PASSAGE OF TIME


Daniel had to spend a couple days in Sao Paulo, so last night was my first night here without him. 


It turned out to be really nice to spend time with his family alone, and it forced me to speak Portuguese.  At dinner, we shared stories of culture differences, laughing at all the awkward things we've accidentally said while learning a new language.  They had just spent a month traveling through Argentina and Chile and told stories of things they’d said that, in Portuguese meant one thing, but meant something completely inappropriate in Spanish.  I had similar stories from Italy. Listening to them made me feel more comfortable trying to speak Portuguese, knowing they could all relate to the difficulties.  After dinner, Daniel’s sister brought out photos from their childhood. 

It always feels like your going through some weird time machine when looking at old photos.  Looking at photos of your parents when they were young puts almost anyone in awe the first few times.  Seeing that they were really your age once, or that they not only had a life before you, but one before each other as well.  Or worse, seeing what they dressed like or how they wore their hair (no offense of course). Looking through Daniel’s photos had a similar affect.  It really looked like he grew up in an entirely different world.

Sometimes I get frustrated realizing we don’t have many shared experiences. Like when I have to explain what Trick or Treating is, or Prom, or the still very confusing tradition of Sororities and Fraternities. It often makes me feel lonely, like he won’t ever really understand the things that are so much a part of my past.  

Looking at his pictures made me see that, of course, he too had a whole life I know nothing about. I felt so far removed from the places and things in the photos.  The atmosphere was so different. The landscapes and homes, and playgrounds looked so foreign to me.  For the first time it began to really sink in that the person I am so close to, really did grow up in a different country, speaking a different language, with different customs, holidays, foods, streets, cars, clothes, dances, games...different everything. 

I looked through a lot of photos, so curious to his past, to his present.  After awhile, the more I looked at the photos, surprisingly, the closer I felt to him, wanting to know more and more about the stories behind them. 

By the time I looked through each and every photo in the large unorganized and overflowing box, I felt I loved him even more than I did before.  Being here helps me understand him, where he comes from, his family, his life, and what it might have been like to grow up here.  

The truth is, although experiences like holidays, or things we consider “rights of passage”, seem to have a huge impact and importance to us, its really our relationship to others that shape who we really are.  And the photos of Daniel kissing his sister and grabbing her cheeks might as well have been a photo of my brother and I.  The person he is, the love in his family, and the way he sees life is really not foreign to me at all.

CARNIVAL AND MY WEEKEND IN SAO PAULO

Sunday February 26, 2012

Last week was Carnival, and I honestly don’t know how to begin.  I could probably write an entire blog just about Brazil’s Carnival, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one already exists.  So to avoid attempting to describe every detail of the wonderful festivities, I will give you a quick rundown of Carnival, and move on to other things that seem far less intimidating to write about. I know this short description is not going to do it justice, but nonetheless here goes. 

With all the research I had done about Brazil’s Carnival before coming, it somehow didn’t stick in my memory that it was actually a 5 day (and night) long holiday.  We don’t have any holidays in the US that last 5 days, so it never really occurred to me. Here it’s a legitimate 5 days almost, if not entirely, focused on partying, dancing, and pure fun, which is exactly my kind of holiday.

For you to understand Carnival, try to imagine the celebration of Mardi Gras in New Orleans multiplied with New Years Eve in New York City, add some Cirque du Soleil action, and mix all that with the colorful and extravagant floats from SF Gay Pride Parade, except far more elaborate.  Then, celebrate it in every city in the country, literally all night long, for five days straight.  That will at least give you an idea of Brazil Carnival. (In the picture above, the girls are doing ballet in and out of the pool, while riding the float!)

Even aside from Carnival, my weekend in the city of Sao Paulo was amazing!  On the bus there, Daniel helped me with my Portuguese/English study cards.  Apparently I had been memorizing the wrong pronunciation for most of the words, so that’s all we focused on. I can’t wait to finally learn his language.  Daniel can’t wait either, he gets really tired of speaking English.

When we arrived in Sao Paulo Saturday night, I was instantly excited. I have to admit that, no matter how much I fantasize about living on some isolated relaxing island spending my days painting, I am a person who just really likes big cities. I got an adrenaline rush just being at the bus station.

