Brazil has a lot of problems and I think I've pinpointed maybe the biggest: no Mexicans.
Brazil is maybe the most diverse country in the world. Everyone looks Brazilian. Yes, even you. This place is filled with Germans, Italians and lots of Japanese. It seems you can find someone here from just about anywhere. Anywhere but Mexico.
Dani says she's never known a Mexican-born Brazilian. I've only met one Mexican tourist in my two months here. He was standing near me on the Metro, speaking in English. I now make a beeline to anyone I overhear speaking the King's. We struck up a conversation. I asked if he knew of any good Mexican restaurants in town. His eyes widened as he shook his head. He said he had been here less than a week and was already going into withdrawal.
I've mentioned this before, but there's basically no Mexican food here in Brazil. I've taken this for granted my whole life and now I am staggering in the streets for a decent burrito.
Mexican food is the best in the world. It's also the simplest and just about the only food I'm interested in cooking. Because of that, many of Dani's family and friends now look at me as a kind of expert on the matter, which I find funny. I've made guacamole for them. Dani and I have hosted a taco night.
At a recent gathering, I chopped up a few items and made a quick, familiar dish. I put it on the table and watched an adult woman take a bite and dissolve into paradise. She looked up at me and asked enthusiastically, "What is this?"
It was salsa. Just some tomatoes, onions and cilantro. Little salt, little pepper. Chips. Completely new concept apparently.
All the ingredients for delicious Mexican are here. Brazilians are just oblivious to the possibilities. I picked up a bushel of cilantro at the grocery store yesterday. Two inquisitive older women motioned me over to ask what it was. Come on, lady, you're 60.
I was hanging out with my American friend Nick the other day. He pointed out a Mexican restaurant as we passed by. It was the first one I had actually laid eyes on since arriving. I told him there was no doubt in my mind I would be there within 48 hours.
Saturday night rolled around and there I was. The results were as stimulating as a 0-0 soccer match. No chips and salsa at the beginning. A decent burrito, sure, but an enchilada filled with a cheese paste that made me sad to look at, let alone eat. Come on, not the enchilada, guys. That's the best one.
Of course there's more to this longing than just food. For months I've contemplated writing about how moving here has altered my opinion on the dense issue of immigration. I've come to Brazil legally and worked damn hard to do so. Most other gringos around here come on a tourist visa and illegally overstay their limit. The parallels to the immigration debate back home are pretty clear.
But I abandoned writing about it because my world is nothing like the world of the average person trying to make a new life in America. The biggest difference is that no matter how this Brazilian journey goes, I've got a lotto ticket in my back pocket called a US birth certificate. It lowers the risk factor of living overseas by about 95%. I can always go home. Those souls trying to get a piece of the American pie, on the other hand, they're often betting all they've got.
In the year of planning leading up to this move, I had to prepare myself for almost any scenario. If I was unable to find work, I would need to teach English. That's something I had never done before, so I built myself a little resume. I took an online class and became a certified English as a Second Language teacher. I also volunteered one night a week for three months teaching English to members of my community.
Class was held at a middle school on Wednesday nights. The group was all adults from Central America, including Mexico, El Salvador and Guatemala. They worked blue collar jobs during the day at bakeries and construction sights. It was honestly my first experience interacting on a personal level with anyone from the non-English-speaking working class.
I came away from that with a new respect for them. They were some of the hardest working people I've ever met. They busted their ass during the day and gave up their nights to better assimilate themselves into our society. They did it to get ahead in the world and to have a little something to Western Union back to their school-aged children, some of whom they hadn't seen in two years. It's overwhelming to think about sometimes. I remember them often when I'm feeling pouty about reviewing my Portuguese flashcards.
I may not face the same plight as the average family emigrating from Mexico, but I have certainly gotten a taste of it down here. No matter your opinion on how to solve America's border problems, I encourage you to always show a little respect for our recently-arrived friends from the south. Legally or not, English-speaking or not, if they've made it to the Land of the Free, they've got a fight and drive inside of them that we could all stand a little rubbing off of. It makes America a better place. And I miss having that around me here.
And of course the food. Mexicans, if you're reading this, please come. There's a fortune to be made down here. They have no idea what a tortilla is. I repeat, they have no idea what a tortilla is.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Snapshots Pt. II
Today marks two months in Brazil.
-I've begun weekly Portuguese lessons. It's time to bite the bullet. My teacher is Dani's good friend Tati. She tortures me for an hour in 100% Portuguese and then I return the favor with an hour of nothing but the King's.
-Many hours of the day I wish I was back home with my friends, except for Friday or Saturday nights when we're going out. That's when I wish my friends could be here with me. Sampa's nightlife has probably ruined me for the US's.
-The lady and I hit a Brazilian churrascaria this week for the first time since arriving. We flipped our cards to green and consumed as much meat as we could. One of the delicacies here is chicken hearts. They come about 50 on a skewer. I gave the gaucho the thumbs up and he slid five onto my plate.
-Forget taking a class, or Rosetta Stone or flashcards or any of that crap, I haven't experienced anything as intensive or exhaustive as a one-hour conversation with a native speaker in their language. Every single sentence is a hurdle. By the time it's over, both of us are relieved.
-Dani and her friend Adriana and me went out last weekend to Rua Augusta. We walked the streets looking for a home for the night. A lot of the clubs, including the one we decided on, offer a deal at the door where you pay R $30 (US $13.46) for entrance only or you can pay R $60 (US $26.93) upfront for that amount of drinks. Reluctantly, we took option B figuring a watered-down night was ahead of us.
-I've started running some afternoons from our apartment down to Ibirapuera Park. It's Sampa's closest equivalent to NY's Central Park. On sunny days, it's ridiculously crowded, filled with the city's genetically-gifted top five percent. The girls are lovely and smiling. The guys will make you never want to take your shirt off again.
