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?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)