Mailing a letter is going by way of the dodo. If you are like me, you email just about everything. Sometimes, if it is not too urgent I will even email instead of calling on the phone. Especially if I have other things going on. Now emails are pretty impersonal. There is no "Dear so-and-so" for an opener or "sincerely" or "With Love" to close the note. You just write the person's name and close with yours. Or you are too lazy to finish your name and just close with your initial. That is how I usually do it. Until you email a Brazilian.
Now the Brazilian culture is very friendly, very open. You are constantly giving kisses and hugs. I like this. It makes you feel like part of a family. Well, Brazilian emails are just as friendly. Sometimes it opens with only my name, but others it is Querida (dear or darling) or Minha Amiga (my friend) in front of my name. But it is the closings that have thrown me. I got one the other day that said "Abs," as the closer. Were they trying to give me a hint? I know I am a little squishy, but really no need to be insulting. I get enough from my children about how they can manipulate my tummy to make it comfortable, but they can't do that to their dad's. Then I figured it out, Abs is an abbreviation for Abrazos - hugs. Okay, that is better. I like that. But then I got another. But this time the closer was "Bjs,". Hmm. Um, what? If you don't get that one, have someone younger explain it to you. Is this another hint? And it came from a woman just so you know. I thinking, what the heck? Then I figured it out. Bjs is short for Beijos - kisses. Okay that is better. But I guess it is pretty much the same thing.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
I cook like I drive
In reference to the last posting, I have realized today that I cook like I drive. I am a Chatty Kathy. This is not always a good situation. Yes, it is great to talk and have a good time around a meal. It is fun to have friends over and chat and cook. However, if there is a recipe that you need to follow precisely, it is a bad situation. I realize this is also hereditary.
When I was pregnant with my first born, we were at my parents for my birthday. I was talking to my mom while she made my birthday cake. Yes, whoever is at home for their birthday gets a cake. Unless they are weird like my brother and do not eat cake. Anyway, while talking, my mom forgets to put in the eggs into the cake mix. She realizes this after it has been in the oven for a short period of time. So she takes out the cake, cracks eggs over the partly cooked mix, blends the eggs in, and puts the cake back in the oven. The cake turned out fine, just only an inch thick at best.
Five or six years ago we were with my parents and siblings for Thanksgiving. My mom always cooks. She really, really cooks the turkey. So I told her I would cook that year. We were going fine. We were talking and enjoying each others company while I cooked the pumpkin pies the day before. After the turkey was finished the next day, we break out the pies. They tasted really pumpkiny. My mom asked how much sugar I used. My answer, "What sugar?" Yes, I forgot to put the sugar in the pies while we talked.
Thanksgiving 2011 in Brazil. My friend, whom I freaked out with driving, came over to help make the pies for the holiday. We were talking while she was mixing and I was rolling out dough. One thing you need to remember when doubling a recipe is double all ingredients. I distracted her with talking to the point that we forgot to double the eggs. We noticed after the pies have been in the oven for 10 minutes. So we took them out, poured the goop back into the mixing bowl, added two more eggs, mixed, and poured it back into the two pie pans.
They took a lot longer to cook, but they look good. I will let you know if they taste bad. That is if we can find a turkey here. Now that is another story altogether.
When I was pregnant with my first born, we were at my parents for my birthday. I was talking to my mom while she made my birthday cake. Yes, whoever is at home for their birthday gets a cake. Unless they are weird like my brother and do not eat cake. Anyway, while talking, my mom forgets to put in the eggs into the cake mix. She realizes this after it has been in the oven for a short period of time. So she takes out the cake, cracks eggs over the partly cooked mix, blends the eggs in, and puts the cake back in the oven. The cake turned out fine, just only an inch thick at best.
Five or six years ago we were with my parents and siblings for Thanksgiving. My mom always cooks. She really, really cooks the turkey. So I told her I would cook that year. We were going fine. We were talking and enjoying each others company while I cooked the pumpkin pies the day before. After the turkey was finished the next day, we break out the pies. They tasted really pumpkiny. My mom asked how much sugar I used. My answer, "What sugar?" Yes, I forgot to put the sugar in the pies while we talked.
Thanksgiving 2011 in Brazil. My friend, whom I freaked out with driving, came over to help make the pies for the holiday. We were talking while she was mixing and I was rolling out dough. One thing you need to remember when doubling a recipe is double all ingredients. I distracted her with talking to the point that we forgot to double the eggs. We noticed after the pies have been in the oven for 10 minutes. So we took them out, poured the goop back into the mixing bowl, added two more eggs, mixed, and poured it back into the two pie pans.
They took a lot longer to cook, but they look good. I will let you know if they taste bad. That is if we can find a turkey here. Now that is another story altogether.
You are my friend, and I promise not to try to kill you next time.
I recently asked my husband if I could have the car for the day. There were errands to run and lunch to go to, so I thought, instead of my friend having to drive me around like she always does, I will reciprocate. My husband agreed.
The day started out not so good. So we get to the large French grocery chain here and park the car in their "secure" parking area. Well, this grocery store is right next to the crack street. There was a fire behind it the week before because the junkies were burning junk. I didn't think anything of it. Happens all the time. So we go to park and my friend says, "Jen, that guy is coming this way." I thought he was going to his car next to us. No. He was coming to my window and demanding money. Now I have an armored car, with alarm that I could press if under duress. I forget about the alarm and freak my friend out by yelling at the guy through the window. He is not going away and his eyes are bugged out like he needs his next hit, bad. My friend is telling me to drive away. So I reverse it to run him over. Yes, I am prepared to do this. When he leaves. I watch him walk away and decide to park closer to the entrance. My friend just wants to leave, but I need stuff. At this point she thinks I am crazy. The security guard comes out and forces the guy to leave. Okay, we can get out of the car now.We were both a little flustered, but we got through shopping and dropping off the food before our next errand. Which was lunch.
Now I have not driven much here. I am usually the navigator. However, I usually am not allowed to navigate. What woman is allowed when their husband is driving? He will tell you he knows where he is going as he tries to go the wrong way down a one way street. So, my navigating consists of talking. We have a GPS we call Stella (because when she sends you to the wrong location it is great to yell at her "STELLA!"). So she navigates for me. Well my friend has a GPS too. So talking has become my past time in the car. I never thought about helping with the GPS and giving the turns or telling the driver how far bridge entrance is. Never crossed my mind. It is also important to be a good navigator here because there could be road hazards. Some examples are: your lane ending suddenly; two lanes merge on the other side of a light; the lanes do not match on the other side of the light; a man hole cover is gone and a large 2 by 4 or large branch is sticking out of the hole to let you know it is there; the lane could become a section of street parking without notice; there could be construction in a 20 yard section; the GPS could tell you that you will be turning left or to stay left, but in a 100 yards you need to turn right; or a sink hole could open up because the ground under the highway was washed away from too my rain and there were no supports built to prevent that from happening.
So I am driving my friend to lunch and I start talking. That is what I do in the car. So my friend is trying to navigate for us, while I chat and maneuver through the streets. I don't think my friend wants me to drive again. Because as I am being a Chatty Kathy we hit the road problems in Sao Paulo. Our lane ends, then it merges, then it becomes a street parking section, then there is a construction section, then Stella says to stay to the left, but we really have to turn right so we have to cut across 4 lanes to get where we are going. But we did get to the restaurant in one piece. My friend, bless her soul, survived and had a beer or two at lunch. Most likely to give her confidence to get back in the car with me. I did do better on the way home though - less street hazards.
So now, dear friend, I understand that I need to pay more attention to my driving in Sao Paulo. You need not fear getting into my car. That is if I can ever convince my husband to let me borrow it again, and I can convince you to get in.
The day started out not so good. So we get to the large French grocery chain here and park the car in their "secure" parking area. Well, this grocery store is right next to the crack street. There was a fire behind it the week before because the junkies were burning junk. I didn't think anything of it. Happens all the time. So we go to park and my friend says, "Jen, that guy is coming this way." I thought he was going to his car next to us. No. He was coming to my window and demanding money. Now I have an armored car, with alarm that I could press if under duress. I forget about the alarm and freak my friend out by yelling at the guy through the window. He is not going away and his eyes are bugged out like he needs his next hit, bad. My friend is telling me to drive away. So I reverse it to run him over. Yes, I am prepared to do this. When he leaves. I watch him walk away and decide to park closer to the entrance. My friend just wants to leave, but I need stuff. At this point she thinks I am crazy. The security guard comes out and forces the guy to leave. Okay, we can get out of the car now.We were both a little flustered, but we got through shopping and dropping off the food before our next errand. Which was lunch.
Now I have not driven much here. I am usually the navigator. However, I usually am not allowed to navigate. What woman is allowed when their husband is driving? He will tell you he knows where he is going as he tries to go the wrong way down a one way street. So, my navigating consists of talking. We have a GPS we call Stella (because when she sends you to the wrong location it is great to yell at her "STELLA!"). So she navigates for me. Well my friend has a GPS too. So talking has become my past time in the car. I never thought about helping with the GPS and giving the turns or telling the driver how far bridge entrance is. Never crossed my mind. It is also important to be a good navigator here because there could be road hazards. Some examples are: your lane ending suddenly; two lanes merge on the other side of a light; the lanes do not match on the other side of the light; a man hole cover is gone and a large 2 by 4 or large branch is sticking out of the hole to let you know it is there; the lane could become a section of street parking without notice; there could be construction in a 20 yard section; the GPS could tell you that you will be turning left or to stay left, but in a 100 yards you need to turn right; or a sink hole could open up because the ground under the highway was washed away from too my rain and there were no supports built to prevent that from happening.
So I am driving my friend to lunch and I start talking. That is what I do in the car. So my friend is trying to navigate for us, while I chat and maneuver through the streets. I don't think my friend wants me to drive again. Because as I am being a Chatty Kathy we hit the road problems in Sao Paulo. Our lane ends, then it merges, then it becomes a street parking section, then there is a construction section, then Stella says to stay to the left, but we really have to turn right so we have to cut across 4 lanes to get where we are going. But we did get to the restaurant in one piece. My friend, bless her soul, survived and had a beer or two at lunch. Most likely to give her confidence to get back in the car with me. I did do better on the way home though - less street hazards.
So now, dear friend, I understand that I need to pay more attention to my driving in Sao Paulo. You need not fear getting into my car. That is if I can ever convince my husband to let me borrow it again, and I can convince you to get in.
Friday, November 11, 2011
The Five Star Motel 6
There are a lot of motels here. And when I say a lot, I mean Disney World/Kissimmee Florida amount of motels. Why do you ask? Well first let me tell you there are several varieties, but all charge by the hour. Yes, by the hour. Now you have your run of the mill prostitute style motel, you have your trucker motel, you have your middle class motel, and you have your 5-star motel with room service and champagne service. And everything in between. But all are pay by the hour.
This is why. In Brazil it is common for your children to live with you until they are married. (The children even live at home when they go to university.) This can be a very long time. I personally like the tradition in the States that your children move out when they go to college and hopefully never come back. I love my boys, very much. Don't get me wrong. But I am hoping they only come back to visit after college. So apparently in Brazil, no one wants to "shake hands with Don Shelby" while their children are in the house. So there is a pay by the hour motel for every income level. They leave the kids with the nanny/baby sitter if they are young, have a quicky, and come home. Couples with the money can go to the 5-star joint for a fancy evening, shake hands, and go home. It is very popular.
Personally I don't understand why. Come on it is Brazil. There is naked girls on the TV! Sex is everywhere here. It is embedded in the culture. And anyway little kids have no idea, in my experience. And besides, isn't there a lock on the door? Don't you have a stereo you could turn up if you are loud? And if you don't want to be obvious, just go to bed early. Save the money! Please, it's not like the older kids don't understand what is going on. They know how they got here...
This is why. In Brazil it is common for your children to live with you until they are married. (The children even live at home when they go to university.) This can be a very long time. I personally like the tradition in the States that your children move out when they go to college and hopefully never come back. I love my boys, very much. Don't get me wrong. But I am hoping they only come back to visit after college. So apparently in Brazil, no one wants to "shake hands with Don Shelby" while their children are in the house. So there is a pay by the hour motel for every income level. They leave the kids with the nanny/baby sitter if they are young, have a quicky, and come home. Couples with the money can go to the 5-star joint for a fancy evening, shake hands, and go home. It is very popular.
Personally I don't understand why. Come on it is Brazil. There is naked girls on the TV! Sex is everywhere here. It is embedded in the culture. And anyway little kids have no idea, in my experience. And besides, isn't there a lock on the door? Don't you have a stereo you could turn up if you are loud? And if you don't want to be obvious, just go to bed early. Save the money! Please, it's not like the older kids don't understand what is going on. They know how they got here...
Monday, October 31, 2011
Walk Softly and Carry a Big Purse
My son recently needed a shoe box to take to school for an art project. This should be an easy request in my house since I am a girl and have the shoe gene. However, there is not one anywhere in my house. Here is the reason, and also a great tip. Oh and don't worry. I am not giving out any secrets to my husband. He figured this out a while ago.
When you go to buy shoes, always bring a very large purse. You do this because when you buy the shoes you do not get the boxes, nor the bag. These things you will have to explain if your other half sees them. Didn't the Bible say do not let your right hand know what your left is doing - or something like that? Well this is the reason. So, you buy the shoes, put them in your large purse, and them take them out of the store. Now I NEVER buy shoes that I think I might return. Why bother? So next thing you do is rub the soles of the shoes on the ground to scuff them up a bit, open your trunk and toss them in. Then when you get home and your husband is outside, you can open the trunk and say "oh that is where I left those!" If he is in the house, you stick them back in your purse and walk quietly to your room to hide them in your closet for at least a week. Then break them out to wear. If he comments on them you can say "What? These old things?" because you scuffed the bottom and he will have to believe that they are older and he was just not paying attention to your footwear. What man does anyway?
So I needed to get a box for my son. I went into the mall that is next to my building. Really like 100 yards away. Yes, my husband was crazy in picking an apartment attached to a mall. Not my fault! I walk into the store that has shoes that feel like you are walking on cushions, including their high heels! They are amazing. Anyway, the clerk knows my name and my shoe size (hey I am a chatty Kathy is all) and immediately shows me the new shoes that have come in. I probably could have just asked her for a box and she would have given it to me. But hey, you put in a great effort to remember my name and size. Of course, how hard is it? I am the only blonde American that comes into the store, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt. I probably should also mention that the girls in Starbucks right next to the shoe store know my name as well as my order. Is that bad?
