Day 78 Clubbing and Travel Update

The other night we went out to a nightclub and saw a local band with Patricia’s sister Priscila and her husband Dede. Can tell by the picture that I had the best view of the stage? The large Brasilian woman leading the band started off by doing a surprisingly uncanny imitation of Michael Jackson singing Billie Jean. I was impressed…at first antway. Later, intermixed with the capably done Brasilian top 40, they attempted to do a few other American songs, most notably was the worst rendition that I have ever heard of Owner of a Lonely Heart by Yes. It was painful. Of course a good part of that pain was due to our position directly in front of the speakers at the front of the stage. At times it was so loud I almost felt as if someone was scrambling my brains.

An interesting bit about clubs here is that they record your ID and give you a card on your way in. They mark the card as you buy drinks and then you pay on your way out. Some all you can eat restaurants do the same. Whatever you do, don’t lose the card or you are in for a hassle. Particularly if your Portuguese is as bad as mine.

Travel update:

I am staying in Brasil until 12 December and heading back to Portland to pick up my son Eric and then we are off to Rome, Italy and then Venice for Christmas. After that I take Eric back home and go back to Madrid to continue my exploration of Spain, Morocco, France, and Italy, until I head back to Washington DC in March for the Foreign Service Assessment. Eric will be flying out to spend spring break with me in DC and then I will be off to Brasil again for a month to see Patricia again. From there I head back to Rome to finish going around the Mediterranean.

I had not planned to fly much on this trip, but life happens. To put this deviation in perspective, here is a summary of my air travel from the beginning of the trip through my return to Rome in May:

Portland-JFK-Baltimore-JFK-Dublin-London-Faro-Porto-Madeira-Porto-Madrid-Miami-Sao Paulo-Brasilia—Sao Paulo-Dallas-Portland-Newark-Rome-Newark-Portland-Chicago-Madrid-Rome-Munich-JFK-Sao Paulo-Brasilia-Sao Paulo-JFK-Vienna-Rome.

That is a total of 27 planes, 61,500 miles and over 6 days of actual flight time. Whew! And yes I did sign up for frequent flier miles.

I have also been on 5 different metro systems, 7 long distance buses, and 5 trains.
If I calculated how much time I have spent waiting in line to buy tickets, waiting on metro platforms, and waiting for buses and trains to arrive/leave, I think I would be scared. Patience is definitely a virtue for travel.

Day 75 More Culture

Coming from a culture where labor is expensive and technology is cheaper, it took me a while to understand the cultural implications of cheap labor in Brasil. The huge division between the people with money and those without creates a labor market that makes services, that only rich people can afford at home, accessible to middle of the road people like me. It affects many aspects of their lives here that I never have considered.

For example:

Most middle-class and higher people with children have live-in maids, even in apartments, and sometimes drivers. It is around $200/month for a maid that cooks, cleans, does laundry, and cares for your children. The impact this has on the lifestyle of working parents is huge: your meals are waiting for you and your children on the table and you leave the mess for someone else to clean up; no making beds, vacuuming, wiping counters, moping floors, cleaning windows, or doing laundry; if you are late from work or want to go out, someone is there to care for the children; and you have someone watching your house during the day. Basically, you get more quality time and peace of mind with your children. However, maids usually get the weekend off so you are on your own for a couple days a week. Oh, how rough! Having a driver for your children is also cheap and a great idea. He can take the children to and from school, wash and vacuum the car, and also do things around the house, including serving and cleaning up at dinner parties.

A side effect of this affordable luxury is that since cooking is relegated to someone else, the kitchen is not a focal point like in America. The kitchen is frequently hidden and purely functional. Food preparation is often only a communal event at family gatherings. It is needless to say that this is strange for me, coming from a culture that entertains in the kitchen. They actually use their living and dining rooms here! I don’t want to give the impression that they don’t like gourmet food, they just go out to eat rather than making it themselves. That said, I have to say that I have only seen half a dozen homes/apartments and have had limited exposure on which to base my observations.

