Monday, April 30, 2012
Observation #37: Brazil on Rain
Brazilians do not deal with rain. A single drop and the umbrellas all come out. More than a drop, and half the city retreats to their bed. School attendance is quartered on rainy days. Traffic is substantially reduced as well. Robert sleeps an extra four hours on rainy days (average).
Day 23: Sunshowers
It started raining yesterday. The sun came out for an hour this morning. It didn't stop raining, but the sun came out. The sun came out again at noon. Still raining.
There are black clouds to the north and south, but a long narrow stretch of sunny sky running east west. I am directly under that stretch of sun. The rain is pouring. My street is a small river. It is almost seventy degrees and I'm tanning on the roof. In the rain.
Robert! This is crazy!
"Yes brother, you are insane"
What? No, the rain. And the sun. I mean ... What?
"You're out in the rain, you are crazy"
I learned today that seventy degrees is cold to a Brazilian. I learned today that a special alignment of mountains, oceans, and air currents makes this sunny strip in the middle of a monsooning monster cloud fairly common. I learned today that Brazilians are scared of the rain.
I proceed to follow my travel rule number 1: If the locals fear it, I fear it.
There are black clouds to the north and south, but a long narrow stretch of sunny sky running east west. I am directly under that stretch of sun. The rain is pouring. My street is a small river. It is almost seventy degrees and I'm tanning on the roof. In the rain.
Robert! This is crazy!
"Yes brother, you are insane"
What? No, the rain. And the sun. I mean ... What?
"You're out in the rain, you are crazy"
I learned today that seventy degrees is cold to a Brazilian. I learned today that a special alignment of mountains, oceans, and air currents makes this sunny strip in the middle of a monsooning monster cloud fairly common. I learned today that Brazilians are scared of the rain.
I proceed to follow my travel rule number 1: If the locals fear it, I fear it.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Day 22: How to Celebrate
Brazilians make their own fireworks. This rarely results in beautiful sky displays. This occasionally results in loud injuries. Usually, it just means a throwable explodeable thing.
Throwable explodeables are required accessories for watching soccer. The first thing outside the window must be reduced to smithereens every time your team scores.
The T.V. at the corner bakery is always welcome to a Corinthians fan. The water store down the street is for Sao Paulo. I follow four different games by listening for the direction of noises.
Screams from over here? Palmeiras gave up a point.
Laughter and explosions back there? Corinthians scored.
My neighborhood will be a scary place the day Palmieras face Corinthians. The whole city will.
Throwable explodeables are required accessories for watching soccer. The first thing outside the window must be reduced to smithereens every time your team scores.
The T.V. at the corner bakery is always welcome to a Corinthians fan. The water store down the street is for Sao Paulo. I follow four different games by listening for the direction of noises.
Screams from over here? Palmeiras gave up a point.
Laughter and explosions back there? Corinthians scored.
My neighborhood will be a scary place the day Palmieras face Corinthians. The whole city will.
Day 21: Hot Sauce Buns
Robert leaves for his Exams. Utilizing the new found freedom of my very own key, I leave too. My neighborhood is named Pimentas. Depending on the context, pimentas means either 'hot sauces' or 'hot sauce people'.
Places are not named after things they do with mediocrity. Neither would a mild person be expected to have a spicy nickname. I set out to find either pimenta dos Pimentas (hot sauce of The Hot Sauces) or a pimentano (hot sauce person).
My expedition makes it as far as a bakery. I point out a handsome little loaf of bread and some juice that comes from a fruit I cant even begin to identify. I love the texture of fresh out of the oven bread. My tiny loaf of bread does not deliver that experience. There is a texture wholly unbreadlike.
There is a tiny ham baked into this tiny loaf.
Brilliant.
Places are not named after things they do with mediocrity. Neither would a mild person be expected to have a spicy nickname. I set out to find either pimenta dos Pimentas (hot sauce of The Hot Sauces) or a pimentano (hot sauce person).
My expedition makes it as far as a bakery. I point out a handsome little loaf of bread and some juice that comes from a fruit I cant even begin to identify. I love the texture of fresh out of the oven bread. My tiny loaf of bread does not deliver that experience. There is a texture wholly unbreadlike.
There is a tiny ham baked into this tiny loaf.
Brilliant.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Day 20: New Keys
Robert and I share a single set of keys. We are each others prisoner. In the morning we teach classes and in the evening Robert goes to university while I have my Portuguese lessons. There is always something to be done in-between. Tomorrow we'll really REALLY get to the locksmith before he closes.
Notice the the title of this post. Day 20. Twenty days. We will not make it tomorrow. We will not make it ever.
I combine a piece of scrap metal, a vice, and a hacksaw. The result resembles a key. I add some heat and a few taps with a cross pein hammer. Now it fits in the keyhole too. It's ugly. It works. It's beautiful.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Day 19: Not Dancing. Almost
Brazilians have a hard time not dancing when there's music. People love to say this of themselves. What they usually mean is that they tap their toe. Brazilians dance.
Sometimes I play music in class.
I mark the ground where the desks are. By the end of class the desks have always shifted a few inches. On days with music the travel can be measured in feet.
Today Robert wants to play a song after class. It reminds me of a rap rendition of Father Abraham. The tune is trendy enough, but the lyrics play Simon Says with a list of body parts and directions. It's a perfect sucker punch. We'll trick the kids into practicing English.
