with him. He's easy going, and welcoming. He's one of the best friends I've made here in Brazil. He's even said that he'll invite me to his wedding.
Barbie Pimp is perfect. To give you an idea, generally my group of 4 Mechanical Engineering students scidadle their way out of class leaving a trail of dust behind. The other day Barbie Pimp showed up early and the 4 guys lingered around and I had to mop up the drool off the floor. She's a civil engineer who is applying to schools in the states for her Doctorate. She's going to be riding the crest of the wave of green engineering. Her catch phrase is, "It's perrrrrfect" The combination of her and Tulio in my class is like a pair of co-hosts from a children's afternoon program.
It's hard to sum up how great of a work environment the school was and the only shame is I didn't spend the entirety of my time here in Brazil working at it. I really learned a lot about Brazil through my students and I was in contact with some of the brightest minds this country has to offer. (although most of their hard drives are filled with soccer and sex).

Oktoberfest

2008-10-27T07:42:00.004-02:00

I was told Blumenau, Santa Catarina hosts the world's 2nd largest Oktoberfest . I boasted about this fact to my brother and told him I would be attending, he disagreed with the statistic and said that he had been to Cincinnati's party and that they in fact held the world's second largest Oktoberfest. Wikipedia to the rescue. We were both wrong.

The largest Oktoberfest outside of Germany is the Kitchener-Waterloo Oktoberfest in the twin cities of Kitchener and Waterloo, Ontario, Canada (700,000+ visitors). Other cities claiming to be the largest Oktoberfests outside of Germany include Blumenau, Brazil (600,000+ visitors) and Cincinnati, Ohio, United States (500,000+ visitors, )

My friends and I, mainly from the UN of soccer had chartered a booze bus to take us there. Compiled of a multitude of nationalities, the bus was the most inebriated collection of international students since the Quiddich Cup. My friend Peter from Jundiaí arrived the morning of the festival. I met him at the bus station. I gave him a brief tour of the city and neighborhood and we congregated at the grocery store. We stocked up on booze, mostly cheap whiskey. I suggested we buy "Wall Street" brand liquor, because it would make us all collapse. It was without a doubt the wittiest thing that has ever been uttered from my mouth.
We caught a bus just as it started pouring rain. It took us down to the bus terminal where we caught the hired vehicle that would escort our drunken selves all the way to the festival. My friend Katherine was running late. I love her, but she's lived in Brazil so long that she's beginning to forget the fact that Germans are supposed to be prompt. I spotted her running through the rain just as the bus was pulling out of the station and she caught the second bus just in the nick of time.
As soon as we hit the road the drinks started flowing. It was one of the most entertaining bus rides i'd been on since the 8th Grade Florida trip, and I think most of the fun from that nostalgic ride was determined by pestering the Greek hearing-impaired science teacher. (sorry Mr. Antonokas) Drinks were poured, clothing was doused. I'm sure we were a terror to the other half of the bus who were largely quiet and not drinking. We were a rowdy crowd of Argentines, Germans, English, Swiss, French, Chilean, Peruvian, Dutch, Colombian, oh and a few Brazilians were allowed to come along. By the time we were halfway we pitted at a truck stop. Most of the gang was already spent and wondering how we would keep up the partying at this pace until we would get back on the bus at 5:00 the next morning.
When we got to Blumenau we got let off at the start of a traditional German parade. The city's charming German architecture is the backdrop of the parade as polka bands and scantily clad blonde German descendants bounce their way through the streets. We bought beers while weaving and wandering through the parade aimlessly and unsuccessfully searching for food as night descended upon the city.
A large group of us got pizza at an all you can eat restaurant. I was hoping for German food, but at that moment I was delirious with hunger. We bought our admission and loaded up on beer tickets. The festival is a large operation that has been going on strong for 25 years. Oktoberfest Blumenau features large tents with pulsating German brass band music to aggravate even the lightest headaches brought on by beer, bratwurst and strudel. The tents and campgrounds were crowded, humid and filled with women and men dressed in costume and the latest in Bavarian hat ware accessories. The night was a constant see-saw of finding my friends and within minutes losing them. I eventually gave up looking for them and almost got in a fight because I accidentaly stepped on a guy's hand who who had been sitting on the ground. I walked off without formally apologizing and as a result he chased after me. I told him sorry but he said at that juncture it was no longer acceptable, so I told him to go have his way with himself and walked off.
I grew wary of the party, as my money had run out, my friends had run off and my energy was running short. I was going on a combined 8-10 hours sleep from the previous two nights, so I was just about spent. I walked back to the bus and immediately passed out. At 10 to 5, just before the bus was about to leave I received a call from my friend who had no idea where the bus was leaving from. I told him in between the two local grocery stores which confused him. Thankfully he made it to the bus on time, however so did my French friend Antonio who was still fervently in the mood to party. We got into a yelling match, and I hope that I didn't tell him that we were right to have changed the name to Freedom Fries.
We arrived back in Floripa and the bus driver dropped the lot of us at our respective locales, but not before lots of beer was consumed (and subsequently vomited), polkas were danced, and German paraphernalia was purchased.

Ice Cream

2008-10-15T18:33:00.002-03:00

I've started eating a lot of sweets since I came to Brazil. I rarely ate candy, cookies, ice cream or the like in the States but here I've resulted in indulging, all too often. It started when my roomate started offering me this donut holes called Sonho Americanos. (American Dreams) I've moved away from this as they raised the price by 30 cents and I'm a frugal consumer. One day when they were out of sonho Americanos I tried a new item called a bretzel. The girls at the bakery find it adorable when I request one. It's basically challah wrapped in the shape of a pretzel sprinkled with sugar. Sometimes when they don't have that I'll get a slice of strawberry cake. Every Friday I'll treat myself to soft ice cream at the stand on my way to work. These stands are all over the place and Brazilians often can be seen licking to their heart's content from early morning to late at night. The last time I went to the ice cream shack the guy, who'd waited on my several times proudly thanked me for my patronage in English. I suppose he was pleased with his performance when today he not only thanked be but asked me to please come back. I think he's going a little bit overboard and he's wierding me out. Don't worry I'm not getting fat. I assume this increase in sugar is due to the fact I was eating significantly less when I first arrived in Floripa and the sugar has a way of filling you up. I've actually lost weight since coming to Brazil. We'll see how I tip the scales when I come back in November.

Gramado/ Canela

2008-10-13T17:18:00.003-03:00

Two weekends ago I attempted to buy tickets to get away from the hustle and bustle of Florianópolis. Unfortunately I assumed that I could arrive at the bus station a few hours before the bus left and I would be OK, however I didn't factor in that it was an election weekend and a majority of the population had to returned to their hometowns to vote. All the tickets were sold out and I had to wait until the next weekend.
This time I went a day early and bought my ticket. As soon as I got home after purchasing my ticket I discovered there would be numerous activities around Floripa that I had unknowingly excluded myself from, by my excursion. Anywho, I was dying to get out of town, not having had left since I went to Foz de Iguaçu. As I was walking to the bus station I was listening to a new podcast I hadn't heard before called, "How Stuff Works". The program deals with a variety of topics, however this particular topic was about cannibals. They introduced the topic of cannibalism with the referral to the ghastly murder on a greyhound bus in Manitoba Canada which occurred a few months back. Needless to say not the ideal material to be listening to before an 10-hour overnight bus ride. I suffered and fought for arm space throughout the night with the obnoxious passenger who sat to my left. Thankfully the next day I arrived in Gramado, Rio Grande do Sul with no apparent traces of rider inflicted cannibalism.
Gramado/ Canela are two tourist towns which have used their alpine styled architecture, frigid temperatures, and Gaúcho traditions to turn themselves into one of Rio Grande do Sul and Brazil's most popular tourist destinations. For citizens of this mostly sun-scorched country, snow is all but a fantasy so when temperatures dip down and the grass is dusted with flakes the tourists come in droves in anticipation of seeing snow enchanted by the city. In all honesty the city is quite clean, situated on the plateau of a gorgeous mountain range with stunning valleys, quaint villages, and charming vineyards. However I felt the kitschy novelty quickly wore thin.
Saturday was dreary as it rained the entire day. My umbrella was abysmal as a crucial piece was missing and the top would unlatch and or not open. My shoes and socks got soaked. I walked miles in the rain exploring the two cities and taking a mini-bus tour.
The tour was shortened as the only guests were myself and a elderly lady from São Paulo. The guide stopped at the various post card images, gave quick explanations and continued on. The banter between the two of them was as if it were scripted by the city itself. "Here in Gramado, we are a small city of 50,000 habitants. We have a high standard of living. We aren't plagued by the violence or pollution that affects so many of Brazil's larger cities. Everyone here has a job and everyone is happy. Here is our free health post. Here is one of our more impoverished neighborhoods, which is completely supplied with plumbing, pavement and other basic amenities. Here is our public bathroom, which is kept impeccably clean by the citizens of Gramado. Here is a spa where the actresses from the soap operas come to get their botox. Here is the biggest house in Gramado. etc." At every stop the little old lady cooed with delight about the picturesque houses and whimsical streets. The bathroom is the pride and joy of the city due to it's cleanliness, the cars give pedestrians the right of way, and all restaurants feature fondue. That night I went out to a bar/club with some lawyers from the Northeast of Brazil who have been working in Porto Allegre, the capital of Rio Grande do Sul. We played bowling, or Boliche. I played alright but I still can't seem to wrap my head around the notion that all the pins here dangle in the air by a mystery chord as if they were holstered by a puppeteer. The night was capped off by me falling asleep on the shoulders of my new found friends.
The next day I woke up and signed myself up for a tour. I thought that I was getting a tour of the massive, breathtaking canyons, however I was misinformed and the only tour left was of Museums and a Cable Car tour of the Caracol waterfall. I cut my losses and signed up. I walked around the town and ran into a Portuguese girl who had been studying in Rio Grande do Sul and had stayed at my hostel. As we were chatting and I was difficultly deciphering her peculiar Portuguese accent a ludicrous man dressed in Gaúcho costume began picking up trash in the park in front of the café at which we sat. He loudly talked to himself and started up conversations with all the naive passerbys. His colorful comments overheard from our table ranged from " Good Morning? Your mouth doesn't work? Bitch!" to more cleverly phrased one liners such as " I'm not ignorant because I was born this way, Its more fun to be stupid." He was old and grizzled but surprisingly was quite gentle and decent with the Portuguese and myself. I became worried at one point when the Gaúcho asked, "Can I ask you an indecent question?" She didn't see any reason as to why not to allow this and he surprisingly only inquired to as what her age was. He had a thick Gaúcho accent which derives from the cattle drivers from the North of Argentina to the South of Brazil. Anyways he gave me a rock and suggested that I take my new found friend to a hotel room. I walked the Portuguese to the bus station and she got my information in case she comes to Floripa.
That afternoon I took my tour. I quickly realized I had been suckered into a tour that eerily reminded me of excursions from my childhood with my grandparents and siblings. However the events of the day paled in comparison to such family revelries such as the Baltimore Industrial museum amongst other oddities. I made friends with the members of the group who happened to be tourists such as myself from a variety of other cities and states. The most memorable of the group were a group of two women from Salvador, Bahia. The people from this state are known for their excessive laziness. They certainly didn't help their cause by showing up 5-15 minutes late for every scheduled departure. The highlight of the day of tours was the cable car which ascendant to a magnificent miranda overlooking the Caracol waterfall and surrounding mountains and valleys. The low point of the day was a miniature mechanical device museum.
I said goodbye to Gramado/ Canela and arrived in Floripa at day break. I took a power nap before work and when I woke up I was surprised that my computer and ipod were an hour ahead of my alarm clock. I rushed out the door to work only to greet my co-worker who was the only other gringo in town who had made the same mistake I had. The first and last time I'll ever be early to work again.

Curb your enthusiasm, the lost episode

2008-10-10T15:50:00.004-03:00

PART 1 July 31st 2008

Like so many other Brazilians, her low-cut shirt showed off her shapely, tanned lower-back accented by two prominent equidistant dimples which cradled her spine. As I was chaining up my bike at 8:00 in the morning she was entering the florist shop next door and we locked eyes. I said hello and went and taught my first class of the morning, which consisted of showing Curb Your Enthusiasm and stopping ever minute or so to have my students regurgitate the sophisticatedly superior American humor which their soap operas, Mad-TVesque sketch comedy shows and predictable sitcoms have not prepared them for.
After class was over I talked myself into stopping in the florist store to feign interest in buying a plant. She came and reluctantly attended to me. She told me her name, El-ee-A-Nee. I pretended to understand however the bizarre combination of vowels and consonants didn't sound remotely familiar. We made chit chat I went in for the standard kiss on the cheek greeting and she forthrightly told me that it was inappropriate for the setting. Shot. Down. I asked her what she did when she wasn't working, she told me she had just moved to the city, and spent most of her free time on the internet. I thought to myself If she frequents backgammon forums, NPR podcasts and the occasional latin porn site this courtship just might work. I told her that we should get together that night and she hesitantly accepted. I figured this would just another one of the many promises Brazilians are so keen to break.
Later that evening I left my class and there she was, as promised, waiting for me with her 3-inch soled shoes. (Clarification: The 3-Inch Soled shoes weren't part of the promise, but nevertheless were a welcome surprise.) She gave me a brief tour of the florist shop which I was hoping would turn into a horticultural related romance scene. Unfortunately it did not. She said the accountant was there or something, anyways garden sheers aren't that sexy. We went to BIG, the Brazilian Wal-Mart where i quickly noticed that the wall she had put up in the florist store earlier that day had been taken down. I'm not sure what the give away was but it might have been making out in the school supplies aisle. I offered to buy her anything in the store that was under R$3.50, like 2 bucks. She decided on chocolate on the double. (Don't worry she's not a big chick, that phase of my life is behind me.) For anybody interested starting a date out at Target, or Wal-Mart is a winner.
We went to Midnight a local pool hall, where she got her ass whooped by yours truly. 5-0. I probably should have let her win at least one, but in the spirit of the upcoming Olympics one must represent. In fact I've resorted to wearing the same tattered,beer-stained USA: We Speak English, novelty t-shirt on a daily basis. Between the impromptu make out sessions and the billiard onslaught i noticed she was a bit of an aggressive kisser, in fact she was purposely biting me. It dawned on me that she wasn't the first to do this, nearly every single Brazilian girl, (and transvestite that passed as one) had done the same exact thing. It got a little painful at times. I told her that if she was going to continue doing this be ready for when it's my turn and she provocatively responded , "now you're speaking my language." She later in a fit of rage slammed her palm on the table, drawing blood. When I expressed my concern and she told me not to worry as she was in fact rather fond of blood. We paid the tab, or rather I paid the tab as she conveniently dipped out to the bathroom as we were about to pay. I tell you florists are all the same.
As I was walking her home she requested that if I hadn't already mentioned out date to any co-workers that I refrain from doing so. Suddenly she frogmarched me down an alley where an intense canoodling session ensued. I asked my roommate about this biting peculiarity and he told me that I got off lucky, one time a girl bit him so hard he started bleeding.
I got a few drinks the following Friday with some colleagues from work and after tossing a few beers back I couldn't help but resisting to tell the story to my co-workers.

PART 2 August 2008

I went back to the flower store a few days later and asked her to go out that upcoming weekend. She smiled and cheerfully accepted, however when the day of the date arrived she stood me up. I wrote off this occurrence as another consequence of the unreliability of Brazilian honesty. A few days later I saw her at the supermarket and she cut in line 30 spaces to come and talk with me. We both paid for our items and when she pulled out her credit card to pay I didn't recognize the polish last name on the front. I asked her, "I thought you were Italian?" She logically responded that is was her daughter's savings account, and that her ex-husband was of polish ancestry. I was a little heated, I grilled her as to why she didn't mention that she had a 7 year old daughter nor an ex-husband. She told me that if I had asked she would have told me. DUH. Anyways she told me that she couldn't see me again and that she was sorry that night she had stood me up. I asked her why she couldn't see me again and she responded that she had a boyfriend, and he happened to be my boss. I thought this was but an over the top ploy to get rid of me but nonetheless I obliged to take a step back as I'm not really ready to be a Step-Dad to a pain loving mama.

PART 3 October 7, 2008

I had all but forgotten about my brief romance. I had seen her from time to time on my way to work but had largely put her out of my mind. As I was fuming and typing away at my blog which described being accused of hitting on my pupil my boss walked in with an awkward question. Generally if you give my boss the chance, he'll talk your ear off. He's a really nice guy, but we've all got responsibilities and he has the tendency of deeply wounding free time. Anyways when he approached me with this particular inquiry I was already having a less than ideal day and he came right out and asked me if I was still dating the girl from the flower shop downstairs. Without mincing any words I told him that we'd had a date but that it hadn't been anything more than that. He frankly explained to me that in fact he was dating the girl and had been dating her for the past year. He wasn't upset with me, I believe he was looking to vindicate himself from the accusations this girl was throwing in his face. She'd had suspicions that he'd been dating his students and he was looking to fling some mud back in her direction. I assume that I was only but a simple pawn in this love triangle. He said it was no problem and that he'd appreciated the honesty.
The next day as I was outside of the school drinking a water chatting with one of my students when sure enough she stormed up to the school with a sour look on her face. She darted at me like a missile and demanded to talk to me. I told her that I couldn't, that I was working but she wouldn't hear it. She sequestered me off in the corner and my student absolved himself from the situation. She harangued me as to how I could be so insensitive to tell my co-workers. She cursed me as to how I had ruined her relationship. She commanded me to look up idiot in a dictionary and I would find myself there. Harsh! I generally allow my Portuguese to mysteriously disappear in these confrontational situations. If you play deaf and dumb it generally works. Anyways I let her get the final word and she stomped off. My student acted as if nothing had happened and I just had to laugh.

