So, I will update on the events of last weekend and this past work week. I will try to keep things a little shorter, because I realize that not all of you are trying to procrastinate during homework for summer classes and may, in fact, have things to do.
Although I'm insulted you don't have time to devote your every waking minute to me. Let me know, too, if you'd rather I write longer entries like I've been doing or if I shorten it up. Also, none of the following pictures are mine – I’ll upload them to Facebook sometime when I’m not feeling lazy.
So this past Saturday I went to Praia Grande, São Vicente, and Santos with the Koreans from Samsung (quick mini lesson - if you want to say Samsung in Portuguese, say it like it were spelled Sam-soong-ee), Edumundo, Nick (Nick-ee), and Yu? (a colleague of Edmundo's visiting that week from Korea) Obviously, I don’t think Edmundo and Nick are their birth names. Anyway, we left arond 8:30 for the roughly hour and a half drive to Praia Grande. The drive there took us along Rodovia dos Imigrantes, a highway that affords passengers stunning views of the mountains. It is chocked full of large tunnels, whose ceilings must be 30 feet high, and many bridges along the mountainsides. São Paulo rests in a plateau, which keeps its temperatures more mild than the coastal cities of Santos, et al. So the views were stunning when we descended from the mountains out onto a perfectly flat coastal plain.
Praia Grande is a beach which many people here belittle for its crowds of ugly people during the summers. But, it was winter, so the beach wasn't very full. I saw nothing wrong with it - it certainly was prettier than any shoreline of the North Atlantic. So, we wondered around, with my companions taking a bazillion photos. People looked at us. I guess tourists aren't common in June. Then Edmundo suggested we try the typical Caipirinha. It was good, but 10am is not usually when I think of having a mixed drink. This made me feel extra touristy.
After that, we watched a woman have her backpack snatched off the ground in a drive-by bicycle robbery. It was impressive yet distressing at the same time. From then on, we kept a closer watch on our backpacks.
Later that morning, we drove to São Vicente, which is very close to Praia Grande. It had some nice islands and was in general very pretty. The monument where the Portuguese made landfall is here, although we drove by it when I wasn’t expecting, so I didn’t get a picture of it. We drove up a winding, narrow road and stopped for some photos of the view. It was very idyllic – palm trees and brush lining a little street that curves down the mountain, with the ocean and islands in the background. We then progressed further up the mountain, to the top where a lookout monument rests and supposedly lines up with one of the government buildings in the capital, Brasilia.
After descending the mountain, we stopped for lunch between São Vicente and Santos.
[Quick note – I suddenly realized that I lied earlier and this entry won’t be short. No apologies].
Anyway, we ate lunch at an outdoor restaurant along the beach. Fried fish, steak, and tiny little camarões were consumed. You eat those little suckers with their exoskeleton, but it’s so small it doesn’t taste nasty like those on larger shrimp. Besides the food, Nick spent much of the lunch asking me why I didn't have a girlfriend, telling me to find a girlfriend, and suggesting that when I find a girlfriend we return to São Vicente.
Then we drove to Santos, very nearby, to ascend Monte Serrat (say Mon-tee Se-haat). The building atop the mount is old and has wonderful views. It used to be a restaurant, casino, among other things before turning into a tourist stop. We took some photos, had some coffee, and then headed for Vila Belmiro - the home of Pele. We walked through the musuem that hypes up Santos FC as if it were Barcelona, Manchester United, or some other top-class club. Sure, it had it's glory days, but the write-ups on many of the displays would give you the idea that these guys are like the giant martians in Space Jam. The tour showed the facilites, like the locker room, press room, and the pitch. The locker room had a shrine to some saint, and the incense smell was so overpowering that I wanted to die. After the tour, we began the drive back to São Paulo.
For dinner that night in the city we stopped at a Korean restaurant, my first experience with one. I wonder why three Koreans would pick such a place? I'm an adventurous eater, so most of the stuff was good, albeit a little weird. There were these tiny litle dried fish covered in a hot sauce. Wasabi soaked sliced carrots and veggies. Other things. The two stand outs were a soup with big pieces of onion and other unknown vegetables and giant chunks of fish - skins and all. It didn't taste bad, but it was a surprise to see a three inch long torso floating amidst the reddish broth. The other bizarre food, and the only I didn't at least moderately enjoy, was this weird water-soup thing. Basically, it was salt water with slices of cabbage stem or something. They loved it. I thought it tasted like I fell off my boogie board while screaming.
This past work week I divided my time between Portuguese class in the mornings and working in the Rector's (hec-tor) office. A rector is basically a provost/chancellor/dean mashup in Brazilian colleges. There, I worked on writing up a new set of rules and guidelines for how things are to be posted and goverend on Mackenzie's website. I'll let you know if they ever actually change it so that you can see hints of my handywork. I won't tell you if somehow their website turns out worse, ha ha.
On quarta-feira, Wednesday, the rector's assistant suggested that first we go downtown to lunch and look at the marketplace. So we walked through the streets, first coming to the black market of São Paulo. It's basically a series of blocks filled with stores and streetside vendors selling a ton of electronic stuff illegally. I gather that police occasionally sweep through to clear the place out, but nevertheless it was packed fuller than my stomach after an all-you-can-eat buffet. I didn't buy anything, although it was tempting.
