The World is Your Oyster

There are things to love about all places. Some just take longer to find than others. Brazil and I had a curious relationship. Maybe it was infatuation - it was easy to adore, with so many instantly applealing traits: sun, beaches, warm friendly people, dancing, parties...It's the immediate satisfaction sort of love - exciting, thrilling, new. Germany, I must say, has a different appeal. One might question my motivation for leaving Brazil to come to a country where the sky is permanently gray and the language sounds like an overexaggerated coughing fit. I came to visit loved ones, of course. Believe me, these people make it worth leaving Brazil. Regardless, Germany...the country where I'm scorned for asking rhetorical questions (I'm wasting tmie by doing that, I guess?) and where everything has a reason for being or else it's schtupid. Today I was told an American football is not a ball because it's not round, and balls are round. We're schtupid to call it a ball; it should be called an egg, like it is in German. I responded 'What about a ball without air, it's not round, is it still a ball?' Of COURSE it's schtill a ball, it's SUPPOSED to have air and be round. Don't ask rhetorical questions. (Silly Americans, we've been misnoming the football all this time! We should have just asked the Germans for their help.) I feel bad because I'm exaggerating a real conversation for dramatic effect (no, I'm just saying that to be nice, I'm hardly exaggerating at all), and I wouldn't want my beloved German friends to think I'm making fun of them. The foreigner's perspective on German culture has an enormous potential for humor, and that's what I'm trying to convey, hopefully not at the expense of any German individual, but at the expense of all the efficient, logical, emotionally-controlled people of Germany, as a whole.
We're currently in Hintertux, Austria for the week on a ski vacation. I decided devote my trip as a time in my life to 'develop alternative skills' (strategic interview language). Stuff you can't learn in school, you know what I mean. This week, it's my ski form, which is rapidly improving.

I've decided to take a two day side trip to see Vienna. It has been my dream to go there for many years (but I didn't realize it was my dream until yesterday when I realized it would be possible to go). I'll be there Saturday night staying with a friend of Ulrike's, a fellow neurologist. I can hardly WAIT to see it, I bet it's the most romantic city in the world.

I changed the view of my blog so it'd be wider. I'm undecided about it, any strong feelings?

During my short stay in New York, I had lunch with two friends from Penn: Robyn Bald and Rachel Silverman. It's good to catch up with old friends. I'm jealous they live in NYC, they're jealous of my travel opportunities. I consider us even. I bought a different journal. I needed one with thicker pages and no lines (who wants to be restricted to writing straight? My writing naturally curves and slants so I felt it needed to be liberated). My apoloigies, the information about a new journal may not keep all my readers at the edge of their seats, but I bet there's someone who appreciates my mentioning it.

I had two notable observations during my visit to New York. One, I look at the North American fruit with an air of South American elitism after 3 weeks of abundant Brazilian fruit. It'll be hard to readjust. Two, the annual elevator maintenance chart in Robyn's building dates back to 1983; someone has inspected it every year since that date with a four year hiatus between 1994 and 1999. Made me laugh.

I stocked up on peanut butter and American candy for my German family while I was in the city, and then stood on the packed E train during rush hour for 50 minutes, only to get to JFK so the security guard could violate my personal rights in making sure I wasn't trafficking anything forbidden to Germany. "How much peanut butter ARE you carrying, ma'am? Wait a minute, what's this, aren't you aware of the 15 lb. international Reeses limit?" Maybe they didn't ask me exactly that, but they may as well have. We boarded the plane on time, then sat patiently in our seats for 3.5 hours while the Delta maintenance crew tried to fix the plane. They decided it was unsafe to fly, so luckily they had a spare plane (a spare 767?! How is that possible? Think about it), and we took off for Frankfurt a mere 4 hours late. I didn't mind too much, I was just happy to be on an airplane that Delta airlines felt confident flying. Plus they make the seats in coach so comfortable, I though I was sitting on air! Poor Suse waited in Frankfurt to pick me up. She hardly noticed my plane was late - you know those Germans, so patient and laid back! Well, she might have noticed I was a little behind schedule. We cruised the happenin' Zoo area of Frankfurt and tried see some animals (they're German animals, totally exotic), but it was closed. I hold Delta Airlines accountable for my ruined German vacation. Lawsuit potential, anyone?

Suse and Andreas are working today, so I'm enjoying an afternoon of Internet access at the law office of Linten und Wieser, Rechtsanwälte. Tonight we leave for Hintertux Austria where we will ski for the next week with the rest of my beloved German friends, Ulrike, Markus, Annette, Peer, and many more. I'll post when I can!

By the way, I have decided to entend my trip by several weeks to spend some time in France and a few extra days with my brother. I will be returning to Seattle on Tuesday, May 30th.

Since I haven't had computer access for a while, I'm transcribing these entries from my journal. I'm typing on a German keyboard, so please excuse the mistakes.