Pork's

2008-10-09T18:24:00.002-03:00

Last night I went to a Palmeiras soccer game with my student and good friend Tulião. Tulio is from São Paulo and all the Italians in the region root for this particular team. They are currently in second place, and considering I haven't been to a soccer game since my first time in Bahia we made plans to go. I was feeling down and out because of my recent problems at my job but Tulio is an extremely affable fellow and he cheered me up. We picked up his cousin, who spoke English, because he had spent some time in Vancouver learning the language. We arrived at the stadium in a neighborhood of Florianopolis which Tulio and Ana, my other student, had dubbed the Bronx of Floripa, not knowing that Yankee stadium is located there, just hearing that the boogie down is a rough and tough burrough. As we walked through the crowded, active streets Tulio took in deep whifs of the BBQ meat pretending to express his interest in the taco bell quality meat. We got a beer before the game and watched the team arrive in their plush bus less than 2 hours before the game. I was surprised as generally American professional teams arrive significantly earlier. We sat in the Palmeiras section of the stadium which was rowdy but well behaved. The fans were predominantly male, and predominately dressed in green showing their team colors. The crowd belted out their team anthem, which happens to have the same melody as many other team anthems only the lyrics change. Palmeiras has over 20 hymns devoted to their nickname, Porco, or pig. It dawned on me, this must be my kindred team because of the Washington Redskins hog affiliation. During the half I braved the penguin-paced crowd to go to the bathroom, which was oddly like a trough, and to get an ice cold beer. Unfortunately after buying the beer I realized that because of hooligans they no longer serve beer with alcohol and I unknowingly had bought a non-alcoholic brewski. Tulio's favorite player is name Rocke and Tulio has dubbed him Predator because of his hair which is strikingly similar to the super-villain. Tulio and his cousins said that the entire soccer team would most likely be heading to one of the high class strip clubs after the game. The game ended in a tie, which is good as in I woke up today avoiding any soccer riot related black eyes or bruises.

0-5

2008-10-08T18:05:00.004-03:00

So I've been splitting my time between two schools less than two blocks from each other.
At one school I work 25 hours per week. The walls are a cheerful blend of pastel hues, interactive computers in all class rooms, and the bathrooms smell like lavender. My students are a hodgepodge of retirees, young professionals, and jaded teenagers. I feel a strong repoire with my pupils and I believe that while my classes are unorthodox and I fly by the seat of my pants, I've explained them the essentials they need to learn English, for example last class I gave a tutorial on to how to form the "English, Shminglish form." I explained that if someone wanted to modestly dismiss a compliment the grammatically correct way to do this was to say the word immediately followed by the Shm-ing prefix. The students were slow at first but after the 3 hour lecture which further developed the idea I believe they can now use the form correctly. Anyways the school is professional, and I believe that while it is lax, the environment is conducive to learning. It feels like they should be serving Yoo-hoo the chocolate beverage.
The other school also has pastel colored walls, and there is also a potpourri scent emanating from the bathroom, however my luck has been less than savory there. My first student was preparing for a English test called the IELTS. I have prepared students for this test before, and they have passed. The IELTS is a high level test for proving academic and work proficiency. Therefore mere mortals need not apply. I was teaching a student in the class using a book and was painstakingly making headway page by page, before she fired me. She said I wasn't prepared and I needed to grade more outside of class. So be it. The second bunch of students I had at this school were a fun group. In fact the secretary often had to come and close the door because of our incessant rowdiness. I was told the class wanted a conversation intensive program, so I brought materials,then sent me a harmless e-mail saying that they in fact wanted a grammatically intensive class so I complied and shifted directions. Often they would ask confusing questions like when should we use shall? I bet no American has ever learned that in an English class before, so I right then and there consulted grammar girl, a popular grammar resource on the web. I constantly do this in class to reiterate to my students that Americans don't learn grammar- per se- we learn the difference between a metaphor and a simile. The truth is, I've truly only begun learning English grammar since becoming an English teacher a little under one year ago. Anyways sometimes I want to tell my students their questions are stupid, but, that would be mean and I don't wish to be. Anyways the group changed their minds again, they got frustrated when I gave them a 5 minute tutorial as to how to use the F-word. Because while this tricky four letter word is desired by every Brazilian who has ever seen an American actor slip the F-Bomb between every other word, when used incorrectly it can certainly make the speaker look like quite the fool. So I explained that the F-word can be an

adjective, This blog is a fucking joke.
verb, My students complain I fuck around too much.
adverb He fucking killed him.
and noun. Why they fuck am I writing about this anyways?

And I didn't even delve into the wonders of phrases featuring fuck such as Fuck up, Fuck Off, Motherfucker, fuckin' a etc.

Anyways they gave me the sack too. I guess I was too real for them.Which brings me to my last student.
I began teaching this student as a preparation for her study abroad experience next year. I found out that she would be studying at my Alma Mater, Temple University. What a Koinky Dink! I used the class as a chance for her to practice her e-mail writing skills seeking out roommates on the social networking site Facebook, applying for jobs found on the classified site Craigslist, and teaching her how to write a bullshit cover letter and resumé worthy of Websters. I felt I was being an impromptu ambassador for Temple University. Some of her biggest worries were about the violence, and large Indian population that plagues the school. I allayed her fears by telling her that she comes from Rio, I don't think Philly can compare, (sorry homicide rate of the city of brotherly love but you just can't hold a flame to a cidade maravilhosa) and the Indians are nice and just a little cliquey is all. I thought everything was going on well until last week in class she seemed particularly inattentive. Let me back up a minute, we had run into each other at bars around the city from time to time and I was introduced to her clean-cut boyfriend and was affable with the both of them. In fact these were of the times when a few drinks had allowed her to let her hair down a little from the bun of the uptight, nervous wreck of an individual that she truly is. So I told her that she would need to bring a bottle of tequila to class so that she could speak as boisterously as she was outside of it. So when after class last week I saw her talking to my boss with a combined look of disdain and distress ( when the dis- prefix comes up, look out) I knew something was awry. I got call yesterday, and my boss said she needed me to come in to talk to her tomorrow. She might as well had told me that I was getting the boot right over the phone and spared me the formality of entering that peculiar smelling commercial office building in which they work out of. Anyways I could read the look on her face that something was fucked up. So she explained that of the 5 students that I had at the school all of them had fired me for varying reasons. I said I didn't know exactly how to explain it, but hey, shit happens. In fact I believe it has something to do with the management and the fact I never felt comfortable on the proverbial unsteady ground of the school. Anyways this last redundancy was the most odd of all as the student had called me lazy both in and outside of class, be that as it may, she continued, saying she had felt violated. I thought to myself, wow this girl never seemed that interested in the English class, nor going to the United States, and here because I'm lazy she has brazenly gone on to say she felt violated. I didn't know what to say, I told my boss I was sorry it didn't work out and that I would come back later to have a chat with her. As I was getting up to leave she continued to express her shock from the whole situation and as I work down the street with her boyfriend and I have a full roster of students with no complaints why was my record so abysmal at her school. She explained to me that she was particularly bothered by the fact my student had felt I had hit on her. My jaw dropped. I've never hit on a single student of mine...consciously. I've figured it would complicate matters to an unbearably awkward situation to flirt with a student, so I've refrained from it entirely. Not to say that the opposite hasn't occurred, where a student has not so subtly hit on me! Anyways I was completely flabbergasted as to how she could have thought that I was hitting on her. I went back in my head retracing my educational steps, remembering greeting her and her mother as "lindas" when they gave me a ride, inviting her out to a class outing and she assumed that I was asking her and her alone out for a date, sitting next to her as I almost exclusively use my laptop in class utilizing the plethora of materials available on the Internet, and I aggravated the situation most recently by presenting a list of relationship related phrases that can be particularly nettlesome for learners of the English language. Anyways I guess that was the straw that broke the camels back and she fired me. Oh well, she gives her self too much credit.

Jesus! Yes That Is My Final Answer.

2008-10-06T22:38:00.002-03:00

Who knew that such an innocuous purchase of early 2000 memorabilia could be taken with so much offense. I have a T-Shirt that I bought in high school at the Rehobeth boardwalk that posts in grand letters, JESUS. Yes that is my final answer. Needless to say if I get hollers, hoots, exclamations and excitement wearing this shirt in the US of A, one can only imagine the reaction I would get wearing this shirt in the world's largest catholic country. The joke is lost on the majority of the people here, they don't have Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, and I don't know where they would find the equivalent of a Brazilian Regis Philbin. During my dance class tonight nearly every woman I danced with wondered if I was from the Church, many assumed I was Mormon, as a majority of the non-miscreant gringos evade Rio and the Sultry Northeast to make an attempt at the salvation of the Southerners of this great land. I think they've given up on the lost souls of this nation. Upon reflecting, this is one of the oldest pieces of my wardrobe and has held up not only in durability and resiliency but also in comedic value, as in every passing year the joke becomes more ironically outdated and hipster-worthy.

Festa Africana

2008-09-28T20:53:00.003-03:00

Florianopolis is a predominately white city. The University campus has mostly fair faces who meander around its' leafy walks. Nevertheless there is a small number of African exchange students from Portuguese speaking nations of that continent, Angola, Mozambique, Cape Verde and Guine Bissau. My students described them as very black, with eyes that bulged out. I'm not sure that's most P.C. description.
The members of this community often hold parties and I had the privilege to attend one of their shindigs last night. I didn't have a ticket to the party but for R$25, which was paid at the door, There was a huge feast, an open bar with endless beer, finite whiskey, litres upon litres of soda for all tastes, as well as desert. The food was ok however I felt the cusine couldn't hold a flame to Silver Spring's African restaurants. My friends helped themselves to 3 or 4 plates each. I went with the UN of soccer, who have since given me the nickname of Gringoal. I think I've been dubbed this title mockingly because of the fact that in 4 weeks of playing soccer I have yet to score a single goal. I have had many close opportunities but still no goal. However they commented on how I've gotten better with every passing week, and I'm starting to play soccer like an "Americano".
The party hall quickly filled with people and I was struck by the fact that very few Afro-Brazilians were there, most were white Brazilians and Africans, mostly from Cape Verde. All the same I think it's a testament to Brazil's interest in other cultures and inclusion. I found out the white Brazilians couldn't dance very well. My friend has told me that Southern Brazilians in the pale in comparison to the abilities of people from Rio, São Paulo and the Northeast. So naturally I ended up dancing with the girls from Cape Verde. The girls from Cape Verde are very beautiful and stuck up. The DJ played a mix of hip-hop, Brazilian Funk, Angolan Kuduro, Reggae, and a throbbing ultra sensual slow dance style of which genre it belongs to I'm not sure. Think 3-6 Mafia meets Sade.
We left as the sun was coming up and I was deliriously trying to convince my friends to go to the beach. I arrived home, passed out and woke up to play soccer less than 5 hours later.

Orkut (Orküchee)

2008-09-26T15:14:00.003-03:00

What is Orkut you may ask? It's the exact same thing as facebook, myspace or friendster however it was developed for Google By Orkut Büyükkökten a turkish born software engineer. For some unknown reason Orkut exploded in Brazil around the same time as the other websites, and there's been no looking back. Brazil comprises over 50 percent of the usage of the networking site, and India and the US trail in a distant 2nd and 3rd places. Facebook and myspace have both recently introduced Portuguese versions of their site for use in Brazil however a large majority of the people are content with their form of time-squandering and see no reason to switch to another social site. If all your friends, neighbors, cousins and even children--Brazilians have lots of kids--are on Orkut why in the world would you change to myspace or facebooky. Not to mention hundreds of relationships have been spawned by the romance that can only be created by creepily leering over pictures unbeknownst to the target. Technically any of you who has a gmail account also can register for your orkut account lickity-split. I have to warn you it's search capabilities are sub-par in comparison with facebook and the stalking capabilities are highly inferior.

Jorge Ben

2008-09-15T17:39:00.003-03:00

Jorge Ben is MPB royalty. First off he was the victor of a court case against Rod Stewart for copyright infringement. (Ben's Taj Majal and Stewart's If You Think I'm Sexy) I think that would give him points in nearly anyone's book. However he created the genre of Samba Rock and countless classic tunes. Mas Que Nada, País Tropical, Oba Lá Vem Ela, Chove Chuva, O Telefone Tocou Novamente just to name a few. (It dawns on me now that many of the tunes I chose for the podcast aren't amongst his "classics") At times he can be predictable;

Intro: Ferocious Guitar Solo Guitar Strumming
Verse: Enter Drums and catchy melody
Chorus: Call and Response Background Vocals
Repeat 30x.

However it's easy to criticize Mozart's predictability with centuries of critical hindsight as well.
Anyways Jorge Ben is one of Brazil's easiest most accessible artists to get into. His music is heavy on rhythm and his melodies are addictive from the first listen. Also you may get confused when you see some listings of his music as Jorge Ben Jor, his previous name. Rumor has it Ben changed his name when a check mistakenly was deposited in fusion guitar player George Benson's bank account. To assure no further misunderstandings Ben nipped the problem before if could grow any larger.

Fan Clübee

2008-09-14T12:07:00.002-03:00

A few weeks ago I was sitting on a bench tediously practicing guitar, when two teenaged girls approached me about a fundraiser in their school. I stuttered and stammered but eventually got off the message that I had forgotten my wallet in my apartment but that I would donate some money later on. Their jaws dropped as if I was from another planet, and they slowly backed away from me as if I were contagious. The following Saturday night as I was walking to the corner store to buy some cheap beer and other goodies when I heard the same girls call out to me,
"Helllow! How ree yaw?"
I politely responded "Good! How're you?"
They murmured amongst themselves, came to a consensus and then hollered out " Ree Yaw American!?"
I winced knowing what would come of the affirmation. " Yes."
I barely walked a few paces when I heard the pitterpatter of a stampede of footsteps behind me. I was immediately surrounded by 8-12 fresh young faces ranging from 8-14 years in age. Their leader and chief spokeswoman translated for the group although it was rather difficult for her because of the fact she was completely smitten with the fact she was talking to an American in the flesh and blood. They all introduced themselves to me, asked me what I was doing there, how I learned Portuguese, if I liked Brazil, etc. I eventually had to excuse myself as the corner store would be closing soon. They reluctantly liberated me.
I've since seen them frequently as they unavoidably loiter and play in the courtyard of the condominium. Last night I was playing guitar and they surrounded me once again. Apparently their ringleader has been spreading the word that I exist and I circled by even more curious ragamuffins. Most of their questions involved American pop music, as I was holding a guitar. Unfortunately the only songs I've been learning to play have been Bossa Nova, a genre that while internationally revered, is nationally neglected. They made requests for, Soulja Boy, Akon, 50 Centch, and Jack Johnson among others. I regretfully informed them that I didn't know any tunes to play for them in English, but that I would in turn learn some for their benefit. Many of the kids believed I looked like Eminem. The kids asked me random questions about where I was when 9/11 occurred. They quickly interrupted me and exchanged their own theories on the subject, most of which were incorrect. It seemed they failed to understand it was a terrorist attack. Anyways. They are nice and noisy and cheered me up on a day when it had rained straight for the 3 previous days. So I ask you faithful blog readers. What song should I learn to play for them? Leave your suggestions in the comments section!

Guinea Pig

2008-09-11T15:32:00.002-03:00

Fortunately I have friends in high places, in particular aviation acoustic laboratories. I just began teaching a group of three lovely engineers from the local Federal University. One of them is researching in a lab that tests the acoustics of Embraer Planes. Embraer is one of Brazil's most successful businesses in the aviation sector. They mostly produce small planes and jets for the commercial market--They even sell to Jet Blue! Anyways one of my students invited me to come and be a guinea pig and I enthusiastically accepted. The test was performed in a model plane the size of two phone booths. The plane was very authentic with plush blue curtains, uncomfortable seating, and cloudy views through the pigeon-holed windows. I kept kvetching to my student about the lack of kosher food on Brazilian airlines and the shoddy seat I was assigned. The test was simple and she said there were no right answers. I had to choose between two sounds a passenger would hear on a flight and decide which was more pleasant or at least tolerable. To clarify, these sounds weren't those of a hacking cough or a whining baby but the common sounds of rushing air one would experience traveling at 500 mph at 30,000 ft. I think I passed the test with flying colors! However I'm not sure if this officially means I can put Embraer on my resume.

Shopping

2008-08-31T14:56:00.003-03:00

There's a shopping in my neighborhood. There's a shopping downtown. There's even a brand-new shopping across the street from me. In Brazil shopping signifies mall. It becomes very confusing explaining the verb To Shop or to Go Shoppping when the verb itself is also the place where you go. The shopping is a Brazilian convention. Besides the adequate selection of English-named retail stores, ample top floor parking, there is always a bountiful food court where for some confounding reason people dine and imbibe as if the cafeteria were a chic restaurant. On weekends they surge, during the week they falter. The shoe stores are plentiful with overpriced sneakers that Brazilians lease as a result of their unaffordable prices. The clothing stores such as Beagle, Renner, or my personal favorite, Taco are reasonable and in addition have national comparable versions of Marshalls or Target. The shopping is convienient and evil simultaneously. I can't really talk though because I either cut through its shortcut on the way to work at least once a day, or patron it's hypermarket BIG that is owned by none other than walmart Brazil.

...And I Approve This Message

2008-08-25T07:27:00.004-03:00

It's easy to forget sometimes that The US is the only country holding an election this year. However, the constant barrage of advertisements, attacks and condoned messages spewing from all orifices of the American media pales in comparison to the Horário Eleitoral.
Three times a day the television is at bay of the political forces for an hour at a time. There are so many parties it's impossible to keep track, literally thousands. Here in Florianópolis the endless advertisement avalanche of amateur, clumsy, bumbling, foolish ads make me cringe for hours on end. It makes Blair High School SGA elections seem like a prominent political force propagated by powerful lobbying groups.
The candidates voices are monotone, their hand gestures awkward and their pitches uninspired. Each party has a corresponding number, and each candidate within the party has an individual number as well. Candidates find bizarre ways to catch the voters eyes; dressing up like clowns or Santa Claus, or belting out country music melodies. My students have told me that the further you head into the country, the more prevalent the vote buying and unprofessional the electoral process becomes.
Nevertheless, Brazil has had electronic voting nationalized for nearly the past decade, something that our hanging chad fiasco could attest to needed improvement. And curiously, morality issues such as gun-control, abortion, and gay marriage are left far away from the ballot box.
But really as an American who I am to talk? What with the electoral college, primary/general election, two-term elected George W. Bush my students have constant ammunition to stump and confound me. And I thought prepositions were difficult to explain.