Then we arrived at lunch, a German style bar/pub. We ordered some chope and some Brazilian-style German finger foods. Like my earlier first experience with Korean food, this would be my first experience with raw meat. One or two of the dishes weren tiny slices of sandwich bread covered in raw beef and topped with chive, mustard, and mayo. It was good, and I didn't die or get sick later, so I consider that pretty successful.
After work that night, one of the guys in the office invited me to accompany him and a friend to a Japanese retaurant, rodízio style, which means that you pay one price (in this case R$50) and get to eat as much stuff as you want. Waitors come to your tables, you specify some menu items, and you gorge yourself until you want to cry. Well, okay, so I didn't take it to that level of gluttony, but I've been told that some people actually force themselves to vomit in the bathrooms so they can eat more. I don't know if you can really count that as getting your money's worth. So, after raw meat for lunch, I was now going to pack myself full of raw fish. Lots of fresh sushi and sashimi followed, most of it very good, and none of it bad. My favorite two dishes were a fried pork (who knew that was Japanese) and some dish of small mushrooms that tasted like they were sautéed in some sort of white wine sauce. Über delicious. Again, I gave myself a high five that night after I wasn't sick post-one pound of uncooked food.
The rest of the week, and this weekend, played out in uneventful fashion. In a few minutes I will support the US soccer team over the juggernaut of Brasil. May Daivd trump Goliath again.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Malls, Moria, and a Movie
My dear fans, followers, and fumadiddles (make it your word of the day), I must humbly apologize for not updating as often as some of you might like. Actually, I rescind that apology and instead ask you to apologize for not mailing me packages filled with Utz Gormet Variety Kettle Cooked Chips, Turkey Hill tea, and Seltzer´s double-smoked balogna.
An entire week and two days has passed since I last graced these pixels with my literary wizardry. So what has happened, other than my terrible jokes growing worse?
Well, I forget if I mentioned or not, but last week on Thursday was Corpus Christi here in Brazil. So I "worked" for three days and then rested for four. Tough life. Unfortunately, my weekend wasn´t filled with much of anything, given the sickness of family members here, and my newness (and lack of cell phone) meant that I didn´t have anyone to accompany me someplace. The highlights of those four days (aside from not waking up at 5:30) were probably buying Pert shampoo and Colgate toothpaste with little mint strips. Delicious. So you can see that my weekend, in actuality, had no highlights. I did get to see one of the shoppings here. Yes, shopping is now a Portuguese word for shopping mall. Creative. I´m not sure what language it originated in, though... It was Shopping Morumbi, I think; a cavernous maze of floors and halls with many different stores with horrifyingly overpriced goods. R$300 ($150 USD) for a pair of Nikes that I can buy at Tanger for $50? R$1600 FOR MY iPHONE? Gah! I suppose I won´t be shopping in any shoppings. Not like I´ll really have extra room in my suitcases during the home journey.
Also, at the mall I finally found a stupid ATM that takes my cards. Thank you, Banco do Brasil. I still don´t know why all the other banks ATMs, all plastered with Visa logos and many with Star debit, don´t accept my perfectly legitimate cards proudly bearing the PNC logo for the world to see.
There isn´t anything else worth noting from that weekend. I finished a Grisham book. Wow.
[Since I haven´t written in a week, there are a lot of details swirling in my head like mayflies under a ballfield light. I don´t know if these events are slotted in the right day. In fact, I´m not even going to bother mentioning a day, unless I know for sure.]
This week I will give the term "Marathon Week". The days have been long and sometimes longer. At least twice this week, I have left the house at 6:15am (like normal) and have not returned until 9:15pm. I will spare you number crunching: this is 15 hours. So all I do when I return home is eat some reheated dinner, go to my room, close the door, and cry upon realizing that even if I were to try to go to sleep immediately, I might get six hours. Therefore, my early mornings are atrocious. My phone alarm first rings at 5:10, allowing me two snoozes. Sometimes a third if I´m feeling daring. Then I claw my way out of bed and into the cold bathroom (since there are no heaters in subtropical homes, at least that I´m aware of, the house can be around 65° in the morning). Side note about my bathroom: there is always the sound of running water coming from somewhere within the walls. It´s weird. Sometimes, when all is quiet on the Western Front, the trickling sounds like voices. I don´t like it. When the lights are out and everthing is dark, I feel like I´m in the Mines of Moria. If I start to hear drums, I´ll know I´m done for. Anyway, I roll out of bed and turn on the shower, making sure to leap out of the way of the stream until the water heats up to a humane level. Then I dress myself nicely, since everybody´s crazy about a sharp dressed man. Well, at least according to the upper portion of a siamese twin last letter of the alphabet. Headache?