So she shows me some flats. They are so comfortable! I have pillows on my feet. Well heck, my son needed a shoe box. So I bought two pair. What happens if the box tears? He would need a back up right? Now he has his box, I have my comfy shoes, and I still carry my big purse.
When you go to buy shoes, always bring a very large purse. You do this because when you buy the shoes you do not get the boxes, nor the bag. These things you will have to explain if your other half sees them. Didn't the Bible say do not let your right hand know what your left is doing - or something like that? Well this is the reason. So, you buy the shoes, put them in your large purse, and them take them out of the store. Now I NEVER buy shoes that I think I might return. Why bother? So next thing you do is rub the soles of the shoes on the ground to scuff them up a bit, open your trunk and toss them in. Then when you get home and your husband is outside, you can open the trunk and say "oh that is where I left those!" If he is in the house, you stick them back in your purse and walk quietly to your room to hide them in your closet for at least a week. Then break them out to wear. If he comments on them you can say "What? These old things?" because you scuffed the bottom and he will have to believe that they are older and he was just not paying attention to your footwear. What man does anyway?
So I needed to get a box for my son. I went into the mall that is next to my building. Really like 100 yards away. Yes, my husband was crazy in picking an apartment attached to a mall. Not my fault! I walk into the store that has shoes that feel like you are walking on cushions, including their high heels! They are amazing. Anyway, the clerk knows my name and my shoe size (hey I am a chatty Kathy is all) and immediately shows me the new shoes that have come in. I probably could have just asked her for a box and she would have given it to me. But hey, you put in a great effort to remember my name and size. Of course, how hard is it? I am the only blonde American that comes into the store, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt. I probably should also mention that the girls in Starbucks right next to the shoe store know my name as well as my order. Is that bad?
So she shows me some flats. They are so comfortable! I have pillows on my feet. Well heck, my son needed a shoe box. So I bought two pair. What happens if the box tears? He would need a back up right? Now he has his box, I have my comfy shoes, and I still carry my big purse.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Innocent Insults?
We went to a very delicious restaurant tonight called Tantra. Probably not a good name for a place to take children, but we had fun. It is a Mongolian BBQ where you pick everything and they grill it for you. And the atmosphere is really nifty. I first went there with my parents when they visited and thought it would be a great place to take my kids. Minus the bathroom. There are "interesting" tantric pictures on the stalls. This is not the funny part of the evening though.
As we were driving home we drove past Hooters. Yes, there is a Hooters here. My husband wants to go to see if it is like the States, but with beautiful Brazilian women. My oldest asked why they called it Hooters. "Well," I explain, "the large anatomy of a woman are called hooters. And the logo is an owl with large eyes to match the women's body parts." My son in all of his innocence says, "But I have never seen an owl with droopy eyes." Let me tell you, we have not laughed so hard in our lives. I almost peed my pants.
The best part was when we got closer to home was that he said he felt really bad. Why is that? "Well, I feel like I just offended mommy."
Hey!
As we were driving home we drove past Hooters. Yes, there is a Hooters here. My husband wants to go to see if it is like the States, but with beautiful Brazilian women. My oldest asked why they called it Hooters. "Well," I explain, "the large anatomy of a woman are called hooters. And the logo is an owl with large eyes to match the women's body parts." My son in all of his innocence says, "But I have never seen an owl with droopy eyes." Let me tell you, we have not laughed so hard in our lives. I almost peed my pants.
The best part was when we got closer to home was that he said he felt really bad. Why is that? "Well, I feel like I just offended mommy."
Hey!
Monday, October 17, 2011
My dad was almost shot... twice.
My parents came to visit for two weeks. We had a great time. I think this is probably the first time they actually had nothing to do if that was what they wanted. We went to Rio so my mom could cry at the Christ statue. We sat on the beach where my parents, for the first time, drank beer on the beach. And guess what, people bring it to you! You don't have to go get or anything at all! Awesome! We went to the local street market to buy food. We went to a craft bazaar. We went to delicious restaurants. We went to the flower market to buy 4 dozen roses for US$15. My parents found out that the flowers are probably the only cheap thing here. You can't even buy flip flops for US$15, but you can buy dozens of roses! Well my house smells good even if our feet don't look pretty. By now you are probably wondering how I got the title though. Well there are two stories to this, hence the twice.
Story one:
To visit Brazil you need a tourist visa. It never used to be like this. However, ever since 9-11 the US has required many countries to need visas if their countrymen want to visit. Brazil is one of those. So in the style of an eye for an eye, Brazil now requires a visa for all Americans. Well, my dad couldn't find the information online, but the Brazilian Consulate in his town is right down the street from his work. So he decided to go and find out how to get one. So he arrives. And it really just looks like an office building. He walks in and goes to the counter to ask questions. The lady behind the counter starts yelling at him. Well, he says he is trying to get a tourist visa. She does not care. He must leave immediately. Kind of like the Amityville Horror house "Get Out!" Now there is a gentleman and a lady sitting in the chairs behind my dad. And this guy is chuckling. My dad turns around and asks what he did. The response: "Well you stepped over the line." What line? Yes, my dad visited Brazil without having a visa, because he could not figure out how to get one and was asking. That is a BIG no-no. However, he was not allowed to ask in Brazil (the other side of the room), he needed to ask from America (the other other side of the room). Needless to say he was given the web address and escorted by guard out of Brazil (really just the Consulate room) and back to America.
Story two:
My parents had a hard time initially listening to my cautions regarding safety. They were taking pictures in the Taxi. They were taking pictures on the street. And they are lucky someone did not come along and steal that camera the first few days! And they also spoke English where I told them not to. This is hard to remember, I know. But there are several places here that when you speak English you become a target. I don't want to become a target, nor do I want my kids as targets for bad people. So we speak English very softly when we are out and about. Luckily enough nothing happened while my parents were here. However, while taking pictures my dad thought it would be a great idea to take a picture of the ATMs we have here. It is actually a kiosk that you enter, with a door for privacy, and get your money. Well he was not actually taking a picture of the ATM because you could not see it through the door. He was taking a picture of the stickers on the outside of the ATM. Why? No clue. He thought it was cool that they had stickers of VISA, Mastercard, PlusLink, and that sort of thing. O-kay. Well, the crime de jour here is blowing up ATMs for the money. A few weeks ago 12 guys decided to blow one up. The cops shot and killed 6 and the other 6 were arrested. Well, my dad took the picture in front of a security guard. Hmm, is he scoping the joint? Let's put it this way, my dad would have had a hole in him if that guard had a gun.
But we did have a great time. They got to see how tough my life is here. Ha-ha. I do miss them. My house was so quiet this morning.
Story one:
To visit Brazil you need a tourist visa. It never used to be like this. However, ever since 9-11 the US has required many countries to need visas if their countrymen want to visit. Brazil is one of those. So in the style of an eye for an eye, Brazil now requires a visa for all Americans. Well, my dad couldn't find the information online, but the Brazilian Consulate in his town is right down the street from his work. So he decided to go and find out how to get one. So he arrives. And it really just looks like an office building. He walks in and goes to the counter to ask questions. The lady behind the counter starts yelling at him. Well, he says he is trying to get a tourist visa. She does not care. He must leave immediately. Kind of like the Amityville Horror house "Get Out!" Now there is a gentleman and a lady sitting in the chairs behind my dad. And this guy is chuckling. My dad turns around and asks what he did. The response: "Well you stepped over the line." What line? Yes, my dad visited Brazil without having a visa, because he could not figure out how to get one and was asking. That is a BIG no-no. However, he was not allowed to ask in Brazil (the other side of the room), he needed to ask from America (the other other side of the room). Needless to say he was given the web address and escorted by guard out of Brazil (really just the Consulate room) and back to America.
Story two:
My parents had a hard time initially listening to my cautions regarding safety. They were taking pictures in the Taxi. They were taking pictures on the street. And they are lucky someone did not come along and steal that camera the first few days! And they also spoke English where I told them not to. This is hard to remember, I know. But there are several places here that when you speak English you become a target. I don't want to become a target, nor do I want my kids as targets for bad people. So we speak English very softly when we are out and about. Luckily enough nothing happened while my parents were here. However, while taking pictures my dad thought it would be a great idea to take a picture of the ATMs we have here. It is actually a kiosk that you enter, with a door for privacy, and get your money. Well he was not actually taking a picture of the ATM because you could not see it through the door. He was taking a picture of the stickers on the outside of the ATM. Why? No clue. He thought it was cool that they had stickers of VISA, Mastercard, PlusLink, and that sort of thing. O-kay. Well, the crime de jour here is blowing up ATMs for the money. A few weeks ago 12 guys decided to blow one up. The cops shot and killed 6 and the other 6 were arrested. Well, my dad took the picture in front of a security guard. Hmm, is he scoping the joint? Let's put it this way, my dad would have had a hole in him if that guard had a gun.
But we did have a great time. They got to see how tough my life is here. Ha-ha. I do miss them. My house was so quiet this morning.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Lost in Pronunciation
My parents have come to visit. We are having a very good time so far. Unfortunately, they do not understand Portuguese. So I have become the interpreter for the house. I have a wonderful maid, Fatima. But my mom and Fatima cannot communicate, so I translate everything.
This has been a good thing because I can practice my Portuguese and make sure I am saying the correct words. However, this morning I had an education.
Dad in Portuguese is Pai. Parents in Portuguese is Pais. You pronounce these like pie and pies. Now to say country is also Pais, but pronounced differently. It is like Pie-ees with a hard stop at the end, not a soft s. Here is where the fun starts. Bread is Pão, like pow. But now many breads is pães. This is pronounced pies but you don't open your mouth wide for the long i sound. It is more muffled. Try it. It is not that easy. It all sounds extremely similar.
The funny part is that when I have been going to the grocery store and I wanted mini French bread rolls I have asked for, say 8 okay, I have asked for 8 paĕs. But it came out like 8 pais. So I have actually been asking for parents at the bakery instead of bread. No wonder they look at me funny.
This has been a good thing because I can practice my Portuguese and make sure I am saying the correct words. However, this morning I had an education.
Dad in Portuguese is Pai. Parents in Portuguese is Pais. You pronounce these like pie and pies. Now to say country is also Pais, but pronounced differently. It is like Pie-ees with a hard stop at the end, not a soft s. Here is where the fun starts. Bread is Pão, like pow. But now many breads is pães. This is pronounced pies but you don't open your mouth wide for the long i sound. It is more muffled. Try it. It is not that easy. It all sounds extremely similar.
The funny part is that when I have been going to the grocery store and I wanted mini French bread rolls I have asked for, say 8 okay, I have asked for 8 paĕs. But it came out like 8 pais. So I have actually been asking for parents at the bakery instead of bread. No wonder they look at me funny.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Sorry kids, Santa will be coming by taxi this year because mommy ate Ruldolph
I am a member of INC. It is the International Newcomers Club. There is one for ex-pats in most major cities around the world. I have met many of my friends here through INC. It is a wonderful and fun group made up of people from around the world. Every month there is something going on - lunches, evening get-togethers, touristy things around the city.
Today was a monthly lunch with the group. We were to go to a Scandinavian Restaurant. Now there are many kinds of restaurants here like in the States. There is a restaurant for whatever country exists. It is hard to find really good Mexican though. And taco shells are like $20 a box. But I digress. So today was a Scandinavian restaurant. We initially had a difficult time finding it because it does not have a sign on the outside that says here is the restaurant. It only says Scandinavian Association. We took a wild guess and entered. Voila! We were there. We had a mini cocktail hour before lunch was served, and we were able to catch up with people that we haven't seen in two days, or ten. Then comes lunch...
It was buffet style. But there were no markers on any of the foods. What am I eating? I personally would like to know before it hits my plate. I have MANY food issues, just ask my kids. So I grab a lady who lived in Sweden for a while to see if she had any clues. Some - the stuff in the sauces in the back is the herring (fish), the meat with the congealed fat on top is pork belly, don't know what the meat in the pan is but it is red meat, potatoes, meatballs, sauerkraut made with purple cabbage, what looked like roast beef slices but were roasted reindeer, liver pate, breads, beets, breaded and fried eggplant, and a few other things. I really should have eaten before I left the house. I ate the meat in the pan, which was good but tough. I ate the purple sauerkraut which wasn't too bad, maybe a little too pickley, I ate the meatballs which tasted like bratwursts and extremely delicious. And yes. I ate reindeer. Or what we think was reindeer. It could have been something else sliced and unidentifiable. It was a little bit between gamey meat and tongue. Yes I have eaten tongue before, but not on purpose. My friend at the time said it was deli chicken slices. Needless to say this person is not my friend anymore. Not because of the tongue or anything like that. At least not consciously that is.
You know, I like Scandinavian things. Swedish meatballs are a staple at any football party. The reindeer sweaters you receive from gramma for Christmas are... warm. I read and liked all of Stieg Larsson's books. Norway visited the New World way before Columbus. My husband likes Heineken. No wait that is a Dutch beer. Well I like Thor. He was really cute and carried a big hammer. But, I can tell you that my belly does not like reindeer. Even my kidneys hurt from trying to digest the new and interesting foods. From now on I will leave the reindeer to Santa. It is just not worth it.
So Scandinavian food does not sit well with me. I think my husband will appreciate that since I will not be asking to visit there any time soon. Easier on the travel budget I would think, and the digestion.
Today was a monthly lunch with the group. We were to go to a Scandinavian Restaurant. Now there are many kinds of restaurants here like in the States. There is a restaurant for whatever country exists. It is hard to find really good Mexican though. And taco shells are like $20 a box. But I digress. So today was a Scandinavian restaurant. We initially had a difficult time finding it because it does not have a sign on the outside that says here is the restaurant. It only says Scandinavian Association. We took a wild guess and entered. Voila! We were there. We had a mini cocktail hour before lunch was served, and we were able to catch up with people that we haven't seen in two days, or ten. Then comes lunch...
It was buffet style. But there were no markers on any of the foods. What am I eating? I personally would like to know before it hits my plate. I have MANY food issues, just ask my kids. So I grab a lady who lived in Sweden for a while to see if she had any clues. Some - the stuff in the sauces in the back is the herring (fish), the meat with the congealed fat on top is pork belly, don't know what the meat in the pan is but it is red meat, potatoes, meatballs, sauerkraut made with purple cabbage, what looked like roast beef slices but were roasted reindeer, liver pate, breads, beets, breaded and fried eggplant, and a few other things. I really should have eaten before I left the house. I ate the meat in the pan, which was good but tough. I ate the purple sauerkraut which wasn't too bad, maybe a little too pickley, I ate the meatballs which tasted like bratwursts and extremely delicious. And yes. I ate reindeer. Or what we think was reindeer. It could have been something else sliced and unidentifiable. It was a little bit between gamey meat and tongue. Yes I have eaten tongue before, but not on purpose. My friend at the time said it was deli chicken slices. Needless to say this person is not my friend anymore. Not because of the tongue or anything like that. At least not consciously that is.
