My life in Havaianas

A Post Post

2011-11-04T15:50:00.003-02:00

Since I'm back in São Paulo, I figured it was fitting to write a little post(-move) post.

I arrived yesterday and made a quick stop at Polícia Federal at Guarulhos airport on the off chance they could stamp my protocolo (temporary identification) with a six-month extension--the reason for this quick trip. No dice.

Thanks to my thoughtful landlord, Dona Maria, I settled in to my beloved Pinheiros apartment (which brought about a simultaneous surge of pleasure and melancholy). I crashed mid-afternoon for about four hours, which means my schedule was out-of-whack and my daily espresso was taken too late. When I eventually fell asleep again, this caused a surreal and vivid dream that, as a result of my recent string of nose bleeeds, I was going to require an ear transplant. It was very upsetting in my sleep but I was able to laugh about it in the morning.

A few hours later I ate my habitual mango followed by a tall, fresh-squeezed orange juice and a double espresso at Quitanda, and set out for the Federal Police headquarters in Lapa. Watching the sights from the bus window during the 45-minute ride, I was reminded of my first days in Brazil, when, having nothing but time, the trappings of bureaucracy didn't trouble me. In fact, they were kinda entertaining.

I was only at the DPF for 30 minutes, all told. The good news is that, contrary to the response to my recent status inquiry, my new Cédula de Identidade de Estrangeiro card has been printed. The bad news is that it is at the Polícia Federal in Curitiba, Paraná--255 miles away. That is weird since I'm registered as a São Paulo resident, completed all of my paperwork here, and have, in fact, never been to Paraná (unless you count the time I used the bathroom at the rest stop on an all-night bus trip from Porto Alegre to São Paulo).

I didn't really care though, in fact I found it humorous on account of the sunshine. And since I've lived in Brazil long enough to have the jeitinho (a little detour around a problem) down pat, I had two strategies to obtain the card in place before I walked out the door of the DPF.

Time for a siesta, then a couple beers with Dona Maria and Eduardo. I have a 3:30 taxi, a 4am bus to Campinas, and a 7am flight to Porto Alegre.

But before I go, for old times sake...

Remember "Fight Fitness"? Here's another one:

On the basement floor of Shopping Eldorado, there's a tiny shop that sells shoelaces and polish. The name seems a bit over the top:

"Shoe Shop of The Future!"

Tchau, São Paulo. I still totally love you, but our relationship... it's complicated.

Paulistinha

Live the life you want to live. (Part 2)

2011-08-09T21:10:00.003-03:00

I had hoped I'd have some words of wisdom to wrap up the blog before I depart. I don't. Partly because I've been too busy with the preparations, and partly because there are so many divergent thoughts whirring in my head that I don't know yet, myself, what to make of them.

One of my favorite sights on Avenida Paulista.

I was reflecting on my first post, a little over 3 years and 4 months ago, and considering which of the goals I had set forth I have since achieved, and which I have not. Basically, I achieved them all, here and there, in bursts--though some of them, I have discovered, are goals that will be a lifetime in addressing, while others just ceased to be ambitions. The things I said I would miss about my Stateside life were missed, and will soon be regained: things I said I wouldn't miss will soon be a part of my life again--which now seems okay, for the time being. Things I declared I would cherish--the long and aimless rambles, the fruits and a la minuta, agua de coco, and futebol--well, I've satiated myself, again, for the time being. I did adapt--to crime, to "the system," and to machismo--at least, as much as I ever will. My wacky plan of waiting for amnesty worked, and now I have gained permanent residency. Among many other gains in my time here are a command of the language, and a solid understanding of the national history and cultural nuance, including the various sub-cultures that create Brasil.

But what is missing from that initial post, and indeed was greatly underestimated in my vision, became the most provocative element of all: the enrichment of my life and profound impact on my being through the amazing the friendships I made.

Victoria, Shelley & Rafael, Ivan, Lisa, Fifi, Maureen & Rudimar, Gina, Clair, Natália, Leila, Joanna, Roberto & Marianna, Adri, Eliana, Roxanne & Rudy, Kristin, Allison, Scott & Eliana, Anthony, Ahmet & Anelise, Juliana, Fernando, Danilo, Tanya, Vanessa & Rafael, Carolina & Mariana, my friends at Casa Club, and many others--you've been signposts, shining stars, and lighthouses along the way. I am fortunate and grateful to have shared this path with you.

In response to my own command "Live the life you want to live," I would, today, offer a resilient, experienced, positive, and optimistic, "I'm working on it."

As Adri wisely counseled a year ago: you're not starting a new chapter, you're starting a new book. I've enjoyed having this space to share my thoughts, reactions, anecdotes, and experiences. Though I was writing for myself (as my dear, late Uncle Greg reminded me), it was really uplifting to get feedback and encouragement from friends (and from strangers who became friends), and to know that, throughout this book, people quite literally all over the world were laughing with me and rooting for me. Thank you for that, and thanks for reading.

It's time to say "tchau" to My life in Havaianas.

Beijos,

Louquinha Gauchinha Paulistinha no coração

Endnote: You never know when the next adventure begins, but if I start blogging again elsewhere, I'll post a link here so subscribers will be notified. Email link under About Me is still good, so drop me a line!

Street Art

2011-08-08T22:37:00.003-03:00

Time is short. Nevertheless, I have a few more pics of wonderful street art to share.

Across from Theatro Municipal-

In the tunnel from Paulista to Rebouças-

"You are a slave to transit."

Coming out of the same tunnel-

In this post, my favorite is the Saci painting graffiti, hot on the trail of a wind-up-doll city work, working to cover it up.

Closer.

I finally discovered the name of my favorite graffiti artists, Os Gêmeos, and learned that (unsurprisingly) these Paulista twins are world famous, and their art has far exceeded the limits of São Paulo, with pieces throughout the U.S. and Europe. Look 'em up. They're cool.

Theatro Municipal

2011-08-07T18:34:00.004-03:00

During most of my time in São Paulo, Theatro Municipal was closed for renovations. I admired the building, though, which graces Praça Ramos in Centro. It reminded me of, a fond memory indeed, my last experience in such an elegant old theatre, when cousin Leslie and I saw a gorgeous ballet in Budapest in 2001. So when it opened again in June, I went in to buy a ticket for...anything... just so I could get a glimpse of the interior. I bought a ticket for a late July performance of Cisne Negro, or Black Swan.

The building did not disappoint...

...which is more than I can say for the performance. I had expected the ballet. I got a modern, too modern for my tastes, rendition of... something un-swan-like. At one point, a female dancer was writhing on the floor to bizarre music, communicating some sort of disastrous pain. (Yeah, I feel ya sistah.) I didn't care though. Being inside that stunning palace of art and music was plenty rewarding for me.

Paulistinha

Oh yeah, It's Ladies Nights

2011-08-06T03:40:00.004-03:00

I had planned to spend a week in Porto Alegre before leaving Brazil, to have a proper despedida, or going away party(z), but changed my mind because I (rightly) decided that saying 30 goodbyes would just be too depressing.

Instead, last Friday I met Victoria and Lisa at the airport. They had come to me. (Bless them.) What followed was a week of girl fun: restaurants, bars, nightclubs, shopping malls, late breakfasts and in-depth chats.

Friday was our nutty night. We went to my staple: Casa Club Hostel Bar to visit friends, meet strangers, and listen to my friend Leo's band. Carol got up to sing with the band--her on-the-spot rendition of the Cranberries' "Zombie"--was a real treat, especially as I'd never heard her sing live before. Good times.

Mari, Carol, e eu

Suddenly we (and the group had multiplied, as they tend to do on the best of nights) found ourselves drinking Belgian beers at Miró. The next thing I know, we're jamming to Interpol, Bowie, and Rage Against the Machine at Matrix. (I grilled my friend Felipe on who's oversight led to me never knowing, over the past year, about this dream-dive-nightspot?! Que loucura cara!) Ok, maybe the beer helped, but I was singing and dancing like the angst-ridden teenager that I sometimes am, in secret, and it was the best! Luckily, me and my antics were in great company.

eu, Victoria, e Lisa

Victoria rocking out to God-knows-what and Lisa, reacting

Mari, eu e Felipe

Don't ask me. At this point, I could not be held accountable.

Eu, Victoria e Mari

I (we) went to bed at 7am. (Yep, still got it.)

Mas, bah!, nota dez, aquela noite!

Except, for the next two days, Victoria and I suffered a stiff neck from our special dancing. (Maybe we don't still have it!)

A couple other highlights from the week:

1) when a friend from Casa Club, whom I shall call Spooney, made the most hilarious remark in regards to the hosteling crowd, dressed in their alpaca jacket-ponchos and hats: "We've all been to Bolivia, and we're going to wear it for three months."

2) eating a delicious-but-$40 cheeseburger at Lanchonete da Cidade at Shopping Cidade Jardim (which, admittedly, was a very neat mall, architecturally speaking), before checking out the million-dollar boats in Tools & Toys. Que chique, gente!

But aside from the fun, I confess there were a few tears when Victoria and I hugged goodbye yesterday. It was silly because we'll see each other soon in Chicago, but there's just this thing: we were really in this together. I share that feeling with everyone in my POA clan. We were totally in it together. Tightly bonded (like whoa). And as necessary as it sometimes is, it hurts to release it, so that it may grow into a different friendship, as we give space for our lives to also grow. Yin and Yang I suppose.

I saw my acupuncturist yesterday afternoon and, noticing that I was less chatty, he asked (simply), "triste?" And I started to cry again. Yes.

Nevertheless, my life is moving forward.

Tonight I had a meeting of the United Nations (of Ladies): a cocktail conference with Nika (Poland/US), Glaucy (Brazil), Gaby (Venezuela), and Sandi (France). After the soup buffet (yes, you read that correctly) at Bella Paulista, we ended up at Drosophyla--another very cool haunt that I wished I'd known before, and our gaúcho waiter only added to our fun.

eu, Glaucy, Nika, Gaby e Sandi

E aí? (And now?) I have arranged some lunches and dinners and beers with some Paulista friends, but I'm packed and ready. And on Tuesday, I'm out.

I have no idea what to expect from my re-acclimation to Chicago life. Well, that's not entirely true: I have some expectations, but I don't know where I'll be living or working a month from now. That fact is both intimidating and brilliant, because it evidences the presence of natural fear and how far I have pushed myself in confronting it.

