Dani has a growing slate of weekly English classes that she teaches. She often comes home and tells me about one class in particular. The students are two teenage boys. One is 18 and about to enter college here in Brazil. The other is 14 and has his sights honed specifically on going to Harvard. Both have a fascination on some level with the US. And both keep asking about me and what I think.
Earlier this evening, I joined Dani's class as a guest lecturer of sorts. Me, her and the two students--who both turned out to be exceptionally bright and insightful--sat in school desks for an hour and chatted. I told them to ask me anything they wanted to know about America. The conversation started slow with them asking me my opinions on Brazil (every Brazilian does this), but we eventually hit on these topics:
Question: What is America's perception of Brazil?
Me: I said Americans usually think of Christ the Redeemer first. They think about Rio de Janeiro, beaches, soccer, Carnaval and pretty girls. They're also aware of the violence. I said that a surprising number of them have never heard of São Paulo, even though it's one of the world's ten biggest cities.
Question: Do you like soccer?
Me: No. I played it as a kid until I joined a new league that included a lot of Central and South American kids who slaughtered us. Then I quit.
Question: Do you like baseball?
Me: It's alright. I told them baseball is America's Pastime and then explained what that meant. I said some people are passionate about baseball, but at least half the stadium is there to drink, eat and socialize. Families often go to baseball games for the atmosphere. It's much more difficult to take a family to an American football game. Then I explained tailgating.
Question: What's it like to live in America?
Me: I explained growing up in Danville, VA. It was a small town where you had to have a car to go somewhere. We had a house with a front yard of grass and a driveway with a basketball goal. In the mornings, I would walk outside and the school bus would pick me up in front of my house and then drop me off there in the afternoon. Then I talked about Alexandria and living in a townhouse with my friends and the differences in the two places.
After this, the younger student said, "I know you are a good writer because you explain things very well." A+, young man.
Question: How do you understand English-language poetry? Because it doesn't make any sense to me.
Me: Poetry sort of exists outside the rules of the English language. I said not to be discouraged because most people their age don't understand or care for poetry either. But it's a beautiful, wonderful thing. Poetry is often up to individual interpretation. What I get or don't get out of poem can be completely different than someone else. It's a way of expressing yourself just like painting is.
I added that poetry, though, is almost impossible to make a living at. And then, in my mind, I raised a fist up for many of my As Was Written brethren who are out there working it as we speak.
As we were coming to a close, I reversed one of their questions and asked, "What do Brazilians think about Americans?" I heard that we're annoyingly proud of ourselves and our many accomplishments. That we're rude. That Obama is a good president, but he's "weak" and is "no Lincoln."
We wandered into a political discussion where I tried to fairly describe the differing American views on guns, energy and diplomacy. I was also asked about my personal views on these topics, which I willingly gave.
Dani leaned over around this time to tell me the hour was up. I was surprised how fast the time went. I tried to wrap up the great American debate with a few final words.
Of the two, the younger student was the more outspoken. He also gave me his capsulated view on the difference between our respective countries. His words had a way of sticking.
"Brazil is a kid," he said. "We're a young country. America is a kid, too. But America is a kid with a gun."
Monday, May 26, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
The Ugly City
My mother and a friend visited me a week ago. Next week, I have another friend coming to town. More guests are expected in the next few months. Perhaps even you, I hope.
In each case, people inevitably ask, "What is there to do in São Paulo?" My answer is an honest one: "Nothing. Just eat and have fun."
It sounds like a depressing answer, but I've recently realized it's something of a perfect fit for me. When I travel, that's all I really want to do. Eat. Have fun. Eat. Have fun.
I pretty much hate seeing anything. When my friend Stuart and I went to Amsterdam and Paris in 2010, I didn't want to see the Anne Frank House or Versailles. When we forced ourselves to visit Napoleon's Tomb, we spent the whole time quoting Napoleon Dynamite. The closest we got to true culture was when we walked up to the Louvre, realized it was closed that day and then breathed a sigh of relief.
What I'll remember about Paris is sitting in cafes with Stu, drinking wine and writing. I'll remember the best pizza I've ever had. I'll remember the locals being delighted that my name was Jean Marc. I'll remember going to a bar and meeting a French girl with shoulder-length hair. I'll remember her putting her head on my shoulder as we danced. I'll remember her whispering in my ear that the love of her life had died days before. I'll remember her leaving.
That was a pretty damn Parisian experience if you ask me. Oh, and I took my photo with the Eiffel Tower, too. USA. USA.
In this same way, São Paulo is much more about the food and the people than the sights or the photographs. First off, there may not be a uglier city on the planet than this one. It's just 15-story-high beige concrete as far as the eye can see. Luckily, the youth have spruced the place up head to toe with graffiti. There's no real landmark to take your picture with. No beach. No mountains. No significant points of history that I'm aware of. There's shopping malls and that's it.
There are only two ways to occupy yourself here: Eat and have fun. And in these areas, the city truly excels.
Visit me here and I probably won't take you to the Museum of the Portuguese Language, but I will take you to Segredos de Minas where you will promptly lose your mind over some Brazilian home cooking. We'll get fresh banana bread from the bakery around the corner. We'll get gelato at Bacio di Latte, where if you trust me and bypass the tiramisu or chocolate banana and instead get the "Kiss of Milk," you will then join me in lying down in the street because you know that life will never get better than this moment.
I'll take you to Rua Augusta on a Friday night where you can get a drink from a street vendor and just lean against a brick wall enjoying the night. If you're single, romance is never more than 30 seconds from walking by. If you're with someone, your arm will never feel more natural around their shoulder. I think that's when I love Dani the most down here, when we're just walking down the street.