You know, I like Scandinavian things. Swedish meatballs are a staple at any football party. The reindeer sweaters you receive from gramma for Christmas are... warm. I read and liked all of Stieg Larsson's books. Norway visited the New World way before Columbus. My husband likes Heineken. No wait that is a Dutch beer. Well I like Thor. He was really cute and carried a big hammer. But, I can tell you that my belly does not like reindeer. Even my kidneys hurt from trying to digest the new and interesting foods. From now on I will leave the reindeer to Santa. It is just not worth it.
So Scandinavian food does not sit well with me. I think my husband will appreciate that since I will not be asking to visit there any time soon. Easier on the travel budget I would think, and the digestion.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Looking Back...Looking Forward
My friend and I decided to take a family vacation together. Our kids are similar ages, our husbands are friends, and we get along like sisters. What could be better? We picked September because everyone is back at school, it is more quiet, and the weather is still good and warm. We decided to head to Myrtle Beach. The husbands could play golf, we could sit on the beach or go to the pool, and the kids could have a fun time. When making plans we picked the week of September 8-15. A perfect week to enjoy some relaxing time with friends.
Our hotel ends up a close walk to souvenir shops and a Food Lion. We have a kitchen in the room because it is a 2 bedroom condo type place where people rent out their timeshares when not using them. We set up our rooms, get food and begin to enjoy our vacation. The guys play golf most of the weekend and into the first part of the week. We are okay with this as it was planned out. On Tuesday, my friend and I get the kids and head off for a walk while the guys enjoy another game of golf. First we hit the souvenir shop before the Food Lion. We are trying to hear the radio because something happened, but we could not figure out what. We tried to hear again at the grocery store. But, again, the radio was too low. We decided to go back to the room, have the kids go down for a nap and then check out the news. After all is accomplished, we turn on the Today Show. It is September 11, 2001.
Ten years to the week, I plan another family/friend vacation. I actually did not plan it that way. I latched onto a vacation that another friend of mine was planning. She was happy including us. Again, the husbands could play golf, our kids could play at the pool or at the beach, and we can enjoy ourselves. The kids are now old enough to go off and play without mom's eagle eye. It was relaxing and very peaceful. The sea breeze blowing in my hair, the ocean surf making music along the shore. Kids building sandcastles and forts and chasing the tide.
As Sunday, September 11, rolled around I could not stop thinking about that day ten years prior. I remember everything about that moment. Don't they say that in times of great tragedy you remember everything? Like Kennedy getting shot? Well, I am not old enough to remember that, but I do remember the day JFK Jr. and his wife died. I remember the Challenger and Columbia. And I remember the moments of personal tragedy. On this Sunday I was lying by the pool and remembering the moments leading up to 10 am on that Tuesday. And I was wondering how all of those families who lost a loved one were feeling and how they were coping with the anniversary. I imagine that none of them wanted to turn on the TV at any time to relive, over and over again, the day their lives changed forever. I don't know if anyone else was thinking about it. Brazil, and South America for that matter, is very far from the US. It does not feel real sometimes. It is like the riots you witness on TV in Tunisia or Egypt or Libya. You can say things like, It is a horrible movie that I can turn off and not have to watch. It is happening someplace else. It does not affect me.
Remembering the events of 9/11 and the aftermath have reminded me that I do not live in a bubble. The world is not in a better place after 10 years: the debt crisis worldwide, economic troubles, bombings, wars, droughts, famines, the list can go on and on. Most people will ask, "But what can I do about it?" I do not have the answer to that question. I don't think many people do. Plus, how do you show compassion to suffering neighbors when you are in trouble too? For a little while, after the chaos and before the vengeance, the world came together. We have seen it again after the Tsunami of 2004, and after the earthquake in Haiti in 2010. Why does it take a worldwide disaster to remember we are all brothers and sisters on this planet, and that everyone needs a helping hand? I doubt this will be answered in our world's lifetime.
Our hotel ends up a close walk to souvenir shops and a Food Lion. We have a kitchen in the room because it is a 2 bedroom condo type place where people rent out their timeshares when not using them. We set up our rooms, get food and begin to enjoy our vacation. The guys play golf most of the weekend and into the first part of the week. We are okay with this as it was planned out. On Tuesday, my friend and I get the kids and head off for a walk while the guys enjoy another game of golf. First we hit the souvenir shop before the Food Lion. We are trying to hear the radio because something happened, but we could not figure out what. We tried to hear again at the grocery store. But, again, the radio was too low. We decided to go back to the room, have the kids go down for a nap and then check out the news. After all is accomplished, we turn on the Today Show. It is September 11, 2001.
Ten years to the week, I plan another family/friend vacation. I actually did not plan it that way. I latched onto a vacation that another friend of mine was planning. She was happy including us. Again, the husbands could play golf, our kids could play at the pool or at the beach, and we can enjoy ourselves. The kids are now old enough to go off and play without mom's eagle eye. It was relaxing and very peaceful. The sea breeze blowing in my hair, the ocean surf making music along the shore. Kids building sandcastles and forts and chasing the tide.
As Sunday, September 11, rolled around I could not stop thinking about that day ten years prior. I remember everything about that moment. Don't they say that in times of great tragedy you remember everything? Like Kennedy getting shot? Well, I am not old enough to remember that, but I do remember the day JFK Jr. and his wife died. I remember the Challenger and Columbia. And I remember the moments of personal tragedy. On this Sunday I was lying by the pool and remembering the moments leading up to 10 am on that Tuesday. And I was wondering how all of those families who lost a loved one were feeling and how they were coping with the anniversary. I imagine that none of them wanted to turn on the TV at any time to relive, over and over again, the day their lives changed forever. I don't know if anyone else was thinking about it. Brazil, and South America for that matter, is very far from the US. It does not feel real sometimes. It is like the riots you witness on TV in Tunisia or Egypt or Libya. You can say things like, It is a horrible movie that I can turn off and not have to watch. It is happening someplace else. It does not affect me.
Remembering the events of 9/11 and the aftermath have reminded me that I do not live in a bubble. The world is not in a better place after 10 years: the debt crisis worldwide, economic troubles, bombings, wars, droughts, famines, the list can go on and on. Most people will ask, "But what can I do about it?" I do not have the answer to that question. I don't think many people do. Plus, how do you show compassion to suffering neighbors when you are in trouble too? For a little while, after the chaos and before the vengeance, the world came together. We have seen it again after the Tsunami of 2004, and after the earthquake in Haiti in 2010. Why does it take a worldwide disaster to remember we are all brothers and sisters on this planet, and that everyone needs a helping hand? I doubt this will be answered in our world's lifetime.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Real World...
...is definitely not shown on MTV. We when first moved to Brazil, I thought this would be a great experience for the boys - new language, new country, new customs. But, they are also getting an education on the real world.
Living in the Midwest is very different than here. So is parts of South Florida where we also lived. People have cars and nice houses, and you can walk to the grocery store and be safe. You are more isolated in those places than here. You see things on the news, but those bad things happen some place else to someone else.
In Brazil, on the news, you will see shooting with the police, or major drug busts with the police holding machine guns next to the loot. You will also see pictures in the newspapers about shootouts in Rio, or the flooding in the northern part of the country. The newspaper recently recapped events of last year with pictures - the Afghan girl who was on the cover of Time Magazine (?) who had her nose and ears cut off by her husband; Haiti and the disposal of dead bodies in mass graves; people shooting each other.
We also have seen firsthand people smoking crack on the street, or very hungry people looking for food in the garbage cans along the side of the road, and eating whatever they can find. Homeless people looking for scrap metal that they can sell. People begging on the street. Not far from where we live there are people who live in boxes along the side of the highway.
These are not the things I expected to have my young children exposed to at an early age. But if not now, when? They see what they have, and then they see how other people have to live. They realize how lucky they are to have things - even simple things like a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Where their concern is what they will have for a snack, not when and from where their next meal come.
My hope is that as they grow up, they will remember what they have seen and experienced here; that they will understand the importance of helping others and giving to those in need. The world is not as large as it seems, and everyone needs to do their part in making it a better place.
Living in the Midwest is very different than here. So is parts of South Florida where we also lived. People have cars and nice houses, and you can walk to the grocery store and be safe. You are more isolated in those places than here. You see things on the news, but those bad things happen some place else to someone else.
In Brazil, on the news, you will see shooting with the police, or major drug busts with the police holding machine guns next to the loot. You will also see pictures in the newspapers about shootouts in Rio, or the flooding in the northern part of the country. The newspaper recently recapped events of last year with pictures - the Afghan girl who was on the cover of Time Magazine (?) who had her nose and ears cut off by her husband; Haiti and the disposal of dead bodies in mass graves; people shooting each other.
We also have seen firsthand people smoking crack on the street, or very hungry people looking for food in the garbage cans along the side of the road, and eating whatever they can find. Homeless people looking for scrap metal that they can sell. People begging on the street. Not far from where we live there are people who live in boxes along the side of the highway.
These are not the things I expected to have my young children exposed to at an early age. But if not now, when? They see what they have, and then they see how other people have to live. They realize how lucky they are to have things - even simple things like a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Where their concern is what they will have for a snack, not when and from where their next meal come.
My hope is that as they grow up, they will remember what they have seen and experienced here; that they will understand the importance of helping others and giving to those in need. The world is not as large as it seems, and everyone needs to do their part in making it a better place.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
I need a vacation from my vacation!
We just got back from a great vacation with friends. Back to reality! We went to Bahia for a week and stayed at Praia do Forte. It is a very nice beach an hour north of Salvador. We stayed at Iberostar Praia do Forte. If anyone has a chance to stay at an all inclusive, please try this chain. It was wonderful. Our hardest decision each day was: do we go to the beach or do we go to the pool? But like every vacation, it had to end. We had some interesting vacation happenings though.
Interesting thought that came out of vacation: Why did we figure out how to put a man on the moon before we figured out that putting wheels on luggage was a good thing?
Interesting comment that came out of vacation: The guys: The longer we are here the more behind I get at work. The ladies: The longer we are here the more behind my maid gets at home!
Let's see. Okay, we get there and the next day or there abouts there is a strike of hotel workers. Now strikes in Brazil only last one or two days. So not really a problem. But there was definitely a lack of employees available to bring us drinks. But by the weekend, no problems. Then I get a rash on my neck. From the sun? From the lotion? I don't know, but I could not stay in the sun very long for the rest of the trip. It is difficult to go to a beach vacation and have to sit under an umbrella for 5 days! And you know what? I am tired! It was hard work not doing anything for a week.
Oh and a really funny story. We were at the beach, and the beach attendant brought me over an umbrella because of my rash, of course. I am laying there on my belly with my book on the sand. I am so engrossed in the book that the attendant has to catch my attention. He points to my book and smiles and I look down and there is a sand crab right next to my hand. I scream like there's a spider on my lap. The crab runs a little away and stares me down. I must be on his beach condo or something. Then the other people around me come over to take a picture of him. He is really mad now and circling watching all of us. So then he decides to charge me. Yes, a crab the size of a hot dog bun charges me. I try to shoo him away. He does not listen so I take off my visor to shoo him. He latches onto my visor. I scream. He flies and lands on my lap. I scream and jump up. He lands under Javier's chair. Everyone around me is laughing. I don't think it is funny. He tries at me again. I scream again and the attendant comes and traps him to take him away. I had a headache after that.
Let's see what else. Oh yes, the guys played golf 4 times and were attacked by angry birds each day. Apparently there are a bunch of birds that have migrated from the south to this golf course. They live in the ground and they are about the size of a pheasant. There were 6 adult birds protecting about 4 babies from golfers. Then there are government protected plants that live along the course. They are a type of cactus that, if you rub up against them, it is VERY BAD. The guys did not know this the first day because, well, the strike. But the second time they were walking through the brush looking for a lost ball a course employee told them about the plants and to be careful. Thank you for the forewarning! Oh and then the last day of golf some employees tell the guys that they had to move an anaconda from one golf "pool" to another so no worries. An anaconda? Really? No worries? Thanks guys, you are the best!
The kids had fun too. We all played pool games and poolside bingo. They really liked that they could get all the food and drinks they wanted. Javier's eczema around his eyes tanned, then peeled so his face is patchy. Kimberly's kids now have neon greenish hair from the pool chemicals that gallons of tomato juice will be needed to remove. Ian, well my poor Ian. He got stung from a jelly fish, which apparently were all over the ocean. It hurt really bad. Especially when I had to put vinegar on it to get rid of the sting. Well that stung more. Then I only had an adult Benadryl, which I gave him just in case, and he slept for about 3 hours.
Oh and here is a lesson he learned the next day. Listen better to mommy. Why? Well it was almost dinner time and he had nothing to eat in a while, but we were leaving in a few minutes. Well, here is the conversation:
"Mom, can I have a capuccino?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"But I want one.'
"I don't care."
Well he took only the I don't care part. He did not hear the rest. Now a capuccino on an empty stomach is not the best in the world. But here they add chocolate to capuccinos. Usually delicious. But wait. So he drinks his capuccino and eats a few peanuts. We leave for dinner. We get to the restaurant and he feels sick, like he is going to throw up. We tell him to just sit down and relax and drink some water. Bad idea. After I come back with my food he gets up from the table. Ricardo warns me (he was smart enough to sit on the other side of the table in the middle where it is hard to get out). Ian at this point is trying to hold the puke in. I rush him to the bathroom and the sound of his vomiting echoes throughout the cavernous bathroom. Now I do not do well with puke. The smell really gets me. So I am on the outside of the stall, he is throwing up all the capuccino and peanuts and a mom comes in to change her son. We share a commiserating look and I help Ian clean up. He was fine after that. But at this point I am thinking it is going to be a long time before I have peanut M&Ms. Because that is what it smelled like.
And to top the whole trip off, after waiting for our luggage for 45 minutes to get taken off the plane, we head home. We are driving down the highway when all of a sudden a CRAZY driver in a truck, like a 15ft. white U-haul flies by, weaving through traffic, texting, you name it. But following this maniac are 3 armed escorts. One pick-up and two little Ford Escort types. And they are flying and weaving with this guy. Who cares who else is on the road? At one point the crazy truck gets next to us and yes the driver is looking at his iPhone texting, no lie, and weaving around in the lanes, and just really asking to get into an accident. The armed escorts pull up next to us and in the back facing the traffic are guys with machine guns. The windows are open, for convenience sake?, and they look really scary. Ricardo decided to speed up and pass them to get away.
