Back to the USA Via São Paulo

I have been through the airport in São Paulo many times but never got to see the enormous teeming city of 12 million or so people. I had much heard about the terrible traffic and violence so I was prepared mentally.

We had a 12 hour layover starting at 10am. Patrícia had a job interview at 2:30 so it seemed fine to run to the interview, see a few things and then return to the airport. We took the free TAM shuttle to the other airport (about 1 hour), which was much closer to her interview and then took a bus a bit further (45 minutes), grabbed some quick pizza, and jumped into a taxi for the rest of the way. The taxi driver didn't really know where he was going even with the Google maps we printed and she ended up being 15 minutes late to the interview. Unfortunately, I had to wait outside the complex on a bench because there was nothing anywhere near the place. The first hour of waiting was fine, the second hour tedious, and the third hour irritating. When she finally came out, she said the interview was only OK.

We no longer had time to see the city so we took a taxi to the train, made two transfers to get to the metro, and due to the bad directions we were given by a couple policemen, we made about six transfers on the metro to get to a bus to get to the airport. The metro was an experience during rush hour. I have been on 16 metro systems and have never seen so many people squeezing into the trains.

We arrived back at the airport right on time to check in for the flight to Miami. This is a surprise since we seem to have a bad habit of cutting it really close when we travel. Not surprisingly, the flight was delayed for two hours, now departing at 1am. So what to do for two hours before you leave for your marriage/honeymoon? We bought a bottle of wine in duty free, borrowed an opener from a bar, and celebrated. It was a good wait.

Leaving Brazil

They told me I could. That is my excuse for overstaying my tourist visa in Brazil. We have a stable union and have been actively pursuing a visa based on that. Just before my visa expired, I went to the Federal Police and they said I should just stay and go through the process. The only catch was that I have to pay the $420 visa overstay fine on my way out. Not so bad.

I went to the airport to the Federal Police Immigration and they were very friendly and neither surprised nor scolding for my extra year in the country. They did not ask questions, they only processed the fine payment. The worst part was the 3 pages of stamps that they put in my passport and the cancellation of my tourist visa.

Now the plan is to go to San Francisco, get married, register the marriage with the Brazilian Consulate, and apply for a permanent visa so I can return. The consulate says that it takes 4-8 weeks for processing so I am expecting to get everything done in two months or so.

Chapadas Veadeiros

We drove to Patrícia's sister's farm for the weekend, about two and a half hours away. The area is right next to a National Park called Chapadas Veadeiros that has many many waterfalls and beautiful hiking areas. It also has a Valley of the Moon that is just like the surface of the moon.

We stayed in one of the two little houses on the farm, relaxed, ate, played in the small lake, ate, and ate some more. For dinner we did 3 fondues: Wine for meat, cheese for bread, and chocolate for bananas. We wanted more fruit but the selection in the tiny nearby town was not good. What was really good was to cook the meat in the wine and then dip it in the cheese. Mmmmmmm fattening. I forced myself to drink several glasses of wine to counteract all the fat.

A friend of the family invited us to his resort the next day to play in the waterfalls. It was only a couple kilometers away and we got in for free of course. I was impressed, it reminded me a lot of places I have been to in Hawaii. The best part for me of course was jumping from the tallest thing I could find into the water. The water was a perfect temperature and 8 meters deep (25ft). You can see in the picture it had a huge cavern too. In the back of the cavern there was a tunnel that went to the middle of the back of the waterfall. Really cool.

I was in demand as a jumping partner for all the kids (and her sisters) because they wanted to hold my hand and have me there to help them swim after the jump. I do not know how many times I jumped, climbed up, jumped, climbed up, etc...I just know that my muscles really hurt now. Fortunately I escaped with only a light sunburn after being in the sun for hours.

One of the strange experiences of this area is that the tiny fish in the water always are nipping at your skin. It doesn't hurt, although it is a little unnerving at first.

The Long Way Back From the Beach

The drive to Guarapari was only 13 hours. The drive back was 15 due to traffic, although that was hardly the worst part of it.

There is always danger eating food from street vendors and beach vendors are even more risky. I think that the kiosks and bars are fine, but the guys walking along the beach with fresh oysters, for instance, deserve a bit more care. They get the oysters early in the morning, put them in a little basket, and walk around in the hot sun selling them. Patrícia and I had some one morning and they were the best I ever had, opened in front of me and served with lime juice and salt. Absolutely delicious!

