Eu Voltei!!!

I am back! For good this time!

I was without internet at my apartment for 2 months. But now I have it. Lucky us. =)

So before I begin my culture discussions, I am sure you are probably a little curious about what has gone in my life recently. Well, I will tell you straight up- and I like my coffee black so don't expect a sugar-coated summary.

-I lived in the ghetto- no, seriously, I lived in the ghetto, for half of a month and I was alone most of the time (unless you count the cockroaches) because my roommates either moved out or were traveling, unable to cook food, without chairs, couches... the only thing I had was four walls and an air mattress... oh and that man who walks around at 7 in the morning yelling, "OKAYYYYYYYYYY". There was music blasting from my neighbor's at all hours (either American pop music or Northeastern Brazilian music like Calypso, though on Friday nights there would be a television set up in the street playing Funk Carioca music). It was so humid I had a package of Oreos that turned into mush within two days. The place smelled of mold and I woke up with a sore throat every morning. There was no mirror in the place so I used my tiny makeup compact mirror to get ready when I went out at night. There were so many stairs leading up to my apartment that I was sore the entire first week I lived there. The good news? The guy at the internet place had a crush on me so I got free internet a lot of the time. However, he would always send me administrator messages asking me to kiss him. Awkwardddd. But it was a cool, if not entirely depressing, experience and I am glad for it. I now know that someone can be happy without anything, literally.

Let`s see... What else. Let's mention something wonderful that happened to me.

-I fell head over heels in love with the most amazing man I have ever met in my life. Yes, I know, that is pretty high praise. If I had dreamed a "perfect" man, he would have fallen short of this guy. The name is Guilherme. Brazilian. I have never met anybody more my type- lindissimo (the handsomest, seriously), kind, interesting, has super cool nice friends, creative, intelligent, sweet, and COMPLETELY FUCKING CRAZY.

Which leads us to the next update in my life.
-He broke my heart. Shattered is more like it. I didn't eat for days. Why did he leave me? Because he is crazy. No. Really. Or he has severe depression problems. I haven't quite figured it out. When we were together it was the happiest time of my life, hands down, so I don't regret a thing even though he turned out to have issues, but damn. Sucks to meet Mr. Right and then realize that Mr. Right is a crazy. But it figures, let's admit it, my Mr. Right would be completely off his rocker. Normal people are just too boring. Either way, there are more fish in the sea and I have met my share of them.

My Suitors in the Past Week
-some guy I don't remember except that he asked me out
-a brazilian DJ who told me he was gay and was joking but I believed him and when he asked me to be his girlfriend I said "Of course!" and held hands with him and everything and then mentioned something about him being gay and he was like NOOOO I am NOT GAY I was JOKING. Oh. Ouch. He told me that if I didn't want to date him anymore, he would understand. "Will you still call me sometime?" Oh gosh. What a blunder.
-a 60 year old cab driver named Edivaldo. I wish I was joking.

Well I think that sums it about up!

Conception of Beauty

I think it is very strange how Americans always talk about how beautiful Brazilian girls are. Don't get me wrong, there are some extremely gorgeous women here, but Americans' idea of beauty and Brazilians' idea of beauty are very very different.

In America, we idolize the breasts. Women get breast implants and we are all about that. In Brazil, it is all about the ass. Some women even get butt implants. Here no one cares about having big boobs, in fact many men don't like it, (Renata's grandpa wants her grandma to get a breast reduction!) but any man will check out a girl with a nice bunda. If you drew a stick figure of women that men like from both countries, the US would have a stick with big boobs, and Brazil would have a stick with a big butt.

For example, just google image "mulher melancia" or click on that link to get a taste of what I am talking about.
http://djtreats.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/mulher-melancia21.jpg
That is what a Brazilian man finds sexy in a woman. Oh, and mulher melancia means watermelon woman, and I think you can guess why.

Also, Brazilians value women who work out. By this, I mean women who have very visible ab muscles, arm muscles, etc. It is very strange, at least to me. Brazilian men also like their women curvier than American men do. Brazilians do not like the anorexic look, and I saw a billboard for swimsuits that had a very pretty girl with a normal body on it. That would never happen in the states. Renata (my Brazilian friend) has an uncle that prefers his women with a pooch; a flat stomach is not sexy to him.

So next time you think of Brazil, get it right- think of curvy women with huge asses (or just perfect looking butts, how do they all manage to do it?) and small boobs.

Another Apology

I have been out of town and without internet, so I havent updated, and I have tests so it will be a few more days, okay?

A Third World Apartment

Today as I helped Edgar and Victor clean the apartment, I realized that I truly do live in a developing country. Then again... maybe it's just this apartment that is 3rd world.
Here in this apartment, I don’t have many of the things that I have taken for granted my entire life. We are without a washer or a dryer and if you want to wash your clothes, you either do it by hand and dry it on a line in the house or pay a lot of money to go to a Laundromat (Laundromats here are not cheap, so everyone in the household washes their clothes by hand- who does that these days?) We steal someone else’s internet and 65% of the time it doesn’t work. We don’t have heating or air conditioning. Dish washers? What are those? I almost forgot to mention them because I have been living without one for so long. Oh, I wish I was joking. We also don't have clean water, so we have to buy our own water bottles every day to stay alive. There are no screens on the windows here (I don’t think I have seen a single one since I came to this country). Our chairs are made of wood from the 1950’s (most of them are broken) and the beds here are broken. I don’t even have a bed. I don’t know what I sleep on, but it is somewhat comfy, so it’s okay. We are without a microwave as well, and sometimes the stove randomly breaks. We don’t even have a mop- we tie a creepy looking rag to the broom to clean the floors.
And yet I am happy here. I am happy washing my jeans in the shower and cleaning all of my dishes by hand. I am happy waiting days for my clothes to dry. I am happy cleaning the floor with a really nasty rag tied to a broom. I am happy without heating or air conditioning or a bed. I am happy to be sharing a small apartment with 5 other people (not counting the random guests who come and go and spend the night). I am happy to be living in a corner of a room which I share with two men who sleep in the same bed.
I am so, so incredibly happy here in this crappy, broken, drama filled Brazilian apartment. The happiest I have ever, ever been.

