Some stuff (Brazilian stuff)

In addition to hearing "gringa" and "Americana" everywhere I go, now I have been hearing "oh your country is falling apart." Most people seem to recommend that I just stay in Brazil. And the way the US is looking right now I can't say that it seems like a bad idea. Though I must say watching this from the outside is very interesting. It has renewed interest down here in the election. So people are either just shouting at me because I'm white, because they want to tell me my country is going down the toilet, or because they want to tell me that I better vote for Obama.

Another thing - I am not sure I will ever get used to the fact that milk apparently doesn't have to be refrigerated before opening. It weirds me out that there is a milk aisle in the store and the milk just sits there. It has to be refrigerated after opening (sometimes) but according to the package it is drinkable SIX months after it is manufactured. There is something wrong with that, I'm pretty sure cows don't come with preservatives. Or maybe Brazilian cows do.

So if anyone wants to flee a failing economy, come visit. We can drink "milk."

The weekend

Well I spent the weekend at a settlement of MST (The Braziian LandlessWorkers Movement.) It was incredible and fascinating and will take me forever to write about, but for now there is this. It was absolutely amazing to walk around with are feet and not have to worry about stepping on any needles or trash. I was also great to go the whole weekend withour being referred to as a gringa once and just being welcomed into the community from the get-go.

Also there is this - in the midst of some of the poorest places I have ever been education is held up as something of utmost importance. A school is always the first thing built whether it is a temporary encampment or a more permanent one. And the kids learn about the movement itself in addition to the things that the rest of Brazilian kid learn. It makes for some politically and socially aware youngsters.

Oh also- I watched a kitten being born in the middle of the road (to a cat that looked like a kitten itself.) A little kitty trotted up to me and I just happened to notice she was having a little trouble. I got her to lay down and she proceeded to give birth to the last of her kittens...and then run off. She was scared of the samba party taking place about ten meters away and I was scared she wouldn't come back. And God knows I would probably end up carrying a cat around Brazil with me for two and a half months. Luckily we talked to the people who were descending on the kitten, got them to back off enough to let the cat run and grab the kitten and flee. I am pretty sure my brazilian mae and my mom are in agreement on the no cat thing so this could have potentially made me homeless in two countries. Whew.

Candomblé

This is ridiculously long and for that I apologize. (If you don't intend to read it just read the last paragraph. It is an essential addition to every person's knowledge.) And it happened on Wednesday.

Candomblé day! (Or if you are my mae, evil spirit day.) We spent all day at the Candomblé terreiro about an hour out of the center of the city (still in the city but in a poor outlying section) just experiencing it. I took a ton of pictures but you aren’t allowed to post them online because of the sanctity of the rituals involved.

My day started as I was rushing out the door (late to the bus after the biggest breakfast yet) and my mae suddenly remembered today was Candomblé day. She called out to me, making me stop and wait as she located the holy oil. I let her bless me – touching my head, neck, hands and feet with the oil. (I was a little scared that if I didn’t she wouldn’t let me back in the house.) This seemed to calm her nerves a little and she finally let me go.

Arriving at the Candomblé terriero quite honestly didn’t look like anything special from the outside. It was one property on a street lined with houses and apartments in various states of completion and repair. However, once we walked across the property line, we were showered with rice by women in full white dresses. We walked through into the shrine area as they continued to shower us with rice.

The shrine was a room that was maybe thirty by forty feet. It was decorated with small white strips of paper hanging in rows from the ceiling. Also coming from the ceiling were various dried grasses, small gourds and a couple small baskets. The walls were a true display of the Candomblé-Catholic syncretism. Saint George was closest to me, on the wall at the back of the shrine. Near him was the depiction of an Orixá (the gods of Candomblé) shooting a bow and arrow. Various other saints and Orixás adorned the room as well. The room was arranged so that there was an inner square and an outer one, separated by a wall that was about three feet high. The inner square was the sanctuary, where rituals actually take place, while the outer was where people could come to be present at the ceremonies but not actually directly involved in the rituals. The chairs we sat in were arranged, backs to the small inner wall, facing the center of the square. At the front was a row of six high backed wooden chairs with their backs to a small platform filled with drums. (Also important…two framed posters on the wall “Os Orixás nos protegem…e eu uso camisinha.” In English being “The Orixás protect us…and I use a condom.” Just a friendly Candomblé themed public health message from the State of Bahia.)