As amazing as the food is, Brazil's number one asset will always be its people. They're fun and kind and after you say hello and share a kiss on the cheek, you get the sense they'll look after you the rest of your life. It makes for a pretty great trip. One that probably won't turn into a scrapbook.
"You better watch yourself, Napoleon."
In each case, people inevitably ask, "What is there to do in São Paulo?" My answer is an honest one: "Nothing. Just eat and have fun."
It sounds like a depressing answer, but I've recently realized it's something of a perfect fit for me. When I travel, that's all I really want to do. Eat. Have fun. Eat. Have fun.
I pretty much hate seeing anything. When my friend Stuart and I went to Amsterdam and Paris in 2010, I didn't want to see the Anne Frank House or Versailles. When we forced ourselves to visit Napoleon's Tomb, we spent the whole time quoting Napoleon Dynamite. The closest we got to true culture was when we walked up to the Louvre, realized it was closed that day and then breathed a sigh of relief.
What I'll remember about Paris is sitting in cafes with Stu, drinking wine and writing. I'll remember the best pizza I've ever had. I'll remember the locals being delighted that my name was Jean Marc. I'll remember going to a bar and meeting a French girl with shoulder-length hair. I'll remember her putting her head on my shoulder as we danced. I'll remember her whispering in my ear that the love of her life had died days before. I'll remember her leaving.
That was a pretty damn Parisian experience if you ask me. Oh, and I took my photo with the Eiffel Tower, too. USA. USA.
In this same way, São Paulo is much more about the food and the people than the sights or the photographs. First off, there may not be a uglier city on the planet than this one. It's just 15-story-high beige concrete as far as the eye can see. Luckily, the youth have spruced the place up head to toe with graffiti. There's no real landmark to take your picture with. No beach. No mountains. No significant points of history that I'm aware of. There's shopping malls and that's it.
There are only two ways to occupy yourself here: Eat and have fun. And in these areas, the city truly excels.
Visit me here and I probably won't take you to the Museum of the Portuguese Language, but I will take you to Segredos de Minas where you will promptly lose your mind over some Brazilian home cooking. We'll get fresh banana bread from the bakery around the corner. We'll get gelato at Bacio di Latte, where if you trust me and bypass the tiramisu or chocolate banana and instead get the "Kiss of Milk," you will then join me in lying down in the street because you know that life will never get better than this moment.
I'll take you to Rua Augusta on a Friday night where you can get a drink from a street vendor and just lean against a brick wall enjoying the night. If you're single, romance is never more than 30 seconds from walking by. If you're with someone, your arm will never feel more natural around their shoulder. I think that's when I love Dani the most down here, when we're just walking down the street.
As amazing as the food is, Brazil's number one asset will always be its people. They're fun and kind and after you say hello and share a kiss on the cheek, you get the sense they'll look after you the rest of your life. It makes for a pretty great trip. One that probably won't turn into a scrapbook.
The best pizza I ever did eat: Villa St. Jacques, Paris.
Dani and mom at Segredos de Minas.
Dani and I get delivery from here a minimum of once a week.
Bacio di Latte. Bottom row, fourth one over: "Kiss of Milk."
Photo from http://conversasdegordinhas.wordpress.com/2012/01/20/bacio-di-latte/
Out and about with the Dun.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Juntos
Dani, Robison, Mary Ann, Audrey and Edna.
Mary Ann and Helena Rizzo, the number-one ranked female chef in the world outside her restaurant called Mani.
Rodrigo.
Karaoke: "Twist and Shout."
First course at Mani: Steak on a potato chip, guava foie gras and guacamole "bon bon."
Dani and mom at Segredos de Minas enjoying feijoada.
Edna, Robison, Rodrigo and Vanessa.
Trying out the new hammock.
Mom on the hotel roof.
Mary Ann bringing the necessities.
Me, Mary Ann, Mom and Dani in the kitchen with Alex Atala, the world's number one ranked chef.
Looking down on the protest.
Dani exploring O Velhão.
Brazil showing its colors in anticipation of the World Cup.
Amazonian ants and pineapple. One of about 10 courses at Alex Atala's D.O.M.
From the top of the Edifício Itália.
Edna cooking some steak.
Dani, Marina, Bruna and Adriana sing karaoke.
Dani.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
#7
The World's 50 Best Restaurants website came out with its annual namesake list a few weeks ago. Number seven on the list was D.O.M. here in São Paulo. I had my eye on it since before arriving in the city. We just needed a special occasion to go. With my mom and our dear family friend Mary Ann in town, the time was now.
D.O.M. (which is an acronym in Portuguese for something like, "God is Great") is buried deep in the swanky tree-lined neighborhood of Jardins--Sampa's wealthiest. The area boasts a special dining experience on every other block, but D.O.M. is the undisputed king. It shuffles around the global best restaurants list each year. This go round it landed at #7 and #1 in the South American continent. Even greater: it's chef, Alex Atala, was voted among his peers as this year's best chef in the world.
Let's say the list went out to the worldwide media on a Monday (I believe you can read a description of the top ten in this week's Time Magazine). I called them on a Wednesday. I asked for reservations two weeks later. They said no problem. Not only does D.O.M. have a relaxed vibe, I'm pretty sure you can just walk in and get a table most nights. There were empty seats near us. This can't be the norm for other places. I'm willing to bet the New York entry on this year's top ten is currently booked until 2024.
The secret could be the way D.O.M. plays it cool. There's basically no sign out front. Despite being at the right address, we had to ask a guy outside where it was. He pointed at the 17-foot-tall front door. We entered. There were maybe 18 tables in the place.