Unless they wont dance.
As soon as the music starts, twenty girls are glued to the wall. Roberts attempts at coercion result in screams and scattering. He walks away and twenty girls snap back to the safety of their wall by invisible bungee cords. They are flat against the bricks.
But Brazilians have a hard time not dancing when there's music.
They're trying not to, but every now and then something slips out. These intermittent hiccups of dancing have more movement in two dimensions than most dancers can pull off in three.
Sometimes I play music in class.
I mark the ground where the desks are. By the end of class the desks have always shifted a few inches. On days with music the travel can be measured in feet.
Today Robert wants to play a song after class. It reminds me of a rap rendition of Father Abraham. The tune is trendy enough, but the lyrics play Simon Says with a list of body parts and directions. It's a perfect sucker punch. We'll trick the kids into practicing English.
Unless they wont dance.
As soon as the music starts, twenty girls are glued to the wall. Roberts attempts at coercion result in screams and scattering. He walks away and twenty girls snap back to the safety of their wall by invisible bungee cords. They are flat against the bricks.
But Brazilians have a hard time not dancing when there's music.
They're trying not to, but every now and then something slips out. These intermittent hiccups of dancing have more movement in two dimensions than most dancers can pull off in three.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Day 18: My Finest Student
It's a nice day and I'm sitting outside with a student after class. She studies, but its just so hard. The quiz had eight words. She never studied. No, those were hard words!
Four of the words were cognates, they were not hard words. Nope, she sticks to her guns. Clearly I just don't understand. English is like totally super hard.
Why is she determined to convince me of this? If you want to learn, great. Come to class, pay attention, and study. If not, great. Come to class, listen to headphones, and play games with everyone afterwards. She thinks for a minute.
I'm finally getting through to her how much I don't care.
Noooo, but she iiiiiiis trying!
Never mind.
She demonstrates the early warning signs of a lengthy tirade. Trying to follow a thirteen year old on a tangent is difficult in any language. They rarely make sense."Jeans" on the other hand, is "jeans" in every language. It was not a hard quiz.
I give up and interrupt her with two claps. Hector's instantly at my side. "Sit" Hector sits. "Lay down" he lays down. "Stand up" he rolls over. oops.
"uh.. Roll over?" he stands. I switch to Portuguese and praise him on a perfect four out of four. "All right, now go away before you screw up on something she knows." He goes back to hide from the sun under a car.
She asks me which soccer team I like.
Nice work Hector.
Four of the words were cognates, they were not hard words. Nope, she sticks to her guns. Clearly I just don't understand. English is like totally super hard.
Why is she determined to convince me of this? If you want to learn, great. Come to class, pay attention, and study. If not, great. Come to class, listen to headphones, and play games with everyone afterwards. She thinks for a minute.
I'm finally getting through to her how much I don't care.
Noooo, but she iiiiiiis trying!
Never mind.
She demonstrates the early warning signs of a lengthy tirade. Trying to follow a thirteen year old on a tangent is difficult in any language. They rarely make sense."Jeans" on the other hand, is "jeans" in every language. It was not a hard quiz.
I give up and interrupt her with two claps. Hector's instantly at my side. "Sit" Hector sits. "Lay down" he lays down. "Stand up" he rolls over. oops.
"uh.. Roll over?" he stands. I switch to Portuguese and praise him on a perfect four out of four. "All right, now go away before you screw up on something she knows." He goes back to hide from the sun under a car.
She asks me which soccer team I like.
Nice work Hector.
Observation #30: Football Stats (Estatísticas de Futebol)
Both of my blog posts with 'soccer' in the title have been viewed
twenty times more than the rest of my posts. These additional hits are
all from Brazil.
Why are Brazilians searching the internet for 'soccer'? I have not found any indication that the American MLS has any popularity here, and I doubt very much that they are interested in the sports happenings in Papua New Guinea. The rest of the world calls it football.
This raises a question. Would the additional hits be significantly more than twenty if the title said 'football' instead?
...I know how to find out.
Why are Brazilians searching the internet for 'soccer'? I have not found any indication that the American MLS has any popularity here, and I doubt very much that they are interested in the sports happenings in Papua New Guinea. The rest of the world calls it football.
This raises a question. Would the additional hits be significantly more than twenty if the title said 'football' instead?
...I know how to find out.
Feel free to contribute to observation #31 and post
your thoughts in the comments section below.
Observation #30: Soccer Stats
Both of my blog posts with 'soccer' in the title have been viewed twenty times more than the rest of my posts. These additional hits are all from Brazil.
Why are Brazilians searching the internet for 'soccer'? I have not found any indication that the American MLS has any popularity here, and I doubt very much that they are interested in the sports happenings in Papua New Guinea. The rest of the world calls it football.
This raises a question. Would the additional hits be significantly more than twenty if the title said 'football' instead?
...I know how to find out.
Why are Brazilians searching the internet for 'soccer'? I have not found any indication that the American MLS has any popularity here, and I doubt very much that they are interested in the sports happenings in Papua New Guinea. The rest of the world calls it football.
This raises a question. Would the additional hits be significantly more than twenty if the title said 'football' instead?
...I know how to find out.