We waited in the chairs and two at a time were called out of the sanctuary to be cleansed. We were each given a bucket filled with tea and led to a shower stall. We each took a full shower (just water, no soap) and then poured the tea over our bodies. We toweled off and then put on the all white outfit we had all brought for the occasion. We stepped outside the stall and had crosses drawn on us with a chalky powder. One cross on each arm, leg, and both the front and back of the neck. This is seen as a symbol of protection and a means of closing your body off from bad outside influences. (It was impossible for me not to note the incredible similarities between the Candomblé cleaning rituals and the ritual my mae performed in the morning to ensure my safety. They each were intended to protect me against evil outside forces that might cause me to lose my way (though if both rituals happened within a couple of hours of one another I am not sure either group can really count its ritual as a success.) I think my mae would be horrified to find this out and, hoping to keep living in her house, I decided not to be the one to mention it to her.)

We moved back inside to discuss the history of Candomblé and the significance of it to afro-Brazilians today. It really is an important part of the community and in many cases people come to events because they know they will be able to get food there. In economically depressed areas that is sometimes all it takes. The terreiros know and understand the need for that service and don’t seem at all put off by the appearance of people who really just need to eat. We were all given Orixás by the mae of the terreiro – the Orixá that she determined (by our picture and some knowledge about us) to be closest to us. I am Oxum, the goddess of rivers and lakes.

After the discussion and some incense release we ate! Always a favorite activity for me, this time was no different. Lots of fruit. And LOTS of Bahian food which equals a lot of dende (OIL) and a lot of fried. Bean paste, okra, shrimp paste, and chicken. But it was all (ok not all…I’m not a big fan of shrimpy paste) really good. After eating we took a tour of the terreiro which is really pretty small and mostly consists of shrines to various Orixá, a kitchen, a couple of living spaces and the main sanctuary area.

When we returned we were a part of a traditional Candomblé ritual. The mae of the terreiro called the spiritual healer to enter her body. She took on the characteristics of a man, changed clothes and smoked a cigar (apparently she only does this while in a trance and otherwise is very health conscious.) She danced around the circle a bit, waving her arms and legs at everyone and bowing down before certain people. She then started a samba circle, pulling each of us into the middle in turn to samba with her for a bit and then back out. She continued to dance around a while longer (actually it seemed incredibly long since we were standing in a smoke filled sauna-like room) at times waving leaves as well as her cigar around. Regardless of your personal feelings regarding Candomblé, the power of the rituals for the practicing believers was evidenced to me by the reaction of one elderly man. He was sitting in one of the chairs of honor (so short his legs didn’t touch the floor) and must have been about seventy years old. He was gazing at the mae as she became inhabited by the spirit and began to sob when she welcomed him individually.

She greeted each of us, hugging us, kissing our cheeks and touching each shoulder with her spear as she moved around the circle, accepting the gifts the group had brought (a bow with arrows, a cigar cutter and a rubber snake.) She did more dancing and then moved outside, having all of us follow one at a time for a cleansing ritual. Outside we removed our shoes and stood on a bed of leaves in front of her. She had leaves in each hand and shook them over us, running the bunches of leaves from our head to our toes. She then grabbed our arms and shook them out, then hugged us and called the next person over. It was actually a very energizing experience. By the end we had all collected in a group in the courtyard and one of her attendants waved incense over us. She then came holding a dove by the feet which she waved over each of us as it flapped its wings. (It was then set free.) She bade us farewell and dismissed us, but remained in character. They say you have no control over how long the spirits stay in you and that sometimes they remain for days.

I realize how amazing it was to have the chance to visit this terreiro. Most don’t want foreign visitors (and those that do often just do it as a big tourist attraction without actually practicing it themselves.) Our program director has cultivated some amazing relationships with people all over the area and we are really fortunate.