The menu consisted of three options:
1. The Vegetable Kingdom with water pairing dinner.
2. The four-course dinner.
3. The eight-course dinner.
We all chose the four-course dinner. I guess "four courses" was a euphemism because I'm pretty sure we had about 10 of them. At the end of the meal, we were given a take-home menu (for blogs like this). It printed eight of them:
-"Scallop with coconut milk and Brazilian nut"
-"Roasted heart of palm and anchovy"
-"Filhote (Amazonian fish) with tucupi and tapioca"
-"Pineapple and amazonic ant"
-"Shrimp, cabbage and rocket"
-"Wild boar with caramel toffee and manioc Bras"
-"Aligot"
-"Brazil nut tart with whiskey ice cream, curry, chocolate, salt, rocket and pepper"
If you're anything like me, you just scanned the above list and said "blah, blah, blah" in your head. That means you skipped over the part where I ate ants tonight.
Go ahead and read over it again. It's in there.
Alex Atala is famous for going on expeditions into the Amazon to find plants, roots and animals fit for his wonderful menu. Each course came with a leaf, or a sprinkle, or a paste of something I'm sure my body had never ingested before. And it was magnificent.
Among them was ants. This plate, which is sort of the rock star of the list, came out halfway through the meal. It consisted of two "raw" (aka uncooked) ants and a square of pineapple. The ants were intimidating little bastards with long legs and a torso that screamed, "I've been hitting the gym."
There was no real special presentation or "plating" with this one. It looked like two dead ants and a piece of fruit. Nevertheless, we each bit into them willingly (we had complete trust in Atala by now) and found them delightful. They tasted like lemongrass and some other herb. Basically, they were wayyyy better than the American ants I'm used to eating.
Making the place even more relaxed is Atala himself. He paced around the small dining room throughout the meal to talk to acquaintances, huddle with staff or monitor the ongoings. He would occasionally open the big front door to wander around out front of the place. Then he would return and sit at the bar for a while enjoying a Coca Cola.
Eyes from all the other diners were on Atala wherever he went. He's Brazil's most famous chef. Dani says she's known about him for years.
The restaurant came to a momentary standstill when a man who looked exactly like Anthony Bourdain entered and Atala dashed from the kitchen to greet him. I had to study the guy's face for a few minutes before concluding he was too old to be Bourdain. Yet, by that point, the dye was cast that this was the kind of place where that sort of thing could easily happen.
The shrimp prawn in some type of jungle sauce was amazing. The wild boar was amazing. The river fish, amazing. The bread, amazing. The dessert of cake and ice cream with salt, pepper and curry tasted like a boastful victory lap.
It was clear to me throughout the meal that D.O.M. belongs in an elite level of restaurants. Is it one of the ten best in the world? Sure, I guess so. What I don't understand is how you compare it to number one or to number 41. I've had meals on par with this before that haven't made any kind of list. Who's to say who is best?
Two and half hours later, quite satisfied with the experience, we prepared to depart. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and on the way down I crossed paths with Atala. He greeted my handshake and we talked for a minute in Portuguese/English. When I said I had visitors from the US with me, he smiled and said he would love to come over to the table and say hello (half the tables in the place were talking in English).
Alex stopped by and let us heap praise on him for a while. When my mom asked for a photo, he responded, "Here or in the kitchen?" And maybe that's why D.O.M. cut through all the other flawless talent to make it to the top ten. Maybe it's why Atala was ranked number one. It's all about the little touches. At the end of the day, aren't meals more about the people than the food?
D.O.M. (which is an acronym in Portuguese for something like, "God is Great") is buried deep in the swanky tree-lined neighborhood of Jardins--Sampa's wealthiest. The area boasts a special dining experience on every other block, but D.O.M. is the undisputed king. It shuffles around the global best restaurants list each year. This go round it landed at #7 and #1 in the South American continent. Even greater: it's chef, Alex Atala, was voted among his peers as this year's best chef in the world.
Let's say the list went out to the worldwide media on a Monday (I believe you can read a description of the top ten in this week's Time Magazine). I called them on a Wednesday. I asked for reservations two weeks later. They said no problem. Not only does D.O.M. have a relaxed vibe, I'm pretty sure you can just walk in and get a table most nights. There were empty seats near us. This can't be the norm for other places. I'm willing to bet the New York entry on this year's top ten is currently booked until 2024.
The secret could be the way D.O.M. plays it cool. There's basically no sign out front. Despite being at the right address, we had to ask a guy outside where it was. He pointed at the 17-foot-tall front door. We entered. There were maybe 18 tables in the place.
The menu consisted of three options:
1. The Vegetable Kingdom with water pairing dinner.
2. The four-course dinner.
3. The eight-course dinner.
We all chose the four-course dinner. I guess "four courses" was a euphemism because I'm pretty sure we had about 10 of them. At the end of the meal, we were given a take-home menu (for blogs like this). It printed eight of them:
-"Scallop with coconut milk and Brazilian nut"
-"Roasted heart of palm and anchovy"
-"Filhote (Amazonian fish) with tucupi and tapioca"
-"Pineapple and amazonic ant"
-"Shrimp, cabbage and rocket"
-"Wild boar with caramel toffee and manioc Bras"
-"Aligot"
-"Brazil nut tart with whiskey ice cream, curry, chocolate, salt, rocket and pepper"
If you're anything like me, you just scanned the above list and said "blah, blah, blah" in your head. That means you skipped over the part where I ate ants tonight.
Go ahead and read over it again. It's in there.
Alex Atala is famous for going on expeditions into the Amazon to find plants, roots and animals fit for his wonderful menu. Each course came with a leaf, or a sprinkle, or a paste of something I'm sure my body had never ingested before. And it was magnificent.