There will be a proper festa with my Porto Alegre peeps, but it's a few months off yet. I'm looking forward to it, as a celebration of the progress in each of our lives--because, among us, there are new homes to visit and new babies to kiss.

Paulistinha

"CAKE!"

2011-07-28T15:45:00.001-03:00

Remember that scene in The Goonies where Sloth is screaming for chocolate? Yeah, this post is for my cousin Beth and her passion for "CAKE!!!!"

This is Maya.

This is Les Delices de Maya, and she's not exaggerating.

The place has fantastic charm and excellent service. Bright and cheerful but still cozy, this converted two-story home feels like and indoor garden hideaway. Even the bathrooms are cool: the walls are covered in decoupage featuring old MAD magazines and italian newspaper clippings.

Marcelo runs the front-of-house operations. He remembers my name, and everyone else's, every time, no matter how long it's been between visits. He pauses for a bit of small chat, engagingly and sincerely, with every table, despite having much to do during the lunchtime rush.

Oh, Lord, and the food....

My dilemma is that I want to try everything on the surprisingly diverse menu (and there's a specialty du jour), but I always get the same dish: spaghetti com lula e limão, spaghetti with calamari and a delicately creamy lime sauce. I can't help myself.

And then there's the CAKE!!!!

Heavens to Beth-sy! I adore the Brigadeiro (a chocolate cake with layers of brigadeiro in between), and the Brigadeiro de Pistache (a white cake with layers of a similar mixture to the classic brigadeiro, except instead of chocolate, the condensed milk and butter are cooked with powdered pistachios, apparently)...mercy! Last time I sampled the Bolo de Cerveja Preta (black beer cake) and Pavê de Figo (a cup of crème brûlée with a layer of fig spread in the middle). Falta de palavras.

Coming from a long line of entrepreneurs, dining at Les Delices de Maya is even more attractive to me because it's a small, family-run kinda place. However, that means they're only open on business days for lunch and afternoon tea, because, well, everybody deserves a life! I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing for me personally: on one hand I would love to go there more often, though on the other hand I thank them for their limited hours of operation, given my deficiency in self-control amidst these sorts of delectables.

Ahh, the stuff dreams are made of.

If you find yourself lunching in Vila Madalena, you simply cannot go wrong as Les Delices de Maya.

Bon appetit!

Maranhão Outtakes

2011-07-26T20:07:00.001-03:00

I wish I had theme music for these outtakes posts. Something circus-y.

Before the first picture, let me recount something I wanted to document on my last visit to Porto Alegre, but was sans camera. When I returned a few days later, the entertaining sign was gone. First, it is important to say that Brazil passed Lei Seca in 2008, which is a zero-tolerance law for drinking and driving--a topic so complicated that it could be it's own post (but won't). I thought it ironic, a few months back, to see a sign in front of Garcia's Bar that advertised free parking during Happy Hour.

Relatedly, on the drive back to São Luís, we stopped at this gas station...

...with signage provided by Brahma Beer. (I know it's just advertising, but still, really?)

On the subject of beer, here's the Saturday night hangout in the community surrounding the lighthouse at Mandacarú. ("Fatty's Chopperia," a chopperia is a bar that specializes in draught beer.)

Perhaps alcohol could explain this creepy thing, just around the corner.

You know you're in a small town, especially in Brazil, when this suffices for the local courthouse.

You might have to click on the image to see, but this palm tree (conveniently located in the middle of the "road") has a 20 km/hour speed limit sign posted. However, in the direction of travel, I would advise less. The "road" ends in about 25 feet.

"Vende-se." Boat for sale. Inquiries within.

I saw two fun-with-English t-shirts on the trip but couldn't photograph them--that would have been rude. One said, simply, "Get Shape." (Yeah, I know. It's on the To-Do List. Thanks for noticing.) The other, Paraguayan apparently, said "Occy Surfboar" on the front and the back. By the way, what is with the massively popular Brazilian surfer-wear and apparel line "Fatal Surf"? Do they know what fatal means? They must. It's the same in Portuguese. Isn't that the equivalent, then, of a pedestrian in Porto Alegre wearing a shirt with this type of emblem?

I digress. A frog smoking the the bathroom, for a change.

Ok, I embellished. He's not smoking. Just ditching class.

Keeping the animal theme, this will be on my list of all-time favorite photos: a steer grazing in the middle of Barreirinhas. There is no fencing around--there aren't even any farms around--just homes, sandy roads, and the cross.

"What?"

São Luís Sunday

2011-07-25T21:27:00.001-03:00

For the sake of brevity (ha ha!), in yesterday's post I skipped the part about the harrowing bus ride from Barreirinhas to São Luís.

You know, there's a big difference between injury in the pursuit of adventure (say, in one of those mad jeeps in Lençóis) and injury in the pursuit of a good night's sleep. I admit that sometimes I can be a bit of a back-seat-driver. Mind you, I rarely verbalize my concern, but I do tense up when I feel a driver is overly aggressive. Knowing this, I tried to just chill out and stay lost in my thoughts on said bus ride, thinking I was just over-reacting to the driver's, um, style. That is, until I saw his young kid, who was riding shotgun, gripping his armrest in fear. Of course I remained silent, but at least I knew I wasn't the only one panicking. The icing, though, was when we caught up to another bus we had been trailing on the highway about ten minutes after we stopped for gas. Man, it's a minibus, not a Porsche!

All's well that ends well.

The Rio Poty Hotel has an unusual design, but all the rooms have large balconies and lovely views.

Despite my arrival shock, I must say I acclimated nicely.

So, too, did the rather large iguana that appeared, to the guests' delight.

He was totally eye-ing my Subway. No chance, lizard.

A quick, after-dip shower amidst the flowers, anyone?

I can't say that I understand the Brazilian obsession with lawn ornaments, but the frogs amused me.

I was equally amused by the Lochness-like sculpture in Lagoa da Jansen.

I spent the majority of the appropriately sunny Sunday poolside, or rather, poolbarside.

That is, until the Women's World Cup Final. What a game! A disappointing end for the U.S. team, but I couldn't begrudge Japan their deserved title and celebration. It was funny listening to the announcers struggle with the names too. For example, on the Japanese side, Miyama became "me ama" (an accusatory "you love me!") and Ohno sounded like an emphatically alarmed "Oh No!"; while on the USA side, O'Reilly was pronounced "Oh, Really???" That last one killed me every time.

On a serious note, during this trip I had intended to dedicated time to putting all of my reflections on My Life in Havaianas in order. In the end though, I was simply too relaxed and too distracted by all of the natural beauty and entertaining activities to be pensive--and what a delightful thing! With far less effort than I had expected to invest in becoming "all in" on the next book of my life, I realized, on the journey back to São Paulo, that I feel ready. I'm free to move forward from this (massive, pivotal, truly engaging) period of my life and discover what other adventures are waiting for me downstream. I suppose that at least one piece of that acceptance came from Raimundo and Gilson, on the day I was starkly reminded that sometimes stunning positives come from scary or seemingly negative starts.

Leap and the net will appear.

Paulistinha

Lençóis: Day 3

2011-07-24T23:11:00.002-03:00

Let me preface my epic Day 3 recap by saying that this: Saturday the 16th would begin tranqüilo, but move on to irritating, then to dubious, then to distressing--but end up being, arguably, the best single day I have ever had traveling. Certainly it is the most thought-provoking.

I checked out of my room and put my bags in storage at 7am as I was heading to breakfast. I was expecting a jeep to pick me up at 8 or 8:15 for my inner tube tour of Rio Formiga (Ant River), which would be a 4-hour land-water-land escapade, before catching a bus back to São Luís in the afternoon. Tudo bem, tudo ótimo.

The jeep was late. After breakfast I killed some time pondering the different palm trees, armed with my new knowledge, and admiring the tropical plants.

A few at a time, all of the other pousada guests were collected for their various day trips as I sat in the garden. By nine-ish, I'm feeling mildly inconvenienced that I had rushed to check out, but no problem. Like the sign says "não estresse" (no stress)--they'll be here.

Shortly thereafter, the staff started making inquiring phone calls to the aforementioned and unrecommended tour company, who assured--every 20 minutes or so--"ele tá chegando!" This woefully overused expression means that "(he/she is, they are, I am) just arriving now," though I know better than to believe it. In reality, it almost always translates to "Have a seat. It's going to be a while."

Or in this case, never. The jeep never showed.

At 11am a man arrives in a white pickup truck. His name is Eduardo (Edu), he's probably about 25 years old and I get the immediate impression that he is not normally a driver or a guide.

Where's my jeep? Where are all the people that would become my new friends?

Our first stop is the local cooperative through which, I gather, all the various agencies network with each other to organize the details of which tourists will go with which drivers and guides. I am neither amused nor assured by the fact that the older woman, addressing Edu in a tone that was not nearly humorous enough for comfort, says something to the effect of: "This is your chance to prove yourself. Please be careful. Drive safely. Don't let anything happen to her."

This day is quickly getting worse. Should I bail out now?

Because I protested meekly to Edu and the woman about this not being the tour I had arranged and paid for, Edu drove me to my agency to discuss the matter with them. Well, he intended to, but we went to the wrong agency.

This is not reassuring.

I repeat the name of my agency, Maranhão Turismo. He shrugs. His lack of recognition is also not a good sign. I show him the itinerary that has the company's logo--a muddy bootprint--because I know I passed their office on the way into Barreirinhas the other day. A ficha caiu. The light goes on and we drive to the correct agency, coming very close to hitting a jeep en route.

This is also not reassuring.

I enter the agency and I'm starting to feel stressed and panicky. I'm over three hours behind schedule with an afternoon bus to catch, embarking on something completely different than the tour I paid for, with a driver who clearly has no experience as a guide and doesn't even know my agency (which is reciprocated in that the agent didn't know Edu either), and in the first 20 minutes we've already had a near-collision.

This really doesn't feel right. I need to be reassured.