We took the metro to the last stop, Jamacuara, where Daniel’s cousin’s Tatiana picked us up.  Daniel calls her his “irma” which means sister, because I guess they grew up together.  Her name is pronounced “tat-chi-an-ah” but Daniel calls her “tat-chi”, which I think is really cute. 

She was really nice, but didn’t speak a lick of English, except the one word she knew, beautiful.   I suppose, if you had to choose one word to know in another language, beautiful isn’t a bad choice. She told me I was beautiful a bunch of times, which was probably partially because she really thinks that, but mostly just being proud she knew how to say it. 

Tati lives in a much poorer area than the rest of Daniel’s family.  It isn’t the worst of Brazil by any means, but it was the poorest I had seen so far.  I have to admit that it was an adjustment for me.  We arrived at night, and it certainly would not have felt safe walking around by myself.

Tati has a balcony in the back with an inspiring view.  It is kind of what I had imagined the buildings would look like,  a hillside of different colored homes, all crammed on top of one another.  I couldn’t wait to see it during the day. Looking at the different homes, I saw laundry and carpets hanging over balconies and clotheslines all throughout the neighborhood.  I heard dogs barking and babies crying.  But I loved it.  Tati thought it was really weird I liked the view because it was ugly, which it was.  I didn’t like it because it was beautiful I liked it because it was so different.

When I woke up the next morning, Daniel and Tati were already in the kitchen eating, talking and laughing.  I really love to see Daniel with his family, he comes to life in a way he doesn't around other people.  Tati asked in Portuguese if I wanted “tomar café”, which directly translates to “to take a café”.  I hadn’t been able to drink coffee at all since being here, so I was really excited she offered. But then Daniel informed me that “um café” in Portuguese means coffee, but when someone says “tomar café” it is short for “tomar café da manha” which actually means breakfast, which is really confusing.  

I think Tati is my favorite person I’ve met in Daniel’s family so far, probably because she is the most liberal.  She drinks coffee and beer, and smokes cigarettes, which is all fine, but what I really like is that I feel I can really be myself around her.

Daniel and I took the bus at the top of Tati’s street, which was far more daring than I had anticipated.  Bus drivers here are crazy and drive like maniacs. They speed through lights, cut in and out of cars, come to screeching halts, and speed down steep hills, like the one Tati lives on.  Daniel said they speed so they can pick up more people.  Which didn’t make much sense to me until he explained that the bus driver owns the bus and makes money off each person who gets on.  Apparently none of the busses in Brazil are public. Some are owned by the driver, and others are owned by companies, regardless they all make more money picking up more people.  I still don’t fully understand how that system works.  I mean if just some Joe Shmo guy off the street can buy a bus and start picking people up, then how can people even trust where they are going, or if it's legal? Daniel said it is kind of regulated by the city, but that there aren't any bus schedules or anything like that.   I’m still confused by it, but was more preoccupied with the ride.  I closed my eyes and held on the bars while we went down hills and small alleys.  Daniel laughed and said it was like riding a roller coaster, but I don’t like roller coasters either. 

The first place Daniel took me was Japan Town, which was pretty uneventful and wouldn’t even be worth mentioning, except that on one of the streets we found 7 wooden frames for painting that were in great condition. We didn’t want to carry them so, Daniel found a spot to hide them on the street.  Then he took me to a building where we could over look the whole city.  Waiting for the elevator was the first time I had heard English. In fact it was the first time I had heard anything BUT Portuguese.  I suppose it was the only actual tourist place we had been, and the only place since.  Seeing the city was incredible.  I have never seen anything like it.  New York City has bigger buildings, nicer and newer, with a lot of metal and glass, but it still doesn’t have this effect.  In Sao Paulo it really looks like the city goes on forever, and in every direction.  Daniel said it reminded him of the ocean, an infinite city, and it was.  As the buildings got farther away, they just became harder to see, more and more faded until it was just lightness behind them, eventually not able to distinguish between land and sky on the horizon.

Afterward Daniel took me to one spot where the streets were crowded with people.  He said the area was mostly “C and D Class”.  