Another effect of cheap labor is the lack of a do-it-yourself attitude here. Why would you want to fix things for yourself when it is so inexpensive to have a skilled person do it for you? Even things that, to me, are incredible easy to fix are left for the “appropriate person” to do. This is good and bad. It frees up people’s time and creates employment, but often things are left in need of repair because they have not gotten around to getting someone to fix them. Not surprisingly, there is a much more relaxed acceptance of broken or damaged things here. They don’t have a driven task orientation and need for perfection as Americans do. If something does work correctly, that is okay, it will get fixed…eventually.

Time is not money here; relationships are more important.

Here in Patricia’s parent’s house we have two maids, a driver, a gardener, pool guys, and other people that come as needed. All this and they are not wealthy people. It is a lifestyle to which it is delightfully easy to grow accustomed. Now I am off to take a dip in the pool while thinking about how cold and rainy it is back in Portland. Life is good!

Day 65 Brasilian Culture Notes

This is my new favorite bridge in the world, the JK Bridge (Ponte JK)named after former president, and visionary builder of the city Brasilia, Juscelino Kubitschek. It is a beautiful and graceful creation that is best viewed while driving over it at night.

My collection of interesting Brasilian culture tidbits is vast and will have to be spread over a few entries. My favorite topics are touching, personal responsibility, and the entreprenurial spirit.

The very first thing to strike me as different here is the personal contact comfort level and expectation. We Americans tend to like our personal space and draw a very specific line in the sand about what is acceptable invasion of our bubble. The Brasilian bubble is smaller and more flexible.

I thought I was prepared for the cheek kissing when I came; afterall, I had known Patricia in DC and spent time in Spain. Even so, the sheer quantity took me off guard. Everytime you come or go, it is expected to kiss all female friends and family or it is rude. Men get a hearty handshake and a pat on the shoulder, or a manly half hug. As a touchy person, I was very pleasantly surprised with all these people who seemed to share my affinity. The real surprise for me as a North American was in the pool at Caldas Novas. Patricia's family all stayed very close in the pool and I was often touched by peoples legs or grabbed on the arm or leg with no thought whatsoever. And I don't mean touched as in bumping against each other, I mean resting against one another up close and personal. It did not bother me, but my own cultural alarm bells automatically went off the first few times. The same thing in a pool at home would have been awkward. Brasil is definitely a good place for people who like physical touch and a nightmare for germophobes.

The Brasilians, luckily, have yet to discover the benefits and drawbacks of overly-efficient personal liability lawyers. Anywhere I go, I see accidents waiting to happen. Maybe it is only my building management experience talking, but I have seen many things that would be begging for a lawsuit in the states, for example: pool side tile at a resort that is so slippery when wet, it is nearly impossible to walk on safely without being very careful. I saw several people fall and dozens almost fall. Also, holes, open grates, sharp objects, and tripping hazards are normal for walkways and sidewalks at businesses. In general, people are expected to watch out for their own safety. After having heard of so many frivolous lawsuits in the states, I can really appreciate this difference, although, I think the best situation would be somewhere in between. There are a lot of negligently unsafe conditions here and there are a lot of negligently inattentive people in the US. Hopefully Brasil will go halfway and stop.

Do you need a cloth to mop your floor? Sunglasses? Newspapers, candy, water? What about cheese? These are only some of the items that are offered to you while you wait at stoplights here. People sell all sorts of items everywhere. All they need is a table and product. Sometimes not even a table--just a cooler and a chair--or in the case of the guys standing in traffic, just an armload of product. Notice I didn't say a "sign." This last part is the most perplexing to me as a foreigner; often I have no idea what they are selling or for how much. Take for example the minivan on the side of the road with the back open and a couple of plastic chairs and tables. People are gathered around eating something out of paper wrappers. I can't see what they are eating and there is no sign whatsoever. Or even better, is the guy with a chair and a cooler on the sidewalk. Everyone around here knows what these people sell and for about how much so they don't bother with signs. It turns out that it was hotdogs and fruit salad respectively.