We really did have a great time though. We are back to reality and school and work. Of course today I got back into my routine: grocery store, phone calls, and a Starbucks. Man, life is tough.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
School Lunches
Brazilian schools do not offer lunches to the kids. Yes you read that correctly. That is because they only go to school for four/five hours a day. There are not enough schools for everybody so the younger kids go in the morning and the upper grades in the afternoon. Or something like that. They also do not get extra-curricular stuff either. They have to get all of that outside of the school system. We are lucky to be going to an international school that provides all of those things, along with a school day that lasts from 7 am on the bus till 4 pm off the bus.
The other day my youngest asked if he still had a lunch box. This threw me. School provides lunches. Why would he want me to make him one? This is how the conversation went:
Mom, do I still have a lunch box?
No sweetie, why?
Well, my friend brings in a snack for school and I want to do the same.
Okay. I can make you a snack. I think we have brown lunch sacks.
Thanks.
What do you want in the snack?
Um, cookies, a banana, and a sandwich.
(At this point I am thinking all it needs is a juice box and he has his lunch from school back in the States.)
Oh and can you get me a juice too?
Well not today because we do not have any in the house. I will have to buy them this weekend.
Okay, thanks mom.
So I made him his snack and he took it to school and ate it. And I am thinking where is he putting all this food? He is a petite child compared to his brother. If he ate his snack and the full lunch he would not want dinner, unless he has a hollow leg! Well I found out that he only eats the rice and beans and fruit and dessert at lunch. But still that is a lot and very filling! To me that is crazy though. Have you seen the lunch menu for school here? No? Well here is a typical week that I copied from the school website:
Monday
Salads: Lettuce - Tomato - Denise Gratin (Cheese ravioli, Turkey breast, mozzarella, cream sauce).
Main Course: Chicken with lemon sauce.
Trimmings: Cheese & Tomato quiche, steamed chicory.
Desserts: Papaya, pineaple.
Tuesday
Salads: Lettuce - Tomato - Eggplant tempura (Eggplant, special flour, herbs), Manuela salad (Arugula, buffalo mozzarella cherry tomatoes, green apples & lettuce).
Main Course: Filet mignon in brown sauce.
Trimmings: Tuscany potatoes, Steamed Kale.
Desserts: Coloured gelatine, melon.
Wednesday
Salads: Lettuce - Tomato - Sausage strudel (chicken sausage, onion, tomato, herb in pastry), Gleici salad (Lettuce, escarole, heart of palm, green olives, corn).
Main Course: Chicken in passion fruit sauce.
Trimmings: Mushroom risotto (Neapolitan rice for the younger children), Creamy carrots.
Desserts: Grapes, Lemon mousse.
Thursday
Salads: Lettuce - Tomato - Adriana salad (Iceberg lettuce, endives, celery, mushrooms, almonds), Martinha salad (cucumber, tomato, onion, oil & vinegar).
Main Course: Sertaneja style meat.
Trimmings: Pasta in tomato sauce, brocoli.
Desserts: Apple, fruit salad.
Desserts: Apple, fruit salad.
Friday
Salads: Lettuce - Tomato - Martim salad ( Bolied potatoes, brocoli, shredded chicken, fresh cream), Andrés salad ( baby lettuce, bean sprouts, asparagus, black olives & parsley).
Main Course: Roast meat in sauce.
Trimmings: Cheese & zucchini pie, Romaine lettuce in garlic cream (cheese pie for the younger children).
Desserts: Banana, chocolate brownie.
Note: Full grain rice, white rice, beans are served every day along with an option of fruit.
Note 02: Sauces & gravies are only given to younger children if they so wish.
Fillet mignon? Chicken in lemon sauce? Um, can I volunteer during lunch hours?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
What She Said
I was out shopping today with my friend. When am I not out shopping is probably what my husband is saying at this moment. I will take the fifth at the question if I buy anything each time though. Today was fun, but in one store the sales girl had no idea what we were saying. Granted we were speaking English to each other so she could not follow that conversation. However, when we tried Portuguese she had no clue either.
In an informal research study we figured that since I do not look Brazilian, my Portuguese is not understood as well. We (my friend and I) have figured that the sales clerks take one look and say "She is not Brazilian and therefore does not speak Portuguese." Then when I do speak they are not prepared for it and do not follow the conversation. I admit, my Portuguese is not great. However, I am understood in about 90% of the situations, so OBVIOUSLY the problem lies with whom I am speaking. On the other hand my friend looks Portuguese, but is not, speaks less than I do, and is understood in about 99% of the situations. Go figure.
In our research we have found that when shopping together sales clerks look at us and ask my friend all the questions. If she does not understand the question she would look at me and ask "What did she say?" I would translate, she would respond, and I would translate to the sales clerk the response. (Outside of today, this does not happen much anymore since she has learned more Portuguese.) But, it's quite fun actually. The conversation would go like this:
1. Question
2. My friend looking at me "What'd she say?"
3. I translate
4. Friend's response
5. I translate
Now the smarter clerks figured it out pretty quick to ask me the questions. The others not so much. There are times when it is "What'd she say? What'd she say? What'd she say?"
Lately the fun part is when I talk to the clerks in Portuguese and they cue to my friend with a look that says "What'd she say?" Then my friend would say the exact same thing and be understood. And I just want to say "Yeah, what she said!" But I don't know how to say that in Portuguese.
I have a dream. A dream that one day blondes and brunettes can go shopping together and be understood...
In an informal research study we figured that since I do not look Brazilian, my Portuguese is not understood as well. We (my friend and I) have figured that the sales clerks take one look and say "She is not Brazilian and therefore does not speak Portuguese." Then when I do speak they are not prepared for it and do not follow the conversation. I admit, my Portuguese is not great. However, I am understood in about 90% of the situations, so OBVIOUSLY the problem lies with whom I am speaking. On the other hand my friend looks Portuguese, but is not, speaks less than I do, and is understood in about 99% of the situations. Go figure.
In our research we have found that when shopping together sales clerks look at us and ask my friend all the questions. If she does not understand the question she would look at me and ask "What did she say?" I would translate, she would respond, and I would translate to the sales clerk the response. (Outside of today, this does not happen much anymore since she has learned more Portuguese.) But, it's quite fun actually. The conversation would go like this:
1. Question
2. My friend looking at me "What'd she say?"
3. I translate
4. Friend's response
5. I translate
Now the smarter clerks figured it out pretty quick to ask me the questions. The others not so much. There are times when it is "What'd she say? What'd she say? What'd she say?"
Lately the fun part is when I talk to the clerks in Portuguese and they cue to my friend with a look that says "What'd she say?" Then my friend would say the exact same thing and be understood. And I just want to say "Yeah, what she said!" But I don't know how to say that in Portuguese.
I have a dream. A dream that one day blondes and brunettes can go shopping together and be understood...
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The Essence of a Conversation
The Brazilian Portuguese language is very interesting. When asking a question, such as "Can you..." you respond with "I can - eu posso." Or if you ask is something this or that? The response you get is "Is - E." Or it could be the all around word "Isso." This could mean several things. It could be 1. This thing here; 2. This one; 3. That's it; 4. Exactly; or 5. yep you got it correct.
My favorite word in any language is translated to the English word "sale"; favorite compound word is "shoe-sale." However, my favorite sentence is in Portuguese.
It is "Tudo bem."
What does this mean you ask. Well, that is the point. You can actually have a whole conversation with somebody with just this sentence. Here is an example:
"Tudo bem?"
"Tudo bem. Tudo bem?
"Tudo bem."
There. You just had a very meaningful conversation. You may be saying the exact same thing, but each sentence actually means something else. Here is the conversation in English:
Hey, how are you? (Hey, how's it going?)
Fine. How are you? (Great, how's it with you?)
Good. (Going well/fine/no problems/all's well.)
Can you see how many variations you can have? What is that like 15 combinations? Did I do that math right?
All with just two words. How awesome, and confusing, is that!
My favorite word in any language is translated to the English word "sale"; favorite compound word is "shoe-sale." However, my favorite sentence is in Portuguese.
It is "Tudo bem."
What does this mean you ask. Well, that is the point. You can actually have a whole conversation with somebody with just this sentence. Here is an example:
"Tudo bem?"
"Tudo bem. Tudo bem?
"Tudo bem."
There. You just had a very meaningful conversation. You may be saying the exact same thing, but each sentence actually means something else. Here is the conversation in English:
Hey, how are you? (Hey, how's it going?)
Fine. How are you? (Great, how's it with you?)
Good. (Going well/fine/no problems/all's well.)
Can you see how many variations you can have? What is that like 15 combinations? Did I do that math right?
All with just two words. How awesome, and confusing, is that!
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Lessons in Education
Over the past year we have learned to take advantage of moments to teach our children about life. We have tried to explain the benefits of education in interesting and fun ways so that they will enjoy school more, and also see the advantages of a good education.
We have probably not done this is the best way possible. Like pointing out the person smoking crack on the side of the street was doing so because he decided not to go to school. Looking back, this was probably not something we should have pointed out in the first place. Or how about pointing out the ladies standing on the side of the road "looking for rides" don't have a car because they did not finish school to get a good job in order to buy one. That was a good explanation!
Well, my husband has started to listen to talk radio here. He says it is very interesting, but mostly he hears about crime. We thought one story would make a great word problem for the kids:
There were 15 guys robbing an ATM. The cops shot 6 of them. How many are still alive?
That should get them interested in math, right?
We have probably not done this is the best way possible. Like pointing out the person smoking crack on the side of the street was doing so because he decided not to go to school. Looking back, this was probably not something we should have pointed out in the first place. Or how about pointing out the ladies standing on the side of the road "looking for rides" don't have a car because they did not finish school to get a good job in order to buy one. That was a good explanation!
Well, my husband has started to listen to talk radio here. He says it is very interesting, but mostly he hears about crime. We thought one story would make a great word problem for the kids:
There were 15 guys robbing an ATM. The cops shot 6 of them. How many are still alive?
That should get them interested in math, right?
Sunday, August 7, 2011
In a Blink
As I sit here and write this at 1 a.m. I cannot help but think how amazingly fast a year can go. Last summer I was closing up a life in Florida - selling a house, visiting family, living out of a suitcase for six weeks, trying to keep two boys occupied for a majority of a summer without their dad. We were heading to Brazil to live. Many people thought we were crazy. We even asked that question of ourselves several times. Heck, I was taking my children to a country we never, ever stepped foot in before!
I remember that first flight to Brazil vividly. Lucky us were in business class that night flight. Not that I could sleep or anything. I remember the anxiety and the questions running through my head. Would I understand the language fast? Would I meet friends? How will the boys handle school? A Valium probably would have been a welcome friend that night.
Now, exactly a year later, on probably the same airplane, but definitely the same flight number, I still can't sleep. We are not in B class this time. Though I can see from where I am our seats on that "maiden voyage." Only question now running through my head is how fast will Portuguese come back to me? And I am way better prepared clothes and luggage-wise than last time. We, or shall I say my father-in-law, had a fun time trying to fit everything in his car! There is a lot of stuff you need to take (really read buy) when spending six weeks in the States. My mother-in-law said it looked like the miracle of the loaves and fishes the way the suitcases kept multiplying. But really I have to blame my husband for that. What sane man lets his wife loose for six weeks, alone, without him? - and with two credit cards and a check book! Come on!
I am excited to be getting back though. The boys get to start school in two days. I think they are happy about that too because I think they are sick of each other. And I want to cuddle up to my hubby. That is the first thing after a shower that I want to do.
Since we are returning 365 days after we first landed I felt it necessary to have a "New Year in Brazil" resolution. I am bringing with me Zumba DVDs and P90X...
I remember that first flight to Brazil vividly. Lucky us were in business class that night flight. Not that I could sleep or anything. I remember the anxiety and the questions running through my head. Would I understand the language fast? Would I meet friends? How will the boys handle school? A Valium probably would have been a welcome friend that night.
Now, exactly a year later, on probably the same airplane, but definitely the same flight number, I still can't sleep. We are not in B class this time. Though I can see from where I am our seats on that "maiden voyage." Only question now running through my head is how fast will Portuguese come back to me? And I am way better prepared clothes and luggage-wise than last time. We, or shall I say my father-in-law, had a fun time trying to fit everything in his car! There is a lot of stuff you need to take (really read buy) when spending six weeks in the States. My mother-in-law said it looked like the miracle of the loaves and fishes the way the suitcases kept multiplying. But really I have to blame my husband for that. What sane man lets his wife loose for six weeks, alone, without him? - and with two credit cards and a check book! Come on!
I am excited to be getting back though. The boys get to start school in two days. I think they are happy about that too because I think they are sick of each other. And I want to cuddle up to my hubby. That is the first thing after a shower that I want to do.
Since we are returning 365 days after we first landed I felt it necessary to have a "New Year in Brazil" resolution. I am bringing with me Zumba DVDs and P90X...
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Story of the Peruvian Cow
I totally forgot about this until my wonderful husband reminded me.
We were in the of Ollantaytambo, Sacred Valley sightseeing. While we were there we heard a cow lowing. And it did not stop. One moo after the other. If I remember the story correctly my boys asked why. My husband said it was probably looking for her husband because she wanted him to do something and was nagging. But he disappeared. So my husband decided to put words to the cow.
"Moo, I am allergic to wool, moo."
"Where are you, moo."
"Why are you not answering me, moo."
At this point our guide cannot hold a straight face. He is trying really hard though so as not to hurt my feelings I think. But of course, my husband does not stop.
"Moo, I am cold, moo."
"Moo, get me some water, moo."
My children are hysterically laughing and joining in with the mooing. I really appreciate this but have a good sense of humor. So I add a comment or two.
"Moo, you are not touching me for years, moo."
"Moo, you can find your own dinner, moo."
Later we head off to another tour location. As we were going down a big hill in our tour van, my boys spot two steers. "Dad, look! There are the male cows!"
These steers were hanging out along the side of a field along an embankment. If you were walking along the road, the steers would be just feet from you and you would not know it due to the bushes they were "hiding" in. Of course, my husband commented on how they got away from their wives nagging and were hiding from them in this field. It would take a lot to get back up that hill. The steers were in no hurry to go and attend their cow wives needs.
You know, the garbage does not take itself out!
We were in the of Ollantaytambo, Sacred Valley sightseeing. While we were there we heard a cow lowing. And it did not stop. One moo after the other. If I remember the story correctly my boys asked why. My husband said it was probably looking for her husband because she wanted him to do something and was nagging. But he disappeared. So my husband decided to put words to the cow.
