Birthday Festa & Culture Shock

After having traveled quite a bit in my life, I don't really get culture shock anymore. I am accepting of other cultures and can usually roll with the punches. In all the time I've spent in Brazil so far (a couple weeks back in 2007, then another two visits in 2012, and now living here for four months), I haven't had culture shock yet. Despite the fact that I have some Brazilian friends who have been kind enough to invite me into their homes with their families and to see how Brazilians really live, it's been pretty standard.  Last night I met a whole new crowd.

I have a semi-new carioca friend named Lu. He is a policeman, and around my age. A perfectly nice guy with good opinions and a kind heart. We've only hung out once before last night, but talk frequently. We had tentative plans to see a movie, but in the end he said there was a birthday party he had to go to for a teenager, and would I like to accompany him instead of seeing a movie?

My first reaction was to just say "no thanks". Birthday parties are intimate, for people that are close to the birthday boy/girl, family and close friends. When I expressed that, he said no, not here, birthday parties are for everyone. Furthermore, there is no need to bring a gift - it's just another Brazilian excuse to have a party. So I went.

Lu picked me up at almost 9:00 PM, and the apartment was only about 5-10 minutes driving from where I live in an area called Catumbí.  We went up to the 4th Floor and as soon as the elevator doors opened, the party was there. Brazilian funk music was pumping through the hallway. Young girls in booty shorts were shaking what their big-butted mamas likely gave them. A group of 30-something guys were hanging out in the hallway near an open window drinking beers, a pile of empty cans already accumulated. As we passed the group of girls, one came over and hugged Lu. He told me, "This is the birthday girl!" We greeted each other with the standard two cheek kisses and I wished her a happy birthday. I wanted to ask how old she was, but was still feeling overwhelmed and couldn't form sentences in Portuguese that were longer than one or two words. I guessed in my mind that she was probably 16 or so, turning 17 maybe. She was wearing very short shorts, strappy black high heels, a shirt that was more like a bra (entire stomach bare), and more makeup than I, at 30 years old, would ever wear.

We got into the apartment, passing through various crowds. The door was open and there were two couches in he hallway with piles of people on them. Inside, the perimeter of the living room was lined with chairs, full of people of all ages. A few kids that must have been 3 or 4, and women as old as probably 70. We smiled and greeted them all, and were led to a couple of chairs. Cans of beer were shoved into our hands, and the party host barked some words at me over the pumping music. I understood a few food words and gathered that she was offering me something to eat. I politely refused. Then to another offering, Lu yelled, "She's probably never had it before - bring her a little!"
"What did you just accept for me?"
"Caldo de ervilha. It's great, you'll like it."
"Caldo...doesn't that mean soup? Pea soup?"
"Yeah!"

I was thinking, "...at a party?"  The next thing I knew, a plastic bowl and spoon full of split pea soup were placed in my hands. So, yeah. Soup at a party. Where it's already about 80 degrees outside and there is no A/C or even a fan. And no table to put down the bowl.  Of course, I couldn't be rude, so I ate what I could of my soup. I sat there spooning it in (it was actually tasty, just, not the season for hot soup), when I noticed the big cake on the table with a big "12" on it. This girl was turning 12. As in...yesterday, she was 11. What mother would let her kid dress like that at age 12??

That was when I met her mom.  She was wearing a skin tight dress with holes cut out in the back. If she moved incorrectly, I am certain that there would have been visible nipple or hoo-ha. Luckily she seemed to know exactly how to move in that dress. She bounced around the room, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. And that's when I understood the daughter.

A while later, the birthday girl and her friends came into the apartment to cut the cake. But not before the pictures. A series of about 200 pictures were taken.
Things I learned last night about Brazilian birthday photography:
1) Everyone, even people who don't know her, must go behind the cake table and pose with the birthday girl.
2) Every Brazilian woman, when someone holds up a camera, will immediately turn sideways and stick out her butt.
3) If a man is in the photo, no matter if he is a friend or uncle or brother and no matter what age anyone is, the girl in the photo will turn her butt toward the guy's crotch and stick it out.
4) Acceptable poses for a woman are: kissy face, resting her chin on her hand even though her elbow is not resting on a surface, or the first two poses put together. Acceptable poses for a man are either a thumbs up, a peace sign, or a "hang ten" sign. A man who does not do one of those three with his hand is not a man at all.