United Nations Soccer

2008-08-24T17:19:00.004-03:00

Today I amply represented the United States in the United Nations Soccer Forum held in Trindade, Florianópolis Santa Catarina Brazil. Delegates from France, Paraguay, Brazil, Chile, Peru, and Argentina were all in attendance. Fortunately no head-butts occurred in heated moments of the match. While I didn't score a goal I did manage to attain a new nickname, Gringoal. I hope it will stick. There were chickens, ducks, geese, and other assorted fowl cheering us on as they were the only fans at the field, which we rented for $70 reais per hour. The artificial turf left pesky remnants of rubber inside of my shoes, and stuck within the fibers of my socks. Thank you Ed Willhelm, I held my own on the pitch.

Gal Costa

2008-08-23T17:17:00.005-03:00

This month's artist, Gal Costa, has a tender, floating voice that embodies Brazil. She naturally blends diverse Brazilian genres in a contemporary context in a unforced manner. At times I can even hear Otis Redding belting over the Memphis Stax like grooves of cuts such as Vou Recomeçar.

Gal is originally from Salvador, Bahia like so many of the other musicians I've profiled in the recent months. Her first record was split with Caetano Veloso when she moved to São Paulo. Gal along with Maria Bethânia, were the foremost female leaders of the tropicalismo movement. While Gal had lots of interesting and compelling cover art to represent this month's podcast I skipped over using the most risque of the collection.

Up next month:

Jorge Ben Jor

As Olimpíadas

2008-08-23T15:14:00.003-03:00

Despite the fact in the United States we might not give a hoot about the Olympics, we still have expectations. We have expectations to win big. Not just a few scattered events, as if we were Turkmenistan and we had a ringer weightlifter. We expect to win across the board. Let me put it in perspective. Brazilian Olympians won their first individual gold medals in 2008, They were greeted by camera crews and triumphant fans upon their arrival at Garulhos airport in São Paulo. I asked myself, “All this fanfare for winning one measly medal?” If Michael Phelps hadn’t won 8, we would’ve probably taken away his Passport and left him in Beijing.
Let’s face it. We’re a developed country and we have the luxury of lavishly financing a thriving squad. We have contenders in nearly every sport. Not only in the Summer Games, where any impoverished cretin can participate because of the lack of necessity for expensive equipment or training, but also in the winter games, or as I like to call them, the WASP games. (Let’s be honest, Cool Runnings gave us all plenty-o-laugh, but at the end of the day it was really a disguised critique of the evils of capitalism and international wealth distribution.)
It’s weird watching the Olympics in another country. First off it’s not a primetime spectacle like on NBC because that would interfere with the Brazilian soap opera schedule. Therefore the competitions are spread throughout the day in real time. Thus I’ve unfortunately missed all of the synchronized swimming battles which are broadcasted at an ungodly hour. The most popular events are Volleyball, Judo, and logically Soccer. But it certainly makes me homesick. Where is Bob Costa giving me the exclusive sweaty interviews directly from the finish line? Where are my morning medal leader updates given to me by Matt Lauer? And most importantly, Where are my promotional Dream-Team McDonald’s supersized cups?
Michael Phelps is a god here. He’s on the cover of all three of the major magazines, the equivalents of Time, Newsweek and for some reason Penthouse. I’ve been trying to convince people that we are related. That he’s a distant cousin from Baltimore. It’s been working well enough to get girls to talk to me, so I’m happy.
We’re in second place, and it’s not looking like we’re going to catch up. People here are a little frightened of China’s rise to power. Nobody likes the new kid of the block, even the Berenstain Bears can attest to that. (see The Berenstain Bears' New Neighbors in which Papa Bear’s overt racism against the new Panda Bears that move in across the street, divides a family to the limits.) Over the months leading up to the Olympics the media both in the US and Brazil had reiterated China’s pollution, corruption, bizarre cuisine, human rights abuses, and most shockingly of all; the scandal that General Tso was only but a mere lieutenant. You’ve gotta hand it to China though for keeping that 7-year old snaggletoothed gargoyle away from the cameras. I shudder at the thought of her patriotically singing in HD.
So maybe the Olympics are only a bunch of games, but at the same time they represent so much more than the medals. I was certainly relieved to see the US Basketball team trounce Yao Ming and his Chinese cohorts, for some reason it gave me a little bit of reassurance in the American economy. And you better believe Brazilians were indignant to see Argentina pummel Ronaldinho Gaucho and the rest of the Brazilian Soccer squad, despite Brazil’s talent on the pitch. The games are an inspiring time when every four years the world can come together to individually flaunt their geopolitical and economic dominance symbolically through sport.

Caetano Veloso Podgycast August

2008-08-01T09:22:00.003-03:00

Sorry for the delay on this podcast, but good things come to those who wait. (In actuality I was attempting a data transfer to my external hard drive and I accidentally erased the entirety of my collection of Brazilian Music that I've been painstakingly downloading over the past 4 months. Shoot!) But heartbreak aside I got the music I needed and put this podcast together especially for you the devoted listening audience.

Caetano Veloso and I go back. The first MPB CD i bought was called Noites do Norte. Caetano like so many other MPB monarchs is from Bahia. His falsetto voice could be attributed to the influence from Portuguese Fado music which he listened to as a youth, however his rock and roll sensibility is due to the American imports he adored so much growing up in the 1950's. Caetano has been called the Bob Dylan of Brazil. Caetano moved to Rio De Janeiro for college where he as luck would have it, won a musical contest. His career started with the bossa-nova influenced album Domingo featuring Gal Costa, another Baiana artist who I will be featuring next month. However, his career took a drastic turn in the late sixties acting as a musical and political firebrand for the Tropicalismo movement which he co-founded with fellow Baiano Gilberto Gil (see last month's podcast.) Because of the psychedelic, internationally influenced, and anti-military dictatorship rhetoric preached by the music, Caetano, Gilberto Gil plus a myriad of other musicians, artists, writers and actors were arrested and jailed.
Consequently Caetano and Gilberto Gil spent the following years in exile living in London, learning English, and unfortunately taking to singing in it. The albums of the period acutely capture the zeitgeist of his loneliness in exile.
Caetano was eventually allowed to return to Brazil and the music immediately succeeding his triumphant return is in my opinion his freshest, most inspired, most visionary, most captivating and most intriguing music of his career. But I'm going to stop because to quote Elvis Costello "writing about music is like dancing about architecture."
Caetano has since enjoyed international recognition, Oscar nods and even won a grammy for his 1997 album Livro.
Note: Brazilian albums are generally self titled albums, regardless of whether it is the artists first album or eighth album. Take a look at wikipedia or allmusic.com if you don't believe me! However Caetano is an exception in this sense due to the fact many of his albums have varying titles.

Festa Julina

2008-07-28T22:19:00.004-03:00

Brazilians are running out of excuses to have parties. Last month was Festa Junina, Little June Party and this month is, you guessed it, Festa Julina, Little July Party.
I asked my friend to clarify the matter of their origins. She matter-of-factly responded,
"Festa Junina is a party for the month of June, but Festa Julina is the fake one, it's just a party for the month of July."
"What's the difference?" I incredulously asked
" I don't know. Some History" She logically replied. (Brazilians confuse History and Story. Same word in Portuguese. Makes for comical situations, for example "Let me tell you a history!")
So the least you need to know about Festa Junina, and Julina for that matter are they are parties in the months of June and July that celebrate the Northeastern Caipira (bumpkin) rural culture of Brazil. Women wear gaudy, multicolored polka-dotted or quilt-patterned dresses, dot their cheeks with freckles, and braid their hair in pig tails that leave them resembling Pippy Long-Stocking. Men don goofy straw hats, slip into plaid/checkered long sleeve shirts accompanied by overalls, (which I beleive to be inspired by the grunge movement of the 90s), black out their teeth and paint fake moustaches.
The colorful, streaming ribbons that hung at the Festa Julina my condominium threw this past Saturday were a familiar scene for me after attending similar parties for the past two months. Thankfully the food didn't stray far from that recipe and it didn't disappoint: popcorn, hot dogs, soda, cake, peanuts, and a piping-hot styrofoam cup of Quentão (see Festa do Pinhão to jog your memory.) All that was missing was a rickety ferris wheel and a couple of midgets and I swear you could have told me I was at the Montgomery County Fair Grounds in Gaithersburg and I would have believed you.

Here's video from a famous Festa Junina celebration from the Northeast of Brazil, where it all got started. (Sorry about the ad preceding the video. That's Globo for you.)

Mano

2008-07-20T17:40:00.003-03:00

I approached the car and I already knew he was going to drive like a maniac. The two door black coupe of my student wasn't anything special, yet i immediately recalled the Brazilian Male's affinity for driving like a psychopath. One of my private students had invited me to go to the beach this past Friday afternoon, and as I had no plans, I indifferently accepted. It then dawned on me that the reason I had no plans that afternoon was because this very student had cancelled our class.
He refuses to speak to me in Portuguese and has impolitely criticized my Portuguese in front of others, but as an English teacher one has to make little compromises in order to hold on to your students. However I suddenly realized entering the car he had weaseled his way into a free 3 hour English lesson. He is traveling out of the country soon and wanted two weeks of intensive lessons however in less than a week he's already tried to change the originally negotiated conditions and price several times.
As he roared down the curling roads he honked or commented at nearly every woman aged 12-30, and velocity permitting halted the car to invite unsuspecting girls to the beach, all of this accompanied by a thumping techno soundtrack. This guy plays 100% into the sex-crazed, beach-loving Brazilian stereotype.
We went to a cliff where you can jump into the cold but deep water. Along the path get this, I saw a penguin. Apparently you can see many penguins here in Florianópolis, but, they are how can I lightly put this, corpses. Penguins have no business being this far up North from the South Pole, so chew on that Mr. Al Gore.
He expressed frustration with Brazil's new nationwide zero tolerance drunk driving program because of it's interference to his methods of seduction which consist of wine and skinny dipping.
After the sun went down we went back to the car where he received a telephone call from an ex-girlfriend. He switched between the stick shift, steering wheel, and cell phone as if he were an amateur juggler until he was pulled over by the cops for not wearing his seat belt and talking on the phone at the same time. Apparently you can do one or the other but not both simultaneously. The officer let him off the hook and the entire ordeal took no less than 30 seconds. Slightly thereafter he was peeling down the highway out of the vision of the policeman tearing off his cumbersome seat belt with relief. He's a character to say the least and truly gave me some insight into the macho culture that prevails so eminently in Brazil.

A Área é Nossa!

2008-07-16T21:18:00.005-03:00

Inside the gated walls of Condominium Itambé reside over 1200 dwellers, making it one of the largest residences in the city of Florianopolis. Decades ago the citizens of Itambé constructed a leisure area behind the buildings that comprise of a BBQ pit, a party room as well as volleyball, basketball and soccer courts. Not to mention this area served as an alternative exit and convenient passageway to both the shopping mall and bus station. Despite these modifications and sense of entitlement, legally, the area continued to be owned by a construction firm who since the 1990's had been relentlessly attempting to regain the area in question through litigation. The construction firm wanted to do what construction firms do best; Construct.
In May, a month after I moved into Itambé it appeared as if the construction firm had managed to win it's 20-year court battle. The construction company immediately placed their own stooge at the gate just to show the tenants who was boss. The tenants responded by hiring a lawyer because of the devaluation the ensuing takeover would inflict upon their properties.
This situation came to a head last week when covertly at the break of dawn the construction company obstructed the gate with an impenetrable barricade. The tenants transformed from indignant to furious. The police and local media were called and the residents began a vehement protest. There is only 3 meters of space between the wall that separates my room and the leisure area. The company quickly posted a baker's dozen worth of guards and began the hasty construction of a stone-henge resembling structure in the middle of the soccer pitch.
I participated in the non-violent resistance movement against the placement of the guards by walking around my apartment in the buff. However, once I discovered that children and other residents were scurrying around the area between my window and the wall as well, I decided to conclude my buck naked silent-protest.
My English lesson was interrupted Monday night because of jubilant cheering and triumphant woo-hooing. I ran out of my apartment just in time to witness the residents smashing the Berlin wall of Brazil to pieces. The guards had left. The court had decided the company was illegally occupying the area. The judge returned the area to the tenants and as soon as it had started it was over. The residents of the condominium rejoiced hand-in-hand and and chanted "Kumbaya My Lord" only to a percussive samba rhythm.
(Just kidding no samba) but they did celebrate their victory by chanting "The area is ours! The area is ours!" only it was in Portuguese so unless I was there to translate you probably wouldn't have understood that. There were passionate speeches that followed and smiling faces in the crowd. Score one for the little guys.