In Brazil they rate classes by letters: A, B, C, D, and E.  A is upper class, B is kind of upper middle class, C is middle class, D is lower middle class or working class, and E is very poor.  I don’t really think we have a comparison to E class in the US. I was all too excited and curious anyway to really notice class differences.  

That night Daniel and I happened upon our second carnival celebration in the streets.  At midnight we impulsively left for the main Sao Paulo Carnival celebration in the stadium, to see our third Carnival celebration, where we stayed until 4am.  It was a great weekend.  

A PORTA


Friday 2/17/2012


My Portuguese has been getting better, which isn’t saying much since it was pretty much non-existant before.  I have been going to stores alone, like the art store here in Indaiatuba, and been able to understand and speak enough to ask about colors and sizes and canvas.  And I have been able to find my way back to Daniel's office a few times asking for directions in Portuguese.  It's obviously a long way away from "conversational" or what not, but it has only been a week since I've arrived.  

I've never been in a situation before where I am so truly immersed in the culture and language.  It's nice in that it sure speeds up the learning process, but I often think of how much I'd like to know just one American whom I could talk with comfortably.  In the meantime I am focusing on learning Portuguese. I try to follow the conversations of Daniel and his family, read the subtitles on television, listen to portuguese lessons online while washing dishes, and study my portuguese study cards.  But it gets exhausting trying so hard to listen and understand all day.  


It isn't really just the language barrier that makes it difficult to adapt, it's also just not knowing the way things work, how to flush the toilet, knowing if I can drink the water, if there is tax, what clothing are appropriate, or alas how to open a gate or unlock a door...


My first day out of the house alone, I had walked out the door to the appartment complex, but could not exit the gate.  I was literally stuck between the two doors, alone in a parking garage.  I don't have a phone yet, and the apartment was too high up for anyone to hear me.  I waited awhile hoping someone would come, but realized that could be more than just a little while waiting.  I was so excited to go out alone and walk around, and there I was not even able to leave the parking lot.  Finally I found an area of the gate that had a ledge I could climb on to jump over.  So I did, in my sundress and flip flops.   


That was my first time leaving the house alone, and today was my first time coming home alone.  In anticipation of there being a similar issue, I had Daniel's sister explain the keys I needed to get in the house.  She showed me three keys, one for the gate, one for the appartment building, and one for the apartment door.  I looked at them carfully and was very sure which keys to use. 


When I arrived at the appartment the gate key worked, the apartment building key worked, and yet the apartment door would not open.  I tried and tried, I have no idea how many times, in every direction and with all my strenght.  Finally, I left the apartment building yet again to see if there would be someone who could help me.  There was no one.  I went up and tried again, and then back outside to decide what to do.  It was so hot that walking all the way back to Daniel’s office to find out that I have to wait in his office without air conditioning for 3 hours until I could go home sounded awful.  But sitting in the stairwell reading only my Portuguese phrase book for 3 hours sounded equally as awful.  I was really looking forward to laying down and relaxing in front of the fan, listening to music and reading a book.  Then I heard someone coming out of the building.  It was a boy, probably 16 years old, taking out the trash.  I recognized his shirt, it was the uniform for the private school Daniel’s nefew goes to.  For some reason that made me feel a bit at ease talking to him.  

I approached him, and using my broken Portuguese told him I couldn't get into the apartment and asked for his help.  He, like everyone else I've met in this city, was very surprised to see I was not Brazilian.  He was shy and nervous, which I'm not sure was because I was foreign or because I was a girl...or both, regardless he agreed to help me.  In the elevator asked me something in Portuguese that I didn’t understand.  Then he said, "Japanese, Mexican?”  Which at first confused me even more, but then I realized he was probably asking where I was from.  I told him "California" and he nodded, and then there was an awkward silence.  One of the hardest parts about learning a new language is that you feel like you can't really be yourself.  I never feel awkward with people I just meet, I'm friendly and outgoing and I love small talk, but I really didn't know how to do any that successfully in Portuguese, and trying would risk making the situation more awkward or worse, more confusing. 