Okay, so I get dressed, and go downstairs for a typical breakfast. Light stuff, no eggs, bacon, and muscle-milkshakes or anything. Some slices of bread with butter or cheese spread, some cappucino mix, and a little cup of coffee. The van comes for us, and we climb in. Let me tell you how much the roads in São Paulo suck. No, let me tell you how much the roads in São Paulo suck in a vehicle whose shocks are probably made of diamonds, and you´ve only woken half an hour ago. The roads are atrocious. Speed bumps, random holes and drainage ditches abound. So for 40 minutes or so each morning, I´m treated to a spine-crushing massage and the sounds of shock absorbers squeaking and moaning in protest. I arrive at Mackenzie at seven, and have an hour to kill until class. Usually, I contemplate finding a chiropractor or back-specialist before instead opting to get a coffee and do my Portuguese homework. After lunch, I bum around Agência Junior de Comunicação Mackenzie, a group of students who run an advertising/marketing firm. Their stuff is pretty impressive, and they´re a nice group of people and have helped me practice Portuguese as well as shown me around.
I think I was spending time with them this week because I´m a marketing major, so my director here at Mackenzie thought I would assist them in activities. In reality, I can´t do much of anything, since I can hardly process every other word in a fast Portuguese conversation, and they don´t have much work to do at the end of semesters.
I finally got a cellphone with a São Paulo number this week, although the little sucker is prepaid and will proably eat through credits like nobody´s business. Plus what the heck is the iTap crap? I want my QWERTY back! I forgot how cumbersome texting is on a number pad.
What else have I done.... Ah. I went with my Portuguese class and the one professor to see Exterminador do Futuro, or Terminator 4. I wonder if moviegoers here think that the theater is a substitute for Q-Tips, because the volume melted my earwax away. You know the popular expression: it was like I was there, but in a bad way. By the end, though, I didn´t realize that the speakers were so loud that Apollo 11 could take-off next door without us knowing.
The walk to the theater was interesting, since my profesor and I opted to hike the 10 or so blocks instead of crushing ourselves in an ônibus. The walk took us across various streets and past many different stores and locales, and it afforded me a closer knowledge of the city. At six at night so much is going on. People hustle to and fro leaving their jobs, dodging other pedestrians and obstacles on the wrinkled sidewalks. The smell of grilled meet greets your nose as you walk past one of the many streetside vendors of grilled foods and shiskabobs. People are checking into hotels or removing their cars from the infinite number of parking garages and stations scattered wherever they fit. Friends chat over dinner or a drink outside a café. Traffic rolls by. You walk alternating your gaze between the potholes in the sidewalk and the storm of people and cars in your path as you cross streets. There is just so much going on.
This week I also went to MASP to see the Vik Muniz exhibit. Let me just say that I typically vacuum dirt up. But this guy decides to use every little grain of earth to make a portrait. Abandoned computer towers form continents. Trash is positioned to form images. Check out his stuff.
This trip also showed me how nuts the buses can be. When fulley packed, it can be impossible to move, and one has to begin to force his or her way towards the doors 15 minutes before the stop. Port Authority never seemed so dignified.
On the note of transit -related things, traffic before/during/after football (soccer) matches is absurd. The one night we were coming home from Mackenzie by taxi, and the tubes of São Paulo´s highways had been clogged by enormous amounts of material. Vans drove by filled with people screaming, flags and banners of their teams hanging out the windows. Crazy. Oh, and this traffic was during HALF TIME, not before the game. Who knows what the roads were like prior to kick-off.
Well, it´s late (for me, it´s 10:30 here and I woke up at 5), and I think I´ve rambled enough. Thank you for navigating my nonsense and many references to random things. I probably forgot some stuff I wanted to say, but maybe I´ll tack it on later.
Oh, and as per your request, Jen, the boys are everything you´ve every dreamed of. Just like the Backstreet Boys, or a slightly younger Brad Pitt, or Will Smith with his muscle bulk in I Am Legend. Or...they look like American guys. This isn´t something I much care about, you know.
An entire week and two days has passed since I last graced these pixels with my literary wizardry. So what has happened, other than my terrible jokes growing worse?
Well, I forget if I mentioned or not, but last week on Thursday was Corpus Christi here in Brazil. So I "worked" for three days and then rested for four. Tough life. Unfortunately, my weekend wasn´t filled with much of anything, given the sickness of family members here, and my newness (and lack of cell phone) meant that I didn´t have anyone to accompany me someplace. The highlights of those four days (aside from not waking up at 5:30) were probably buying Pert shampoo and Colgate toothpaste with little mint strips. Delicious. So you can see that my weekend, in actuality, had no highlights. I did get to see one of the shoppings here. Yes, shopping is now a Portuguese word for shopping mall. Creative. I´m not sure what language it originated in, though... It was Shopping Morumbi, I think; a cavernous maze of floors and halls with many different stores with horrifyingly overpriced goods. R$300 ($150 USD) for a pair of Nikes that I can buy at Tanger for $50? R$1600 FOR MY iPHONE? Gah! I suppose I won´t be shopping in any shoppings. Not like I´ll really have extra room in my suitcases during the home journey.
Also, at the mall I finally found a stupid ATM that takes my cards. Thank you, Banco do Brasil. I still don´t know why all the other banks ATMs, all plastered with Visa logos and many with Star debit, don´t accept my perfectly legitimate cards proudly bearing the PNC logo for the world to see.
There isn´t anything else worth noting from that weekend. I finished a Grisham book. Wow.