Another fascinating example of the entreprenurial spirit running contrary to American sensibilities is the parking arrangement at Patricia's work. Ostensibly, it is a city lot in which it is free to park. In reality, there are five guys that manage the lot. They laid claim to lot and charge people to park there. I know my fellow Americans can feel their indignation rising in their throats at people with such unashamed audacity, but wait. The lot has spaces for about 60 cars. The payment arrangement is this; for 10 dollars a month you park where they tell you and you leave your keys with them. They double or triple park the cars, moving them as needed when people come or go and they can double the amount of cars that fit in the lot. With limited parking available this is a fantastic service. And not only that, for a couple dollars, they will wash the inside and outside of your car while you work. For a whole 20 dollars a month, you get to keep your keys and they always give you a good spot (because they cannot move your car). The whole arrangement is smooth, benefits everyone, and is completely against everything Americans would expect. Here it works very well.

Day 57 In Hot Water in Brazil

We went to the city of Caldas Novas for the weekend, about a four hour drive. The drive itself was an experience. I would describe it as either a formula one race on narrow and occasionally marginal roads with oncoming traffic or as a chance to drive the way we really wish we could drive.

In Brasil, stop signs don't mean stop. They mean slow down if there are other cars, and if not, ignore them completely, just like a yield sign. Speed limits are supposedly enforced; although, you would be hard pressed to find anyone that was going anywhere near that slow. Another fun aspect is that the acceptable distance between cars is very different than in the US. If you want to pass, it is normal to get within, say 8 to 10 feet, sometimes less, when you are going 80 mph. You just get real close and edge out into the other lane so you can see if any cars are coming and then you go for it, nevermind about passing zones, curves, or bothersome things like that. If you think you can make it, go! The thing that makes this work is that people let you back in the lane even if there is almost no room. The drivers here are very accommodating for merging and pushing your way into traffic. They know you want in and they let you in. It is both chaotic and very civil. I had to laugh when we were in a line of maybe 20 cars going about 70mph and as soon as the oncoming traffic passed, most of the cars jumped into the left lane and floored it.

Into Hot Water

Gifted with prolific natural hot springs, the town of Caldas Novas is comprised of vacation resorts and tourist shops. It feels exactly like a beach town even though it is a very very long way to the coast. We rented an apartment in a resort and spent almost everyday at the resort next door, which was nicer. We didn't sneak in, (I know that is what you are thinking, Mom) Patricia's sister was staying there and the owner is a friend of their dad's.

I don't have any good photos, so picture lush green tropical environment with many big pools of warm mineral water, pool bars, water slides, live bands poolside, and buffets and you can start to get the picture. I particularly loved the fresh, nearly frozen coconuts that they machete the top off and stick a straw in so that you can drink the coconut juice. After you are done, they hack it open so can then eat the soft young coconut inside.

When I think hot springs, I think of water that is so hot, you can only stay in it for 15-20 minutes. These varied in temperature from body temperature to maybe 10 degrees warmer, allowing you to sit in them very comfortably all day long, drinking, eating, and playing in the open or under big pool umbrellas. And yes you can eat in the pool. The band was great. They adeptly covered the Brasilian popular music as well American and British music. Forget 20 minute sets, they played for almost all day, switching between people as they needed.

Prices for most things are about the same as in the US except for the food. One all you can eat restaurant was $2.75/person. I'll describe the Brasilian food another time, except for one notable item. At the fore mentioned restaurant, I eyed some interesting roasted potato like foodstuffs and threw a few on my plate. I am always up for trying new things. They had a nice yellow sauce and looked delicious.

The first warning I got went unheeded. It was from a nice woman in line next to me that spotted me as a non-Brasilian and was attempting to tell me something in Portuguese. I thought she was saying that they were spicy and I thanked her and said that I knew and I liked spicy foods (in English of course). The second warning piqued my interest. Patricia saw them on my plate in passing and said not to eat them or I would get into trouble, I ignored her still thinking that they were spicy. The third warning really got my attention. I was mid-bite when she yelled, "stop!" I was told not to bite them under any circumstances. What? Why would they be in a buffet line if not to eat? I was finally shown the proper way to almost consume them. I say almost because all you can do is scrape the 2 millimeter thick soft exterior off with your teeth. If you bite them, you are treated with a mouthful of a thousand painful spines that you will regret for a very very long time. Not exactly my idea of a 'fun' food and the taste was bland too. Apparently, it is a regional thing.