Also, the way the community treats its disabled is quite amazing. There was a man involved in the rituals who was both physically and mentally disabled. He served us, participated in all the rituals and in fact held a place of honor due to his longevity as part of the group. This is highly unusual in Brazilian society as the disabled people I have seen are usually with one attendant but otherwise completely disintegrated from the flow of daily life.

We left in the mid-afternoon, ironically driving directly by my Brazilian mom’s 5000 seat mega church on the way back. (When I got home she took a white rose and touched it to my arms, head and shoulders – once again exceedingly similar to Candomblé rituals.)

One final thought to leave you with. Waiting for the bus to go home I was lucky enough to see a sight I never even knew existed. A dead chicken carrying case! That is right, a cloth contraption with holes for the feet and neck and handles that close together around the back like a tote bag. A perfect way to carry your newly dead chicken home! It even comes with a cover for the head region to spare your fellow bus riders the unfortunate sight of a headless bird. I will be placing a bulk order once I figure out where such an ingenious device came from and can take your order if you so desire. This particular one was in blue but I think it may be made in a variety of colors to complement the everyday attire.

Pictures

Pictures are hard to load on here for some reason. So if you are curious...check this out.

http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2035376&l=d0a8e&id=17704089

More Portuguese tests, please

This whole thing happened TUESDAY...ages ago, I know but the internet access has been worse than shaky. So here goes.

Since we had a big ole Portuguese test yesterday morning, we had the afternoon free to do as we pleased. By the end of the day I had forgotten that I had even taken a test.

After class I walked around by campus with a couple a friends, dawdling and meandering our way down the hill toward the ocean. It was a good hour or so walk once we got going (we took the circuitous route) that was made even better by various fruits and pastries purchased en route. The weather was trying to decide whether to be nice or cloudy all afternoon, but by the time we hit the beach the sun had won out. We did lots of beachy things (swimming, being lazy, fending off vendors) and hustled over to the lighthouse on the point just in time to have missed the sunset. Oh well, it was still a gorgeous evening.

I hopped a bus with my friend Allison and had dinner at her house (a welcome and pleasant change – SEAFOOD!), performed a quick change operation and hit the road to salsa.
If you have never been to a live salsa concert, go. Now. I went into the “historic district” of Salvador – Pelorinho – last night with a couple of friends to see a salsa show. Tuesday night is bigger than the weekend is in Pelorinho, but definitely the kind of big where you go without a bag of any kind and with your phone and money holstered in various places on your person. We got into Pelorinho at around eight and could hear the music from at least four blocks away. The salsa band plays at the bottom of a series of fifty or so steps. People dance all the way up the steps and spill out through the gates into the street. The whole affair is outdoors (it would be suffocating anywhere else) and incredibly exciting. We danced our way up the steps and found a little space high up. The music had a fantastic beat and I could not stop dancing, plus there were quite a few guys more than willing to humor me on the dancing front. We stayed for a couple hours and would have loved to stay longer but the catching a bus back part had to be done. Pelorinho is not somewhere you want to be stuck at night with only a taxi as an option. We got the last bus out and made it home easily

Kites, among other things

I have a Portuguese test tomorrow. Which is obviously why I am writing this right now.

I sometimes run to Jesus (the statue which sits on a hill overlooking two separate gorgeous beaches.) Jesus is a popular destination for locals, an excellent vantage point for picture taking tourists, and most importantly the perfect place to fly a kite. When I run I guess I look at least kind of Brazilian if I keep my mouth shut and try to look as tan as I can, so the vendors around Jesus don't bother with me and I can perch on the ledge over the ocean and just observe. Soccer games, surfers, fishermen, tourists all doing their thing way down on the beach below. And above me in the sky - kites!