Shopping Leblon on a Sunday

Here in Brazil, I am on a pay-as-you-go basis for my cellphone. Talking on cellphones here is extremely expensive compared to in the US and I need to put more money on it about once a week, even though I only use it when I need to, and calls here are never long (due to the price of a call). For example, when at home we always use skype to call other people’s cell phones and if you are out and about and don’t have credits on your phone you can forget about asking a stranger to use theirs, and you only ask a friend when the call is really important and short.
Today I woke up without credits and so I went to Shopping Leblon to put money on my phone. As soon as I passed through the sliding glass doors, I knew something was off. There were fewer people than normal, but that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. Everyone was wearing normal clothing.
Here in Rio going to the mall is an event, especially in Shopping Leblon. Every lady wears an expensive outfit, does her hair perfect, and makes sure everything coordinates just so. Every man is dressed sharp like he is about to go out to a fancy night club. And everybody makes sure to look at everybody else. I sometimes feel like I am going to the catwalk when I stroll through Shopping Lebon.
So to see people dressed normally was off putting. What was wrong? I ascended the escalator and noticed that every single store was closed. Oh, it is a Sunday, this makes sense. But, why are there so many people here then? I looked around to see couples looking into store windows like it was any other day of the week. They would point at items and converse about them, even though the store was obviously closed. In fact, the only open thing I could see in the entire mall was the Starbucks, in which there were quite a few of Rio’s upper class sipping away. I circled the second floor and watched as everyone there walked from store to store, gazing into the darkened displays leisurely.
How very strange.

Days of the Week- Final

Saturday
I woke up at 5 in the morning, extremely happy. I pulled back my curtains to smile at the sun… oh, the sun hadn’t risen yet. As I waited for it to rise I played music and danced and painted my toenails and ate a small breakfast and left the house at 6 to arrive at school at 6:45, along with about 100 other international students who were dumb enough to sign up for a field trip that left at such an ungodly hour. We went to a farm in the middle of nowhere Brazil, walked through a rainforest that had huge bright blue butterflies, paddled on a boat covered with huge spindly swimming spiders, and swam in a pool and drank a little too much alcohol; including a “mix drink” that was merely cachaca and honey. Luis and I paddled a small boat around the lake they had and chatted and enjoyed the tranquility. Renata completed the extremely hard obstacle course (go Renata!) while Christian tried and failed at it twice. Luis and I looked at them struggling and he taught me a phrase in Spanish. “Estoy borracha, perro no penteja.” I am drunk, but I am not an idiot.
That night I stood by the lake, looking out into the night, when I saw a flash of light. What was it? My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I realized that there were fireflies everywhere. I grabbed Josh, my one friend who would truly appreciate it, and together we gazed at the fireflies, which made the hills in front of us look like they were sparkling. Later we walked out onto the front lawn on the farm and lay on the grass and stared at the stars for about half an hour. All of the constellations were different here in the southern hemisphere.
Once we got back my friends and I stumbled to a post on the beach and drank agua de cocos (coconut water- they literally take a huge knife and pierce a hole in the top of a coconut and put a straw in it). A bunch of Spanish people joined us and I came to the realization that even though everyone in this country speaks Portuguese, I would have to learn Spanish just to be able to understand the people that I hang out with. I watched Josu chain smoke. Pretty much every one of the international students from Spain or Mexico smokes cigarettes, but none quite like Josu smoked this night. As soon as he finished one cigarette he immediately grabbed another one and lit. It was fascinating and worrying at the same time, watching him.
Sunday
Cristian invited me to coffee at 7 pm. We went to the only Starbucks in Rio de Janeiro and walked around the city talking.
Cristian is seriously a cool person. He is a good man, a hard worker, and he is intelligent. He loves Mexico City and spent a lot of time telling me about Mexico’s history. He was once living off of Welfare with his mom in a basement and today his neighbor is Gabriel Garcia Marquez (he says her wife looks scary and has a beehive hairdo! Hahaha). He also lives in the same neighborhood as Carlos Slim, who was the richest man in the world last year. He says that Slim drives in an old VW bug. That makes me happy. We talked about everything, from our life stories to our past relationships to our future goals in life and next thing I know we are walking through the drizzle along the beach in Copacabana and it is midnight. We had been talking for 5 hours!

Days of the Week- Part 2

Thursday

Luis (Torrez, a chicano who was born in Mexico) and I went to a Rodizio de Pizzas. This is where you sit down and they bring out pizzas and you pick which ones you want a piece of. Among the pizzas there was a pizza that was covered with steak and French fries, a pizza covered with sushi, and multiple dessert pizzas, my favorite being warm chocolate and strawberries. It was delicious and we both got extremely full.

The rest of the night is a blur. Next thing I know we are at Edgar (also a Chicano) and Josu’s (who is straight up Mexican) apartment, then we are at Baixo da Gavea and I am peeing behind a bush because there aren’t any restrooms within a half an hour of walking distance and Jaime(pronounced Haime because he is a chicano too- are you getting my point?) is standing in front of me keeping watch for other people and spilling out his feelings for a girl he likes. I tell Renata this and she laughs and tells me that one of the most vivid memories she has of Italy is one where she peed in a street. Then we are suddenly at a bar in Ipanema and I am chatting with some gringos, one of whom is crushing on me, the other is engaged, and all of my friends are going home. I say good night to Christian (Mexican!) and Josu invites me to his apartment.