The guy working at Maranhão Turismo, I didn't get his name, had no idea who I was or the situation that had unfolded that morning--which, given that there was obviously a flurry of phone calls about the matter, is completely ridiculous. Worse yet, after being brought up to speed on events, he denied that the company had forgotten to arrange my tour, absurdly claiming that there were no other tourists scheduled for Rio Formiga that day. "Therefore," he continued to BS, "uh, it must have taken some extra time, but hey, isn't it great that someone arranged a private tour for you?!" The guy did nothing to calm me or to fix the situation. Rather he approached Edu, introduced himself, and carried on a brief exchange that went more-or-less like this:

Hi! Who are you?
I'm Edu.
Where are you taking her?
Rio Formiga.
Ok, sounds good.
(to me) Don't worry! Have a good time!

I'm fuming and nervous, but I don't know what to do. So I get in the pickup.

We stop at someone's very modest home and Edu picks up a tractor tire inner tube. I ask him about the mask and snorkel.

What mask and snorkel?
The one that it says here will be provided to me for the river tour.
I don't have a mask and snorkel. Maybe you can rent one there.

I stay quiet in my burgeoning irritation coupled with fear.

(Let me jump ahead to note that, as Edu should have known, there was nothing where we were headed. Nothing. Least of all a place to rent masks and snorkels.)

We stop at a gas station to fill up Edu's truck and put air in the tube.

Is this for real?

The next hour is a bumpy ride along sand roads through nowhereland. Not in the funny, jeep-jostling, amusement park ride sorta way, but in the "D'oh! I'm trashing my vehicle on this road" sorta way. Edu doesn't offer any information on the area or where we are headed. The ride is silent except for the weird mix of forró and Lady Gaga. The internal monologue went something like this:

This is totally awkward.

Where are we headed?

This is exactly the type of situation a solo woman traveler always tries to avoid.

This is how women get kidnapped and held for ransom.

Or mutilated.

No one has any clue where I am.

Christ, I might be sold to human traffickers.

Nearing our destination, we pass three jeeps of rowdy, happy tourists on their way back to Barreirinhas.

I knew it!

Edu is lost. He asks a kid walking on the roadside for directions. We proceed. We make a wrong turn. We go back. We make another wrong turn. We go back and take the right road (after all, there were only three options). We come across the same kid and Edu asks him to help us find the river. We drive to the kid's house to ask his father's permission that he guide us. Tudo certo. Raimundo, a 16-year-old from Povoado de Cardosa, jumps in the back seat.

Ok, the kid looks harmless enough, but now we're picking up strangers?

A "povoado" is a very small, rural community. Not even a village. This one has, perhaps, 40 families, though most are spread out over a wide swath of forest. There is a school with 4 rooms. Classes are about 6 students each. The younger kids attend for four hours in the morning, older kids in the afternoon, and teens, like Raimundo, from 6-10pm. It was a lengthy drive between his home and the school, so I asked Raimundo how he gets there. He walks. How long does it take? An hour and forty minutes each way. I pause to consider what that must be like, especially during the "wet season" (six months of regular torrential rain).

Sometime after noon, Edu, Raimundo and I arrive at the departure point at the river and are soon joined by a inconvenienced-looking 14-year-old boy named Gilson, who will be my personal guide as I float downriver.

Poor kid probably didn't get lunch on account of the high-maintenance US tourist who is on her own schedule. Way to contribute to the stereotype, Jen. Great.

It would have been helpful if my tour company had warned me to leave everything at home as there is no infrastructure for tourists to store things or whatever. I strip down to my swimsuit, reluctantly leaving my Havaianas, clothes, purse, cell phone, camera, ID and money in Edu's truck. He's supposed to pick me up in an hour downriver.

Really, what could go wrong? Ok, well, fingers crossed.

This also explains why--much to my dismay--I have no pictures of the adventure. Damn it. This was one to remember too.

For the next hour, I floated and bobbed down the river with Gilson swimming along side. The first few minutes were quiet, though I tried to crack some jokes to let him know I wasn't some princess that expects people to say "How high?" as I command them to jump. He smiled subtly a couple times and I realized that his expressions had been more motivated by the awkwardness of adolescence than by contempt. I began asking questions about the trees, snakes, anything I could think of. With each answer he softened a little more, sometimes chuckling gently at my ignorance. Eventually he took the lead as teacher: he would climb up the river bank here and there to highlight the spot where the water runs clearest; to point out that one type of grassy plant had leaves as sharp as knives; that the lily flower only opens at night but he knew a trick to show me what they look like; and, by contrast, the Victoria Regia in the Pantanal, have large thorns on the bottom of them--making them stable enough to walk on. Gilson explained that one particular tree was called "paciência" (patience) because it takes so long to grow, and that the woodpecker-like parrot atop the dead Buruti trees were called Jandaya.

As we rounded a bend near the exit point, I saw some little girls splashing in the water. When they saw me they squealed "a turista! a turista!" (the girl tourist!) alerting everyone down river to our arrival. I shot a grin toward Gilson, which he returned with a half-smile that revealed his minor embarrassment over the girls' frank fascination with my foreign-ness. Catching up to them, I told them to jump on the tube and splashed about with them for a few minutes before climbing out of the river, with seven of them practically attached to my limbs.

Waiting for me at the riverside was Dona Rainha (Madam Queen), pregnant, tooth-deficient, in her mid-20s, and a shrewd businesswoman. She was immediately all up in my grill with a coconut full of homemade hooch. I shot a glance at Edu (who, thankfully, had appeared) and Gilson, both of whom responded with a look that communicated one-half pity and one-half curiosity over my next move. I thanked Dona Rainha and took a swig with such dramatics that my tiny sip appeared larger. Then came the sales pitch. Would I like to buy some placemats woven from palm?

"Lady, I don't even know where I'll be living in a month--I certainly don't have a table and dinnerware," I thought to myself.

Ok then, how about some doce de bacurí?

I bought one for me and one for Edu, in the spirit of generosity, and left her the change for the R$10 (US$6), knowing that a non-gringa would have walked away with half a dozen little cups of jam. For what it's worth, I know that R$10 is what Gilson's dad earned for instructing him to accompany me in my off-hour tour. I know that R$10, in these parts, is a lot.

I only got two pictures before Edu hustled me, Raimundo, and Gilson into the pickup--he was more concerned than I was about catching the afternoon bus.

Dona Rainha on my right (marketing her wares), Raimundo on my left, and Gilson in the green shirt.

After dropping Gilson at his family's home in the center of the povoado (about eight homes clustered together), we set off toward the more remote location of Raimundo's place. I continued to ask Raimundo questions about his family, his life, his futebol team (Flamengo) and he happily indulged my curiosity. We came to a fork in the road where we needed to turn left for Barreirinhas, but Raimundo's place was a few minutes off to the right. Edu stopped and basically (rather dismissively, I felt) told Raimundo to get out. Raimundo looked shocked and quietly protested for a second, because apparently that wasn't the deal. Edu shoved a couple reais at him and said we were in a hurry because I had a plane to catch.

Wow, that was a really jerky thing to do, even I'm insulted.

Speechless, I swiveled to face Raimundo as he opened the door, giving him a look that was as much stunned as apologetic. He closed the door hard and Edu sped off as the heat rose into my cheeks. There was barely a word on the long drive back.

The lack of conversation didn't bother me since I had a lot to think about. In addition to the education I got from what Gilson and Raimundo had told me, what was unspoken was just as enlightening. Marcante is the word in Portuguese that most aptly describes the effect the day had; something along the lines of striking, influential, extraordinary, compelling.

By no means do I want to make them sound like simpletons, but their knowledge, like their reality, was (and will probably always be) so different than mine. Neither had ever heard of Chicago: it's quite inconsequential to them. And while I believe TV has made inroads to the most rural of regions, there is still no internet. Barreirinhas, with roughly 48,000 inhabitants, is likely as big a town as they will ever see (if they ever go there), and by comparison to Povoado de Cardosa, no doubt, would feel like a city to them.

I continued listing all the differences later, on the 4-hour bus ride back to São Luís.

I had spotted a condom wrapper in shallow water of the otherwise pristine river. Lest I get lost in the innocent appearance of these "povoados" and project upon them an image of a sheltered, paradisical existence, I started to contemplate the juxtaposition of their unhurried lives and lush landscapes with some of the darker issues that, I know, plague many rural areas in Brazil, particularly in the north. There are huge problems with trafficking (both drugs and people), intimidation, domestic violence, child prostitution, and poverty, among others.

Then, as if to underscore the overwhelming psychological impact of the day, I checked into my room at the Rio Poty Hotel and discovered my balcony and pool/ocean view.

It was beautiful. But what about six hours ago? It seemed so decadent and unnecessary.

Serendipitously, while zapeando (channel-flipping) later that evening, I stumbled upon Anthony Bourdain in Namibia. In his final comment (at 12 min 55 sec), made in a taxi in New York City after he spent several days living among an indian tribe in the desert, he perfectly summarized the thing kicking around in my head. "Are we better off?....I don't know. I really don't."

In the end, what started out as a day spiraling downward became the most enlightening travel experience I've ever had. Were it not for my tour company's negligence, I would never have had such an insightful encounter. Surely I would have bonded with other like-minded travelers and bobbed down the river accompanied by their banter. Instead, I was educated by two teenage boys, Raimundo and Gilson, and the unlikely event of our briefly intersecting paths.

Impressionada.

Paulistinha

Lençóis: Day 2

2011-07-22T20:21:00.012-03:00

I was collected bright and early on Day 2 by an empty jeep for a tour of the Rio Preguiça (lazy river), which would be a full day event. We collected other passengers around the village, though none were the friends I made on the Day 1 tour. I eyed passing tour boats now and then, hoping to catch up with my buddies along the way. I saw one boat (well, heard a bunch of yelping from one boat) that, I was convinced, carried my companheiros: alas, I never did find them.

My new companions were far more tame, though friendly enough, and whatever disappointment I had melted away once aboard the speedboat, rushing along the river on the gorgeous, sunny Thursday morning.

The day's agenda was to travel to the sea via the river, stopping along the way at Vassouras, at the penninsula of Caburé where the Rio Preguiças meets the Atlantic, and at Mandacarú, where there's a lighthouse offering spectacular views of the river, the sea, a village, miles of lush terrain, and even a bit of Lençóis.

Side note: at sixteen (and the years that followed), I loved to be in the driver's seat. Now, driving is ok now and then--I don't mind. But being a passenger is the best. I like to stare out the window and contemplate the scenery and whatever thoughts are dominating the day. I love taxi rides. Friends with cars. I love plane rides. And, I discovered, I really love mad jeeps and boats!