Feel free to contribute to observation #31 and post
your thoughts in the comments section below.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Day 17: The Cookie Smugglers, Part 3
Chief Cassique calls for music. Traditional drums are brought out, a not so traditional guitar is tuned, and a ceremonial "thank you" dance is preformed.
Very nice.
There's an American with us? He's never heard English before. An song is demanded.
Preferably an English version of a song he's familiar with.
aww...
Amazing grace is a safe bet. I don't know the lyrics past verse one, but I know the tune and that's what counts. At verse two, I start inventing lyrics. At verse three I start inventing words. Everyone smiles. Robert doesn't smile. He knows too much English.
Robert decides to help me out.
Robert's a good singer, and we sound nice together, but it quickly becomes clear that one of us knows the lyrics and one of us doesn't. The song ends. I try to apologize for mucking up the lyrics, but Robert is my translator. No one believes him.
Obviously the American was singing the correct lyrics. Robert tried to join in, and embarrassed himself. I try my best to exonerate Robert, but now they think I'm just trying to be nice. Not only did the American sing it perfectly, but now he's trying to take the fall for Robert. What a guy.
At this point Robert and I are laughing too much, so any further attempts are perceived as some kind of joke. We give up. I accept credit for being awesome, and Robert's a heel.
Chief Cassique liked the song. He formally presents me with a gift. It's a CD he likes. He explains how track number seven is totally killer, and invites me to come back for a visit on May 13. This is the best day of my life.
The truck has no trouble with the sand on our way out. It seems to weigh a lot less now. On the trip home I sit next to an old lady. She has been helping this tribe out with "cookies" for the last five years.
She confirms my assumption that the Indians were uncomfortable with their garb, but not for the reason I thought. Recently this tribe finally decided to adopt the practice of wearing clothes when they have company. They weren't trying to look more primitive for us. They were trying to look less.
Very nice.
There's an American with us? He's never heard English before. An song is demanded.
Preferably an English version of a song he's familiar with.
aww...
Amazing grace is a safe bet. I don't know the lyrics past verse one, but I know the tune and that's what counts. At verse two, I start inventing lyrics. At verse three I start inventing words. Everyone smiles. Robert doesn't smile. He knows too much English.
Robert decides to help me out.
Robert's a good singer, and we sound nice together, but it quickly becomes clear that one of us knows the lyrics and one of us doesn't. The song ends. I try to apologize for mucking up the lyrics, but Robert is my translator. No one believes him.
Obviously the American was singing the correct lyrics. Robert tried to join in, and embarrassed himself. I try my best to exonerate Robert, but now they think I'm just trying to be nice. Not only did the American sing it perfectly, but now he's trying to take the fall for Robert. What a guy.
At this point Robert and I are laughing too much, so any further attempts are perceived as some kind of joke. We give up. I accept credit for being awesome, and Robert's a heel.
Chief Cassique liked the song. He formally presents me with a gift. It's a CD he likes. He explains how track number seven is totally killer, and invites me to come back for a visit on May 13. This is the best day of my life.
The truck has no trouble with the sand on our way out. It seems to weigh a lot less now. On the trip home I sit next to an old lady. She has been helping this tribe out with "cookies" for the last five years.
She confirms my assumption that the Indians were uncomfortable with their garb, but not for the reason I thought. Recently this tribe finally decided to adopt the practice of wearing clothes when they have company. They weren't trying to look more primitive for us. They were trying to look less.
Were the "cookies" some kind of Euphemism for something.. else?
Probably.
Who thinks I should show up naked on the 13th? Share your opinion in the comments section below.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Day 17: The Cookie Smugglers, Part 2
With a few exceptions, Brazilian roads are poorly maintained. Brazilian jungle roads are not an exception. Neither Robert nor I are licensed to drive a flatbed truck, but a friend of ours is. A friend who happens to be a government official with a bit of common sense.
Water drainage is a serious problem for lowland rainforest roads. An effective solution is to make the roads out of sand. Effective for water drainage. Not cars. Cars rarely travel this road. Flatbed trucks never travel this road. Our truck tries. For being completely empty, our truck is surprisingly heavy. Our truck does not travel this road.
We dig. We push. We lay down branches. We're stuck.
A passing Indian notices our predicament. Minutes later twenty five Indians, a few friends, and I are pushing a flatbed truck through the sand in a jungle. Our progress is slow. Very slow.
Do you know the village we're looking for? TWO MILES!! Well where's your village? Just around the bend you say? What are your feelings on cookies?
Two Indians take off running while the rest of us continue our sandy trudge. I don't speak a word of Tupi, but I think they were shouting something like "Quick hide the T.V. and get out your feathers CITY PEOPLE ARE COMING!"
We arrive at a village of hastily painted faces rushing outside and trying to look natural. It is obvious their paint is still wet. The adults pull it off, but the kids pristine faces accrue a steady swath of finger smudges until it dries ten minutes later.
Many of the girls look extremely uncomfortable in their coconuts. It's obvious they only wear these for tourists, which don't come very often. The whole show is beautiful, but it feels horribly fake and insincere.