That night at his apartment made me feel like I was in the movie “L’auberge Espagnole”. The Italian man (or as I should call him, the Italian Stallion) brings home one of the Spanish girls and they are at it all night long… I should also mention that his room has a sheet for a door, so sound travels. Josu tells me that Italian Stallion is also having sex with other Spanish students as well. Despite the occasional awkward noises coming from the other room, Josu, me, and a Brazilian named Felipe manage to talk for hours. The doorbell rings at 5 in the morning and Josu won’t answer it because it might be the man from Bahia, a man who lived there for a week, stole their food, and has been coming back trying to stay there ever since. Nope, it happens to be the man from Buzios who is currently sleeping with Alicia, another Mexican girl who lives at the apartment. He comes into our room and immediately falls asleep. Alicia never comes home, probably because she’s hooking up with someone else. Meanwhile in the next room down Edgar is sharing a bed with a French guy because it is cheaper to live that way. Oh, the craziness that is living abroad.

Friday

I leave the apartment at 7:30 in the morning and realize that choosing classes that start at 3 pm was the best decision I ever made (where as some of my friends have missed 6 days of class, I make it to class every single day!). I walk outside to a bright, beautiful morning and I decide to take a stroll through Leblon. Everything is just beginning to open and I realize that I haven’t been out walking this early in Rio yet. In the morning here in Rio everything seems so fresh and new and happy to see you, and I walked with a spring in my step. Good morning, Brazil!

Days of the Week- Part 1

Monday
The day started at the Federal Police. I walked in at 7:30 in the morning and walked out at 4:30 pm. Holy cow. However, two different guys asked me for my number/ on a date while I was there, which was quite flattering.
--later on---
Cristian, Renata, and I walked through the rain soaked streets of Rio de Janeiro at two in the morning, sidestepping puddles and holding hands.
“Did you know that Rio was just voted the happiest city in the world?” Cristian asked. Renata and I replied that we didn’t, but that we weren’t surprised. I looked at the three of us, walking through this amazing city, drenched from head to toe, and I knew that it must be true.
Later I caught a cab and conversed with the driver only in Portuguese. We talked about Brazil and Colorado and whether Argentines really are bad people. He told me (in Portuguese) that at that moment it was close to 2:30 in the morning, and that he loved his job driving people at night, and that he was extremely happy with his life. It made me happy. When I got home he waited for me to make it inside (the mark of a good cab driver) and we waved goodbye.

Tuesday (Mexican Independence Day)

It was one in the morning. Josu stood on the countertop and yelled in Spanish about the greatness of Mexico. After he finished a point we would all yell, “Viva!” I was one of just three people at the party who wasn’t fluent in Spanish, but I could understand completely the electricity flowing through the room. Finally he yelled one final phrase and every single person in the room (there were about 20) yelled as loudly as they possibly could.
“VIVA MEXICO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”


An hour later finds us at a bar in Ipanema. We are all chatting with a homeless man who we adopted when we gave him some of our cachaca (which is a kind of alcohol here), and he became an instant friend.

(Cristian and the homeless man)
He was giving my friend safety tips in Portuguese when Cristian asked me to dance.
Before you get any ideas- Cristian is just a friend and nothing more. But let me tell you American ladies- there is nothing quite like dancing with a Latino. I have never danced with a lover the way we danced that night- noses touching, looking into each other’s eyes, pushing away only to pull back even closer- it was the most fun I have had in a long time, and that is saying something. We sang all the American songs on the top of our lungs (he is fluent in English, having family in Canada) and danced and danced and danced. There were many moments where I was so overcome with mirth that I laughed aloud with happiness.

(The Group)

Wednesday
We went over to the Spanish students’ apartment and watched “Tropa de Elite”, a Brazilian movie about the corruption in the police here in Rio. It was good. Continuing with the theme of the week, I did not get home until about 2 or 3 in the morning.

Desculpe

I am sorryyyy for not posting more!

1- I haven't had internet
2- I haven't been home
3-When I am home, some other family member is always using the computer

I dont have enough time to post right now, but rest assured I have things I reallyy want to post about and I will when I can!

Capybaras!

We both groaned as we ambled towards the concrete wall in front of us. After half an hour of walking down this street, we had reached a dead end. I suggested just turning back, but the thought of that made us both cringe. After walking two hours to find the beach, an hour while on it, and another half an hour trying to find the street with the bus stop, we had done more than our fair share of walking, not to mention that it was now around 10 at night and busses would be getting scarce soon. We walked up to the wall in vain and saw a small path leading down to the river.
"I'm gonna check it out and see if there's a path leading to a road," said Josh.
"Watch out for possums!" I yelled back. We had seen many of them already, always giving us the death stare from the shadows.
"I found a path!" He yelled, quickly followed by, "Arggghhhhh! I just walked right into a huge spider web!"
I shuddered and looked at the "path". It was basically walking through the jungle in between a river and concrete walls.
"Come on," he yelled,"It's not far!" I stopped in my tracks. Last time he told me something wasn't far, we walked two more hours before we found it.
"No way!" I yelled. But Josh is a determined man, and wouldn't take no for an answer. After walking almost out of sight he stood there until I reluctantly followed, trying not to think about spiders too much. We walked through the tropical vegetation in the darkness, striving to see any sign of civilization in front of us, when we heard a squeal and a HUGE splash directly in front of Josh.

"What the HELL was that?" He yelled, jumping back.

"It sounded like a horse!" I answered back. We both peered cautiously into the water in front of us where we could make out a shape swimming in the night. It came out of the water and I could hardly contain my joy.

"Capybaras! They are capybaras!"

"Capy whats?"

"Capybaras, the largest rodents in the world!" We watched as 5 of them came out of the water and started grazing on the trail right in front of us.

"Are they vicious? Do they bite?" Josh asked. I answered that I had no clue, but I didn't think so. We looked in front of us and we could see the road, but five dog sized rodents stood between us and our way out. We had no other choice and decided to move forward. I talked to them to let them know we weren't a threat as we crossed the path, and they merely stepped out of the way to let us pass. We stopped once we got past them and looked back. They looked like gigantic hampsters, and made a series of barks, clicking noises, and purrs to communicate with each other. They were absolutely adorable. We stood watching them for a while until they decided to leave, swimming in the water and yipping to each other. We walked down the riverside and watched them swim down the river together, a happy, talkative capybara family in search for the next place they could eat more grass.