Among them was ants. This plate, which is sort of the rock star of the list, came out halfway through the meal. It consisted of two "raw" (aka uncooked) ants and a square of pineapple. The ants were intimidating little bastards with long legs and a torso that screamed, "I've been hitting the gym."
There was no real special presentation or "plating" with this one. It looked like two dead ants and a piece of fruit. Nevertheless, we each bit into them willingly (we had complete trust in Atala by now) and found them delightful. They tasted like lemongrass and some other herb. Basically, they were wayyyy better than the American ants I'm used to eating.
Making the place even more relaxed is Atala himself. He paced around the small dining room throughout the meal to talk to acquaintances, huddle with staff or monitor the ongoings. He would occasionally open the big front door to wander around out front of the place. Then he would return and sit at the bar for a while enjoying a Coca Cola.
Eyes from all the other diners were on Atala wherever he went. He's Brazil's most famous chef. Dani says she's known about him for years.
The restaurant came to a momentary standstill when a man who looked exactly like Anthony Bourdain entered and Atala dashed from the kitchen to greet him. I had to study the guy's face for a few minutes before concluding he was too old to be Bourdain. Yet, by that point, the dye was cast that this was the kind of place where that sort of thing could easily happen.
The shrimp prawn in some type of jungle sauce was amazing. The wild boar was amazing. The river fish, amazing. The bread, amazing. The dessert of cake and ice cream with salt, pepper and curry tasted like a boastful victory lap.
It was clear to me throughout the meal that D.O.M. belongs in an elite level of restaurants. Is it one of the ten best in the world? Sure, I guess so. What I don't understand is how you compare it to number one or to number 41. I've had meals on par with this before that haven't made any kind of list. Who's to say who is best?
Two and half hours later, quite satisfied with the experience, we prepared to depart. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and on the way down I crossed paths with Atala. He greeted my handshake and we talked for a minute in Portuguese/English. When I said I had visitors from the US with me, he smiled and said he would love to come over to the table and say hello (half the tables in the place were talking in English).
Alex stopped by and let us heap praise on him for a while. When my mom asked for a photo, he responded, "Here or in the kitchen?" And maybe that's why D.O.M. cut through all the other flawless talent to make it to the top ten. Maybe it's why Atala was ranked number one. It's all about the little touches. At the end of the day, aren't meals more about the people than the food?
Me, Mary Ann, Alex, Audrey and Dani.
Monday, May 12, 2014
The American Inventory
My mom came to town today. It's her first visit to São Paulo and my first time seeing a family member in two and a half months.
She brought two suitcases full of goods from the US. Some we asked for, others she thought would be nice. Here's a list of the inventory:
(Another name for this list could be, "It's Good to Go Shopping in America.")
1. One George Foreman Grill.
Because it works.
2. About 40 individual Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
May God have mercy on your soul.
3. Three bottles of hydrogen peroxide.
Brazilians don't know what hydrogen peroxide is. No clue at all. This was alarming news to me a few weeks ago when I had a splinter situation going on. I wanted to cleanse the wound. Well, not just cleanse it. I wanted to watch the germs actively being erased in the form of bubbles and a slight pinching pain.
Hydrogen peroxide really is one of the most satisfying things you can buy. Open a bottle and pour it on the back of your seemingly blemish-free hand and watch as several crops of bubbles erupt. There's a satisfying twinge along with it that doesn't really hurt you, but snaps you awake enough to let you know there's a problem and you're lucky it ended this way--much like a police officer who tells you to walk home quietly and sleep it off, pal.
And all of this at the cost of what? $2.00 for a five-year supply? Have you ever actually finished a bottle of hydrogen peroxide? (I'm talking to you normal people who use it as God intended, which is to say not in your hair that one Summer between 7th and 8th grade). I say nay. Peroxide bottles never end. They just sit there under the sink like an insurance policy that you know for a fact--unlike all your other scraps of insurance--is actually worth a damn.
It's not like Brazilians are given their last rights every time they scrape a knee. They've got some alcohol-based substitutes here that I'm sure clean a wound just fine. But that's not what I want. I want that brown plastic bottle with the big white label. Hydrogen peroxide is America to me.
4. Two bottles of maple syrup.
I tipped off my American friend Nick that my mom was coming down from the Land of the Free. I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to request on his behalf. It's similar to what the 1% does with stocks. His response was peanut butter and this tasty byproduct of the forest.
Brazilians don't eat pancakes, waffles or any of that other stuff. Breakfast here is worthless, really. All this amazing cuisine and then they just want bread and fruit in the morning.
I guess it makes sense when you consider they're a nation that puts off everything until the last minute. Of course nothing of real value would show up until lunch.
Nick wants to eat pancakes and that's the kind of dream one American is willing to facilitate for another. That brings us to:
5. About three jars of peanut butter.
Just as I realized I only had creamy left in my special cache, voila, mom is there with two extra large crunchies. And if you hate crunchy, just stop reading this blog because you also hate science, beauty, oxygen and:
6. About 10 packets of taco seasoning.
And there's nothing you can do about it, Brazil. I've got enough taco seasoning now to cook myself. And I'll do it in:
7. One crock pot.
Because Dani wanted it.
8. Four bottles of bug spray.
Dani scoffed when I asked my mom to bring some, but had I come across a single bottle here in the last 2.5 months, we probably wouldn't be at this crossroads.
Bugs here really aren't a problem for us since we're living smack dab in the middle of urbanolopolousville. The thing about bug spray in Brazil, though, is that when you do need it, you really, really need it. Mosquitos here don't carry trendy diseases like West Nile (so 2008).
Here, the wrong bite leaves you with dengue fever. I don't know what happens when you get dengue except that whenever people talk about it they shake their heads and don't look you in the eye.