-Dani and I witnessed a motorcycle wreck. A guy in an intersection was trying both to avoid oncoming traffic and come to a stop. His front tire swiveled and he went down. Luckily, he didn't look hurt. Locals swarmed him, offering a helping hand.
-From teaching English to Tati, I now realize how difficult the difference is between twelve and twenty, or thirteen and thirty, etc. Likewise, it was a big struggle for her to pronounce chocolate with two syllables instead of three. When I told her that the English word for batatas fritas is French Fries, she looked both confused and like she pitied me. "But why?" she asked. I said I didn't know.
-Nothing makes me as aware that an animal gave its life than seeing its heart on a plate in front of me. Buying and consuming a whole roasted chicken ironically feels less personal than eating its chewing-gum-wad-sized heart. Chicken hearts taste nice, but have a texture that feels exactly like how you might imagine a heart in your mouth feeling. Five little birds gave their lives for my plate. Three did so in vain.
-This city is packed with motorcycles. They weave between traffic whether its stopped or flying. Everyone is separated by inches. I'm sure I'll witness more wrecks in the future. Paulistas have no room, patience or respect for bicyclists. Even when I'm really missing home, I think about this fact and am happy.
-Option B, for the record, is definitely not watered-down.
-Related to nothing, but isn't it weird when you see on Facebook that someone just had a kid and you had no idea they were even pregnant?
-In Ibirapuera Park, crowds gather around a handful of courts where pickup basketball and soccer games are waged. Players who are able to get minutes take them very seriously. The basketball games are dismissible. I'm fairly certain my Blairs Middle School team could have taken the average crew here. Missed layups and silly passes galore. The soccer players, though, are on a completely different level. They are surgeons with the ball. I bet many of them could easily play college ball in the States.
-The club on Augusta had three levels. The top floor had pool tables and other board games. The main level had couches. They were playing stuff like the Postal Service and Radiohead's "2 + 2 = 5." The basement level was packed wall-to-wall with bodies. A DJ pumped out Beatles and Rolling Stones songs at a deafening volume. Colored lights on the low ceiling above made the room look endless. "Help" comes on and these kids scream like they're at the Ed Sullivan Show. They sure are convincing. The energy is undeniable.
Come to Brazil and go out with us.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Lip Land
Dani and I enter her friend's apartment. We're there to eat one of those Saturday Brazilian lunches that goes the whole afternoon. There's a few other couples in the living room. We make our introductions. I shake one guy's hand, then his wife's. The room gets quiet. A little anxiety smears Dani's face.
"Oh," I say, realizing the problem. I lean in and kiss his wife. The world starts spinning again. Now we can eat.
Nobody kisses as much as Brazilians. It's everywhere. I've seen more young couples than I can count going at it on the Metro. I've seen two 45-year-olds attack each other hungrily at an outdoor cafe. In all cases, everyone around seemed oblivious to it but me. Two months later, I'm still a little in awe of it all.
As a man in Brazil, regardless of where you're from, you are a part of a social contract that guarantees two things: 1. You get to kiss every girl you meet. 2. Every guy you meet gets to kiss your girl. Yes, it's on the cheek, but it's often so close to the mouth that there's little left to the imagination.
Refuse to participate in this contract, be you a man or a woman, and you'll be labeled as "cold," which is basically the opposite of what every Brazilian strives to be. I had to calm Dani down on one occasion when she forgot to kiss someone. "They're going to think I'm cold!" she fretted. It's like being reduced to the same social status as a browning head of lettuce.
While many parts of Europe and Latin America do the cheek kiss thing, Danville, VA, where I grew up, definitely did not. Kissing another man's wife is just about the last thing you would ever want to go around doing. I still have to make a conscious effort here to remember to go in for the gold when saying hello.
What's been more unexpected is the way that Brazilians go at it in public. In shopping malls, on the streets and especially on the Metro for some reason, it is apparently game on here all the time for the young and in love. This extends to all couples, as Sampa is one of the most gay-friendly places I've ever been. Same sex couples are as publicly forward as anyone else. Dani has even entered a public ladies room that she immediately realized was "occupied."
If you're single here and hitting the local scene, bring some breath mints. Brazilians that meet in bars or clubs and don't kiss within a short time of saying hello are understood to have no future together. The attraction needs to be automatic and tested immediately or otherwise what's the point? For a country that knows how to waste a ton of time, this is one area where they are uber efficient.
It's important to mention, though, that this social practice does not in any way mean Brazilian women are sexually promiscuous. Going home with a guy you've just met is far less acceptable here than in the US. I liked the way one of Dani's friends living in America gave her opinion on the difference: "American girls will sleep with you before they kiss you."
If you're down with first base only then it's high times for you here. Festivals like Carnaval raise the ante even higher. I've seen with my own eyes a sober guy walk up to a sober girl on the street and within about ten seconds they were making out like they just said, "I do." The World Cup this June will probably be a month-long stretch of this kind of spirit. Game on, Brazil.
In general, if you're an open and happy person, it's easy to embrace Brazil's kiss culture, even if it takes a little getting used to. It's further proof these people are some of the happiest on the planet. They kiss with every hello, and so it naturally makes sense that women end every single phone conversation with the word beijos, meaning, "kisses."
"Oh," I say, realizing the problem. I lean in and kiss his wife. The world starts spinning again. Now we can eat.
Nobody kisses as much as Brazilians. It's everywhere. I've seen more young couples than I can count going at it on the Metro. I've seen two 45-year-olds attack each other hungrily at an outdoor cafe. In all cases, everyone around seemed oblivious to it but me. Two months later, I'm still a little in awe of it all.