Every time I have been to Jesus there have been at least a handful of people kite fighting (readkiterunnerreadkiterunnerreadkiterunner.) All of the kite fighters are male - a mixture of boys and men and they all have their skill down to an art. They usually just fly their kites way up in the sky so that all you can see is a speck of color. Then one will challenge another and they will bring the kites in closer so they can fight. They reel in the kites as they start swooping and diving at each other. Each will toy with the other, while issuing a constant stream of portuguese challenges and whoops. They dive in very close, trying to use the string of their kite to cut the string of their opponent's kite (or the kite itself.) The battles can last a while usually with many close calls. When one kite is cut free the victor taunts and cheers while issuing challenges to anyone who can hear. The free kite usually ends up floating back down toward the sand and its owner will sprint down the hill hoping to catch it before anyone else (or the ocean) does.

All the kites I have seen are bright - lime green, pink, red, orange and look gorgeous against the bright blue sky. I usually get pretty carried away watching them and lose track of time completely. It is hard to pick yourself back up and run home when you are lying on a ledge looking straight up in the sky at two little kites fighting above the ocean. Last time I ran there my mae thought I had been running the whole time I was gone - which was apparently three hours - and she though I was absolutely insane. Dinner was bigger than usual that night.

Sometimes I walk a ways home before catching a bus when it starts to get pretty dark. Yesterday I guess I chose to wait for the bus right next to the school for the deaf. It was certainly a fascinating experience. I was sitting under a crowded bus shelter with a group of six kindergarteners who were all deaf. They were all playing and frantically signing to one another. They would "yell" in sign language and motion to everyone else, but it certainly seemed like a struggle to be heard in that crowd. It is hard enough to keep a kindergartner's attention without them having to watch your hands every second, and it certainly seemed that they were all signing at once. From what I could tell no one was really looking at each others hands, they were all watching traffic or playing while signing. The rest of the people waiting for the bus seemed pretty used to the scene and all watched with an "isn't that sweet" look on their face, while making sure to pull the kids back when they got too close to the street.

We did a neighborhood mapping project over this weekend to figure out a little more about where we live just based on visual clues. I was surprised at how much I had missed in my time here just walking through the neighborhood. The differences between the apartments along the beach and those a block away (mine) were rather surprising when I looked closely. Those by the beach each have their own landscaped garden, each apartment has a balcony, and each unit is air conditioned. They also look no more than ten years old. The sidewalks near these are immaculately maintained and free of any debris. A block away all the apartments are at least fifty years old and showing signs of age. The sidewalks are also missing large portions of concrete and usually have a good deal of trash strewn around. They are certainly still comfortable and safe but the difference that crossing the street makes was very interesting to me.

Also while touring my neighborhood I stumbled across a neighborhood AIDS prevention festival. Music, food, dancing and capoeira were all going on in the name of AIDS. People were having a great time and watching some pretty stella capoeira (fighting/dance/game.) I took pictures of it (and other things) and tried to load them but have a crappy connection so nothing has happened yet...we'll see. For all you know I could be sitting in a hotel room in Las Vegas telling you all stories of things that I stole from someone else's blog.

Oh and by the way for all those interested (Brendan) the coffee - and it IS coffee, not espresso - is brewed so incredibly strongly that people dring about an ounce at a time. Literally a cup of coffee smaller than an average shot of espresso. It is called cafezinho and the flavor is pretty good but the strength of it just about kills me. HOWEVER there are people who sell the coffee EVERYWHERE. All these men walk around with little carts of coffee and cigarettes (they design the carts so that they look like various types of cars and trucks, steering wheels and all!) selling it all day long.

Must go study because I'm pretty sure Spanish verb conjugations aren't going to cut it for a test.

Portuguese

...is hard.
It is close enough to Spanish that I can speak enough to get by, but that is also what makes actually learning it really hard. The verb conjugations are similar but not the same which means a lot of arrrgg during class/homework time.

HOWEVER I think it is good for me (or at least that is what I am curently trying to tell myself.) Spanish has always come very easily and I don't remember having to figure it out piece by piece. So maybe my brain will grow or something. As long as Portuguese resides in its own section of my brain everything will be grand. If it tries to take over the Spanish section there could be trouble (with majoring and all that important stuff.)

