A valet parked and retrieved our cars. Our table had a grand total of four waiters assigned to silently glide around it. No pizza was on the menu, which was in Italian. When the food arrived it was covered with silver cloches, which were removed from our plates with a dramatic flourish... I'm thinking it was real silver because they used gloves. Utensils came. Utensils went. They even provided me with a finger bowl to tidy my fingers should the sauce on my partridges and strawberry risotto have sullied them.
Despite the novelty of exaggerated refinement, my favorite Italian dinning experience was in Spain at some hole in the wall where the patrons at one table were charged with flipping a breaker switch because the lights kept going out. I will never forget the aroma that drew droves of patrons every night... or the food when it came. That plate of hot carbs, cheese and spices kicked my partridges' little feathery asses.
It was joked recently that I like poverty... I prefer to think I'm increasingly coming to value good company and good food (wherever I find them) over massaging an idea of myself as a priveledged member of society.
30 September 2009
24 September 2009
Are you freaking out of your mind?
I have always loved the beach. Yesterday, it was my birthday and I tried, I really did. I plopped my towl down on the deserted Ipanema beach and tried to appreciate the beauty of the waves and moutains. The huge drops of rain persisted in their insistance that I take the hint and have the good sense to desist. I gave up when the wind started lashing my face with sand. Oh well.
I settled into one of those ubiquitous little beach stands with the plastic table and chairs to read. Suddenly, I was surrounded by six large, loud American men. Four of them, from my own beloved Texas, were buying those crappy knock off soccer jerseys that fall apart the first time you wash them from a street vendor. They then began to complain about how the water made them sick. Right... (the water is absolutely fine and drinkable, I imagine the week of high risk sex, binge drinking and overeating they excitedly told me about had nothing to do with it...)
Despite the inclement weather the two Chicagoans had set up a large Bose iPod player on their table and were chilling to instrumental rock music.
Now. for context.
I wouldn't walk around in Rio with even a watch. When taking pictures, I use a disposable camera or take pains to hid my digital, only whipping it out quickly when I already have the shot planned, then promptly stuffing it back in my pocket. Brazilians shed all jewelry before going out and are careful to keep a low profile. In fact, during my taxi ride earlier that day, the driver and I congenially discussed strategies for best avoiding a mugging. While I emphatically do not share many Brazilians unfair characterization of Rio as a "very dangerous" city, I freely admit only an idiot would ignore its high crime rate.
People recount stories of kidnapping and muggings and murders with pain in their eyes I would never want to experience.
So imagine my absolute shock at seeing a piece of high technology worth multiple thousands of dollars displayed prominently in a public place. I absolutely could not resist the question... ummm? aren't you a little... er... worried about that?
The Chicagoan's response surprised me even more than the stereo. He was deeply offended and irritated with me. He had never had a problem, ever. He had never felt unsafe. And who do I think I am? As if he didn't know how to handle himself... As if he didn't know Rio... He had been coming down there for over a year, staying for long periods of time and he had a friend and he was learning Portuguese with Rosetta stone! He was not some inexperienced tourist and I might as well mind my own business, because he wanted to sit at the beach listing to music. Damn it.
Wow... very taken aback, I simply tried to explain where I was coming from. How every single one of my Brazilian friends (without exception) had been mugged at some point or threatened with a weapon as they tried to quietly go about their business. I told my own stories of close calls with fights and carjackings.
I live here. I have spoken Portuguese fluently for four years and while I too love this city, I have the humility to accept the rules that govern this place and the good senese to heed the advice of the natives who are only concerned with my wealfare. I freely admit I am a foreigner who has much to learn about life in Brazil.
By all means, display your material wealth prominently in the shadow of the one of the largest favelas in Latin America in the city with one of the world's highest violent crime rates.
Oh... and those men were laughing at you two because you were freaked out by that bug. It's called a dona joana and is basically a glorified lady bug. Have a nice stay.