When we arrived at the apartment door, he tried the key and was having the same trouble I was.  I have to admit that at that point I was wondering if maybe I had gotten the door wrong? I mean I never actually made a mental note it was 34, in fact I never actually made a mental note we were even on the 3rd floor, I just remembered going up that amount of stairs.  I was pretty sure it was one door away from the elevator on the right.  But I couln’t be one hundred percent sure.  I was hoping no body was in there thinking I was trying to break in, that would be embarrassing.  But then I looked down and saw the “BemVindo” foot carpet in front of the door.  I did remember making a mental note that they had this carpet, and the other doors on the floor didn't, so that was encouraging.  


Finally the helpful teenager figured out a way to open the door.  There was a small hole near the top that was no key hole I had ever seen.  It was just circular and it didn’t even look like it could fit any of the keys on the ring, not to mention his sister never mentioned a fourth key.  I had noticed it before, but I thought it was a peep hole or who knows what.  Regardless, I was finally let in, and thanked the boy greatly for his help. 


It's these little details in traveling that get forgotten, but are really a big part the experience.  

AN OUTSIDER

Thursday 2/16/2012

I woke up in the middle of the night last night with over a dozen bug bites.  Some were really large, like I had never seen before.  I woke Daniel up and we found the bug spray I brought, and sprayed it all over my body, but we didn’t have anything for the itching. It reminded me a lot of my first weeks in Italy, and how bad the mosquitoes were.  Which made me think of how easily we forget the troubles of traveling, remembering only the fun and exciting parts. Which is probably a good thing.

Yesterday was a productive and exciting day.  In the morning Daniel and I found a restaurant for lunch, where we can fill our plate with as much as we want for only 3 reals (Brazilian Currency), which is the equivalent of about $1.50, which is pretty unbeatable! 

In the evening, Daniel took me to nine different English schools in the city to look for jobs.  I think I must now have an idea of what celebrities feel like when meeting their fans.  Being a native Californian made me an instant celebrity.  Most of them had never met an American before.  They were nervous talking to me, many of them didn’t even talk in English because of, what I am assuming, was embarrassment of their accent.  And after I would walk away or sit to wait for a supervisor, they would all gather and whisper about me. Everyone was so uncomfortable talking to me that it made me uncomfortable. I realized I can't even imagine what it would be like to meet a foreigner for the first time.

We went to Daniel’s parent’s house for dinner, which was really fun, but overwhelming.  Being around his family reminds me of that movie “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”.  Everyone has a lot of energy, and talks over eachother and there is so much attention on me, of course I can’t understand most of what is going on.  His grandma is always kissing me, and his nieces playing with my hair and climbing on my lap.  People are all arguing over what to make for dinner, or where to sit, all wanting to put on a good impression.  It's sweet.  Although it feels like half the city is his family.  Growing up I was never really that close to my extended family, seeing them once a year at most, and even that was only with uncles and aunts and first cousins.  But here, I've meet his siblings, parents, grandparents, brother-in law, nieces, nephew, cousins, cousin's children, cousin's spouses, brother-in-law's brother, brother-in-law's dad, brother-in-law's brother's wife.  The list goes on.  So being around his "family" is really being around a lot more people than you might think.


I think what I liked most about his parent's house was how South American it felt.  Daniel's mother has this really great wooden carved furniture that is so unique.  It reminded me of something my mom would love and I wished she could be here to see it.  Instead of couches they have these cute little small cushioned seating benches.  Although I must admit that so far every home I've visited has completely bare walls, which feels more foreign to me than the rest of the place.  They could really use some of my paintings.  

The dinner was very filling.  Brazilians eat a lot of meat, which I had gotten used to from living with Daniel in San Diego.  Food is at least one thing I haven't had trouble adjusting to.  All of the food tastes good, and most of it 
is pretty familiar.  However we have been eating a lot of "mandioca" which is a root used in a lot of foods here, which I also really like the taste of. 

MY FIRST REAL DAY IN BRAZIL

Sunday 2/12/2012

Yesterday was my first real day out in Brazil, since my actual first day was spent sleeping. Daniel and I went out walking to see the city.  It’s a very calm and relaxing city, different to what I am used to.  The lay out of the city, with its flat land and bare yet colorful architecture reminds me of a nicer looking Tijuana.  The transportation and popularity of motorcycles remind me of Italy, and the lush vegetation is similar to cities I visited in Guatemala.  I suppose the best way to imagine this city is to think of a nicer Tijuana placed in the center of a rainforest, with Italians riding in the streets.