I would never go to Rome and expect everyone to be wearing togas and sandals and speaking Latin. I know they wear tight shiny jeans and shoes that look like boots but fall apart if you put them to any real stress. I know they speak Italian. Likewise, I would not go to Japan expecting to find a mob of kimono clad samurai waving katanas around. I'm sure they would in fact be dressed like Lolita dolls, or wearing some kind of animal costume with brown face paint and silver hair.
Neither would I want to find togas and samurais in these places. I do not travel for a love of history. I travel for a love of people. I am interested in the people and their real daily lives. So when I arrive at an Indian reservation to find that they have gone out of their way to hide their real identity under the paintings of their past, I am dismayed.
We significantly lighten our truck and turn it around, but are asked to wait before leaving. A runner is sent to fetch the chief. Chief Cassique arrives in flip flops, jean shorts, and a sleeveless Aerosmith shirt. He is too old and tired to care about appearances.
Water drainage is a serious problem for lowland rainforest roads. An effective solution is to make the roads out of sand. Effective for water drainage. Not cars. Cars rarely travel this road. Flatbed trucks never travel this road. Our truck tries. For being completely empty, our truck is surprisingly heavy. Our truck does not travel this road.
We dig. We push. We lay down branches. We're stuck.
A passing Indian notices our predicament. Minutes later twenty five Indians, a few friends, and I are pushing a flatbed truck through the sand in a jungle. Our progress is slow. Very slow.
Do you know the village we're looking for? TWO MILES!! Well where's your village? Just around the bend you say? What are your feelings on cookies?
Two Indians take off running while the rest of us continue our sandy trudge. I don't speak a word of Tupi, but I think they were shouting something like "Quick hide the T.V. and get out your feathers CITY PEOPLE ARE COMING!"
We arrive at a village of hastily painted faces rushing outside and trying to look natural. It is obvious their paint is still wet. The adults pull it off, but the kids pristine faces accrue a steady swath of finger smudges until it dries ten minutes later.
Many of the girls look extremely uncomfortable in their coconuts. It's obvious they only wear these for tourists, which don't come very often. The whole show is beautiful, but it feels horribly fake and insincere.
I would never go to Rome and expect everyone to be wearing togas and sandals and speaking Latin. I know they wear tight shiny jeans and shoes that look like boots but fall apart if you put them to any real stress. I know they speak Italian. Likewise, I would not go to Japan expecting to find a mob of kimono clad samurai waving katanas around. I'm sure they would in fact be dressed like Lolita dolls, or wearing some kind of animal costume with brown face paint and silver hair.
Neither would I want to find togas and samurais in these places. I do not travel for a love of history. I travel for a love of people. I am interested in the people and their real daily lives. So when I arrive at an Indian reservation to find that they have gone out of their way to hide their real identity under the paintings of their past, I am dismayed.
We significantly lighten our truck and turn it around, but are asked to wait before leaving. A runner is sent to fetch the chief. Chief Cassique arrives in flip flops, jean shorts, and a sleeveless Aerosmith shirt. He is too old and tired to care about appearances.
Check back soon for an exciting conclusion in "The Cookie Smugglers: Part 3"
Was my description of Japanese fashion unfair? Post your own thoughts
and observations of Japanese fashion in the comments section below.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Observation #25: Counting
There are 104 professional soccer teams in the state of São Paulo. One hundred and four.
Three of them are named The Fifteenth of November. Last year The Fifteenth of November beat The Fifteenth of November and The Fifteenth of November back to back.
Three of them are named The Fifteenth of November. Last year The Fifteenth of November beat The Fifteenth of November and The Fifteenth of November back to back.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Day 17: The Cookie Smugglers, Part 1
A group of Roberts friends visited an Indian reservation last week. They had cookies. They shared. It was the most delicious thing the Indian kids had ever tasted.
Brazil allows the Indians to have reservations, but with a few conditions. These conditions are codified in Brazilian law. Brazil produces laws as coherent as any massive pseudo-democratic Latin-American bureaucracy could be expected to produce.
I am unable to find anyone who knows exactly what these laws are, but the basic summary is "Maintain a traditional lifestyle or we sell your land to the plantations"
There are restrictions about who can visit the Indians and when. There are restrictions on imports and exports to the Indians. There is a flat prohibition on preaching any non-indigenous religion.
The entire tribe is already Christian? Too bad, they have to pretend to be pagans. And the UNESCO people are coming next month so pretend HARD! Not even the Indians are allowed to preach on their reservation.
The nearest allowable church is a ten mile walk, because cars are also nonexistent.
Traditional methods of food production relied heavily on fishing and hunting. This part of the rainforest survived industrialization. The rivers and big game did not.
Their primary source of income is tourism. Indians are not currently in style in Brazil so their primary source of income is not currently producing income.
The Indians break the rules whenever they can and any government agent with a bit of common sense is happy to look the other way. Still, their lack of exposure to cookies seems to indicate that they could use some help with breaking rules.
Today we rent a flatbed truck and load it with broken rules.
We are not allowed to deliver this to the Indians. So we don't. If we did, I wouldn't be publishing it online. Only idiots brag about that kind of thing on the internet.
Check back soon for an exciting turn of events in "The Cookie Smugglers, Part 2"
Brazil allows the Indians to have reservations, but with a few conditions. These conditions are codified in Brazilian law. Brazil produces laws as coherent as any massive pseudo-democratic Latin-American bureaucracy could be expected to produce.