Lots of stuff

Try this for a cultural experience - transexual AIDS convention. Our class voted and decided to go to the convention instead of class on Wednesday. It was certainly interesting - even though I probably understood about half of the actual speaking part. It was at a local hotel along the beach. You went in and upstairs to this long room and suddenly all the women were REALLY tall. There was a panel of speakers at one end and about twenty or so rows of chairs. We sat down quickly (as if that would help us to blend in.) Some women came up to us and introduced themselves and said we clearly were real women so why were we there? First of all, that is not a sentence that I really ever expected to hear (and in Portuguese no less) so I thought it was pretty hilarious. But the women were really nice and really excited to see us there to learn about their culture and the stigma and health problems associated with it. The presentations were interesting enough but I was really more interested in what was going on around me. Some of the women in front of us turned around to talk to us during the presentation and thanked us for coming. One then took the bracelet off of her wrist and put it on mine as a token of appreciation. Another woman pulled a bunch of pins commemorating the fight against AIDS and handed them out to all of us. Instead of feeling like an outsider I felt like an honored guest. We then were invited to attend a luch catered to the paticipants. In line for the buffet I can honestly say I have never felt so short in my entire life. These women certainly dress and act the part of women but they can't change their height and the fact that their hands and feet are quite simply huge compared to mine. So there we were, a group of eight or so smallish girls, standing in between two groups of women who were at least six feet tall. I felt like a midget.

On a completely different note...the music at the Academia where I work out cracks me up on a daily basis. On an average day the ATeens, Bon Jovi, U2, Britney Spears, Bob Marley and techno all play. And not in any particular order either. Apparently Brazilian music is not deemed worthy for working out, except for when boxing or capoeira class is in session.

As of today I am finally legal to stay in the country. After six hours in transit and then at the federal police (in which time I did absolutely nothing except smile and nod and verify that I in fact am Elizabeth) they are taking care of the confusion over my visa. Which is good because I like it here. And even though I have been missing home a little more as of late, I haven't been missing it enough to want to get deported.

Oh and apparently spring is coming! Woo hoo because winter here is SO cold I can't stand it. Parkas and boots all the time.

And I am getting a little sick of Brazilian men. Yes, I am white. Yes, I am American. No, I don't want your number and you aren't getting mine. And NO we are not getting married/going to the US together/going out tonight. Also, I am pretty sure God himself did NOT tell you we were destined to be together. If it turns out otherwise, I'll apologize to him myself.

The informal market

I think maybe I will really have melded into Brazilian culture when I am comfortable buying underwear from a street vendor. I haven't been able to bring myself to do it yet but it is EVERYWHERE. It is usually men selling it too. A big pile of all sorts of underwear in a variety of colors just heaped onto a table on a street corner or down an alley. And of course the underwear man is usually next to the ice cream man who is next to the man selling homemade TV antennas who is next to the man selling little cups of coffee and cigarettes, next to the guys selling the fish they just caught, next to the man selling drain strainers. A whole table full of drain strainers. It makes me wonder how the heck people get into their branch of the market. Do they wake up one day and decide they will start selling drain strainers?

Apparently the world knows that America is fat. The main trainer, Igor, even told me this morning that he was really surprised when he found out I was American because he didn't think many Americans worked out.

My mae found out this morning that we are going to Candomble (an African descended cultural/spiritual experience) to see what it is like. She reacted rather strongly to say the least. I ate breakfast this morning listening to a diatribe against Candomble as force of evil. She said that it is not a cultural experience and not worthwhile. She understands that it is part of the program and I will be going no matter what she says but she is seriously concerned about me bringing evil spirits into the house. She is certainly deeply set in her beliefs and may seem like kind of a hard woman to live with on that front, but I am actually enjoying the experience a lot. She is a very nice woman and kind of lonely since her kids are moved out (mostly) and doesn't mind cooking extra for me.

Most importantly, her nephew is awesome. He has been showing me around our area -helping me join the gym, taking me to his favorite beaches and introducing me to lots of cool friends. They all love trying out the phrases from English class - they all seem to know "the book is on the table" - and teaching me bad words in portuguese. Apparently it is absolutely hilarious to watch me say bad words. We also watched lilo and stitch last night in portuguese. I actually understood a fair deal and it was pretty funny!