"Moo, I am allergic to wool, moo."
"Where are you, moo."
"Why are you not answering me, moo."
At this point our guide cannot hold a straight face. He is trying really hard though so as not to hurt my feelings I think. But of course, my husband does not stop.
"Moo, I am cold, moo."
"Moo, get me some water, moo."
My children are hysterically laughing and joining in with the mooing. I really appreciate this but have a good sense of humor. So I add a comment or two.
"Moo, you are not touching me for years, moo."
"Moo, you can find your own dinner, moo."
Later we head off to another tour location. As we were going down a big hill in our tour van, my boys spot two steers. "Dad, look! There are the male cows!"
These steers were hanging out along the side of a field along an embankment. If you were walking along the road, the steers would be just feet from you and you would not know it due to the bushes they were "hiding" in. Of course, my husband commented on how they got away from their wives nagging and were hiding from them in this field. It would take a lot to get back up that hill. The steers were in no hurry to go and attend their cow wives needs.
You know, the garbage does not take itself out!
Saturday, July 9, 2011
I have never been so thirsty in my life
Recently the family visited Macchu Pichu. I have spelled this several ways since I have no clue how many C's or H's are in the words. But, you understand. I was going to title this blog "If you build it, they will come" but I thought that might be too cliche. I mean, the pre-Kevin Costner Incas probably thought that, but no. My title is "I have never been so thirsty in my life." Why? Well because, oh my goodness, I have never been so thirsty in my life! This was way more than Zumba class thirsty. This was "my tongue feels like a wool carpet" thirsty.
So we finally reach Cusco after several hours of travelling. If you haven't read my travel blog yet, do so. That was an adventure in itself. Well Cusco is 12,000 feet in elevation, which is very dry and the air is thin. I did not have too many problems with the altitude though. Do I need less oxygen for my brain? Well I am sure there are several answers from my family about that one. But my husband and boys didn't either so whatever anyone says, it will transfer to them too. Silence? Thought so.
Okay so we go from Cusco to the Sacred Valley to acclimate for a few days. According to my husband, the Sacred Valley looks like Scottsdale, AZ. I have never been but, and no offense to AZ, I am sure Peru is just a bit prettier. Here is our hotel.
Can't beat that with a stick. Anyway. So here we are and our guide tells us to drink lots of water, Tea made from Cocoa leaves (yes the same thing that makes cocaine), and don't eat a heavy meal the first day. Check, check, check! But we did not realize that a lot of water would be more than 2 liters a day! That first night we woke up several times not being able to swallow we were so dry. I think I downed two bottles of water myself that first night. Holy cow!
But goodness it was fun, and cold. That we did not expect, though we packed for cold. Every town we went to, besides Lima, had a parade or a festival. Fireworks at all hours and tons of music. Javier work us up a few times saying "I see lights" thinking they were UFOs. No only fireworks. We visited Urubamba and Ollaytantambo in the Sacred Valley. Then we tool the train to Macchu Pichu. How these Incas built this city I do not know. Hey, I could have used that title "We Built This City." But unlike Jefferson Starship, it was not on Rock and Roll, just rock. How did they build it without iron tools? And how did they build it without falling off the mountain?
We were in MP (easier and I can spell it) for the Winter Solstice - June 21. One day a year the sun hits all of these places within the city to make shadows of creatures, the Inca cross, and things like that. Yes, I missed the picture through the Sun Temple Window (below), but we are NOT going to talk about that. My children would appreciate me not bringing it up.
Really the blog for MP should just be pictures because you cannot write the experience well. It is truly awe inspiring what these people did. It was an experience of a lifetime. But we did have fun too. We made some funny pictures...
Yes, Ricardo and Ian were standing on another terrace. I however, had nothing under me for two hundred feet. We also had a photo contest. Ian and I won. we are the first two pictures.
Ricardo thinks he would have won if he had a Corona in his picture. After MP, we headed for Aguas Caliente to take the train to Cusco. The city looks like a Disney planned village really, except for the dirt and the wires right next to you at the restaurant tables.
Cusco was an experience. Of course, we do not have many pictures of Cusco because the town had so many people visiting for Corpus Christi and then their holiday the next day. If you have never seen a Corpus Christi parade in Cusco, please YouTube it. Very interesting. We were also there for my youngest's birthday. So we took him to the Irish pub next to the Catholic Cathedral (where else would it be?) for a pint of Guinness and some Sprite. There are also Inca ruins around Cusco as well. We saw several places that the king, no not Elvis or Richard Petty, but some guy with a really long name, like ten syllables long, went to. We just called him Bob, much easier. So King Bob went to these temples to speak with the mummified ancestors and such to get advice. Me I just call my mom. Look at the picture below. the mummies were in those crevices. Um, yuck?
So we finally reach Cusco after several hours of travelling. If you haven't read my travel blog yet, do so. That was an adventure in itself. Well Cusco is 12,000 feet in elevation, which is very dry and the air is thin. I did not have too many problems with the altitude though. Do I need less oxygen for my brain? Well I am sure there are several answers from my family about that one. But my husband and boys didn't either so whatever anyone says, it will transfer to them too. Silence? Thought so.
Okay so we go from Cusco to the Sacred Valley to acclimate for a few days. According to my husband, the Sacred Valley looks like Scottsdale, AZ. I have never been but, and no offense to AZ, I am sure Peru is just a bit prettier. Here is our hotel.
Can't beat that with a stick. Anyway. So here we are and our guide tells us to drink lots of water, Tea made from Cocoa leaves (yes the same thing that makes cocaine), and don't eat a heavy meal the first day. Check, check, check! But we did not realize that a lot of water would be more than 2 liters a day! That first night we woke up several times not being able to swallow we were so dry. I think I downed two bottles of water myself that first night. Holy cow!
But goodness it was fun, and cold. That we did not expect, though we packed for cold. Every town we went to, besides Lima, had a parade or a festival. Fireworks at all hours and tons of music. Javier work us up a few times saying "I see lights" thinking they were UFOs. No only fireworks. We visited Urubamba and Ollaytantambo in the Sacred Valley. Then we tool the train to Macchu Pichu. How these Incas built this city I do not know. Hey, I could have used that title "We Built This City." But unlike Jefferson Starship, it was not on Rock and Roll, just rock. How did they build it without iron tools? And how did they build it without falling off the mountain?
We were in MP (easier and I can spell it) for the Winter Solstice - June 21. One day a year the sun hits all of these places within the city to make shadows of creatures, the Inca cross, and things like that. Yes, I missed the picture through the Sun Temple Window (below), but we are NOT going to talk about that. My children would appreciate me not bringing it up.
Really the blog for MP should just be pictures because you cannot write the experience well. It is truly awe inspiring what these people did. It was an experience of a lifetime. But we did have fun too. We made some funny pictures...
Yes, Ricardo and Ian were standing on another terrace. I however, had nothing under me for two hundred feet. We also had a photo contest. Ian and I won. we are the first two pictures.
Ricardo thinks he would have won if he had a Corona in his picture. After MP, we headed for Aguas Caliente to take the train to Cusco. The city looks like a Disney planned village really, except for the dirt and the wires right next to you at the restaurant tables.
Cusco was an experience. Of course, we do not have many pictures of Cusco because the town had so many people visiting for Corpus Christi and then their holiday the next day. If you have never seen a Corpus Christi parade in Cusco, please YouTube it. Very interesting. We were also there for my youngest's birthday. So we took him to the Irish pub next to the Catholic Cathedral (where else would it be?) for a pint of Guinness and some Sprite. There are also Inca ruins around Cusco as well. We saw several places that the king, no not Elvis or Richard Petty, but some guy with a really long name, like ten syllables long, went to. We just called him Bob, much easier. So King Bob went to these temples to speak with the mummified ancestors and such to get advice. Me I just call my mom. Look at the picture below. the mummies were in those crevices. Um, yuck?
We went to Lima as well. If you have never been, it is like NYC without the tall buildings, but on the ocean. We had such a great time. I hope I did not forget anything. If I did, you can blame it on the lack of oxygen. Wait a minute. I'm not there anymore.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
I feel the need, the need for speed!
So this afternoon after I finally got two hours more sleep from my sleepless overnight flight, I head to my doctor's appointment. It is bad, but I have not gotten a doctor in Brazil yet. I need to and will be looking for them when I return.
As I head down the main thoroughfare to the highway, I am impressed with myself. I am driving 50 mhp. This is actually the top speed I have driven in the past six months. It usually averages around 25 though. In Brazil, the highway speed limit is 90 kmph, which is about 55. The highest I have seen it is 120 kmph out in the interior. That is about 72 mph. And it actually feels fast when you are driving it. Maybe it is because the number is so high - 120? I don't know. Anyway, I get on the highway and wow. My car will not go over 70. And that was pushing it. Once the dial hit about 68, my foot automatically pulled back. What is going on? Okay, let's try loud music. I did not have my boys in the car so I turned on 105.9, the classic rock station in South Florida, put on my sunglasses, and adjusted the power seats. Well, that did it. Then on the radio came George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone." That petal hit 75 and I was flying! (Okay, maybe it was more like 72. But still, it felt really fast!) All to way to the doctor's office in the "Disneyland town" of Weston, FL in my husband's Honda Accord. Maybe I should have opened the sun roof. I might have gotten another 5 mph out of my foot.
The great thing was that on the way home, okay this time the speedometer was closer to 70. Well U2 was on the radio. You can't speed to U2. Anyway, I am "jamming" to U2 doing my mach speed of 70 mph, when behind me pulls up a man in a truck. I kindly get into the slower lane without slowing down, that would be too embarrassing, and let him pass. What kind of truck was he driving? Well as he passed, I got a great look at it, even at the supersonic speed I was doing. The truck passing me was an empty landscaping hauler with a 30 foot trailer hitched to the back. He had to be going a warp speed of about 75-80.
Something is just wrong with this picture, isn't there?
As I head down the main thoroughfare to the highway, I am impressed with myself. I am driving 50 mhp. This is actually the top speed I have driven in the past six months. It usually averages around 25 though. In Brazil, the highway speed limit is 90 kmph, which is about 55. The highest I have seen it is 120 kmph out in the interior. That is about 72 mph. And it actually feels fast when you are driving it. Maybe it is because the number is so high - 120? I don't know. Anyway, I get on the highway and wow. My car will not go over 70. And that was pushing it. Once the dial hit about 68, my foot automatically pulled back. What is going on? Okay, let's try loud music. I did not have my boys in the car so I turned on 105.9, the classic rock station in South Florida, put on my sunglasses, and adjusted the power seats. Well, that did it. Then on the radio came George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone." That petal hit 75 and I was flying! (Okay, maybe it was more like 72. But still, it felt really fast!) All to way to the doctor's office in the "Disneyland town" of Weston, FL in my husband's Honda Accord. Maybe I should have opened the sun roof. I might have gotten another 5 mph out of my foot.
The great thing was that on the way home, okay this time the speedometer was closer to 70. Well U2 was on the radio. You can't speed to U2. Anyway, I am "jamming" to U2 doing my mach speed of 70 mph, when behind me pulls up a man in a truck. I kindly get into the slower lane without slowing down, that would be too embarrassing, and let him pass. What kind of truck was he driving? Well as he passed, I got a great look at it, even at the supersonic speed I was doing. The truck passing me was an empty landscaping hauler with a 30 foot trailer hitched to the back. He had to be going a warp speed of about 75-80.
Something is just wrong with this picture, isn't there?
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Travelling in South America
Travelling within South America is an interesting experience. We have been fortunate enough to fly several times. However, our Peru trip was the first to travel within South America from Brazil. None of what I write is an exaggeration. Not even this story.
So we get to the airport to catch our flight. Oh thank you LAN for cancelling the plane. We could have gotten American Airlines miles because you are a partner and it is a really long flight - 5 hours. But noooo, you move us to TAM who does not give us miles. Oh and we almost don't have seats either. Yes, thank you.
Now we got second row behind first class (row 6) for most of the flights. Also, I got aisle every flight as well. You would think that I would appreciate this, and I would if it was a US flight. But no. First of all, on the first flight out of Brazil the lady sitting in bulkhead (first row) who does not have a place to put her bags yells at me in Portuguese that I need to move my bag so she would have a place for her stuff under her seat. I have no idea what she is saying so I call for my husband's assistance. He comes to my defense and they proceed to argue back and forth about the placement of her bags. We won of course. Second, I have never in my life have had so many butts and fronts shoved in my face or rubbed along my shoulder while people were walking down a plane aisle. EXCUSE ME! I am sitting here. You can respect my personal space and get your fat butt out of it! Oh yes, and thank you old guy on the plane back to Brazil for passing gas RIGHT in my face! That was lovely. I hope you enjoyed your beans for lunch.
You would think that would be the end of it right? Well no. Why would it be the end? It is just getting good! On one flight I gave my youngest the aisle thinking that he is short in the seat and would not have the same butt problem that I did. No, they just leaned in more because there was more room. Sorry baby! Oh and let us not forget the guy who was in a rush to get off and opened the overhead bin to get his bags; not take care to move someone else's computer bag out of his way; allow it to fall on my son's head; look over at my crying child, because really it was a laptop computer after all, and turn around; all without apologizing. Now the guy whose bag it was felt really bad about it and checked on us. But the other guy? Nope, which is why I said something derogatory really loud about rude people who do not apologize.
Okay, so we are on our way back to Brazil after an amazing vacation. Oh hey, we got to stand in line 20 minutes before we were told that once again LAN cancelled the flight and we get to go on TAM again out of Lima. Thank you again for the lack of miles! So we get to the counter and it takes another 20 minutes because they did not have seats for us. I booked this 4 months ago. I better have seats. Okay so they find us seats. We each get an aisle, yey, in consecutive rows, two in row 6 (second row again) and two in row 7. Will this turn out well? Hmm. So let's board. We walk onto the plane and there is someone sitting in my seat. I guess the couple did not want the window. There is no way I want it either except for the protection from the butts maybe. However, my son was next to me across the aisle so I politely said, "Excuse me you are in my seat." The response I get was "Okay, okay calm down." Umm, what? I believe I was very polite, with a smile no less. Whatever. So I sit down. "Excuse me is this your purse under the seat?" Thinking she forgot to move it. No. The lady in bulkhead turns around immediately and asks,"Do you have a problem?" Obviously she was ready for an argument. She came to the right place!
"Well your purse is under the seat in my space."