9. Like eight boxes of muffin mix.
Because you can make muffins, pancakes or waffles: Just about anything delicious that we thought was healthy at one point in history.
10. One big box of biscuit mix.
Dani misses American biscuits. I guess I miss them, too. Then again, I haven't really noticed their absence. I feel like biscuits are always there no matter what.
It's like those commercials for the Mike Slocumb Hurt Line. We don't even watch TV here, but if I turned it on and saw William Shatner prompting me to show them I mean business, I don't think I would think, "This sure is unexpected."
Same thing if a basket of biscuits was placed in front of me at any moment. Like the fire department, biscuits are always there for us. They're a part of the American framework.
11. One box of Kraft macaroni and cheese.
All Dani again on this one. When my mom asked what kind of macaroni she wanted, Dani asked specifically for, "The cheap stuff"--a move I can respect as a state school graduate.
12. Four tubes of those kitchen wipe things.
Because they work.
13. Three cans of shaving cream.
My first trip to Sampa last year, I bought a can of shaving cream for R $29 (US $13.93). I wasn't really paying attention in the store, but to my credit, I was just buying a can of shaving cream and probably had bigger projects on my mind like ending world hunger or evading taxes.
The reason the cream was so expensive is because it came in a can covered in English. Imported stuff from the US faces high tariffs here. I guess there's nothing wrong with Brazilian shaving cream. I just won't know for sure for a while.
14. One Macbook to HDMI TV converter.
Because it's time to step up my game.
15. And like 800 napkins.
Which I found a little excessive at the time. Then I realized no one thinks that when they ask for a napkin and you have one to give them.
The United States,
JMD
She brought two suitcases full of goods from the US. Some we asked for, others she thought would be nice. Here's a list of the inventory:
(Another name for this list could be, "It's Good to Go Shopping in America.")
1. One George Foreman Grill.
Because it works.
2. About 40 individual Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
May God have mercy on your soul.
3. Three bottles of hydrogen peroxide.
Brazilians don't know what hydrogen peroxide is. No clue at all. This was alarming news to me a few weeks ago when I had a splinter situation going on. I wanted to cleanse the wound. Well, not just cleanse it. I wanted to watch the germs actively being erased in the form of bubbles and a slight pinching pain.
Hydrogen peroxide really is one of the most satisfying things you can buy. Open a bottle and pour it on the back of your seemingly blemish-free hand and watch as several crops of bubbles erupt. There's a satisfying twinge along with it that doesn't really hurt you, but snaps you awake enough to let you know there's a problem and you're lucky it ended this way--much like a police officer who tells you to walk home quietly and sleep it off, pal.
And all of this at the cost of what? $2.00 for a five-year supply? Have you ever actually finished a bottle of hydrogen peroxide? (I'm talking to you normal people who use it as God intended, which is to say not in your hair that one Summer between 7th and 8th grade). I say nay. Peroxide bottles never end. They just sit there under the sink like an insurance policy that you know for a fact--unlike all your other scraps of insurance--is actually worth a damn.
It's not like Brazilians are given their last rights every time they scrape a knee. They've got some alcohol-based substitutes here that I'm sure clean a wound just fine. But that's not what I want. I want that brown plastic bottle with the big white label. Hydrogen peroxide is America to me.
4. Two bottles of maple syrup.
I tipped off my American friend Nick that my mom was coming down from the Land of the Free. I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to request on his behalf. It's similar to what the 1% does with stocks. His response was peanut butter and this tasty byproduct of the forest.
Brazilians don't eat pancakes, waffles or any of that other stuff. Breakfast here is worthless, really. All this amazing cuisine and then they just want bread and fruit in the morning.
I guess it makes sense when you consider they're a nation that puts off everything until the last minute. Of course nothing of real value would show up until lunch.
Nick wants to eat pancakes and that's the kind of dream one American is willing to facilitate for another. That brings us to:
5. About three jars of peanut butter.
Just as I realized I only had creamy left in my special cache, voila, mom is there with two extra large crunchies. And if you hate crunchy, just stop reading this blog because you also hate science, beauty, oxygen and:
6. About 10 packets of taco seasoning.
And there's nothing you can do about it, Brazil. I've got enough taco seasoning now to cook myself. And I'll do it in:
7. One crock pot.
Because Dani wanted it.
8. Four bottles of bug spray.
Dani scoffed when I asked my mom to bring some, but had I come across a single bottle here in the last 2.5 months, we probably wouldn't be at this crossroads.
Bugs here really aren't a problem for us since we're living smack dab in the middle of urbanolopolousville. The thing about bug spray in Brazil, though, is that when you do need it, you really, really need it. Mosquitos here don't carry trendy diseases like West Nile (so 2008).
Here, the wrong bite leaves you with dengue fever. I don't know what happens when you get dengue except that whenever people talk about it they shake their heads and don't look you in the eye.
9. Like eight boxes of muffin mix.
Because you can make muffins, pancakes or waffles: Just about anything delicious that we thought was healthy at one point in history.
10. One big box of biscuit mix.
Dani misses American biscuits. I guess I miss them, too. Then again, I haven't really noticed their absence. I feel like biscuits are always there no matter what.
It's like those commercials for the Mike Slocumb Hurt Line. We don't even watch TV here, but if I turned it on and saw William Shatner prompting me to show them I mean business, I don't think I would think, "This sure is unexpected."
Same thing if a basket of biscuits was placed in front of me at any moment. Like the fire department, biscuits are always there for us. They're a part of the American framework.
11. One box of Kraft macaroni and cheese.
All Dani again on this one. When my mom asked what kind of macaroni she wanted, Dani asked specifically for, "The cheap stuff"--a move I can respect as a state school graduate.