I didn't take many photos because it was so wet, either from the pools or the pleasant light rain that fell much of the time. Sorry.

Day 55 Halloween is Only in My Mind

I don't know why I expected to see Halloween here. Maybe because it is so ingrained in me as an American or maybe because of the witch costume hanging in the closet of my guestroom. I found out that they do dress up here in costume here for parties, not for Halloween. At least they do Christmas in a big way here, although I will be in Italy with Eric at the time. Perhaps this is good because not having Halloween and spending Christmas in shorts might be too much culture shock for me this early in my trip :)

The Capital City of Brasilia:

The city was entirely planned before this site was anything more than fields and trees. Shaped like an airplane, the three branches of government occupy the cockpit, the government ministries form the body, and the wings are the commercial and residential sectors. The whole city is incredibly uniform and divided into very simple to understand quadrants. The plan of the city shown above is misleading as to the size; the city is big. The buildings are far apart and cars are the preferred transportation, even though there is a metro and bus system.

Postive reactions: A beautiful singular city. Easy to find your way. Streets have numbers rather than names. The consistent layout is reassuring when venturing into new areas. The climate is great year round.

Negative reactions: The city is not at all geared for tourism. It is not a good walking city with few crosswalks and great distances between things. The bus system is completly baffling and not signed or labeled in any self explanatory way--and no maps or schedules. The sameness of the designs tends to be impersonal with no neighborhoods standing out as unique. Overall, the city is dsigned for government workers and few others.

I am staying at Patricia's parents to the left of the cockpit, across the lake. The nightime view is very nice sitting on the veranda with a glass of wine, looking over the pool and across the lake at the illuminated capital. They have servants that wash my clothes everyday, make my bed, make all the meals...I am liking Brasil.

Day 53 Brasilia, Making Voting Look Easy

I was lucky enough to witness Brasil's presidential election on my second day in the country. I was impressed with how easily and quickly Patricia and her family voted. With only half an hour before the 5:00 deadline, we headed to a local school and were out within a few minutes. No lines, no confusion, no fuss. The final results were ready in less than two hours. The whole process is electronic and consistent over the whole country and surprisingly for me as an American, there were no major news reports of voting irregularities or broken machines or disenfranchised voters. A nice neat election. Of course, the wrong person won according to Patricia, but she was justly proud of the efficiency of the process. It seems the whole world is intimately familiar with our voting woes and recounts.

Another interesting thing about Brasil is that if you are between 18 and 70, you are obligated to vote. If you don't, they can deny you a passport and other documents. To me this appears to be a double edged sword; you get massive participation, but you also have an uniformed group of people voting just to fulfill their obligation. According to some Brasilians, the latter is why Presidente Lula was re-elected.

This photo is of the Brasilian Congress. The whole city is like a huge modern art museum with graceful curves and minimalistic design almost everywhere. It is the first completely planned city in the world and is truly singular. You could not get lost here if you tried. More about this later after I explore more and try to get lost.

Day 51 Recipe for Meeting the Parents

Start with one part boyfriend already suffering from nerve wracked exhaustion; add three nearly sleepless plane trips: Madrid to Miami to Sao Paulo to Brasila for a total of 24 hours; stir in one lost bag containing almost all of his worldy possessions, add in 5 hours time difference in the wrong direction, mix thoroughly until completely exhausted; within several hours of getting off the plane, serve raw to his girlfriend's extended family and friends with a topping of almost no common language. Results may vary.