I am unable to find anyone who knows exactly what these laws are, but the basic summary is "Maintain a traditional lifestyle or we sell your land to the plantations"
There are restrictions about who can visit the Indians and when. There are restrictions on imports and exports to the Indians. There is a flat prohibition on preaching any non-indigenous religion.
The entire tribe is already Christian? Too bad, they have to pretend to be pagans. And the UNESCO people are coming next month so pretend HARD! Not even the Indians are allowed to preach on their reservation.
The nearest allowable church is a ten mile walk, because cars are also nonexistent.
Traditional methods of food production relied heavily on fishing and hunting. This part of the rainforest survived industrialization. The rivers and big game did not.
Their primary source of income is tourism. Indians are not currently in style in Brazil so their primary source of income is not currently producing income.
The Indians break the rules whenever they can and any government agent with a bit of common sense is happy to look the other way. Still, their lack of exposure to cookies seems to indicate that they could use some help with breaking rules.
Today we rent a flatbed truck and load it with broken rules.
We are not allowed to deliver this to the Indians. So we don't. If we did, I wouldn't be publishing it online. Only idiots brag about that kind of thing on the internet.
Check back soon for an exciting turn of events in "The Cookie Smugglers, Part 2"
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Day 16: Forest Frolic
6:00 a.m.
The road through the mountains of the Atlantic Coastal Rainforest is pleasant. Rainy season is just ending and the flowers are in bloom. The steep mountains and deep ravines are capped with clouds and filled with fog. The road itself is an engineering marvel.
8:00 a.m.
Brazilians don't care much for the jungle. They stay at the cabin. I explore the jungle.
1:30 p.m.
DO NOT smell the green ones.
2:00 p.m.
Nosebleed stops.
6:30 p.m.
Jungle mosquitoes are overrated. Twelve hours spent in a tropical rainforest, and they have given me no problem.
8:30 p.m.
Jungle mosquitoes are nocturnal. They swarm. They bite through jeans.
The road through the mountains of the Atlantic Coastal Rainforest is pleasant. Rainy season is just ending and the flowers are in bloom. The steep mountains and deep ravines are capped with clouds and filled with fog. The road itself is an engineering marvel.
8:00 a.m.
Brazilians don't care much for the jungle. They stay at the cabin. I explore the jungle.
1:30 p.m.
DO NOT smell the green ones.
2:00 p.m.
Nosebleed stops.
6:30 p.m.
Jungle mosquitoes are overrated. Twelve hours spent in a tropical rainforest, and they have given me no problem.
8:30 p.m.
Jungle mosquitoes are nocturnal. They swarm. They bite through jeans.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Observation #23: Gas Stations
All gas stations in Brazil offer gasoline, natural gas, or ethanol. Brazil has cars that run on natural gas. Brazil has cars that run on pure ethanol. They have been doing this since the 70s.
You can buy a natural gas conversion kit at any auto shop. Most cars here can switch between gasoline and ethanol. Everyone uses ethanol during the sugarcane harvest season. In the rainy season they go back to gas.
You can buy a natural gas conversion kit at any auto shop. Most cars here can switch between gasoline and ethanol. Everyone uses ethanol during the sugarcane harvest season. In the rainy season they go back to gas.
Day 15: Fruit Market
Open air fruit market is a misleading name. It is an open air everything market. The first fruit stand has me mesmerized. So many colors. Every shape and size imaginable. What's that? Can you even eat this? These ones smell like steak! "Robert, what are all these fruits?"
"This stand only has bananas."
Mind. Blown.
A nearby orange guy has even more different kinds of oranges than the banana guy had bananas. I suspect some of those "oranges" are actually grapefruits, but decide to let it go.
Most of my life, I've been used to eating fruit that was picked when green, and ripened in a shipping container. These vine ripened fruits are still in the hands of the farmers who picked them this morning. The meat is still breathing when you order it. As for exotic drinks they have Coca-Cola imported all the way from ...Georgia.
The ubiquitous samba music is drowned out in many places by shouting vendors. This is how I always imagined the floor of the New York Stock Exchange looked before they had computers. Except suits and ties are replaced with straw fedoras and machetes.
They have everything here. How do you say bootlegged DVD in Portuguese?
Paraguay.
How about counterfeit Rolex? Rolex Paraguay. Are those NBA jerseys made of.. wool? Paraguay.
This place is hilarious.
"This stand only has bananas."
Mind. Blown.
A nearby orange guy has even more different kinds of oranges than the banana guy had bananas. I suspect some of those "oranges" are actually grapefruits, but decide to let it go.
Most of my life, I've been used to eating fruit that was picked when green, and ripened in a shipping container. These vine ripened fruits are still in the hands of the farmers who picked them this morning. The meat is still breathing when you order it. As for exotic drinks they have Coca-Cola imported all the way from ...Georgia.
The ubiquitous samba music is drowned out in many places by shouting vendors. This is how I always imagined the floor of the New York Stock Exchange looked before they had computers. Except suits and ties are replaced with straw fedoras and machetes.
They have everything here. How do you say bootlegged DVD in Portuguese?
Paraguay.
How about counterfeit Rolex? Rolex Paraguay. Are those NBA jerseys made of.. wool? Paraguay.