As a man in Brazil, regardless of where you're from, you are a part of a social contract that guarantees two things: 1. You get to kiss every girl you meet. 2. Every guy you meet gets to kiss your girl. Yes, it's on the cheek, but it's often so close to the mouth that there's little left to the imagination.
Refuse to participate in this contract, be you a man or a woman, and you'll be labeled as "cold," which is basically the opposite of what every Brazilian strives to be. I had to calm Dani down on one occasion when she forgot to kiss someone. "They're going to think I'm cold!" she fretted. It's like being reduced to the same social status as a browning head of lettuce.
While many parts of Europe and Latin America do the cheek kiss thing, Danville, VA, where I grew up, definitely did not. Kissing another man's wife is just about the last thing you would ever want to go around doing. I still have to make a conscious effort here to remember to go in for the gold when saying hello.
What's been more unexpected is the way that Brazilians go at it in public. In shopping malls, on the streets and especially on the Metro for some reason, it is apparently game on here all the time for the young and in love. This extends to all couples, as Sampa is one of the most gay-friendly places I've ever been. Same sex couples are as publicly forward as anyone else. Dani has even entered a public ladies room that she immediately realized was "occupied."
If you're single here and hitting the local scene, bring some breath mints. Brazilians that meet in bars or clubs and don't kiss within a short time of saying hello are understood to have no future together. The attraction needs to be automatic and tested immediately or otherwise what's the point? For a country that knows how to waste a ton of time, this is one area where they are uber efficient.
It's important to mention, though, that this social practice does not in any way mean Brazilian women are sexually promiscuous. Going home with a guy you've just met is far less acceptable here than in the US. I liked the way one of Dani's friends living in America gave her opinion on the difference: "American girls will sleep with you before they kiss you."
If you're down with first base only then it's high times for you here. Festivals like Carnaval raise the ante even higher. I've seen with my own eyes a sober guy walk up to a sober girl on the street and within about ten seconds they were making out like they just said, "I do." The World Cup this June will probably be a month-long stretch of this kind of spirit. Game on, Brazil.
In general, if you're an open and happy person, it's easy to embrace Brazil's kiss culture, even if it takes a little getting used to. It's further proof these people are some of the happiest on the planet. They kiss with every hello, and so it naturally makes sense that women end every single phone conversation with the word beijos, meaning, "kisses."
Anonymous couple at Carnaval. I assume they just met.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Musica
Some quality music from Brazil for those looking to grow their libraries.
"Ja Sei Namorar" by Tribalistas
Title loosely translated: "I Already Know How to Date"
This one right here is easily on my top ten favorite songs of all time. The final 1:30 is dynamite. I really think music like this recruits tourism. It certainly worked on me.
"Debaixo D'agua" by Arnaldo Antunes
Title loosely translated: "Underwater"
A few people sing this song, but Arnaldo has the best version. He's sort of an oddball who reminds me a lot of Andrew Bird minus the violin. This song, on paper, is about how great it is to be underwater if only you didn't have to come up for air. I think it's actually about coping with reality and responsibilities every day. And how great is that bass?
"Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex" by CSS
CSS stands for Cansei de Ser Sexy (translated: "I'm Sick of Being Sexy"), which is a hard band name to top. This group is pretty well known in the States. I've seen them play in DC with Sleigh Bells and they blew them and everyone else away.
"Kilo" by Bonde Do Role
This thing sounds like it's right out of a Tarantino movie. I can't shut it off when it starts. The lyrics are half about sex and half pointless. Its obnoxiously-Brazilian video just about captures that.
MTV Unplugged concert by Marcelo D2
Marcelo D2 is an elder statesman of Brazilian hip-hop on par with, maybe, Jay-Z in the US. For Jay-Z's MTV Unplugged concert he employed the Roots as a house band plus a handful of strings. Marcelo says, "I'll see your strings and raise you a horn section, a banjo, a reading chair and a guy playing a bottle."
The result is a go-for-broke performance that straddles the line between hip-hop and samba. I don't know how this could be better or why it isn't in the same conversation as MTV's other legendary Unplugged shows.
Throw this on your head phones at work and watch an hour disappear.
"Ja Sei Namorar" by Tribalistas
Title loosely translated: "I Already Know How to Date"
This one right here is easily on my top ten favorite songs of all time. The final 1:30 is dynamite. I really think music like this recruits tourism. It certainly worked on me.
"Debaixo D'agua" by Arnaldo Antunes
Title loosely translated: "Underwater"
A few people sing this song, but Arnaldo has the best version. He's sort of an oddball who reminds me a lot of Andrew Bird minus the violin. This song, on paper, is about how great it is to be underwater if only you didn't have to come up for air. I think it's actually about coping with reality and responsibilities every day. And how great is that bass?
"Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex" by CSS
CSS stands for Cansei de Ser Sexy (translated: "I'm Sick of Being Sexy"), which is a hard band name to top. This group is pretty well known in the States. I've seen them play in DC with Sleigh Bells and they blew them and everyone else away.
"Kilo" by Bonde Do Role
This thing sounds like it's right out of a Tarantino movie. I can't shut it off when it starts. The lyrics are half about sex and half pointless. Its obnoxiously-Brazilian video just about captures that.
MTV Unplugged concert by Marcelo D2
Marcelo D2 is an elder statesman of Brazilian hip-hop on par with, maybe, Jay-Z in the US. For Jay-Z's MTV Unplugged concert he employed the Roots as a house band plus a handful of strings. Marcelo says, "I'll see your strings and raise you a horn section, a banjo, a reading chair and a guy playing a bottle."
The result is a go-for-broke performance that straddles the line between hip-hop and samba. I don't know how this could be better or why it isn't in the same conversation as MTV's other legendary Unplugged shows.