Even with this inauspicious start, I was welcomed by Patricia's family with an openess and warmth that was more than I ever expected. The Brasilian people are a warm and gregarious people in general and her family is especially so, making me feel like one of them. They struggled through language difficulties with patience and kindness. I struggled to stay upright and conscious as I was plied with wine and food until what was 8 am for me, when I retired to my own room with a private bath and balcony in her parents house. I was warned to lock my door for reasons I did not understand at that time. I was too tired to care.

It wasn't until morning that I found out why I was told to lock my door. It seems that in the Brazilian culture, they do not see privacy the same way Americans do. People feel free to wander into rooms as they wish, with only locked doors indicating a desire for privacy. Luckily, I didn't accidentally expose myself to the servants or family before I found this out.

I was thrilled that I managed to meet her family and friends without making a total fool of myself. I think so anyway, maybe they were just too polite to point it out, I don't know.

Day 50 Life Happens

This is Patricia. We met in Washington DC where she was visiting from Brasil to learn English better. We clicked, spent three weeks together, and then went our seperate ways. After spending a month in Portugal and Spain, I desperately wanted to see her again. Can you blame me? What to do? Go to Brasil of course!

I searched and searched and finally found airlines that would give me e-tickets; apparently, some airlines still don't have e-ticket systems. I bought the tickets and located the Brasilian Consulate in Madrid. I wanted to make it to Brasil in time for her birthday party and the Consulate's website said I could get a visa in 48 hours. I had 5 days before I flew and everything was going fine...

Cue the ominous music.

I got an email five hours after I bought the expensive tickets. It was Expedia telling me that, " due to technical problems beyond their control," they were sending paper tickets to me--at home. This was a problem since I was in Madrid, Spain! Okay, what to do? A little research indicated that it is possible to have my Mom get the tickets and expedite them to me via UPS worldwide services, giving me leeway of one day. If everything goes fine, it will work. That solved, I headed to the Consulate, waited for 3 hours and was told it would take 10 days and they have no expedited services for visas. Problem number two.

Now what do I do? Beg of course! And to my great surprise they were very pleasant and flexible, telling me that if I showed them the tickets they would give me a visa in 48 hours. Problem number three.

I did not have the tickets. I went back to the hostel, found an internet cafe and printed the documents that I needed for the visa, and also a confirmation email from Expedia, in hopes that they would accept that. I returned to the Consulate the next day and waited 4 hours to beg some more. They said they would do it! I was thrilled. It would have cost another $1500 to change the tickets to a later date.

I was checking the tracking number for the tickets every few hours. They finally arrived two days later in Vancouver at 5:00--a half hour past the last UPS international drop off time, costing me another day. My one day leeway was gone. I was nervous.

So far I had seen almost nothing of Madrid: a few blocks around the hostel, the metro, the Brasilian Consulate, and the train station. I had one day where I could do nothing but wait, so I went out. It finally stopped raining for a bit and I went on an obligatory museum trip and saw Picasso's massive Guernica and many of his other works. As powerful as Guernica is, the best paintings for me were the Salvador Dali pieces. I have seen many of his works in pictures and posters and found him interesting; seeing his paintings in person was an experience not to be missed. No reproduction can capture the vivid and incredibly small details that completely change the viewing experience. The man was a genius and completely insane. I stood there, stunned, for a long time trying to wrap my mind around his hallucinogenic scenes. It didn't work. I left reeling mentally and wanting more.

I was dead set on getting some classic Spanish paella and managed to drag my friend Adrian (ex-special forces guy from Seattle) to what is reputed to be the best paella place in town. I was not dissapointed. It started off well, being seated in an elegant courtyard, drinking excellent sangria. Plus, the other patrons were exclusively Spanish, a very good sign. What arrived was a massive black shallow pan, over two feet across, filled with saffron colored rice, a bounty of seafood, and chicken. It was all that I had dreamed of and more. I was about half done when realized that I could scrape the crunchy layer off the bottom of the pan--pure, undulterated, culinary heaven! It was worth the trip just for that.