I settled into one of those ubiquitous little beach stands with the plastic table and chairs to read. Suddenly, I was surrounded by six large, loud American men. Four of them, from my own beloved Texas, were buying those crappy knock off soccer jerseys that fall apart the first time you wash them from a street vendor. They then began to complain about how the water made them sick. Right... (the water is absolutely fine and drinkable, I imagine the week of high risk sex, binge drinking and overeating they excitedly told me about had nothing to do with it...)
Despite the inclement weather the two Chicagoans had set up a large Bose iPod player on their table and were chilling to instrumental rock music.
Now. for context.
I wouldn't walk around in Rio with even a watch. When taking pictures, I use a disposable camera or take pains to hid my digital, only whipping it out quickly when I already have the shot planned, then promptly stuffing it back in my pocket. Brazilians shed all jewelry before going out and are careful to keep a low profile. In fact, during my taxi ride earlier that day, the driver and I congenially discussed strategies for best avoiding a mugging. While I emphatically do not share many Brazilians unfair characterization of Rio as a "very dangerous" city, I freely admit only an idiot would ignore its high crime rate.
People recount stories of kidnapping and muggings and murders with pain in their eyes I would never want to experience.
So imagine my absolute shock at seeing a piece of high technology worth multiple thousands of dollars displayed prominently in a public place. I absolutely could not resist the question... ummm? aren't you a little... er... worried about that?
The Chicagoan's response surprised me even more than the stereo. He was deeply offended and irritated with me. He had never had a problem, ever. He had never felt unsafe. And who do I think I am? As if he didn't know how to handle himself... As if he didn't know Rio... He had been coming down there for over a year, staying for long periods of time and he had a friend and he was learning Portuguese with Rosetta stone! He was not some inexperienced tourist and I might as well mind my own business, because he wanted to sit at the beach listing to music. Damn it.
Wow... very taken aback, I simply tried to explain where I was coming from. How every single one of my Brazilian friends (without exception) had been mugged at some point or threatened with a weapon as they tried to quietly go about their business. I told my own stories of close calls with fights and carjackings.
I live here. I have spoken Portuguese fluently for four years and while I too love this city, I have the humility to accept the rules that govern this place and the good senese to heed the advice of the natives who are only concerned with my wealfare. I freely admit I am a foreigner who has much to learn about life in Brazil.
By all means, display your material wealth prominently in the shadow of the one of the largest favelas in Latin America in the city with one of the world's highest violent crime rates.
Oh... and those men were laughing at you two because you were freaked out by that bug. It's called a dona joana and is basically a glorified lady bug. Have a nice stay.
17 September 2009
BH is for lovers
Every night for several weeks now, I pass by this couple who meet each other under a tree in front of one of the shuttered shops by my building. I know they must come here after work because they're always wearing the same uniforms.
They stand there for literally hours giggling, occasionally making out, talking in low voices or just
sitting close
huddled on the steps.
It moves me to see two people so obviously, so relentlessly in love...
They're young and apparently lower on the socioeconomic chain, so their relationship is structurally disposed to a high likelihood of failure. Marriage is rare among Brazil's marginalized poor, the ability to form a stable family unit seriously complicated by a host of social challenges and insecurities. My research harangues me about all the barriers to resources, the power differentials, the unrelenting poverty that looms over their lives.
But when I pass them, I can't help my smile... and wish them all the best. Seriously, who knows what that bond they are forging can enable them to accomplish...?
They stand there for literally hours giggling, occasionally making out, talking in low voices or just
sitting close
huddled on the steps.
It moves me to see two people so obviously, so relentlessly in love...
They're young and apparently lower on the socioeconomic chain, so their relationship is structurally disposed to a high likelihood of failure. Marriage is rare among Brazil's marginalized poor, the ability to form a stable family unit seriously complicated by a host of social challenges and insecurities. My research harangues me about all the barriers to resources, the power differentials, the unrelenting poverty that looms over their lives.
But when I pass them, I can't help my smile... and wish them all the best. Seriously, who knows what that bond they are forging can enable them to accomplish...?