This place is hilarious.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Day 14: Professor Serio
My students have taken up the hobby of doodling. Every third paper turned in to me has my portrait on it. These likenesses vary dramatically. Some have me wearing a top hat and cane, others depict me with a handlebar mustache. In one picture I am flying through the clouds with an afro of lightning. Some are simple stick figures, while others are elaborate colored pencil masterpieces.
Most are titled either "Professor Louco" (crazy) or "Professor Serio" (serious). Both names my students find hilarious. There is one thing that every picture has in common. A monocle. I am wearing a monocle in every single picture.
I don't understand this place.
Most are titled either "Professor Louco" (crazy) or "Professor Serio" (serious). Both names my students find hilarious. There is one thing that every picture has in common. A monocle. I am wearing a monocle in every single picture.
I don't understand this place.
Day 13: Semantics
A few Brazilians convey distress to me over my blog. They enjoy my depiction of daily life in Brazil, however, they feel my usage of "jungle" in the title is unfair. I am informed that many here believe America unjustly stereotypes Brazilians as a bunch of tree dwelling, loincloth wearing, spear toting Indians.
This is Sao Paulo, home of culture and sophistication. The Indians, I am repeatedly assured, live in the jungle. Not in the cities. This is the City.
They are correct.
The rainforest which once stood in the way of progress has been removed and replaced with glorious Sao Paulo. The city is, however, flanked on three sides by the Atlantic Coastal Rainforest, a bonafide official rainforest (full of bonafide official Indians)
Nonetheless I cede the point. I am in the city. But my title intends the word "jungle" in the "concrete jungle" sense. In the context of the rest of my title, it is meant to be an ironic play on the Victorian notion of the "Glourious Expedition" (which is why this blog's description is in the wording of a pulp adventure novel) The wordplay is furthered by the fact that this "concrete jungle" is smack in the middle of a forested jungle.
We have some coffee. We tell some jokes. It is agreed that we will visit the fashion district of Paulista Avenue and take a picture for the blog.
We debate soccer. We play soccer. It is agreed that we will go into the rainforest and take a picture for the blog.
Everybody eats chocolate and goes home happy.
This is Sao Paulo, home of culture and sophistication. The Indians, I am repeatedly assured, live in the jungle. Not in the cities. This is the City.
They are correct.
The rainforest which once stood in the way of progress has been removed and replaced with glorious Sao Paulo. The city is, however, flanked on three sides by the Atlantic Coastal Rainforest, a bonafide official rainforest (full of bonafide official Indians)
Nonetheless I cede the point. I am in the city. But my title intends the word "jungle" in the "concrete jungle" sense. In the context of the rest of my title, it is meant to be an ironic play on the Victorian notion of the "Glourious Expedition" (which is why this blog's description is in the wording of a pulp adventure novel) The wordplay is furthered by the fact that this "concrete jungle" is smack in the middle of a forested jungle.
We have some coffee. We tell some jokes. It is agreed that we will visit the fashion district of Paulista Avenue and take a picture for the blog.
We debate soccer. We play soccer. It is agreed that we will go into the rainforest and take a picture for the blog.
Everybody eats chocolate and goes home happy.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Observation #18: And Another Thing
I have noticed a counter-intuitively inverse relationship between air quality and the distribution of clotheslines. Places that don't care, or fail, to regulate their air quality tend to be filled with people who do not afford dryers. My clothes here tend to take on a faint industrial mystery odor while drying on the line. They also accumulate a thin film of dirt.
This principle seems to hold true even within cities. I remember the in wealthy neighborhoods of Cabo, there were parks and gardens filling the air with jasmine and honeysuckle and all kinds of sweet smells I couldn't name. The laundromats in those neighborhoods used dryers with flower scented dryer sheets. The poorest neighborhoods were downwind of an open air sewage treatment facility. Their laundromats used clotheslines. Their clothes never smelled nice.
My sample pool, however, is limited to a small handful of locations. Feel free to contribute your own observations on the issue in the comments section below.
This principle seems to hold true even within cities. I remember the in wealthy neighborhoods of Cabo, there were parks and gardens filling the air with jasmine and honeysuckle and all kinds of sweet smells I couldn't name. The laundromats in those neighborhoods used dryers with flower scented dryer sheets. The poorest neighborhoods were downwind of an open air sewage treatment facility. Their laundromats used clotheslines. Their clothes never smelled nice.
My sample pool, however, is limited to a small handful of locations. Feel free to contribute your own observations on the issue in the comments section below.
Day 12: Slum Singer
Work at the slum begins. The kids have never seen an American before, but they know better than to believe I'm one. My eyes are too dark and my hair isn't blond.
I narrate everything I do or see in English. Their response is enthusiastic. The school is instantly packed with scores of six year olds. English songs are demanded.
My set list: Baby Beluga, Father Abraham, He's got the Whole World in His Hands
I'm a rock star.
Actually I'm just the warmup act. We are here to put on an Easter play and sermon, but the favela electrical grid isn't good at dealing with PA systems.This school house is like 10 ft by 30 ft, but we brought the speakers and mic so we're going to use them.
I continue stalling with an encore of Father Abraham.
I narrate everything I do or see in English. Their response is enthusiastic. The school is instantly packed with scores of six year olds. English songs are demanded.
My set list: Baby Beluga, Father Abraham, He's got the Whole World in His Hands
I'm a rock star.