"Now aren't you glad we took that little path?" Josh asked.

"Yes, Josh, I am."

Trying Times

Living abroad can be quite difficult. Ironically, what used to be the easiest things to handle back in the states are the hardest things here. Ordering food, talking to someone on the bus, asking for directions... it is all difficult. Every time I leave my house I enter a jungle of unknowns and challenges. Heck, even leaving my room can be scary!
There are many things I can handle here. I can handle ice cold showers that suddenly turn scalding hot. I can handle looking down at my water glass and realizing I just drank ants. I can handle being the only white person. I can handle the constant threat of getting mugged. I can handle it when my credit card suddenly stops working and I have no money to get home. I can handle being sick for one straight month and not having any medicine that works. I can handle not eating cheese (one of my favorite foods!) because it is disgusting here, and I can handle cooking everything from scratch because they don´t have tomato sauce, tortilla chips, salsa, and many more things here in Brazil. I can handle it when my school gives me my family one month late and places me all the way out in Larangeiras where I have to commute an hour just to get to my classes. I can handle not being able to go outside alone at night. I can handle trying to go to the shopping mall and instead ending up in the largest favela in Brazil. I can handle all sorts of things but sometimes the thought of going outside and ordering a hot dog makes me want to curl up in my bed and cuddle my stuffed animal.

I´m Still Alive!

Hey readers, my internet has been down for the last week so there havent been any new updates. Sorry about that! When I get internet I will update immediately.

-Madi

Minority Status

Today I realized that I am a minority.

I walked into school today and decided to count how many people I saw who did not have brown eyes. By the time I walked into my classroom, my count was at zero. I think I might have seen one person who had colored eyes, but other than that everyone I looked at definitely had brown eyes. It's funny because I have darker skin than some of them, but I definitely stand out as the most caucasian. In one of my classes I am the only person who doesn't have dark brown to black hair.

You can tell Cariocas from their eyes. Even the convincing blondes here have dark eyes. The further south (further away from the equator) you get, you get more caucasians. Even in Sao Paulo, which is only an hour away by plane, about 15% of my Paulista friends were blonde haired and blue eyed. Not so here.

Saturday I was in a club and a Carioca saw me from a distance, walked up to me and said in English, "You're a gringa, aren't you?" (Gringa here isn't offensive, by the way) I laughed and said yes, and he responded, "You're probably the only foreigner in this club. I always know how to spot them."

Also, I have noticed that when I straighten my hair I look much more like a gringa than when my hair is curly. It makes no sense (especially because Brazilians straighten their hair when they go out and many Brazilians have naturally straight hair anyway) but I have noticed that people can pick me out easier as a foreigner when I have straight hair.

Well, I guess this is just further proof that I need to buy a pair of the amazing fitting Brazilian jeans that I see all the girls wearing. Sure, it won't make my eyes any darker, but at least my butt will look more Brazilian. One step at a time, right?

Lost and Found

It has happened here many times here in Rio de Janerio where I want very badly to find something specific but have no idea where to find it and then I get lost on my way to find something else that doesn't matter as much to me. When this happens I find exactly I was looking for in the first place (pretty much every single time I get lost this happens to me! And this is a huge city! Could Rio de Janeiro be magical?) It happened again today.

(I didn't bring my camera and none of these photos belong to me, fyi)

I was watching a Snoop Dog music video 2 days ago because it was set in Rio, when I saw it.

Around 2 minutes and 15 seconds in, they introduce the place that is pictured at top. I saw the amazing building and immediately I wanted to go there. But where was it? Was it even open to the public? I didn't know what it was called and didn't know how to look it up- and only hoped that someday I would be able to see it in person.

Today I decided to go to the botanical gardens. I took the bus there and got off at the huge gates. I entered and realized... that I had gone to the wrong park. Oh well, this one (Parque Lage) was gorgeous. I walked around and entered this beautiful old looking building.

It was filled with artwork which I gazed at before walking through an arch and seeing, to my great surprise, this in front of me.

No. Way. No. Way.

I couldn't help but smile.

Ode to a Paulista

Dear Rodrigo from São Paulo,

There were many things about you that I found fantastic. I especially appreciated it when, after my Marine Corps friend failed to keep that one forward guy away from me, you so smoothly grabbed my arm and with one look got him off of me for the rest of the night. Just for that you became my hero.

But it was when you asked me to dance that you gave me a reason to remember you always.

You led me to the very center of the club and there, lost in the faceless masses we danced. A really good song started playing and I closed my eyes, lost in the moment. I got self conscious so I opened my eyes and looked at you.

My God. There you were, magnificence personified. In the glow of the strobe lights you flashed before me, eyes closed, dancing as if nothing else existed but this song. That this very moment held within it your entire life, and that life was incredibly, incredibly happy.

And so I closed my eyes too, and let the song become me, and together we became mirages under the strobe lights.

Sometimes when I am listening to amazing songs at night your face flashes in front of me, and I smile and know that my life is a little better because of you.

Host Family

I have a host brother named Pedro.

You already know you're jealous.

Today I am going to introduce my host family.

Let's start with my momma. Her name is Marta and she is the perfect mom. She does my laundry for me and makes sure that I have everything I need. She is a very nice lady and when ever I need anything she is more than willing to help me out. I don't have a curfew and if I come home at 5 in the morning, she'll simply ask me if I had a good night the next day. She has really helped me with my portuguese and takes care of me like a mother would.

Next up is my host sister Carolina. She is gorgeous and really nice. Whenever she goes out with her friends she invites me along and always makes sure that I am included in everything. She is always friendly and chill, and I like her.

I also have a great dane named Mirrah (pronounced MEE-HAW). She looks like a cow because she's got big black and white spots all over herself. She's giant and if she is in the doorway it's like a horse is blocking me from entering the next room. I am so happy to be living with a dog!