15 September 2009
Road hazards
Going ANYWHERE here includes a careful study of maps and bus routes. I then depart with the fare carefully divided in separate pockets for quick access. I always draw a map of the surrounding streets. As soon as I get on the bus, I ask the cashier to please alert me when we reach my street. Sometimes all this results in an easy trip to my destination.
MOST OF THE TIME I AM WANDERING STREETS ASKING UP TO THREE OR FOUR PEOPLE FOR DIRECTIONS IN THIS STUPID LABYRINTH OF A CITY AFTER I GET OFF.
I just can't understand how for all my maps and research I still get hopelessly lost... I think the streets are on a randomization algorithm.
I find it sometimes helps to pretend you're Mario and this is just another level to get to the castle. Instead of evil mushrooms and grainy pixel monsters I dodge muggers and psycho-motorcyclists. That princess I rescue had better be grateful, damn it!
I know it just takes time to figure this all out. However, it's getting hotter every day here, and these little peregrinations leave me drenched. The raining season starts in a few days... then I'll really know what "wet" is. Mamma mia! Ay Mario no lika the slushy sneakers!
MOST OF THE TIME I AM WANDERING STREETS ASKING UP TO THREE OR FOUR PEOPLE FOR DIRECTIONS IN THIS STUPID LABYRINTH OF A CITY AFTER I GET OFF.
I just can't understand how for all my maps and research I still get hopelessly lost... I think the streets are on a randomization algorithm.
I find it sometimes helps to pretend you're Mario and this is just another level to get to the castle. Instead of evil mushrooms and grainy pixel monsters I dodge muggers and psycho-motorcyclists. That princess I rescue had better be grateful, damn it!
I know it just takes time to figure this all out. However, it's getting hotter every day here, and these little peregrinations leave me drenched. The raining season starts in a few days... then I'll really know what "wet" is. Mamma mia! Ay Mario no lika the slushy sneakers!
08 September 2009
Screaming vagabonds
Last night we went to the movies to celebrate Brazilian Independence Day. We saw Os Normais 2, a physical comedy shtick that taught me two new hilarious Portuguese slang words for "vagina," insulted the entire state of Bahia (racially?) and managed to work a baby sloth into the plot - brilliant.
The theater is near the top of a tall hill, and by the time we had lopped to the bottom, those potatoes I had pealed and cut up for dinner were simply not going to do the trick. Fortunately, there is a cheap restaurant at the bottom of the hill.
Now, this street during the day is a busy shop lined avenue. At night, however, it is the great divide between light and dark. Marginal and mainstream. Vagrancy and... dinner.
Basically the street lights on the side of the road opposite the restaurant have been burned out since I got here shrouding the area in darkness. This has facilitated the growth of a HOBO COLONY.
I'm not sure when they set up shop or where they go during the day, but after dark a cardboard city springs up. Pedestrians cross over to the well-lit restaurant side, which conducts a lively business. Well, my laziness landed us there last night as well.
It was disconcerting to say the least to eat dinner some 20 feet away from a homeless person, cracked out and screaming incomprehensibly for a good ten minutes at his friends. The entire restaurant collectively shuddered when he stormed off down the street flailing his arms and sputtering.
City dwellers can sympathize with scenes like this one that push you towards the "clean up the rabble" argument. Then there are the little moments that remind you of their humanity like the ancient woman napping on a door step that makes you wish you could "do something." Like poverty, tacky clothing and other social problems, I'm sure the solution is complex.
In the meanwhile, I sure do hope they managed to resolve their problem last night. A HOBO WAR just doesn't seem like it'd be in anyone's interests.
The theater is near the top of a tall hill, and by the time we had lopped to the bottom, those potatoes I had pealed and cut up for dinner were simply not going to do the trick. Fortunately, there is a cheap restaurant at the bottom of the hill.
Now, this street during the day is a busy shop lined avenue. At night, however, it is the great divide between light and dark. Marginal and mainstream. Vagrancy and... dinner.
Basically the street lights on the side of the road opposite the restaurant have been burned out since I got here shrouding the area in darkness. This has facilitated the growth of a HOBO COLONY.