The day before we left, Patrícia and André had some at about 10:00 in the warm sunny morning. Everthing was fine until the next day...when I packed the car, she was feeling bad and André looked particularly unhappy. Sure enough, 20 minutes into the trip home, he did an Exorcist immitation and vomited all over the door, the seat, the blanket, himself, the floor...

With my lovely woman feeling under the weather too, it was up to me to clean up the mess. Bleah. I came close to joining André in reviewing what I ate for breakfast. The poor thing had to endure about eight hours of twisty roads and he threw up six times, the last five in plastic bags, thank god. As for the rest of us, we had to smell vomit for 15 hours.

Road Danger

After waiting through a painfully slow traffic jam we passed a rolled over car in the middle of the road with one of the dead occupants still sitting in the back seat. The others had been thrown onto the roadside. We also saw a number of smaller accidents, however that was not what caught my attention. In driving so slowly, I had time to really look at the road. Specifically, all of the scratches in the asphalt from terrible accidents. On both sides of almost every curve, there were the marks of what must have been head-on collisions.

Finally arriving into a satellite city of Brasília at 3 am, I felt like I could relax with nice large, well-lit, familiar roads. Of course, that was exactly when someone, shooting out from a side street, clipped the car in front of me, smashing both cars and spinning them like tops to the side of the road.

Showering and getting into my own bed after 15 hours of smelly vomit driving was a pleasure beyond words.

New Years at the Beach

We were all dressed in our white New Year's clothes, me with my new very light beach shirt that I asked for and got for Christmas, white shorts, and flip-flops. We ate a big dinner that included rice and lentils for luck, drank a few glasses of wine, watched the big fireworks display that was on the beach, and then went to jump over seven waves and make seven wishes.

There is also a tradition of eating seven grapes and keeping the seeds all year, except the only grapes we had were crushed, fermented, and put into our glasses.

It was certainly the most memorable New Years I have ever had. I still want to spend one in Rio where they have two million people on the beach. It must be crazy.

The Beach in Guarapari

I have been to many beaches but I could not understand when Patrícia said we were going to sit in a beach bar all day. I wanted to be on the beach not in at a bar. Turns out that the beach bar is right on the beach and depending on the tide, almost in the water.

We always had a nice shady table with umbrellas or under a big leafy tree. She had told me about the food too, but again I did not understand. The bar where were had food and drinks and then there was all the food that passed by. There were fresh oysters opened at your table (best ever in my life), skewers of BBQ meat and seafood, corn on the cob, a guy that grills skewered cheese on a tiny BBQ, fruit popsicles, quails eggs, giant fried fish, giant fried balls of cassava root (as big as my fist) filled with shrimp, cheese, or meat, and more. And lots and lots of really cold beer.

This picture is of a big fish that has been deep fried, covered with shrimp and fried bananas. It comes with french fries, a tomato, bell pepper, and onion vinagrette salad, and farina, which is best described as a crunchy powder that adds a delicious texture to food.

Incredibly, I did not gain weight while I was at the beach because I swam so much. I did however cut up my feet and hands pretty good on the rocks when I went diving off the big rocks. I managed to avoid the thousands of sea urchins in almost every hole of the rocks.

As far as the beach itself, the sand was very fine, the water was just a little cool (perfect for the hot weather) and even when there were a lot of people, it didn't feel too crowded.

I loaded more pictures onto my Picasa site, click on the link to the right.

The drive to the beach

I was 13 hours of driving to the beach. I was strongly warned about the roads before we left. At first the roads were fine, then the rain came. If you have never been in a strong tropical rain it is difficult to image just how much water we are talking about. It makes driving a little dangerous, particularly when there are little mini-rivers running across the highway. A few times I could feel the car hydroplane a little.

Then came the section of road I would describe as craters of the moon. It was like a video game, trying to drive as fast as possible but swerving back and forth avoiding the larger suspension damaging and car swallowing holes. It was safer driving on the shoulder than on the road itself. This section was only about 25 miles long and the road got better. Strangely, I found the experience entertaining and a better part of the drive.

Then came the curves and curves. The problem was it was dark and raining intemittently and I was tired. It was draining. We passed a couple cars that had damaged their cars after hitting big holes. We also saw a dead motorcylist laying in the street and a few lesser accidents.