And of course, there's Pedro. He's my favorite. He looks straight-up from the hood, with really short hair and clothes two sizes too big. In the shower, instead of singing he raps. He does grafitti and when I walk around Larangeiras I can recognize his marks. He makes his own rap music and recently showed me some of it- and it's really, really good. He is also one of the nicest people I have ever met in my life. The first night I met him we were hanging out in his room and he told me, "I want to give you some of my art. If you see anything in this room that you like, tell me and I will give it to you." I pointed to his grafitti art of the favelas, and without hesitation he took it off of his wall and handed it to me. The next night when Eric (guy who no longer lives here) ate my sandwich, he called the restaurant and ordered me a new one. When I watch tv with him he turns on closed captioning for me so I will understand it better. He always looks out for me and is the perfect big brother.

So there you have it, my new host family. I adore them and I wouldn't choose any other host family in the world over them.

Dear Diary, Entry 2

Dear Diary,

I'm the happiest I have ever been.

It's not like life is perfect here. It is hard. Things that I took for granted every day back at home, like having a simple conversation with a friend, are seemingly impossible here. Every time my host brother speaks to me I momentarily freeze up with fear. But every single moment that I manage to understand someone or speak with someone in Portuguese is amazing.

Last night my host sister Carolina took me out to her friend's house to watch a horror movie. I forced myself to come with her, even though I knew what was coming. I was surrounded on all sides by girls who gossipped and told elaborate stories in very fast Portuguese. Daunting is an understatment. At first we did not understand each other at all and they tried to speak English to me, but Carolina said, "Ela prefere falar portugues." By the end of the night we were eating popcorn and brigadeiro (it's similar to homemade hot fudge) and trying to figure out what to wear to a friend's party. The theme was fantasy characters from a movie, and they were talking about Disney villains so I suggested Ursula. Everybody got quiet. One of the girls explained to me (in portuguese of course) that the girl who was having a party's name was Ursula. Lol!

We went home at 2 in the morning and I gave everyone goodnight kisses on their cheeks. Before heading back home, I looked to the sky. All was pitch black except Christo, who shone brightly and looked suspended in the sky. (Did I mention that I live really really close to Christo, one of the new 7 wonders of the world? The other day I found the street that goes all the way up to him, that is how close I live to it.) It was one of the most beautiful things I have seen here in Larangeiras (my neighborhood) and I pointed it out and we all gazed at it together.

I got home and said goodnight to my sister and thanked her for taking me.

"Minhas amigas gostam muito de voce." She said, and said that they wanted to see me again.

And so, just mastering the basics like being able to understand a new friend when she gossips about her friend who is dating a manwhore but doesn't know it, is extremely, extremely rewarding.

Well, I am going to go meet my sister at the beach now!

Love,

Madi

Exploring Rio

This is what I love about Rio. Yesterday I was bored so I took a bus. Any bus. I went for as long as I felt like and I got off when I saw some pretty gates. And this is what I found!

These big rodents were all over the park. What are they?

This little boy had a blast chasing the rodents and kitty cats all over the park.

There were peacocks all over the park too just wandering about. Somehow the cats, peacocks, and weird rodents all cohabitated very peacefully together.

There were also these geese- this was probably the skinniest one there because all the other ones were gargantuan!

This monument was in the center of the park.

I feel like Rio is like waking up on Christmas morning. There are always presents to unwrap.

Appreciation for São Paulo

As I return from my second visit to São Paulo, I find myself missing it.

Upon first glance, São Paulo is a big dirty city. While some areas are definitely richer and cleaner than Rio, others are disgusting. There are streets covered with piles of trash and the river running through the city looks like someone dumped a thousand tons of toxic waste into it. There are various things being burned on the sides of the roads, and plumes of smoke rise to the sky from them. In this part of the city there are two huge skyscrapers covered all the way to the top with really ugly black graffiti. Paulistas call them "shake shake" and Guilherme tells me that once they used to be the nicest buildings in all of São Paulo. Now they look like they are about to collapse. Many people visiting the city see only this side of it, and thus never wish to visit again.

But there is another side to São Paulo. Twenty million people live in this city. Twenty million! Nossa senhora! As such, it has amazing cultural diversity. Liberdade (a Japanese neighborhood inside of São Paulo) is the largest Japanese community outside of Japan in the world. The Italians have their own neighborhood as well, and I thank God for that because Rio has horrible italian food! In fact, São Paulo outdoes Rio in every kind of food (except for juices, Rio does that best). Madalena belongs to the artists, and every culture has their own section of the city to call home.

Paulistas are also amazing people. They are more like Americans in that they are more organized and efficient, and they value a strong work ethic. Yet they also treat people with amazing warmth and Brazilian hospitality. When I visited Nathalie and Maricarmen last weekend, after only 3 days of knowing Yana and I they took us into their home, fed us home cooked meals, and gave us beds to sleep in. When I met their friends they told me that when I came back to São Paulo they would introduce me to their family and have them cook me a meal.

Also, Paulistas belong to themselves. What I mean is that a part of Rio de Janeiro belongs to tourists and that is not so in São Paulo. When you go to a club in São Paulo, there is a chance that you are the only gringa in the club. This does not happen in Rio.

And so, São Paulo, you have a place in my heart.

São Paulo versus Rio de Janeiro

São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro have a lot in common. They are the two biggest cities in Brazil, they both have states named after them, and they are only a one hour plane ride of a six hour bus ride away from each other. But they are also suprisingly different.

People from São Paulo (Paulistas) and people from Rio (Cariocas) generally dislike each other. Cariocas say that Paulistas are far too serious and live only to work, while Paulistas scorn the "lazy" Carioca´s inefficient way of life. In Rio, upon greeting you kiss a person on both cheeks. In São Paulo you only kiss on one cheek because it is more efficient that way. Paulistas and Cariocas also have very different accents, with Paulistas generally being much easier for Americans to understand. And the cities themselves are quite different. Rio is characterized by natural beauty (beautiful beaches, lush mountains, Lagoa, forests, etc.), while São Paulo is more cosmopolitan. Cariocas call São Paulo a "big dirty city" while Paulistas insist that their city is richer and they live a much better life than those in Rio de Janeiro.