Spent TONS of the weekend at the beach. Actually a variety of beaches to be exact. I walked up and down the coast for a few miles each day and hit up the touristy ones, the soccery ones, and then had my cousin show me the secret ones. It was really fun. There are some great places where you can actually get in and swim for a long ways in relative calm. And then the huge waves which are fun to hang out around and watch the local surfers do their thing. Basically there is a beach for everyone, including me.

Culture shock

In the time I have been here I have never had more of a culture shock then I did a couple of nights ago - in a church. I neglected to mention the extent to which my mom here is involved with church. First of all it is an absolutely huge evangelical christian church. I would guess it would hold about three thousand (we were there on a Monday night and it still had about two thousand.) We went to church hungry (which I figured out later was on purpose as a sacrifice) but that made it even more difficult for me to concentrate. The whole service was incredibly loud - the preacher constantly yelling things into a microphone of which I could understand little - and performed standing up the whole time. For THREE hours. Needless to say I was exhausted from my attempts to stay standing and to understand what I could of the service. The experience for me was the opposite of what I would deem a religious experience for me personally - there was no time of quiet or reflection and prayer was supposed to be shouted into the air (something I am not exactly comfortable doing.) Also there seemed to be a big emphasis on the material wealth that God can bring to the very faithful. There were testimonials about people who went from hard times to wealth. They stood in front of the congregation telling how many cars and house they now owned. In addition, during the offering the emphasis seemed to be on how much you could give - and in a very public manner. People were implored to stand up and go to the front if they could give 100 reais, then fifty, then twenty and on down into the smaller denominations. It seemed to me at least to be a very uncomfortable way of giving in church especially given the huge variation in wealth among the people present. My mom gave what she could but it certainly was with the masses, not the handful of people able to give a lot. It seemed very odd to me I guess because the act of tithing for church or God seems to me a very private one - about being able to give what you can and not feel ashamed at that amount. Oh and the fact that all of the people in power there were men - women helpers were dressed like stewardesses did not sit too well with me either. So that was an experience to be sure. I am glad my mae has something she enjoys so much but I am completely positive that it is not for me. Unfortunately in my poor portuguese somehow she got the message that I liked it. She goes every single night so until I learn how to say "your faith tradition does not touch me spiritually" (in Portuguese) I will be figuring out some real good excuses. A lot. And ESPECIALLY Sundays because if I heard correctly she goes for thirteen hours on Sundays. Which, needless to say, is not exactly the way I want to spend my Sundays. Especially with a beach two blocks away.

In terms of traffic I am surprised there are so few accidents since everyone seems to travel about two feet from the bumper in front of them - no matter the road or weather. But everyone avoids the busses which dominate the streets and tend to honk more than they do stop for anyone. My mae did make sure to detail the craziness of traffic (every morning for three days) so that I look both ways. Because red lights don't necessarily mean anything.

On a different note I spent all day after class yesterday at the beach! The ocean is delightful and warm. The only problem comes avoiding the men trying to sell cooked shrimp that they have been carting around in the sun all day. (I'm not really sure how to say food poisoning in Portuguese.)

My cousin helped me join a gym last night! He has been going there for a really long time and knows everyone. It is a really cool little gym hidden away in a neighborhood about a block from my apartment. Everyone knows him and were really excited that he brought a gringa to the gym. They were all trying the few English phrases that they know on me and having a blast doing it. The main trainer's name is Igor (which I find hilarious) and he is super pumped to try to learn what the heck lacrosse is and teach me weight lifting tricks. Between that and running along the road by the beach I think I will enjoy working out as much as possible in the intese humidity.

Mi familia

After a lot of unnecessary worry, I met up with my family yesterday afternoon. I live with a mom and her 29 year old son (who I think is in a band) but her niece and nephew (about my ages) live across the hall in the apartment complex. The nephew is trying to learn english and teaching me portuguese at the same time - mostly bad words thus far - which will most likely be a very helpful situation.