Já Era

2008-06-17T17:01:00.006-03:00

As I sat in front of the federal police agent’s desk awaiting her recommendation about my visa status I noticed a wooden tatu ( Aardvark origin late 18th cent.: from South African Dutch, from aarde ‘earth’ + vark ‘pig.’) I asked her where she got it and she told me she bought it from some Indians. This lightened the mood between us that was rife with sexual tension.
I explained to her that my student visa was up for expiration in the upcoming weeks and that I would like to extend the amount of time on the document. She informed me of the required documents I would need including; a letter stating my enrollment in my location of education. I had long ago burned that bridge so I inquired if my current school could provide the same certificate. She unfortunately told me it had to be the original school in which I applied through for the visa.
Plan B. I have a temporary student visa that is valid for 6 months and is about to expire. I also hold a tourist visa from my first trip to Brasil in 2005. The tourist visa is valid for 5 years with up to 6 months available every year. I asked her if I could leave the country on the temporary visa and return upon the tourist visa, thus avoiding any penalties which amount to R$8.42 per day, spent in Brazil up to 180 days. I asked her where the closest location to leave the country would be and she recommended Foz De Iguaçu . She gave me some books informing me of my rights as a foreigner in Brazil and also a website link. I asked her to write exactly what she had told me but she said she couldn't.
I asked my friends for advice as to how to leave the country and it turned out I had a student who would be going to Paraguay's border town Cidade do Leste that very weekend to buy a discounted camera and he might even be able to hook me up with a free bus ticket as his family owns a interstate bus company. "They all have faces of thieves and bandits, everyone is out to rob you, don’t take anything you wouldn't want to have stolen!" This was a splinter of the Paraguayan travel advice my roommates gave me as how to take care of myself across the border. I found this amusing, as this was very similar to the advice I had received from family and friends about traveling to Brazil. Even my Paraguayan friend only had the worst to say about her home country, "The less time you spend in Paraguay the better!" she griped. I told my co-workers about my travel plans and they all joked how I was soon to be an international traveler. It turns out Paraguay is kind of like the Delaware of Brazil, Tax Free Shopping and not much else. In fact even in Joice's hometown Feira de Santana there is a clever play on words called Feiraguay which sells imported goods from the "First State" of South America. I had no idea Brazilians liked to talk so much trash about the Paraguay but it quickly became a punchline to every joke throughout the week.
Friday afternoon I left for Foz De Iguaçu from Floripa which was a modest 14 Hour 45 minute long bus ride. I actually sat next to a Paraguayan on the bus fortunately she didn't steal my organs while I was sleeping. I woke up at the damp, dreary and lifeless bus station of Foz de Iguaçu. I realized I was a long ways away from the lush, aquamarine eyed, blonde beached island of Florianópolis. The people were noticeably unostentatious and pauperized in comparison to the gaudy, designer-clothes clad citizens of Floripa. This may sound weird but seeing more distinctively Latino faces made me feel closer to home, or at least closer to University Boulevard's version of Tegucigalpa, Langley Park.
I found the hostel, checked in, stashed my bag and left with the excursion leaving for the Argentinean side of the cataratas (falls). I explained to the driver my situation and that I would like him to take me to the border guards and I would explain my situation to them. His eyes popped open with surprise, but I quickly realized this was an unrelated ocular issue. I was accompanied in the van by two Irish gals and an Aussie from "Wisten Aaustrilha" I couldn't understand his slang much less his accent. Roddi the driver took me to the immigration police and I explained that I would like for them to stamp my visa closing out my stay as a temporary student in Brazil and that I would be returning on my tourist visa in the near future. After some jostling and clarification the guard at last stamped my passport.
As we waited for the guard to finalize the deal my newfound driver-friend from São Paulo explained to me of the region’s subversive underbelly. The tri-border area of Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina is one of the most dangerous political boundaries in the world. Millions of dollars worth of arms, drugs and money are transported across this frontier every year.
Roddi dropped us at the park, I received a discounted Brazil entrance. I translated to the other gringos in the group as they didn't speak a word of Portuguese and Roddi didn't speak any English. Translating is a lot of fun. A park guide talked us into doing a boat ride. We all went out to explore and I quickly noticed a red Maryland hat and a John Hopkins lacrosse jacket. After I inquired where the group was from it turned out they were from Ellicott City, Maryland. The National park was a labyrinth of slippery, slender metal walkways suspended throughout the myriad of rushing waterfalls. Fortunately this was the low winter season in which the park receives fewer tourists. I can't imagine suffering through the 117˚ heat perambulating behind a group of trigger-happy amateur photographers. I was speechlessly astounded by the sheer power and beauty of this natural wonder. Unlike the picture postcard image of Rio's Cristo Redentor, the cataratas splash your face, deafen your ears, throb in your chest, and immerse your eyes. We ate at a traditional Argentine churrascaria enjoying the parsley-saturated sauce that compliments their piles of meat. The live music featured tranquil instrumental versions of "Sound of Silence" and "I Just Called to Say I Love You" Complete with midi accordion accompaniment. The meal cost more than double my normal expenditures for food for an entire week. The Aussie was enthusiastic about a pepper steak the restaurant had. We digested our bloated white bellies and walked to the lower trails. I liked the colorful birds, monkeys and raccoon looking creatures that could be found in nearly every tree throughout the park. We strapped on our ponchos and took pictures that quickly doused our camera lenses from the cascading water. We found the boat ride, which was a short spin under the waterfalls leaving very few in the boat with any dry articles of clothing. As we walked to the train to see the last part of the park the sky opened up and we ran for cover. We waited for the rains to pass while drinking an overpriced and overly bitter coffee. The rains passed as did our time at the park.
Returning to the Brazilian border I went through the same process with the Brazilian Immigration only now with my tourist visa. The guards had all switched. I handed my passport to a long haired stoner looking type who looked at my tourist visa as if I had just handed him a passport from another planet. He seemed to have no understanding of the 5-year validity that the Brazilian Consulate in Washington and the Federal Police practice. Note: the Federal Police and Immigration are one in the same. The guy went and got his boss. Fortunately it wasn't the bearded tyrant my driver had warned me about earlier but he was just of a lesser toxin. He told me that this policy of crossing the border and coming back was done, over! "I'd love to help you but there's nothing I can do. "At this point my visa had already been closed out and this guy was making it seem as if my visa was no longer valid. My visa says nothing on it about 5 years of validity; I assumed its common knowledge. It's bad to assume things, especially when dealing with Immigration. So the guy wouldn't budge but he told me I had a nice face and because my visa hadn't technically expired as of yet he would let me reenter the country to go talk to the Federal Police in my respective city. I asked him if he could give me what he had told me in writing. He said he didn't have to, and that he had the right to refuse anyone to enter the country for the slightest thing even the smell of Cachaçha. ( Brazilian liquor). I didn't smell like cachaça and I had a nice face. He let me back in but with only two weeks left on my visa to go to Federal Police to plea that I had a girlfriend, or daughter or who knows what. I would have gladly paid a bribe but I'm not so sure of how to go about doing any of that.
I went back to the hostel and met some of the local color over some beers. I've forgotten how weird aimless travelers are. I met quite a few people who were taking yearlong worldwide trips hitting up all the lonely planet approved destinations. Of the weirdest people at the hostel were a French girl who insisted in speaking in Spanish and wore bright fuchsia snow pants, the kind I haven't seen since the days of two-hour delays and sleds. The other was a Brazilian guy who claimed to be raised in a German city in Brazil that only spoke that language. At least this was his explanation to the inquisitive group of incredulous Brazilians who wondered about his odd accent. He constantly boasted of his ex-fiancé, frequent trips to Deutschland, the United States and considered himself an expert on the travel habits of Brazilians. The Group wasn't a fan of his antics. I met a cool girl from São Paulo whose last name 島のサメ means "Island of Sharks" in Japanese. I quickly forgot if her name was Andrea or Fernana, the two most common Brazilian names, so I resorted to calling her Tiburão or Shark. We made plans to go see the Itaipu Hydro Electrical dam the next morning.
As I passed through the hostel lobby to get some breakfast there sprawled out across the couch was the French Girl in her bright pink snow pants. Itaipu means talking rock, derived from the Guarani Indians that described the isle that was later used to carve the dam's channel. American and Italian companies conceived the Itaipu Hydro Electrical dam project in the 1960's during Brazil's massive infrastructure boom, the type of growth that is currently enjoyed by China. Its 40x more powerful than Niagara Falls. It's currently the largest dam in the world, but the Three Gorges Dam will be knocking it off its throne once it reaches its full capacity in 2011. The Paraná riverbed was chosen because of its depth and strength. The dam is a joint effort between the governments of Paraguay and Brazil. The Dam hires equal numbers of employees from both countries. The dam provides electricity to 20% of the Brazilian population. The dam is considered one of the seven wonders of the modern world. The design was inspired by the architecture of cathedrals. I was really impressed by the size of the plant and the in-depth all-inclusive tour. They even gave you a hard hat to wear around, although I'm not sure as to its purpose. My friend Tiburão was really pushy and asked more questions than anyone on the tour group.
After the tour ended we went looking for the largest Buddhist Temple in Brazil. We ran into some friends Tiburão had made the day before and all decided to find the temple together. Foz de Iguaçu and Cidade do Leste is one of the most diverse heterogeneous regions of South America per capita. It has some of the largest Middle Eastern, Chinese, Japanese and Ukrainian populations in Brazil. According to Wikipedia the city boasts the largest Buddhist temple and the second largest Mosque outside of the Middle East. We walked down a rustic country road and through an indigent neighborhood before arriving at the Buddhist temple. We spent a good chunk of time figuring out how to create the illusion that we were indeed rubbing the belly of the gigantic yellow Buddha statue that was perched 6 feet in the air upon a red platform. The day was gorgeous as we sat on the hill overlooking the Friendship Bridge that connects Paraguay and Brazil.
Tiburão and I decided to go back to the falls because of the gloomy unphotogenic weather the previous day. The Argentinian side of the falls is much more interactive in terms of the proximity you get to the falls however, the Brazilian side is more panoramic allowing a 360˚ view including the dramatic Garganta do Diablo, (throat of the devil). As we approached the falls a rainbow appeared and eagles began to weave through its mist. Tiburão insisted that I take three pictures of her at every vista, one nice, one with her arms spread and one with her tongue out. She wanted to go to the bird park but the price was a little expensive.
We waited for the bus and I met a lovely South African girl and her courageous middle-aged mother who was visiting her as she traveled around South America. Tiburão asked if I wanted to go to the Mosque and I declined saying I had to get back to the hostel, gather my things to make sure I made my bus on time. This girl had the type of touristy drive I have seen in few other people, namely my grandparents. As I passed the various Turkish and Lebanese Kabob houses my mouth watered and I decided to eat there for dinner. I was checking the Internet for issues about my visa as I heard Tiburão's voice asking the desk attendant about something. I asked her why she wasn't at the Mosque and she said she had finally tuckered out for the day. We went to the Lebanese restaurant around the corner and got a decent meal that most likely would be used to finance some type of contraband activity. Let me explain. Apparently there a great numbers within the Middle Eastern populations of Cidade do Leste, Paraguay and Foz de Iguaçu, Brasil that speculatively support Hezbollah, Hamas, FARC and there are reports of even Al-Queda. The region is ripe for counterfeiting, money laundering, software pirating and the previously mentioned drugs and arms trade. There are over 55 banks in Cidade Do Leste alone. According to an article I read today, remittances sent back to the Middle East through the array of successful Arab-run businesses that exist in the region, are speculated to have orchestrated the Bombing of the Israeli Embassy bombing in Buenos Aires in the 1990's. I'm not claiming any of this as fact. I just think it’s an interesting complexity of the region. I did feel there was a hidden or concealed trade that lingers in the region.
I got to the bus station with plenty of time to do some tourist watching. It was embarrassing watching the pale-skinned Nordic backpackers missing all forms of communication attempted by the frustrated counter attendant at the bus station restaurant. I realized after the weekend that backpack traveling, while exhilarating is a perpetual one-night stand of traveling. I feel living in a country is a much more rewarding and fulfilling experience. I feel you learn much more about the culture of a country rather than only getting a quick artificial snapshot of the tourist attractions.
As I waited for the bus the woman asked me in a thick Manezinha (a person from Floripa) accent, if I was going to Florianopolis. I told her I was and I asked her what she was doing in Foz de Iguaçu. She was an older woman with pronounced crows feet that spread from the corners of her eyes. She told me she had been buying clothes in Paraguay to sell in Floripa every weekend for the past twenty years. I guess my Portuguese is improving because I could understand the previously impenetrable Azorean influenced dialect of the region, and they initially thought I was Argentinian. Her husband, an Italian looking fellow repeated every statement I said five times to anyone within earshot. "He's American. He's an English Teacher. He lives in Trindade" He was a Fish Salesman who had been bringing fish and shrimp to Cidade Do Leste where he has a Chinese business partner. We had been waiting for the tardy bus to arrive for about 20 minutes when she asked if I wouldn't mind taking one of the bags as if it were my own onto the bus. I asked to see the contents first and it was indeed nothing but jackets. I said it was cool if, she would give me a discount when I came to visit her. She vented over the troubles other merchants like her faced from the police trying to bring similar items from Paraguay. "We're workers! We're not dealing drugs!" She exclaimed drawing deeply from her cigarette. She explained to me that if anyone asked, the 12-15 jackets stuffed into the bag were for bought for my family. Her husband bought me two beers but in retrospect I should have bought a jacket as it is becoming colder here by the day.
I had a long bus ride to reflect on my situation. I called the Brazilian Consulate that issued my visa this morning and it turns out that my visa was indeed only a 90-day visa. While they do issue visas for 5 years, mine was not one of these so that explains why they didn’t accept the visa at the border. After my student visa expires next week I will receive a R$8.42 tax per day for 180 days which at today's abysmal exchange rate would be $920. I would not have to pay this tax until the next time I return to Brazil. However I'm not so sure how much I have to gain being an English teacher at this point. I love Florianopolis. I'm finding out about many groups and activities in the area. I have a nice routine. I'm getting some private students and my Portuguese gets better the more time I'm here. On the other hand I feel I could benefit from finding an internship that could provide me with some "real world" experience in terms of Brazil's growth as a developing economy. I've got some connections into pursuing the latter but nothing has become fruitful yet. Another option would be going to another country in South America and learning Spanish which I'm hesitant to do because its going to confuse me with my developing Portuguese. So in the spirit of the Election year (by the way is Kucinich still running?) I implore you to vote on your favorite option. And please light up the comment board, as I like hearing from my blog readers.

Tim Maia Podgycast

2008-06-11T00:28:00.003-03:00

So I had a lot of fun listening to Tim Maia this month. Tim Grew up in Tijuca Rio De Janeiro, in the same neighborhood as Jorge Ben Jor, Who I will be profiling for a later podcast. Tim won a journalism scholarship to study in the United States as a teenager. He stayed in the New York area for 3 years before being deported for rowdiness. His time in the US influenced his funk-soul samba which he helped to define as a genre. Tim was criticized for the lack of political content in his music. During the Military Dictatorship of Brazil while Tim's contemporaries Chico Buarque, Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil were being censured and deported for their condemnation of the then government he was simply making jams, and jams they were! Tim was a marijuana-smoking, cocaine-snorting, new-age religion worshipping, food-consuming subject. The biography released last year not only tracks his career but also his weight throughout the epic. I was going to try to write a vivid description of the music, but I decided to let the music speak for itself. So without further ado. Tim Maia.

Florianópolis Audiovisual Mercosul

2008-06-09T23:51:00.002-03:00

Move over Silverdocs. Within walking distance from my house is a latin American film festival called, Florianópolis Audiovisual Mercosul. (They're working on the name)
I checked out a "flick" called Matar a Todos (kill them all) The film was about The conspiracy and corruption of the post-pinochet governments of Argentina, Chile and Uruguay. (hehe U-R-Gay).It had both Portuguese and English subtitles being shown simultaneously.
The film didn't have to much significance to me but my friends from Chile were taking pictures with the directors and actors after the movie. So,I guess they like crappy movies in Chile. Just kidding. I had been listening to an interview on Fresh Air and the commentator "commentaded" about how at Cannes everybody was reppin' their local film industry, So I kind of understood what he was talking about. So when your country only releases three movies a year you've got to love it like only a mother would.
Anyways the scene that got the biggest reaction from the crowd was a close up shot of succulent beef being cut. The collective stomachs of the mouth-watering audience began to growl in chorus.

The Prophet

2008-06-05T01:36:00.005-03:00

So it dawned on me I haven't written about the abysmal school that I currently teach at.
When I arrived in Florianópolis I hit the streets with a stack of leaflets to distribute to the unsuspecting citizens of the city. I was downtown passing out leaflets amongst the many other leafletters that are spread throughout the city center when a man in a suit enthusiastically approached me. In broken English He explained to me that he was the manager of a language school around the corner. The school, High Profile legally could be considered false advertisement due to its unbelievably low profile and for good reason. He advised me to give up trying to find students via circulating pamphlets because people would inevitably tell me to "Eat Shit!" He invited me for an interview.
The school is a haphazard combination of makeshift walls, brightly color-shirted bosses, unbelievably attractive secretaries, wacky-quack colleagues and remedial students. During my "job interview" my boss called one of my co-workers "coitado" which nowadays means poor thing or sad sack. My boss João, considerately inquired if I knew the origins of this popular expression, I responded that I didn't and he eloquently explained its background through a explicitly shocking demonstration of humping that was entirely too graphic for a job interview, even for Brazilian job interview standards. Apparently coitado is like coitus and it has found its way into the colloquial language.
The school pays unbelievably low. Basically there were single days at the golf course this summer where I walked away with more money than I make over the entire month. Then again I’m only working 17 hours a week. Anyways I like the students a lot and that’s why I’m there. What I mean by I like the students a lot I mean I’ve actually begun resenting the students.
I have a colorful pallet of students to choose from to tell you all about such as the “cool kid” who always greets me as “My Fuckin’ Brother” Or the distractingly gorgeous woman whose ears are slightly out of proportion with the rest of her otherwise beautiful Elvishly middle-earth features. (Tolkien reference). But there are only two students who are truly worth of a detailed mention on Hutch in Brazil.
So my first or second week of classes a couple walks into the classroom. The couple is a brunette woman with inviting eyes in her early forties and her husband a dark-skinned, heavily bearded, Gandhi-kin-resembled, finger missing, stylishly-bifocaled, receding pony-tailed dude. On the first day of class I casually made chit chat about their profession and they told me they had a pousada, or a bed and breakfast. I asked the husband what he liked to do in his free time and he told me that he was a writer.
"Oh a writer, what do you write about?" I intrigued.
"I write...prophecies." I didn't like the direction the conversation was heading.
"Prophecies about what?" I listlessly inquired.
"Prophecies about the end of the world." The couple cheerfully responded in unison.
I quickly changed the topic and class proceeded somewhat normally with the nettlesome speed bump of my Jewish faith rearing its ugly head.
Anyways they are weird and they constantly turn the class into a creepy forum for their cultish manifestos.
Example. I hate the school and I have turned to complete apathy as a form of pedagogy. I go by the book so strictly I run out of pages. So I was daydreaming while they read through the unrealistic dialog of the current exercise.
"Tina would you like to go to the pop concert tonight? Yes Tim that sounds wonderful. I will see you tonight."
This is the modus operandi of Low Profile English school. The couple continued to read their examples.
"Bob and I would like to go to the soccer match next week, who would like to see the new Steven Spielberg movie? Would you like to listen to the word of god?"
Just as I was thinking how unbelievable the conversations were my students managed to reinvent the wheel yet in a completely different direction.
I took a look at his website and it’s an endless supply of giggles. In the activities section, where I was expecting to see a listing of church raffles, bingo nights and such and such there was only headlines from over a decade ago celebrating their protests of the visiting rock band "The Rolling Stones" I'm not sure if you've heard of them. "Lovers of the Leaders" believed the stones to be an extension of the dark lord "Santanás!" As a protest the men dressed in nothing but speedos and the women were scantily clad in thongs touting fiery signs of outcry. I’m not sure as to what effect this had. These were the only activities listed.
Take a look at this "article" taken directly from the website of the prophet. It’s pretty much the worst example of photoshopping in the history of the program and verb. My photographer friend Nick Cope is probably spinning in his grave.
I knew I was on to something when I googled the name of the leader and the first thing that came up was the yahoo! Question, " Does Coca-Cola have anything to do with the devil?" Posted by the prophet himself.

The Nudist

2008-05-25T20:25:00.003-03:00

Every sunny day in Floripa I take as an opportunity to go to the plethora of beautiful beaches that comprise the circumference of the island. After only managing to get 3 hours of sleep last night I left the house drowsy and disoriented. I waited for the bus to come yet the ne’er-do-well never showed up. I walked to the bus station and ran into my German friend's girlfriend. It turned out we were all going to the same beach so we piled on to a crowded bus and I conversed with X, who eagerly, enthusiastically and fanatically told me details in English of her recent trip to the United States. We exited the bus at Praia Mole (Soft Beach) and walked through the frigid water to find a plot of sand to call our own. They warned me that if we continued to the end of the beach we would find unpleasant nudists waiting out arrival. We stuck to Praia Mole and I played a game of fresco ball (paddleball). I explained to my new friend the onomatopoeic term my family uses for paddleball, GniP-GnoP. They liked the silly word. The sun soon set and the cold air descended upon us.
We began walking to the bus stop and saw the massive traffic jam that clogged the main road that led to the eastern coast of the island. We decided that walking would be faster than taking the bus. We ascended and then descended a steep hill. We took a shortcut that led to a canopied trail. As we walked into the lush green darkness a rouge nudist scampered off into the brush. My friend alerted me to his prescience. We waited for any nudist fall-out but it appeared the coast was clear. We walked down the path with a sudden spring the nudist leaped from the bushes. Courageously I did what any self-respecting man would, shrieked comically like a pre-pubescent girl and my friend inadvertently apologized to the man in the buff for our presence in his buck-naked sanctuary.

Festa do Pinhão

2008-05-23T16:32:00.020-03:00

Every year in the mountain Serra region of Brazil the citizens of Lages, Santa Catarina hold the festival of the pines. In this most southern and thus coldest region of Brazil there is a pine tree that grows a fruit that when smashed open has large cockroach resembling mahogany colored seeds. These seeds are steamed,cooked and then eaten. So logically the people of the region are so proud of these pines they hold a week long festival where people from all over the country flock to, including yours truly.