We headed out later to see the biggest Irish pub in Europe. It was infact, very big, solid smoke, and boring. Off we went to find some foosball action and ended up at a very local bar filled with animated middle-aged men in business casual wear. We played a few games of foosball until a 60-ish guy in a suit showed up and wanted to play. Adrian had been bragging about how good he was (except for a female Dutch bartender that gave him a good beating once, but that is another story) and he did beat phillip and me easily. Not so with the the old local guy. The guy must have been playing all of his life, his play was astoundingly controlled, accurate, and powerful. I think Adrian only got the ball to the other side of the table once. It was hilarious how hard he got slapped down. I declined being humilated myself. We couldn't drag Adrian away from his new friends and we left him there, drunk and getting more so. We headed to another Irish pub and then another local bar. This is the point at which I thought that maybe we should not let the Irish guy lead us. I managed to get back to the hostel by 3 am, not in the best shape, but at least not mugged.

I was up at 7 am to hit the Consulate and get my visa. I stood in line, with great effort, for an hour and a half and picked up my visa with a very big smile and many thanks. I slept most of the rest of the day and stayed in the hostel bar that night. The tracking website said that my tickets were in Germany.

The next morning I was up, packed, and waiting for my tickets to arrive by their promised 10 am deadline. I had to be at the airport by 1:00 pm and I was more than a little concerned. At 10:30 i had not seen any sign of them. I checked the tracking numbers again, discovered that they had just been delivered, ran down to the reception desk, and had my hopes crushed. The tickets were indeed delivered--to the wrong address. The desk clerk called UPS on my behalf since I cannot speak Spanish other than to order food. They said they would work on it....

While I was hanging on to a glimmer of hope, I was resigned to the fact that all my efforts came close, but not close enough to make it on time and avoid forking out a big chunk of change. The smooth meshing of very different systems on different continents was too much to ask for. I was on Skype at about 11:30 telling my very beautiful and dissapointed Patricia that it was unlikely to happen, when the unlikely happened--life smiled on me--and the desk clerk handed me the tickets.

And I was off.

Day 48 Rain in Spain

In Spain it rains mainly on the plains, mountains, coast, cities, and everywhere this time of year. I arrived in the dark and took the metro from the train station to within two blocks of my hostel. The metro system here is fantastic with about 191 stops and about 11 different lines. The hostel is the high-tech MAD Hostel with wristbands that operate the doors and lockers in the rooms. The beds are too small and close together, but they have free breakfast and wi-fi. At $20 USD/night, who can complain?

One of my roomates, Phillip from Ireland, was mugged just outside the door of the hostel last night. He was walking along about 1 am, enjoying a good beer buzz and particularly tasty and messy kebob, when someone grabbed him in a choke hold from behind. He woke up laying on the cobblestone one camera lighter. Listening to Phillip, it sounded as if his seeing the kebob laying in the street with its juicy goodness violated was what most bothered him. Fortunately, they must have been in a hurry, they left him with his wallet. All humor aside, he was shaken by the experience and it was an unpleasant warning to the rest of us to be careful in the dark and narrow streets.

My other roomate, Jake, a 18-year-old Austrailian is a refreshing change from others I have met. He is very young and naive about the world, yet he ventured out on his own to see it for himself, which is unusual for the pack-mentality that is normal for Austrailians. He also broke one of our stereotypes that we had of Aussies--he didn't like to drink. Luckily, there were plenty of his fellow countymen around to uphold their reputation. And they worked very hard at it.

I went out to get some good Spanish food with Jake, Adrian (Seattle), Sarah (American Peace Corp worker) and against my protestations ended up at a Lebanese restaurant. It was cheap and we got what we paid for. Although, I must say that the sangria was absolutely delicious. The interesting part was watching them smoke a sheesha (spelling?) They are big water pipes in which they smoke flavored herbs mixed with a small amount of tobacco. I tried a little just to experience it and was not overly impressed. The smoke was completely cool and tasted minty instead of like tobacco. I just don't see the attraction other than that people like to look cool sitting around sucking on the things and blowing smoke. After a while it made me feel a little sick. It might have been the food too.

At this point, I have not seen anything beyond a few blocks of the hostel.