[Since I haven´t written in a week, there are a lot of details swirling in my head like mayflies under a ballfield light. I don´t know if these events are slotted in the right day. In fact, I´m not even going to bother mentioning a day, unless I know for sure.]
This week I will give the term "Marathon Week". The days have been long and sometimes longer. At least twice this week, I have left the house at 6:15am (like normal) and have not returned until 9:15pm. I will spare you number crunching: this is 15 hours. So all I do when I return home is eat some reheated dinner, go to my room, close the door, and cry upon realizing that even if I were to try to go to sleep immediately, I might get six hours. Therefore, my early mornings are atrocious. My phone alarm first rings at 5:10, allowing me two snoozes. Sometimes a third if I´m feeling daring. Then I claw my way out of bed and into the cold bathroom (since there are no heaters in subtropical homes, at least that I´m aware of, the house can be around 65° in the morning). Side note about my bathroom: there is always the sound of running water coming from somewhere within the walls. It´s weird. Sometimes, when all is quiet on the Western Front, the trickling sounds like voices. I don´t like it. When the lights are out and everthing is dark, I feel like I´m in the Mines of Moria. If I start to hear drums, I´ll know I´m done for. Anyway, I roll out of bed and turn on the shower, making sure to leap out of the way of the stream until the water heats up to a humane level. Then I dress myself nicely, since everybody´s crazy about a sharp dressed man. Well, at least according to the upper portion of a siamese twin last letter of the alphabet. Headache?
Okay, so I get dressed, and go downstairs for a typical breakfast. Light stuff, no eggs, bacon, and muscle-milkshakes or anything. Some slices of bread with butter or cheese spread, some cappucino mix, and a little cup of coffee. The van comes for us, and we climb in. Let me tell you how much the roads in São Paulo suck. No, let me tell you how much the roads in São Paulo suck in a vehicle whose shocks are probably made of diamonds, and you´ve only woken half an hour ago. The roads are atrocious. Speed bumps, random holes and drainage ditches abound. So for 40 minutes or so each morning, I´m treated to a spine-crushing massage and the sounds of shock absorbers squeaking and moaning in protest. I arrive at Mackenzie at seven, and have an hour to kill until class. Usually, I contemplate finding a chiropractor or back-specialist before instead opting to get a coffee and do my Portuguese homework. After lunch, I bum around Agência Junior de Comunicação Mackenzie, a group of students who run an advertising/marketing firm. Their stuff is pretty impressive, and they´re a nice group of people and have helped me practice Portuguese as well as shown me around.
I think I was spending time with them this week because I´m a marketing major, so my director here at Mackenzie thought I would assist them in activities. In reality, I can´t do much of anything, since I can hardly process every other word in a fast Portuguese conversation, and they don´t have much work to do at the end of semesters.
I finally got a cellphone with a São Paulo number this week, although the little sucker is prepaid and will proably eat through credits like nobody´s business. Plus what the heck is the iTap crap? I want my QWERTY back! I forgot how cumbersome texting is on a number pad.
What else have I done.... Ah. I went with my Portuguese class and the one professor to see Exterminador do Futuro, or Terminator 4. I wonder if moviegoers here think that the theater is a substitute for Q-Tips, because the volume melted my earwax away. You know the popular expression: it was like I was there, but in a bad way. By the end, though, I didn´t realize that the speakers were so loud that Apollo 11 could take-off next door without us knowing.
The walk to the theater was interesting, since my profesor and I opted to hike the 10 or so blocks instead of crushing ourselves in an ônibus. The walk took us across various streets and past many different stores and locales, and it afforded me a closer knowledge of the city. At six at night so much is going on. People hustle to and fro leaving their jobs, dodging other pedestrians and obstacles on the wrinkled sidewalks. The smell of grilled meet greets your nose as you walk past one of the many streetside vendors of grilled foods and shiskabobs. People are checking into hotels or removing their cars from the infinite number of parking garages and stations scattered wherever they fit. Friends chat over dinner or a drink outside a café. Traffic rolls by. You walk alternating your gaze between the potholes in the sidewalk and the storm of people and cars in your path as you cross streets. There is just so much going on.
This week I also went to MASP to see the Vik Muniz exhibit. Let me just say that I typically vacuum dirt up. But this guy decides to use every little grain of earth to make a portrait. Abandoned computer towers form continents. Trash is positioned to form images. Check out his stuff.
This trip also showed me how nuts the buses can be. When fulley packed, it can be impossible to move, and one has to begin to force his or her way towards the doors 15 minutes before the stop. Port Authority never seemed so dignified.
On the note of transit -related things, traffic before/during/after football (soccer) matches is absurd. The one night we were coming home from Mackenzie by taxi, and the tubes of São Paulo´s highways had been clogged by enormous amounts of material. Vans drove by filled with people screaming, flags and banners of their teams hanging out the windows. Crazy. Oh, and this traffic was during HALF TIME, not before the game. Who knows what the roads were like prior to kick-off.
Well, it´s late (for me, it´s 10:30 here and I woke up at 5), and I think I´ve rambled enough. Thank you for navigating my nonsense and many references to random things. I probably forgot some stuff I wanted to say, but maybe I´ll tack it on later.