Thursday was the day of Corpus Christi (I'm learning about all types of catholic holidays I never knew existed!) Anyways I had the day off and people recommended checking out this festival as it celebrates the local culture in a colorful and vibrant way. I made a reservation with an excursion company that promised to take me from Florianópolis to the party and back all within 12 hours for R$30 Reais. (20 dollars more or less, I haven't checked the exchange rate in a while? Are we still behind the Serbian currency?)

I got to downtown and shuffled through a large procession of devoted Catholics. I have to say it really was more of a dirge, if there is a people who know how to walk slowly it's the Brazilian Catholics. Anyways I'll attach a video of the "parade" which the paper quoted as saying the promise of that parade was that it would was going to reach a level of Catholicism never demonstrated before in any of the other catholic pride parades.

We left around 6 o'clock in a white and yellow school van. The route was perilous as we climbed through mountainous peaks. The trip was 3 hours and I could feel the cold air advancing as we passed 18-wheelers around sharp turns. The driver blasted pagode music a popular derivative of samba that will get no further mention on this blog.

We arrived at the festival I bought my ticket through a small hole that smelled of the recently chopped pine that covered the exterior walls of the ticket shack. $10 reais and a wand-swept metal detection later I was in. I ate some food I had brought along for the journey and watched a traditional Gaúcho performance. The Gaúchos whom are spread across the Southern Brazilian, Northern Argentine, Uruguayan and Paraguayan borders are a people whose dress, dialect, music, food, beverage are descendants of Spanish and Indian traditions. Oh yeah, and they have really cool hats. Technically the people from Santa Catarina are not Gaúchos and their traditions generally reflect those of the Azorean, Italian and German immigrants. However, the people of the Santa Catarina Serra share much of these Gaúcho traditions with those of the most Southern State of Brazil, Rio Grande do Sul. (Did I already mention the hats?)

I'm still amazed by the amount of contrast a visitor can witness only traveling a few hours. I met a nice couple from a city called Nova Trento, which was settled by Trento Italian immigrants in the 18th century. They explained to me that across SC there is a myriad of dialects that are derived from German and Italian immigrants native tongues. They explained to me the non-self explanatory process of eating a pinhão. The seed of the celebrated pine. They are warm and spongy with a slight salty taste.

I experimented all the food and beverages available including Quentão and Choconaque. Quentão (very warm) is wine, pineapple, apple, ginger and cinnamon cooked in a big pot. Not very alcoholic but I liked talking to the lady who served me a few cups so it was worth it in the end. Choconaque is cognac with hot cocoa. After that I stuck to beer.

I met some nice girls from the area and they brought me to a stage that featured Gaúcho Rock music. Gaúcho music is a pulsating, undulating, jaunty and bouncy style that was masterfully demonstrated to me through the suggestive dancing of my newfound friends. Oh yeah and the band had some cool hats.

But all good things must come to an end so I decided to finish off my night with a sandwich. The name of sandwich escapes me at the moment but it consisted of no less than sausage, steak, pinhão and coração de frango. I realized about half way through I had bitten off more than I could chew with the chicken-heart stuffed sandwich. Oh well when in Rome, or at least Lages.

Novo PodgyCastch! (Podcast)

2008-05-22T14:35:00.005-03:00

New Feature Everybody!

So once a month I'll be posting a podcast. Not just any podcast. I'll be focusing on one artist per month. This month's artist is Elis Regina the famous singer from the state of Rio Grande do Sul. This Gaúcha had a long and decorated career which I got to know quite intimately while listening to her 22 albums that spanned over 3 decades. I sifted through almost 10 hours of music to bring you a compact illustration of her prolific career. (I added a few cuts and gimmicks of my own.) If you have any questions about the songs please feel free to contact me and I'll give you some more info. Enjoy!

Mais Você

2008-05-11T23:31:00.002-03:00

What would you think if I told you Matt Lauer has a new morning show host and he is a talking puppet named sir Lawrence who happens to be a Beaver. You probably wouldn't watch. Yet Mais Você a nationally broadcasted morning talk show that features a surgically plastic altered host named Ana Maria Braga and her lovable yet rambunctious sidekick Louro José who happens to be a talking parrot. This show is weird to me for other reasons as well. First off as I previously mentioned Senora Braga has had a lot of work done. I think she is a type of Android with an ass implant. (The ass implant part is true; the android theory is just my speculation). Secondly she eats and drinks on the show. Its not just a mug of water sitting with the guest as they chat about the current national scandal, which is unfortunately the death of a 5 Year old girl, the main suspects are her father and father's girlfriend. Anyways she's creepy.
But Brazilian TV is bad in other aspects. ) Globo is the largest network, which happens to be owned by a Jew. (Is there any media market we can’t infiltrate?) The network broadcasts dubbed American movies I’ve never seen or heard of, cartoons, the news and several novelas or what we would consider to be Brazilian Soap Operas throughout the day. 10 am is about an hour of cartoons spanning from Looney Toons to Mickey Mouse and even Bobby Esponja (Sponge Bob Squarepants) Novelas unlike our soap operas generally only last 6-12 months. Also novelas are the equivalent of prime-time TV only with considerably more shouting.
A novela is on 6 days per week. No repeats. I don't usually watch any, yet they are constantly on in my house, at the supermarket, gym etc. So they are kind of hard to miss.
Novelas are criticized for their unrealistic proportion of black Brazilians as characters. If there is a black character they generally tend to be a maid or the show takes place in colonial times and the character has something to do with slavery. I can't really follow the storylines without turning the volume up really loud. So as to not embarass myself I usually just pretend I know what’s going on. Plus who really wants to watch the dubbed version of Jumandi anyways?

Correndo Atras

2008-04-06T23:19:00.006-03:00

I got dropped off at the bus station on Monday night a little nervous and very anxious to get away from Jundiaí. I said my goodbyes and boarded the packed bus of which the last remaining seat was mine. I sat next to a large man who took up most of the space of the two reclining seats. The driver put on a movie starring John Cusack and Morgan Freeman. (How many movies has Morgan Freeman been in the last five years anyways?) I had difficulties reaching my contact in Floripa that night, she wasn't picking up her phone and I wasn't sure if she knew I was coming in the next morning. I sent some urgent text messages but to no avail. I got a beep at 6 AM giving me less than explicit text message directions on how to arrive to her house, using the bus. I was expecting her to meet me at the station so I took a cab to her house. Luckily the bus driver knew where the place was.
I hauled my two enormous suitcases out of the trunk of the station wagon and was greeted by every dog in the neighborhood. I tried calling her cell phone but again no luck. Luckily one of her roommates was on his way to class and he woke her up and let me into the complex. She greeted me in a light pink silk matching pajama set and a pair of saggy eyes to compliment the ensemble. She's a nice Irish looking girl from Arizona, and an ex-teacher of the school where I taught. I squeezed my luggage into the tiny efficiency she lives in. Her apartment is small and can barely fit one person much less two. She said she kept meaning to clean the apartment to make it appear presentable but she never got around to it. I somehow found some room to stash my suitcases.
She was still sleepy so she laid back down to bed and we talked for a while getting to know each other. Her Portuguese is pretty good. She's lived here since January 2007. I told her my game plan of finding a place to live, private students and or a job as soon as possible. She advised me that the Island pace was much slower than I was accustomed to in São Paulo and that I shouldn't expect to find any of those things within a week.
I hadn't eaten anything and she offered me some of her fruit to make some morning juice. Her dream is to live on the beach and to go running in the morning followed by a heaping glass of fresh squeezed juice.
We met her neighbors, a nice couple of late teenagers from São Paulo. My host works about 10 hours a week and seems very content with this workload. She went off to the downtown for her to teach her class. She pointed out her favorite landmarks especially the market to buy fresh fruit presumably to be later be used for fresh juice. She has a very peculiar way of speaking English, which she accounts to her being in Brazil for such a long time immersed in Portuguese.
The downtown historic region of Florianópolis is a cobble-stoned collection of post-colonial buildings built in an Azorean style but with cell phone and chic boutique storefronts. We walked through a lovely park where old smelly men played card games and bickered about the pestering gypsies. The park's centerpiece is a tree whose sprawling branches are covered in hanging moss, recalling trees from Savannah Georgia. (Disclaimer: the author has never been to Savannah, Georgia.) While she taught her class I got my cell phone number changed from a São Paulo 11 area code to an exotic Santa Catarina 48.
We went back to her dwelling for lunch and logically more juice. We had some pretty good spaghetti highlighted by dried mystery sausage. Good pasta is hard to come by here because Brazilians are crazy about all their tomato sauce being sweet and this unfortunately includes ketchup. After lunch I did the dishes and she had to go back to the downtown for another class. While she went back downtown I walked down to the Federal University of Santa Catarina, or as I will from now on refer to as UFSC (ooof-skee)
Brazilian Universities function like this. When you graduate high school you take a test called the Vestibular in your intended course of study. Therefore you enter University already knowing your major. However the vestibular is very difficult to pass because whoever succeeds is granted free admission to the Federal University of their choice. The Federal public Universities are highly competitive; the Private universities are not competitive and cost money.
I walked around the campus and found a "Kinkos", printed up some Résumés, Housing Wanted posters and some flyers advertising my private English tutoring/ male prostitution services. I walked around the campus hanging up these adverts on any bulletin board I could find and in turn finding a few house vacancies and discovering I had some fierce competition in the English lesson bulletin board market.
I walked home exhausted and worn out. I ate a bohemian dinner of what resembled sliced ham on bread and a beer. I met a drunken bunch of Students of whom I could barely understand. I encountered my host's roommates having a conversation about some drama that involved a rowdy security guard and unwanted Internet publicity. I dozed off on the stairs while they vented. I was awoken by a call from a friend of my host who was bringing by a mattress for me to sleep on. I grabbed the mattress and placed it on the kitchen floor the only spot in the apartment that it would fit. My host came home and was disappointed to see me lying on the kitchen floor mattress expecting that I would have made some dinner or at least some juice. She tried to engage me but I was not having it.
The next day I was awoken by the poignant sounds of Fergy's "Glamorous" She said she was going to lay in bed a while so I took this as my cue to grab the first shower. I jumped in the shower and brushed my teeth, not rushing yet not taking my time either when she started banging on the door telling me to hurry up we were late. I jumped out of the shower got dressed and she was in a panic, frantic and hurried. A majority of Brazilian bathrooms do not have a separate spot or divider for showers, only a notch in the tile so you have to have a squeegee to push the water into the drain. She does not have a squeegee, so the water gets everywhere and she leaves towels all over the floor so they become sopping wet. She started cursing and freaking out that we were late, she didn’t have her books, she didn’t have her keys, we left and she realized she had forgotten a CD so we had to run to the bottom of the hill to meet her ride/boss. As we were running I said to myself I must find my own apartment, today! She brought up her view that English contractions were incorrect and uncommon such as I am=I'm, He is= He's, I would not have= I wouldn't have etc. I told her I disagreed and that this was one of the hardest parts about understanding spoken English. She insisted and I turn changed the subject.
The ride arrived and I met her co-workers a guy from England and a girl from Minnesota. We arrived at the hotel where she was teaching an intensive English Language program. I met her friend who is a surfer/doorman of the hotel who offered to get me a cup of coffee. He returned with a co-worker. When I asked him for the coffee he told me it wasn't for me. This offended me and I went down for a walk on the beach.
I was approached by a Jimmy Buffett aged stoner who asked me if I had a joint. This threw me off because he used the "Tu” form that is uncommon in most of Brazil where they use the Você form. I told him I didn't and he walked off extremely disappointed, which in turn made me extremely disappointed and I became frustrated with the fact I didn't have a coffee and that I had disappointed Jimmy Buffett.
I went back to the hotel and the doorman/surfer explained to me that he couldn't have given me the coffee at that time because the man he was talking to was his boss and he wasn't allowed to give things away to random gringos. I went to the front desk to drop off a resume and I met the receptionists and explained my situation. I met the manager but he told me they weren't hiring at the time. However I made a good contact with one of the receptionists who said he and his roommate had a spot in their apartment. We exchanged numbers and he gave me some ideas about where to drop off some resumes.
I went to the north of the Island to a beach called Praia de Ingleses (English Beach, named after a boat not a group of people) I went there with expectations of encountering hotels courting my English Portuguese skills as if it they were MBA law school credentials yet unfortunately the tourist season had ended and the most common response to my question as to whether or not the hotel was hiring was the contrary, they were as a matter of fact firing people.
I walked around the normally tourist littered streets of Ingleses as if it had become a ghost town, like North Haverbrook in the Simpson’s monorail episode. It was eerie and discouraging. I caught a bus back to home base but I caught the wrong bus and had to wait by a sticky, mosquito infested environmental police base for almost 2 hours. I got back to the campus and checked out an apartment that was much too far away from everything to consider living in despite its low, low price.
I waited for the rain to cease and went to look at the apartment of the receptionist. I walked away from the Campus into the Trindade neighborhood that a majority of the college students live in. I got to the apartment and was greeted by Ramon. He showed me the room, told me the price and I decided to take it. So I'm paying about $212 dollars a month for my own room, shared bathroom, Internet and utilities included. The place is very clean and well located 5 minutes from the mall, there's a bike trail that is right outside my house that circles around the lagoon that is in the center of the island, there are grocery stores, convenience stores and the Brazilian Wal-Mart all within 10 minutes walking. To use some Maryland slang, it’s vicious, I love it!
My Roommates are both from out of town. Ramon is a robotics student who is from Londrinha, Paraná. He's very well informed about a variety of scientific and technological subjects. He also professed his love of insect related photography to me. Alex is from a tiny city in São Paulo. In fact he tells people he is from a Small city that no one has ever heard of, that’s next to the city he is actually from that no one has ever heard of because his city is so darn small. Alex is very intellectually aware. He knows all about Brazilian music, history and cultural aspects. Talking to my roommates and significant others has been pushing my Portuguese to the limits. We’ve been having pretty decent discussions and arguments about an array of topics. They are all extremely nice and full of enthusiasm for what they are doing.
I spent the next few days distributing flyers advertising my services in a few places across the island, in the downtown, at UFSC and at the State University of Santa Catarina.
I had heard the State University of Santa Catarina has a music program. Considering my studio is all but defunct, (I got an e-mail estimate from the keyboard repair shop in São Paulo informing me my broken keyboard would cost about $400 dollars to fix, more than the value, and not to mention would take about 3 months to repair.) I went up to the music department and peaked around. I entered a classroom that the teacher was casually lecturing to a group of students sitting haphazardly around the desks and chairs of the room. In broken Portuguese I told them I was an American who had majored in music and I wanted to see what their program was about. Coincidentally they told me they were just at that moment talking about the differences between American and Brazilian music. They had literally just expressed curiosity in seeking out a native expert on the subject when I waltzed in the room. They didn't get an expert but beggars can't be choosers. The teacher and I played Coleman Hawkins’s famous ballad Body and Soul, we traded some solos and then played the up-tempo bebop blues "Billie's Bounce" Then we switched over to some Bossa Nova and played the clichéd "Só Dança Samba" and of course "A Garota de Ipanema" It was a lot of fun and I exchanged information with the students and teacher. I made some contacts for an available drum set and for some tambourine lessons. Talk about being in the right place at the right time!
I went back to UFSC to finish my mission of handing out all 1000 flyers that I made when a girl stopped me and asked me if she needed to take the flyer if she already spoke English. I thought she was messing with me but then she told me she was from Jamaica, she introduced me to her friend from Ghana and we all had a conversation in oddly accented Portuguese. She told me about a party that was on campus later that night and I told her I'd see her there. I went back home my roommate taught me how to prepare some beans and I went back for the party.
The night was a blast; there was live music, too much beer and lots of drunken college students. I was handing out the last of my little leaflets that I think a majority of the student body thought were a rolling papers. As I was courting students a rowdy longhaired hippy approached me an in heavily accented Portuguese and asked me "Do you want to sniff some glue?" That was the extent of our conversation in English, as he knew no other phrases. I think that was the funniest thing anyone has ever said to me in Brazil I ended up meeting up with the Jamaican girl and she introduced me to some of the other foreign Students, some Germans and a group of students from Santa Fe...Argentina. It was a really interesting night meeting people from Argentina, Germany, Chile, Canada not to mention from places all over Brazil.
We went back to the Argentineans place, pulled out the couches from their dorm lobby and shot the shit until the sun started to come up. But with the sun also came the resident belligerent drunk. Apparently this guy always comes in around 6:30 and just causes trouble with all the Argentineans adding fuel to the mock South American rivalry. The drunk was really upset about the fact we were drinking cinnamon tinted Brazilian rum and he called over the security guard who seemed like he had to deal with this guy on more than a few occasions. We decided it would be best if we left and we let the drunk rest in peace.
I think that my first week here in Florianópolis turned out better than I anticipated. It’s a beautiful place, located in a vibrant thriving, college, and young community. I really like the fact that I'm speaking Portuguese most of the time and surrounded by a diverse group of people. Hardly anyone I've met is from here. There are tons of migrants from all parts of the country and tons of immigrants from all over the world. I was starting to forget how great of a country and experience Brazil is while as I was in Jundiaí. Everyone is doing something interesting, I don' have to hear about people's lame jobs in São Paulo like working as a sales director for Proctor and Gamble's baby rash cream division. (True story). I can finally invite people to come visit me and actually have something to show them, but come quick, I'm an illegal!

