So word on the street is that tomorrow it will be February, which means that I have been here for almost a month. Quê?! In many ways I still feel like the same gringa who naïvely arrived in Rio with a single bathing suit in her suitcase, skin the color of a fresh bed of snow, and the strict intention of using a money belt at all times. Mostly, though, I'm surprised by how settled and adapted I am beginning to feel.
Just HOW settled and adapted am I, you ask? I now have a Brazilian phone, the price of which I haggled down by more than 30 reais. I've developed a decent knowledge of Rio's public transportation system. I'm darker ("oranger," as my dear sister has noted) than I've ever been in my life, thanks to my Brazilian-style bathing suit. I know when I'm being ripped off, for certain items at least, and most of the time I know how to get myself a better deal. I've discovered my favorite spots for açaí, sucos, pão de queijo, and caipirinhas, as well as the cheapest grocery stores (and the ones that give free samples!). Someone on the street asked me for directions the other day (I didn't know the street, but that's beside the point). Most importantly, however, I can really feel my Portuguese improving, and this is the most rewarding adjustment of all.
I really love the Portuguese language. I always have; when I think about it, it's really the main reason why I decided to come to Brazil in the first place. When I first arrived, I was rather disappointed to find that no carioca I've met speaks in the same clear, moderately-paced, comforting manner as my Portuguese teacher in Davis. Most of what I understood was individual words which I could then put together to extract the bigger picture, but in retrospect I think a lot was totally lost. I definitely don't understand everything I hear now, but listening to the accent, rhythm, and inflections over and over has definitely gotten me closer to my goal of fluency. Thanks to hours and hours of eavesdropping, language classes, and just good ol'-fashioned conversing, I actually get the difference between when someone is asking me a question and when they are making a statement. Consequently, I don't spend as much time smiling and nodding my head with a spaced-out look on my face, which is always good I guess, although I tend to do this when people speak to me in my native tongue, too.
But while the structural components of Portuguese are all well and good, I have found that the most fun part of this fabulous language is its slang. Props, Brazil, your colloquialisms are mad cool. Almost every day I hear new words and phrases that I love, and I find that my use of the Portuguese language is largely centered around trying to steer conversations in a direction that will allow me to fit them in. Here I have included a short list of some of my favorite words and expressions:
-Que chic! (pronounced "shee-ky")- How chic! I like using this one to describe things that one wouldn't traditionally think of as chic. For example:
"Look! I walked into a pole and now my toe is bleeding and purple!"
"Ooooh, que chic!"
-Chata - stubborn/annoying. Seems like this would be an insult, no? Maybe, but apparently chata is also a common term of loving teasing and endearment. I wish I had found that out before I spent weeks slowly building up a fiery grudge against one of my language teachers who told me I was annoying (or so I thought) every time I got up to go to the bathroom during class. Which was a lot.
-Estupidamente - stupid(ly). Used as an adjective, not an adverb, to mean "really/extremely/hella." Example:
"Quero uma cerveza, por favor, estupidamente gelada!" (A beer please, STUPID cold!)
-Okay, so this one is more of a pattern than an individual word or expression, but here goes: Brazilians have made a habit of increasing the number of syllables in a bunch of English words to make them sound, in my opinion, way more adorable. Here are a few: picky-nicky, lappy-toppy, backy-packy, flippy-floppy... the list goes on.
I hope you have found as much entertainment in these words as I have, although I would imagine that you would have to hear grown adults very seriously warning you to avoid carrying around your lappy-toppy in your backy-packy for yourself to feel the full comic effect.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Desastre com a Polícia Federal
I'd like to begin this post by asking you to think back to a time not so very long away when I declared my love for "Brazilian time," which is often not much like any defined system of time at all and is generally based around the following ideas and sentiments:
-It doesn't matter when something gets done as long as it gets done.
-Even if it doesn't get done, that doesn't really matter much either.
-(One hour later...) I tried my best to be on time, isn't that good enough?
-Don't rush me
-But I'm enjoying the scenery...
-But I LIKE walking really, really, really slowly!