"No I have no where to put my bag. That is my space." She says motioning to her lack of compartments in front of her and basically dismissing me. No way lady! At that my husband comes to my rescue again. "No, that is her space and you need to put your things above you." She holds up her hands like she is warding off a violent person."You do not have to be so rude. Calm down please, I have no space for my things and yadda, yadda, yadda." And she stands up.
"Um ma'am, I was not being impolite to you." And my husband looks like he is ready to punch her from his seated position behind me.
"So are you going to get your purse?" I ask.
"I don't have the problem. You do. You can get it from there if you want it moved." Yeah, I do!
I was ready to say - why because you are too lazy to bend over you b***h and think you are better than other people and should get whatever you want? But I restrained myself. It was not easy let me tell you. I politely picked it up; I handed it to her and smiled. You should be very proud of this because at this point the lady I kicked out of my seat and the meanie are talking about Ricardo and I in Portuguese. I did not catch all of it, and neither did my husband. But I let her know is a subtle way that I could understand two other languages and I was not a rude American. Well maybe the rude part was right because my husband and I proceeded to talk about them and how rude they were, in a tone loud enough for both sets of meanies to hear. We made the French guy next to my youngest laugh. I also wanted to comment to her that I knew how to curse people. I mean my mother cursed me with children just like me, and it worked. How hard could it be right? But instead I wrote a Haiku in her honor. See I can be very polite.
You wanted my space.
You had no place for your bag.
Too bad old biddy!
So we get to the airport to catch our flight. Oh thank you LAN for cancelling the plane. We could have gotten American Airlines miles because you are a partner and it is a really long flight - 5 hours. But noooo, you move us to TAM who does not give us miles. Oh and we almost don't have seats either. Yes, thank you.
Now we got second row behind first class (row 6) for most of the flights. Also, I got aisle every flight as well. You would think that I would appreciate this, and I would if it was a US flight. But no. First of all, on the first flight out of Brazil the lady sitting in bulkhead (first row) who does not have a place to put her bags yells at me in Portuguese that I need to move my bag so she would have a place for her stuff under her seat. I have no idea what she is saying so I call for my husband's assistance. He comes to my defense and they proceed to argue back and forth about the placement of her bags. We won of course. Second, I have never in my life have had so many butts and fronts shoved in my face or rubbed along my shoulder while people were walking down a plane aisle. EXCUSE ME! I am sitting here. You can respect my personal space and get your fat butt out of it! Oh yes, and thank you old guy on the plane back to Brazil for passing gas RIGHT in my face! That was lovely. I hope you enjoyed your beans for lunch.
You would think that would be the end of it right? Well no. Why would it be the end? It is just getting good! On one flight I gave my youngest the aisle thinking that he is short in the seat and would not have the same butt problem that I did. No, they just leaned in more because there was more room. Sorry baby! Oh and let us not forget the guy who was in a rush to get off and opened the overhead bin to get his bags; not take care to move someone else's computer bag out of his way; allow it to fall on my son's head; look over at my crying child, because really it was a laptop computer after all, and turn around; all without apologizing. Now the guy whose bag it was felt really bad about it and checked on us. But the other guy? Nope, which is why I said something derogatory really loud about rude people who do not apologize.
Okay, so we are on our way back to Brazil after an amazing vacation. Oh hey, we got to stand in line 20 minutes before we were told that once again LAN cancelled the flight and we get to go on TAM again out of Lima. Thank you again for the lack of miles! So we get to the counter and it takes another 20 minutes because they did not have seats for us. I booked this 4 months ago. I better have seats. Okay so they find us seats. We each get an aisle, yey, in consecutive rows, two in row 6 (second row again) and two in row 7. Will this turn out well? Hmm. So let's board. We walk onto the plane and there is someone sitting in my seat. I guess the couple did not want the window. There is no way I want it either except for the protection from the butts maybe. However, my son was next to me across the aisle so I politely said, "Excuse me you are in my seat." The response I get was "Okay, okay calm down." Umm, what? I believe I was very polite, with a smile no less. Whatever. So I sit down. "Excuse me is this your purse under the seat?" Thinking she forgot to move it. No. The lady in bulkhead turns around immediately and asks,"Do you have a problem?" Obviously she was ready for an argument. She came to the right place!
"Well your purse is under the seat in my space."
"No I have no where to put my bag. That is my space." She says motioning to her lack of compartments in front of her and basically dismissing me. No way lady! At that my husband comes to my rescue again. "No, that is her space and you need to put your things above you." She holds up her hands like she is warding off a violent person."You do not have to be so rude. Calm down please, I have no space for my things and yadda, yadda, yadda." And she stands up.
"Um ma'am, I was not being impolite to you." And my husband looks like he is ready to punch her from his seated position behind me.
"So are you going to get your purse?" I ask.
"I don't have the problem. You do. You can get it from there if you want it moved." Yeah, I do!
I was ready to say - why because you are too lazy to bend over you b***h and think you are better than other people and should get whatever you want? But I restrained myself. It was not easy let me tell you. I politely picked it up; I handed it to her and smiled. You should be very proud of this because at this point the lady I kicked out of my seat and the meanie are talking about Ricardo and I in Portuguese. I did not catch all of it, and neither did my husband. But I let her know is a subtle way that I could understand two other languages and I was not a rude American. Well maybe the rude part was right because my husband and I proceeded to talk about them and how rude they were, in a tone loud enough for both sets of meanies to hear. We made the French guy next to my youngest laugh. I also wanted to comment to her that I knew how to curse people. I mean my mother cursed me with children just like me, and it worked. How hard could it be right? But instead I wrote a Haiku in her honor. See I can be very polite.
You wanted my space.
You had no place for your bag.
Too bad old biddy!
Saturday, June 25, 2011
The Girl Who Was Allergic To Wool
There once was a girl who was allergic to wool. Let's call her, I don't know, Jennifer. That makes it easy. So whenever Jennifer touched wool, or anything with lanolin in it for that matter, her hands would swell up and turn bright red and would burn. If she smelled wool, her nose would get stuffy and her eyes would itch. Not a pretty sight. So there was definitely no going into Banana Republic Stores in the winter!
One day she decided to book a trip for her family to Peru. They wanted to see Macchu Pichu and Cusco, and the other pretty cities of the country. Little did she realize, or think about it actually, that the main textile in the ENTIRE country is, yes you guessed it, wool. You can get Alpaca, Llama, or regular old sheep there. And it is in EVERY STORE! Not to mention that it was winter when she booked this trip.
So off they went to Peru. The first hotel the family hit really brought the problem forward. Well it is winter in Peru, so what does a hotel do that does not have central heating, only space heaters? Well they put wool blankets on the beds silly! Then there is also the wool rug, the wool wall hangings, the wool blanket-like decoration for the bed. Oh and all the microscopic wool fibers floating in the air. Yeah! Her first few nights were torture. It was very difficult to breath in that environment, but add to it another 10,000 feet in elevation so that the oxygen was thinner. Well then due to that she needed to breathe deeper to get in more air. She had an easier time in the few (read one) hotel that did not use wool blankets.
Oh, and of course Jennifer wanted to souvenir shop. So off they went to the market. Well, in some streets the market came to you. But what did each store have? Wool hats, scarves, ponchos, sweaters, you name it. It was easier in the markets though since they were open air. But no touching the merchandise was not just a slogan for her. I guess it made it easier on her husband's wallet though. Most things she could not buy. Lucky him right?
Well I felt bad for this Jennifer. So, since I have Irish descendants, I decided to write her a limerick. My ancestors did not come from there, which is why it is a really bad poem, but I gave it a good college try. Before you read it though, one, I had to change here name; and two, I would like to apologize to my Spanish speaking readers. Yes, my Spanish adjective is not gender correct. But then it would not rhyme if I did that...
There once was a girl named Coco.
She felt like she was going loco.
She was allergic to wool, but went to Peru.
And now her nose is all stuffed with moco. (For the non-Spanish speaker, that would be boogers).
One day she decided to book a trip for her family to Peru. They wanted to see Macchu Pichu and Cusco, and the other pretty cities of the country. Little did she realize, or think about it actually, that the main textile in the ENTIRE country is, yes you guessed it, wool. You can get Alpaca, Llama, or regular old sheep there. And it is in EVERY STORE! Not to mention that it was winter when she booked this trip.
So off they went to Peru. The first hotel the family hit really brought the problem forward. Well it is winter in Peru, so what does a hotel do that does not have central heating, only space heaters? Well they put wool blankets on the beds silly! Then there is also the wool rug, the wool wall hangings, the wool blanket-like decoration for the bed. Oh and all the microscopic wool fibers floating in the air. Yeah! Her first few nights were torture. It was very difficult to breath in that environment, but add to it another 10,000 feet in elevation so that the oxygen was thinner. Well then due to that she needed to breathe deeper to get in more air. She had an easier time in the few (read one) hotel that did not use wool blankets.
Oh, and of course Jennifer wanted to souvenir shop. So off they went to the market. Well, in some streets the market came to you. But what did each store have? Wool hats, scarves, ponchos, sweaters, you name it. It was easier in the markets though since they were open air. But no touching the merchandise was not just a slogan for her. I guess it made it easier on her husband's wallet though. Most things she could not buy. Lucky him right?
Well I felt bad for this Jennifer. So, since I have Irish descendants, I decided to write her a limerick. My ancestors did not come from there, which is why it is a really bad poem, but I gave it a good college try. Before you read it though, one, I had to change here name; and two, I would like to apologize to my Spanish speaking readers. Yes, my Spanish adjective is not gender correct. But then it would not rhyme if I did that...
There once was a girl named Coco.
She felt like she was going loco.
She was allergic to wool, but went to Peru.
And now her nose is all stuffed with moco. (For the non-Spanish speaker, that would be boogers).
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
A Year in the life...
We are coming up on living in Sao Paulo a year. Well we have two months left, but I and the boys are escaping to, I mean visiting the good old USA for the winter, well summer, well whatever. The season differences have really thrown us off. It is June here and winter. While my mind wants me to wear T's and flip flops, my body says "Hold on a minute there lady, are you crazy? It's like 50 degrees!" That is not the only thing that has thrown us though. Driving, taxis, traffic, pollution, food, freedoms. You name it, you need to adjust. So I have decided to make a Sao Paulo Survival List for those who want to live through, I mean enjoy their experience here.
Driving:
Depending on the time of day and the amount of traffic, you can actually make your own lane or drive in two lanes if you want. You can also take about one mile to change lanes and you don't need to use your turn signal to do this. If you find that you are in the right lane but need to turn left, just stick you hand out your window and give the thumbs up to the driver next to you and they will let you turn. You actually don't need to do all that, you really can just turn in front of everybody. But watch out, the person in the left lane is most likely doing the same thing but in the opposite direction while the person in the middle just wants to go straight. Or there can be any combination of this at any given time. If you miss your turn, it is perfectly okay to stop, reverse and get to where you want to go. Buses like to cut in front of you for no reason at all. And taxis will miss your car by a few inches to get around you because you are not driving fast enough for them.
Food:
Dinner here starts, at the earliest, 7 pm. This is difficult if you want to go to a restaurant and your children still want to go to bed at 7:30, or need to in the case of my children. We are still used to eating at 5:30. I have not been able to stretch it farther than 6pm at home. Brazilians think this is crazy. "What, you are eating again at 5:30? But lunch was just over at 2:30. How can you be hungry again?" Our food clock must be set in stone. We get up at 6 am, which is crazy to a Brazilian also, eat breakfast and are hungry at lunchtime, which for every sane person is noon. Sometimes I can give the boys a big snack after school to hold them over, and sometimes they have two dinners. No wonder they are growing so big!
The food here is different, but very delicious. You need to watch out though because it can be very salty or very sweet. My maid ate a meatloaf I made a liked it, but she said there was not much taste to it. So she proceeded to cover it with salt until the ENTIRE PIECE was white. True story. You can find a lot of substitutes for food you eat in your home country, with the exception of JIF Peanut Butter and Cheerios. Those are one of a kind. You can buy expensive imports if you want, though. I have bought a $10 jar of dill pickles, $5 package of taco seasoning, and $5 bags of goldfish. I will not buy the $12 bag of Campfire marshmallows though. I draw the line there.
And I am still not used to cooking with gas and Celsius. Or my oven is not calibrated correctly. I am burning everything. I need to pick up and oven thermometer while away. I think that will help.
School:
Depending on where your children go, international, British or American, you will get slightly different experiences. We are at a British school. You do not get a class list. There is usually a child of someone famous in the class. But you do not know who, nor does it matter to you. Usually because you personally did not know that this was a famous person. Your child could also be asked to travel with a friend's family on their private jet for a weekend in Aspen. True story, not for us though. At a British school, for an American, you need to learn new spelling. The letter U tends to show up in words that are not supposed to have them. But do not tell your children that it is because the British can't spell. That will come back at you fast. Oops! Or better yet, your eight year old can come home and ask for a rubber. What do you want? Ah, in British English a rubber is an eraser. Got it.
Fashion:
This is hard because you cannot look like a comfy American mom while out and about. You will look like the homeless people here. Or if you think you are dressy, usually you look like the maids coming into work or leaving. They are snazzy dressers. No you have to be top notch all the time - hair done, makeup on, skin tight jeans or Brady Bunch length skirts/dresses. Oh and sky-high heels. Most of the time this is not me. I think the doormen do not understand how I can live here with the way I dress. Jeans and a T is my wardrobe. Doesn't fly too often. We had a changeover of our complex security company while we were away at Christmas time. I had to convince the new guys that yes, I actually did live here. As I write this I am in jeans, my hot pink penguin T, lime green socks, slipper mules, and a grey hoodie. My hair is not done, nor do I have on makeup. It will take me about two hours to look Brazilian presentable today. Yeah, don't think so.
Another part to this, I figure, is sexuality. The bikinis are tiny, and you will see interesting lingerie in the windows of stores. My boys love that I think. And you will see butts or boobs on TV. it is not a big deal here, so we try not to make it a big deal either. That does not mean that my boys will walk into a Victoria's Secret with me ever again. But it is a good way to teach them respect for their body and for other people's as well.
