Sunday, July 3, 2011
Let´s Talk About Sex Dental Hygiene Baby
If there is one thing I can say definitively about Brazilians after three weeks, it is that they love clean teeth. Most bathrooms are equiped with free floss despensers. I have not yet been to a restuarant that doesn´t have a bowl of toothpicks on the table or on the counter. I was quite shocked the first day when I was vigourously shaking the pepper shaker, awaiting some flavor, and instead had a toothpick pop out and land on my eggs. My surprise distracted me from my disappointment at the lack of pepper. We were told my some girls at the local university that all Brazilians love Halls because it´s such a faux paux to kiss someone with unfresh breath that they must always be ready. This information was also given as advice because when some one offers you a Halls it means they want you to have fresh breath for a reason.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Architecture in Sao Paulo
Sao Paulo is a weird city. I knew very little about it before I left but I assumed it would be an awesome city just because of how large it is. It's the largest city in Brazil and perhaps the second largest in North and South America (after Mexico city I believe). If I have to sum it up in one word I would say industrial. There are a lot of plain buildings but the ones that have more personality are the ones with a mix of european and portuguese architecture. The center of the city of stuffed with homeless and business people during the week and exclusively homeless people during the weekend. Both the rich and the poor parts of town are blanketed in a thick layer of graffiti- some works better than others.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Uma Cidade das Contradições
São Paulo is a city of contradictions. It's fast and slow, dangerous and safe, hideous and stunning, unbelievably wealthy and blatantly poor. The hardest part about these contradictions is that they exist, more often than not, side by side. An old person will be slowly hobbling across the street as cars zoom by to make a tight right turn. Twenty story buildings with no windows and nothing but a flat grey exterior neighbor rusty pink colored apartments with balconies covered with beautifully carved embellishments. Our program directors talk about the city like everyone is carrying a knife around looking to rob you and encourage us to never go out in groups smaller than three, refrain from pulling money out of ATMs after four pm, and demand that we take taxis after 10pm. At the same time, all the locals I talk to say that it is a deceptively safe city and that it requires no more precaution than any other big city. New apartment complexes abound, everywhere I look there's advertisements for up and coming high rises (read: palaces). It's illegal to paste signs up, so the companies pay people about $15 a day to stand and hold a sign promising paradise only 10km away! Yesterday I saw three homeless men wrapped in blankets cooking food on an open fire and then around the corner, there was a block lined with barbed wire fences. A prison, I questioned? No, just a row of brand new apartment complexes. What else would you expect?
Saturday, June 11, 2011
And So
And so, I almost have no words. I have only been in São Paulo three days and it´s already seriously putting the moves on me. Everything is bright and exciting and new. Even the things that most Brazilians would consider dirty or dull, I find fascinating, just because I can´t believe I´m getting to experience them first hand.
I´m staying with a girl who I met in Canada and, despite the fact that I barely knew her, she´s welcomed me into her home as if I were the ruler of some far off land. She´s a flight attendant and had to take off only hours after I had arrived. So,I had to fend for myself (which means eating all of the food she made for me and watching her cable tv). I spent my alone time allowing SpongeBob (Bobby-Esponge) to teach me Portuguese and wandering around the neighborhood trying to round up a few last minute items that I´d forgotten to bring. On my way home from my exploration, I saw a nearly dead, black and yellow catipilliar, with an orange head and green guts trailing behind it. I stopped and stared at it for minute, trying to take in its awesomness. I can safely say it is the coolest catipillar I´ve ever seen up close.
Today, Mariana returned around three and promptly saw to it that I had something to eat and something to drink (despite the fact that I told her I´d just eaten)! She decided that three days alone with SpongeBob had done me well and that from now on we would only speak Portuguese. She is absolutly tickled everytime I use the proper verb in the proper tense. Fala Portuguese! She speaks Portuguese! She tells everyone. It is far from the truth, but I´m flattered nonetheless. I have to say though, even as I write now, the English words swirl around the page and seem more foriegn than they did a few days ago.