The Silver Spring of Brazil

2008-03-31T10:41:00.000-03:00

Not that I have anything against the Silver Sprung, but I made a mistake when I moved to the Silver Spring of Brazil. My city Jundiaí is located 40-60 minutes North of São Paulo, the largest city in South America. If I were planning on raising a family in Brazil, buying property or starting my own ball bearing sales department for a Swiss company I think Jundiaí would be a marvelous place to live, however I have no intention of doing any of those things.
My school is a beauracratic nightmare. Teachers are allowed 1000 copies per week, averaging out to 166.66 pages a day. For every piece of paper printed or copied one has to fill out a card and hand it to a 16 year old lackey to print it. Yet the printer is incapable of even printing 500 pages a day total. It constantly breaks and shuts down. We are not talking about a Xerox; most of us have superior printers in our residences.
Not to mention I was teaching one class of complete beginners without books one day never to see them again, and then another class of complete beginners without books the next day never to see them again. I stopped caring stopped trying to build a bond because what’s the point. I became very frustrated with my job.
Especially two weeks ago when we had our first vacation after 2 months of working 6 days a week they told us we couldn't let our classes out 10 minutes early so that we could catch the bus to São Paulo that would be taking us out of town for the weekend. Combined with the fact I didn't like the city I was living in I decided enough was enough.
My supervisor, entered the room I was sitting in and told me students were complaining that I wasn't making an attempt at developing a relationship, I told her "Before I respond to that I better let you know that this will be my last month at Oxbridge." She was a little shocked and I told her my reasoning that the school's methodology didn't provide sufficient training for the students, I wasn't very happy in my surroundings and I was becoming increasingly bitterer with every passing day. I told her I would be leaving the next payday, which is today. After I told her this it was like a huge burden was taken off my shoulders. I no longer cared about the petty, red tape inflicted rules I had to pretend to follow.
The truth is no one in their right mind would come to Jundiaí looking to escape. My first choice was a city called Florianopolis, an island in the South of Brazil in the state of Santa Catarina. The people there are mostly German immigrants with a strong prescience of Azorean Portuguese traditions. A few weeks back I was eating dinner at the fried food establishment across the street called la mama, when an acquaintance was talking on the phone to a former teacher of Oxbridge, my school who happened to be his ex-girlfriend. I got put on the phone with her and we began chatting. She's and Arizonan who worked at Oxbridge for about 9 months and then quit and went to Florianopolis. She told me that I could find a job there and she would put me up until I found a job at a hotel, or school or what have you. So that conversation put all the wheels in motion. The only thing holding me back from going there in the first place was the reasoning I didn't want to lug around 2 suitcases for a month or so without anywhere to stay or a contact in a strange city.
All in all it took me about a week to decide and I'm really happy with my decision. My boss was very pleasant and they are going to pay me in full for the time I worked here this month as well as the cost I incurred fixing my computer. (Another story altogether) My visa situation might get complicated; my boss says he's obligated to tell the Federal Police that I'll be leaving the school. Which means everyday I stay past my visa expiration I will be charged $4 dollars American when I want to return to Brazil. Also I will not be able to leave the country and return.
My last weekend in Jundiaí was very pleasant. I went to a house party and met an agitated Lebanese Brazilian who dubbed Washington D.C. as a "shit city" (strike 1) and said his family had to leave Lebanon because of the "Fuckin' Israelis" (foul tip). Anyways the next day I went to a BBQ with my friend Ana and my Canadian friend Peter. It was really fun we ate some delicious food and played with her 8 year old cousin and his friends. Her cousin Eduardo or "Du-Du" as they fondly call him is an energetic rabble-rouser with an ample belly. I told him that his name "du-du" in English means "co-co" in Portuguese, or poop. He was not pleased to hear this. This awkward silence was broken by their Dachshund who spent the afternoon incessantly chasing his tail. We played a game called Bats that is pretty much like cricket until Peter and I were too lazy and drunk to appear interested any longer.
So I leave tonight on a 12-hour bus ride South. I'm really excited and pleased with my decision. I'm a little disappointed I'll have to leave the friends I've made in my brief time here in Jundiaí, I know I've made the right decision because everyone I've mentioned my plans to asks me why I didn't do this earlier.

Where Judas Lost His Boots

2008-03-24T11:32:00.000-03:00

As most of my catholic readers know this past weekend was Easter, or in Portuguese Páscoa. My colleagues and were itching to get as far away from our job as humanly possible. In recent weeks the satisfaction and morale of the gringo employees has fallen. We have a friend who recommended buying a package for a trip to Ilha Grande (big island) in Rio de Janeiro State. We booked our spot at the last minute and we managed to get a hotel room and a bus ticket. We told the school we would be taking off that night. We asked if we could leave 10-15 minutes early and that we would make it up to our students the following week. The school did not comply and they were completely inflexible. We had to run to catch our train. We drank many a beer sold out of a garbage bag on the transport. We made it to our bus in São Paulo, no thanks to the school who fiercely pissed us all off. But all that was behind us as we passed out and woke up in Paradise.
Ilha Grande is located on Rio's Costa Azul that has been compared to Route 1 of California. We got out of the bus and embarked on a boat to the Big Island. We navigated through solitary islands and emerald colored water. We got the island and found our hotel. While many of the people decided to camp we were not brave enough for the rustic conditions and we got a room. Our second-floor room overlooked what resembled a Paulista refugee camp with tents taking up every available yard of space. The Island was very expensive even for Brazilian standards. We went swimming, took boat tours, drank beers, drank caçacha and meet lots of lovely people.
A bit about accents. The people from Rio de Janeiro city are called Cariocas, the people from Rio de Janeiro State are called Fluminese and they both have crazy accents. For example if they try to speak English they say Niishhh for Nice. And often they have a guttural Arabic Hebrew sound when they pronounce an R in the middle of a word. The people from São Paulo are known for not really having an accent but they slightly roll their R's when speaking, its quite beautiful and more subdued than the Cariocas.
I was really amused this weekend when I got to meet many Cariocas and Paulistas arguing about the Portuguese language, slang and their irreversible rivalry. Cariocas are a very sexual people who give an actual kiss on both cheeks as an introduction where as the paulistas only give a cheek-to-cheek kiss on one side. The Cariocas are beautiful people with a strong mix of African, Portuguese and Indian descendancy where as Paulistas are a more recent immigrant demographic and consist of many Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. Anyways the Cariocas made fun of my Portuguese like I was a playground foreigner.
The weekend passed fast as the amount we spent on fresh fish, beans, rice and meat on a stick. We took the bus back to São Paulo through a beautiful mountain overpass that ascended through tunnels, natural springs and overlooked the ocean, mountains and islands that looked like floating tortoise shells in the setting sun. As we entered into São Paulo a ferocious storm flooded the highway bringing traffic to a dead-halt. The trip took 9 hours in a non air-conditioned humid bus. Movie played: A dubbed version of Moulin Rouge.
We got back to São Paulo and had missed our train back to Jundiaí so we had to wait in the station until 4 am until they started running the again. My friend Roman slamming his shoulder into the chin of an aloof walking woman capped off the trip. I don't THINK it was on purpose.

Aqui Ô

2008-03-17T08:30:00.000-03:00

I started hearing this phrase here while boxing at the gym. Its kind of a filler expression or like saying right here, but after I started noticing it seems everybody and their mother utters it between every other word. Anyways.
My weeks here tend to durate more than I would like them to and I find my self itching to leave Jundiai on the 1.5 days I have off on the weekend. I´ve been hopping on the commuter train to São Paulo which is about $1.50 US, however the trip takes about 1.5 hours as well. I have some friends in São Paulo that I met while traveling before classes started in trindade. They are some nice girls and they all seem to be cousins. (note nearly everyone in Brazil are cousins, have a sibling who has a child or have a deceased close family member) I always seem to wait for several hours when we plan to meet up and Saturday was exactly the same. I met them in the Tutuapé neighborhood in the east zone of São Paulo. When I first got here I was really impressed by the fact most Brazilians my age don´t tend to be smokers, but when they are smokers they make up for lost time. My friends bought 2 packs of cigarettes between the four of them and nearly finished the entire two packs just that night. I think my first observation of the fact Brazilians don´t smoke was off.
We hung out that night on a lively strip that was mostly sit down bars, called Barzinhos, or little bars. The street is called Coelho something or other which means rabbit and the bar we spent the night was called Rabbit Bar, in English. That was almost the only thing I understood that night. Its really hard going out to a noisy bar with a lot of background noise and following the conversation. Its honest work doing having a conversation with the person sitting right next to you so when you add glasses clinking, cigarette lighters flicking, guitar players strumming and Brazilians frenching into the mix all within ear shot the task becomes significantly more difficult. I started to feel dumb. So I told my friends I could analyze their signatures. I got a book from the library once and I realized its all BS. I had them write their signatures down on a pad of paper and then in my increasingly drunken Portuguese gave them vague adjectival descriptions and let them fill in the blanks. Its a fascinating experiment because people get very emotional. My friend had loopy handwriting so I told her she liked to have fun and people liked her to be around. She agreed and proceeding to list off adjectives that would compliment my description. We left the bar, got some hot dogs paninnis with mashed potatoes and lots of other junk on it. While we were ordering the cops pulled up jumped out of their car guns drawn, dressed in uniforms that were oddly similar to those of the SS guards. Apparently there had been an assault so they were after the bandits. Nothing really ended up happening. My friends said that they had never seen anything like it and they blamed it on me. I thought we would be out most of the night and I could catch an early morning train, however they went in early and it would have been completely taboo for me to even crash on their parent´s couches. So we went to a HMotel. A hotel here is a hotel, a motel here can be rented by the hour, I really couldn´t tell on the sign if the first letter was a H or a M and I think that was its purpose. But Motel Tunisia and its orient charm wooed me over and I slept great. The next day they picked me up and we went to a large market in the center of São Paulo. Basically for the yuppies. There was fine cheeses, oils, spices, pates, meats, dried cod fish or Bacalhau and exotic fruits. Bacalhau is a Portuguese delicacy. The Portuguese, Spanish and Basque people of the Iberian Penisula are fond of the cod fish because of its dried and salted preservation qualities. We walked by a colorful fruit stand and a Japanese salesman began cutting off exotic slices of fruit for us. We were immediately hooked and I decided to buy some fruit. I only bought a bar full but it ended up being $62 reais a little more than 34 dollars. We realized we´d been jipped and started talking about it. The Japanese man heard us complaining and gave us a softball sized peach to silence our mouths.

Back in Action! (see below)

2008-03-10T13:00:00.000-03:00

I’m officially a blogger. I received threats of violence and legal battles because of some former entries. I have since realized my words might have been a bit hasty and out of respect to the offended. Anyways I´m back in action! (See above). Oxbridge my job promised to have accommodations for us waiting when we arrived in Jundiai. So back in January I was the first to arrive at the residence house and I had first dibs. The dono or owner of my house showed me a large room that he planned on renting to two people or he would rent it as commercial space, I didn’t want to share a room with anybody so I took a room with enormous cockroaches, holes and a musty, moldy smell. When my colleague Roman, (a name not a member of the civilization) arrived he told the Dono that he would stay in the larger room and he wouldn’t share it with anyone. The Dono said that was ok but at some point he might rent out the room and Roman would lose his spot. So When our two other colleagues Peter and Peter, one Canadian and one Brit arrived there were no more spots for them to stay. The school scrambled for accommodations and eventually found students to put them up however they live a far away from school. British Peter or as well call him in Portuguese, Petinho (litte Pete) is living with a nice girl whose parents are conflicted about their daughter living with a unmarried man, also the apartment is bigger and more expensive than she would care to spend so Pete has been looking for a place for the last few weeks knowing that his roommate would be moving on to bigger and better things. So I’ve been asking my classes if they would like to put up a teacher. I mentioned to the Dono if he had any spots in his residences at this point and he said he only had spots in the Women residences. I told him that my colleague was half woman referring to his British nationality, however the Dono found this amusing. Unexpectedly two days later one of my roommates moved out to be closer to his family. He was a married man who lived in Jundiaí during the weeks and went home on the weekends. I guess he couldn’t stand it anymore and he will be doing a 3 hour commute from now on. So anyways his room opened up and my Dono informed me, however he was a bit cautious renting to the room to a half woman or as he assumed homosexual. I told him not to worry and he would be fine. I informed Pete about the room and we took a look at it. While the room itself is smaller than my room, there is an exterior door that leads to a private garden of sorts, including tall trees which appear to grow bananas, hanging red ladder shaped plants and various other exotic flora. The room is also significantly cooler and has a less pronounced dusty smell. I realized I screwed up by offering Petinho the room and I would have to pull some snaky maneuvers to get it back. Coincidentally the Dono informed me later that day that he had been receiving many offers for the larger commercial room and Roman would have to leave. So we pulled a switcheroo and Roman took my room and I moved to the new room. The Dono said that he would prefer to rent the larger room to two people such as Petão and Petinho (big Pete and little Pete). So they can take over the big room if they want and be within two minutes walking distance from the school or they can continue to live at the end of the world. In the end I felt a little bit immoral about referring him to the room and then turning around and taking it myself, but he should feel a little immoral about housing soldiers in our houses, taxing us without representation and charging us obscene taxes on our imported teas! This one’s for Uncle Sam. USA! USA! USA!

Carnaval

2008-02-07T17:55:00.000-02:00

Ouro Preto (Black Gold) is a scenic colonial town nestled in the mountains of Minas Gerais (Rich Mines). The city is rich in history because of its riches. In the late 1700’s the city was teeming with gold rushers looking to profit from the town’s newly discovered treasures. Slaves were sent into the mines looking for gold to send to Paraty (see P-A-R-A-T-Y) on its way to Portugal.
The cobblestone-lined streets are steep and windy with abrupt and exciting turns that lead into alleys lined with robin-egg colored houses that cling to the earth. The numerous exquisitely gold-laden churches are of the best examples of Baroque architecture in the world. However I was in Ouro Preto for Carnaval and Carnaval in Ouro Preto is another story entirely.
Despite the colonial, majestic, touristy charm of the city, Ouro Preto also hosts the University of Ouro Preto which is the best technical school in the country, or in other words its like one big frat party hosted at William and Mary College in Williamsburg, Virginia during spring break.
My colleague/roommate Roman and I booked tickets on a direct 12-Hour bus ride from São Paulo to Ouro Preto. We arrived at the central bus station and received free condoms while getting off the escalator. The central station was a madhouse with people scurrying in every direction. Many people were preparing for a week of drinking, some were drinking and a few were already drunk. We found our bus terminal where rowdy bunches of twenty-somethings were anxiously awaiting the debauchery that was waiting for them in Ouro Preto. Roman and I booked our tickets at the last minute and much to our horror we were placed in the very last two seats on the bus directly next to the bathroom. But it turned out not to be so bad.
I made some friends with a guy named Thiago from Sao Paulo and some girls he was traveling to the Carnaval with. Side note it seems like every guy here is named Thiago and my friend Roman thinks every guy looks like some guy named Thiago. Anyways the bus ride was somewhat spoiled by the fact that everyone besides me had taken a vaccine for yellow fever because of the risk area we were traveling to in Minas Gerais. The overnight bus stopped three times and arrived early the next morning in Ouro Preto.
Many people on the bus bought a prepaid package that included room, food, beer and entrance to parties. These packages were hosted by republicas that are basically like dorms. Most college students in Brazil live with their families, however the University of Ouro Preto is such a specialized school with students coming from all over the country the students live in republicas. We went to the republica that the guy I met on the bus and his friends were staying at but there was not any room left, besides it made a squalor frat house in the states look like the Marriot.
We found a nice pousada our taxi driver recommended for R$200 per night that included breakfast but we decided to keep looking. A guide in the street immediately approached us. He offered to put us up in a room above a local restaurant that the owner of the restaurant often rented out to tourists during Carnaval for R$100 per night. The price was right so we decided to take a look. I mistakenly told the guide we were Uruguayan brothers hoping it would cut our gringo tax down but I didn’t think about the fact we would not be speaking Spanish to one another. The restaurant was named Casa do Poeta or House of the Poet yet the Dona of the establishment was certainty no poet.
The house was a two-floor structure that used rocks for much of the building materials. The first floor, where the kitchen and dining room were located was constantly busy preparing a buffet for hungry drunks and tourist families alike, such as Roman and myself. There was a charming outdoor patio that overlooked the houses our residence sat on top of. We were shown our room on the second floor thatwas plain with two beds. Unfortunately the Dona of the house only wanted to rent the room out for 4 nights and we were only staying for 2. We compromised and we agreed to stay in a smaller room that had one bed and she said she would find a mattress for the floor. She never found a mattress for us so she offered an additional room.
The residents and staff were a colorful collection of local Ouro Pretanas, Brazilians from across the country and a traveling Argentinean tango band that had been trading music/labor for a spot to place their tent in the outside area and free food. The Argentineans were the warmest bunch I’ve met to date, which isn’t saying much. In comparison to Brazilian’s warm, welcoming and affectionate demeanor Argentineans are vastly more reserved, unapproachable and quiet. However these Argentineans could play some tango, and play some tango they did! In between sets they had to bus tables and sort out beans to see which had been corrupted by worms, but I think that grit and deprivation really came out through their music. We lucked out and at every meal we had the pleasure of hearing their unique instrumentation of two nylon string guitars, cello and of course accordion. I’m not sure if they were speaking Portuguese but I communicated well. I bought a CD and we made plans to meet up in Buenos Aires.
After we unpacked our bags and ate a delicious hearty lunch of (for description of Brazilian food refer to all other entries) Roman and I decided to wander the city. We trekked up the steep hill that lead to the Tiradentes Praça or Teethpuller square named after a famous dentist I imagine. The center square was filled with drunken youths sporting brightly colored tank tops. These tank tops were their admission to the blocos or parties. We found a popular florescent orange bloco called Lajes paid R$55 and were in. The bloco was on the second floor of a large university gathering building. The room was painted black but had significant light because of ceiling high windows. There was a promise of 80,000 cans of beer that were included with entry and we helped ourselves to plenty. Within the hour we arrived, the hall was packed with promiscuous partygoers. The DJ pumped out a foul genre of music called Baile Funk.
The majority Brazilian music is some of the most rhythmically and harmonically sophisticated music in the world. Baile Funk is not one of those types of music. Baile Funk is not to be confused with James Brown Funk; Brazil has its own Genres called samba-rock or MPB. For some classic Brazilian inspired soul check out Tim Maia or Jorge Ben Jor. Baile Funk like much of Brazil’s music originated in the ghettos or as they are called here Favelas, particularly in Rio de Janeiro. The music is loud club based music with pounding 808 drums, slapping congas, piercing vocals and filthy slang all of its own. Needless to say the kids love it. (And in the United States the hipsters love it!) This music makes people go crazy in ways no Puritan man such as myself should ever witness. The most popular song right now that guarantees mass coitus is a catchy ditty called Créu. Which basically means thrust; you can take it from there. Anyways the DJ stepped aside and a Samba Batucada band took over. Batucada is a type of samba that is most traditional during Carnaval. The instrumentation is percussion on top of drums on top of more percussion, its loud, exciting and deafening.
The cans of beers eventually ran out in the mid afternoon and so did the energy of many of the partygoers. Later that night the party carried out into the street where the city had set up stages in various sections of the historic downtown. Every stage had a different theme but the prominent theme was Axé. Axe is an Yoruba African derived word for energy and is originally from Bahia. Axe bands usually have a few guitars, keyboards, bass, drums, percussion, horns and a few singers. The beat is bouncy and palpitating with excessive strumming, the most famous bands are Chiclete com Banana and the singer Ivete Sangala both are from Salvador.
After sleeping off a few hangovers and going to a few more parties over the next few days we were ready to leave on monday. As we were killing time reading in the restaurant dining area the Dona of the house approached me and asked about the rest of the payment. I wasn’t quite sure I heard her correctly but then she repeated, the hospitality payment. I wasn’t sure if there was a misunderstanding but we had paid her the first day in total as far as we were concerned. The place wasn’t even worth the R$100 per night but desperate times call for desperate measures. But she was insistent that we pay $100 per person. I was in no state to be haggling with an angry Brazilian who thought she could pull something over on a couple of gringos. Luckily I had my Ukrainian-born confrontational friend Roman with me to sort the matter out. Unfortunately we didn’t have the chance to take a group photo. After we refused to pay her anymore than we had agreed to up front she gave us the finger and said FUCK YOU in perfect English. I guess that’s the origin of the name House of the Poet.
Understandably we didn’t want to linger around much longer. We fought our way through a different fluorescently, blindingly colored Bloco street parade to catch a cab to the bus station. The bus ride was 12 hours long and there was a woman on the bus who in my opinion may or may have not have had the SARS. At least I wasn’t sitting next to her.
We made it back to Jundiai and even got to see their parade that night. The Carnaval in Jundiai was certainly pale in comparison to Ouro Preto but there were a few highlights. First of all the massive parade floats here aren’t motorized, it’s just a couple of guys pushing the thing from the back. Second the people love their transvestites dancing down the streets in thongs and a bikini top. Love em. Third the motto of one of the Carnaval school’s was Danger: Emits Contagious Germs of Happiness. There was a party we heard about in town that night we and decided to have one more night out before we started work on Thursday. The party was loud and most of the guests were pubescent teenyboppers. Unfortunately they didn’t play any of the beautiful and somber music our Argentinean housemates treated us to this past weekend, however the DJ did treat us to the grimy, filthy pulsating rhythms of Créu.