Oh, and as per your request, Jen, the boys are everything you´ve every dreamed of. Just like the Backstreet Boys, or a slightly younger Brad Pitt, or Will Smith with his muscle bulk in I Am Legend. Or...they look like American guys. This isn´t something I much care about, you know.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
You Are Only 20?!
Hmmmm. Where did I leave off last time? Ah yes, before my first day of work. Excuse me while I chuckle a second. Work, ha ha. This has not been work. Read more if you dare, to learn some and be aware! [cue lame, brooding string music].
Monday I awoke around 5am, 4am in EST, and grumpily prepared myself for the first day. I had no idea what to expect, because I didn´t really have a set schedule. It was more along the lines of "eh, you go to Mackenzie, talk to students, see some classes, do things, and voilà! You have helped connect Pittsburgh and Mackenzie and have informed every student about Pitt and the city." We rise so early each morning because of the potential for extremely constipated traffic flows. Fortunately, there aren´t any in the mornings it seems. We arrive at Mackenzie around 7am. On Monday, I had nothing to do until after 10am, because the director I was supposed to meet was away in meetings until then. So, I had much of the morning to wander campus by myself, feeling like a complete outsider who didn´t belong.
Mackenzie has a nice campus; it´s enclosed by a wall due to potential security risks, I suppose. Downtown Sao Paulo isn´t where you´d choose to have a tea party at 3am, if you know what I mean. The walls, though, do make the campus feel smaller and more together. Also, there are many trees and plants around the campus, and since all of the foliage is tropical or subtropical, it looks extra special to me.
Anywho, after wandering around campus in loops for an hour and wondering if the security guards thought I was a terrorist, I left campus to try and find a bank to withdrawl money from (my Visa debit and credit cards for some reason fail to work in all ATMs). I wandered the streets, acting as if I actually had somewhere to go and wasn´t a gringo who had only been in the country for 24 hours. I tried the ATM of another bank, and it failed, of course. How dare something work like it´s supposed to. I decided then to actually enter a bank and talk with someone, even though my Portuguese accent was probably as accurate as that of a mollusk. I spotted my victim, and saw customers walking into the bank. I approached a glass rotating door, and began to enter.
CLUNK. The door was locked. But I was too dumb to realize that. I pushed again, perplexed that doors outside the USA actually did need "sesame" to open. And then I pushed again, and again. Finally, my stupidity caught the attention of a young security guard inside. He approached and began to speak to me whilst I continued, dumbfounded, trying to open the stupid door. Finally, when I could only respond to him with distressed baby babble, he said, "You don´t speak Portuguese?" Rats! I´d been had! Like a dog caught eating trash or an expensive table leg, I responded humbly, "not much." With a red face, I asked him where I could exchange money. Another man, probably a teller, told me that there was another branch but I´d need to take a bus. Part of me wanted to slap him and say, "Did you just watch me running into a locked door? Do you think I´m capable of taking a bus?" Another part of me just wanted the ground to open up so I could die. At least magma won´t judge me.
Tail between my legs, I walked back to campus, quite a bit embarrased and downhearted. The one professor told me that I could attend the remainder of a Portuguese for foreigners class. I obliged, glad that no one near me had been in the bank.
The class was two professors who seem to have enough time to devote entire mornings to teaching a couple of Korean Samsung employees how to speak. I came to the class and tried to put prior events behind me. The people were nice, but I could answer very few of the questions asked of me in Portuguese. Finally, the class ended, but one of the professors offered to go with me to a good por quilo to eat. (Intermission: por quilos are a very popular place to have lunch in Brazil. One grabs a tray and loads it with whatever foods they want from the hot and cold bars, then one can select some freshly grilled meats. At the register, the price is simply calculated by total weight, not specific contents [with the exception of grilled meats, fruit, and drinks]). Anyway, on the way there, the conversation was sparse, and it didn´t improve much during the meal, nor on the way back. The professor knows English, but the point is for me to learn Portuguese. I could say very little, and he had to repeat questions multiple times. I felt sorry for him. After lunch, I was to join a class for students learning Spanish, and later watch informal interviews for potential English language tutors.
At first I was nervous about speaking Spanish. 1) I´ve only spoken it sparingly in classes with Americans whose accents are absolutely atrocious, and 2) these people speak português, and thus they´re likely to know a thing or two about español. My fears quickly dissipated in class, however. The students, while good at Spanish, weren´t wizards. And the teacher kept commenting how bonito my accent was. After that class, I felt pretty good. Somehow the American spoke better Spanish than those who speak a romance language. I then joined the meeting/interview for English tutors. After that class, a couple of students offered to show me around campus. I was grateful to be accompanied by people in the know who also spoke English well. They promised to show me around again sometime. Another student from the tutor group offered to show me around Sao Paulo if I needed, and she wants me to talk to her boyfriend about Pitt, which he is considering attending. (Side note, Prof. Giancarlo´s oldest daughter is contemplating attending Pitt next year). Anyway, my day ended on a much better note than it started. I had almost completely forgotten what an idiot I am and instead began to see the incredible Brazilian hospiality.