I was relieved when we arrived a little after midnight. Unfortunately, the kids slept most of the way and were awake while I only wanted to collapse.

Christmas in Brasília

We spent Christmas eve at Patrícia's parents house so we could eat, drink, be merry, see Santa, and exchange presents. Every year Santa stops by near midnight to give the children their presents. He spends his days at the big shopping mall in Brasília, but for about $60 he spends about half an hour handing out presents, talking to the kids, and posing for pictures. And not surprisingly, the children believe in Santa Claus because he really comes every year to personally give them their presents.

As midnight nears the kids go out in the backyard by the pool and sing carols up into the sky to call him. And miraculously, he appears in the livingroom with a sack full of presents. When it is time to go, they go back out by the pool to sing to him as he leaves and to watch his sleigh fly away. It is great fun and the kids are sooooo excited.

We went home early, around one, so we could get up early and drive 13 hours to the beach on Christmas day.

Family Christmas in Goiânia, Brasil

Patricia's family rented a chácara for the weekend for a big family Christmas party. It was a nice ranch with an adult pool, a great kids pool, foosball tables, pool tables, huge projection TV screens for music and karaoke, a huge common area, kitchen, bar, soccer field, and river. I was impressed and we only spent the equivalent of $30 for us and the kids.

The food was great and endless with everything from whole roasted baby pigs to a fantastic bitter palm salad. The beer flowed freely and was served in the typical Brazilian style, so cold you can feel the ice crystal are just starting to form. I stuck to wine mostly, but you cannot argue with beer that is that cold when you are hot and sweaty from playing soccer. There really is nothing like relaxing in the pool with a coooold beer and eating pizza.


I played soccer for the first time in my life with people that think soccer is a religion. You cannot imagine how fanatical Brazilians are about the game. When your team loses, it is perfectly normal, and half-expected, for you to tear off your teams jersey, fall on the floor and cry your eyes out. It is a good thing this was a family game. The guy you see falling in the picture had his arm in a sling and he still played hard.

I quickly discovered that I am a terrible attacker because I lack all the fancy footwork skills for controlling the ball and faking out opponents. Seeing how well these guys can control a ball is humbling. However shameful my attacker performance was, I held my own as a blocker. I blocked 11 shots at our goal, stopping the painfully fast moving balls with everything from my feet, legs, stomach, chest, head, and unfortunately, my nose. The last one stunned me for a few seconds, but since it was not gushing blood, I kept playing. My team lost the first game on Saturday and crushed them on Sunday! There was a sudden torrential rain storm while we playing that didn't faze anyone. We just slid around, falling and laughing our butts off at each other. Notice we are all barefoot.

It has been raining a lot and the river was as brown with mud. Although that did not stop her crazy cousin from diving in. We saw some medium sized monkeys, toucans, and giant scary looking ants that bite. I am wearing the required shorty-short swimming trunks that are the fashion here. It was the uniform for the weekend.

We even had Santa Claus (crazy cousin) come to give out presents to the little kids. He had a terrible beard that would not stay in place so none but the littlest of the kids bought it.

And now I am home, sunburned, I hurt all over from abusing my underused soccer muscles, I have big bruises, my ankle is swollen from being kicked, my mosquito bites itch like crazy, I am sleep deprived, a little hung over, feeling fat, and would do it again anytime.

Merry Christmas!

Risking My Life in Rio

It was only a matter of 40 cents and my life was in real danger.

Was it the crime for which Rio is famous? Hardly. I felt less safe in New York City.

It was a streetcar. And it didn't almost run me down like you are probably thinking. And it wasn't because the driver was crazy. It was just dangerous.

Let me explain. You can ride inside or outside. If you ride outside, you stand on a little step and hold on tightly because you cannot stand comfortably, you are leaning back. Supposedly it is free if you are standing, but I ended up paying the 40 cents anyway, no big loss.

There is no warning by anyone about any potential dangers and I am so accustomed to tourist sites that warn you with signs, verbal warnings, and safety equipment that I was not on guard. The difference is that this streetcar is primarily transportation for locals and secondarily for tourists, hence, the low price and lack of warnings.

The danger starts when you leave the station and cross a high and narrow aqueduct. I was leaning back, enjoying the air, when I realized that I had about half a second to squeeze my feet as close to the streetcar as possible or I would be knocked off by the ankle high concrete wall the runs across the aqueduct. There was only about an inch and a half( 3 cm) of extra room.