I'm not sure when they set up shop or where they go during the day, but after dark a cardboard city springs up. Pedestrians cross over to the well-lit restaurant side, which conducts a lively business. Well, my laziness landed us there last night as well.
It was disconcerting to say the least to eat dinner some 20 feet away from a homeless person, cracked out and screaming incomprehensibly for a good ten minutes at his friends. The entire restaurant collectively shuddered when he stormed off down the street flailing his arms and sputtering.
City dwellers can sympathize with scenes like this one that push you towards the "clean up the rabble" argument. Then there are the little moments that remind you of their humanity like the ancient woman napping on a door step that makes you wish you could "do something." Like poverty, tacky clothing and other social problems, I'm sure the solution is complex.
In the meanwhile, I sure do hope they managed to resolve their problem last night. A HOBO WAR just doesn't seem like it'd be in anyone's interests.
04 September 2009
Colação de Grau
This December I will graduate from Texas A&M University. I have been to several Aggie graduations, so I know what to expect for my own: endless boredom. My last name is at the beginning of the alphabet, so I do plan to leave after walking the stage. Rude? Sorry.
Envisioning mind-numbing boredom when my friend invited me the commencement ceremony for a college, it was curiosity alone that forced me to agree.
HOLY CRAP. Where do I begin?
Really, I shouldn't have been surprised by THE THREE HOURS OF OVER STIMULATION that followed.
Brazilians are frequently up front about how much they love their families. "I love you so much. I'm always thinking about you." "You really are one of my best friends. I admire you so much and I miss you whenever you're away." These are things from various friends' Orkut (=lame Facebook) pages. FROM THEIR SIBLINGS!
While I have come across instances of chronic sibling conflict here, generally I'm gratified (and convicted) by these people's obvious affection for each other. Don't even get me started on the parents.
Secondly, Brazilians also tend to be... er... "ebullient", I believe is the appropriate word. At concerts, clubs, parties, church, etc. they compete with each other for being the happiest, dancingest and loudest in attendance. Don't even get me started on Carnival.
Imagine now that someone you love, admire and support with your very lifeblood is graduating from an institution of higher learning.
A small group of family members was about five. Even the nuns turned out for a graduating sister. Most had enough parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. attending that it was possible for one family member each to frantically wave an enormous, bedazzled poster with a single letter... and spell out a name like L-E-O-N-A-R-D-O with still another two rows to throw balloons, pop confetti, and lay on an airhorn like an Italian cab driver stuck in traffic.
I will not deny it. I wouldn't mind one day seeing a large group of screaming people (wearing matching t-shirts with my face splayed under "WE LOVE YOU, DAVID!! YOU'RE THE GREATEST!!!", some with their hair dyed multicolored) mobbing some stage I was standing on. Seems like it would be kind of gratifying.
It was never really quiet even during the most serious speech (and there were many, I assure you). Pretty much the only time things settled down even a little was when the diplomas were passed out - only one group was screaming their heads off at a time, the rest just kind of excitedly tittering in anticipation. I kid you not, though I knew no one there, I nearly cried once from the outpouring of honest... joy.
The time flew by for which I am thankful. I had a pounding headache between the whistles, airhorns and enough camera flashes to simulate daylight indoors.
Parabéns, graduates.
Envisioning mind-numbing boredom when my friend invited me the commencement ceremony for a college, it was curiosity alone that forced me to agree.
HOLY CRAP. Where do I begin?
Really, I shouldn't have been surprised by THE THREE HOURS OF OVER STIMULATION that followed.
Brazilians are frequently up front about how much they love their families. "I love you so much. I'm always thinking about you." "You really are one of my best friends. I admire you so much and I miss you whenever you're away." These are things from various friends' Orkut (=lame Facebook) pages. FROM THEIR SIBLINGS!
While I have come across instances of chronic sibling conflict here, generally I'm gratified (and convicted) by these people's obvious affection for each other. Don't even get me started on the parents.