As I mentioned before, there are aspects of this philosophy that I appreciate and identify with a great deal. However, as I found out today, it can also be somewhat frustrating, especially for someone not accustomed to a culture so largely based on leisure.
Any foreigner staying in Brazil for more than 30 days is legally required to register with the Federal Police Department. Registering is a very serious and important affair, and failure to do so results in costly fines for each day the foreigner fails to register after the 30 day deadline. Every foreign exchange student in my program was given strict instructions to treat the officials at the Police Department with respect and not to engage in any funny business, because, after all, these are the people who ultimately decide whether or not we get to stay in the country. Judging from the rigidity of these rules, it would seem that this would be a bureaucracy well accustomed to efficiency, would it not? Well...
Our group of twelve left at 7 a.m. from our school this morning expecting to wait in line for an hour or so before getting our papers promptly stamped and collected so that we could be back to PUC in time to catch the second half of our language-intensive classes. As it turned out, we arrived at the Federal Police Department, located in Rio's GIG airport, took our numbers, and sat down for an ample 8 hours. What the officers were actually doing with the 40 minutes they spent on each applicant when the actual process took less than 10 was something of a mystery to me until my number was finally called and I walked into my little booth only to be ignored for about 15 minutes while my interviewer chatted with his friends, called his significant other to ask her to bring him a hamburger, chatted some more when she came to deliver the burger, then asked her to please get him some fries from the airport food court, and finally got down to business, if you can call it that. After answering some questions about my reasons for coming to Brazil and signing a few documents, I thought we were through, but then he started discussing the difficulties of Portuguese language acquisition and I kind of went braindead for a few minutes.
After I was through, the line started moving a little more quickly, and everyone's mood began to improve, wanting to believe that after four hours of waiting we would soon be free, but then the calling number remained at 976 for about two hours and as our stomachs growled and our minds turned to mush we really began to lose it. In retrospect, I definitely got to know everyone in our group a lot better as we sunk slowly to insanity together and plotted ways to steal the bananas that sat so alluringly on the front desk, but at the time we were too frustrated to fully appreciate the bonding time. Despite this irritation, I'm glad that I can look back on our the situation with humor; if nothing else, it was an interesting glimpse of bureaucracy done the Brazilian way.
-It doesn't matter when something gets done as long as it gets done.
-Even if it doesn't get done, that doesn't really matter much either.
-(One hour later...) I tried my best to be on time, isn't that good enough?
-Don't rush me
-But I'm enjoying the scenery...
-But I LIKE walking really, really, really slowly!
As I mentioned before, there are aspects of this philosophy that I appreciate and identify with a great deal. However, as I found out today, it can also be somewhat frustrating, especially for someone not accustomed to a culture so largely based on leisure.
Any foreigner staying in Brazil for more than 30 days is legally required to register with the Federal Police Department. Registering is a very serious and important affair, and failure to do so results in costly fines for each day the foreigner fails to register after the 30 day deadline. Every foreign exchange student in my program was given strict instructions to treat the officials at the Police Department with respect and not to engage in any funny business, because, after all, these are the people who ultimately decide whether or not we get to stay in the country. Judging from the rigidity of these rules, it would seem that this would be a bureaucracy well accustomed to efficiency, would it not? Well...
Our group of twelve left at 7 a.m. from our school this morning expecting to wait in line for an hour or so before getting our papers promptly stamped and collected so that we could be back to PUC in time to catch the second half of our language-intensive classes. As it turned out, we arrived at the Federal Police Department, located in Rio's GIG airport, took our numbers, and sat down for an ample 8 hours. What the officers were actually doing with the 40 minutes they spent on each applicant when the actual process took less than 10 was something of a mystery to me until my number was finally called and I walked into my little booth only to be ignored for about 15 minutes while my interviewer chatted with his friends, called his significant other to ask her to bring him a hamburger, chatted some more when she came to deliver the burger, then asked her to please get him some fries from the airport food court, and finally got down to business, if you can call it that. After answering some questions about my reasons for coming to Brazil and signing a few documents, I thought we were through, but then he started discussing the difficulties of Portuguese language acquisition and I kind of went braindead for a few minutes.