Throw this on your head phones at work and watch an hour disappear.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
A Tale of Two Cities
I've learned here that happiness in life is dependent largely on attitude and perspective. I find myself each week swinging between two very different mindsets.
The Detainee
I really miss home. A lot.
They say that no man is an island and from being here I can tell you that that shit is for real. I realize now how much of my joy and well being in life has rested squarely on the shoulders of my friends and family. They're not here and that part of my life has fallen through. Now, I feel like I'm on an island and there are no ships on the horizon.
If you're reading this, there's a decent chance I've had an imaginary conversation with you in the past two months. When I'm out of the house alone, I catch myself giving tours of my neighborhood to invisible friends beside me. You update me on your life as I show you the cake shop, the pastel place, the cars jammed together on Avenida Vente Tres de Maio. You have no idea how special it would be to just have one lunch with you.
I thought making friends here would be easy because it always has been. Even the restarts in life I've experienced like going to college or moving to Alexandria were a breeze in hindsight. Here I lack the language skills to form a bond. It's often ten or more days that I go without hearing another native English speaker. Even with my improving Portuguese, there's a missing fluidity that only two people from the same country can share. I've taken it for granted my whole life. When I visit home again, I will take deep breaths of the English around me.
Whenever I need to do some real communicating, Dani has to be there with me to translate. She has the Brazilian bank account and handles all of the bill paying. She's also a better cook than me, so the burden of preparing a decent meal falls mostly on her. I'm left with a lot of the grunt work like sweeping and doing the dishes. I'm a child here dependent completely on her to handle the outside world for me.
I want Mexican food. I want Thai food. Both are as easy to find as Ethiopian food back home.
While I'm much better adjusted than when I arrived, safety is always an issue. Like the susceptible mortals in vampire tales, I find myself late each afternoon looking up at the darkening skies and wondering if there's anything else I need today from out there. I will leave the house at night alone, but only to use the crowded streets I know. I'm rarely out after 9:00 pm. In all honesty, I'm not getting out very much at all.
Life is challenging.
The Permanent Vacation
Here in São Paulo, I live an unbelievable lifestyle.
I'm blessed enough to be able to work from home--something I will have a hard time ever trading in. The work isn't any easier and I probably am doing more than when I had an office gig. Still, there's a magic in bypassing the routine of slapping the alarm, showering, getting dressed and commuting. I get to join my co-workers by rising from bed the minute they step off the elevator. Our work days begin at the same moment, but I'm 90 minutes of sleep richer.
I'm logging nine hours of sleep every night. This maybe happened before in college and will probably never happen again. It's improved my quality of life immensely. I just feel healthier and more alive all the time.
There's a gym in my building. I'm almost always the only one in it. I faithfully go six days a week now. I've dropped seven pounds since arriving and am the healthiest I've been in a decade, if not ever.
The food here is hands down the best I've ever had. Another world traveler agreed with me recently, saying, "Forget Paris, New York, any of that. São Paulo has the best restaurants in the world."
To the US dollar it's all pretty affordable, too. There's a gourmet pizza place around the corner. Top of the line stuff for US $20-25 that feeds us for two meals. The homemade cake place nearby gives me three days worth of perfect banana bread right out of the oven for US $4.30. Twice a week I have an unyielding hankering for a hearty Brazilian meal. Dani and I spend US $24 for a little piece of paradise that looks like this. No tipping either.
My social circle is smaller, but it's given me time and focus to dedicate to writing. I enjoy keeping this blog and I've just begun what looks to be my first serious writing project since releasing my book, I Want You to Be My Second, in March of 2012.
I'm in flip flops most hours of the day. The temperatures can swell, but it neither gets as hot or as cold as back home. For two months now, it's been 70 degrees every single evening and night, and that in no way gets old.
I'm adjusted to the city and don't fear it like I once did. Looking back on some of my first posts, I'm ashamed of the way I hyped the threat of violence. I'm much more willing to take my cell phone out of my pocket on the train now. Walking alone during the day is a breeze and at night the streets around our apartment remain mine.
The party scene here is insane and unrivaled in the US except for maybe Vegas or Bourbon Street. Rua Augusta on a Friday night has dozens of bars/clubs for the choosing that seemingly never close. The cool thing is, you don't need to go into any of them to have fun. The real party is on the street where mobs of people just hang out and talk. Vendors sell drinks and all kinds of food right there. I don't do a lot of open container-ing, but it's nice to see a government treating adults like they're adults.
Many of Dani's friends have become my own. They're fun and I can tell they genuinely care about me. Her family loves me like I'm one of theirs. I could fill up a page listing all of the things they've gone out of their way to do for me.
Most of all, I get to live with my girl. She's amazing and everything that I need. We both depend on one another each day. Conflicts are rare and when they do occur, we handle it in a healthy way. She's a knockout and just as funny to boot. There will be no other wife in this lifetime.
Life was much harder here when I first arrived. In the past couple weeks I've realized that if I had to return to America tomorrow, leaving this city would have a real impact on me. This lifestyle that I have here is one I may sadly never be able to recreate. Sampa has taken me in as one of its own and I'm beginning to identify as one of its people. There's a lot to love here.
Here's to feeling a little more upbeat each day.
The Detainee
I really miss home. A lot.
They say that no man is an island and from being here I can tell you that that shit is for real. I realize now how much of my joy and well being in life has rested squarely on the shoulders of my friends and family. They're not here and that part of my life has fallen through. Now, I feel like I'm on an island and there are no ships on the horizon.
If you're reading this, there's a decent chance I've had an imaginary conversation with you in the past two months. When I'm out of the house alone, I catch myself giving tours of my neighborhood to invisible friends beside me. You update me on your life as I show you the cake shop, the pastel place, the cars jammed together on Avenida Vente Tres de Maio. You have no idea how special it would be to just have one lunch with you.