They are both right in their judgements, but I think that they fail to see that what they hate about the other city is exactly what their own city lacks. As it is, the debate will always continue as to which city is better. I prefer Rio de Janeiro, but many of my friends, if they were to come back to live, would chose São Paulo.

If you have been to these cities, which do you like best?

Driving in São Paulo at Night

It´s while riding in cars late at night through São Paulo that I feel the most alive.

It is my first night in São Paulo. Though it is midnight and the streets are empty on the outskirts of the city, Fabricio dodges what cars there are like a madman.
"I don´t stop at stoplights at night," he tells me, "because this street is notorious for its carjackings."
We drive through what looks like a ghost town, the only signs of life other than the other cars are ominous clouds of black smoke drifting up from the underpasses below us. It´s revitalizing. Every stoplight is like chugging a redbull, especially if there´s a car stopped in front of us, locking us in, making us wait to see what our fate will be.

The next night I am in Guilherme´s car, the radio blasting American hits as the brazilians in the car sing horribly along to "Pokerface". Guilherme is the picture of relaxed, leaning back in his seat with one hand draped over the wheel. Looking at him, one would think we were driving through the countryside on a Sunday morning. But this is downtown São Paulo, a place where some people have never even seen the countryside, and the cars are all around us, forgetting about traffic lanes and flying by perilously close. Another song comes on the radio and it´s like a switch is turned on; with one flick of his wrist we are thrown in the next lane just inches away from two cars, then with the turn of his arm we are dodging a car coming straight for us, one movement later we´re off an exit narrowly avoiding two busses... ...three lanes merging into one without any notice? No problem. Guilherme does the most amazing maneuvers that would kill me in an instant if I tried them, all in a couple of seconds, all without putting a scratch on his small black car, all without so much as blinking, still with one arm hung over the wheel, relaxing in the driver´s seat.

I am entranced. I am in love. And as a really good song starts to play, I am alive. I am alive, and unafraid, here in Guilherme´s car driving through São Paulo at night.

Sorry for the Lack of Posts

Dear Readers,

I am pleased to inform you that no, I am not dead. Sorry for not posting in a while. I have been constantly sick for the last 3 weeks and now I am FINALLY better.

There is also a 60% chance that I got the swine flu, according to todays paper. Yay!

Well I have to go but there will be LOTS of posts soon!

Seasons

A fact that you may or may not know- it is winter here in Rio.

Yes, that's right. Since it's the other side of the equator, I am living in the dead of winter here in Rio de Janeiro.

Winter here is such a joke. Today it was around 70 and the cariocas (locals of Rio) were walking around in winter coats and complaining to me how cold it is here. Apparently it is the coldest it's been all year. I think that's hilarious, because it is quite warm here. Also, no one understands farenheit, not even the others who live in my room, so I'll have to work on learning Celcius.

The leaves here on some of the trees are starting to fall off. I can't believe that there are trees that lose their leaves when it gets into the 70s.

Surrounded by Celebrities

"You see that man there with the backpack?" Guillerme asked. "He's a camera man, and he just finished filming. And those girls following him are going to take pictures of the celebrities."

"Celebrities?" I asked.

"Yes. Here in Leblon and in Ipanema the famous people of Brazil live. Well here and in São Paulo. And they need to go to the mall just like the rest of us, so you see them a lot in Shopping Leblon (where we were at the time)."

Later that day after we had gone shopping (involving an incident where Mari found me looking mistakenly at children´s clothes) we were waiting at a stop light and Guillerme pointed out one of the guys.

"You see that man in the red shirt?" I looked over towards a normal looking tall guy wearing a red shirt. "He is famous."

"Really?"

"Yes. You know that telenovela we watched at lunch? He is on it." I gazed at the man. How many millions of people in Brazil know about him? How many girls have pictures of him on their bedroom wall? How many celebrities do I see every day, people who are worshipped, stalked, and known throughout this country but whom to me don`t even exist?

The thought fascinates me.

Eu amo ovelhas

The Joy of Being Sick

Adventures come in all shapes and sizes. I've been sick for the last couple of days, but last night was the worst. I was so congested I couldn't sleep. I go downstairs in the hostel at one in the morning and see a group of people that I've never met. I think about how to say it in portuguese but I am too tired, so I just say, "I am sick and congested and I need cold medication. Do you have any?"

Everyone at the bar stares at me blankly.

Me- "Okay, then. Ummm... eu tenho grippe. Um, eu needo medicine."

Random Person- "Oh, grippe! Com Nariz?"

Me- "Sim! Sim! Nariz!"

Everyone- "Oh Nariz!" They talk in Portuguese.

Everyone- "Nao tem."

Me- "Okay. Obrigada."

Strange guy- "Wait. You need hemede, yes?"

Me-"Sim, hemede."

Strange guy- "We are going to the bakery, and you can come with us and get some there."

I am suprised and happy about this, and wonder how the drogarias could be open at this hour. Well, never matter. What ensues next is me waiting to leave to the bakery while Nicola (Italian friend of mine) and this guy with curly hair both think they have what can help me.

"Aspirina!" Says one.

"Does that help congestion?" I ask. They talk and conclude that it doesn't. Then Nicola comes down with a bottle of some powder.

"Take this," He says. The others talk.

"This only works if you aren't sick yet," the strange guy tells me. Nicola gives the bottle to me anyways.

"Wait, wait, I can help you!" another guy says. He runs up to his room and brings back a pack of white circular pills. "Take one. It's for grippe."

"Tenho congestao. Will it help that?"

"Yes, it will help with your grippe. You will sleep through the night well." I stare at the mystery drug in my hand.

"Take it take it!" Some other strangers tell me. "It's nothing bad, I promise." And so I take it, hoping to god that it isn't something really creepy.