After making sure I´d had plenty to eat, Mariana and her boyfriend Thomas, took to me a street fair where they preceeded to feed me more. We tried what I can only describe as oversized empanadas, vino quente aka hot wine which is reminiscent of hot cider, and a boiled nut that looks like a clove of garlic. When you bite it properly,the nut pops out, you salt it and enjoy it. We also ate Gnocci, which I thought would be old news, but it was served looking more like a french fry than anything. Being at the street fair was the best part so far because it´s winter time and so everyone is wearing winter jackets, pants, gloves and hats and it´s 60 degrees out. Mariana kept yelling about how cold it is and talking about how she almost froze to death when she was in Florida. She says that Brazilians don´t leave the house when it drops below 50 degress. I just laugh and she laughs at the fact that I don´t feel cold.
I´m staying with a girl who I met in Canada and, despite the fact that I barely knew her, she´s welcomed me into her home as if I were the ruler of some far off land. She´s a flight attendant and had to take off only hours after I had arrived. So,I had to fend for myself (which means eating all of the food she made for me and watching her cable tv). I spent my alone time allowing SpongeBob (Bobby-Esponge) to teach me Portuguese and wandering around the neighborhood trying to round up a few last minute items that I´d forgotten to bring. On my way home from my exploration, I saw a nearly dead, black and yellow catipilliar, with an orange head and green guts trailing behind it. I stopped and stared at it for minute, trying to take in its awesomness. I can safely say it is the coolest catipillar I´ve ever seen up close.
Today, Mariana returned around three and promptly saw to it that I had something to eat and something to drink (despite the fact that I told her I´d just eaten)! She decided that three days alone with SpongeBob had done me well and that from now on we would only speak Portuguese. She is absolutly tickled everytime I use the proper verb in the proper tense. Fala Portuguese! She speaks Portuguese! She tells everyone. It is far from the truth, but I´m flattered nonetheless. I have to say though, even as I write now, the English words swirl around the page and seem more foriegn than they did a few days ago.
After making sure I´d had plenty to eat, Mariana and her boyfriend Thomas, took to me a street fair where they preceeded to feed me more. We tried what I can only describe as oversized empanadas, vino quente aka hot wine which is reminiscent of hot cider, and a boiled nut that looks like a clove of garlic. When you bite it properly,the nut pops out, you salt it and enjoy it. We also ate Gnocci, which I thought would be old news, but it was served looking more like a french fry than anything. Being at the street fair was the best part so far because it´s winter time and so everyone is wearing winter jackets, pants, gloves and hats and it´s 60 degrees out. Mariana kept yelling about how cold it is and talking about how she almost froze to death when she was in Florida. She says that Brazilians don´t leave the house when it drops below 50 degress. I just laugh and she laughs at the fact that I don´t feel cold.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
A Note on Hospiltality
Talk about a small world. Sommer and I are waiting at the bus station for a man, who we think is named Berd, to come pick us up and drive us to his family's cow farm. Each car that drives by could be him, but they all zoom around the parking lot and speed off. Finally, one little hatchback pulls up to the curb and turns off the engine. A skinny man with a long pony tail gets out of the car and raises both hands high "allo!"
"So, where are you from?" he asks us as more than 10 flies perch on his legs.
"America." He waits expectantly, "A state called New Mexico" I elaborate.
"Ahh yes, New Mexico! My aunt lives there!" I turn back to look at Sommer in disbelief. He explains that she met a soldier who was in Frankfurt during the war and she moved back with him and settled in Albuquerque. What's more, is that Bert (named after Bertolt Brecht), went to visit her in Albuquerque in 1980 and thus already knew our city, its street names and all general geography of the homeland. We spent the next ten minutes marveling at the chances and at what a small world we live in.
Sommer and I found ourselves in this position due to lack of planning and adventurous spirits. We had a week to kill in Frankfurt but nothing to do and a desire to not spend any money (quite difficult when you have no place to stay, no fridge, and all museums cost at least 5 euros. There are only so many park naps a girl can take!). So we decided to Wwoof. We hopped online, paid the fee, and started looking up farms near Frankfurt that would be easy to get to and would let us come for only a few days. That was Tuesday and on Wednesday we were on a train to Marburg, Germany. Bert had answered the phone and in the English he could manage told us about his family, his farm, what they could offer us, and how to get to the farm. On the train ride there Sommer and I had a brief moment of doubt, in which we questioned what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into. Thankfully though, our doubts were quelled the moment we met Bert and then even more so the moment we arrived at the farm.