After I was through, the line started moving a little more quickly, and everyone's mood began to improve, wanting to believe that after four hours of waiting we would soon be free, but then the calling number remained at 976 for about two hours and as our stomachs growled and our minds turned to mush we really began to lose it. In retrospect, I definitely got to know everyone in our group a lot better as we sunk slowly to insanity together and plotted ways to steal the bananas that sat so alluringly on the front desk, but at the time we were too frustrated to fully appreciate the bonding time. Despite this irritation, I'm glad that I can look back on our the situation with humor; if nothing else, it was an interesting glimpse of bureaucracy done the Brazilian way.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Uma ilha no sol
So I've been in Brazil for less than two weeks and I've already gone on my first weekend getaway. I know it seems more than a little indulgent to go on vacation when I'm living in Rio de Janeiro, but hey, it's not easy living in paradise, right? After our first week of classes my friends and I decided to plan a day trip to Ilha de Paquetá, a small island about an hour's boat ride from Rio. The tickets were less than five reais (about 3 dollars), the weather was fine, and our schedules were empty, and so our adventure began.
Ilha de Paquetá is unlike any place I've ever been before. As much as I love Rio, I can definitely see why so many cariocas choose to visit the city's many surrounding islands on weekends, holidays, and Carnavál; if you think Rio is laid-back, as I once did, the informality and leisure of Ilha de Paquetá will just about blow your mind. The ilha has no cars, so everyone either walks, bikes, or rides horses, a refreshing change of pace from the sadistic, dog-eat-dog/dog-eat-pedestrian culture of motor transportation in Rio de Janeiro. I got a sense of the island's lack of crime when I noticed that the hundreds of abandoned bikes strewn all over the town were all unlocked. To put this observation in perspective, consider, if you will, the fact that a 3-inch thick metal U-lock couldn't save my bike from being stolen in Davis. In front of a Mormon church.
After walking around the island admiring the architecture and natural beauty for an hour or so, we stopped at a small (and I mean small) café for some lunch. I decided on a salgadinho (empanada-like pastries that I have become simultaneously addicted to and determined not to eat for the sake of my health) with bananas and cheese, which may sound a little strange, but hey, so do most other brilliant, life-changing inventions. We began talking to the café's owner, and before we knew it we had gotten suckered into walking down the street to her home to meet her son, who, she explained, was very attractive and needed a nice girlfriend. We walked upstairs and met not only her son but the entire family, which consisted of about fifteen people of all ages whose relationships to each other were completely ambiguous and whom, after the obligatory double-cheek kisses had been completed, offered us the barbequed meat of equally ambiguous animals and invited us to stay with them whenever we wanted. Hours of eating, drinking, samba and forro lessons, and the best Portuguese practice I've gotten so far went by and as the night came upon us we were invited to spend the night with our new friends.
Soon after, we left the house for a samba "club" that turned out to be more like a little community center, with what must have been the majority of the island's population congregated in an outside courtyard practicing samba to live music in preparation for Carnavál. Never in my life have I been more aware of my lack of ability to shake my groove thang; here were 4-year-old girls, 70-year-old men, people in wheel chairs (well, maybe not in wheel chairs) who could move like nobody's business. An hour or so later, our hosts took us to a discoteca down the street where we danced the night away to "baile-funky" and hyper remixes of songs that were popular in the U.S. circa 2001.
I can't really describe in words how taken aback I was by the hospitality of this family. I don't think I've ever felt so welcomed and by anyone I've known for a matter of hours. Even after two of my friends got lost on the ilha and had the entire family worried for their safety, we were still treated with appreciation and respect, which, as far as I can tell, Americans (especially young American women) don't always enjoy in Brazil. In the morning, our hosts took us to their café for coffee and breakfast and gave us the phone numbers of numerous family members (none was written as large or as bold as ABNER, their oldest and apparently most eligible son). I love Rio and am so appreciative of the fact that I get to live here, but Ilha da Paquetá was a refreshing glimpse of the Brazil that lies beyond the big cities.