I thought making friends here would be easy because it always has been. Even the restarts in life I've experienced like going to college or moving to Alexandria were a breeze in hindsight. Here I lack the language skills to form a bond. It's often ten or more days that I go without hearing another native English speaker. Even with my improving Portuguese, there's a missing fluidity that only two people from the same country can share. I've taken it for granted my whole life. When I visit home again, I will take deep breaths of the English around me.
Whenever I need to do some real communicating, Dani has to be there with me to translate. She has the Brazilian bank account and handles all of the bill paying. She's also a better cook than me, so the burden of preparing a decent meal falls mostly on her. I'm left with a lot of the grunt work like sweeping and doing the dishes. I'm a child here dependent completely on her to handle the outside world for me.
I want Mexican food. I want Thai food. Both are as easy to find as Ethiopian food back home.
While I'm much better adjusted than when I arrived, safety is always an issue. Like the susceptible mortals in vampire tales, I find myself late each afternoon looking up at the darkening skies and wondering if there's anything else I need today from out there. I will leave the house at night alone, but only to use the crowded streets I know. I'm rarely out after 9:00 pm. In all honesty, I'm not getting out very much at all.
Life is challenging.
The Permanent Vacation
Here in São Paulo, I live an unbelievable lifestyle.
I'm blessed enough to be able to work from home--something I will have a hard time ever trading in. The work isn't any easier and I probably am doing more than when I had an office gig. Still, there's a magic in bypassing the routine of slapping the alarm, showering, getting dressed and commuting. I get to join my co-workers by rising from bed the minute they step off the elevator. Our work days begin at the same moment, but I'm 90 minutes of sleep richer.
I'm logging nine hours of sleep every night. This maybe happened before in college and will probably never happen again. It's improved my quality of life immensely. I just feel healthier and more alive all the time.
There's a gym in my building. I'm almost always the only one in it. I faithfully go six days a week now. I've dropped seven pounds since arriving and am the healthiest I've been in a decade, if not ever.
The food here is hands down the best I've ever had. Another world traveler agreed with me recently, saying, "Forget Paris, New York, any of that. São Paulo has the best restaurants in the world."
To the US dollar it's all pretty affordable, too. There's a gourmet pizza place around the corner. Top of the line stuff for US $20-25 that feeds us for two meals. The homemade cake place nearby gives me three days worth of perfect banana bread right out of the oven for US $4.30. Twice a week I have an unyielding hankering for a hearty Brazilian meal. Dani and I spend US $24 for a little piece of paradise that looks like this. No tipping either.
My social circle is smaller, but it's given me time and focus to dedicate to writing. I enjoy keeping this blog and I've just begun what looks to be my first serious writing project since releasing my book, I Want You to Be My Second, in March of 2012.
I'm in flip flops most hours of the day. The temperatures can swell, but it neither gets as hot or as cold as back home. For two months now, it's been 70 degrees every single evening and night, and that in no way gets old.
I'm adjusted to the city and don't fear it like I once did. Looking back on some of my first posts, I'm ashamed of the way I hyped the threat of violence. I'm much more willing to take my cell phone out of my pocket on the train now. Walking alone during the day is a breeze and at night the streets around our apartment remain mine.
The party scene here is insane and unrivaled in the US except for maybe Vegas or Bourbon Street. Rua Augusta on a Friday night has dozens of bars/clubs for the choosing that seemingly never close. The cool thing is, you don't need to go into any of them to have fun. The real party is on the street where mobs of people just hang out and talk. Vendors sell drinks and all kinds of food right there. I don't do a lot of open container-ing, but it's nice to see a government treating adults like they're adults.
Many of Dani's friends have become my own. They're fun and I can tell they genuinely care about me. Her family loves me like I'm one of theirs. I could fill up a page listing all of the things they've gone out of their way to do for me.
Most of all, I get to live with my girl. She's amazing and everything that I need. We both depend on one another each day. Conflicts are rare and when they do occur, we handle it in a healthy way. She's a knockout and just as funny to boot. There will be no other wife in this lifetime.
Life was much harder here when I first arrived. In the past couple weeks I've realized that if I had to return to America tomorrow, leaving this city would have a real impact on me. This lifestyle that I have here is one I may sadly never be able to recreate. Sampa has taken me in as one of its own and I'm beginning to identify as one of its people. There's a lot to love here.
Here's to feeling a little more upbeat each day.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Hippy to the Hoppy
Lots of Brazilians want to learn English. Very few do and only a fraction of those speak it well. There are language schools here on every other block. Chatting with Dani on the Metro, I often get curious stares from all ages when they hear my voice. It's like a strange superpower I possess that, like Super Man, I was born with and did basically nothing to earn.
Strange then that Brazilians would have such a passion for hip-hop (pronounced "hippy-hoppy"). It's America's most lyrically-focused music and also it's most difficult to decipher. Understanding rap lyrics really is the pinnacle of understanding today's English language if you look outside the lens of education. Drenched in slang and delivered at a fast pace, it's sort of the ultimate final exam.
American and British music is everywhere here. From stores to nightclubs, I hear one of "my" songs for every one of theirs. Dani and I were sandwiched together in a club last Friday night when Nelly's "Shake Ya Tailfeather" came on. Those opening sirens were a mighty fine sound being this far from home. While I wasn't the only one dancing, I'm pretty sure that out of the 500 people in the building, I was probably the only one that understood what, "Collect so much grass, po po thinking we mow lawns" meant.
The simplest explanation for this love is also the most refreshing. Unlike Americans, Brazilians seem less concerned with whatever is the newest/hottest/dopest track from (insert disposable rapper). Instead, they gravitate to the songs that sound the best. Lyrics are neither here nor there. I can accept that on a Saturday night.