Tuesday, waking early again. This time I was determined to start on the right foot. Or the left. Whichever foot allowed me to avoid locked doors at banks. 8-10am, Portuguese for foreigners. However, instead of being a complete stranger to the language, I had now had about 48 hours to adjust to its unique sound. The prof. gave me a textbook to use. I began speaking, albeit limited, with more confidence. By the end of the class, the professor was commenting to my coordinator how fast I was learning. Yay. Also, the Koreans in my class are very kind. It´s strange, somewhat, when you realize that the guy next to you in class who talks like a student, sounds like one, dresses like one, is actually a 35 year old who works in Samsung´s printer division. Samsung makes printers? Who knew. The two Korean´s and I went to the same por quilo as the day before. I actually talked in Poruguese. They understood me (mostly). It was good. Later I went to sit in on another Spanish class. This one was full of friendly people again, and afterwards a guy told me he wanted to meet sometime to practice his English and help me with Portuguese.
That evening, I went to two English for adults classes. These people are retired, in the 50s or 60s, and have chosen to learn English. The one class was for beginners, and they asked simple questions that one expects in any level one course. But the other class was more advanced. About 15 women and 1 man, and some of them were quite animated. I stood infront of the class answering questions (the same questions that I answer in every single class I visit. The age one always ends in, "No, 20? You are so young!" and then muffled whispers in Portuguese likely pertaining to my youth) And then the "Queen" entered. Self-proclaimed Queen of Scotland. She tries to crack more jokes than I do (I hope mine are wittier).
Anyway, as soon as she entered she skipped most of the warm and fuzzy get-to-know-you crap and went for the juggular: how do you like the Brazilian girls? This is a topic that many adults here seem to be interested in, does Mr. American boy like all our pretty women. Every time someone asks, I just smile and say of course, because 1) I bet it´d be rude here, too, to say "No, actually, they are hideous and I would rather kiss a rock" and 2) Brazilians are always joking in a friendly manner. But imagine if you´re a guy in a class in America, you´re standing in front of fifteen 50+ year old women that you only met ten minutes ago, and they ask you how you like the girls and if you´re single. Then they suggest that you become their boyfriend and teach them English. Then they make some probably vulgar jokes in Portuguese that you don´t understand.
They were writing stories in class based on pictures they randomly pulled from a hat, just like we do in language courses. Two of the stories involved me getting married, and in one of those I married the professor (a woman) of the class. If you missed it the first time around, people here are very open. In my Portuguese for foreigners class the prof. told us how Brazilian fathers used to buy their sons prostitutes to turn them into men. This does not seem a likely topic to discuss for a few minutes in any class at Pitt. In the end, I can´t fault the old women. They were truly excited to practice English with a native speaker, and they insisted I come back to class next week and to their end of semester party at the end of June.
Wednesday, 5:30am wake-up, class 8-10 and beyond, another por quilo lunch and then I visited a studnet run ad-agency at Mackenzie (think Pitt News but for marketing). Yet again, the incredible Brazilian hospitality was, uh, incredible. They all helped me with Portuguese, wanted to practice their English, offered their emails and phone numbers in case I needed help, and said they´d take me around Sao Paulo and show me everything.
If you have survived this light-year long post, take away at least this: Brazilians are so ridiculously kind and caring and open. Every student and professor I have meet is so friendly, offering complements, advice, and help if I need it. The students want to help me fit in and have friends. People practically adopt you. Classes reflect this open friendship (at least all of the classes I´ve been to: language classes). Professors and students joke with and tease one another, everyone is chiming in all the time and talking, there is laughter, and students and teachers digress from lesson plans for 10 minutes at a time.
It´s wonderful. And maybe the girls are good looking, too.
Monday I awoke around 5am, 4am in EST, and grumpily prepared myself for the first day. I had no idea what to expect, because I didn´t really have a set schedule. It was more along the lines of "eh, you go to Mackenzie, talk to students, see some classes, do things, and voilà! You have helped connect Pittsburgh and Mackenzie and have informed every student about Pitt and the city." We rise so early each morning because of the potential for extremely constipated traffic flows. Fortunately, there aren´t any in the mornings it seems. We arrive at Mackenzie around 7am. On Monday, I had nothing to do until after 10am, because the director I was supposed to meet was away in meetings until then. So, I had much of the morning to wander campus by myself, feeling like a complete outsider who didn´t belong.
Mackenzie has a nice campus; it´s enclosed by a wall due to potential security risks, I suppose. Downtown Sao Paulo isn´t where you´d choose to have a tea party at 3am, if you know what I mean. The walls, though, do make the campus feel smaller and more together. Also, there are many trees and plants around the campus, and since all of the foliage is tropical or subtropical, it looks extra special to me.
Anywho, after wandering around campus in loops for an hour and wondering if the security guards thought I was a terrorist, I left campus to try and find a bank to withdrawl money from (my Visa debit and credit cards for some reason fail to work in all ATMs). I wandered the streets, acting as if I actually had somewhere to go and wasn´t a gringo who had only been in the country for 24 hours. I tried the ATM of another bank, and it failed, of course. How dare something work like it´s supposed to. I decided then to actually enter a bank and talk with someone, even though my Portuguese accent was probably as accurate as that of a mollusk. I spotted my victim, and saw customers walking into the bank. I approached a glass rotating door, and began to enter.