12. Four tubes of those kitchen wipe things.
Because they work.
13. Three cans of shaving cream.
My first trip to Sampa last year, I bought a can of shaving cream for R $29 (US $13.93). I wasn't really paying attention in the store, but to my credit, I was just buying a can of shaving cream and probably had bigger projects on my mind like ending world hunger or evading taxes.
The reason the cream was so expensive is because it came in a can covered in English. Imported stuff from the US faces high tariffs here. I guess there's nothing wrong with Brazilian shaving cream. I just won't know for sure for a while.
14. One Macbook to HDMI TV converter.
Because it's time to step up my game.
15. And like 800 napkins.
Which I found a little excessive at the time. Then I realized no one thinks that when they ask for a napkin and you have one to give them.
The United States,
JMD
Friday, May 9, 2014
First Impressions
I got this e-mail from my dad today.
Dear John-Mark,
I have just had my first experience with the Brazilian bureaucracy. It was most pleasant!
Just as my number was called, a new man slipped behind the desk. He was very patient and kind. He wanted to know all about the wedding. He was intrigued when I told him that I would be conducting the ceremony. He wanted to know if my homily was already prepared. "Will you tell them that the wife should submit to her husband?"
I told him that I would be stressing mutual respect. And that Christ should be the center of their home, as he is their hearts.
He shook my hand and said that perhaps he and I should have a beer together and a long conversation one afternoon. And he wished you and Daniela the very best.
Much love! Dad
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
X-ing the Games
Tonight while writing, I heard a mounting wall of sound outside that I ignored until it was un-ignorable. It was the unmistakable sounds of a protest: Chanting, marching, shouting, whistles and one overpowering voice on a microphone. Not a rare thing around here.
I looked out from our balcony down to Avenida Vente Tres de Maio--one of the city's busiest highways--to see where the noise could be coming from in relation to it. That's when I saw something I had never seen before. The highway was covered in people instead of cars. This was at rush hour nevertheless.
The protest was one in a regular series of demonstrations here against the World Cup. Even in the country that loves the "Beautiful Game," there's a significant portion of the population disgusted by the billions spent on hosting the event when citizens are hungry, sick and living in squalor. Tonight's protest in particular was in support of public education, not new soccer stadiums.
Protests like this are expected to continue up to and throughout the month-long World Cup. In a city already snarled by traffic, it takes commuting into a new depth of the abyss.
While most demonstrators are peaceful, some are willing to do whatever necessary to stop the games from functioning. Police often have to take these protests head on. Injuries and deaths occur. One person died in Rio at one of these earlier in the week.
I looked out from our balcony down to Avenida Vente Tres de Maio--one of the city's busiest highways--to see where the noise could be coming from in relation to it. That's when I saw something I had never seen before. The highway was covered in people instead of cars. This was at rush hour nevertheless.
The protest was one in a regular series of demonstrations here against the World Cup. Even in the country that loves the "Beautiful Game," there's a significant portion of the population disgusted by the billions spent on hosting the event when citizens are hungry, sick and living in squalor. Tonight's protest in particular was in support of public education, not new soccer stadiums.
Protests like this are expected to continue up to and throughout the month-long World Cup. In a city already snarled by traffic, it takes commuting into a new depth of the abyss.
While most demonstrators are peaceful, some are willing to do whatever necessary to stop the games from functioning. Police often have to take these protests head on. Injuries and deaths occur. One person died in Rio at one of these earlier in the week.
Avenida Vente Tres de Maio at 7:00 pm.
"Stop lying! Invest in education"
You probably know what FIFA is.
Do the Math
Cab driver today: "Brazil is the only place where 2 and 2 don't make 4. It's always either 3 or 5."
About once a week I meet a Brazilian who learns I've moved here from America and they ask me, basically, if I'm crazy.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Snapshots Pt. III
-The days lately have been clearer and cooler. The skies are a perfect blue. It's a relief from the rain and heat of our first few weeks, except really, things are much, much worse. São Paulo is in the middle of its worst drought in maybe decades.
A recent CNN report shows neighborhoods on the outer rim of the city that are already rationing off water to citizens. This now a month before thousands more descend on the city and its resources for the World Cup.
To make matters even worse, the majority of Brazil's electricity is hydroelectric. That means without some rain, it could be lights out/toilets off at our wedding.
-Dani and I were headed home in a cab the other night. We came to a stop at a red light. Beside us on the sidewalk were a handful of scantily-clad prostitutes looking to make a buck (prostitution is legal here).
"Look at these girls," I said to Dani.
She turned and looked. "I don't think those are girls," she replied.
And she was right. One put his hand inside the cab window and gave my arm a rub just as the light turned to green.
-Basically no one speaks English here. Despite this, everyone loves English-language music. It plays on the radio and in clubs as much or more than Brazilian music. Even weirder is that everyone here seems to know the words. They sing along passionately and do a decent job of enunciating.
The opposite couldn't be truer in the US. When have you ever seen, say, a Chinese band that was super popular with all the white kids and everyone knew the words? Not since Rammstein's "Du Hast," I contend.
I've been studying Portuguese for over a year and I can't sing along to Brazilian music unless I know the lyrics beforehand. I don't get how Brazilians do it.
What I can do is effortlessly rap along with American hip-hop music in a way that I'm sure leaves the cool kids here a little jealous. But that's just how a player has to do it in these streets.
A recent CNN report shows neighborhoods on the outer rim of the city that are already rationing off water to citizens. This now a month before thousands more descend on the city and its resources for the World Cup.
To make matters even worse, the majority of Brazil's electricity is hydroelectric. That means without some rain, it could be lights out/toilets off at our wedding.