I only spent two days with them but they were thought provoking, glorious, and fun. Bert and Sylvia were versed in politics, cow facts, and hospitality. They welcomed us into their home without question. We ate richly, even though Bert talk us how hard times are now for family farms. We slept comfortably in a caravan that lived behind their house. It was an old trailer painted pink and yellow. It was a glorious abode. Our days were spent, feeding the cows, moving them to new pastures, cleaning out the barn, picking beans, picking sprouts off of last year's potato crop (over 2 thousand potatoes!) and cooking or cutting. It was simple and easy work. Our days were filled with coffee breaks in which Bert would teach us something new about the world, about farming, or tell us about his travels. We discussed the holocaust and traveling with Sylvia. After meals, Lutz, their youngest son, would quiz us on capitals of countries.
I don't know when but I would love to return there someday and get to know them even better. And how knows? Maybe Bert will come visit his aunt and get to see how Albuquerque has changed!
"So, where are you from?" he asks us as more than 10 flies perch on his legs.
"America." He waits expectantly, "A state called New Mexico" I elaborate.
"Ahh yes, New Mexico! My aunt lives there!" I turn back to look at Sommer in disbelief. He explains that she met a soldier who was in Frankfurt during the war and she moved back with him and settled in Albuquerque. What's more, is that Bert (named after Bertolt Brecht), went to visit her in Albuquerque in 1980 and thus already knew our city, its street names and all general geography of the homeland. We spent the next ten minutes marveling at the chances and at what a small world we live in.
Sommer and I found ourselves in this position due to lack of planning and adventurous spirits. We had a week to kill in Frankfurt but nothing to do and a desire to not spend any money (quite difficult when you have no place to stay, no fridge, and all museums cost at least 5 euros. There are only so many park naps a girl can take!). So we decided to Wwoof. We hopped online, paid the fee, and started looking up farms near Frankfurt that would be easy to get to and would let us come for only a few days. That was Tuesday and on Wednesday we were on a train to Marburg, Germany. Bert had answered the phone and in the English he could manage told us about his family, his farm, what they could offer us, and how to get to the farm. On the train ride there Sommer and I had a brief moment of doubt, in which we questioned what exactly we'd gotten ourselves into. Thankfully though, our doubts were quelled the moment we met Bert and then even more so the moment we arrived at the farm.
I only spent two days with them but they were thought provoking, glorious, and fun. Bert and Sylvia were versed in politics, cow facts, and hospitality. They welcomed us into their home without question. We ate richly, even though Bert talk us how hard times are now for family farms. We slept comfortably in a caravan that lived behind their house. It was an old trailer painted pink and yellow. It was a glorious abode. Our days were spent, feeding the cows, moving them to new pastures, cleaning out the barn, picking beans, picking sprouts off of last year's potato crop (over 2 thousand potatoes!) and cooking or cutting. It was simple and easy work. Our days were filled with coffee breaks in which Bert would teach us something new about the world, about farming, or tell us about his travels. We discussed the holocaust and traveling with Sylvia. After meals, Lutz, their youngest son, would quiz us on capitals of countries.
I don't know when but I would love to return there someday and get to know them even better. And how knows? Maybe Bert will come visit his aunt and get to see how Albuquerque has changed!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A Little Bit of Italia, A LIttle Bit Out oF Order-ah
So I am fairly positive that there is no such thing as a Venitian. I don’t think a single person in Venice is actually from Venice. This may give the idea that the city is vacant, no locals, somewhat of a dreary place. On the contrary though, the city is more stuffed than a calzone. Before Claire and I arrived I read that Venice is one of the most visited cities in the world. That made perfect sense to me because of what a unique city it is, but I had no idea how many people are in the most visited city in the world. Tourist-wise Venice is awful. You can’t go anywhere without running into a traffic jam, bumping into someone, or bein forced to move like a pencil through the narrow passageways. That said, minus all the humans, Venice is stunning.