Freedoms:
This is the hardest to get used to. Heck, In the US you can drive with your windows down. Here if you do you run the risk of someone pulling a gun through your window to demand your car or wallet. And still I forget sometimes to the frustration of my husband. So remember these please: Do not walk out of your house with all of your money in your purse. Hide some in other places so that if you get mugged at gun point, they don't take everything you have. You can also bargain with the mugger if you want to risk it. You can ask for your documents and keys, or ask to just hand over all the cash. They don't want your ID anyway. Do not wear a watch or jewelry. I put on a nice necklace once I am in a restaurant, but never before. And I take it off before I get to the valet. Always valet your car. Every restaurant and bakery has a valet. If you can, valet. Don't speak anything but Portuguese on the streets out loud. If you need to speak English, speak low or whisper (it is better inside a mall, but still be careful). Do not use your cell phone on the street, you are just asking for someone to steal it. Do not speak a lot of English in a taxi. Yes, they are your driver, but that does not mean they do not want to make an extra buck. Have a code with your family if you are under duress.
Pollution:
June is the month of being sick. The colder weather and cloudy skies trap the pollution. So hello coughing! If you leave SP, you will get sick on the way back in because you cleaned your lungs out and then they get refilled with the guck. A true statistic for you: Paulistas on average live three years less due to the pollution in the air and water. Sometimes you can actually taste it. And with the smell of the river you can grind it in your teeth and savor it. Yummo!
With all of this we actually enjoy living here and experiencing Sao Paulo. We are meeting some of the nicest people ever, and we are making great friends that we can keep when we go where ever next. I am looking forward to home though. I need my Target fix and my Macy's fix.
Now I am off to the store looking like trash to get dinner for tonight that I will most likely burn. Good thing the frozen pizzas here are delicious!
Driving:
Depending on the time of day and the amount of traffic, you can actually make your own lane or drive in two lanes if you want. You can also take about one mile to change lanes and you don't need to use your turn signal to do this. If you find that you are in the right lane but need to turn left, just stick you hand out your window and give the thumbs up to the driver next to you and they will let you turn. You actually don't need to do all that, you really can just turn in front of everybody. But watch out, the person in the left lane is most likely doing the same thing but in the opposite direction while the person in the middle just wants to go straight. Or there can be any combination of this at any given time. If you miss your turn, it is perfectly okay to stop, reverse and get to where you want to go. Buses like to cut in front of you for no reason at all. And taxis will miss your car by a few inches to get around you because you are not driving fast enough for them.
Food:
Dinner here starts, at the earliest, 7 pm. This is difficult if you want to go to a restaurant and your children still want to go to bed at 7:30, or need to in the case of my children. We are still used to eating at 5:30. I have not been able to stretch it farther than 6pm at home. Brazilians think this is crazy. "What, you are eating again at 5:30? But lunch was just over at 2:30. How can you be hungry again?" Our food clock must be set in stone. We get up at 6 am, which is crazy to a Brazilian also, eat breakfast and are hungry at lunchtime, which for every sane person is noon. Sometimes I can give the boys a big snack after school to hold them over, and sometimes they have two dinners. No wonder they are growing so big!
The food here is different, but very delicious. You need to watch out though because it can be very salty or very sweet. My maid ate a meatloaf I made a liked it, but she said there was not much taste to it. So she proceeded to cover it with salt until the ENTIRE PIECE was white. True story. You can find a lot of substitutes for food you eat in your home country, with the exception of JIF Peanut Butter and Cheerios. Those are one of a kind. You can buy expensive imports if you want, though. I have bought a $10 jar of dill pickles, $5 package of taco seasoning, and $5 bags of goldfish. I will not buy the $12 bag of Campfire marshmallows though. I draw the line there.
And I am still not used to cooking with gas and Celsius. Or my oven is not calibrated correctly. I am burning everything. I need to pick up and oven thermometer while away. I think that will help.
School:
Depending on where your children go, international, British or American, you will get slightly different experiences. We are at a British school. You do not get a class list. There is usually a child of someone famous in the class. But you do not know who, nor does it matter to you. Usually because you personally did not know that this was a famous person. Your child could also be asked to travel with a friend's family on their private jet for a weekend in Aspen. True story, not for us though. At a British school, for an American, you need to learn new spelling. The letter U tends to show up in words that are not supposed to have them. But do not tell your children that it is because the British can't spell. That will come back at you fast. Oops! Or better yet, your eight year old can come home and ask for a rubber. What do you want? Ah, in British English a rubber is an eraser. Got it.
Fashion:
This is hard because you cannot look like a comfy American mom while out and about. You will look like the homeless people here. Or if you think you are dressy, usually you look like the maids coming into work or leaving. They are snazzy dressers. No you have to be top notch all the time - hair done, makeup on, skin tight jeans or Brady Bunch length skirts/dresses. Oh and sky-high heels. Most of the time this is not me. I think the doormen do not understand how I can live here with the way I dress. Jeans and a T is my wardrobe. Doesn't fly too often. We had a changeover of our complex security company while we were away at Christmas time. I had to convince the new guys that yes, I actually did live here. As I write this I am in jeans, my hot pink penguin T, lime green socks, slipper mules, and a grey hoodie. My hair is not done, nor do I have on makeup. It will take me about two hours to look Brazilian presentable today. Yeah, don't think so.
Another part to this, I figure, is sexuality. The bikinis are tiny, and you will see interesting lingerie in the windows of stores. My boys love that I think. And you will see butts or boobs on TV. it is not a big deal here, so we try not to make it a big deal either. That does not mean that my boys will walk into a Victoria's Secret with me ever again. But it is a good way to teach them respect for their body and for other people's as well.
Freedoms:
This is the hardest to get used to. Heck, In the US you can drive with your windows down. Here if you do you run the risk of someone pulling a gun through your window to demand your car or wallet. And still I forget sometimes to the frustration of my husband. So remember these please: Do not walk out of your house with all of your money in your purse. Hide some in other places so that if you get mugged at gun point, they don't take everything you have. You can also bargain with the mugger if you want to risk it. You can ask for your documents and keys, or ask to just hand over all the cash. They don't want your ID anyway. Do not wear a watch or jewelry. I put on a nice necklace once I am in a restaurant, but never before. And I take it off before I get to the valet. Always valet your car. Every restaurant and bakery has a valet. If you can, valet. Don't speak anything but Portuguese on the streets out loud. If you need to speak English, speak low or whisper (it is better inside a mall, but still be careful). Do not use your cell phone on the street, you are just asking for someone to steal it. Do not speak a lot of English in a taxi. Yes, they are your driver, but that does not mean they do not want to make an extra buck. Have a code with your family if you are under duress.
Pollution:
June is the month of being sick. The colder weather and cloudy skies trap the pollution. So hello coughing! If you leave SP, you will get sick on the way back in because you cleaned your lungs out and then they get refilled with the guck. A true statistic for you: Paulistas on average live three years less due to the pollution in the air and water. Sometimes you can actually taste it. And with the smell of the river you can grind it in your teeth and savor it. Yummo!
With all of this we actually enjoy living here and experiencing Sao Paulo. We are meeting some of the nicest people ever, and we are making great friends that we can keep when we go where ever next. I am looking forward to home though. I need my Target fix and my Macy's fix.
Now I am off to the store looking like trash to get dinner for tonight that I will most likely burn. Good thing the frozen pizzas here are delicious!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Brazilian Torture by Beth Martins
This is a guest blog by my friend Beth as written by her.
Heaven knows that I am one of the least qualified people to make political commentary. However, of one thing I am quite sure is that if a woman had been solely in charge of writing the United Nations Convention Against Torture, there would not have been any need for debating over the use of controversial torture techniques. We women would simply go with the old standbys that we have been putting ourselves through for years – leg waxing, depilatories, laser treatments, Botox, threading, etc. The amount of beautifying torments we ladies put ourselves through is endless, and now that I am living in Brazil, I have another one to add to the list – the manicure. Surprised? I bet, but let me explain...
It all starts out like you would expect. You walk in, choose your nail color and a good gossip magazine, and take a seat in a very comfy chair. That is where the similarities end. The first sign that things are going to be different with this manicure is that the manicurist starts removing your polish with pure acetone. Yes, the same stuff we all gave up using in the early 1980s because of the scary side effects we were warned about with inhalation and absorption and many other things that I cannot remember. Not to mention the fact that it stings like the devil. Anyway, that truly becomes the least of your worries, once she starts with the cuticles. (By the way, there does seem to be a national obsession with cuticle removal. My son even came home from school the other day telling me that I needed to trim his. But I digress...)
This is the part they pay extra close attention to here in Brazil. The manicurist proceeds to take a razor-sharp set of cuticle trimmers and begins to painstakingly trim away those excess pieces of dead flesh that plague your nails after going for two whole weeks with no professional attention. She will not move on to the next finger until the one she is currently working on has had every last trace of skin removed. Your poor finger is pink to the point of bleeding and looks smoother than a newborn’s butt by the time she is done with it. And the nail bed has been dug in so deeply that you have a sneaking suspicion the manicurist might be digging for gold rather than trimming out dead skin. And if you start to pull your hand away in an act of self-preservation, she just gives you a snide grin and tells you how tense you are and that you really must loosen up and relax.
Relax – OK – did I mention that this is simultaneously going on with your toes? The only good thing is that the pain from your hands is sporadically diverted by the pain from your feet. They double team you so you are unable to react quickly with defensive maneuvers. Obviously, they have thoroughly studied manicure torture techniques. And when you start to bleed (notice I say “when”, and not “if”), they pull out a small jar of powder that instantly stops the blood so that they can continue on with their dead-skin vendetta. Last time I went, the manicurist actually struck blood three times, and instead of apologizing profusely, as I would expect, she just looked at me and said, “Wow. You’re very sensitive, aren’t you?” Right.
When she finally finishes with the sharp metal cuticle clippers, it is finally time for some nice, soothing lotion. Finally you can enjoy this manicure, right? Wrong. Out comes the acetone again, which removes the lotion from your nails and your throbbing (but incredibly smooth) cuticles to prepare for the polish.
The polishing stage is also quite different from what I am accustomed. Brazilians like to slather the nail polish all over the place – even getting some on the nails once in a while. Then comes what I like to consider “Stage 2” of the Brazilian manicure torture. The manicurist then produces a sharp, pointy little stick – made out of wood if you are lucky; metal if she is particularly sadistic. And what is this stick for? It’s to jam down into your freshly trimmed and very tender nail beds and dig out the nail polish that they have slapped on everywhere. I am almost sure that the goal is to see if they can actually get the nail color to enter into your blood stream. This continues on for two coats of color and a coat of clear. Yes, they jam the stick on every nail, after every coat – three vicious times per nail. At this point sweat beads are forming on your forehead as you try and prepare yourself for any impending agony-filled procedures.
As a final rite of passage, the last stage of the manicure consists of the manicurist taking that same stick and covering it with cotton, and – oh, yes – more acetone, in order to get off all the polish she has carelessly strewn across your nails and nail beds. This is a touchy time. Better not to breathe or make any sudden movements, because if she accidentally touches the freshly polished nail with the stick, out comes the acetone and it is back to Stage 2 for you.
After my first Brazilian manicure, I walked out of the salon feeling like I had entered some parallel universe, swearing that if I could only get out of there with all of my appendages that I would never be back. My hands and feet throbbed for the first two days after the “treatment” and every time I went to wash my hands in hot water my nail beds would swell up and turn beet red. Unfortunately, in this case, as in the case of all the feminine torture treatments and, for that matter, international politics, the end justifies the means. At the end of the day, Brazilians do the longest lasting and best manicures I’ve ever had done. I’m a convert.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Shaking hands with Don Shelby is not appropiate behavior in public.... I'm just sayin
Brazil is a very open culture. There are boobs and butts shown on TV. The ads in magazines and billboards are eye-catching to say the least. There are Playboys, and worse, sold at the checkout counters in the grocery stores. And as I have said in the past, the bathing suits here are small. This is normal. I am okay with most of it. My boys are probably okay with all of it. It is good in a way though. Brazilians are very comfortable with their bodies, no matter the shape or size, and they are comfortable with expressing themselves. I am still learning.
The daily life of a Brazilian is very, lets say interpersonal. The average Brazilian probably gives and receives over 100 kisses in a day. Not to mention the hugs and simple touches. This is okay with me, up to a point. Since I have been married into the Latin culture for some time, bussing cheeks is normal. But, I am still a puritanical, "my personal space" American in some respects. I have a problem with being crowded in line at the store. I have issues when I am trying to find things in Wal-Mart and another person is almost on top of me trying to get something off the shelf. Just because they are 2 feet away does not mean anything. They are still too close. And I still have a hard time when I first meet someone to give them a kiss on the cheek. Handshakes are fine for me. But a kiss is more personal. Now if I met them before no problem. Apparently, I gave a kiss on the cheek to an Exec at my husband's company who I thought I met before, but I didn't and I freaked him out. My husband got a good laugh at that one. My youngest son is learning about kissing. The girls at school call him cute, pinch his cheeks, and give him a kiss. He is enjoying this attention. Who wouldn't right? Well he is 9, so I think I need to reintroduce him to the definition of personal space.
I also have issues with public displays of affection. Holding hands, no problem, light kisses no problem. But extreme PDA is still a little much for me. For example, today I went to Starbucks for a very delicious Chocolate Cappuccino. I happen to glance up into the balcony of the store when I see two, I hope, teenagers making out. Not kissing. No this was the backseat of a Pontiac kissing session. And this is not the first place I have seen this. We have been standing in line at the movie theater candy stand and old people, like in their 50s, were playing tonsil tennis. We have been in restaurants, in bars, in the park. You name it. I am guessing it is a culture thing? In the States you would probably be charged with exhibitionism or lewd and lascivious behavior. I am glad my boys were not with me today. All I need is for them to get ideas, or tips, and take them back to the States with us.
Maybe I should keep this. Then when they are dating age, or younger in the case of my youngest, print it out and give it to the parents of the girls in their classes. That would ensure they do not date till college right?
The daily life of a Brazilian is very, lets say interpersonal. The average Brazilian probably gives and receives over 100 kisses in a day. Not to mention the hugs and simple touches. This is okay with me, up to a point. Since I have been married into the Latin culture for some time, bussing cheeks is normal. But, I am still a puritanical, "my personal space" American in some respects. I have a problem with being crowded in line at the store. I have issues when I am trying to find things in Wal-Mart and another person is almost on top of me trying to get something off the shelf. Just because they are 2 feet away does not mean anything. They are still too close. And I still have a hard time when I first meet someone to give them a kiss on the cheek. Handshakes are fine for me. But a kiss is more personal. Now if I met them before no problem. Apparently, I gave a kiss on the cheek to an Exec at my husband's company who I thought I met before, but I didn't and I freaked him out. My husband got a good laugh at that one. My youngest son is learning about kissing. The girls at school call him cute, pinch his cheeks, and give him a kiss. He is enjoying this attention. Who wouldn't right? Well he is 9, so I think I need to reintroduce him to the definition of personal space.