22 March 2006.
"Good maw nin" - the first words spoken to me upon arriving in the US today. The bathroom attendant, who these words belong to, was saying "Good Morning" to a group of us at the bathroom sink, and everyone but myself uttered a friendly response before I understood the woman was speaking English. I'm so out of place in the South. But I like the friendliness.
I'm sitting in the Atlanta airport waiting for my flight to New York and I notice everyone wearing coats. I almost dread the reality I'll soon face - that after three weeks of being overheated in shorts and tank tops, I'll go back to feeling cold in my parka. Oh well, I love cold weather too, it feels like home.

I'm sad to leave Brazil; my time there revealed only a glimpse into Brazilian culture. In many ways I love it, in some I'm confused. For example, Rodrigo shared with Craig and me how the athletes in Brazil have respect for the games' referees, unlike the US where testosterone-driven athletes raise their tempers every time a call doesn't go their way. I considered Rodrigo's proud words as I watched a Brazilian fan throw a beer can at a police officer and revisited my earlier observation of a fan peeing on the stadium steps even though there was a bathroom 10 yards behind him. I'm not kidding, 30 feet away. So yes, the soccer players in Brazil won't get heated over a questionable call (very good, we can learn from this), but the fans in the cheap seats (on the lower level) get dripped on by half-time from run-off of beer and urine from the fans above. Hm...
Actually I loved going to Maracana for the Soccer game on Sunday. The crowd had the unified energy of fans in the nosebleed section at a Redsox/Yankees world series game. Time TEN. The fans cheer with the energy of WTO protestors, and with the same vigor and animosity, yet with rhythm and drums. And this is was a regular season game. Undoubtedly fights start among the crowds. We were in a lively area and then decided it would become unsafe and went to a place with more families (we were 2 guys, 2 girls, the guys would have stayed there but if a fight breaks out there are so many people and no where to run, hence you have to stay standing in your seat and protect yourself in the fight. The guys didn't think we needed to be doing that, thankfully). We watched the rest of the game in the family area, and even though there wasn't as much cheering, I was happy we left because Rodrigo's sister called not long after we'd changed seats to ask if we were ok - she had seen on TV that BIG fight had broken out in the section where we were. And yes, we were all ok thanks to Rodrigo's thinking ahead.

There are so many good things to write about but I know if I write too much, no one will read it. Wait, that's not true, my mom will. Love you mama!

• In a country where the concept of time seems to not exist (I'm convinced watches can't even tell time, they're worn for aesthetic purposes only), the bus system is amazing. There are so many buses that it was always easy to get around. I especially like that certain buses are designated only for students and they ride for free (or at least it looks that way; they didn't look like they were paying, but what do I know).
• The women have visible tan lines and it's cool. On some people the lines are so distinct that it looks as though they're wearing a white tank top underneath.
• I love that Rodrigo's dog is named "Mike." Pets with people names! So much better than the many Fifi's of France.
• One very important Porguguese phrase for me: mal prasada (sp?), which is how I like my meat (rare). The Brazilian Churrascarias are delicious, fabulous, out of this world.
• There are an immense amount of leaf cutter ants around the city. Those critters work hard! Costco should find a way to exploit them for cheap lifting labor. That was a very American thing to say, shame on me. In discussing the leaf cutter ants, Rodrigo joked he once parked his car on the street near a colony, and when he came back, the car had been moved 5 feet away! Rodrigo is very funny, I like his sense of humor.

Craig and I went to Teresopolis, the hightest city in the state of Rio de Janiero, last Wednesday through Friday. It is a decently-sized, somewhat dull city surrounded by a beautiful (Michael, pronounce it the way grandma used to: be-uuuu-tiful) National Park. We hiked some, enjoyed the lush vegetation and the bugs. Scratch that (pun intended), didn't enjoy the bugs.

On Friday we spent the afternoon at the Teresopolis home of the family of a friend from Seattle, Bea. The house belongs to Bea's grandmother, and surrounded by the national park, it is be-uuu-tiful as well. We swam in the pool and ate the $4 (I can't believe this German keyboard has a dollar sign) worth of fruit we'd bought at the local fruit market. $4 will buy a juicy watermelon, 3 perfect mangoes, and many bananas. Delicious juicy plentiful fruit, how I miss you. I loved our afternoon at that house, especially our watermelon fight. See more pictures here.

Bea's mom, Christina, invited us to her home for dinner when we returned to Niteroi. A delicious meal with good company: Bea's beautiful little sister, Marina, had invited two friends from school. We all practiced speaking English. I feel my English is progressing well. Christina and Marina are so warm and welcoming, I'm so happy to know them.

There are many pictures that would enhance your blog experience, but alas, I cannot show them to you at this time. I am patiently awaiting them to be put online by my Brazilian contact, because I was too lazy and impatient to do it myself. Soon, I promise.