Why aren’t there more cities in the world like this? It looks just like I thought it would and yet so different. Every 25-50 feet you have to cross a bridge, take a forced left or climb some stairs. The city is a maze- making it impossible to find anything on purpose and making every discovery an accident. Claire and I tried to retrace our steps to find a shop one day but we didn’t have the foggiest idea how to get back. The storeowner had given us a map but that was like giving a blind person a popsicle- a really nice gesture but a useless directional tool. We didn’t even bother checking the map. Instead though we wandered down some new streets in the direction of the store, ended up over shooting it, and then we emerged on the opposite side from where we’d found it the day before. Big name brand stores like Cartier and Timberland served as important reference points with their intrusive gold and black lettered signs. While small boutiques and tourist shops stocked with “NO FALSE” Venetian glass and leather stores made the quest more quaint but not more enjoyable.
For better or worse we booked our stay in Venice only days before we actually arrived and so we never actually stayed on the island. Instead we stayed in small towns around it and on an sweet island called Lido. It was initially disappointing but ended up being a blessing because we probably would have come back to France bald as a result of pulling every last hair out due to the frustratingly crowded streets.
As one point, for a bit of lightness and a respite from the crowds, Claire and I purchased a magical looking chocolate and powdered sugar covered treat. We exited the store and sought refuge in an abandoned passageway. Now to make this story make more sense, you have to understand that Venice is filled with delicious looking food. The people crowding the streets are never without a cone of gelato, a tasty looking wrap, a piece of pizza or something delicious in hand. More than once I found myself stopped in my tracks, gawking at what a couple had on their plates, until a second later I would remember that I am not invisible and that they could see me. At that point, I would hurry off to salivate in a more appropriate location. So many times though we would see a delicious looking something in a small boys hand and then search for it in vain. “Can’t I just sneak over and take a bite?” I asked Claire on more than one occasion. “It seems unfair that they get to eat that all to themselves and we don’t even get one bite.” Two or three times I came close because the food looked So. Damn. Good. Sadly for my stomach and pleasure center though, I restrained myself every time. Finally though, it was my turn to have a delicious something that no one else could eat. The first bite was so amazing that I closed my eyes so I could fully enjoy every subtle flavor and texture this chocolate pastry had to offer me. Claire, laughing at my overreaction (highly appropriate reaction) to the pastry, stepped to the side on me to photography my delight. When I opened my eyes to sink my teeth into the next bite, Claire and I were no longer alone in the alley. There was a middle aged Italian man inches from my face attempting to bite into my pastry. The sheer shock of it propelled a scream from the depths of my stomach. This man, only making the same joke Claire and I had been making for the past three days, was caught completely off guard. He quickly scooted off and rounded the corner but not before turning back one last time to laugh at us and with us, as Claire and I were doubled over, each chuckle snowing powdered sugar on the sinking streets of Venice.
Why aren’t there more cities in the world like this? It looks just like I thought it would and yet so different. Every 25-50 feet you have to cross a bridge, take a forced left or climb some stairs. The city is a maze- making it impossible to find anything on purpose and making every discovery an accident. Claire and I tried to retrace our steps to find a shop one day but we didn’t have the foggiest idea how to get back. The storeowner had given us a map but that was like giving a blind person a popsicle- a really nice gesture but a useless directional tool. We didn’t even bother checking the map. Instead though we wandered down some new streets in the direction of the store, ended up over shooting it, and then we emerged on the opposite side from where we’d found it the day before. Big name brand stores like Cartier and Timberland served as important reference points with their intrusive gold and black lettered signs. While small boutiques and tourist shops stocked with “NO FALSE” Venetian glass and leather stores made the quest more quaint but not more enjoyable.
For better or worse we booked our stay in Venice only days before we actually arrived and so we never actually stayed on the island. Instead we stayed in small towns around it and on an sweet island called Lido. It was initially disappointing but ended up being a blessing because we probably would have come back to France bald as a result of pulling every last hair out due to the frustratingly crowded streets.