I was marveling at how close of a call that was when I barely missed getting knocked off by a post that is remarkable close to the side of the streetcar. All the way up the mountain there were posts, poles, walls, cars, and signs that forced the people riding on the outside to flatten themselves to the side. I tried to look at the view while keeping an eye out for the next danger flying past. It was a dangerous to be inattentive. I loved it. It was exciting and completely contrary to anything in the states. If you get hurt, there is no chance to sue anyone, so take care of yourself.

The best/worst part was on the way down. We were not going too fast and I was clinging to the back, when I heard a terrible crunching scraping noise and I saw my fellow standers jumping up into the air. We were squeezing past a car that was parked too close to the tracks. The problem was that if you stayed standing it would crush your legs between the vehicles and we had to jump on top of the car, sliding and bouncing over the trunk, top, windshield, and hood, the whole time keeping hold of the streetcar because it was not stopping. We just kept going down the hill.

It was quite an exciting adventure.

Rio de Janeiro

Almost all of my life I have known about the city of Rio de Janeiro. I knew Ipanema, Copacabana, Christ the Redeemer, and carnival. Oh, and crime and violence too. Finally, after almost two years of coming to Brasil, I got to see it for myself.

It has the most natural beauty of any city I have ever seen and the beaches live up to the hype. It is a stunningly beautiful place, even though it was overcast most of the time I was there. It looks like god threw a handful of mountain size rocks down along the coast. The picture does not do it justice. Go to google images and search Rio and you will see. I loved it. I loved the sand, the cool water, the cheap food and drinks, the people watching, and the relaxed atmosphere.

It was also great that I can speak Portuguese well enough to manage most things. I didn't feel like I was a complete tourist. In fact, there were a few times that I only spoke Portuguese and Patrícia only spoke English because she wanted people to think she was an oblivious American. I felt very comfortable the whole time in Rio. Cariocas, people of Rio, are a friendly lot in general.

Patrícia was in Rio on business and I went down to meet her for the weekend. It was only two and a half short days and I left wanting much much more. We managed to see Christ the Redeemer just before we left, but the sun went behind the clouds just before we got to the top. It was still a breathtaking view.

As for the violence and danger...

There are many favelas, or slums, right beside the richest areas. The favelas are not places the police can go lightly because they are controlled by drug traffickers with serious weaponry. Normally they have to fight their way into the mountainside slums in huge gun battles. I, of course, love a little danger, but I am not stupid and I stayed far away.

I desperately wanted to go hang gliding over the city, however, the visibility was not great and I decided to wait for Eric to come and then we can go together. It is very safe, I am told.

The beaches and tourist areas are very safe if you use some common sense. There are a lot of tourist police and the drug traffickers know that tourism is important for people to earn enough money to buy drugs, so they try not to scare too many people away. Although, there are many oblivious tourists who are asking to be robbed and the poor people take the opportunity.

The most dangerous part of the visit was where I least expected. My safety was genuinely in danger. I have got to go now. Check my next post for details.

Day 233 Pizza Party

My idea of a pizza party with my coworkers is a little different than what happened last night at the apartment building of Patrícia's coworker.

Were we crowded in a little apartment with plates perched in our laps and no place to set our wine glasses? No. Were we helping ourselves to mediocre pies out of cardboard boxes? No.

We were seated under the stars next to the rooftop terrace pool. The tables were elegantly set and had custom printed menus for the event. We were to get two foccacia appetizers, six kinds of pizza, and two dessert pizzas. The pizza company set up their own high temperature gas fired pizza oven in the terrace kitchen and provided staff that circled the tables offering up slices of delicious ultra thin crust pizzas. Olive oil, wine and conversation flowed freely, and of course, I had my share of all three. At the end, as I finished my banana pizza topped with ice cream and drizzled with copious amounts of chocolate, I still wanted more, but I was already past the too much food point. And it wasn't until this morning that I realized that I went beyond the too much wine point too. Oh well, you only live once so make it count. Life is good if you do it right.