After the "parabéns" were sung, cake was cut and the piles of sugar were passed around, the funk music came back on and the lights went out again. This is when the birthday girl got in the middle of the circle, bent over with her butt facing everyone, grabbed her ankles, and started bouncing her booty at crazy speeds.

A few of the other women had "wtf'" looks on their faces. I decided immediately that those were my people. There were a couple of guys videotaping and taking pictures (God help that girl when she's a few years older and those pictures are everywhere, unless she's pregnant by then in which case it doesn't really matter I guess). Then her mom pushed her out of the way and took her place, doing the same. As they say in Portuguese, "Tal mãe, tal filha."  Like mother, like daughter.

The other little girls took turns doing the same dance, and I didn't know where to look the entire time. Eventually Lu asked them to put on some pagode and then people danced like humans again, and I felt a little more comfortable.  Almost three hours had passed, and Lu asked if I was ready to go. I tried not to sound too eager when I said, "YES."

I thanked the host of the party, kissed everyone I had met goodbye, and decided that maybe I wasn't really ready for a real Brazilian birthday party yet. At least, not for girls who are jail bait for creepy old men.

And that, friends, was my first culture shock of Brazil.

Baratas em lugares baratos

Today, for the second time, I saw a cockroach crawling on the floor of my neighborhood supermarket.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am deathly afraid of any kind of insect. There are some that I tolerate better than others, and most people find which ones I fear most to be kind of strange, until they hear my reasoning.

Example:  A lot of people are really afraid of spiders. They can be deadly, they have eight creepy crawly legs, and let's face it, they are ugly. They appear in your home, make webs in hard to reach corners, and *gasp* might actually crawl on you.

My reasoning: Spiders aren't that bad. More typically, they are relatively small, they tend to stay in one place, and most of the ones you would ever see 1) don't bite and 2) aren't poisonous.  If they do bite, it's at night when you don't see it happen, and sure maybe it leaves a bump, but it's not much worse than a bad mosquito bite (which, as I learned here in Brazil, can also be deadly or at least give you a very nasty flu). More typical spider behavior is to sit in a corner of the room, make a little web, and trap and eat OTHER insects that would otherwise be annoying. Spiders, you can stay.

The bug to fear: a butterfly or moth. These suckers have big old wings, fly erratically with no rhyme or reason, don't care if they get tangled up in your hair, and you risk swatting it and getting parts of its ripped wing on you, which I find to be really disturbing. And did you ever try to see one fly away with half of one wing missing? It is disgusting. Butterflies can be pretty from afar when they're sitting on a flower, sure. But then they fly in your face and flutter around you all fast and haphazard, and, just, ew.


Now that you see my rhythm here, let's talk about cockroaches.  Yes, they appear in dirty places. Yes, they get in your food if you leave it out. Yes, some of them can fly (though I've never seen this). For the most part, they seem to not like people, they don't crawl on you (again, not in my experience anyway), they tend to only come out at night when they can freely feast on whatever crumbs you left out, and they move somewhat predictably.  In all cases that I saw a cockroach in Brazil, they were just being chill.

1) On a street in Botafogo. Cockroach quickly crawled across the sidewalk from one building into a sewer hole. It just wanted to get from one dark place to another.
2) Basement of my apartment building. I was scared for a minute that my building was infested, but then I was like, nah, that's where all the trash gets dumped. If they are sticking with the trash in the basement of the building, more power to them. The more trash, the more it keeps them away from my place.
3) Crawling on the floor of the nearest supermarket. In the supermarket's defense, they do leave all that weird salty meat sitting out, along with the pão francês and some other stuff. Also, there is no door, just an open storefront. I simply don't believe that every bit of food in the supermarket is contaminated with cockroaches. Would I buy the salty meat that is sitting out the open, though? Hell to the no.
4) Again in the basement of my apartment building. Again it was just one, and he was chilling on the floor minding his business and didn't move once. Might have been dead, in fact.
5) Again on the floor of the supermarket. Again, rushing toward the exit to disappear into the darkness.

This post doesn't have a point, other than to say that I think houseflies that go really fast and slam into lights, and moths and butterflies, are much scarier than cockroaches or spiders.

And yes, I know I will probably feel differently the first time I get a cockroach in my apartment. I would probably rather have a butterfly infestation.