Secondly, Brazilians also tend to be... er... "ebullient", I believe is the appropriate word. At concerts, clubs, parties, church, etc. they compete with each other for being the happiest, dancingest and loudest in attendance. Don't even get me started on Carnival.
Imagine now that someone you love, admire and support with your very lifeblood is graduating from an institution of higher learning.
A small group of family members was about five. Even the nuns turned out for a graduating sister. Most had enough parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. attending that it was possible for one family member each to frantically wave an enormous, bedazzled poster with a single letter... and spell out a name like L-E-O-N-A-R-D-O with still another two rows to throw balloons, pop confetti, and lay on an airhorn like an Italian cab driver stuck in traffic.
I will not deny it. I wouldn't mind one day seeing a large group of screaming people (wearing matching t-shirts with my face splayed under "WE LOVE YOU, DAVID!! YOU'RE THE GREATEST!!!", some with their hair dyed multicolored) mobbing some stage I was standing on. Seems like it would be kind of gratifying.
It was never really quiet even during the most serious speech (and there were many, I assure you). Pretty much the only time things settled down even a little was when the diplomas were passed out - only one group was screaming their heads off at a time, the rest just kind of excitedly tittering in anticipation. I kid you not, though I knew no one there, I nearly cried once from the outpouring of honest... joy.
The time flew by for which I am thankful. I had a pounding headache between the whistles, airhorns and enough camera flashes to simulate daylight indoors.
Parabéns, graduates.
03 September 2009
The log flume at Six Flags
The last time I traveled (to Europe) I was doing an internship in Spain. Knowing I couldn't very well look like a slob at my office, I packed pretty much every article of clothing in regular use at the time.
Fool.
I was over the limit by 10 pounds. Flustered, I quickly stuffed ~10lbs. of clothes into a plastic bag I found. Which I then lugged all over DFW airport for the rest of the day because the flight was full. Our journey took us many places, but I must recall the bag's appearance at the Charles De Gaulle... where it exploded (EXPLODED!).
I was fortunate to have that fortuitous ball of clothing since the airline lost my luggage. I received it a week before I returned to the US. Buying clothes in the Eurozone made my bank account hemorrhage (HEMORRHAGE!).
This time I wasn't going to be an idiot. I packed one duffel which came in well under the limit. I was so proud of my travel savoir...
Then I got a job and moved here.
I now wash clothes like I had two year old twins who shared a bad can of tuna. To make things more interesting, I have no washing machine or dryer nor any prospect of buying one. The laundry mat is also too expensive (I checked...)
How then...? Let me instruct you, fair reader on the art of
At first, I was ineffectual in the extreme. My clothes were not clean and I'd waste hours sloshing water all over the place. Finally, I gave up and began filching clothes from Ricardo's closet when he was at work (He's much smaller than me - it wasn't pretty). Eventually tired of catcalls, I buckled down to it and made a system.
Though it takes time, washing clothes by hand is a great activity if you have a lot of stress in your life. All of these activities will develop your grip as well and rough up your hands giving you a "masculine aura"!
Important Note: if you leave your clothes in a heap after working out, no amount of VIGOROUS SCRUBBING will take out the noisome smell of stagnant log flume water at Six Flags. The evil-smell demons will hiss at you when you burn them.
I recommend a crucifix.
So there you go people! Now you too can travel light or live in poverty in Latin America - whatever the case may be!
Fool.
I was over the limit by 10 pounds. Flustered, I quickly stuffed ~10lbs. of clothes into a plastic bag I found. Which I then lugged all over DFW airport for the rest of the day because the flight was full. Our journey took us many places, but I must recall the bag's appearance at the Charles De Gaulle... where it exploded (EXPLODED!).
On a staircase.
With French people surging up behind me.
Hurried
Impatient
Anti-American
French people
SURGING!
With French people surging up behind me.
Hurried
Impatient
Anti-American
French people
SURGING!
I was fortunate to have that fortuitous ball of clothing since the airline lost my luggage. I received it a week before I returned to the US. Buying clothes in the Eurozone made my bank account hemorrhage (HEMORRHAGE!).