For more information about Créu please visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4f78FSSgHk

Tchau Checha

2008-02-07T10:29:00.000-02:00

I may or may not have mentioned Joice’s Visa situation. On the 7th of January Joice and I went to the American Embassy located in the Morambi neighborhood of Sao Paulo. I sat in the café across the street cleverly titled “Café Consulado” I witnessed more than a handful of disappointed Brazilians emerge who had had their Visa’s denied. When Joice emerged hours later she had a somber look on her face. She buried her face in my shoulder and began to cry. I tried to comfort her until she began laughing like a mental patient and told me that she had in fact been approved for her Visa.
We assumed the Visa would take a maximum of Six days to receive because my spot is located in the greater Sao Paulo region. But, the day of the 15th arrived and still no Visa so we cancelled the flight and thus continued the saga of Joice’s Visa. I had met a guy at the Café who owned an English school in the countryside of Sao Paulo. I had been staying in touch with him and he told me that his sister’s visa, of whom he was waiting on at the café had been postponed due to technical problems that occurred across the days of the 8th to the 10th of January. Everyone before and after was off the hook. Days and then weeks passed and the staff members of the school got to know Joice intimately. During this time Joice was calling and e-mailing the consulate and post office daily but the automated response was no help. I e-mailed my friend Nick whose father is a longtime employee of the state department to see if he could find out what was going on. Like magic within two days the Visa was ready for departure. So one day Joice was doing her normal inquisition as to the whereabouts of her visa when she saw that the deliveryman had in fact come to the school to drop of the visa. Joice asked the office members if a deliveryman had come by and in fact they had turned him away because they didn’t know of any Joice Furtado Ribero da Silva who would have anything to do with Oxbridge Customized Courses. The one secretary who was out pregnant didn’t know Joice’s situation and she turned him away. Puxa Vida. She ran to the post office to see if the deliveryman was still in the vicinity however the post office told her that if the delivery man had in fact been rejected, than in most likelihood the package would be sent all the way back to Sao Paulo. I wasn’t going to allow the package to come all the way to the same building after all we had been through only to have it get sent back to a dusty office in the basement of the well-fortified American consulate.
Brazilians have a term called Jeitinho Brasiliero which roughly translates to when there is a will there’s a way, I think I’ve picked up this more than anything since I’ve arrived and I pulled a Jeitinho Americano.
So we took a cab to the Jundiai central post office and waited for the guy to come. We stopped every truck, motorcycle and man woman and child on foot entering the post office. The delivery company is called Sed-Ex and their motto should be What Can’t Blue and Yellow Do for You? Amazingly we tracked the guy down and he produced the package with no further problems. It was like Joice had just won the lottery.
We booked the next flight out of Sao Paulo that left the next afternoon. My co-worker/buddy Zhe gave us a ride to the airport and we left early the next morning. The three of us had a farewell lunch that would be a nostalgic culinary reminder to Joice during her time in the United States; McDonald’s.
However Joice’s troubles didn’t end quite there. Joice didn’t know that she couldn’t bring liquids onto the plane and they made her go through check in again and she almost missed her flight. However she made it back to the states she got a student visa that will allow her to come back to Brasil as much as she likes during the duration. It’s an awesome opportunity that I know she will make the most out of. I think we fought more in one month than we fought in the combined two years we’ve been together. I guess this is what spending more than a month together day in and day out 24-7 can do to people. It was difficult to say goodbye. We had an emotional goodbye that even for Brazilian standards of public displays of affection had people telling us to get a room. It was emotional, and I miss her a lot already. Meeting her family and seeing where she comes from was priceless. Despite the fact I cursed her apartment for being too hot or cursed my self for feeling incompetent around her family, it was unforgettable traveling around Brasil with Joice.

P-A-R-A-T-Y

2008-01-28T11:10:00.000-02:00

Last week I was in an excruciating teacher's training at school from Monday-Thursday. Our trainer doesn't give much information about the methodology of the school. To make matters worse she speaks with a condescending Brazilian version of a proper English accent. " Alex if you aren't careful with that bag of crisps they just might ruin your well-new trainers!" Bloody Hell!
Anyways training ended on Thursday and the other teachers and myself planned on taking an excursion to the beach. The other teachers are a mixed and diverse bunch; there is myself a white-American Jew (with a whole lotta soul I might add), Roman a Ukrainian Immigrant Jew who moved to the United States as a young child, Peter, a 6 foot 4 Canadian from Winnipeg, or as we call him Petão which translates to Big Peter, and Peter a 5 foot 4 From England, or as we call him Petinho which translates to little Peter.
We had no clue as to which beach to choose from out of the extensive collection that litters the coast. One of the other professors, A Brazilian named Flavio, who we suspect to be a bit of a taleteller recommended we visit a beach town named Trinidade. Brazil's month long holiday season started this past weekend and we struggled to find Pousada (Brazilian Bed and Breakfast) to host us. (Note: I have extreme difficulty pronouncing PO-sadas because of those god-forbidden Salvadorian delicacies PU-sadas.) Puxa Vida!
We took the first bus on Friday morning leaving from our local Cometa bus terminal. We were a raucous, unruly bunch of passengers who were most likely a thorn in the side of the tired commuters on their way to work in the city. We arrived at the central bus station Rodoviária Tietê and we immediately bought our tickets towards the beach. Petão, Roman and I bought tickets towards the colonial tourist town of Paraty. English Petinho bought tickets towards the Paulista surfing town of Ubatuba where he knew a rich Brazilian friend who he met across the pond. I helped a friendly Korean tourist buy tickets to Paraty and he in gratitude told me I had a British accent. I wasn't quite sure how to respond.
We boarded our bus at 11:00 AM and it took 1.5 hours to leave the gloomy, cloudy, drizzly city that is called São Paulo. Once we finally got out of the city the beautiful countryside of Brazil presented itself and I in return fell asleep. The bus was full of Gringos from the United Kingdom and Ireland, as well as the overworked, overstressed Paulistano looking to escape to paradise for the weekend. The bus made a few pit stops allowing people to get out stretch their legs and grab a bite to eat. The drive was on a windy highway that traveled through steep forested mountain passes overlooking lush green vistas complimented by ocean views and brightly colored trees. The bus driver sped through the tight turns as if he had an appointment he was late for. Luckily the evangelist girl with the odd vampire-teeth on the bus who tossed her cookies was sitting with my friend and not me.
We got off the bus at a little town named Patrimônio and waited for the shuttle to Trindade. A few ticks of the clock later a "people carrier” or what my British colleague refers to as a van arrived. We jumped into the van and it climbed to the top of a steep hill that descended to magnificent ocean view. The bus stopped in the middle of a lively town filled with families, shop owners and dirty, dirty Brazilian Hippies. We had booked a pousada with the intention of rooming 4 but upon arrival we looked for a cheaper hostel and found one within minutes. We left our stuff in the room, went and got some BBQ steak on a kabob and headed to the beach. We spent some time at the beach waiting for the sun to emerge that unfortunately proved futile. We got some more meat on a stick, and took a nap until 1 AM. We headed down to the beach and went to a Reggae or Hay-gee party as its pronounced here. It was a cool mix of late teenagers to people in their late 20s. Most of the people were from Sao Paulo and were visiting from the weekend.
We met a large Brazilian organized tour group that frequently takes trips to locations all over Brazil. They were really nice and we hung out with a bunch of them by a bonfire until early in the morning. When my friend Roman took an early morning dip in the water I got the unique cultural exchange opportunity to teach them the slang shrinkage.
The next day we woke up and met another guest of the Pousada, Thiago. I was walking around with my camera and he asked to take a look at it. Turns out he's a photographer for the car company Fiat. Thiago's parents own a restaurant and the Dono of the Pousada's other job is a meat and seafood distributor, he often does business with Thiago’s family. Carlos and his Trinidadense wife took us on a tour through Trindade's coastal rainforest. Carlos would often stop pick, a leaf or a piece of fruit, tell me its use and then eat it. I was brave and ate his "hangover remedy" which left a bad after taste in my mouth that I still haven't seemed to get rid of. He took us up to an area scattered with drunken Brasileiros. There was a large boulder with a tiny opening people were squeezing through and magically emerging meters away. We all decided to try our luck. As soon as the galera discovered we were American they instantly showed their welcoming spirit or in other terms yelled at us hot breathed, "You're going to die gringo!!!" Nice folk. But it wasn't actually as intimidating as they made it seem. As soon as you squeezed through the opening you were in a shallow pool of water. Later that afternoon Thiago and I walked to a Boulder enclosed part of the Ocean that made the water tranquil enough to resemble a pool. The natives call this ecological wonder piscina natural, or natural pool. OUTRAGEOUS! We got some snorkels and saw some cool fish. We took a boat back to the other side of the coast.
Later that night we returned to the Hay-gee party and I introduced us to some Paulistanas. We made friends quickly and went to a Forró party.
Forró is technically an American English word. Legend has it when the American corporations were making their first bids on Brazilian resources in the Northeastern region of the country they decided to woo their subject by throwing a party. As they didn't speak any Portuguese and the Brazilians spoke little English (a fact I intend to change upon) they told someone that the party would be For All. However Brazilians have an incredibly difficult time pronouncing the Hard R sound so it was lost in translation. They wrote a big sign saying there would be a party that would be Forró pronounced Fo-haw or For All. The name stuck and now its one of Brazil’s most popular music. Forró is of a mix between zydeco and country rhythms and its most predominant instruments are the accordion, triangle and a two-sided drum that resembles a small bass drum called the zabumba. I'm actually not bad at dancing the Forró but there is some stiff competition amongst the natives.
My friend Roman was talking to one of the girls and having Thiago translate for him, or so he thought. Before he could say another drunken romantic line Thiago was dancing with his girl and shoving his tongue down her throat. Whoops. Anyways the girls were nice even if the one I was talking to for most of the night had a strapping cold sore.
We left the next morning to catch our bus to the neighboring colonial town of Paraty. Paraty was a colonial port town used by the Portuguese to ship gold from the mineral rich region of Minas Gerais to Lisbon, Portugal. We rented some bikes and quickly realized the road we were on was steep and only getting steeper. This wasn't tolerable for my colleagues who had gone through several packs of cigarettes over the course of the weekend. We returned the bikes as we quickly had to catch a bus and wanted to wander through the historic downtown before we left. The bus left Paraty at 4:40 and crawled through the dense weekend traffic returning in São Paulo at 11:00.

2008-01-15T13:58:00.000-02:00

I put the Jew in Jundiaí

2008-01-14T11:38:00.000-02:00

Last Monday Joice and I hopped on a plane to São Paulo from Salvador. Joice wasn´t originally going to accompany on this part of my journey but she arranged to reapply for her Visa at the São Paulo consulate.
We arrived in São Paulo at 5 PM, my boss had agreed to pick us up at the airport at 7PM, so before he arrived we walked the massive airport making an attempt for me to register with the Federal police. Instantly I was shocked by the diversity of São Paulo, In Salvador I was diverse and when a pale Jewish boy from the suburbs is diversity you know you are a long way from home! People were no longer gawking at my blinding white hue. São Paulo is just a lot more diverse in terms of ethnic background because during the 1800´s large groups of immigrants from Italy, Spain, Japan and Lebanon added to the ethnic diversity of the city and state. As we were walking through the corridors of Garulhos airport we noticed the increased mixture of ancestry in comparison to Salvador.
In Salvador the standard costume is brightly colored tank tops, board shorts and Brazilian Haviana sandals. However in São Paulo you see a lot more diversity in the dress of the people as well. You can see depressed teenagers making an attempt to dress like American depressed teenagers from the late 90s, stressed businessmen talking on blackberries wearing a three piece suit and women dressed in lavish multicolored dresses that require second glances.(NOTE: thankfully the hipster movement is contained and under control in this country.)
Eventually we found the federal police after a long and frustrating hour of walking through the airport. Unfortunately they told us that I had to register at a different federal police in a neighboring city but thankfully it killed enough time to take us to 7 PM. Joice and I waited at an airport cafe and I pulled out my laptop because I had seen that the São Paulo airport was a wi-fi hotspot. I got really excited as I haven´t been able to find even the weakest signal in this country, however the Hot Spot proved fruitless as You would have to pay for the access and the registration for the account was easier said than done. (I haven´t been able to hook my computer up to the internet once since arriving so that is why I haven´t put up any pictures yet. Sorry. They are mostly of guys in Speedos anyways so unless that's your thing you´ll just have to wait.)
As I was putting my laptop away I heard my name over the loud speaker telling me to go to the information desk on the second floor. I walked upstairs and waiting with a sign that said Oxbridge Customized Courses and my name stood Henrique my boss for the next year. Henrique looked completely different from my expectations, a little heavy-set, pale blue eyes, short greying brown hair, oculated, dressed professionally with a well pressed shirt, slacks and stylish designer tie. In fact Henrique is one beard, kip pa, and pa is away from working in Manhattan´s diamond cutting industry. I´m not sure if He´s Jewish and I didn´t want to ask but it takes one to know one. We gave our introductions and I took him downstairs to meet Joice.
Henrique is a really nice, well-organized, professional person. He spoke to me mostly in Portuguese however he was trained in England so when he speaks English he has a little bit of a Cockney drawl. He picked up his car and we hit the road on our way to Jundiaí. We passed through São Paulo on our way to the country side of São Paulo state asking Henrique questions about the city, himself and making random chit chat.
Jundiaí, the city I will be staying for the next six-months to year is 30 minutes north of São Paulo city. It has about 400,000 habitants and is on the boarder of being tropical and sub-tropical climate. I knew this because of the sign we passed on the highway stating "you have now passed the Tropic of Capricorn" Henrique gave us a quick tour of the neighborhood in his car and then we got to the "republic" or shared apartment.
The Dono or owner of the house came down and gave me a choice of two rooms, one a single plain square room with a bed, dresser and "desk" which in actuality is a sewing station with a communal bathroom to be shared with two other roomates. The other option was a double-room that would be shared with one of the incoming teachers with a bathroom to be shared with one other roomate. However I didn´t really want to share a room so I took the single bedroom.
The house is a bit of a dump. There is a long dark hallway that leads up a short flight of stairs to the communal lounge. There is a TV with cable and a telephone that only receives incoming calls. The kitchen is dark with a simple oven and a faucet that splashes water when turned on. The bathroom is decent. I moved my stuff into the room and we told the Dono that Joice would be staying for the first night and then she would get a hotel room for the remaining nights. This was a lie. We offered to pay him for the extra guest but he felt uncomfortable hosting a female in an all male residence. But what he doesn´t know won´t kill him.
My room is dusty and probably not properly cleaned before I arrived. I had a house greeting from a new friend, The largest cockroach I´ve ever seen outside of a zoo. This cockroach was about the size of my ring finger with wings, large antennae and the color of rust. Needless to say dinner was served! However you get for what you pay for . I pay R$230 per month which is about $115 American. Its right down the street from the school, the bus station, a grocery store and a pretty raunchy strip club! It will do for now and its just nice having a place to stay as soon as you land on the ground.
After dinner I met a few of the housemates some shy but nice Paulistos named João (John) and Paulo. Joice and I passed out in my humble abode hoping the cockroaches wouldn´t come back to say hello.