MIA

I don't know if anyone is actually reading this on a regular basis or if they are just passing through, but in any case, I am sorry I have been MIA for so long.  That stomach bug or whatever it is that I had/have was enough to wipe any writing energy right out of me.

I went to the doctor as planned last Friday, was asked a bunch of questions, given two medications - one antibiotic for something unrelated to my stomach, and something that would absolutely stop my stomach pains and make me feel better. Unfortunately in addition to that, the doc ordered two tests - an abdominal ultrasound (done, and my organs are all fine), and an endoscopy, to happen tomorrow. She said, in order not to mask the true issue, don't take the stomach medicine until after you have the endoscopy. Well shucks, it will have cured itself by then, I said.  But, as she explained, it would take the purpose out of the exams to cover up whatever problem I have with some medication. At least this way maybe they can see what's going on.

In the meantime, a lot has been happening in the streets of Rio. A lot of my Brazilian friends on Facebook are posting their opinions, leaving comments, sharing pictures of the police violence, a policeman friend is posting pictures and articles about attacks on police officers. It's a lot to take in for someone who, to be honest, doesn't know much about the history of the country she's living in, and who has only been here for three months. (Psst...that's me.)  I won't pretend to know what's going on, what's going to happen, or even which side is right (probably both, a little).

I do know the following: I hate the bureaucracy here. I hate that any kind of service I've encountered in my first months here has been unreliable and inefficient. I hate that these smart, amazing people I meet, most of whom have college educations, make such low salaries in this country. Skilled people, like professors and policemen and lawyers and people who work in IT.  I hate that there are so many homeless people everywhere (not because they're bothering me, but because I come from a place where even the "homeless people" are wearing nice Steelers jackets and have someplace to sleep at night and somewhere to get a good, free meal).

I imagine it's hard to grow up with this, but you know what else is hard? Coming from a place where everything works perfectly, and then seeing a place where nothing works well, and the people doing nothing about it and nobody making any effort to change it. I can't tell you how many times I told someone what happened and they shrug and laugh and say, "That's Brazil!" Sure, it's Brazil, but maybe it shouldn't be. 

But who knows what will happen now? I doubt this movement will make Ponto Frio deliver and assemble their orders on time, but I can live with that if the good people around me finally get some of the breaks that they deserve. (That was tongue-in-cheek - please don't think I am so shallow:-).  I'm excited to see what happens between now and the World Cup.  Maybe a lot... or maybe nothing. I don't know enough to really have an opinion.

Brazil, I wish you only the best. Especially since for all intents and purposes...I'm one of you now.

I can't stomach Rio, apparently

For the third time since I ever came to Brazil, I am having severe stomach pains.  People ask all the usual questions: Is it heartburn? Acid reflux? Menstrual cramps? Did you throw up?  Nope, none of that. I simply have cramping pains in my stomach.

I can't imagine it's anything serious.  The pain is not consistent; it's periodic pains that start off more frequent and slowly dwindle down until I don't notice them anymore.  I have never been in labor, but I would compare it to a woman having contractions in labor, only way less severe (i.e. I can function, and I don't scream).  But it's like that - it feels like a contracting of my stomach, I can't help wincing at its worst point, and then it goes away.  It stays away from anywhere from a few minutes to a half hour.  And then I get another one. Each one lasts 5-10 seconds.

The first time it happened was after my first visit to a churrascaria, and it lasted three days.  I attributed it to eating ungodly amounts of salty meat in one sitting, and my body was definitely not used to that.  That was back in October when I was only visiting.  The second time was a couple weeks after I arrived after my move here. This time I couldn't think of anything strange I had eaten, just normal food.  This one was the worst. I woke up at 4 AM from the pain, it came every 15 or 30 seconds, and I was doubled over in pain from every cramp. I couldn't eat anything, and I slept for something like 18 hours, and missed two days of work. It was about a week before I felt normal.

And now this. Again, I didn't eat anything out of the ordinary. It started yesterday (Wednesday) in mid-morning, lasted the rest of the day. I went to the pharmacist and described what I was feeling, and he gave me pills for "colic and menstrual cramps" (which I do not have).  I took two so far but they didn't do anything. I am a fan of natural cures, so if it is a bacterial issue, I figured eating plain yogurt and coalhada was a good idea.  So, with each pill I had a little Greek yogurt or coalhada container.  That's not a chore, I love yogurt.