After about an hour on the wide river we veered onto a side street, if you will.

TREES! Spectacular trees, with thousands of arching branches that curved back into the river seeking muddy, watery roots! Our guide taught us a lot about the vegetation and I have an entirely new respect for the many different varieties of palm trees. I never gave much thought to the different sizes and shapes before, but ever since, I notice them more. And now I know, for example, that the buriti has the most durable palms and is typically used to roof shelters and to make goods like placemats, purses, etc.

Some of them even grow yellow coconuts. Perhaps all coconuts begin yellow, but if that's the case, then I never saw them so young.

Out of the tree tunnel, we saw a hut across the water where the dunes meet the forest. This is Vassouras, our first stop.

At first I thought the makeshift bench and tree branches ruined an otherwise perfectly vacant sandscape. I came to like it though, finding it kinda artsy. Perhaps the purpose is to create a visual landmark so that when you're wandering the sandy hills, you know where you need to aim on the return. Just an uneducated city-girl hypothesis.

The entire area is an environmental preserve, and Vassouras is simply a hut tucked away there where tourists and local fisherman can stop to stretch, laze in a hammock, take in the views atop the dunes (where the sea is visible, unlike our stop in Lençóis where the sea was 50km of sand dunes away), and refresh with an água de coco or a light snack.

They keep lots of animals too, who are very accustomed to, and hospitable toward, visitors--mostly in the name of earning scraps like leftover coconuts.

Monkeys! They are fickle though. Hard to photograph. Always on the move and if you're not offering the goods, they have no time for you. (I know some people like that too!)

This is the bartenders pet... raccoon (type...thing...)? Same rule applies.

I'm sorry, I forgot your name, pretty bird.

Our next stop, a quick one to order our lunch, was in Caburé. Then we bolted off for a swim where the mouth of the river opens to the sea. Luxo total. Total luxury, floating in shallow, warm, clear water and collecting seashells along the shore.

This is the life.

It's so pretty here: so humble, so natural, so undeveloped, so pristine. Even the speed boats of tourists were few and far between and there was no trace of pollution from us, or them.

I enjoyed that, despite my intention to use this trip to put all my thoughts about moving in order, to reflect on everything I've done and seen in three-plus years in Brazil, I didn't think at all. I just existed and enjoyed. I was simply carried along on an amazing journey, away from noise and choices, philosophizing amid disturbances. What calm--and what fun! (So this is what They mean when They advise us to "live in the moment"--huh.) What was I saying? Oh, yeah. It was so sunny.

Back on the boat on another "side street" that our guide chose in order to show us something. If you click on the picture, perhaps you can see the bubbles in the shady part of the water.

Those aren't bubbles. Those are eyes!

They belong to dozens (we saw hundreds, actually) of fish that jump like frogs across the water. Close up to follow.

We returned to Caburé to eat lunch and had some extra time to swim, again, this time in the open sea just across the dune. There were 4-wheel mini-buggies for rent if one was inclined to go racing along the shoreline. I was happy to play in the waves...

...and with the dead fish. Look! It was one of those frog-like jumping fish who had obviously lost his way and paid the price. I thank him, posthumously, for giving me a chance to investigate and learn.

Look at the teeth! Too late for the orthodontist.

He looks like he had something left to say in this life, no? "But... I... uuggghhh"--dead.

He's cute though, in that last-picked-for-the-team kinda way.

As I was playing, err, conducting my scientific study, a bird circled. We eyed each other. I don't speak bird so I couldn't advise him that I had already eaten, so he was welcome to depart with his lunch. I'm sure he figured it out later. But first, The Staredown... a triangle of nature: human (sneaking in off screen), bird (left), and defenseless fish (right).

Then it was off to the Farol de Mandacarú (the lighthouse).

Not to be missed views, as advertised.

On the way back to the boat for the last ride, we stopped for ice cream. I thought this little boy was adorable, though he seemed agitated that the Guaraná Jesus can was empty, and he scowled at me for not sharing my ice cream.

I also admired the locals' resourcefulness, crafting a walkway out of empty bottles stuck neck-down in the sand. Clever.

Another hour on the speedboat and we were back in Barreirinhas, where I enjoyed a few beers and a rising full moon along the riverfront, surrounded by quirky, relaxed, unpretentious locals. This is my kind of night.

Another brilliant day in Maranhão. One more, em seguida...

Paulistinha Maranhense

Lençóis: Day 1

2011-07-21T20:21:00.011-03:00

Arriving in Barreirinhas midday, I checked into the simple but comfy pousada (inn) Paraíso das Aguas. Shortly thereafter, Elinete and the driver of a 12-seater jeep picked me up for my afternoon tour of the grand attraction.

I hadn't expected the commuting part of my tours to be so much fun, but they were a blast! It was like being on one of those log rides at an amusement part, with lots of jostling about, splashing, and laughter. I had nine other Day 1 companions, all Brazilian. There was a couple (origin unknown), an older man from Rio, and a family of six--comprised of a mother, her 20-something kids, Isabela and Mateus (I think), the mother's sister, and a gay uncle and his partner, all from the Paraná countryside. They were an absolute laugh riot and I could tell very quickly that I would enjoy their company.

From Barreirinhas we drove along some sand trails until we reached a good size lake.

We got off the jeep and waited for our turn on the barge that would take us across to the other side.

There, we got back on the jeep and sped off into more thrilling terrain, bouncing our way along, making sharp curves and driving through ponds so deep they reached the windshield. The ten of us were squealing like children the whole way, getting splashed and rowdy, and I was totally delighted by this unexpected entertainment.

Perhaps an hour after leaving the pousada, we arrived at the edge of the dunes.

We got caught up for a few minutes at the first lagoon, already thrilled and not realizing how many more--larger, more diverse, more beautiful--lay just beyond the peak.

I took over a hundred photos, and that's not including the ones I deleted on the spot, and I still can't really give you a sense, nem pelas fotos nem pelas palavras, of what it's like to stand there amidst all those pristine, white, temporary-yet-permanent mounds of sand, with even more temporary pools of pure rain.

It was stunning.

It was everything I expected it to be, as well as things I hadn't considered: the softness of the white sand, the warmth of the lagoons, the pure blue of the endless sky--with a clear 360-degree view.

We climbed and descended, cooling ourselves in pools that were every shade of blue and green and in between.

After a few hours, which passed by so quickly, all the different groups that were roaming the dunes gathered atop one to watch the sunset.

Being in love with the moon, I timed this voyage to coincide with the full moon during my stay in Lençóis. The donkey (or whatever) was a bonus.

To top off all the fun, we asked our driver that our return trip be "com emoção!" (Ha, as if the route there hadn't been!) Literally, "with emotion," but it means: "Hell yeah we want a thrill ride! Put the pedal to the metal man!"

He did not disappoint. We whooped and hollered our approval and egged him on to be ever-more daring with our screams and applause. We raced past other jeeps and swerved off onto a different trail than the masses, our driver determined to please with a first place finish!

Then we got stuck in one of the a muddy ponds.

Eventually another jeep came along and gave us a quick tow, which was also met with lots of cheering and antics on our part. Elinete, at first shocked and unsure how to handle the predicament, later laughed with us and shared that in over 3 years that she'd been working with these tours, she'd never heard of a single jeep getting stuck. Woo hoo! Wheeee!

We got a little muddy too. Excellent!

Waiting for our turn on the barge, we hung out under a palm-roof hut where a woman was making tapioca and a man was selling beer. "Uma doce, uma salgado, e uma Skol, favor!"

Eventually, we arrived back at my pousada and I was the first of the group--now old friends--to depart. We all said our "tchau's" and "até amanhã", since I would theoretically see them all in the morning for our next tour: Rio Preguiças. Had I known that I wouldn't see them the next day, or again for that matter, I would have asked to meet up with them in town for a nightcap and an email exchange. Sigh. Enfim...

Man that was an incredible day.

São Luís: a rant

2011-07-20T19:33:00.007-03:00

I returned on Monday (4 days earlier than planned, but I'll get to that) from the small city of São Luís, Maranhão (a UNESCO World Heritage site) and the national park Lençóis (the Portuguese word for "sheets"; picture white bedsheets blowing in the wind, except instead of cotton, they are made of the whitest of sand). The trip has been highly ranked on my Hot List for quite some time, but had been delayed on the grounds of expense and seasonality. Now, though, there were three reasons that it was time to cough up the dough and change my travel style a bit--from 100% mochileira (backpacker) to tour group participant/hotel guest.

1. I expected to adore both places, particularly Lençóis, which I imagined as nothing short of magical.

2. I thought it was the best way to commemorate my birthday, the 4th here in Brazil. And birthday aside, I wanted to do something big before I left.

3. It's the right time of year to go (June-August), just after the rainy season when the lagoons in the desert are full of crystalline rain water, perfect for refreshing dips between sand dune hikes.

Even though it was just a week, I have much to tell and many pictures to share. Unfortunately, the story begins with a negative review of the city of São Luís. The best moments of the first 60 hours, unbeknownst to me at the time, would be sipping Devassa Tropical Lager at Campinas airport waiting to depart. (Meow! Yes, that catty tone is going to remain throughout this post.)

I found many tours online that included airfare, accommodation, ground transport to/from the village of Barreirinhas (the most common base for exploring the national park), as well as day tours of São Luís and Alcântara, and several jeep and boat trips into Lençóis and the surrounding area.

These are freaking expensive.

Ok, that's subjective, but from my position as a solo traveler staying in hotels and paying double occupancy, as well as meals priced to be shared...ouch. With the benefit of hindsight though, next time I would do that--an organized tour start to finish.* As it was, I found that I ended up paying about the same even though I found my own airfare, booked three nights in a hostel in São Luís, and purchased my own 3-day Lençóis tour package with Maranhão Turismo, all with a lot more hassle. Mistake number 1.

Mistake number 2 was staying in the Hostelling International property Solar das Pedras. I avoid HI properties whenever possible because I generally find them to be lacking in character with overly-stoic staff and not-my-kinda-guest. I much prefer independent hostels and the fun-loving, renegade travelers I meet at them. Solar das Pedras was the only hostel in town though, and was much cheaper than my alternatives.

Don't stay there.