"Are you still coming with us?" The strange guy asks. I agree. We walk to this 24 hour "pharmacy" which consists of one man behind bulletproof glass and a cylinder with which we exchange drugs and money. I am so lucky that I am with people who speak portuguese, because not even they could understand the man behind the glass! I give him 10 reais and recieve a box of orange and yellow pills titled "Naldecon Noite". They tell me to take the yellow and the orange one at the same time, and none of us really know what the yellow one does vs the orange one.

I go to bed, and upon waking in the morning immediately go the convenience store and buy new drugs. I have no idea what actually works for congestion in this country, and I really really miss my old cold meds. However, no one in this country knows of Nyquil or sudafed.

Dear Diary, Entry 1

Dear Diary,

Today I found the gay part of town. Yay! Felix (the Canadian) had a bar in mind and we ended up at a gay bar instead. My gaydar has diminished since I left Austin. I see a man with spiked bands on his arms and I think, "Hmm, that's a strange fashion statement."

Oh, Diary, you'll be pleased to hear that I finally joined a gang. Max, Felix, Steinar and I are going to get AK 47s, squirt guns, and nuclear weapons (small ones) to search and destroy the whales in Norway that barge into peoples' houses. Those whales don't stand a chance now.

Did I tell you about my german friend Max? His full name is Maximillian Wilhelm Augosto Bach Jokowski... he won't tell me his full name because he's a loser and he knows this will be on the internet. But he has like 7 or 8 names. He doesn't even remember them all, and on his passport some of them are abbreviated because there isn't enough room. He's actually a cool guy even though I just called him a loser, just so you know. He likes eating desserts.

Hey Diary do you know about that Indiana Jones poster that has a skeleton head dressed up like Indie instead of Shia or Harrison Ford? Today two different people confirmed that he is a skeleton because he died while flipping through the channels on the television. So now we know.

Yana (Russian girl) is in love with acai. We are all afraid that she is addicted and is going to wake up at 3 in the morning and not be able to eat it and then murder us. I guess it doesn't make sense, but we all worry nonetheless. I will sleep with a squirt gun under the pillow just in case (plus, you never know about those whales).

I had melted chocolate for desert. While eating I learned that Max flew in an airplane over Rio and Ilha Grande today and didn't tell any of us. Silly Max!

Here's a conversation I had today that I found funny.

Me- "I want some alone time."

Steinar- "You live in a hostel. Are you sure that exists?"

Me- "Well you know I'm not sure anymore. But I will go looking for it nonetheless."

Max- "Oh well if you do find it, let us know. We'll come along!"

Isn't that funny, Diary?

I have three phrases I want to learn in portuguese this week. They are as follows.

"Can I pet your dog?"

"What is it's name?" (Cual e o nome dele/dela?)

"Oh, it's so cute!"

Those phrases would make me and the dogs very happy.

Well, that's all for now Diary!

Chiao!

Madi

Lapa!

The girls are very convincing. I go up to the balchony merely to watch the sunset before falling into a deep, long sleep after over 30 hours of consciousness. What actually happens is a three hour power nap followed by a whirlwhind of trying on other girls' clothes (my luggage hadn't made it to Rio yet) and trying on the girls' makeup while the British accents around me complain about their hair or help other Brits and Aussies get their makeup right.

Us girls put our Reais (the brazilian currency) in our bras, because in Lapa if you don't then they will get stolen. We catch a cab while laughing at one girl whose breasts get noticeably larger when she hides her money there.

Then we arrive at Lapa. I get out of a cab and I'm immediately swept into a huge crowd. Lapa is beautiful chaos. There is a huge street covered on both sides by street vendors, where you can find a caipirinha for as little as $R 1.50 (or 75 cents american), by far the cheapest I've seen in Rio. (A caipirinha is cachaca, which is a brazilian liquor similar to rum, sugar, and limes though I have seen it made with lemons and passionfruit as well). A hypnotic beat pulsates throughout the crowd, and as we walk closer I see a live band playing music that sounds tribal but better. We stand close to the band and realize that our hips love the music and we could not stop them if we tried.

We then go out to find a club. As we walk down the blocks I look up to towards the buildings. Such architecture I have never seen before. I have never been to Europe, but I feel like the apartments look old European/ghettofabulous mixed together. It's marvelous. We get to a club and Rhoda asks me, "Do you like bailefunk?" I tell her I have no idea what it is.

A few minutes later we are in the club and I am yelling to Rhoda, "I love bailefunk!" Apparently bailefunk has really dirty lyrics, but us foreigners couldn't care less, and apparently neither could the cariocas. It's got such a good beat and I am hooked instantly. I find myself dancing with reckless abandon with my new friends, never having felt more comfortable in my own skin.

That is, until a minute later when I am dancing with a carioca. About 15 seconds into our dance he starts kissing my neck (which as my girls back home all know is not okay, right girls?) and then asks, "Can I kiss you?" and of course I say no.

"Why not?"
"I don't know you!"
"But... why not? You are very beautiful."
"Because in my culture it is not appropriate and I am not used to it."
"Okay, well can I just dance with you?"
"Sure." We talk for a while before he starts trying to kiss me again.
"No!"
"But you are very beautiful."
"I'm sorry, but no."
"Just dance?" He asks. His friend pinches my butt for the fourth time.
"Tell your friend to stop pinching my butt and then we will talk."
He tells his friend off and we talk some more and he is suprisingly gentlemanly and then has to leave, and a minute later some other guy grabs me, wanting to kiss, or "mouth rape" as some of the volunteers called it. We all have to physically shove him away from me, and though it is annoying I realize that I am having a lot of fun. (Note to viewers, as far as I can tell this acceptable in Lapa or in nightclubs, no where else)

We go back to the main street with the tribal music and I realize that if you look a man directly in the eyes in Lapa, it tells him, "Come kiss me!" Even when I learn this and look at no one, guys still grab my arm. I pull away from them and they call after me, "Garota, porfavor! Namorada, garota! Voce e muito bonita!" And okay, let's admit it, I am still having a lot of fun.