The first thing we did after dinner was GoogleEarth my house in Eugene. They seemed to think I lived in the forest because of the amount of trees near my house. Trees are in short supply here (google earth it!) Obedelia, her nephew and I then proceeded to have very halting, slightly awkward but hilarious conversations about education, the US and whatever else I could understand (not a lot.) Of course I have temporarily forgotten his name but her nephew is quite an ambitious kid. He is 23 and is studying chemistry, design and occasionally English, going to school from 7 am to 10 pm (including working out and bus rides.) Makes us Americans seem like a bunch of slackers.

My family lives pretty far from the center of town and a mile from the nearest other student in the program however only about two blocks from gorgeous beaches! Miles and miles of white sand and warm water frequented only by locals as far as I could tell. And though I stand out it isnt in the same way as I did in Feria de San Joaquim. The bus stop is about a block from home and a constant center of activity.

My mai here is big on the starches - REALLY. Dinner last night was bread, potatoes, yams, cheese, butter, chocolate milk and cookies. And when I tried to get by with a little bit of butter on my bread and yams my mai let me know that that was not the correct way to do it - showing me by slathering butter all over all of my food. And then comes breakfast. Almost the same as dinner except she made five rolls with cheese (all for me) and fried eggs. Wow. My stomach might be a little confused after all the fruit I have devoured since I got here. My plan is to cram in vegetables at lunch. Every day.

Oh and when I attempted to register with the federal police today (a must for visitors) I discovered that the Brazilian embassy in San Fran messed up my visa. So I get to visit the consulate here to get that all figured out. I am sure it will all work out (or else you will be seeing me back in the states a little too soon.)

I have a few pictures but it is hard to get them online here so who knows when I can let everyone see my temporary home. But when I can, you will see it for sure.

To the market

Today was the dropoff. We were sent away in groups of four to different areas of the city to explore and record what we saw. My group got sent far away to the Feria de San Joaquim, an all black market on the far side of the city. We had absolutely no idea what it was until we got inside - from the outside it looked like a rundown nondescript building. But wow when we got in there it was a complete sensory overload. First off we were literally the ONLY gringas in the entire market. There was no hiding or being discrete about it, wherever we went everyone was watching us. And unfortunately the only pictures I took were mental ones because this was not a place you could so much as consider taking a camera out to snap photos (a digital camera makes a pretty enticing target for a hungry child.)

Minus the slightly awkward and sometimes uncomfortable stares and comments, exploring the market was absolutely fascinating. My nose got a serious workout as we passed from rows and rows of neatly stacked fruits, vegetables and herbs into the meat and animal section. Salted tongues, livers and flanks were laid out on tables. Grandmothers and young men stood side by side picking up pieces of meat, scrutinizing them and then throwing them back on the piles. A bit different from the styrofoam and saran-wrapped meat section at American supermarkets but extremely interesting to watch.

This market is supposedly the best place to go so that the greatest amount of money goes to the producers. Fisherman, farmers and butchers all bring their products and line them up to sell right to the public. Entire stalls were filled with pineapples, sugar cane, mangoes and tomatoes just waiting to be sold, not to mention the stacked cages of chickens and pens of goats. And the interior stalls held just about everything you could possibly need for the well-supplied life. Toiletries, kitchen utensils, furniture and Candomble (the afro-brazilian religion) ritual supplies. Not to mention plenty of men willing to sell us whatever we wanted for a big discount if we would just come over and talk to them. And with the size of this market, no wonder you could buy anything. We got lost multiple times (always seeming to end up at the meat stand with the cows' eyes) in the zigagging tight aisles.

At times we were followed by children - sometimes in play, sometimes in the way that makes you highly aware of your purse and inclined to secure it against your body as tight as possible. But at one point Anna and I were being followed by a couple young boys in a decidedly non-playful manner and were able to watch (grateful and amazed) as a young man tsked at them and told them to back off and leave us alone.

Also quite interesting to note was the vaccination program that we witnessed while in the market. Three women walked around with white government employee shirts promoting irradication of polio in Brazil. One of them carried a cooler and they passed through the crowd asking children and young adults in partcular if they had been vaccinated. If they got a no they were prepared to do it right there in San Joaquim. This is as a part of the government's plan to eliminate polio and rubella from the entire country - just an example of them taking the vaccines to where the people are. These are the people who can't take time out of their days to take their kids to the doctor because there would be no money to subsist on for that day.