Reasons:

It was extremely difficult to make a reservation. What should have been a simple, straightforward process was tedious and annoying which involved a series of attempts at completing their online reservation form as well as a handful of follow-up emails. Completely uncoordinated.
The staff was unhelpful (if I'm being generous), and downright rude (if I'm being honest). The man and woman who run the place sleep on a mattress behind the check-in counter. Perhaps they don't sleep well and that explains why it is nearly impossible to eke a smile out of them.
Forget about receiving any tips on what to see or do, how to get around, or where to find anything: no one speaks a word of English (which, fortunately wasn't a problem for me, but still), nor are there any signs on the wall, covering the basics, to compensate for this fact.
Relatedly, no useful and customary information is provided (in any language, whether verbally or with signage; e.g. directions to the bus station, a grocery store, internet café, recommended local restaurant, etc.) even when specifically prompted. I asked the woman, in Portuguese of course, if there was a restaurant or market nearby. She responded, in the flat and unhospitable tone I came to learn was her usual demeanor, "to the right." Umm, ok, a block? Four? On the left side or right? Does this place have a name? What am I looking for, a restaurant or a market? Nada. I asked for clarification and her dead eyes just looked at me as if to say I was pushing my luck. I walked out shaking my head, and never did find anywhere to purchase food--cooked or uncooked--to the right. Not within several blocks, in fact, so it was a good thing I had thrown a few protein bars in my suitcase.
Even though I should have known better, the next day, I asked her for directions to the mall (which, incidentally, conveys how much I disliked the city). She muttered "bus terminal". Duh. Could you be more specific? No. Of course you can't.
I was eaten alive by ferocious mini-mosquitos at night, which at first I feared were bed bugs. I don't think it's fair to fault a place for the nature that gets in, but it is noteworthy that I didn't experience this elsewhere during the remainder of the trip despite being in far more lush surroundings.
The last straw, to which I confess I got a little pissy, was Wednesday morning. I was up, packed, and out of the room at 6:45 because the minibus to Lençóis was due to pick me up at 7am. I set my luggage by the front door--at which point the woman sleeping behind the counter stirs, looks at me, rolls over and goes back to sleep. I sit and wait until 7am, when the included hostel breakfast (sure, we'll call it "breakfast") service is supposed to begin. Dining area still dark and shuttered, I knock on the locked door that leads to the guest and staff kitchens to ask if I can heat up some water for my coffee. Not leaving something as important as my morning caffeine to chance, I was prepared with coffee-in-a-teabag and my own cup in hand. Another woman, who is preparing said breakfast, opens the door a crack and denies me access to the hot water. Oh-no-she-dit-ant! Jump ahead to 7:15, breakfast still not "open" and minibus still not there, and the man-manager returns from the market, wherever that is. I complain to him about not being permitted to get coffee or hot water despite it being well past 7am. The woman-manager gets out of bed and, speaking at him and not at me, dismissively says that my bus won't arrive until 7:45 anyway. I correct her, "no, they said 7am." She relays the message, again directed at him and not me, that my tour company called and changed the pickup time. "Really!? When?!" I indignantly inquire. "Last night while she was at dinner," she responds to the man. Now I was pissed, which I made no attempt to hide. (After all, she had seen me return from dinner [while she was whining her opinions of the evening novela to the television in an empty room, as if it would change the inane plot to do so], and could easily have relayed the message then, not only for its pertinence but for the extra hour of sleep!) He got the door to the kitchen open and I got my coffee, at least.

Ok, moving on from the crappy hostel experience, I thought the city of São Luís was a huge letdown. Yes, there are plenty of examples of colonial architecture though I didn't think they were well-preserved in the least. This street is the absolute best I found in two days of wandering. And what you see is what you get.

Granted, the streets look more charming at night (when you don't see how many of the buildings--such as this entire block save the mauve one on the right--are nothing more than ruinous façades). That is, I was advised, until the wee small hours of a Friday or Saturday night when empty bottles fill the cobblestone lanes and the smell of urine overwhelms the senses.

It's not a clean city. The sidewalks are in terrible condition. Their proud historic center felt as sketchy as it looked. I found myself wondering what on Earth the UNESCO people were thinking when they designated it as a world heritage site. (So much, in fact, that I actually researched the selection criteria when I returned, well, for a few minutes until I got bored.) If the city is receiving preservation funds, it appears those funds are winding up elsewhere.

Here's a charming shot of a home in the middle of this "Heritage Site": a sheet of paper near the doorbell of the small home advertises soda and hot toddies for sale, while the family's undergarments dry on the bars of the street-level front window. Classy.

My adverse reaction to the city created an immediate problem. I had planned to spend six days there after my time in Lençóis and now, there was no way that was going to happen. I frantically researched options to extend my time in Lençóis or to travel to the Delta do Parnaíba in Piauí, to no avail. By the end of my first day in São Luís I had choked up the cash to change my return flight, cutting my trip four days short, and made a reservation for a decent hotel on the beach-side of São Luís (as opposed to the "historical city center" where the hostel was located) for the last two nights.

If you know me personally, you already know that I'm an anti-mall person. Yet I was so uninspired by the town that I ended up whiling away a chunk of Day 2 at a mall, and a crappy mall at that--though purportedly the city's best. Naturally. At least I found some additions to my collection of entertaining signs. First, the Winter 2011 Collection!

Yes, of bathing suits. Such is life on the Equator.

Please remember, however, that swimsuits (trajes de banho) are not appropriate attire in the mall. Well, maybe if you're petite and sporting the famous Brazilian fio dental ("dental floss", a thong bikini) an exception can be made.

Also on the up side, I experimented with the local obsession Guaraná Jesus, the bubble-gum like cola that is a regional staple. Even sweeter than it looks.

Lastly, I had a nice dinner and some beers with a cool traveler I met, Phin. Coincidentally, he's from Tunbridge Wells in Kent, near where I lived in England in 2001--which provided some fun conversation in addition to swapping strange travel tales.

Fortunately, my three days in Lençóis were about to make the disappointment of São Luís totally worthwhile.

Paulistinha

[*Travel Tips: Now that I've been to the region, I would recommend doing a tour that begins in Fortaleza and moves along the coast, making stops in Jericoacoara, Delta do Parnaíba, Barreirinhas (Lençóis), and Alcântara, but leaving just one day in São Luís (and Fortaleza too, from what I hear). I do not recommend the tour company I used. Rather I recommend Caetês Turismo--Elinete, my guide on Day 1, was fantastic, or EcoDunas Turismo--I never met Marinete, but according to the pousada staff, she was responsible for the success of Day 1 & 2, and the salvage of Day 3.]

Birthday

2011-07-19T23:11:00.005-03:00

Just a short post about my fourth birthday na terra brasileira before I get to the vacation posts.

So, I came back yesterday from Maranhão with a cold or a sinus infection or something, so today was low key. Given the three perfect days I had in Lençóis though, that's fine with me. Just a simple breakfast of kiwi and pear, fresh-squeezed lima-de-persia juice and coffee, pancakes and eggs.

Surely though, as I made them myself, my pancakes couldn't compare to the delicious and perfect ones that Fernando made me last year.

A sunny day, 30 degrees Celsius, and I headed to Parque Ibirapuera for a leisurely stroll and a few hours of quiet time with my book. Smiles came in the form of cotton candy and a guy sweeping the road with a palm branch...

...and another pretty tree... this time a bamboo I think, but it was bigger than most I've seen, with some trunks nearly a foot wide!

I took the rainbow in the fountain as a good sign for the year ahead.

Paulistinha 37

Taka min yando?!

2011-07-18T23:11:00.000-03:00

I have been sorrowfully lazy lately. A function of stress and winter. The good news is, I know from experience, when I get back to the exercise habit after an indulgent absence, that first good jog feels incredible.

Perhaps when I get back from my trip, I'll break back into the Zesty Life with another Paulista pleasure--night running in Parque Ibirapuera.

Total feel-good vibe.

The subject reminds me of a story. Me, sozinha, a rental apartment in Praia Brava, Florianópolis, May 2007. That's off season, you see, being the beginning of conceptual "winter"--though I still spent my days in my swimsuit--so there was hardly anyone around. Moreover, Praia Brava is not very accessible without a car, so basically, I spent a fortune on a taxi to and from a supermarket on Day 2 of my 10-day holiday, where I armed myself to the teeth with food and wine. Feito.

At that time, I still had a 50-word Portuguese vocabulary. Still, I made friends with the only living soul around, the young porteiro (the guard at the gated complex), Ricardo. I remember telling him (well, elaborating via charades, really) the recent news story involving Lisa Nowak. That was when I learned, after a great deal of gesturing, that the Portuguese word for diapers is fraldas, a hard-won boost to my vocabulary that I never forgot.

One day as I left the complex, waving Tchau! to Ricardo, he called out to me from his booth:

Taka min yando?

...or was it

Taka min yando!

I paused, confused. I quickly scanned through my shortlist to find anything, anything, similar...nope, nada, I have no idea what he's saying to me.

He repeats himself:

Taka min yando? (or !)

...numerous times, and now I am convinced he's speaking Japanese. I nod a weak "uh-huh" and smile in agreement with...whatever...and shuffle off... still repeating the syllables to myself, futilely, in the hope of discovering their significance.

Months later, sitting in class at Brazil In Chicago, I learned that the verb conjugations of "estar" (one form of "to be") are almost always shortened in spoken Portuguese: estou (I am) becomes tô, está (you are) becomes tá, similarly to the English trimming of gonna, havta, wanna, et cetera. A ficha caiu. A light goes on.

Tá caminhando?

Are you going for a walk?

Another unforgettable lesson. And, yes, I think I will.

Pretty

2011-07-17T11:11:00.001-03:00

One of my favorite things about Brazil, from the beginning to the coming end (of Part One, at least), is all of the strange trees and flowers. Winter bloomers. Strange ones. Thorny ones. Colorful ones. They always add pleasure to my day. Allow me to share.

And the way the light plays on them...

Beautiful.

Ka-ching!

2011-07-14T23:11:00.001-03:00

"Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water." --W.C. Fields

(Remember?)

I've already stated that I own (nearly) one corkscrew for every suitcase, as it should be. I'm exploring São Luis at the moment, but I've left the corkscrew behind. Being at the equator, I figured I'd like some cold brews instead. As such I have packed my beloved Popener.

While I'm on the road, as has become my custom, I'll clean out the pending pile.