Ilha de Paquetá is unlike any place I've ever been before. As much as I love Rio, I can definitely see why so many cariocas choose to visit the city's many surrounding islands on weekends, holidays, and Carnavál; if you think Rio is laid-back, as I once did, the informality and leisure of Ilha de Paquetá will just about blow your mind. The ilha has no cars, so everyone either walks, bikes, or rides horses, a refreshing change of pace from the sadistic, dog-eat-dog/dog-eat-pedestrian culture of motor transportation in Rio de Janeiro. I got a sense of the island's lack of crime when I noticed that the hundreds of abandoned bikes strewn all over the town were all unlocked. To put this observation in perspective, consider, if you will, the fact that a 3-inch thick metal U-lock couldn't save my bike from being stolen in Davis. In front of a Mormon church.
After walking around the island admiring the architecture and natural beauty for an hour or so, we stopped at a small (and I mean small) café for some lunch. I decided on a salgadinho (empanada-like pastries that I have become simultaneously addicted to and determined not to eat for the sake of my health) with bananas and cheese, which may sound a little strange, but hey, so do most other brilliant, life-changing inventions. We began talking to the café's owner, and before we knew it we had gotten suckered into walking down the street to her home to meet her son, who, she explained, was very attractive and needed a nice girlfriend. We walked upstairs and met not only her son but the entire family, which consisted of about fifteen people of all ages whose relationships to each other were completely ambiguous and whom, after the obligatory double-cheek kisses had been completed, offered us the barbequed meat of equally ambiguous animals and invited us to stay with them whenever we wanted. Hours of eating, drinking, samba and forro lessons, and the best Portuguese practice I've gotten so far went by and as the night came upon us we were invited to spend the night with our new friends.
Soon after, we left the house for a samba "club" that turned out to be more like a little community center, with what must have been the majority of the island's population congregated in an outside courtyard practicing samba to live music in preparation for Carnavál. Never in my life have I been more aware of my lack of ability to shake my groove thang; here were 4-year-old girls, 70-year-old men, people in wheel chairs (well, maybe not in wheel chairs) who could move like nobody's business. An hour or so later, our hosts took us to a discoteca down the street where we danced the night away to "baile-funky" and hyper remixes of songs that were popular in the U.S. circa 2001.
I can't really describe in words how taken aback I was by the hospitality of this family. I don't think I've ever felt so welcomed and by anyone I've known for a matter of hours. Even after two of my friends got lost on the ilha and had the entire family worried for their safety, we were still treated with appreciation and respect, which, as far as I can tell, Americans (especially young American women) don't always enjoy in Brazil. In the morning, our hosts took us to their café for coffee and breakfast and gave us the phone numbers of numerous family members (none was written as large or as bold as ABNER, their oldest and apparently most eligible son). I love Rio and am so appreciative of the fact that I get to live here, but Ilha da Paquetá was a refreshing glimpse of the Brazil that lies beyond the big cities.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tudo Beleza
Oi! Yesterday marked my first day of language intensive classes at Pooky, but so far it seems that the most intensive thing about them is our classroom's air conditioning. Don't get me wrong, the class is already moving plenty fast and will continue to do so for five hours a day, five days a week, but the fan is serious overkill. "I'm a penguin," our teacher explains in Portuguese. On the bright side, this may mean I will actually get some use out of the sweaters and pants I brought.
As if I haven't raved enough about my host already, I have some more Dora updates. Namely that I love her. Our concert adventure the other day was a great success; it was really funny and interesting seeing her totally in her element with all of her fellow free concert-loving older lady and gentleman friends at the performance, which turned out to be at a museum in the Centro area of Rio. During the more lively pieces, Dora danced spiritedly in her chair and on the bus home after the concert she told me some hot gossip about the other concert-goers. Later that day, when I returned from the beach tired and sunburnt, Dora noted that I looked sad and gave me a big bowl of chocolate coconut ice cream. Que legal (how cool)!
