Garulhos Airport : The End of a Blog

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

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

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

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)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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.