Feliz Ano Novo/Happy New Year

2008-01-02T20:41:00.000-02:00

New Years Eve is a magical time in the country of Brazil, as far as I can tell from the images broadcasted into Joice’s living room provided by the Globo television network. People in Brazil are very enthusiastic about the New Year often wishing one and other a happy new year an entire week in advance.
Joice, her cousin Leninha and I returned from the beach around 5:30 and most of the house was lounging around in casual clothing. Regina, Joice’s mother had just finished cleaning up lunch and began preparing for dinner. We ate lunch around 6 o’ clock showered up and took a nap. When I woke up around 10:30 everyone was frantically preparing for the special occasion with their color coordinated clothes for the event. Brazilians wear colors corresponding to what they would like in the new year for example White=peace, yellow=money, pink/green= love. Joice’s family underwent a metamorphosis from casual house clothing to chic New Year’s attire despite the fact nobody was going anywhere and nobody was coming.
At 11:00 Globo began broadcasting images from the southern cities of the country, Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro and Florianopolis. Salvador as well as the rest of the North of Brazil has abandoned the practice of daylight savings over the past few years. Demonstrating their relaxed attitude and nature in comparison to their industrious southern counterparts. Rio de Janeiro the country’s largest and most famous celebration held a 20-minute firework display. (Which is 15 minutes too long if you ask me) as the clock ticked down to its final moments of 2007 the family congregated in the living room everyone dressed to impress. Joaci, Joice’s dad popped a few bottles of Champagne, both flavors apple and grape. We held out glasses high in the air and toasted to old memories and new beginnings. (Which I hope includes a more comfortable living situation for me.) We all hugged and kissed and wished each other a happy new year.
Then the food was set on the table. Lentils with pieces of sausage were the main course. According to Brazilian tradition one must eat 3 spoonfuls of the dish sitting down with their feet held in the air to ensure good luck. I was dubious of the effectiveness of the ritual, as I don’t feel much luckier in the slightest. Then the remaining dishes were set out. Mashed potatoes, baked ham, salad, fresh bread, rice and dry pork that was slightly overcooked much to everyone’s disappointment. Everyone enjoyed their meal while watching a new year’s eve variety program on TV that would make Dick Clark blush.
After dinner we danced to the energetic carnaval music of Bahia called Axé, the northeastern regional forró and of course Brazil’s legendary Samba. The room quickly turned sweaty and silly like a pubescent middle school dance party. The dancing was greatly enhanced by the manischevitz reminiscent alcohol I mentioned before.
I asked Joice’s mother Regina to dance. I received accolades and praise for my acute sense of rhythm and grace. I later joined a forró quadrilha which is like a square dance/ bar mitzvah Hora fusion. The group danced in a rotating circle and called out different dances such as the hands-behind-your-back-arrested dance, the hands-on-your-stomach-leaning-backwards-I-ate-too-much-beans dance, and the always classic hands-on-your-stomach-leaning-forward-throwing-up-because-I-ate too-much-beans dance. It was a lot of fun but the elders outlasted the youth of the party hands down. The adults of the party danced until 2 am as their 20 something year old children retreated to their bedrooms or sat on the couch in embarrassment of their parents’ enjoyment. The night ended when Joice’s Dad opened an expired bottle of red wine that looked like the Portuguese had brought with them on their first journey to Brazil.
The night was a lot of fun and certainly my most sober new years in recollection since I’ve had the ability to grow facial hair. Joice’s family is really cool and even though I didn’t see the big party downtown with the concert, fireworks and African influenced rituals to honored deities it was a great experience. You might even say we had our own fireworks display…literally people were lighting fireworks off with little concern for regulations or buildings directly outside of our window.
Feliz Ano Novo-Happy New Year.

Eye of the Ox

2008-01-02T20:37:00.000-02:00

We returned to Salvador today and made plans to go a famous restaurant in Bahia called Boca de Galinha or Mouth of the Chicken. We drove the car while the elders took the bus. But don’t blame me they wanted to take the bus. We drove to the Cidade Baixa Lower City district of Salvador. If anyone is interested there is a steamy nearly soft-core porno film with the same name.
We paid R$1.00 to take the ferry across the bay to the restaurant. I would have taken pictures of the beautiful scenery if Joice had not warned me about the street kid Ne’er-do-wells who were aboard our ship.
We walked up a steep hill and eventually found our restaurant. It had a stunning view overlooking the entire city from across the bay. It was a decent restaurant complete with plastic chairs and tables that is commonplace in Brazil. They didn’t have room for our party of 8 so we waited across the street for our table. A waiter form the restaurant came and we ordered some beer and soda as we sat in the shade. We were sipping our drinks when The waiter returned and told us the bad news that they had run out of shrimp and all fish except for one called Olho de Boi or Eye of the Ox. This sent a shudder and complaints throughout our party. We took a vote as whether to stay or go. We were indecisive and probably would have sat in the shade complaining all afternoon if Joice had not take the initiative and paid for our tab.
We ran and caught the next ferry going back to Salvador. I don’t think I’ve felt whiter than when I got on this boat. It was a packed boat and we had to sit on the very tip.
We got back to Salvador and everyone was delirious from hunger. We settled on a churassacaria/pizza restaurant. The ambiance reminded me of an old gymnasium complete with the florescent lights that gave off a yellowing hue to the skin. The lunch was mediocre at best. I think I’ve finally found a family that is more difficult to eat with than my own.
After lunch we went next door to a famous ice cream shop that serves standard and exotic flavors of ice cream made from Amazon fruits. Most of them tasted like some form of plum iced cream concoction.
Later that evening Joice, Taynah and I went to buy a fan, as my room is a hot prison cell that provides little relief from the heat. The fan was $78 reais ($40 American) but well worth the price. We got to the cash register and realized we had gotten the wrong fan. They called for a price check. In Brazilian mega stores a price check is done through a roller skate donned worker who skates around the store typically wearing a helmet and kneepads. He found the correct price and we were off. Joice suggested that we try the fan out before taking it home. We asked if we could plug it in the store but they wouldn’t allow this after purchase. Joice says there is no such thing as a refund in Brazil.
We got some acarajé, a typical Baiana food outside of the store from some Baiana women dressed in traditional costumes of bright colored dresses of green, blue and white. The dresses had intricate patterns that looked like they could have been from the west coast of Africa, or the western edge of Langley Park’s African community’s closet. The acarajé was delicious and filling. The outside is a crispy fried white bean paste that is fried in palm oil turning it into a golden brown patty. The patty is sliced open filled with shrimp, a sand colored paste and spicy pepper. The dende palm oil is strong in flavor and is hard to avoid getting on your hands and face. The inside of the patty is warm with the consistency of textured cornbread.
Joice and I got a drink at the bar across the street. Talked for a while then came back and watched some of the pirated DVD I bought the other day. I was going to stay in a cheap motel that Joice’s mother had found close by, but the hotel was grungy and I felt I wouldn’t have made it through the night. The prices for rooms were $15 for a room, $25 for a room with a fan, and $35 for a room with a fan with a TV. What a deal!

Feira de Santana

2007-12-31T20:29:00.000-02:00

Yesterday Joice, Taynah and I traveled to Feira de Santana Joice’s hometown where her mother Regina, sister Heidi and aunt Vanda all live. We left the traffic of Salvador at 5:00 but not before getting rear-ended Joice’s neighborhood. Joice’s neighborhood Brotas lies on top of a steep hill. The neighborhood has a guard keeping watch at all times of the day. The guard is not armed and he is hired by the neighborhood. Brotas has a lively atmosphere with shops selling clothes, restaurants selling Chinese snacks, Bars selling beers and English schools selling English. At the bottom of the hill is a busy automotive district that sells both new wheels and semi-new wheels as the signs advertise.
As we left Salvador the apartments gradually turned to more modest residences and finally to huge unruly favelas. After 20 minutes of driving through the outskirts of the city, after the shipping yards, meat-packing factories and gas stations ceased to appear any longer we were in the country or as its called the interior.
Brazil doesn’t have to try hard. When it’s beautiful it’s gorgeous. The people, the landscapes, food and culture are all amazing. When its ugly its hideous. The favelas, poverty and pollution. However this car ride was both. In the front seat Joice and her sister were catching up cursing at the inexplicable driving of their fellow Brazilian motorists. To my left was nothing but lush green countryside complimented by purple-hued clouds a dark red sunset that was complimented by the occasionally lazy rive or stream that only added to the view. To the right were the random favelas shantytown one room shacks built on the side of a hill clinging for support.
I fell asleep and woke up in Feira de Santana passing through the sleepy streets and bar after dimly lit bar. We arrived at Joice’s mother’s house on a quiet calm street. All the houses have locked gates so when we arrived we honked the horn and Heidi Joice’s sister came out and let us in. Joice’s sister, mother and aunt all came out greeting us with big hugs, smiles and for me introductions. Joice was worried about her mother being shy but she is really friendly and outgoing even though she is dubious that I speak or understand Portuguese at all.
Joice unloaded her stash of illegally imported chocolates and cooking on to the dining room table that looked like somebody raided the candy aisle at CVS. The women of the house quickly devoured the chocolate and made me feel at home. The house is modest with bare white walls only interrupted by painting of Bahia, catholic paraphernalia and baby pictures of Joice and her sisters.
The house is clean and well kept with a fruitful garden in the back that provides fresh grapes and even pineapples. As expected by Joice, her mother and aunt instantly insisted that I being eating grapes from their garden.
I watched some TV with Joice’s sisters while dinner was being prepared. This would be my first introduction to the world of Brazilian Soap Opera novellas. Heidi and Taynah were enthralled by the complex dramatic plot of Duas Caras (two faces) that is about a sneaky conman who gets plastic surgery to change his appearance. I had a slight idea of what was happening.
Dinner was served around 9:30 and I guess I’m special because Heidi asked why they were setting out the good plates and silverware. The dinner was huge. There was freshly prepared squash soup, rice with carrots and onions mixed in, brisket with a deep brown salty gravy, left over turkey, fresh bread and Joice’s favorite beans flavored with cuts of meats.
I ate and plopped myself down on the couch and watched the news with Heidi and Taynah. I understood the news much better than any of the television shows I’ve seen so far. I quickly got tired and went to sleep at about 11:00 without brushing my teeth.

Life´s a Booch and Then You Die

2007-12-31T20:23:00.000-02:00

I arrived in Salvador last night under different circumstances. I woke up yesterday in Rio at 5:00 AM. We took a taxi to the American consulate before the sun came up. We were the first ones to wait in line. The busy city came to life within 30 minutes. Within the hour the pollution of the over congested city took its toll on respiration. Joaci said his apartment couldn’t stay clean because of the remnants of smoke from the city. Joice was the first person allowed into the consulate.
During this time I began to crack Joaci’s shy demeanor. He has a huge interest in American culture that was apparent from his questions about who my candidate was Hilary or Obama. His eyes lit up when we started talking about American celebrities such as Britney Spears. However one way I didn’t appreciate his interest in US culture was his blasting of a Louis Armstrong DVD and John Coltrane CD this morning. Anyway we got to know each other a little better during the time Joice was in the consulate.
Joice came out with bad news, they rejected her Visa. They were suspicious she would be working for the family that sponsored her Visa. “What now Dad?” He made some calls to a university professor and we all brainstormed Ideas. Joice and I sent some e-mails. I sent one to my formed boss to see if she knew about the subject. We took the metro back to Botafogo I took a nap.
We went to a Kilo Restaurant that is a buffet style of food where you pile as much food on your plate that you are willing to pay for and then it is weighed. You pay for how much your plate weighs. I’m not the biggest fan. We went and bought some 50 SPF sunblock because I could feel myself already becoming a lobster.
We took a bus to Rio’s famed Copacabana Beach which was bordered by a massive stretch of hotels on one side and a and Ocean with hills jutting out of its water on the other. We went back to the apartment and prepared to depart to the airport for Salvador.
We took a bus to the airport through Rio’s crowded, traffic-clogged, colorful sun-baked streets. I don’t think I’ve ever realized how ugly graffiti can be, but when tags cover every available piece of Real Estate in the city its not an art form. Far from the tourist and commercial center of Rio it seems the city has largely forgotten or pushed the residents here to an unfortunate existence only seen by tourists and rich Brazilians on their way to the airport. On the plane I read an article about how one of Rio’s most famous scenic beaches is in danger of having favelas ruin its Post Card image. This wasn’t a sociological examination of why this was happening. It wasn’t a bartender asking why his customer was so drunk and passed out on his bar but more like saying“ You don’t got to go home buddy but you can’t stay here.”
Overall I think Rio is a horrible city set in a marvelous location. Like a rose in a cemetery…I mean like a cemetery in a rose. (I think I’ll stop with the similes and metaphors altogether.) Rio’s infrastructure and economy can’t support its population’s needs and because of this articles are written to “Save the post card”
We arrived in Salvador and Taynah; Joice’s sister picked us up at the airport. It was a little awkward but funny. “So do you like Alex, or Alex?” With the emphasis on the second syllable.
We got back to the apartment in Salvador. It’s a cramped, crowded, hot sticky but warm a loving place. Joice’s mom came and left earlier in the day. She left a huge delicious meal of rice, ground beef, yucca, steak and fresh squeezed juice. It was D-Lish. Joice and I went to a bar across the street ad talked about the day.
She was seriously 10 times more upset when she didn’t get her driver’s license this past summer then when she didn’t get her Visa. She’s going to try to go to Recife and try once more. Joice seems very happy here with her family and she is making me tons of food and waiting on me hand and foot which she never does in the states so I can’t complain. She is open to the idea of moving back to Brazil and finishing university here.
She wants me to stay and look for jobs teaching in Salvador which I’m not sure about. I have a commitment with a school all the way across the country in Sao Paulo that is what my Visa is dependent upon. While they probably won’t send a fugitive team out to find me I don’t feel entirely comfortable abandoning the school. I think she might have failed the interview on purpose. Every Brazilian woman we meet tells her to be careful with me “Brazilian women are crazy.” Joice tightens her grip on my hand everytime. Needless to say the trip has taken a new dynamic.
We went back home and I was shown my bedroom in Salvador that is a bare white-walled room with a concrete floor, a dresser, a mountain bike and barely enough room for a bed. To tell you the truth it’s a little like a prison cell complete with bars on the windows even though the apartment is on the third floor. (Side note: The apartment was broken into by a robber climbing up the other barred in windows on the first two floors to break into Joice’s third floor apartment that didn’t have bars before. Where there’s a will there’s a way!) I think putting me in the prison cell was her Dad idea.

Esse blog é so porque Rio eu gosto de Você.

2007-12-30T19:05:00.000-02:00

I arrived in Rio de Janeiro aboard American airlines flight 905. My First bag was waiting with Joice when I finally arrived through the federal police procedure. We waited for 20 minutes until they asked about the bag. So they pulled out my second bag and made me sift through the electronics I had packed explaining their significance. IN the end they only wanted to know I wouldn’t be selling high-end audio products to the Brazilian Public. I told them I wasn’t intending to do so and we were on our way!
We finally made it through and met Joice who was waiting patiently. He gave Joice a hug that lasted no less than two minutes. Then I got a firm but satisfactory handshake from “Painho” as Joice calls her Dad which literally means little Dad. We caught a bus from the airport to his apartment in the charming Botafogo neighborhood. From his apartment you can see two of the most famous Rio Carioca views, Pão de Açucar and Corcovado with Cristo Redentor Atop its sleep slopes. We showered up and got lunch a t a churrascaria down the street. I atechicken hearts that tasted like chewy over cooked- SURPRISE- chicken. Then we decided to do the tourist Rio thing that was fun.
We took a bus through the curvy welcoming streets of Rio that dropped us at the tourist depot for the bus line. We got out and haggled with a few tour guides and finally settled up for a tour of R$30 per person. We piled in a van with a nice but sweaty Brazilian family of 9. We were taken to two vistas the last being at the feet of Jesus. The view was incredible but pretty much like any other picture you’ve seen. Rio is a massive city from atop the platform with miles of beaches millions of people hundreds of favelas and thousands of Transvestites. After we descended the mountain via our van we hopped on a bus to walk to the Lagoa de Carioca, which is equally scenic, but with a pungent stench.
We went back to the apartment showered up again and went out to get some dinner. The day was strange because it was Christmas Day. Many people were out of town, most of the store and restaurants were closed and in Brazil that means with a steel grate over the entrance.
We went to Bob’s fast food. We walked into the restaurant and were immediately accosted by a worker who pointed customers to the proper register according to their method of payment. It was one of the most stressful fast-food experiences of recent recollection. After a disappointing dinner provided by Bob we came back to the apartment for the night. Joaci made some watermelon juice that pretty much tasted like you’d expect.
All in all it was a beautiful but hot and humid day. 30-33 Degrees C. (whatever that means) Joice told me to be thankful it wasn’t really hot. I still sweat like a pig just walking around. I guess I’ll get used to it.
Rio touristically is like Salvador. It though Salvador had better character, architecture and the people are great. Then again I only did the tourist shit and it wasn’t an accurate depiction of the city on Christmas. Anyways Joice was great and I consider this two weeks reintroduction to Brazil. My Portuguese is working but needs a jumpstart. Its not easy meeting your girlfriend’s family while trying to become proficient at a new language. Joice’s dad is nice and it’s better meeting one family member at a time than the entire clan in one fell swoop.