Day 34: A Portuguese Lesson

Today is ice cream day for my class.The Portuguese word for "freezer" is perhaps better translated as "well, it's colder than the fridge anyway.."

Today is ice cream soup day for my class.

Day 33: Brazilian Labor Day.

Brazilian Labor day. Robert and I pass a rally in the historic city center. Its the radiology specialists convention he tells me. The square in front of Sao Paulo Cathedral is a mob of X-ray and ultrasound technicians. We take a closer look.

The man on stage speaks with more passion than any doctor I've met. These people are enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic. Every third person waves an over sized banner. Every other shirt bears the likeness of a famous radiology specialist. I believe Vladimir Lenin was responsible for modernizing Russian science leading to numerous radiological advancements. Then there's Wilhelm Roentgen, inventor of the x-ray, who bears a strong resemblance to Friedrich Engels. And of course Engels' protege Karl Marx. I mean Roentgen's protege. Wait - why is Roentgen pictured with Marx? And is that Che Guevara? We are currently near the middle of the mob.

Perhaps "Radiology Specialists" was meant to sound more like "radical ideology socialists". An understandable fumble. I cant keep up with the fanatical speech of the man on stage, but I manage to catch the word "capitalists" in almost every sentence. Now feels like a good time to discontinue any English usage.

Sanity aside, the demonstration is well executed. Quasimodo commences the thunder of the cathedral bell towers just as the speech nears its crescendo for a dramatic effect.

Days 30-32: Life In The Tropics

Day 30
Slight touch of fever. Work, eat, study*, sleep.

Day 31:
Moderate touch of fever: Work, sleep.

Day 32:
Narcolepsy is like a super power. I wake up still sick. I don't take my narcolepsy medicine. Sleep.

I wake up. It's tomorrow afternoon and I feel fine.

Time travel.

Awesome.**

 * Liberal definition of "study" applied. 

** Like all superpowers, Narcolepsy takes time and practice to master. That part is not awesome. I accidentally time traveled through college once.

Day 29: Small Talk

It's a nice day. I walk home from Portuguese lessons. A car runs me over.

A screaming lady occupies the passenger seat. The woman behind the wheel is confused. On our trip to visit the Indians, we were joined by a nice old lady named Sonia. In fact it was her trip. We joined her. Sonia's the screaming one. Her right hand is waving wildly trying to keep up with her yelling. Her left hand is still clamped to the commandeered steering wheel.


No one knows what Sonia says when she gets excited. The driver gives up before I do and makes Sonia write it on paper.

Sonia's happy to see me. Would I like to come to her church this weekend?

The driver was expecting more. You ran the kid over for small talk? Well we honked first.

Day 28: Sugarcane Subsidies

Brazil hyper subsidizes sugar until it's cheaper than dirt. Today was not my first time drinking a Coke in Brazil. Today was my first time reading the ingredients on my Coke. Sugar. Brazilian soda does not have high fructose corn syrup. Brazil does not have high fructose corn syrup. The last 27 days have been a blind taste test. I never noticed a difference.

Dear food hippies: Shut up. You're wrong. 

Brazil does not hyper subsidized corn, so grass is cheaper. Brazilian cows eat grass. I have had steak seven times since I got here. The seven best steaks I have ever had were all in the past 28 days. This is not hyperbole, and it's not a close call. These steaks are better by a margin wider than bears comparison. 

Dear food hippies * : Keep on. Corn fed beef is dog food. **




 
* Vegetarian foodies excluded.
** Breed, age at butchering, and method of drying are also different here. You might still be wrong.

Day 27: Brazilian Haircut

I had to wait two hours for the best barber in town. He used only a straight razor. I got a shave too. This new haircut is the magic flute. Looking more like a Brazilian now, I teleport to the next level.

At market I try to buy bread. It's not as easy. People are speaking faster. What did you say? I'm sorry can you slow down please? Yes thank you I know my accent is funny. No, I have no clue what you're saying. Because I only know a little Portuguese. No, really. No I'm from America.

I have to switch to English to prove my point.

This strategy no longer works. Yes thank you I do have a good gringo impersonation. That almost sounded like real English didn't it? Time to break out the sign language. Time and again, the game of charades proves to be my most valuable educational experience.

My hair looks like a West Philadelphia barbershop's interpretation of Rockabilly. My hair looks Brazilian.

Day 26: The White Bus

Most Buses are covered in registrations, licenses, permits, and ID tags. Leftover space is given to advertisements. If a tax is missed, or a registration expires, the bus gets shut down. There are two options for a bus owner in such a situation: go out of business, or join White Bus.

A quiet man stands at a busy bus stop. Buses come and go, and small crowd quietly gathers around him. A small white bus with black windows flies by. The quite man is unmoving. A police car flies by. His small crowd shrinks.

Time passes.

The bus returns from the other direction, and overshoots the bus stop by ten paces skidding to a halt. Its doors appear to have been surgically widened to allow double file passage. A white faced wad of people is ejected and the small quiet crowd is catapulted in.

The bus is gone.

I have witnessed the Brazilian black market of public transit.