There's a joke in the film Best In Show about a couple who meets because they have dough-eyed each other from two Starbucks cafés that they frequent, which are located across the street from one another. Here in São Paulo, the Starbucks aren't that prevalent--yet--but the banks are. It's not a great shot because I was on the bus at the time, but this is a picture of an Itaú bank on Paulista, with another Itaú, literally, across the street. (Note the smaller orange sign toward the lower right.)

The Federal Lottery: "The easiest way to get rich."

Well you had better be rich if you plan to buy cherries, at R$58,76 (almost US$40) for a few handfuls.

Or blueberries. US$12.

Or OH's! US$9-something.

Which, by comparison, are $3.19 in Chicago, last I checked.

This bland 1976 Chevette is going for a mere R$10,000. That's about US$6,600. Yikes.

I digress, but here are a couple more packages I found entertaining. File under Sound Effect Marketing.

Cola Drop candy: "Humm! Show! Ahhh!"

Tutti Frutti candy: "Poosh!"

I'm out.

Going for broke in Brazil!

More strange stuff in Liberdade

2011-07-11T23:11:00.001-03:00

What can I say? It just never gets old to me, going to the markets in Liberdade and looking at all the stuff.

Yum, a to-go box from my favorite Chinese noodle and Japanese sushi place, Banri.

The burning question on these mini-missons is "What to buy?"

I took a pass on the Not-so Fresh Pie. Even if it is "NOW", I doubted it's my kind of instant gratification.

Is that a daikon the size of a yardstick? Why, yes. Yes it is. Whatever a daikon is.

Happy Promise Custard Cakes? Nah.

What the heck is Musk Melon?

I almost bought the corn candies, just because.

But as I grabbed the bag to inspect them, I was surprised (and not in a pleasant way) to notice they were like gummies, not the hard candy I expected. Oh, surely not. I returned them immediately to their hook. Gummy corn? Shiver.

I settled on some Doctor Peanut candies. No buyer's remorse.

I've been going to Liberdade more frequently lately, for something else strange. I've started acupuncture treatments to cope with the present stress of the approaching life change, which, I must say, is helpful and I am thoroughly enjoying. I had never heard of the technique of taping tiny seeds in the ears though--known as auricular therapy.

Ever the fashion plate, this is what I'm walking around like...

Further stress treatment to follow, in the form of Lençóis Maranhenses.

Fui!

Pictures of Anthony Taking Pictures

2011-07-09T22:35:00.011-03:00

My friend Anthony flew up from Porto Alegre last weekend for a quick visit. It was great to have him here--I accomplish more and have more pep in my step, these days, when I have someone to show around the city.

We started off with a late lunch on Saturday at the Praça Benedito Calixto street fair, where there are great food vendors selling classic Brazilian fare, from pastel to acarajé. The custom is to grab a small plate of your choice and stand around in the middle of the park, nibbling nosh and sipping cerveja, while listening to the live chorinho band. It's a very good way to while away a couple Saturday afternoon hours in São Paulo.

Satiated, we jumped a bus to Avenida Paulista.

It was at this point that I decided to show my readers a different side of São Paulo: my one-woman exhibit, "Pictures of Anthony Taking Pictures." (Some of the photos posted herein, regrettably, stray from the theme due to poor photo[grapher] quality. A pity, really, because I found much humor in my idea of a post entirely of Pictures of Anthony Taking Pictures. Sigh.)

Dodgy Photographer

Just seconds post-picture-snapping...at the top of Paulista.

The "Puppy" restaurant. Lord, I hope not.

We took a stroll through Parque Trianon--which feels 100 miles from perhaps the most famous and bustling business street in all of South America, though it's separated by just 10 meters of sidewalk.

Super zen.

We stopped at Starbucks. Admittedly, since moving to São Paulo, you can find me at one of the various franchises in a 2-mile radius of my pad, a few times a week. (I sold out and I don't care. Venti Sugar Free Hazelnut Americano, I adore thee.) Anthony, however, hasn't been to one in years, as the chain has yet to infiltrate Porto Alegre. We went twice in his 48-hour visit.

This is the one I used to always lose track of. Now I've memorized it: Almeida Campinas and Almeida Santos.

We took the metrô. Anthony appreciated it as much as I do.

Especially the very cool Estação Sé, where two subway lines intersect and there's a neat cut-out feature that allows you to watch the buzz of commuters on the different levels.

You'll spot Anthony Taking a Picture, upper left.

...and there's a piano, with a sign inviting anyone to sit and play. (There almost always is someone playing, I've noticed. On this particular visit, there was a guy reminiscent of one of the Nuttin' But Strings brothers.) I think this is a very clever initiative.

We went to Terraço Itália and caught a glimpse of its famous look-out over the São Paulo skyline, though not the full 360 degrees, as someone with a hella-lot of money was having their wedding reception there that evening.

I finally managed to have a Brahma at the institution Bar Brahma at Ipiranga and São João in República. Charming boteco but terrible chopp.

We bolted back to my Vila Mada for kafta espetinhos and caipirinha.

Later still, we went where I know the chopp is second to none: Filial. Brahma Black. Delicious.

This is the right way to end a night!

The next morning Anthony went on a city tour while I took more pictures of strange products in Liberdade (next post). He met me there in the afternoon and we went for shiatsu massages. Incidentally, his=good, mine=awful. Ouch.

Redemption, however, came in the form of potstickers and vegetable tempura at the Sunday street fair.

Later that evening the temperature dropped and it grew windy. After our marathon, we indulged in the warm shelter of a mall for a movie, a leisurely dinner and a bottle of wine.

We parted company on Monday after an American style breakfast of homestyle potatoes and omelets, feito em casa, for 4th of July.

That was fun. Thanks, Anthony!

On the light side (II)

2011-06-28T03:35:00.002-03:00

When Shelley was in town we went strolling in Ibirapuera park. There, on a gorgeous afternoon, we stumbled upon a bigtime runway show for the opening of São Paulo Fashion Week. A little surreal to see a bunch of mega-models and paparazzi all over the place, but interesting.

There's a picole (popsicle) place near my apartment. They have every fruit flavor you can imagine and many you cannot. I tried the ginger. Yum! So yum that I got it again on my second visit even though I realized it was a disservice to my adventure-loving taste buds.

Remember my breakfast-cohort-in-havaianas, Mr. Sugary Cereal? Here's Mr. Chocolate Ball. Slightly more formal, with smart shoes and a bowtie, he juggles his friends, but it looks like everyone's having a good time.

Funny enough, it was a Brazilian that first taught me about the USAmerican cartoon Wacky Races or (much more fun), in Portuguese, A Corrida Maluca. On an early trip here, of course I ran right out and bought the DVD box set thinking (erroneously) that it would be a good learning tool. Not for an undisciplined beginner, it wasn't. Anyway, I donated them to the language school. Maybe one cold winter weekend I'll borrow them and have a Corrida Maluca marathon with my comforter and some hot chocolate. That sounds nice.

I digress. In the meantime, back in São Paulo...

One of the elevators in my apartment building: notice the button to detonate The Bomb on the upper left. Under what circumstance am I supposed to use this? Stumbling in after a hard night out on the town? When I want to let everyone know I'm having a sassy day?

Oh, it's just to summon the Bombeiros (firemen)? I see.

On the light side

2011-06-27T02:43:00.009-03:00

Believe me, I'm no Pollyanna. I get as frustrated with certain events or cultural nuances here in Brazil as I used to in the US. My policy, though, is to leave it off the blog. Some thoughts (or observations, or reactions) aren't worth documenting--putting out there in the NetVerse for, potentially, years to come.

That will, however, explain one part of the recent gaps in posting.

[Beware: Kermit's in a bad mood too.]

So while I sort out my thoughts and find where I left my mojo, please enjoy more of the great street art I have discovered around town.

A Saci painting on the sidewalk in República in central São Paulo (where I would very much like to buy a modest little vintage apartment someday, sigh). O Saci also happens to be the mascot for my darlings, Internacional. Certainly, you can image my, umm, shock when, during my first trip to Brazil in 2005 I discovered this connection. Not knowing, at the time, the leprechaun-like, folkloric, legendary status of the character--I just thought it politically incorrect and grossly insensitive to have a one-legged little black kid smoking a "magic pipe" as a soccer team mascot. Ahhh, just remembering that early lesson in Brazilian culture makes me smile. Needed that.

Now my Dad guards my Saci doll at his office, for luck.

Check out the metal work on this, the neatest world map I've ever seen. First, a look up close...

...at a bit of a distance...

...and from the street.

The remnants of this old tree have been made more colorful with recyclables. Clever.

Doo-bee-doo-bee-doo...

What an enchanting little diversion...

The tiled mosaic on the sidewalk, aptly, in front of a café.

Ahh, but no more caffeine for this artist, please.

Thanks, Maureen!

2011-06-13T23:32:00.005-03:00

Maureen is very thoughtful. When she arrived, on her birthday, she brought me a present!

I find Brazilians to be entertainingly particular about temperature. Beer is for hot weather, while red wine is, exclusively, for cold weather--like soup and fondue. And slippers.

See, now, I'm a little more whimsical with my interpretations of hot/cold appropriateness. Red wine and slippers are every day pleasures, as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, the delineation explains why, on my last, autumnal visit to Porto Alegre, my search for new Internacional slippers was unsuccessful. Maureen remembered. Hard-soled, pleathery, and totally grandpa-esque, this pair is as cool as can be! Thanks, Maureen!

I enjoyed showing Maureen some of my favorite haunts (Mercado Municipal, Casa Club, Praça Benedito Calixto, República, Sé, Vila Madalena) and crossing a few things off my To See list (like the monk-cakes at São Bento).

As usual, I learned a few things...

This is jaborandi. You can make shampoo or lotion with it. The oil is good for the skin (and hair, it would seem).

This is the way to start your day.

There is a phone booth (the lime green thing in the lower right corner) inside the cemetery. (Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters. duh.)

This interesting façade (just two blocks from my apartment--though I never noticed it), is actually a house of ill repute. We discovered this golden nugget late one evening when, as we drove past in a taxi, Maureen asked the driver what it was and he stuttered and stammered for a moment. "Como é que eu posso lhe dizer?" he meekly replied, before we all broke out in laughter: "aiii, já sabemos!"

I learned that, aside from being a super-chic mall with prices to match, you can bring your dog to Shopping Pátio Higienópolis. Everybody else is doing it.