Day 232 Brazilian Work Culture

The difference between the Brasilian work culture and America's is most striking in how much importance they place on building personal relationships. I have been to a number of lunches with Patrícia's coworkers and I am constantly amazed at how close people are, physically and personally. First there is lots of kissing on cheeks and hugging, and then there is a lot of personal interaction outside of the work place. For instance, at lunch the other day, they all planned evening get-togethers, rotating between each others homes. Tonight's event is going to be catered by a pizza company that brings its own pizza oven to your home and cooks to order. We will all split the cost, about $10/person plus wine. Luckily for me, almost all of her coworkers at this company speak English. It should be a loud, rowdy, good time.

The downside of this kind of interaction is that at her last job, she even was obligated to go to her boss's son's birthday party, despite the fact that her boss was a jerk. I guess a little sacrifice to improve workplace harmony is not a terrible thing.

I am also amazed at the quantity of sales people in the shops. In one small shoe store, I counted 8 sales clerks. Lower wages allow for more service, maybe not always good service, but lots of it. For most Americans this would seem like overkill, but Patrícia's reaction in another store perfectly illustrated the Brasilian opinion: we were browsing for a few minutes and no one came over to help us. She said, "I guess they don't want to sell us anything," and we went to another store with more outwardly helpful people. Where Americans expect to be able to browse alone until they ask for help, Brasilians expect the sales person to be right by their side to answer any question. It is weird for me to have someone watching me browse, but I am getting used to it.

Day 223 Catching up with France

I am finally caught up with the galleries! France is up! It was about 5 hours of work to pick pictures, resize them, write the code, build the templates, debug the code, and upload all the pictures. Whew!

I have gotten lazy lately, I apologize. I won't do it again. Really. No really. I mean it. After all, this trip isn't about relaxing and having fun, it is about work, work, work.

Now I have to go take my normal afternoon nap while the cook cleans up the lunch mess.

Tchau!

Day 212 Playing With Fire

We headed to the little town of Goiás Velho to see the Procissão de Fogeréu. This colonial town has a very different character than other cities in Brasil and still has the (seemingly unrepaired) original stone streets laid by slaves from long ago. The streets are so rough that walking on them is dangerous if you are not watching your feet. Cars go very very slow. Speeding is definitely not an issue.

Most of the colonial houses have been preserved and are now shops or restaurants. We were lucky enough to stay in the house of a former Governor of the state of Bahia (Patrícia’s Uncle’s Grandfather) right on the main square across from the palace and the cathedral. It is a lovely spacious and high ceilinged house with courtyards and it could not have been a better base to watch the action.

News crews sporadically interviewed people, getting surplus footage and killing time along the procession route until midnight. The streets and main square started really filling up as the darkness and temperature fell. By 10:00 pm people were positioning themselves. We set up chairs in front of the house, drank beer, and watched people, and waited for the city workers to come by with a ladder and turn off the street lights. Then there was a kids mini-procession, which was a bizarre mix of Halloween and Easter. At this point I took my camera and headed up the now very dark street to watch the drummers signaling the start of the real procession. Fighting the masses of TV crews and photojournalists I wedged myself into position and the streets suddenly got much lighter and smokier as they handed out a few hundred torches to the crowd. The torches were black painted pop cans on sticks, filled with kerosene and a wick. I cannot imagine something this cool happening in the USA.

Then came the procession of Roman soldiers looking for Christ. Dressed in Klu Klux Klan like robes, but in much more flamboyant colors, they marched through the streets with torches, a sense of purpose, and an amazing disregard for their own ankle safety. They looked like a homosexual version of the KKK, or as I like to call them, the GayKK. I caught up with them at the church at the far side of town and watched as Christ (they found him) said something in Portuguese and then they were off again to somewhere else. It was brief, weird, and very interesting. There was a nice black and white t-shirt of the event, but it would have gotten me killed in the USA so I wisely decided to buy one with a view of the colonial streets.

Day 210 Eating and Being Eaten

I was in the busy downtown of sweltering Goiania, a couple hours from Brasilia. It was a Greek restaurant, or so the sign said. The décor of the restaurant did indeed give a slight passing impression of the Mediterranean, although, the reality was pure Brasilian. It was exactly like the many “Brasilian” restaurants I saw in Spain that had nothing to do with Brasilian food. Maybe it is an American expectation that a themed restaurant should have the corresponding food. Regardless, the selection of food was wide-ranging and amazingly high quality for a buffet. The most amazing part was the price. My loaded plate had a large assortment of seafood, meats, salads, and fruits. I grabbed a Coke and it came out to a whole $4.50, including coffee afterward. That readily explained the other hundred or so people in the restaurant. I love how cheap food is here. I can even get my fill of sushi for $12.