CLUNK. The door was locked. But I was too dumb to realize that. I pushed again, perplexed that doors outside the USA actually did need "sesame" to open. And then I pushed again, and again. Finally, my stupidity caught the attention of a young security guard inside. He approached and began to speak to me whilst I continued, dumbfounded, trying to open the stupid door. Finally, when I could only respond to him with distressed baby babble, he said, "You don´t speak Portuguese?" Rats! I´d been had! Like a dog caught eating trash or an expensive table leg, I responded humbly, "not much." With a red face, I asked him where I could exchange money. Another man, probably a teller, told me that there was another branch but I´d need to take a bus. Part of me wanted to slap him and say, "Did you just watch me running into a locked door? Do you think I´m capable of taking a bus?" Another part of me just wanted the ground to open up so I could die. At least magma won´t judge me.
Tail between my legs, I walked back to campus, quite a bit embarrased and downhearted. The one professor told me that I could attend the remainder of a Portuguese for foreigners class. I obliged, glad that no one near me had been in the bank.
The class was two professors who seem to have enough time to devote entire mornings to teaching a couple of Korean Samsung employees how to speak. I came to the class and tried to put prior events behind me. The people were nice, but I could answer very few of the questions asked of me in Portuguese. Finally, the class ended, but one of the professors offered to go with me to a good por quilo to eat. (Intermission: por quilos are a very popular place to have lunch in Brazil. One grabs a tray and loads it with whatever foods they want from the hot and cold bars, then one can select some freshly grilled meats. At the register, the price is simply calculated by total weight, not specific contents [with the exception of grilled meats, fruit, and drinks]). Anyway, on the way there, the conversation was sparse, and it didn´t improve much during the meal, nor on the way back. The professor knows English, but the point is for me to learn Portuguese. I could say very little, and he had to repeat questions multiple times. I felt sorry for him. After lunch, I was to join a class for students learning Spanish, and later watch informal interviews for potential English language tutors.
At first I was nervous about speaking Spanish. 1) I´ve only spoken it sparingly in classes with Americans whose accents are absolutely atrocious, and 2) these people speak português, and thus they´re likely to know a thing or two about español. My fears quickly dissipated in class, however. The students, while good at Spanish, weren´t wizards. And the teacher kept commenting how bonito my accent was. After that class, I felt pretty good. Somehow the American spoke better Spanish than those who speak a romance language. I then joined the meeting/interview for English tutors. After that class, a couple of students offered to show me around campus. I was grateful to be accompanied by people in the know who also spoke English well. They promised to show me around again sometime. Another student from the tutor group offered to show me around Sao Paulo if I needed, and she wants me to talk to her boyfriend about Pitt, which he is considering attending. (Side note, Prof. Giancarlo´s oldest daughter is contemplating attending Pitt next year). Anyway, my day ended on a much better note than it started. I had almost completely forgotten what an idiot I am and instead began to see the incredible Brazilian hospiality.
Tuesday, waking early again. This time I was determined to start on the right foot. Or the left. Whichever foot allowed me to avoid locked doors at banks. 8-10am, Portuguese for foreigners. However, instead of being a complete stranger to the language, I had now had about 48 hours to adjust to its unique sound. The prof. gave me a textbook to use. I began speaking, albeit limited, with more confidence. By the end of the class, the professor was commenting to my coordinator how fast I was learning. Yay. Also, the Koreans in my class are very kind. It´s strange, somewhat, when you realize that the guy next to you in class who talks like a student, sounds like one, dresses like one, is actually a 35 year old who works in Samsung´s printer division. Samsung makes printers? Who knew. The two Korean´s and I went to the same por quilo as the day before. I actually talked in Poruguese. They understood me (mostly). It was good. Later I went to sit in on another Spanish class. This one was full of friendly people again, and afterwards a guy told me he wanted to meet sometime to practice his English and help me with Portuguese.
That evening, I went to two English for adults classes. These people are retired, in the 50s or 60s, and have chosen to learn English. The one class was for beginners, and they asked simple questions that one expects in any level one course. But the other class was more advanced. About 15 women and 1 man, and some of them were quite animated. I stood infront of the class answering questions (the same questions that I answer in every single class I visit. The age one always ends in, "No, 20? You are so young!" and then muffled whispers in Portuguese likely pertaining to my youth) And then the "Queen" entered. Self-proclaimed Queen of Scotland. She tries to crack more jokes than I do (I hope mine are wittier).
Anyway, as soon as she entered she skipped most of the warm and fuzzy get-to-know-you crap and went for the juggular: how do you like the Brazilian girls? This is a topic that many adults here seem to be interested in, does Mr. American boy like all our pretty women. Every time someone asks, I just smile and say of course, because 1) I bet it´d be rude here, too, to say "No, actually, they are hideous and I would rather kiss a rock" and 2) Brazilians are always joking in a friendly manner. But imagine if you´re a guy in a class in America, you´re standing in front of fifteen 50+ year old women that you only met ten minutes ago, and they ask you how you like the girls and if you´re single. Then they suggest that you become their boyfriend and teach them English. Then they make some probably vulgar jokes in Portuguese that you don´t understand.