This time I wasn't going to be an idiot. I packed one duffel which came in well under the limit. I was so proud of my travel savoir...
Then I got a job and moved here.
I now wash clothes like I had two year old twins who shared a bad can of tuna. To make things more interesting, I have no washing machine or dryer nor any prospect of buying one. The laundry mat is also too expensive (I checked...)
How then...? Let me instruct you, fair reader on the art of
WASHING CLOTHES BY HAND
At first, I was ineffectual in the extreme. My clothes were not clean and I'd waste hours sloshing water all over the place. Finally, I gave up and began filching clothes from Ricardo's closet when he was at work (He's much smaller than me - it wasn't pretty). Eventually tired of catcalls, I buckled down to it and made a system.
- Soak all clothes for at least 20 minutes in detergent.
- Rub them vigorously against a washboard (ELBOW GREASE!)
- Apply soap to stains and use a brush on the spots (growling helps)
- Rinse. I rinse my clothes in the shower because it doesn't get water everywhere. Please, don't tell this to Ricardo. (If he learns English one day, remind me to delete this post). Rinse until no more suds are visible.
- WRING IT OUT! This is in caps because it requires exuberance. Lots. Especially jeans.
- Hang on clothes line. Jeans and knit shirts go towards the front. Socks to the back. (duh.) Fortunately, we live on the top floor and the breeze is a freaking hurricane.
- Ironing is the devil. But you must do it or people think you're too poor to have a maid. It gets faster with practice.
Though it takes time, washing clothes by hand is a great activity if you have a lot of stress in your life. All of these activities will develop your grip as well and rough up your hands giving you a "masculine aura"!
Important Note: if you leave your clothes in a heap after working out, no amount of VIGOROUS SCRUBBING will take out the noisome smell of stagnant log flume water at Six Flags. The evil-smell demons will hiss at you when you burn them.
I recommend a crucifix.
So there you go people! Now you too can travel light or live in poverty in Latin America - whatever the case may be!
01 September 2009
Begrudingly
Relaxing on the terrace after a surprisingly drama-filled day, I realized the following:
I have long been unfairly prejudiced against city nights. While they are by no means quiet, in the right mood all those cars following through the streets can sound remarkably similar to a tide roaring.
Though the sky is no Milky Way, the moon is there - faithful as always. The stars that do shine through are in a way even more beautiful - determined to pierce the darkness. The glare of the city lights reflected off the bottoms of clouds create a shade of dull red like smoke from a distant fire.
The buildings are not beautiful mountains and trees, but the lights are human and remind me of the reality of our billions of lives rubbing shoulders on this planet - what we share.
Fine. I'll take it.
You too can live abroad!
I teach English at a language school down the street.
It is great fun.
We learn and learn.
See the Brazilian children learn.
See the business executives learn.
They are so smart, and they are so happy learning the English language.
Some day they will go there. They will be so happy speaking the English language that I thought to them in the language school down the street.
They will think of me and say, "Damn, that crazy mofo-gringo done taught me some righteous English, fo reeeeeeal!"
No, but seriously, what started out as a simple way to get out of the house for a while and make some dough has rather unexpectedly turned into some serious $$... er... R$R$. I would totally suggest getting certified in teaching ESL if you'd like to live abroad. It's a great thing to do on the side! Fo shizzo!
It is great fun.
We learn and learn.
See the Brazilian children learn.
See the business executives learn.
They are so smart, and they are so happy learning the English language.
Some day they will go there. They will be so happy speaking the English language that I thought to them in the language school down the street.
They will think of me and say, "Damn, that crazy mofo-gringo done taught me some righteous English, fo reeeeeeal!"
No, but seriously, what started out as a simple way to get out of the house for a while and make some dough has rather unexpectedly turned into some serious $$... er... R$R$. I would totally suggest getting certified in teaching ESL if you'd like to live abroad. It's a great thing to do on the side! Fo shizzo!
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