I did not, however, figure out what Dried Jew's Mallow is.

Until, that is, I Googled it just now. Not only do I know, but now I've learned that Canadian Gary Barwin, like me, is a sucker for packaging.

Paulistinha

Cha cha cha cha changes...

2011-06-07T15:18:00.013-03:00

I've been in a weird space for a couple months now, knowing that I might be nearing the end of My Life In Havaianas. I have been wrestling with a lot of "shoulds"--and I believe that whenever I find myself uttering "should," an examination is required.

I adore São Paulo and am not ready to leave it, especially yet-so-unexplored and unconquered. On the other hand, I put a lot of faith in things I perceive as signs. My intuition--when followed--is almost always validated. When I first traveled to Porto Alegre and felt a twinge of home... When I moved there in March 2008, laughing in the face of uncertainty, and everything fell into place so effortlessly... When I moved to São Paulo last year and landed in the perfect neighborhood with generous and caring new friends as roomies... Brazil has always felt right.

Well, almost always.

This year has been a bigger challenge than the others: it's been hard to find reliable and reasonable income and difficult to stay motivated and happy in a constant state of major transition. Simply put: my life just hasn't been flowing in the way that I've grown accustomed to. Nor in the way that I demand--that is to say, I've learned to demand a certain level of responsibility, of ownership, from myself when it comes to choices, irrespective of fear or hesitance. At first, I fought the idea of moving back, seeing it as some sort of defeat. Then I got depressed, wondering where my net had gone. Finally, I've decided to accept the obvious changes that need to be made, and focus on the positive.

Since I've already taken this post to a more personal level than usual, I'll throw out another from my collection of Words to Live By:

1. Accept your feelings.

2. Know your purpose.

3. Do what needs to be done.

While there still might be a change (after all, if there's one thing I learned on this mission...), I am planning my move back to Chicago in August. The search for interesting career opportunities is already underway (help!), and I have registered to begin a masters program at DePaul University in September. The focus on international commerce and exchange between Brazil and the U.S. will hopefully prove as stimulating as it appears. I'll also be back to class at Brazil In Chicago, working to maintain and, frankly, improve my still-stunted Portuguese.

Of course I will bring my Havaianas with me, and all the friendships and memories forged. Moreover, I will be back. (Paulistinha is still louquinha, and thus has ideas kicking around already for the next prison break.)

Visitors are welcome in the meantime, though I'm toying with a prospective birthday trip to São Luís and Lençois Maranhenses.

In closing, when I was devastated by the end of a relationship just 10 weeks before my move to Brazil, my wise and dear friend Stacee counseled: "Just make the time count." Now, with (apparently) 9 weeks left in Brazil, I fully intend to put her words in action, again.

Vamo lá gente!

Paulistinha

Chicago: Dunes & Foxy's Signs

2011-06-01T21:52:00.002-03:00

Maureen is on her way into the city from Guarulhos so I still have some time to kill. I'm drinking a bloody mary, solely for the side effect of warmth. (Though, who am I kidding? The fuzzy is good too.) It is really cold in my unheated apartment these days, and especially these nights. I confess I have half-a-mind to buy an airline ticket somewhere warmer.

Rather than a reckless visit to Hostelworld, I'll just post a few pics from Chicago.

Dad and I made a quick run to the Dunes on Saturday to fix a couple things in preparation for the summer rental season. The weather--more specifically, the light--was really strange that day. Granted my iPod Touch doesn't take the best pics, but it sure captured the slightly surreal feel of the beach that day.

Right, Spot?

Look! The sun shining over the rain.

On the way back to Dad's on Sunday, we narrowly missed having a bull through the windshield. Weirdest car accident scene I've ever seen. I'm thrilled that we had stopped for gas.

Last Chicago tidbit: Foxy's rules. No, I don't mean Grandma Foxypants. I mean the amusing decor at Foxy's Laundromat in Villa Park, where I went to wash a comforter for my parents one afternoon.

Enjoy.

(That reminds me of that great Pearl Jam lyric: "no l-o-i-t-e-r-i-n-g a-llowed"!)

Hi-Tech. Uh-huh.

No Wandering Jenny's in the dryer, please.

Que pena! Now what am I gonna do?

Foxy clearly believes in maintaining order.

I confess. I weighed my options. Despite being tempted by sheer taboo, e a vontade de revolução completa tipo brasileira, ultimately I fell in line, sitting quietly and reading my book.

Fun with English

2011-05-31T23:11:00.006-03:00

I am sorrowfully behind on posting. There's no immediate remedy in sight, as my dear friend Maureen is coming to stay with me for a few days, beginning tomorrow--her birthday.

Please enjoy this anecdote until I am ready to catch up on pictures and stories.

Tonight I had my first class with, Luciano, a young lawyer. His speaking was pretty solid, but still in the proper, academic-English phase. During the last few minutes of our session, he began asking me questions. The standard "what are you doing here?" type of interview--the responses to which I could regurgitate in my sleep in either language. I have condensed the 4-year history of what led me to March 25, 2008 into a 4-minute tale, for just this sort of occasion.

When I mentioned my 4th and 5th trips to Brazil (those which were reconnaissance, ahem, sans ex), Luciano interrupted: "Didn't he go to see you in the States?"

I paused for eye contact and, seeing the incredulousness in Luciano's face, I chuckled and replied, "No. Yeah, I know. Right?" Quick as lightning Luciano interjected:

"What a douchebag!"

I nearly fell off my chair laughing.

Even though it's a bit more disclosure than I prefer to post, as a rule, it deserves to be documented here, so that I never forget my student's perfectly timed and delivered, wholly accurate, and entertaining summation. I couldn't have said it better myself, Luciano.

Good news

2011-05-13T16:06:00.005-03:00

Third time's the charm.

The first two official attempts at converting my provisional visa to a permanent one were unsuccessful. (Ahh, bureaucracy.) Though the next in my series of Polícia Federal appointments wasn't scheduled until the end of May, I pleaded for mercy yesterday morning. Ask and you shall receive. The Great Paper Chase 2011, it seems, is over--documents delivered.

My Dad's 60th birthday is next week.

At six o'clock this morning, local time, I landed in Chicago to surprise him. He wasn't shocked (after all, he knows me and my tricks pretty well), but he was surprised, and happy.

We're spending today goofing off, err, working at his office.

I am so much my father's daughter.

Small world

2011-05-06T20:25:00.005-03:00

I've been trying to get a São Paulo Happy Hour group going for a while. I started one on Facebook back in January but it's been a slow-bloomer, and I migrated it to Google Groups a couple weeks ago, foreseeing deactivation of my Facebook account. (I have too little discipline, I decided, and needed to remove some of my too-easy time-wasters.) Just before I said tchau to Facebook, Suzann reached out. She found the group and, subsequently, my page which listed Crystal Lake as my hometown. She shot me an excited email--she is from neighboring Cary, Illinois. I was stunned because I haven't even met anyone from Chicago here in Brazil, let alone someone so close to my suburban roots. What's more, she informed, there are two other women here who grew up in Crystal Lake, and are roughly the same age.

Naturally we had to meet. Today, Megan hosted Patricia, Suzann, and I for a spectacular feast at her cute apartment on the uber-chic Oscar Freire. What a hostess! She had prepared quite a spread for us to nosh on; almond-stuffed apricots and walnut-stuffed-dates, smoked provolone, a cold asparagus soup, pear and gorgonzola salad, and panquecas de carne with tomato sauce. With wine, of course, and for dessert, Suzann made chocolate chip cookies (the real deal, ya'll) and Patricia brought gourmet brigadeiro. Oh, and there was entertainment! Megan's two-year-old sweet pea, Sophia, put on a little dance performance in the cutest little dress I've seen on a tot in years. So sweet!

After snapping this shot of the first course...

...I set my camera on the table in front of me, to document my new friends and the fine dining. But the conversation was so familiar, quick, and enjoyable that I realized, walking home four hours later, I had forgotten to take pictures! No problem, though, as I know there will be other times. In fact we have already set a date to go have facials!

Another small-world moment this week...

A couple years ago, I discovered this video on YouTube. In my book, it's right up there with "David After Dentist". Even better actually, because I can watch Strange Kid over and over, and I smile every time. As I noted on Facebook last year, I feel some sort of recognition with the boy, a sense of kindred spirit, when I watch it and it makes me feel happy. That kind of feel-good never goes out of style.

To say that I'm not alone in this would be a huge understatement. It seems this kid has rocketed to stardom. Check out this article, spotted in the Chicago Tribune yesterday. And funny enough, he lives a stone's throw from my Dad. I recognized the condominium from his Tribune interview video.

A comfortingly small world indeed.

Cure for the common...

2011-04-28T01:23:00.005-03:00

...blues? ...rhythm? ...or just, The Common?

Who cares! I was feeling a little down tonight. A little lost, confused. A little... closed in, perhaps. I started surfing YouTube for America's Got Talent clips. Yeah. I'm sentimental. So? There's something unique to be gleaned from watching the performances--which might be stunning, provocative, interesting, uplifting, strange, awesome (in the true sense), or occasionally, just bad. But each one of the performers comes to the stage with heart. And optimism. After about 10 hope-filled hopeful's performances I started feeling happy again. Optimistic myself.

One of the videos I watched was the NY-brother-duo Nuttin' But Strings. (One of my two favorite instruments happens to be the violin, the other, piano.) I'd seen their performance on the show before and liked it so much that I bookmarked their site. This time, I went a step further and bought the cd on iTunes.

Wonderful new music on my iPod: another thing that makes me happy.

Everybody needs a cure, now and then.

Páscoa findi em Peruíbe

2011-04-26T17:26:00.004-03:00

My Easter weekend in Peruíbe was a pleasant surprise.

Fernanda (one-half of Fernanda & Paulo, who I met last year in Maceió), called me out of the blue a few weeks back. We had lost touch after our meeting in the northeast, and she was trying to reach out, get my status, and invite me to hang out. She called, however, the night before I left for Porto Alegre--so we agreed to schedule a dinner when I returned. A couple of unsuccessful attempts later, she called me last Tuesday and said, "tem planos pelo feriado? Tô indo pra praia amanhã à noite e gostaria te convidar ir comigo..."

Go to your beach house for the weekend? Tomorrow?

The obvious and only correct response to which is "hell yeah."