Keep the hits coming, Brazil. Twice since I've been here, I've seen love given to Sunshine Anderson's "Heard It All Before." A song I probably hadn't heard in 10 years. Man is that a fun one.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
The Gun Debate in America Is Over
Around 11,000 Americans are killed every year by guns. In Brazil, where the population is significantly smaller, the number is about 34,000. It's the highest number of gun deaths worldwide.
Despite this, I'm more optimistic about Brazil's future in terms of guns than the States'.
It's basically impossible for a civilian to legally own a gun here. You've got to be at least 25 and really, really want it considering the money and bureaucratic hoops you've got to jump through. This is the result of a 2004 law called the Disarmament Statute. That year, the country saw 2,000 fewer homicides, followed by a similar drop the year after. Here in São Paulo, the murder rate is down about 60% now compared to then.
Of course, just like in America, the vast majority of murders are not committed by legal gun owners or legally purchased guns. Brazil--I was surprised to learn--is actually a huge weapons manufacturer. Many of those guns are sold to other countries and then smuggled back into Brazil into the hands of gangs.
The problem here is also tied to wealth inequality and corruption. Again, the vast majority of murders here are poor on poor. Brazil's economy has seen massive growth over the last 15 years, but ask any local and they'll tell you that money has lined the pockets of the very few. All the protests you've seen here and will see when the World Cup rolls around stem directly from the problem of inequality.
The reason I'm more optimistic about Brazil's future is the difference in attitudes towards guns. A recent interview with security expert Robert Muggah summed it up by saying, "America is the only country in the world that considers owning a gun a basic right. In Brazil and other countries…owning a weapon is considered a privilege."
Sadly, this attitude may be changing. In 2005, following the immediate success of the Disarmament Policy, a referendum was up in Brazil to completely ban civilian weapons. It was voted down. What group was instrumental in making that happen? The NRA. It turns out the US imports more guns from Brazil than any other country. It's a culture the NRA doesn't want to see change. The Brazilian gun lobby met with the NRA, borrowed their strategies and translated many of their materials into Portuguese to rally citizen support. The central message they delivered, according to one article, is that the referendum infringed on people's rights.
While there is an ongoing push among many Brazilians to make weapons legally accessible, I get the feeling here that most people have no interest in owning a weapon. The streets here are rough and there is a lot of crime, but the American spirit of self defense and arming yourself is absent here. When people here advise me on safety, they tell me what parts of town to avoid at night. They don't recommend I consider carrying a weapon to protect me. I have a pocketknife that I thought about keeping on me when I first arrived--an attitude I now recognize as an American one, not a personal one.
It churns my stomach to learn that the NRA has an active interest in Brazil's gun debate. Since having moved here, I now believe that the American gun debate is over. The NRA has won. As long as there is a Second Amendment in the Constitution, nothing will change. I can only imagine a massive cultural swing changing things, and since Newtown didn't do it, I don't know what will.
America has a wealthy economy and a gun problem. Brazil has an emerging economy and a gun problem. I feel like (I pray) that Brazilians have the right pre-existing attitude towards guns to facilitate a precipitous drop in violence if the country can continue to grow financially and educationally.
The more influence the NRA has here, the worse. The day that Disarmament vanishes and Brazilians can obtain guns with the same ease as Americans will be the day that I leave.
Despite this, I'm more optimistic about Brazil's future in terms of guns than the States'.
It's basically impossible for a civilian to legally own a gun here. You've got to be at least 25 and really, really want it considering the money and bureaucratic hoops you've got to jump through. This is the result of a 2004 law called the Disarmament Statute. That year, the country saw 2,000 fewer homicides, followed by a similar drop the year after. Here in São Paulo, the murder rate is down about 60% now compared to then.
Of course, just like in America, the vast majority of murders are not committed by legal gun owners or legally purchased guns. Brazil--I was surprised to learn--is actually a huge weapons manufacturer. Many of those guns are sold to other countries and then smuggled back into Brazil into the hands of gangs.
The problem here is also tied to wealth inequality and corruption. Again, the vast majority of murders here are poor on poor. Brazil's economy has seen massive growth over the last 15 years, but ask any local and they'll tell you that money has lined the pockets of the very few. All the protests you've seen here and will see when the World Cup rolls around stem directly from the problem of inequality.
The reason I'm more optimistic about Brazil's future is the difference in attitudes towards guns. A recent interview with security expert Robert Muggah summed it up by saying, "America is the only country in the world that considers owning a gun a basic right. In Brazil and other countries…owning a weapon is considered a privilege."
Sadly, this attitude may be changing. In 2005, following the immediate success of the Disarmament Policy, a referendum was up in Brazil to completely ban civilian weapons. It was voted down. What group was instrumental in making that happen? The NRA. It turns out the US imports more guns from Brazil than any other country. It's a culture the NRA doesn't want to see change. The Brazilian gun lobby met with the NRA, borrowed their strategies and translated many of their materials into Portuguese to rally citizen support. The central message they delivered, according to one article, is that the referendum infringed on people's rights.
While there is an ongoing push among many Brazilians to make weapons legally accessible, I get the feeling here that most people have no interest in owning a weapon. The streets here are rough and there is a lot of crime, but the American spirit of self defense and arming yourself is absent here. When people here advise me on safety, they tell me what parts of town to avoid at night. They don't recommend I consider carrying a weapon to protect me. I have a pocketknife that I thought about keeping on me when I first arrived--an attitude I now recognize as an American one, not a personal one.
It churns my stomach to learn that the NRA has an active interest in Brazil's gun debate. Since having moved here, I now believe that the American gun debate is over. The NRA has won. As long as there is a Second Amendment in the Constitution, nothing will change. I can only imagine a massive cultural swing changing things, and since Newtown didn't do it, I don't know what will.
