The school, Stela Maris, sits at the very bottom of the favela, but even from such a low spot on the Dois Irmãos, the two mountains on which Vidigal and Rocinha (another favela, the biggest in South America), the views are some of the best I’ve seen in Rio, and that’s saying something. Stela Maris is really a nice school, and much bigger than I was expecting; four floors of classrooms, a basketball court, and lots of hyper kids with High School Musical backpacks running around in every which way.
(That's a very zoomed-out view of Vidigal behind the Sheraton, a super-chic luxury hotel on the beach)
My class technically has seven students enrolled, but only five seem to show up – four chatty girls and one lonely boy. All have already taken four years of English in school, but they are all at extremely different levels; one girl understands literally every word we say in English and basically functions as a teacher’s aid, while two of them are perpetually giving me blank stares and refuse to say anything in English ever. All the girls are huge fans of Twilight, but one, the most hyper of all, takes it a little too far and has so far gotten in two semi-physical fights over disagreements about the plots of the second and third books. In general, they would rather talk about “Hobertchee Pattinson” than describe their family members’ physical appearances or learn the present progressive, but what 13-year-old girl wouldn’t? Meanwhile, the lone boy looks out the window, makes occasional noises of disgust, and turns around once or twice to ask me for my phone number and email address. As sincere and enthusiastic as they are, it is basically impossible for Maria and me to hold our students’ attention without talking about Rihanna or Justin Bieber or Beyoncé. One day I brought chocolate, which I realize was kind of a cheap shot, but it didn’t even really work anyway.
Despite its difficulties, I am really enjoying this new adventure. The kids are all really sweet, and I think that they really do want to learn English even if they sometimes act too cool for it. Plus, I just get a huge kick out of being called “Professora Eshtephanie.”
In other news, I moved out! As much as I enjoy Dora as a person, her place was getting to be too much for me – it was tiny, which wouldn’t normally be an issue, but Dora is without a doubt the biggest packrat I’ve ever encountered. There was stuff everywhere, not to mention a huge amount of dirt, dust, and little tiny bugs that every so often would completely take over the kitchen. The fan in my room there broke about a month ago, and as much as I adore the feeling of entering the house and immediately soaking through my clothes in sweat, it was starting to get old. On top of that, my “Brazilian breakfast” had slowly been wittled down to two pieces of bread.
So how did I find myself in this gorgeous apartment that takes up the entire floor of its building with functioning air conditioning, my own spacious, CLEAN room, living with two of my closest friends here in Rio, oh, and paying R$150 less per month? My friends Grace and Theresa were placed in the same homestay in Copacabana with a woman named Lucia who rents out all four of her bedrooms, including her own (she sleeps on the couch). When they moved in, two German girls were occupying the other two rooms, but one moved out in March, leaving a vacancy in the home of Senhora Lucia, so here I am. The bad news is that I will probably have to move again after this month as Lucia already has another renter lined up for May, but maybe I can use my undeniable charms to convince her to let me to stay. Maybe. Copacabana is also significantly further from PUC, with means that I won’t be able to walk to school anymore unless I have a free hour and a half to spend trekking, but I so far I much prefer the area to my previous ‘hood, Leblon. Copacabana is said to be more dangerous, but I find it so much more interesting and heterogeneous than chic-chic Leblon. Time will tell if my feelings toward my new home change, but for now I am extremely happy.
One more thing before I set out to conquer my 200+ pages of reading in Portuguese: this Sunday is Easter, and for all of us non-Catholic studiers abroad, that means one thing: a long weekend for traveling! Not to be sacreligious or anything. Tomorrow I shall set off for camping in Paraty, a Portuguese colonial and Brazilian imperial town/vacation spot despite the fact that it’s supposed to rain for the next four days. An Ilha Grande repeat? One can only hope.
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