Actually, though it was a four-day holiday here, I had to attend to some Stateside business Thursday afternoon so I hopped a bus that night and met up with Fernanda and her brother-in-law, Giuliano--already there. (Paulo, poor thing, was at a convention in Natal.) Fê's parents would join us the next day for what was forecasted to be a sunny, hot, last-hurrah-of-a-weekend for the season.

I was not disappointed. We spent all day Friday and Saturday wearing out our beach chairs, na procura da batida perfeita* , and tossing ourselves about the surf.

I found some little crabs to play with.

I saw living sand dollars for the first time in my life. I grabbed four from the seafloor and brought them to the shore to inspect and play with them. Sadly, I'm a bad mother and I let the littlest one slip from my hands into the waves, where he was lost in the warm, shallow water. I couldn't find him to return him to the cooler, deeper home with the others, and I felt bad about that. Until Fernanda pointed out that just walking in the sea, we'd massacred hundreds. Ok, then.

Interestingly, I am told they are called estrelas do mar in Portuguese, which is literally, "stars of the sea." I could go with them on that, except that it's the same word for starfish, which makes more sense to me, yet are completely different bichos.

* "in the search for the perfect batida," my funny, punny joke, a double-entendre meaning a type of cocktail as well as a beat or rhythm

Mais Você (More You)

2011-04-25T18:24:00.001-03:00

When I was at the ReaTech convention with Juliana, I had a couple missed calls. The caller was from São Paulo, but I didn't recognize the number. I figured it was probably a potential student and I'd call back Saturday. But then there were two more missed calls. Four total, within an hour. Hmm. Someone is trying hard to reach me, I thought, so I called back right away. Between the reception and the noise, the only thing I managed to decipher was that it was a woman, and someone had given her my name and number. I explained that I was at a convention and gave her my email address.

When Juliana and I arrived home that night, I found an email with the subject "Depoimento para TV" (literally, deposition for TV). Since Ju had been filming her show that day, I assumed that, perhaps despite my attempts otherwise, I had been caught on camera by the crew and they must be writing for authorization to air it. Right?

Wrong. My jaw dropped as I read Tuca's email [translated and excerpted]:

Hi! How are you?
We tried to speak today, but you were at the fair, and really, the cell connection was terrible.
Well, the reason for my call...
I work in Production for the program "Mais Você" [which is, essentially, the Brazilian equivalent of Good Morning America] with Ana Maria Braga [a mega-star] on TV Globo [the biggest network in the country].

(That's the part where my mouth fell open.)

We're doing a piece with the theme "Foreigners discussing: 'I Discovered Brazil'". We're looking for cool people (I already know that you are!) that came to Brazil, already in the adult phase of their life and chose to live here. It will be a quick thing, a super-informal chat with our reporter. Please, accept our invitation and speak with us! Will you? Ha ha!

What do you think?
We already have the participation of a German and a Chinese, and we'd like yours. We can record on Tuesday wherever is best for you. We await your reply and appreciate your attention.

Among my reactions, in no specific order:

- Holy $*@&! (Which was, actually, the first.)

- I don't want to be on TV!

- How can I pass this up? It'll make such a great blog post!

- In Portuguese, really?!?!

- Out of the thousands of foreigners living in São Paulo, let alone Brazil--me?

- Why didn't I lose 40 pounds and study harder?

- In Portuguese, really?!?! (That thought was worth noting twice!)

Well, obviously I accepted. After a sleepless night wracked by nerves, last Tuesday I met with the Globo team at Casa Club Hostel Bar--a location I deemed appropriate for its influence on my decision to move to São Paulo.

The interview took about 40 minutes (of me trying to cobble together coherent responses in Portuguese), after which they spent another 40 minutes filming: a pretend English class (which, being unanticipated, felt, and surely looked, very awkward and unnatural; me pointing out my trajectory on a giant world map; me sitting on the rooftop terrace of the hostel surrounded by the São Paulo skyline; and, in what became much more provocative than intended, some shots of me laying on my stomach on one of the dorm room bunkbeds!

The program was set to air on Friday, April 22, to coincide with the anniversary of the Portuguese discovery of the country. Knowing that they would edit my long story into, likely, just a minute or two, I was one-part-relieved, two-parts-dismayed that it wasn't on. I received an email from Tuca this morning, apologizing that the material got bumped on account of time. She noted, though, that the studio really liked the content of all three interviews and they plan to incorporate them into a different program. She'll keep me posted, she said.

If it airs later, I'll surely post a link. Even if not, it's still an interesting story, no?

Oh, My (incredible, in every sense) Life in Havaianas!

ReaTech 2011

2011-04-24T16:55:00.003-03:00

The day after flying back to São Paulo, Juliana was on her way here too. She would be attending the huge ReaTech convention, an international technology fair featuring developments in rehabilitation, inclusion, and accessibility. I spent Friday at the feira with Juliana, learning about cool new stuff on the market and watching Ju filming for her next episode of Faça a Diferença (Make a Difference).

Being such a good sport, the extreme heat inside the convention center didn't stop Juliana from filming a little workout demo on these special weightlifting machines designed for cadeirantes.

Other booths featured representatives from the City of São Paulo, the Brazilian Committee for Special Olympics, and various vendors exhibiting souped up wheelchairs. (One of my favorites was the Evac +Chair: it goes down stairs!) There was even a demonstration of a computer that receives commands through its users' eye movements. Wow!

My favorite product in the vehicle division, though, was this Independent Life car. It's like a SmartCar with a hydraulic lift in the back. Press the remote to open the hatch and lower the ramp, and scoot right in to the specially designed dashboard. Neat.

There were even exhibitors demonstrating developments in Xtreme sports and tourism. The blue surfboard is adapted for the blind, the pale yellow longboard is adapted for paraplegics, and the red bodyboard is for people with Downs Syndrome.

I love this picture of Juliana and her good friend Billy Saga, the President of Movimento SuperAção (SuperAction Movement, an organization that promotes social inclusion) in Brazil.

In the back of the giant facility were sports courts where cadeirantes were playing basketball, and a stage where there were various song and dance performances by deaf artists and disabled dancers. Very cool.

"The most important muscle for our athletes is the heart." Right on.

Guess who we found? Frederico (ARCO) and Sonia (Profilo Smart)!

Juliana and I were so delightfully surprised to find Sonia. We kept our poor, exhausted Italian friend chatting far too long (on her birthday), but it was as if no time had passed at all--that evening or since our last encounter.

It was a great day. To top it off, when Juliana and I got back to my apartment around midnight, there was a very interesting email waiting for me. Next post!

For now, let's all take a Restroon break.

Signage: come again?

2011-04-24T14:47:00.006-03:00

I have a few stories to tell today, but before I get to them I feel compelled to clean out the outtakes pile. Here are a few other funnies from the recent Porto Alegre trip.

There's a secret place in Porto Alegre for roupas intimas, or, intimate apparel. I say it's secret because it's very well hidden. It was only through word of mouth that I discovered it a few years ago. There's a high rise building in Centro called Galeria Malcon. The ground floor contains an assortment of clothes shops, snack bars, and the like. Presumably the rest of the 20-ish story building contains offices, though I had been warned not to take the stairs, as there might be some seriously shady business being transacted on various floors. On the 11th, 12th, and 13th floors, unadvertised at street level, there are dozens of little shops that sell underthings for very good prices. Maureen had never been there, and I wanted to re-stock my supplies so off we went. One alarming thing I found was padded bras for little girls.

On the entertaining side, I caught this brand of menswear.

Pequeno, Médio, Grande, and Duplo Grande. To each his/her own on which one is really the "Keeper!"

Speaking of buns, Fernando, Mariana, Danilo and I went to Priscilla's on Monday. We passed by "Mr. Bimbo"--a place to host childrens' parties. I am easily entertained.

Later that evening, Fernando had a futebol game at São Jose, the field and clubhouse of one of Porto Alegre's smaller soccer clubs. Fernando, Mariana and I stopped by the restaurant for a beer. We enjoyed their quirky, hand-painted-but-not-spellchecked sign.

Our choice of bebidas (drinks) includes the lesser-known whiskey, "John Walkey." They also serve a selection of petiscos (snacks), or in this case, "Apetiscos," including picadinho misto--oh, wait, no, that's mixto. Well, close enough.

Porto Alegre Calls Me (other) Home

2011-04-19T20:30:00.003-03:00

That. Was. An. Amazing. Trip.

(Thanks for the sign, among other things, Gina!)

I really can't begin to explain it all. Even this blitz of photos won't do justice to the week. I felt like a mini-celebrity [I'm not--not yet (foreshadowing)]. I laughed so hard, so many times, during my week in Porto Alegre. Good Times, pra caramba.

My plane was late on Wednesday (the 6th). I'd say that was the reason I jetted straight to the Shamrock, but who am I kidding? I was planning to do that anyway. So with light luggage in tow, I grabbed a taxi at the airport and headed to meet my friends for English Quiz Night at the pub. I managed a slight detour to run into Zero de Conduta. I literally ran, leaving my bags in the taxi out front, into the bar to give a giant, suadade-filled hug to my good friends Fernando and Danilo. Then I was whisked into the opening night festivities. The greeting I received at Shamrock was heartwarming. Truly. Comical, even, as about 25 people yelled, "JENNY!" when I walked through the door, there was a brief pause in the game, and Victoria handed me a cold Guinness.

And the scene was set...

GIRL'S NIGHT AT LA PIZZA MIA

SAMURAI MADNESS AT BOTECO PEDRINI

ESTRANGEIROS HAPPY HOUR AT MUFFALETA

BOTECO NATALÍCIO

AREPAS BRUNCH AT JEFF'S

DANILO'S BIRTHDAY AT ZERO DE CONDUTA

AL NUR

AND A RISOTTO FOR THE ROAD

I did manage to take care of some business (dentist, accountant, genius hair stylist) in between parties, but not much else. Instead, I spent the week, delightfully, hanging with old friends and making new friends. Just the way I like it. Thank you everyone, for welcoming me (back) with such widely outstretched and warm arms. The friendship and fun was actually overwhelming, and at the end of the last night, I shed a couple tears, knowing I had to leave it all behind--again--in the name of Disorder and Progress.

A most sincere obrigada to Maureen and Rudimar for making me so welcome in their home.

Com amor,

Paulistinha