One of my favorite aspects of carioca culture is the system and interpretation of time. This morning, my alarm failed me and I woke up at 45 minutes after my class began. I was kind of expecting to have my head bitten off when I finally arrived at school more than an hour late, but the teacher just kind of shrugged and suggested I try and go to sleep a little earlier tonight. As someone who has a history of struggling with punctuality, I found this reaction refreshing. I'm currently phoneless and watchless, which means that I am almost never thinking about what time it is. Since I am never thinking about what time it is, the hours of my day seem to slip by much faster than they did when I used to check my cell phone for texts and missed calls every ten minutes. And I love it! I'm avoiding getting a phone for as long as possible, but the peer pressure is slowly mounting and I am beginning to realize that I can't expect people to wait for me at specific street corners at specific times to meet up forever.
Another little thing that tickles me about Brazilians is their use of the phrase "tudo beleza?" It's a way of saying "how are you?" that really means "is everything beautiful?" The typical response is simply an affirmation: "sim, tudo beleza." Isn't that nice? I've been using it a lot lately and it makes my innards smile every time.
As if I haven't raved enough about my host already, I have some more Dora updates. Namely that I love her. Our concert adventure the other day was a great success; it was really funny and interesting seeing her totally in her element with all of her fellow free concert-loving older lady and gentleman friends at the performance, which turned out to be at a museum in the Centro area of Rio. During the more lively pieces, Dora danced spiritedly in her chair and on the bus home after the concert she told me some hot gossip about the other concert-goers. Later that day, when I returned from the beach tired and sunburnt, Dora noted that I looked sad and gave me a big bowl of chocolate coconut ice cream. Que legal (how cool)!
One of my favorite aspects of carioca culture is the system and interpretation of time. This morning, my alarm failed me and I woke up at 45 minutes after my class began. I was kind of expecting to have my head bitten off when I finally arrived at school more than an hour late, but the teacher just kind of shrugged and suggested I try and go to sleep a little earlier tonight. As someone who has a history of struggling with punctuality, I found this reaction refreshing. I'm currently phoneless and watchless, which means that I am almost never thinking about what time it is. Since I am never thinking about what time it is, the hours of my day seem to slip by much faster than they did when I used to check my cell phone for texts and missed calls every ten minutes. And I love it! I'm avoiding getting a phone for as long as possible, but the peer pressure is slowly mounting and I am beginning to realize that I can't expect people to wait for me at specific street corners at specific times to meet up forever.
Another little thing that tickles me about Brazilians is their use of the phrase "tudo beleza?" It's a way of saying "how are you?" that really means "is everything beautiful?" The typical response is simply an affirmation: "sim, tudo beleza." Isn't that nice? I've been using it a lot lately and it makes my innards smile every time.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Pooky Pooky Poo
So I'm officially a resident of Rio! Does this make me a carioca? Definitely not yet - I can't tell you how many people have enthusiastically approached me on the beach to practice their English (is it my pastiness? style of dress? give-away American walk? who knows?) - but I'm getting there. Dora, my host, is the Brazilian granny of my dreams. Upon my arrival at her Leblon apartment, she took me on a little tour of the neighborhood and walked me to PUC-Rio, or "Pooky" as it is so affectionately called around these parts, so that I would be able to figure out how to get there the next morning. It's only about a 15-minute walk, maybe 20 if I'm feelin' extra leisurely and indulgent, and I only have to cross the street 4 times, which is good because venturing off the sidewalk in Rio has quickly become one of my greatest fears. I can't emphasize how lucky I am to being living in this location - I'm literally probably the closest or second-closest to campus of anyone in my program. Most EAP students are living in Copacabana, which requires a 20-minute bus ride, or neighborhoods that are even further. Dora's apartment is two block from the beach, which may serve to distract me from my studies in the future, but for now I'm definitely not complaining. As far as I can tell, Leblon is also the safest neighborhood in all of Rio. There are a few streets that seem a little touristy, but for the most part, it's pretty residential but very populated even after midnight.
That being said, I think that Leblon's extremely wealthy population might take something from its potential for heterogeneity or character. Walking down the neighborhood's main drag can be kind of a trip - for example, I've noticed that in front of some of the more bourghie boutiques, a red carpet has been laid on the sidewalk. Seriously. Also, everything in Leblon is more expensive than it would be elsewhere, which I'm thinking might actually be kind of a blessing in disguise because it will motivate me to explore the rest of the city.