America has a wealthy economy and a gun problem. Brazil has an emerging economy and a gun problem. I feel like (I pray) that Brazilians have the right pre-existing attitude towards guns to facilitate a precipitous drop in violence if the country can continue to grow financially and educationally.
The more influence the NRA has here, the worse. The day that Disarmament vanishes and Brazilians can obtain guns with the same ease as Americans will be the day that I leave.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Este Lado do Mundo
O sanduíche de mortadela.
Noa e Sergio.
Uma recepção de casamento.
Me e o Theatro Municipal no Centro.
Pôr do sol do nosso apartamento.
O homem em azul.
A igreja perto de nós.
Dani.
Tati.
Nacho e eu.
Dani à beira da piscina.
Um autêntico restaurante japonês na Liberdade.
Na nossa varanda. Eu amo.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Better/Worse Part II
Better
If you're elderly, there are worse places to be in this world than Brazil. Being old here is like having a Disney Fast Pass to life. Old people do not have to wait in line for anything. They have their own preferential registers at crowded grocery stores. They are allowed to skip line at banks and other annoying places.
On the bustling Metro, where I get to sit about one in four trips, they have their own special blue seats. If those seats are taken, good-hearted Brazilians will pop up and offer their seat. And if that doesn't happen, old people will ask you directly to stand. That's just how they roll here. Being old in Brazil is definitely a better deal than the US.
Also, pregnant women and women with young children get the same treatment as above, but it's fleeting and requires an annoying kid.
Worse
Brazilian men love women. Love them. In spite of that, and perhaps in some ways because of it, Brazil is a sexist place for the ladies. I didn't expect this considering how progressive the country is plus the fact that their President is female. You can clearly see it in the media where being smoking hot appears to be a woman's number one credential.
You could argue it's the same situation in the States, but the roads do divide widely. A recent government survey found that 65% of Brazilians think that women who dress provocatively "deserve to be raped." I was confused when Dani told me about this, not just because of the high number, but that "deserve to be raped" would ever be a choice as an answer to anything. The same report found that 58% of the surveyed think there would be less rapes if "women knew how to behave."
Two out of three survey takers were women.
The reaction here has been sharp and deservedly so. Brazilian Facebook and Twitter has been ablaze and I'm just waiting for Avenida Paulista to shut down for a protest. Hopefully this story will change some attitudes.
From my perspective, I see this not just as an issue of how women are viewed, but also an acceptance of violence as a normal part of Brazilian life. I think this place has been far more desensitized than the US. Rape and murder are probably accepted by many as normal penalties for missteps in life. I'm willing to bet if you did a similar survey asking, "Does a person walking alone at night in a bad neighborhood deserve to be murdered?" You would get the same numbers.
Better
The food here is undeniably exceptional. There are churrascarias that let you feast on unlimited meat, yes. And I'll also take the upscale restaurants of Sao Paulo over New York's any day (and at half the price).
But I want to talk about cheap eats. Namely, a little something called pastel. I doubt a finer guilty pleasure lunch can be purchased for US $2.42.
Pastel is like a paperback-sized Hot Pocket if Hot Pockets were fresh and delicious. It's a big dough envelope filled with your choice of meat and cheese. Or you can get chocolate if you want. It's then sealed up and set afloat on a bubbling cauldron of oil. A few minutes later, voila paradise.
There are lots of little hole in the wall places dedicated only to pastel. The one around the corner from us has like three tables in it. Most people prefer to stand outside the open storefront and enjoy theirs on the sidewalk. There's no doubt in my mind that any time I leave Brazil, I will crave these within 48 hours.
Worse
Nothing makes me want to lie down on a pair of railroad tracks like a Brazilian grocery store. There's a big Wal-Mart-sized one near our house called Extra. The place is jammed all the time. Average waiting time in line is about 10 minutes (oh, to be elderly).
There are so many carts and people that regardless of where you are, you're most likely in someone's way. The place has the tension of a traffic jam. You can't take your cart down a lot of the aisles because there's just too much going on.
Last night, Dani and I were weaving our way through there at 9:45. I wanted some orange juice. I haven't had any since arriving. There was no refrigerated section of juice that I could find. Just a shelf with containers of "orange nectar"--basically orange sugar water. Dani led me to it and said this is it.
I said no. I just want orange juice. That's oranges squeezed into a bottle and put in a fridge. Nothing else. Pasteurize it if you like. Hell, concentrate it. I just want orange juice. Looks like this is not an option here. Dani said Brazilians have to make that for themselves from oranges. I replied that I'm an American and I would like to pay someone for it.
The orange juice thing really got under my skin. I can understand that they don't have a lot of the name brands I'm used to in America. No Ben and Jerry's. Okay. I get that we're not in Vermont here. But this is Brazil. The tropics. They're selling fruit everywhere. In the grocery store. On the street. Dozens of fruits that I've never seen or heard of before. When's the last time you saw a fruit you had never heard of? It's alarming. All I want is orange juice.
Honestly, if it wasn't for Coca Cola, I would probably have had a personal crisis by now. Coca Cola is here, it's everywhere, it tastes exactly the same and it consoles me.
Here's a run down of what other familiar brands Brazil has and how much you'll have to pay at a grocery store to enjoy them. Some are cheaper here. Others not.
Coca Cola (two liter): US $2.00
Oreos (mini pack of 10): US $1.15
Haagan Dazs (pint): US $10.50
Bacardi rum: US $12.00 (note: it tastes differently here)
Jack Daniel's: US $41.00
They've also got a lot of Doritos, Snickers and M&Ms for a reasonable price. Coke Zero is everywhere, but I haven't seen a Diet Coke yet. Pepsi is here plus Sprite. Dr. Pepper doesn't have his visa. Budweiser is massive, but Bud Lite is absent.