They were writing stories in class based on pictures they randomly pulled from a hat, just like we do in language courses. Two of the stories involved me getting married, and in one of those I married the professor (a woman) of the class. If you missed it the first time around, people here are very open. In my Portuguese for foreigners class the prof. told us how Brazilian fathers used to buy their sons prostitutes to turn them into men. This does not seem a likely topic to discuss for a few minutes in any class at Pitt. In the end, I can´t fault the old women. They were truly excited to practice English with a native speaker, and they insisted I come back to class next week and to their end of semester party at the end of June.
Wednesday, 5:30am wake-up, class 8-10 and beyond, another por quilo lunch and then I visited a studnet run ad-agency at Mackenzie (think Pitt News but for marketing). Yet again, the incredible Brazilian hospitality was, uh, incredible. They all helped me with Portuguese, wanted to practice their English, offered their emails and phone numbers in case I needed help, and said they´d take me around Sao Paulo and show me everything.
If you have survived this light-year long post, take away at least this: Brazilians are so ridiculously kind and caring and open. Every student and professor I have meet is so friendly, offering complements, advice, and help if I need it. The students want to help me fit in and have friends. People practically adopt you. Classes reflect this open friendship (at least all of the classes I´ve been to: language classes). Professors and students joke with and tease one another, everyone is chiming in all the time and talking, there is laughter, and students and teachers digress from lesson plans for 10 minutes at a time.
It´s wonderful. And maybe the girls are good looking, too.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Arrival
So, after spending about a bajillion hours (like 11) sitting in the airplane (and not getting up once), it felt great to step on to land. After JFK, Guarulhos seemed rather small. Fortunately it wasn´t too busy, and I had no trouble finding Prof. Giancarlo, with whom I am staying.
The ride in his car back to his home was interesting, especially for two reasons. 1) People would get pulled over in a heartbeat in the US for driving like they do, and 2) Sao Paulo is massive. NYC on steroids massive. Death Star massive. MASSIVE massive. I think you get my point. Driving from the airport to the house took 35 minutes or so, around 45 miles perhaps, and we weren´t going from far-end to far-end of the city. Also, there was hardly traffic. I can´t imagine a busy day (although I´ll see that firsthand tomorrow).
My host family is very nice, the professor, his wife, and three girls. Although only two speak English I should be fine by mashing my limited Portuguese with Spanish, forming what I´ll call Sportuguese.
Tomorrow I begin working at Mackenzie University´s language department, bright and early.
That´s all for now, more later.
P.S. Appreciate the length of this post: all the punctuation buttons are different, the shift keys are smaller, etc, so every fourth keystroke I usually have to backtrack and delete some random characters. Tchau!
The ride in his car back to his home was interesting, especially for two reasons. 1) People would get pulled over in a heartbeat in the US for driving like they do, and 2) Sao Paulo is massive. NYC on steroids massive. Death Star massive. MASSIVE massive. I think you get my point. Driving from the airport to the house took 35 minutes or so, around 45 miles perhaps, and we weren´t going from far-end to far-end of the city. Also, there was hardly traffic. I can´t imagine a busy day (although I´ll see that firsthand tomorrow).
My host family is very nice, the professor, his wife, and three girls. Although only two speak English I should be fine by mashing my limited Portuguese with Spanish, forming what I´ll call Sportuguese.
Tomorrow I begin working at Mackenzie University´s language department, bright and early.
That´s all for now, more later.
P.S. Appreciate the length of this post: all the punctuation buttons are different, the shift keys are smaller, etc, so every fourth keystroke I usually have to backtrack and delete some random characters. Tchau!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Wow. My First Entry.
I felt like the empty space on this page needed to be covered up. On Saturday I leave for São Paulo, Brazil; it's hard to believe that in slightly under a week I'll be working in another country.
I'm not entirely sure what my duties will be when I arrive, but I do know that I will be spending roughly the month of June working at Universidade Presbiteriana Mackenzie with the Dean and foreign language office. I think I'm working on developing an exchange program for Mackenzie undergrads to come to Pitt for a two week program.
After my work at the University, I'll move to Pitt's Executive MBA offices in the American Chamber of Commerce building. Sometime during my stay I'll also do some site visits to various Brazilian companies in different industries.
I'll be living with a Mackenzie professor and his family in the neighborhood of Morumbi.
That's all for now; I'm sure things will become a bit more interesting once I land.
I'm not entirely sure what my duties will be when I arrive, but I do know that I will be spending roughly the month of June working at Universidade Presbiteriana Mackenzie with the Dean and foreign language office. I think I'm working on developing an exchange program for Mackenzie undergrads to come to Pitt for a two week program.
After my work at the University, I'll move to Pitt's Executive MBA offices in the American Chamber of Commerce building. Sometime during my stay I'll also do some site visits to various Brazilian companies in different industries.
I'll be living with a Mackenzie professor and his family in the neighborhood of Morumbi.
That's all for now; I'm sure things will become a bit more interesting once I land.
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