Actually I'm just the warmup act. We are here to put on an Easter play and sermon, but the favela electrical grid isn't good at dealing with PA systems.This school house is like 10 ft by 30 ft, but we brought the speakers and mic so we're going to use them.
I continue stalling with an encore of Father Abraham.
Day 11: Negotiations
We are expanding into a nearby squatters slum. They agree to let us use a mud hole (one of their finest) for free if it is to help the community. Yesterday we finished converting their fine mud hole into a fine school house.
Today they agree to let us use their fine new school house for only 200 reis per month if it is to help the community.
No way. Negotiations ensue.
Brazilian negotiations seem to include a good deal of coffee, some soccer debates, maybe a siesta, and a soccer game. Resolutions? Nope.
Everyone goes home happy. Wait... What? Everyone happy? What about the school?
Oh Cory. You and your silly Americanisms. You worry too much. Lets get some chocolate.
Today they agree to let us use their fine new school house for only 200 reis per month if it is to help the community.
No way. Negotiations ensue.
Brazilian negotiations seem to include a good deal of coffee, some soccer debates, maybe a siesta, and a soccer game. Resolutions? Nope.
Everyone goes home happy. Wait... What? Everyone happy? What about the school?
Oh Cory. You and your silly Americanisms. You worry too much. Lets get some chocolate.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Observation #17: Clotheslines
Clotheslines are cheaper than dryers. Clotheslines are more energy efficient than dryers. Clotheslines do not work well in the rain. The rainforest is not known for its aridity.
Day 10: More Rain
More rain. Hector follows the new rule like a saint: inside only just far enough that the door doesn't hit him when it closes. Not even my tween team can coerce him to disobey. He wags his tail. He watches. He stays put.
Our laundry is in off the roof before the rain. It's not dry yet, but its not rained on either.
This morning a bean dish fell prey to a swarm of formigas. It's useless to us, so today Hector is dry AND he eats like a king. I spoil that dog.
Our laundry is in off the roof before the rain. It's not dry yet, but its not rained on either.
This morning a bean dish fell prey to a swarm of formigas. It's useless to us, so today Hector is dry AND he eats like a king. I spoil that dog.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Day 9: The Forecast
During the day we open our front door. The school has video games, ping pong, soccer balls, a library, a rock climbing wall, and board games free to all kids. Hector's record had been flawless. Today he came inside. "WHAT GIVES YOU THE IDEA THIS IS OK ALL OF A SUDDEN? Get out of here."
Did someone trick him into coming inside? "HEY! halfway doesn't count mister. ALLL the way outside dude. Don't be acting like you don't know the rules."
Five minutes later a cloud appears.
Ten minutes later the sky is black.
The monsoon hits before we get all our clothes lines in off the roof.
New rule: Hector the weatherman-dog is allowed inside to warn us of impending rain, but only within arms reach of the door.
Did someone trick him into coming inside? "HEY! halfway doesn't count mister. ALLL the way outside dude. Don't be acting like you don't know the rules."
Five minutes later a cloud appears.
Ten minutes later the sky is black.
The monsoon hits before we get all our clothes lines in off the roof.
New rule: Hector the weatherman-dog is allowed inside to warn us of impending rain, but only within arms reach of the door.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Day 8: The Doorbell
Brazil has no doorbells. Shouting the name of an occupant works just fine. This was not a problem for me in Mexico. My neighborhood was quiet in Mexico.
Within earshot of my front door right now a man is fixing his car accompanied by samba. His speakers are blown, but that's no reason to turn down the volume. There are two ongoing soccer games, three gossiping circles, a crowing rooster, two barking dogs, two construction projects, and a tree being cut down.
Also, I have the hardest name in the world.
Cory.
The open 'O' followed by an American 'R' delivers a one-two knockout punch to even the most tenacious tongue. Trying to get the correct "o" they loudly cycle through vowels like a tone deaf drunkard attempting to find a pitch.
The 'r' is significantly less confident. Confidence is a significant source of volume.
Exhausted from the strain, no one ever makes it all the way to the simply 'y' at the end of my name. This final 'y' only occurs as an afterthought, and is filled with disappointment and defeat.
The best case scenario sounds something like "qweiaAAwd-derrr... eh". So from my apartment all I hear is "waa" or sometimes "woa". This might have worked in Mexico. My neighborhood was quiet in Mexico.
Within earshot of my front door right now a man is fixing his car accompanied by samba. His speakers are blown, but that's no reason to turn down the volume. There are two ongoing soccer games, three gossiping circles, a crowing rooster, two barking dogs, two construction projects, and a tree being cut down.
Also, I have the hardest name in the world.
Cory.
The open 'O' followed by an American 'R' delivers a one-two knockout punch to even the most tenacious tongue. Trying to get the correct "o" they loudly cycle through vowels like a tone deaf drunkard attempting to find a pitch.
The 'r' is significantly less confident. Confidence is a significant source of volume.
Exhausted from the strain, no one ever makes it all the way to the simply 'y' at the end of my name. This final 'y' only occurs as an afterthought, and is filled with disappointment and defeat.