Quite a new and exciting experience altogether. And on the way back a fight almost broke out on our bus between the fare collector and a passenger who refused to pay. And unlike such an uncomfortable situation on an American bus where most people would just sit and look forward, pretending to ignore the commotion at the back, everyone on the bus was turned around watching and adding their own opinions to the conflict. It was quite a sight. And it finally ended when another (uninvolved) passenger yelled at the two men that they had said everything they needed to say and it was over.

On a completely different note we got our homestay assignments for the next two months. And there are no little kids involved in my house whatsoever - just a woman and her twenty-nine year old son. A little disappointing at first but the letter she wrote seems extremely sweet and welcoming. (In short she says she is poor materially but feels rich in the Lord and wants me to be as welcome as I possibly can be in her home. Also that my parents should not worry (mom, this is for you) because she will take care of me.) And who knows, maybe the neighbors will have kids.

The crew

I have never been in an all girls situation for an extended period of time - EVER. So I was a little hesitant when I found out that the whole program that I'm in is all girls. Inevitably I thought of the potential for drama "Mean Girls" style. So far (and granted it is REALLY early) we have been living all crammed together in a house for orientaion and have gotten along famously. And the group is so interested and excited it is contagious.

There is a native Brazilian with us who grew up in Rio but is going to Johns Hopkins for premed/public health. And a girl who has done traditional Indian dance for 10 years and can really move. And someone who spent ten weeks this summer backpacking solo around southeast Asia. That in addition to the girl who is fluent in five languages (soon to be six), one who is an amazing photographer and one who moved to Brazil two months early in order to pick up Portuguese on her own. And that is certainly not all. It is quite an amazing group of people that I am way excited to get to know better.

Tomorrow is our dropoff. We get in little groups and go off into the city with a faraway destination in mind and no directions whatsoever (including limited language) and just try to navigate. Should be an adventure for sure.

Politics as (un)usual

It isn't just election season in the U.S. Salvador is going through elections that are WAY more exciting than U.S. political muck. Cars drive around the city with the names of political candidates plastered on the sides, blaring competing music along with political slogans. Maybe not the most politically aware way to choose candidates, though picking the candidate with the best music may be at least as intelligent a method as many US citizens will be using in November. Speaking of which, I saw five Obama signs in a walk around the old city today. Haven't seen a McCain one yet so maybe the Brasilians are on to something.

As for my situation at this point...I am living in a condo a half hour outside of Salvador with the whole group of thirteen other girls, one of the group directors and his wife. This is the orientation phase of the SIT business so we're gonna be here until we get dropped off with our host families on Sunday. So at this point we're learning about the culture and the city and hopefully a tad bit of portuguese (all the important stuff like "ice cream"!) The group seems way cool thus far (hopefully will stay that way too) and really excited about the whole program.

And tonight we SAMBAed! A woman came over to teach us with two brothers who played drums. It was a two hour festival of sweaty dancing (its HOT here, even in the evening) but it was super fun. People walk with the samba rhythm here and apparently if you don't have the rhythm it's super obvious that you're a gringa. So my personal plan is to get the rhythm and meld.

The beginning

I knew I was going to like Brasil about ten minutes into the TAM flight.
Chocolately mints! Then came a dinner to rival the sub's garden tortellini. And breakfast too. If they eat as much in Brasil as they do on their planes I will be a happy camper.

Heading across central Brasil towards the east at 4:30 am (quite literally the crack of dawn) could not have been timed more perfectly. We were heading toward the coast as the sun was coming up over the horizon, going fast enough that we watched it turn from a little red line to a glowing blob. The lines it created in the sky gave me weird flashbacks to spectroscopy and physics.

And finally, I decided that although having everything that is essential to my life in one bag is mildly frightening (especially when trusting strangers to move that bag across international borders) it is also very freeing. I need absolutely nothing more than I can carry on my back to live and learn and explore this country. That is ceratinly a kind of liberation I don't feel when moving boxes and blankets and who knows what else onto campus after the summer. Neat!