We go into a club unlike any club I have ever seen. Here there is bailefunk and American music and it is basically this shabby dark room filled the brim with dancing people. "Mas Que Nada" with Sergio Mendes and the Black Eyes Peas comes on and this is where it hits me. I am in Rio de Janeiro, la cidade maravilhosa, dancing in a really awesome club at god knows what hour in the morning and nothing matters but everything is perfect at the same time.

Nirvana.

Eventually I get tired and go back my hostel at the early hour of 5 in the morning, two hours before the other girls, and the rest of Lapa for that matter.

I stay up and watch the sun rise over the bay.

It is the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen in my life.

Kisses and Customs

Matteo- "Have you kissed your first Brazilian yet?"

"No, not yet."

Matteo- "Well don't worry. You are a very beautiful girl and I am sure that soon you will kiss one."

"Oh, no, It's not like that! The men here are very forward and I have had many offers. Just in my culture, we do not kiss people at random. Even the kissing of cheeks as a greeting that they do here is very very strange to me."

Rodrigo (pronounced Hodge-hi-gu)- "Wait. You mean you don't kiss when greeting in the United States?"

"No, not at all!"

Rodrigo- "Wait, then what do you do? Do you at least kiss on the forehead?

"Only if you're really good friends, and that's pretty uncommon."

(Ridrigo kisses me on the forehead) "You never do that there with your friends? Here we kiss on the lips sometimes when greeting a friend!"

"Oh my!"

(Everyone laughs at my response)

Twenty minutes pass, much of it spent talking to Rodrigo and the others outside. Rodrigo gets up to go and then leans over to kiss my cheek. I am not expecting it and freak out and realize that I don't know whether or not to kiss his cheek or kiss the air beside his cheek but I think he kissed my cheek so I decide to kiss his cheek but I miss and kiss his ear.

Everyone laughs again, this time raucously.

Oh, my life.

My First day in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Yesterday was my first day in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. My flight was generally boring, but highlights include the incident with United giving me the wrong boarding pass, so when I went through security I was sent back and had to do it all over again. I flew from Denver to Chicago, from there to Sao Paulo, and from there to Rio. I was pretty calm and collected until I got to Chicago, where there in the terminal the announcer was speaking portuguese and the people around me were too, and the butterflies started. They were killed, however, by the extremely long and boring flight from Chicago to Sao Paulo. Once I got off the plane in Sao Paulo I was immediately whisked onto the plane for Rio, which luckily was a short trip.

The view from the sky of Rio was much different than I had expected. There is a huge mountain range around it that I didn't know existed! But it was when we landed that I was knocked off my feet by the city. There are grand cathedrals hidden amongst ruins, favelas (slums) all over the hillside and in each favela are many children flying kites. Graffitti covers many of the buildings, much of it very artistic and beautiful. Forests cover mountains which spring out of the city sporadically. The city is gigantic, and every neighborhood looks like it could be in a different town, with its own standard of living and style. Everything is new to me, everything, and I feel like I am in the most fascinating city in the entire world. Perhaps I am.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I haven't even left the airport yet! I wait half an hour for my luggage, which each bag getting more and more nervous until there are no bags left and it is obvious that my luggage is elsewhere. At this point I haven't eaten or slept in many many hours and I almost faint right on the spot, but remember a snickers bar in my backpack and wolf it down. It is now that I get my first taste of Brazilian hospitality.

His name is Raul (pronounced How-oo) and he works at the baggage center. He walks me through customs and makes me feel a little less dizzy, gives me his personal phone number and tells me to call him anytime I want something to do in Rio, and asks if he can copy my email address so he can contact me, then a kiss on each cheek and I am into the world.

Except I'm not. Because the cab driver doesn't speak English and insists that there is no hostel called Baron Garden in Gloria. Eventually I get the address and find a nice driver. We converse the entire way in broken spanish and portuguese. We understand each other surprisingly well and laugh more than half of the time we are together over our misunderstandings. We drive up a narrow cobblestone road that twists and turns up a steep hill, and we arrive at my destination.

I get to this "baron garden" and find merely a house with a foreboding feel to it. There are big dogs barking and growling on the other side of the fence and a lady comes out looking bewildered and annoyed. She speaks no English and the next few minutes are a confusing, complicated wreck of the three of us trying to figure out what is happening. Finally she realizes that I am to stay with her and takes me in. She speaks not a word of English, but she speaks slowly and clearly and I get the gist of what she is saying. The house is bigger than it looks from the outside, and it is gorgeous with high ceilings, an amazing garden, ornate restrooms, and a secluded swimming pool. I cut my thumb really really badly after looking through the house. The bleeding will not stop no matter what, and my caretaker sees. She cleans my wound and bandages it, and I like her a lot more.

After a few hours I am ready to go to sleep but decided to sit on the balchony first. There I meet another foreigner whom I immediately take a liking to. She is a volunteer in the favelas, and soon the other volunteers come back from work. They are all either Brits or Aussies and they are all delightful people. They are going out later in the night and are so excited that I am convinced to take a power nap, which I do, and then at midnight we set out for Lapa.

Lapa is amazing. Amazing. And I will talk about it in my next post.

Update on Homelessness

Update: my university set me up in a hostel for a month. Sometime in August I should get a host family.

Hobos Have More Fun

I'm super tired. I'm only posting tonight because I said I was going to post tonight and Nick won't let me not post. So, I post.

This week has been crazy. Yesterday I got an email from my host institution titled "Housing". I have received other emails of the sort, all saying things like "We have no idea who you're going to live with yet, but we're sending you this email anyway," but this one had to be the one, because I was leaving in exactly a week and they really couldn't put off telling me who my host family was any longer.

I read feverishly, my excitement growing with each sentence. This was the email! This was the one! I had spent weeks wondering what they were going to be like. Was I going to have any siblings, would they speak any English, what gift should I bring them from the United States when they welcome me into their home...

"I am writing to inform that you have not been placed in a home stay."

And so I find myself, one week from leaving to spend a year in a huge city in a foreign country (oh, and add in that I don't speak the language) homeless.

To be continued.