-Dani and I were headed home in a cab the other night. We came to a stop at a red light. Beside us on the sidewalk were a handful of scantily-clad prostitutes looking to make a buck (prostitution is legal here).
"Look at these girls," I said to Dani.
She turned and looked. "I don't think those are girls," she replied.
And she was right. One put his hand inside the cab window and gave my arm a rub just as the light turned to green.
-Basically no one speaks English here. Despite this, everyone loves English-language music. It plays on the radio and in clubs as much or more than Brazilian music. Even weirder is that everyone here seems to know the words. They sing along passionately and do a decent job of enunciating.
The opposite couldn't be truer in the US. When have you ever seen, say, a Chinese band that was super popular with all the white kids and everyone knew the words? Not since Rammstein's "Du Hast," I contend.
I've been studying Portuguese for over a year and I can't sing along to Brazilian music unless I know the lyrics beforehand. I don't get how Brazilians do it.
What I can do is effortlessly rap along with American hip-hop music in a way that I'm sure leaves the cool kids here a little jealous. But that's just how a player has to do it in these streets.
-We went to mass today at the church where our wedding will be held. It was our first time inside the building. The place is big and reverent but still has a casual feel to it. The house was packed this morning with probably 250 people.
The service was in Portuguese, so I had no real idea what was going on. There were two priests who kind of bounced back and forth off each other. One would talk for about ten minutes and then the place would sing a song. They also baptized two impressively-calm infants in the nome do Pai do Filho e do Espírito Santo. It was a sweet thing to watch. The whole thing ran about 90 minutes.
Afterwards, we did some reconnaissance in prep for our ceremony. We met both priests and several other helpers who were happy to show us around. When we stepped outside to call a cab (the church is on the outskirts of town), one of them offered to drive us to the Metro station 15 minutes away. When we got there, he got out and hugged us both goodbye.
-My mom and another family friend are coming to town in a week. We'll spend some time together, take in some sights and do some important wedding preparations. It feels really good whenever another American comes to town, especially family.
One of the things I'm most excited about is food. We've got reservations next week at a spot called D.O.M. It was just named the seventh best restaurant in the world.
-A lot more Brazilian flags are waving lately as the World Cup next month comes into focus. I have no interest in soccer, but I love a good extravaganza and the Copa do Mundo (in Brazil!) looks to be just that.
Brazil's first game on June 12 has already been declared a federal holiday. The government knows the country is going to shut down whether they like it or not, so why not just roll with it? I'll probably wander over to some local watering hole and watch everybody else watch it.
Man, woman and child here loves the World Cup. It's unparalleled in the US. Some folks watch the Super Bowl for the commercials or the halftime show. People here love the game for the game. It's like a Super Bowl that lasts a month.
While it would be nice to see the US Team advance from its ominous "Group of Death," I'm more interested in seeing Brazil prevail. These people genuinely want it and I'm sure the celebration would be ridiculous.
The World Cup will be the first of two major upcoming tests for the country. The other obviously being the Olympics in Rio two years from now. The big difference, though, is that while many countries like America love the Olympics, here in Brazil I get the vibe that they think it's just nice. The World Cup is the real show. Ask any Brazilian which they would rather win, you'll hear World Cup 10 out of 10 times.
-The city's annual LGBT Pride Parade was this weekend. It was two Metro stations from our house, so we stopped by on the way home to take a look. When we got off the train, we could already hear the pounding techno music coming from the street above.
The most noticeable thing is that "parade" here doesn't mean line up on the sidewalk and watch the show roll by. Everyone here is in the street. There are some floats that push through the crowd, but they're not the main attraction. It's more of a block party than a parade.
The LGBT Pride Parade is a people-watching spectacular. Everyone is joyous. Lots of costumes and folks wearing next to nothing. Muscles on full display. The day could alternatively be called "Gym Membership Awareness Day."
There were also a decent number of guys with breast implants who decided to take to the streets topless. I have to say that one caught me off guard.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Ring the Bells
This past week, Dani and I passed the "Four Months to Go" mark until our wedding. It was another in a series of kicks to the pants for us to get our ducks in a row. The clock is always ticking, but all in all, I think we're looking decent at the moment.
Done
Date
Church
Reception venue
Pastor
Translator
Food/Beverage
Photographer/Videographer
Order of ceremony
Hotel recommendation
Save the Dates
Dress
Not Done
Invitations
Cake/Bem Casados
Flowers
DJ
Music
Vows
Rings
Shuttle
My tux
I've been to two weddings in as many months here in Brazil. In general, they're not too different from back home. I've listed a few key differences below and how they will relate to our wedding.
1. Time
Of the two weddings I attended, one started 40 minutes late, the other 90 minutes late. I say "late" as I'm basing the printed start time versus the actual start time. But here in Brazil, "late" would not be a fair term. In both cases, no one was looking at their watch except me.
Brazilians, in general, are late. I've always been a hard stickler when it comes to time. I despise being late. I thought that moving here would create a lot of stress for me. That hasn't been the case. I've resigned myself to the culture from the beginning and haven't attempted to impose my American will on them. If anything, I'm more relaxed now. This past week, when Dani and I were still on our way to meet with a photographer ten minutes after the hour, I said, "Ah, it's Brazil. We're fine."
At our wedding: Time will be more of an issue. While starting on the minute is unrealistic (most people arrive 10-20 minutes after), there's no way we'll start more than 30 minutes late. We will communicate this through the grapevine beforehand. I can hear the Portuguese whispers now: "Make sure to show up on time. He's American."