Anyways, back to Dora. She is great. She is a big fan of chatting about everything under the sun, which so far has varied from being ripped off by the company that makes her evaporated milk to classical music to the best brand of alarm clocks. I usually have relatively little to contribute to these conversations, but I understand almost all of what she says, which is reassuring. A "Brazilian breakfast" of bread, cheese, fruit, and either coffee or hot chocolate is included in my rent, along with a pleasant little bedroom complete with a desk, a bed, two dressers, a luxuriously comfy chair, and a strange little cat figurine that functions as a doorstop. Aside from scolding me once for not flushing the toilet correctly, things have been just peachy between Dora and me. In fact, we're seeing a classical concert together tomorrow morning. Aren't we cute?
During the past few days, we've been having a series of different orientations and tours at Pooky. It's a pretty small campus, especially coming from Davis, and guess what? It's in a forest, A Floresta da Tijuca to be exact, and it's pretty incredible. I hope that going to school here never desensitize me to its beauty, because as of now walking outside feels a little bit like I'm Mowgli from The Jungle Book. In the best way possible.
That's all for now, my possums. Future updates may include: how my date with Dora turns out, the first day of language intensive classes, foods I have tried, of my attempts to learn samba, and methods for removing sand from every corner and crevice of my currently gritty room.
That being said, I think that Leblon's extremely wealthy population might take something from its potential for heterogeneity or character. Walking down the neighborhood's main drag can be kind of a trip - for example, I've noticed that in front of some of the more bourghie boutiques, a red carpet has been laid on the sidewalk. Seriously. Also, everything in Leblon is more expensive than it would be elsewhere, which I'm thinking might actually be kind of a blessing in disguise because it will motivate me to explore the rest of the city.
Anyways, back to Dora. She is great. She is a big fan of chatting about everything under the sun, which so far has varied from being ripped off by the company that makes her evaporated milk to classical music to the best brand of alarm clocks. I usually have relatively little to contribute to these conversations, but I understand almost all of what she says, which is reassuring. A "Brazilian breakfast" of bread, cheese, fruit, and either coffee or hot chocolate is included in my rent, along with a pleasant little bedroom complete with a desk, a bed, two dressers, a luxuriously comfy chair, and a strange little cat figurine that functions as a doorstop. Aside from scolding me once for not flushing the toilet correctly, things have been just peachy between Dora and me. In fact, we're seeing a classical concert together tomorrow morning. Aren't we cute?
During the past few days, we've been having a series of different orientations and tours at Pooky. It's a pretty small campus, especially coming from Davis, and guess what? It's in a forest, A Floresta da Tijuca to be exact, and it's pretty incredible. I hope that going to school here never desensitize me to its beauty, because as of now walking outside feels a little bit like I'm Mowgli from The Jungle Book. In the best way possible.
That's all for now, my possums. Future updates may include: how my date with Dora turns out, the first day of language intensive classes, foods I have tried, of my attempts to learn samba, and methods for removing sand from every corner and crevice of my currently gritty room.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Oi Brasil!
I'm here! My plane landed yesterday morning without incident and so far everything has gone exceptionally smoothly. As soon as I stepped off the plane I had the overwhelming urge to skip through the terminal, so I did for a little while, but then my obese backpack started weighing me down so I stopped. For the most part, I spent the second leg of my trip out cold (thankfully) and flipped through my Portuguese textbook for a quick brush-up. I was feelin' good about my Portuguese and was excited to test out my language skills in the real world (the "rio" world? har har har). That all changed the second I entered the taxi to my hotel. I started a casual conversation with our driver, whose response sounded to me a little bit like "jjjjjj shhh? jshhh shjjj. shhajjjao!" Asking for a repeat helped a little, but my sense of Portuguese knowledge was effectively tainted.
