The city was surreal. I still don’t feel like I’m here. I’ve seen so many pictures and heard so much, but now those exact pictures of the water, the favelas, Cristo, the hotels, and the mountains are the backdrop to my actual life—pretty hard to wrap your head around. One by one the driver dropped off the kids in the van, and one by one the kids came back down from their apartments for various reasons, “my host mom wasn’t ready for me,” “there was no one there.” The driver laughed as he headed for a hostel, and said “Welcome to Brazil.” Fortunately, the housing system had failed me a month ago, when PUC kindly informed me I didn’t have a home. Thanks to the extreme generosity of the family I babysat for in DC, I had a place to go right away.
And what a place it is. Only about a block from the beach in Ipanema, it’s got a great location and is tucked away achieving what can be called peace in this crazy city. It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a grand piano and beautiful hardwood floors throughout. It’s so interesting because everything is a little different, the door knobs aren’t actually used for anything—I was turning and turning and turning until the doorman showed me you just use the key to turn. Oops. And the shower—using hot water ignites some gas filled appliance mounted on the wall which heats the water out in the kitchen. And it’s embarrassing how long it took me to learn how to flush the toilet.
I left for the day and met up with the other kids that shared my ride from the airport. We wandered around and emerged at Copacabana Beach. Again, it’s insane how much it doesn’t even feel real, I’ve seen it in pictures so many times! We put our feet in the “cold” water (given it’s the middle of winter here but it’s still 70 degrees), and then ate at a restaurant on the beach. I had caipirinha—the famous Brazilian cocktail of crushed lime, sugar, and Brazil’s take on rum, cachaça—and linguiça with rice and farofa. Farofa is kind of like a condiment that they eat on everything here. It’s a dry and course yellowish powder that’s made from flour, spices, and most notably ground manioc root from the Amazon.
After dinner I walked a few short blocks on Queen Elizabeth Avenue and was at Ipanema Beach. Right from the beach there is a beautiful view of the horizon ahead, and dois irmãos, ”the two brothers”, which are two of the distinct mountain-like rock formations that jut up out of Guanabara Bay. It’s so amazing that after seeing that priceless view for the first time I was back at the apartment in minutes. And this time, the doorman recognized me, so we skipped the duet of broken-English, broken-Portuguese, and he let me right in.
I went to the grocery store, called “Zona Sul <3,” literally. My biggest concern was pretending to be brasiliero enough to get away with using Mr. Moura de Castro’s Brazilian equivalent of a Safeway or Shaws member card. However, when I got there I realized I should have been more concerned with the fact that milk and meat are not refrigerated and that you have to weigh things like fruit before you get to the cashier. The latter cultural difference left me running through the store in search of a scale while a line of angry Brazilians took note that I was clearly not Mr. Moura de Castro.
I don’t have internet here, but hopefully I will soon at my actual host family’s home. I will call them tomorrow and see what arrangements can be made for us to meet—stay tuned! Thanks for reading, I miss you all.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Flying In
I arrived in Rio today.
Leaving was pretty hard. After talking bad about the United States for so long, it was actually difficult to wrap my head around the concept that I’d be leaving for the semester. Goodbye was harder. It’s amazing how close I’ve been able to become to Kelsey and all my friends in DC, so it was probably one of the toughest goodbye’s I’ve dealt with. But a sad goodbye is also a strong embodiment of a close relationship, so I’m happy to be that lucky. And to all my NH friends, I’m still missing you.
Once in Dulles, where everything looks like it’s melting, my flight was delayed a half hour. Not a huge deal since that still left me with an hour to catch my connection to Rio. Once we boarded the plane however, the captain informed us in a mumble filled ramble that we would not be living for 40 minutes because of a storm, and 40 minutes later, we still had forty minutes to go. Despite the reassurance of my plane neighbors, a twelve year old headed for Nashville and a 60 year old US Airways retiree (who sometimes flies United, if you care), I was rather upset. Once we finally landed in Charlotte at 10:30 I ran across the airport to the gate where my flight was scheduled to leave… at 10:30. When, out of breath, I rounded the last bend towards Gate D11, and the flip-flop-sprinting-on-tile echo faded, and I realized that if I had taken 10 seconds to look at a monitor, I would have realized that my connecting flight to Brazil was also delayed. My time trail through Charlotte was therefore totally unnecessary, and everyone looked at me like I was crazy.
The flight was a mix of fading in and out of sleep, amazement at hearing widespread Portuguese (people actually do speak it!), and listening to my neighbor John. He had also gone to Rio when he was 20, and after being there for a week he fell in love and dropped out of school in Connecticut. He is now 46, and his biggest concern was how much trouble customs might give him for the four 80 pound boxes he was bringing. What’s in your boxes John? I was making conversation. He changed the subject.
Getting off the plane at the airport was the easiest time I’ve ever had. There was no line at customs, they didn’t question me at customs (probably busy with John…), and my baggage was literally the first onto the conveyor belt. Plus, they even had free carts that would have set me back a good $0.25 in the US. But then I decided I should call the US. After starting at a payphone, an enthusiastic man trotted towards me, offering not only help with the phone, but even a ride in his car to wherever I was going! Call me crazy, but I refused. I finally made my way to a calling center desk thing where the attendant spoke the lispiest Portuguese ever and begged my assistance translating a bickering conversation between her and an Argentine customer, neither or whom shared common language nor courtesy. spoke with Kelsey and my dad and made my way back to the pickup area in a feeble attempt to find someone from PUC who was supposed to get me. But there he was! He spoke only Portuguese and turned my name into “Air-eek-ee Pah-keh”. We loaded up in a two hour process that could have been fifteen minutes, and headed into the city.