2. Length
Brazil is about 90% Catholic and Catholics don't mind stretching things out a little. Both ceremonies I've been to were religious, but neither went more than about 30 minutes. From what I understand, an hour plus is normal here.
The real hours are logged at the reception. The first reception I went to got started around 10:30 pm. Dinner wasn't served until after midnight. The bride threw her bouquet at 3:00. Dani and I left the party early at 4:00.
When Brazilians go out, they go all night. Even for me it's too much to handle.
At our wedding: Our ceremony will be on the shorter side, but the fact that it will be translated aloud from English to Portuguese will fill things out. Our reception will conclude at the early hour of 1:00 am.
3. Did You Bring a Ring?
In America, the Ring Bearer wanders in early after the parade of Bridesmaids. Adults at the front then try to corral the cross-eyed kid into a chair where he'll hopefully stay for the remainder of the program.
Here in Brazil, the Ring Bearer is no where to be found early on. About halfway through the service, the leader asks, "Did you a bring a ring?" From the back of the room, trumpets ring out and the doors swing open once again. It's like there's another bride waiting in the wings. Really, it's just the Ring Bearer making his grand entrance and soaking up lots and lots of photos.
It's interesting to note that Ring Bearers here can be boys or girls. I don't think Flower Girl is as common a thing here.
At our wedding: Things will be much more American.
4. Flip Flops
Women wear uncomfortable shoes to weddings. That might slow a reception down and Brazilians can't have that. That's why women here usually get the gift of flip flops. They get them at the door of the reception, slip them on after dinner and then hit the dance floor. The flip flops are usually customized for the wedding with the bride/groom's names and/or some type of related photo.
At our wedding: We're ready for a flippin', floppin' good time.
5. Bem Casado
One cake is not enough for Brazilians. In addition to the main wedding cake, guests also take home a miniature cake called a Bem Casado. Each one is wrapped individually in a decorative tote case.
At our wedding: When I asked Dani my standard groom question, "Do we really need this?", I was informed this was a non-negotiable.
Done
Date
Church
Reception venue
Pastor
Translator
Food/Beverage
Photographer/Videographer
Order of ceremony
Hotel recommendation
Save the Dates
Dress
Not Done
Invitations
Cake/Bem Casados
Flowers
DJ
Music
Vows
Rings
Shuttle
My tux
I've been to two weddings in as many months here in Brazil. In general, they're not too different from back home. I've listed a few key differences below and how they will relate to our wedding.
1. Time
Of the two weddings I attended, one started 40 minutes late, the other 90 minutes late. I say "late" as I'm basing the printed start time versus the actual start time. But here in Brazil, "late" would not be a fair term. In both cases, no one was looking at their watch except me.
Brazilians, in general, are late. I've always been a hard stickler when it comes to time. I despise being late. I thought that moving here would create a lot of stress for me. That hasn't been the case. I've resigned myself to the culture from the beginning and haven't attempted to impose my American will on them. If anything, I'm more relaxed now. This past week, when Dani and I were still on our way to meet with a photographer ten minutes after the hour, I said, "Ah, it's Brazil. We're fine."
At our wedding: Time will be more of an issue. While starting on the minute is unrealistic (most people arrive 10-20 minutes after), there's no way we'll start more than 30 minutes late. We will communicate this through the grapevine beforehand. I can hear the Portuguese whispers now: "Make sure to show up on time. He's American."
2. Length
Brazil is about 90% Catholic and Catholics don't mind stretching things out a little. Both ceremonies I've been to were religious, but neither went more than about 30 minutes. From what I understand, an hour plus is normal here.
The real hours are logged at the reception. The first reception I went to got started around 10:30 pm. Dinner wasn't served until after midnight. The bride threw her bouquet at 3:00. Dani and I left the party early at 4:00.
When Brazilians go out, they go all night. Even for me it's too much to handle.
At our wedding: Our ceremony will be on the shorter side, but the fact that it will be translated aloud from English to Portuguese will fill things out. Our reception will conclude at the early hour of 1:00 am.
3. Did You Bring a Ring?
In America, the Ring Bearer wanders in early after the parade of Bridesmaids. Adults at the front then try to corral the cross-eyed kid into a chair where he'll hopefully stay for the remainder of the program.
Here in Brazil, the Ring Bearer is no where to be found early on. About halfway through the service, the leader asks, "Did you a bring a ring?" From the back of the room, trumpets ring out and the doors swing open once again. It's like there's another bride waiting in the wings. Really, it's just the Ring Bearer making his grand entrance and soaking up lots and lots of photos.
It's interesting to note that Ring Bearers here can be boys or girls. I don't think Flower Girl is as common a thing here.
At our wedding: Things will be much more American.
4. Flip Flops
Women wear uncomfortable shoes to weddings. That might slow a reception down and Brazilians can't have that. That's why women here usually get the gift of flip flops. They get them at the door of the reception, slip them on after dinner and then hit the dance floor. The flip flops are usually customized for the wedding with the bride/groom's names and/or some type of related photo.
At our wedding: We're ready for a flippin', floppin' good time.
5. Bem Casado
One cake is not enough for Brazilians. In addition to the main wedding cake, guests also take home a miniature cake called a Bem Casado. Each one is wrapped individually in a decorative tote case.
At our wedding: When I asked Dani my standard groom question, "Do we really need this?", I was informed this was a non-negotiable.
Cake to go, baby.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Fall Is Here
Adriana and Dani on the Green Line. Friday night.
Tati and a loaf of fresh banana bread (US $4.47).
Inside the Orthodox Cathedral a couple blocks from our place.
My American friend Nick and me.
Avenida Paulista.
On the Green Line.
Nick and Roberta's wedding.
Avenida Paulista.
Oh.
Avenida Vente Tres de Maio.
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