At the hotel, all the UC-EAP students met up and bonded as the hotel put our rooms together for an hour or three. I was more or less jumping out of my skin with desire to go out and explore, so when the time finally came to hit up as praias de Ipanema, I once again found myself skipping embarrassingly. Some initial impressions of Rio from my first two days:
1. Wow. I have never seen so many beautiful people in my entire life. Believe the hype about Brazilian women and men alike - they are seriously works of art. I'm very confused about how their bodies stay so unbelievably perfect, because as far as my first two days have shown me, Brazilian food contains an awful lot of cheese and meat. Almost exclusively. Oh, but it is so good. I guess they must be working out a lot, and that takes a huge amount of dedication in this heat. Someone told me yesterday that Rio has one of the highest (if not THE highest) rates of plastic surgery in the world. Anyways, congratulations, homems e mulheres do Brasil, you guys are officially really hot.
2. Every guidebook of Brazil I've ever read emphatically states that you should not wear or carry anything that even looks expensive, even if it isn't, because this will make you an obvious target of mugging. Well, apparently Ipanema didn't get the message, because I have never seen so many designer labels on so few bodies. Of course, a well-dressed carioca will be less of a target than a conspicuous tourist, and of course, the areas I've observed so far have been the wealthiest and safest parts of Rio, but still, it's interesting to see.
3. Rio. Is. Beautiful. The taxi ride from the airport to Ipanema was, in a way, like a (much less over-intentionally perfect and much more startling) ride in Disneyland. Completely magical. I love the forests so much. All the green makes me feel weirdly vibrant and happy. Even in the most developed, commercial parts of Rio, vines cover buildings and huge trees with hundreds of hanging leaves in between the streets remind you where you are - the tropics. The heat helps too. The beaches' splendor pretty much goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway - they are incredible. I'm not sure how anyone gets anything done around here when the beaches are calling everyone's name so very loudly.
4. The favelas (slums) are absolutely huge. People had told me that they are like their own cities within themselves, but I really had to see them to believe it. I haven't been to one yet, but there are a bunch of volunteer opportunities to teach in the favelas that sound really fascinating and definitely like a sure way experience the other side of the huge rich-poor dichotomy here. Some other EAP students and I were looking at a map of Rio today and one of the first things we noticed was that the map was completely devoid of favelas, which take up enormous amounts of land and contain millions and millions of people. Pretty messed up, right? The reason, clearly, is that for the vast majority of tourists, the favelas don't actually exist. I realized that until I got here the only information I had really gotten about the favelas was that I should stay away from them. Obviously precautions need to be taken in the favelas, but I don't want to be one of the people who never sees one and pretends they aren't there.
There is definitely a lot more to say (I met my homestay host today and moved into her apartment!) but it's late and I am getting burned out by all this blogging. I'm going to have to build up the typing stamina for sure. All I can say for now is that I'm very happy and having a wonderful time. Até logo!
At the hotel, all the UC-EAP students met up and bonded as the hotel put our rooms together for an hour or three. I was more or less jumping out of my skin with desire to go out and explore, so when the time finally came to hit up as praias de Ipanema, I once again found myself skipping embarrassingly. Some initial impressions of Rio from my first two days:
1. Wow. I have never seen so many beautiful people in my entire life. Believe the hype about Brazilian women and men alike - they are seriously works of art. I'm very confused about how their bodies stay so unbelievably perfect, because as far as my first two days have shown me, Brazilian food contains an awful lot of cheese and meat. Almost exclusively. Oh, but it is so good. I guess they must be working out a lot, and that takes a huge amount of dedication in this heat. Someone told me yesterday that Rio has one of the highest (if not THE highest) rates of plastic surgery in the world. Anyways, congratulations, homems e mulheres do Brasil, you guys are officially really hot.
2. Every guidebook of Brazil I've ever read emphatically states that you should not wear or carry anything that even looks expensive, even if it isn't, because this will make you an obvious target of mugging. Well, apparently Ipanema didn't get the message, because I have never seen so many designer labels on so few bodies. Of course, a well-dressed carioca will be less of a target than a conspicuous tourist, and of course, the areas I've observed so far have been the wealthiest and safest parts of Rio, but still, it's interesting to see.