These are on Craig's Flickr account. But I'm in some of them.
Pictures from the daycare at Morro do Cavalão.
Pictures of Churrascos.
Craig's blog: www.selfexploration.blogspot.com

On Monday morning we got up very early (7:45 am is very early when accostomed to hitting the sheets no earlier than 4 am) to go to the daycare at the favela near Rodrigo's house. Always the life of the party, Craig made balloons. "Marcel, make me one!" we'd hear again and again. The children were beautiful, as children always are. How is it all humans look the same when they're young? Although these kids live among streets contaminated with sewage, they run after a soccer ball with the same vivacity as my little cousin Patrick, who contrastingly is fortunate to have (and very thankful for) his very own set of bunk beds and extensive collection of toy cars. With my limbs awkwardly folded I sat in a chair the size of a toaster oven, and amidst the eager cries of the Brazilian kids pining for balloons swords and flowers, my mind wandered back to my life in Seattle two weeks prior. At that time I had moved a car-full of my own stuff from a big house full of stuff to another big house full of stuff into a room already full of my own stuff. Twenty houses of families living in the slums where I sat in the miniscule chair would fit into the house in which I grew up. Back in Seattle I feel sorry for people who don't have Tivo (99 out of 100 Americans still watch commercials), and two weeks later I'm surrounded by children who have never worn shoes on their feet. It was shameful and humbling moment.

A lot has changed for me in the past few months. You could say I've had one of those changes in life that people call "perspective." I do have a new perspective, a stronger and more optimistic one than ever before. I realized in the past week that perspective can't be handed down through wise words or be derived from observing others around you. Your own perspective comes not only from living the life you're given, but enduring something that challenges what you know and trust. This is how I have become more sure of my life and who I am than ever before. That's only part of what I've realized about perspective. I can watch the small Brazilian boy scan the dirt play field for anything round to kick because no one can afford a ball to give him, I can feel sorry for him. Watching him and realizing the world can be a tough place doesn't mean I know how this boy lives and feels. As sad as I feel to consider his way of life, it's good for me. In the least I realize how everyone has his own perspective. Now knowing a little bit about life, a little bit about how MY perspective can change and how powerful its control is, I respect perspective a lot more. As I encounter different cultures I must keep this in mind. In fact, I'm beginning to see how understanding perspective gives incredible insight into humanity.

Things I like about Brazil:

• Saaaaamba! I don't speak much Portuguese, and Brazilians are kind to speak to be in English when they can, yet I've never communicated better here than when dancing with the girls. It seems every Brazlilian woman knows how to dance, and WELL. I can't dance like they do, not nearly, but they seem to love it when I try. And I love it too. Samba is rediculously fast, I can't even see what they're doing with their feet. But pretending works ok, just move to the music.
• The cereal aisle at the supermarket has one kind of cereal: Frosted Flakes. An entire aisle of Frosted flakes. I wish I'd had my camera when I saw this. I'll try to get a picture before I leave.
• Juice. Suco. I've said it before, but my oh my, it's soooo good.
• Churrasco: Two nights in a row we had friends over for this Brazilian type of barbeque. The grill is going all night long - filet, sausage, garlic bread, goat cheese with oregano are made and served hot off the grill, everyone munching for hours a bite or two at a time. Music plays, some people dance, many talk, a select few may be kissing in the middle of the party or swimming in the pool. I think I'll have to resign to the fact that morning people like myself don't have the inherent late night energy of young Brazlians - both parties went past 4 am.

Yesterday we hiked to the top of a hill at Itacoatiara in the blazing sun, then waited for the sunset. Well worth the wait as you can see from the picture above. The past few days we have spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon lounging around Mirante de São Francisco, one of the houses that Craig's friend Steve Waters rents for vacationers. If you're interested in coming to Rio, stay at one of his houses, I've seen two of the four and not only are they breathtaking, they're a fabulous deal. Don't you want to live a life like this photograph? Check out his website at www.rioholiday.com and add Rio to your list of places to visit. But learn some Portuguese, it's not just the sun and the views that make this place great, it's the culture.

Before Brazil, I had never traveled to a place where I stand out as a foreigner. I think of Michael walking the streets of Taipei every day and how he must stand out from (and stand above) the locals. I wonder how long it took him to get used to that. Nearly everyone I encounter in Brazil comments on my light skin, blue eyes, or blond hair. It has become a running joke among Rodrigo and Craig (i.e. "Let's have Katie walk in front of us at night because her skin will light the way"). Rodrigo's mom Clarice says think I look like Barbie. Other friends at a barbeque said I look like Lady Diana and henceforth dubbed me Lady Katherine. I was fumbling with my contact lens and someone said "I knew it, contacts! Your eyes aren't really blue!" It's funny to be categorized with certain people, like Diana and Barbie, because it shows what stands out to Brazilians. I KNOW that in Germany, I'll fit right in, and I'll probably miss all the attention.