I had gone traveling with Patrícia’s parents for a few days while she worked. The plan was that we would go ahead, making a few stops on the way to visit relatives, and she would meet us at the family’s farm for the weekend. I knew I was in for a lot of sitting around smiling and listening to conversations I could not understand. I was right, but it was better than it sounds. When I get fatigued trying to understand the discussion, I pay attention to nonverbal cultural details and surroundings. And to be fair, a few of her relatives speak English so I was able to talk quite a bit.

The stop in the religious town of Trindade was interesting. The town is dominated by a giant box-like cathedral on a hill, replete with long, twisting, freeway-style, elevated drive ramps to the font door. It is the site of a yearly pilgrimage and was sized to accommodate the occasional surging throngs of the devoted. The rest of the year, the under-decorated, voluminous box seems ridiculously out of place with its setting in the little lower-income town. The interesting part of the cathedral was the Room of Miracles underneath. First, there was an inexplicable display of general antiques ranging from old tv’s and typewriters to farming equipment. Second, there were tens of thousands of photographs of people, in various states of health, mounted on panels throughout the room. Some were before and after photos, others were only before shots. It looked as if some represented miracles and others were prayer for them. Lastly, two walls were covered with amateur paintings of violent accidents. There were machinery accidents, landslides, horse falls, fires, dog attacks…all violent and frequently bloody. Unfortunately, no one could explain the purpose of these “works of art” to me. I especially was baffled by the mural by the door in which a man in a normal looking religious scene is unperturbed by having his leg eaten by a dog. Weird.

DAy 196 Back in Brasília

It is good to be back in Brasil for many reasons. The most important one is obviously my beautiful Patrícia. Also high on my list are her family, the weather, food, people, and many little things like these two parrots who were perched above my bedroom window and singing for me.

The one negative I can say is that I still don't know enough Portuguese yet. I have been trying to study in Europe despite how hard it was to learn multiple languages at the same time. I know that with time it will come to me as long as I keep it up. The challenge is really in hearing the spoken language for me. There are many ways to say even the simplest of things and many more ways people can inflect their speech. If people speak slowly and enunciate I can usually do pretty well. If they talk fast, are excited, mumble, slur, use slang, speak quietly, talk over each other, or if there is too much extraneous noise...I am lost. I keep telling myself it will take time.

Patrícia starts her new job as Corporate Manager of Human Resources at Politec (very big IT company)tomorrow and will unfortunately be working a lot. It is a great job and I am very proud of her. She is very intelligent, professional, and sexy too. With that combination she can go far. Her working so much means that I will have plenty of time to study the language during the day. And hopefully catch up on blogging. We will see how well I do.

For some reason I always get about a half dozen mosquito bites right at first when I arrive here and then rarely after that. I don't know if it changes because I start eating the Brasilian diet or I develop an immunity and don't react as much. I don't care as long as I stop itching. Luckily this is not a malarial area.

Day 97 Leaving Brasil

Heading back to the USA, I am sitting aisle side on a flight headed south from Brasilia to Sao Paulo. Sure it is the wrong direction I want to go, yet somehow it seems appropriate that I go the opposite direction for a couple hours and then turn around and go back. From Sao Paulo I go to Dallas and then Portland to get Eric and go to Italy. I will only be in Portland two days, brief enough that the time change of six hours from Brasil won’t screw me up before we head nine time zones to Italy.

Leaving Brasil is hard for me. Even though I have only seen one other identifiable gringo during my month and a half here, making me feel like I really stand out, and almost no one speaks English, I have felt very welcome to be in the country. People have been very considerate, and thankfully, tolerant of my pitiful Portuguese. And it is always hard for me to leave a place with good food.

Patricia’s family treated me as one of their own, looking out for me, and really going out of their way to make me feel at home. The cohesiveness of her family was remarkable to experience. Their weekly family gatherings were chaotic, lively, frequently loud, and fun.



Hardest of all, is of course leaving Patricia. It will be a long five months until I see her again. Thank God for Skype.

On the positive side of leaving Brasil, I haven’t seen Eric for ninety-seven days and I miss him very much. I can’t wait to explore Italy with him.

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!