As one point, for a bit of lightness and a respite from the crowds, Claire and I purchased a magical looking chocolate and powdered sugar covered treat. We exited the store and sought refuge in an abandoned passageway. Now to make this story make more sense, you have to understand that Venice is filled with delicious looking food. The people crowding the streets are never without a cone of gelato, a tasty looking wrap, a piece of pizza or something delicious in hand. More than once I found myself stopped in my tracks, gawking at what a couple had on their plates, until a second later I would remember that I am not invisible and that they could see me. At that point, I would hurry off to salivate in a more appropriate location. So many times though we would see a delicious looking something in a small boys hand and then search for it in vain. “Can’t I just sneak over and take a bite?” I asked Claire on more than one occasion. “It seems unfair that they get to eat that all to themselves and we don’t even get one bite.” Two or three times I came close because the food looked So. Damn. Good. Sadly for my stomach and pleasure center though, I restrained myself every time. Finally though, it was my turn to have a delicious something that no one else could eat. The first bite was so amazing that I closed my eyes so I could fully enjoy every subtle flavor and texture this chocolate pastry had to offer me. Claire, laughing at my overreaction (highly appropriate reaction) to the pastry, stepped to the side on me to photography my delight. When I opened my eyes to sink my teeth into the next bite, Claire and I were no longer alone in the alley. There was a middle aged Italian man inches from my face attempting to bite into my pastry. The sheer shock of it propelled a scream from the depths of my stomach. This man, only making the same joke Claire and I had been making for the past three days, was caught completely off guard. He quickly scooted off and rounded the corner but not before turning back one last time to laugh at us and with us, as Claire and I were doubled over, each chuckle snowing powdered sugar on the sinking streets of Venice.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Beer in Berlin
Well I can't really remember why I was so crazy about coming here because I know nothing about this city but I find myself here now and I'm pretty happy about that. Heartbroken that Claire has gone home but excited about something new.
I left Paris at 9am and got into Berlin at 5:30pm. The train was easy. I'm not sure why but long day trains induce in me the greatest state of sleepiness. I got a full nights rest last night but still found myself dozing off every ten minutes. And not just that but I could not keep my eyes open. The only reason I kept waking up was that I thought I heard people speaking English but that was just my brain pretending to understand German (even though I don't, not even a little bit).
I was only vaguely sure of where to go once I got off the train but a few lucky guess and generous Germans' finger points led me to the door of the All in Hostel. The staff were really nice when I got to there which was a relief after our last hostel where they were about as pleasant as diarrhea. I dropped my stuff off in the dorm (a 6 bed all girls dorm) (for the record 3 nights in Berlin is roughly equivalent to one night in Paris) and then came back into the main area to do some interwebbing. I only had a big bill and they didn't have much change. So, to make my 1 euro purchase less of an inconvenience, I decided to buy a beer from them. It was that same monks beer Claire and I had tried and enjoyed greatly in France. The cool thing was though that the receptionist told me that it was supposed to be drunk out of a glass. He said I could borrow one from the breakfast area. So he took me upstairs to the kitchen and showed me how to pour that specific type of beer which a Monk on the label(it has a higher yeast content or something) He explained that all the monks have to do is pray so to ward off boredom they drink a lot of beer. I have to tell you that drinking it out of a glass and pouring it in that specific way made it 10x tastier. I've only been here two hours but I already get the feeling that good things are going to happen in Berlin:)
I left Paris at 9am and got into Berlin at 5:30pm. The train was easy. I'm not sure why but long day trains induce in me the greatest state of sleepiness. I got a full nights rest last night but still found myself dozing off every ten minutes. And not just that but I could not keep my eyes open. The only reason I kept waking up was that I thought I heard people speaking English but that was just my brain pretending to understand German (even though I don't, not even a little bit).
I was only vaguely sure of where to go once I got off the train but a few lucky guess and generous Germans' finger points led me to the door of the All in Hostel. The staff were really nice when I got to there which was a relief after our last hostel where they were about as pleasant as diarrhea. I dropped my stuff off in the dorm (a 6 bed all girls dorm) (for the record 3 nights in Berlin is roughly equivalent to one night in Paris) and then came back into the main area to do some interwebbing. I only had a big bill and they didn't have much change. So, to make my 1 euro purchase less of an inconvenience, I decided to buy a beer from them. It was that same monks beer Claire and I had tried and enjoyed greatly in France. The cool thing was though that the receptionist told me that it was supposed to be drunk out of a glass. He said I could borrow one from the breakfast area. So he took me upstairs to the kitchen and showed me how to pour that specific type of beer which a Monk on the label(it has a higher yeast content or something) He explained that all the monks have to do is pray so to ward off boredom they drink a lot of beer. I have to tell you that drinking it out of a glass and pouring it in that specific way made it 10x tastier. I've only been here two hours but I already get the feeling that good things are going to happen in Berlin:)
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