Leaving was pretty hard. After talking bad about the United States for so long, it was actually difficult to wrap my head around the concept that I’d be leaving for the semester. Goodbye was harder. It’s amazing how close I’ve been able to become to Kelsey and all my friends in DC, so it was probably one of the toughest goodbye’s I’ve dealt with. But a sad goodbye is also a strong embodiment of a close relationship, so I’m happy to be that lucky. And to all my NH friends, I’m still missing you.
Once in Dulles, where everything looks like it’s melting, my flight was delayed a half hour. Not a huge deal since that still left me with an hour to catch my connection to Rio. Once we boarded the plane however, the captain informed us in a mumble filled ramble that we would not be living for 40 minutes because of a storm, and 40 minutes later, we still had forty minutes to go. Despite the reassurance of my plane neighbors, a twelve year old headed for Nashville and a 60 year old US Airways retiree (who sometimes flies United, if you care), I was rather upset. Once we finally landed in Charlotte at 10:30 I ran across the airport to the gate where my flight was scheduled to leave… at 10:30. When, out of breath, I rounded the last bend towards Gate D11, and the flip-flop-sprinting-on-tile echo faded, and I realized that if I had taken 10 seconds to look at a monitor, I would have realized that my connecting flight to Brazil was also delayed. My time trail through Charlotte was therefore totally unnecessary, and everyone looked at me like I was crazy.
The flight was a mix of fading in and out of sleep, amazement at hearing widespread Portuguese (people actually do speak it!), and listening to my neighbor John. He had also gone to Rio when he was 20, and after being there for a week he fell in love and dropped out of school in Connecticut. He is now 46, and his biggest concern was how much trouble customs might give him for the four 80 pound boxes he was bringing. What’s in your boxes John? I was making conversation. He changed the subject.
Getting off the plane at the airport was the easiest time I’ve ever had. There was no line at customs, they didn’t question me at customs (probably busy with John…), and my baggage was literally the first onto the conveyor belt. Plus, they even had free carts that would have set me back a good $0.25 in the US. But then I decided I should call the US. After starting at a payphone, an enthusiastic man trotted towards me, offering not only help with the phone, but even a ride in his car to wherever I was going! Call me crazy, but I refused. I finally made my way to a calling center desk thing where the attendant spoke the lispiest Portuguese ever and begged my assistance translating a bickering conversation between her and an Argentine customer, neither or whom shared common language nor courtesy. spoke with Kelsey and my dad and made my way back to the pickup area in a feeble attempt to find someone from PUC who was supposed to get me. But there he was! He spoke only Portuguese and turned my name into “Air-eek-ee Pah-keh”. We loaded up in a two hour process that could have been fifteen minutes, and headed into the city.
Monday, July 26, 2010
The Day Before...
I leave tomorrow night for Rio, and I'm sitting here in my room on Sam's bed looking at all my clothes and belongings scattered around the floor. It really didn't hit me that I'm actually about to leave my life in DC until December until this morning, when the visual emptiness combined with Sam asking me, "So are you like, freaking out?? You leave forever like tomorrow!!" It was then that I realized that I am, actually, really, leaving tomorrow night. However, the reality of it is not quite in focus, I'm still concerned with stupid things like which tie to bring and to whom I should pass on my leftover frozen vegetables.
As I've been walking around DC for the last few times and saying goodbye to my girlfriend, friends, jobs, and of course Jing, it's definitely been an interesting experience; a ton of excitement mixed with sadness too. But just remembering the two short years ago when I came to DC is enough to remind myself why I'm going to Brazil, or anywhere. With this trip I hope to gain experience, knowledge, perspective, and understanding--not even as much in class as in life. Someone told me once that in my "field" where indecisiveness runs rampant, the best thing to do is just the next thing you can think of, so for me, this is it.
But enough of the seriousness. Clearly all the above is true, but I might also add that I'm headed to the culture capital of South America, the first place the Portuguese arrived in the New World, the fifth largest country on earth, one of the modern wonders of the world, a city of six million people, the home of samba, caipirinhas, and the most famous stretches of sand on earth. (I've been doing some reading...) And on that note, I hope to have the time of my life.
The point of this blog is to keep in touch with friends and family, and to document through pictures and anecdotes what I encounter on my first ever, real-life attempt at pretending to be Latin American. I hope you enjoy!
As I've been walking around DC for the last few times and saying goodbye to my girlfriend, friends, jobs, and of course Jing, it's definitely been an interesting experience; a ton of excitement mixed with sadness too. But just remembering the two short years ago when I came to DC is enough to remind myself why I'm going to Brazil, or anywhere. With this trip I hope to gain experience, knowledge, perspective, and understanding--not even as much in class as in life. Someone told me once that in my "field" where indecisiveness runs rampant, the best thing to do is just the next thing you can think of, so for me, this is it.
But enough of the seriousness. Clearly all the above is true, but I might also add that I'm headed to the culture capital of South America, the first place the Portuguese arrived in the New World, the fifth largest country on earth, one of the modern wonders of the world, a city of six million people, the home of samba, caipirinhas, and the most famous stretches of sand on earth. (I've been doing some reading...) And on that note, I hope to have the time of my life.
The point of this blog is to keep in touch with friends and family, and to document through pictures and anecdotes what I encounter on my first ever, real-life attempt at pretending to be Latin American. I hope you enjoy!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)