Peanut butter can be found securely stockpiled in our home. I brought like 10 jars in my luggage. I've given one to each of my American friends here and they've both held it like an aged wine.
Milk, like juice, is room temperature on the grocery store shelf. I think I've had the last glass of my life.
The things I would do right now for a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. I miss you, baby.
If you're elderly, there are worse places to be in this world than Brazil. Being old here is like having a Disney Fast Pass to life. Old people do not have to wait in line for anything. They have their own preferential registers at crowded grocery stores. They are allowed to skip line at banks and other annoying places.
On the bustling Metro, where I get to sit about one in four trips, they have their own special blue seats. If those seats are taken, good-hearted Brazilians will pop up and offer their seat. And if that doesn't happen, old people will ask you directly to stand. That's just how they roll here. Being old in Brazil is definitely a better deal than the US.
Also, pregnant women and women with young children get the same treatment as above, but it's fleeting and requires an annoying kid.
Worse
Brazilian men love women. Love them. In spite of that, and perhaps in some ways because of it, Brazil is a sexist place for the ladies. I didn't expect this considering how progressive the country is plus the fact that their President is female. You can clearly see it in the media where being smoking hot appears to be a woman's number one credential.
You could argue it's the same situation in the States, but the roads do divide widely. A recent government survey found that 65% of Brazilians think that women who dress provocatively "deserve to be raped." I was confused when Dani told me about this, not just because of the high number, but that "deserve to be raped" would ever be a choice as an answer to anything. The same report found that 58% of the surveyed think there would be less rapes if "women knew how to behave."
Two out of three survey takers were women.
The reaction here has been sharp and deservedly so. Brazilian Facebook and Twitter has been ablaze and I'm just waiting for Avenida Paulista to shut down for a protest. Hopefully this story will change some attitudes.
From my perspective, I see this not just as an issue of how women are viewed, but also an acceptance of violence as a normal part of Brazilian life. I think this place has been far more desensitized than the US. Rape and murder are probably accepted by many as normal penalties for missteps in life. I'm willing to bet if you did a similar survey asking, "Does a person walking alone at night in a bad neighborhood deserve to be murdered?" You would get the same numbers.
Better
The food here is undeniably exceptional. There are churrascarias that let you feast on unlimited meat, yes. And I'll also take the upscale restaurants of Sao Paulo over New York's any day (and at half the price).
But I want to talk about cheap eats. Namely, a little something called pastel. I doubt a finer guilty pleasure lunch can be purchased for US $2.42.
Pastel is like a paperback-sized Hot Pocket if Hot Pockets were fresh and delicious. It's a big dough envelope filled with your choice of meat and cheese. Or you can get chocolate if you want. It's then sealed up and set afloat on a bubbling cauldron of oil. A few minutes later, voila paradise.
There are lots of little hole in the wall places dedicated only to pastel. The one around the corner from us has like three tables in it. Most people prefer to stand outside the open storefront and enjoy theirs on the sidewalk. There's no doubt in my mind that any time I leave Brazil, I will crave these within 48 hours.
This is the feeling.
Worse
Nothing makes me want to lie down on a pair of railroad tracks like a Brazilian grocery store. There's a big Wal-Mart-sized one near our house called Extra. The place is jammed all the time. Average waiting time in line is about 10 minutes (oh, to be elderly).
There are so many carts and people that regardless of where you are, you're most likely in someone's way. The place has the tension of a traffic jam. You can't take your cart down a lot of the aisles because there's just too much going on.
Last night, Dani and I were weaving our way through there at 9:45. I wanted some orange juice. I haven't had any since arriving. There was no refrigerated section of juice that I could find. Just a shelf with containers of "orange nectar"--basically orange sugar water. Dani led me to it and said this is it.
I said no. I just want orange juice. That's oranges squeezed into a bottle and put in a fridge. Nothing else. Pasteurize it if you like. Hell, concentrate it. I just want orange juice. Looks like this is not an option here. Dani said Brazilians have to make that for themselves from oranges. I replied that I'm an American and I would like to pay someone for it.
The orange juice thing really got under my skin. I can understand that they don't have a lot of the name brands I'm used to in America. No Ben and Jerry's. Okay. I get that we're not in Vermont here. But this is Brazil. The tropics. They're selling fruit everywhere. In the grocery store. On the street. Dozens of fruits that I've never seen or heard of before. When's the last time you saw a fruit you had never heard of? It's alarming. All I want is orange juice.
Honestly, if it wasn't for Coca Cola, I would probably have had a personal crisis by now. Coca Cola is here, it's everywhere, it tastes exactly the same and it consoles me.
Here's a run down of what other familiar brands Brazil has and how much you'll have to pay at a grocery store to enjoy them. Some are cheaper here. Others not.
Coca Cola (two liter): US $2.00
Oreos (mini pack of 10): US $1.15
Haagan Dazs (pint): US $10.50
Bacardi rum: US $12.00 (note: it tastes differently here)
Jack Daniel's: US $41.00
They've also got a lot of Doritos, Snickers and M&Ms for a reasonable price. Coke Zero is everywhere, but I haven't seen a Diet Coke yet. Pepsi is here plus Sprite. Dr. Pepper doesn't have his visa. Budweiser is massive, but Bud Lite is absent.
Peanut butter can be found securely stockpiled in our home. I brought like 10 jars in my luggage. I've given one to each of my American friends here and they've both held it like an aged wine.
Milk, like juice, is room temperature on the grocery store shelf. I think I've had the last glass of my life.
The things I would do right now for a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. I miss you, baby.
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