After walking for a while we stopped to get sushi, which had mango instead of avocado and tasted more tropical than Asian, but was amazing.  It started to rain, and Daniel asked if I was okay walking home in the rain.  I said, “Of Course!” I have always liked the rain, or any kind of water for that matter, and with how hot it had been, the rain sounded perfect.  However, that was before I knew that “rain” in Brazil means pouring and flooding so hard it sounds like shots are being fired on the roof.  We waited for it to clam down to what I would still consider a pretty heavy pour, and we left for our fifteen minute walk home.  We walked through lightly flooded streets with water past my ankles.  Feeling the water rushing through my toes reminded me of the caves in Guatemala and was refreshing and liberating.  

At night we drove to Campinas, the second biggest city in the state of Sao Paulo, which is about a 30 minute drive from Indaiatuba.  On the way, we stopped to get meat skewers at this really cool hole-in-the-wall place, which is actually just some guy’s garage. Daniel asked if I wanted to try the chicken heart skewer.  I looked at the raw chicken hearts on the grill and it made my stomach turn.  I made a face that both Daniel and the man cooking thought was funny. I insisted I was not interested, but then remembered how happy I was I tried all the seemingly disgusting things I ate in Italy, like rabbit cheeks and brain, and horse, and cow tongue.  And that my stomach felt the same way before trying those as well.  I told them I'd give it a try, and the nice guy gave it to us for free. I ate my first chicken heart in the car, and it was actually pretty good.  If someone hadn’t told me it was chicken heart I would probably say it was great, but the texture wouldn’t allow me to forget what I was eating, so for now it'll have to give it a rating of pretty good. 

MY ARRIVAL

Friday 2/10/2012

The last two days have truly been awful.  From the time I arrived at SFO to the time I was in a bed in Indaiatuba, I had been traveling for 35 hours, with little sleep, nausea, and a terrible headache.  During my 3^rd flight, from Panama to Brazil, I was feeling so awful I was beginning to wonder why I put myself through this.  Although, being with Daniel no more than 10 minutes made it all worth it. 

It was awkward at first of course, as it always is after not having seen him for a long time. We live so intimate for so many months, sharing an apartment, sleeping together every night, and then suddenly with no tapering off, we are countries apart for that same amount of time, and then back together, practically inseparable, all over again. 

Instantly after exiting the airport I became painfully aware of how different the climate is, and how although I had mentally prepared for it to be hot, thinking of all the hot places I have been in the world, nothing compared to this.  It was the middle of the night and the air was so moist my body began to sweat.  Every step felt like I was walking with a heavy wet blanket draped over my body. 

We still had a couple hour drive ahead of us to Indaiatuba.  Driving at night, I had difficulty getting an idea of my surroundings.  Yet, regardless of my exhaustion, I remained glued to the window too curious to look away.  I had lost all sense of direction.  Sao Paulo is so large, it was as though we just made circles and circles seemingly impossible to be going in any one direction. 

I can’t say that I was surprised to see the way people drive, it is similar to that of Mexico, Egypt and even some places in Europe.  Lanes do not exist, blinkers do not exist, yet everyone seems to find the right path…at least for now.  I like to think of it like walking. On a busy sidewalk we do not have our own lanes nor do we give any hand signals to tell others our direction, yet most of the time no one is crashing and falling into one another.

At one point Daniel took a turn and suddenly we were stuck in a lot of traffic, above the traffic we could see these huge floats covered in plastic being pushed over the overpass by maybe a hundred men or more.  Daniel recognized some of the guys from a well known Samba School in the city.  I suddenly felt fortunate I had taken my “Dance in World Cultures Class” my last semester at SDSU, where I had written a long research paper on the Samba, inclusive of the history of Brazilian politics and culture.  I knew a lot about the Samba Schools, and all that goes into the Carnival, which made seeing it first hand all that more exciting.