3. Rio. Is. Beautiful. The taxi ride from the airport to Ipanema was, in a way, like a (much less over-intentionally perfect and much more startling) ride in Disneyland. Completely magical. I love the forests so much. All the green makes me feel weirdly vibrant and happy. Even in the most developed, commercial parts of Rio, vines cover buildings and huge trees with hundreds of hanging leaves in between the streets remind you where you are - the tropics. The heat helps too. The beaches' splendor pretty much goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway - they are incredible. I'm not sure how anyone gets anything done around here when the beaches are calling everyone's name so very loudly.
4. The favelas (slums) are absolutely huge. People had told me that they are like their own cities within themselves, but I really had to see them to believe it. I haven't been to one yet, but there are a bunch of volunteer opportunities to teach in the favelas that sound really fascinating and definitely like a sure way experience the other side of the huge rich-poor dichotomy here. Some other EAP students and I were looking at a map of Rio today and one of the first things we noticed was that the map was completely devoid of favelas, which take up enormous amounts of land and contain millions and millions of people. Pretty messed up, right? The reason, clearly, is that for the vast majority of tourists, the favelas don't actually exist. I realized that until I got here the only information I had really gotten about the favelas was that I should stay away from them. Obviously precautions need to be taken in the favelas, but I don't want to be one of the people who never sees one and pretends they aren't there.
There is definitely a lot more to say (I met my homestay host today and moved into her apartment!) but it's late and I am getting burned out by all this blogging. I'm going to have to build up the typing stamina for sure. All I can say for now is that I'm very happy and having a wonderful time. Até logo!
Monday, January 4, 2010
Tchau Tchau!
So it seems that I am finally actually, truly, seriously on my way to Rio de Janeiro. This post comes to you from Charlotte, North Carolina, where I have a 3-hour layover to be followed by a 10-hour flight to Rio. I’m trying to focus on the “Rio” part of that sentence rather than the “10-hour” part, but hey, I’ve got my fluffy inflatable pink travel pillow, some books, and the promise of hours of entertainment from my favored in-flight activity of writing though bubbles coming out of the models in the SkyMall catalogue, so I’m good. The first leg of my trip has seen me through only one relatively minor bump, and I’m hoping (not necessarily expecting) the same for the remainder. I was really proud of myself for witling my baggage down to a single checked bag, a smaller carry-on suitcase, and my infamous skater-boy backpack, but as I boarded my ridiculously packed plane in San Francisco, a flight attendant took one look at my (admittedly EXTREMELY over-stuffed) little suitcase and said “ooooh no, we’re checking this right now!” As she dragged me by the wrist to the front of the plane, causing me to run my suitcase over about forty disgruntled passengers’ toes, I got the sensation that I had done something very, very bad and that I would be taken to the principle’s office for a phone call with my parents, young lady. Eventually she chilled out a bit and my bag was whisked away to Rio before I realized that I had left all my snacks inside. This has been bumming me out for several hours now, but since that seems to be the most stressful obstacle that has presented itself for the time being, I am considering myself a very lucky girl.
Speaking of being a very lucky girl, just in case you haven’t heard, I’m going to Rio! After I arrive, I will meet everyone from my program at Hotel Vermont in Ipanema, which, as I discovered in pre-departure research/stalking of Rio, charges more than ten times its usual prices during Carnaval. If my currency converting skills are more-or-less correct, that’s almost $1500 for a single room. Woooow. Anyways, after meeting up for an orientation we are taxi-ed off to our host families and begin language-intensive Portuguese classes the following day. My host appears to be an older woman named Dora who lives in Leblon, a wealthy (and safe!) neighborhood in the southern part of Rio that is, if GoogleMaps has served me right, a mere 15-minute walk from PUC-Rio, my school-to-be for the next six months.
Anyways, it’s time to stretch these old legs before I embark on the second half of my voyage. I hope, for the sake of my own sanity and creativity, that SkyMall does not disappoint in its selection of weird and totally unusable merchandise. Tchau, dear reader(s?), I will see you in the city of paradise!
One more thing:
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
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