Yesterday was International Women's Day, the international holiday celebrated only in Brazil. Have any of you Americans heard of this day? Maybe in the US they're politically correct enough to call it Appreciate your Secretary Day?

Like the ancient Romans, the Brazilians find any reason to have a party. Thus, in celebration of International Women's Day, a band played and crowds gathered on the beach below the house where we're staying. Steve, the house's owner, had a group of friends over for the occasion. We drank, played ping pong, attempted the strange and warped Brazilian version of pool, talked, danced samba, and of course, thanks to Craig, were entertained with balloon animals. A highlight, in my opinion, was the swan that he floated in the pool. Unfortunately I didn't take a picture which in my now-sober state I regret not having done. But I don't worry as I'm sure there will be many balloon swans in my future.

I was chatting with Livia (and please keep in mind that most of the conversations I have with Brazilians are a choppy mixture of broken English and hand gestures), who, lucky for me, speaks English and French very well. She and I were talking about her experience in Paris, how she had studied there for several months last year. I asked her how she liked it, thinking of course she liked it, it's France, my motherland, my true love, wine, fromage, baguettes... To my surprise, Livia's face fell as she said she hadn't had a positive experience there. She explained as follows: "I didn't like the French way of life, it was too fast-paced. The French live to work." I was astounded. How much do you now know about the Brazilian way of life if Brazilians think the FRENCH live to work? I later told Craig what Livia had said and with a laugh he simply replied, "I love Brazil." So do I, so do I.

Click here to see the first set of photos from Rio.

This is my first ever blog. To all of those to which I have proclaimed I'd never start a blog, this is my shameful disclaimer that you were right, I gave in. Having been in Brazil for a week and experiencing many delightful life moments, I feel compelled to share them on a worldly level. Simple as that.

Memories of my first seven days have been dissolved into a whirlwind of samba music, sun, and the nasal and breathy sounds that make themselves into the Portuguese language. I have learned a few necessary words: oi, por favor, pão de queijo, obrigada. Translation: Hi, please cheese bread, thank you. It's all I really need for a complete vacation. Craig's Portuguese is very strong and I like to hear him talk. I have been studying his intro to Portuguese text book and try to follow conversations, but it doesn't prevent Craig from making fun of me without my knowing. Perhaps by my third week here I will catch on.

We stayed with Craig's friend Rodrigo and his family for 3 days last week. His mother Clarice is the Portuguese equivalent of an Italian grandmother - she cooks a LOT and finds pleasure in watching her guests eat, and eat, and eat. Yet instead of tomatos and pasta, she makes (among other things) rice, beans, meat, fried bananas with cinnamon and sugar, and juice. She made mango juice from...get this...actual mangoes! In fact, juice is very popular here and around town are juice stands scattered nearly as frequently as Starbucks in Seattle. Ones I've tried and liked: abacaxi (pineapple), laranja com acerola (orange with acerola, a fruit we don't have in the US), açaí (same story, don't have this fruit).

Saturday night Craig, Rodrigo, another friend Stella, and I went to the Parade of Champions - the 6 best samba schools who competed during Carnaval once again perform for an all night party for the Cariocans (people from Rio). The number 6 school plays first, drumming to and singing the same song for over an hour. Elaborate floats with dancers parade through the huge crowd. Each school played for at least an hour, some an hour and a half, so we were danced from 9 pm until 5 am. As the night goes on, the better schools come out, and the floats become more and more elaborate and lavish. Several dancers after performing come to the stands to watch the rest of the parade, and seeing the costumes up close we realize how much tedious and painstaking work is involved in making the costumes and floats. Thousands of ensembles are hand-sewn and decorated with beads, feathers, sequins, glitter, anything to catch the eye. As a concequence the show is both magnificent and astounding, especially to the eye of a foreigner. But the visual effect is only part of the experience, the music plays non-stop, the crowd dances and sings with the energy Americans would have only if Nordstrom had a half-price close out sale.

In Brazil, life moves both slower and faster than in the US. Here, life slows down during lunch to spend hours talking with family, and to meet friends at the beach not to read, swim, or tan (although it's a nice by-product) but to visit and catch up with friends. I haven't worn a watch here because there's no reason to know what time it is. The day moves as fast or slow as you make it, it doesn't depend on the time of day. On the other hand, Brazilian life has an energy that I haven't felt elsewhere, maybe it's the optimism that you sense when you're surrounded by those who prefer to live "the good life" over making money. A strange and unfamiliar concept for many Americans. This Brazilian energy is spent laughing and dancing (and boy do they dance!) . It's great to be absorbed in it for a while. Certainly I'm finding some things I want to bring back with me.