The best case scenario sounds something like "qweiaAAwd-derrr... eh". So from my apartment all I hear is "waa" or sometimes "woa". This might have worked in Mexico. My neighborhood was quiet in Mexico.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Day 7: Soccer Shoes
Soccer doesn't require a formal goal. Any target will do. Moving targets are more fun. The wheels of a car move nicely. If the driver sees you or the ball coming he will slow down. It doesn't count if he slows down; that's too easy. A large blind spot covers the rear wheels so they're too easy also.
Brazilian logic on proper footwear: The streets are filthy. Filth covered shoes are no good. Flip flops reduce agility. Soccer requires agility. Glass in your foot? Remove glass. Rinse with muck. Back in game. Shoes are still clean. Nice.
My logic: shoes.
Brazilian logic on proper footwear: The streets are filthy. Filth covered shoes are no good. Flip flops reduce agility. Soccer requires agility. Glass in your foot? Remove glass. Rinse with muck. Back in game. Shoes are still clean. Nice.
My logic: shoes.
Day 6: Hector
Last year the school had an intern who took in a stray dog. When he left, Hector became a stray again. I'm the new intern, so it seems to me that I've inherited a dog. He's not allowed inside, he has no collar, and I can't justify feeding a dog who's been content with garbage cans for so many years. To the untrained eye Hector is still a stray, but every time I go outside he's at my heel within a minute. He knows three commands: "Stay" "Go away" and "Relax dude".
DAY 4: Professor Ninja
First day of class. Rob hands me the keys and takes off for nursing school. I attempt to explain pronouns to a dozen giggling tween girls. They have no idea what I'm talking about. A maintenance guy shows up. He needs something. I have no clue what he's talking about.
He wants me to... He's looking for... um...
I run back upstairs to enlist the aid of my students. A dozen giggling tween girls are now pantomiming the plight of the maintenance man for me. He's here to fix our security cameras, but he needs a ladder. Great work tween team. A+ for everyone.
We have a ladder, but it's in the alley way. I don't have a key for the alley gate. Oh well, he doesn't mind watching me teach English for the next few hours while we wait for Rob to get back.
No way.
I climb out onto the neighbors roof and shimmy my way down into the alley, then return up to the side balcony with the ladder in tow. Problem solved.
Two dozen tween girls are bouncing off the walls. Did they just multiply? My new name is Professor Ninja. Professor Ninja wants to do some professoring. Spazzy Tween Team wants to do some ninjaing.
This job rocks.
He wants me to... He's looking for... um...
I run back upstairs to enlist the aid of my students. A dozen giggling tween girls are now pantomiming the plight of the maintenance man for me. He's here to fix our security cameras, but he needs a ladder. Great work tween team. A+ for everyone.
We have a ladder, but it's in the alley way. I don't have a key for the alley gate. Oh well, he doesn't mind watching me teach English for the next few hours while we wait for Rob to get back.
No way.
I climb out onto the neighbors roof and shimmy my way down into the alley, then return up to the side balcony with the ladder in tow. Problem solved.
Two dozen tween girls are bouncing off the walls. Did they just multiply? My new name is Professor Ninja. Professor Ninja wants to do some professoring. Spazzy Tween Team wants to do some ninjaing.
This job rocks.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Day 3: Coffee
Brazil's caffeine obsession is killing me. There is no more grievous offense than to reject an invitation for coffee. I'm the new toy that everyone wants to caffeinate.
That's ok. This place still rocks.
That's ok. This place still rocks.
Day 2: God and Soccer
Corinthians are beating Oeste 2-0
Church starts soon...
Goal! 3-0
Church starts no.
But it's 3-0!!
Rob is a bible study leader at the church. Wont they be expecting us?
3-0 Brother! This doesn't just happen every day!
Church started 10 minutes ago.
This is ok. Only the Palmieristas will be there anyway.
20 minutes late.
Relax, the preacher is Corinthiano. He will understand.
We arrive 30 minutes late.
The preacher is 31 minutes late.
Church starts soon...
Goal! 3-0
Church starts no.
But it's 3-0!!
Rob is a bible study leader at the church. Wont they be expecting us?
3-0 Brother! This doesn't just happen every day!
Church started 10 minutes ago.
This is ok. Only the Palmieristas will be there anyway.
20 minutes late.
Relax, the preacher is Corinthiano. He will understand.
We arrive 30 minutes late.
The preacher is 31 minutes late.
Day 1: Brazilian Decorator
DAY 1:
I have a cinder block bookshelf, an upholstered plank for a sofa, and my "stately gentleman's easy chair" is a school desk/chair combo with the desk part broken off. No need to worry about falling out of this chair; The bar that once held the desktop is now a functional roller coaster seat belt.
My shower head is directly over the toilet which would be interesting if I could use it. Turning on my shower knocks out the electricity.
I found the rest of my stately gentleman's easy chair in the kitchen. The missing desktop is my cutting board.
This place rocks.
I have a cinder block bookshelf, an upholstered plank for a sofa, and my "stately gentleman's easy chair" is a school desk/chair combo with the desk part broken off. No need to worry about falling out of this chair; The bar that once held the desktop is now a functional roller coaster seat belt.
My shower head is directly over the toilet which would be interesting if I could use it. Turning on my shower knocks out the electricity.
I found the rest of my stately gentleman's easy chair in the kitchen. The missing desktop is my cutting board.
This place rocks.
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