I also have issues with public displays of affection. Holding hands, no problem, light kisses no problem. But extreme PDA is still a little much for me. For example, today I went to Starbucks for a very delicious Chocolate Cappuccino. I happen to glance up into the balcony of the store when I see two, I hope, teenagers making out. Not kissing. No this was the backseat of a Pontiac kissing session. And this is not the first place I have seen this. We have been standing in line at the movie theater candy stand and old people, like in their 50s, were playing tonsil tennis. We have been in restaurants, in bars, in the park. You name it. I am guessing it is a culture thing? In the States you would probably be charged with exhibitionism or lewd and lascivious behavior. I am glad my boys were not with me today. All I need is for them to get ideas, or tips, and take them back to the States with us.
Maybe I should keep this. Then when they are dating age, or younger in the case of my youngest, print it out and give it to the parents of the girls in their classes. That would ensure they do not date till college right?
Friday, May 13, 2011
I Want Candy!
With a title like that you have to sing the song! That is exactly what I did today when I found a treasure trove. My friend wanted to check out a tiny supermarket around the corner from our apartments. So I tagged along. And boy, I am glad I did!
In a country that loves salt on everything, you cannot get pretzels. No I am serious! The only bags we have found so far are snack size that we can get a Wal-Mart. But today? I found Snyder's Pretzel Sticks! And Mini Pretzels! And coated ones like an inside out Combo! YUMMO! You are probably thinking pretzels? So what? Ha-ha, it is a so what! I do not eat chips and my junk food is pretzels. Now you are probably thinking, you don't eat chips? What's the matter with you? Well plenty, but I don't have enough room to list them here. However, I can down a one pound bag of Rold Gold in no time flat. The best is if you dip the pretzel in red Kool-Aid, but I don't have that either. But now, at least, I have pretzels. And you can't have any! They're mine, all mine! So mitts off!
The second favorite thing in this country is sugar. Can you understand why I like living here? The chocolate is very delicious. But every once in a while you want a good, down home, American candy bar. Well you can buy a few here, Snickers, Twix, M&Ms. But if you want a bar it will cost ya. Try $3.50 US dollars for a bag of M&Ms. Now you are probably thinking, What? Are you crazy? You don't buy any do you? Well, usually no. If I am in need of a chocolate fix I actually by a $6.00 big brick bar of Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate, but that is only when a girl really NEEDS her chocolate.
But today, at this little tiny grocery store around the corner from my apartment, I found Reese Cups and Reese Sticks and Skittles. Can I tell you how my eyes bugged out when I saw them? Reese Cups? You stuck your chocolate in my peanut butter! NO, you stuck your peanut butter in my chocolate! Yes, I'm in heaven. I'm in heaven. (Yes you can sing that song too). It has been so long since I had a Reese Cup. I savored them. No I did not buy any for my boys. And no I am not mean. I got them the Skittles and the Reese Sticks. I unwrapped one cup and ate the chocolate around the edges and then let the circle that was left melt in my mouth. Yes, this is how I eat all Reese Cups. You should try it. I highly recommend it. We were heading out to the car while I was eating the second one when the bag boy asked if I wanted to put my meager bags in the cart too (pretzels and candy do not take up a lot of room). But they were around my arm and I would have had to eat my chocolate faster if I was to do that. I let the boy know this and he laughed. I truly do not think he comprehends the bliss one feels when savoring their chocolate. So for a tip I gave him a snack sized Twix bar. He seemed happy with that.
Yes, today I bought candy bars and bags for US$3.50 each. And yes, I spent US$7.00 on a bag of pretzels. But today I am really happy. I think that out weighs the cost. Of course next week I will have to get on the bike and exercise it off, but I will cross that bridge then.
In a country that loves salt on everything, you cannot get pretzels. No I am serious! The only bags we have found so far are snack size that we can get a Wal-Mart. But today? I found Snyder's Pretzel Sticks! And Mini Pretzels! And coated ones like an inside out Combo! YUMMO! You are probably thinking pretzels? So what? Ha-ha, it is a so what! I do not eat chips and my junk food is pretzels. Now you are probably thinking, you don't eat chips? What's the matter with you? Well plenty, but I don't have enough room to list them here. However, I can down a one pound bag of Rold Gold in no time flat. The best is if you dip the pretzel in red Kool-Aid, but I don't have that either. But now, at least, I have pretzels. And you can't have any! They're mine, all mine! So mitts off!
The second favorite thing in this country is sugar. Can you understand why I like living here? The chocolate is very delicious. But every once in a while you want a good, down home, American candy bar. Well you can buy a few here, Snickers, Twix, M&Ms. But if you want a bar it will cost ya. Try $3.50 US dollars for a bag of M&Ms. Now you are probably thinking, What? Are you crazy? You don't buy any do you? Well, usually no. If I am in need of a chocolate fix I actually by a $6.00 big brick bar of Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate, but that is only when a girl really NEEDS her chocolate.
But today, at this little tiny grocery store around the corner from my apartment, I found Reese Cups and Reese Sticks and Skittles. Can I tell you how my eyes bugged out when I saw them? Reese Cups? You stuck your chocolate in my peanut butter! NO, you stuck your peanut butter in my chocolate! Yes, I'm in heaven. I'm in heaven. (Yes you can sing that song too). It has been so long since I had a Reese Cup. I savored them. No I did not buy any for my boys. And no I am not mean. I got them the Skittles and the Reese Sticks. I unwrapped one cup and ate the chocolate around the edges and then let the circle that was left melt in my mouth. Yes, this is how I eat all Reese Cups. You should try it. I highly recommend it. We were heading out to the car while I was eating the second one when the bag boy asked if I wanted to put my meager bags in the cart too (pretzels and candy do not take up a lot of room). But they were around my arm and I would have had to eat my chocolate faster if I was to do that. I let the boy know this and he laughed. I truly do not think he comprehends the bliss one feels when savoring their chocolate. So for a tip I gave him a snack sized Twix bar. He seemed happy with that.
Yes, today I bought candy bars and bags for US$3.50 each. And yes, I spent US$7.00 on a bag of pretzels. But today I am really happy. I think that out weighs the cost. Of course next week I will have to get on the bike and exercise it off, but I will cross that bridge then.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
In the immortal words of Jimmy Buffett
As I sit here this morning eating breakfast, I cannot help but think of Jimmy Buffett. He has a song titled "The Last Mango in Paris." No I am not eating the last mango in my house. I am eating the last Cheerio in Sao Paulo.
My in-laws, bless them, brought four big boxes of Cheerios when they came to visit in March. Let me tell you. It is not easy carrying Cheerios in a suitcase. The boxes take up a lot of room and get dented during transport. Nothing happens to the Cheerios, though I would eat the ground powder anyway if that was all I had. And every ex-pat I know either has someone bring a box or two this way, or they bring it themselves. Why is this necessary? Well, Brazil is not a cereal market. If they eat breakfast, it is breads and things. Or if "someone" makes them breakfast, it is a fully cooked meal. Which is why many people here have muffin top or spare tire issues.
You should see the cereal aisle here. There are maybe 10 total kinds, 3 are corn flakes, 2 are frosted flakes, 2 are bran type flakes or twigs, and the rest vary for kids cereals - Froot Loops, a Cocoa Puff type, and a honey O that is NOT, and I repeat NOT a Cheerio. It is not a whole lot to choose from. So when I got the boxes, oh and they brought Lucky Charms for the boys, which were gone in a week let me tell you. I think they even licked the plastics bag inside to get all of the crumbs. Okay, so when I got my boxes I horded them. Can't have cereal everyday if I wanted them to last. Well except for the first day or two. I had cereal for breakfast and lunch. And each time a box emptied, I cringed. My bowls got smaller, I ate slower to savor the taste, I put less milk in it so I wouldn't eat them faster because they now would not get soggy as fast. You name it, I stretched it out. Then the other day, I forgot to get bread for my family. Yes, they are Latin. They love bread! I buy French rolls everyday; they butter them, then put them in a sandwich press to have pao de chapa (ironed toast). Yes it is good, but not for me. My toast has to have jam, which is not for them so I can buy whatever flavor I like. Back to the story. I forgot to buy bread. This was part of a deal with my husband. I cannot skimp or not buy bread and he cannot comment on how many shoes I buy. It is a good deal. Especially in a land of very nice leather goods. But one day, I forgot. Bad mommy - no shoes for you! So the boys found something else, and I offered Ricardo my Cheerios. Yes. I did. Now he has eaten some before, but out of all of the boxes, maybe 1/2 of one total box. It hurt me badly to have to offer them to him. There was not much left. And now. None.
It is a sad day in Sao Paulo. I think is should be a day of mourning. Maybe I will crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head and listen to Jimmy Buffett. I can replace his lyrics with "the last Cheerio in Sao Paulo." I don't think he will mind, especially if he likes cereal.
My in-laws, bless them, brought four big boxes of Cheerios when they came to visit in March. Let me tell you. It is not easy carrying Cheerios in a suitcase. The boxes take up a lot of room and get dented during transport. Nothing happens to the Cheerios, though I would eat the ground powder anyway if that was all I had. And every ex-pat I know either has someone bring a box or two this way, or they bring it themselves. Why is this necessary? Well, Brazil is not a cereal market. If they eat breakfast, it is breads and things. Or if "someone" makes them breakfast, it is a fully cooked meal. Which is why many people here have muffin top or spare tire issues.
You should see the cereal aisle here. There are maybe 10 total kinds, 3 are corn flakes, 2 are frosted flakes, 2 are bran type flakes or twigs, and the rest vary for kids cereals - Froot Loops, a Cocoa Puff type, and a honey O that is NOT, and I repeat NOT a Cheerio. It is not a whole lot to choose from. So when I got the boxes, oh and they brought Lucky Charms for the boys, which were gone in a week let me tell you. I think they even licked the plastics bag inside to get all of the crumbs. Okay, so when I got my boxes I horded them. Can't have cereal everyday if I wanted them to last. Well except for the first day or two. I had cereal for breakfast and lunch. And each time a box emptied, I cringed. My bowls got smaller, I ate slower to savor the taste, I put less milk in it so I wouldn't eat them faster because they now would not get soggy as fast. You name it, I stretched it out. Then the other day, I forgot to get bread for my family. Yes, they are Latin. They love bread! I buy French rolls everyday; they butter them, then put them in a sandwich press to have pao de chapa (ironed toast). Yes it is good, but not for me. My toast has to have jam, which is not for them so I can buy whatever flavor I like. Back to the story. I forgot to buy bread. This was part of a deal with my husband. I cannot skimp or not buy bread and he cannot comment on how many shoes I buy. It is a good deal. Especially in a land of very nice leather goods. But one day, I forgot. Bad mommy - no shoes for you! So the boys found something else, and I offered Ricardo my Cheerios. Yes. I did. Now he has eaten some before, but out of all of the boxes, maybe 1/2 of one total box. It hurt me badly to have to offer them to him. There was not much left. And now. None.
It is a sad day in Sao Paulo. I think is should be a day of mourning. Maybe I will crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head and listen to Jimmy Buffett. I can replace his lyrics with "the last Cheerio in Sao Paulo." I don't think he will mind, especially if he likes cereal.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Going Coconuts...
Is not just the title of my favorite Donnie & Marie album while growing up. It was also a good movie, by the way. I highly recommend it.
My son recently has been called weird. This bothers us, and we have tried to reassure him that he is just fine. Yes, he is weird, but everybody is weird. We have told him this. Plus the coconut doesn't fall far from the tree, if you know what I mean. My other son asked, "Well if we are weird, is God weird?" Good question. My comment, "Well if we are made is God's image, then maybe He is." I think he appreciated that because it made him laugh. But my comment to my oldest was, "What fun is it to be normal? It is more interesting being weird. Plus, you come from a long line of weird people. There is no helping it." For example, I have an ancestor who died in Cuba. He was in the Spanish American War. No this does not make him weird. What makes him weird, the story goes (I got this from some distant relative), is that he died by falling out of a coconut tree. See? You are much more interesting if you are weird (and alive).
I think we were made to live in Brazil for a while. How do I come to that decision based on weirdness and coconuts?Well apparently, over the last 15 years the city has flooded more and more often, especially during the rainy season. It isn't raining any more than usual. The city has drainage. No. I have been told that what is causing the city to flood more often is coconuts. What? Yes. See, here you can get a coconut on practically any street corner. (My relatives are obviously not picking them since we cannot stay in a tree). They drill a hole in it, stick in a straw, and you drink from it. It is not expensive, and these coconut people are everywhere. But where do all the used coconuts go? Ah-ha! Yes, you got it. They go down the drain into the sewer system. Coconuts don't go anywhere, they don't degrade fast, no bugs eat the shells. So they sit there and block the water from draining faster. Plus there is now a hole in the coconut so it also fills with water. I don't think it floats then. And there you have it, a flooded city. How weird is that?!
See baby, you even live in a weird city. Is there another on this planet that can say it floods due to coconuts?
My son recently has been called weird. This bothers us, and we have tried to reassure him that he is just fine. Yes, he is weird, but everybody is weird. We have told him this. Plus the coconut doesn't fall far from the tree, if you know what I mean. My other son asked, "Well if we are weird, is God weird?" Good question. My comment, "Well if we are made is God's image, then maybe He is." I think he appreciated that because it made him laugh. But my comment to my oldest was, "What fun is it to be normal? It is more interesting being weird. Plus, you come from a long line of weird people. There is no helping it." For example, I have an ancestor who died in Cuba. He was in the Spanish American War. No this does not make him weird. What makes him weird, the story goes (I got this from some distant relative), is that he died by falling out of a coconut tree. See? You are much more interesting if you are weird (and alive).
I think we were made to live in Brazil for a while. How do I come to that decision based on weirdness and coconuts?Well apparently, over the last 15 years the city has flooded more and more often, especially during the rainy season. It isn't raining any more than usual. The city has drainage. No. I have been told that what is causing the city to flood more often is coconuts. What? Yes. See, here you can get a coconut on practically any street corner. (My relatives are obviously not picking them since we cannot stay in a tree). They drill a hole in it, stick in a straw, and you drink from it. It is not expensive, and these coconut people are everywhere. But where do all the used coconuts go? Ah-ha! Yes, you got it. They go down the drain into the sewer system. Coconuts don't go anywhere, they don't degrade fast, no bugs eat the shells. So they sit there and block the water from draining faster. Plus there is now a hole in the coconut so it also fills with water. I don't think it floats then. And there you have it, a flooded city. How weird is that?!
See baby, you even live in a weird city. Is there another on this planet that can say it floods due to coconuts?
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