Alas, it is the same, or maybe even a bit worse today. So tomorrow I will go to my first doctor's appointment ever in Brazil. The person is some kind of gastro/stomach specialist and it is halfway between home and work. So, easy enough.  I am not a fan of doctors, but since this keeps happening it is probably time to go.

Here's hoping that no tests are needed where they stick a tube camera down your throat. *fingers crossed*

Dia dos Namorados

I had to suffer through not one, but two this year!  

Oh well, a happy one to everyone else :-)

Home

One thing that is consistently hard for me is missing special days, like holidays and birthdays.  My biggest downfall when living away from home is thinking of what I'd be doing if I were home.

Home is a funny word. It's not a place, it's a concept, almost like a state of being. 
Example sentence: If I were scared, I would scream.  (a feeling)
If I were in Alaska, I would be cold.  (a place, but it needs a preposition in front of it: in Alaska, at the store, on a rooftop.)

If I were home, I would ____.  You don't need a preposition. It isn't a feeling. It is just home.  And yet it's relative. Anyone can be home, and they would be in completely different places.  Here at work (in Rio) I might say, "I'm going home now."  But when I say "if I were home"...I mean Pittsburgh, which will probably always be what I refer to as home no matter how many years I live here.

If I were home today, well...I would be at work, yes.  But I would plan for Saturday to go out to Cranberry with my mom. We would do all the typical Cranberry things she likes to do - go to Costco, shop around in some stores. Then I would take her for lunch at Aladdin's. We would have fattoush and hummus for appetizers, and lamb in some form for our meals.  After, I would insist that she get dessert.  We would each have borma.  She would argue to pay the bill, or at least half, and I would say, "No. It's your birthday, you are not paying." She would pester me so much that I would finally let her leave the tip, and she would generously leave at least 20% even if the service wasn't great.

Then we would plan to go see a movie.  We would have finished everything else early and have at least an hour to wait before the movie. Knowing that I was planning to pay, she would say, "Frankly I'd rather just go home."  I would argue that it's her birthday and we should do something special, and she would say, "We can just get a movie On-Demand."  I would finally agree and we would go home. Hannibal would leap around happily, as he had been wondering if we would ever come home, since the concept of five minutes versus one hour or half a day is lost on him. We would unload the car, and it would take Mom at least an hour to settle in.  When we sat down she would exclaim, "Oh, it feels so good to just sit."  Hannibal would settle himself into her lap. "Let's find a movie?"

We would go through the hundreds of titles on all the different channels and settle on nothing. We would sit, talking. I would fall asleep on the couch while she would manage to find the Saturday episodes of Judge Judy on some channel.  She would doze off as well. We would wake up, cook dinner together, and when dinner came she would have a glass of wine.  After dinner as she drank her coffee, she would say, "Thank you for a lovely birthday. Today was just perfect."

And I would reply, "You're welcome, Mom. I love you."

But I'm not there, so we will both have to settle for this day in our minds.  I do love you, Mom.  I'm sorry I'm so far away today.

Visitante

My good friend, who also happens to be my boss, is in town this week.  She came to Rio a few times before for work, but we were never here at the same time until now. Her last "touristy" thing to do was to visit Sugarloaf, so even though I've been there a few times already I was happy to go along.  The view from Sugarloaf at sunset is breathtaking.

We left work at 3:30 PM to be able to get up there on time. Sugarloaf on a Tuesday evening is DEAD. It was awesome. No lines, no waiting, just got right up to the top.  She was very impressed, as she should have been.  Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) gets all the hype, but I would take the view from Pão de Açucar any day.

 View from the top

After that we went to a restaurant in Copacabana called Deck, which I've already visited a few times. It's not the cheapest place, but they have live music, nice outdoor seating across from the beach, and good food. So, what's a little splurge here and there?  We shared carne seca com aipim, one of my favorite Brazilian dishes, and bolinho de bacalhau. We probably should have eaten a vegetable but hey, she's on vacation and I eat at home all the time. So there. :-)

After that we went walking through one of those open markets where they sell jewelry, beach clothes, and souvenirs. I found two pairs of earrings and a necklace that I loved. She bought presents for people back home.

I felt so happy, strolling through the humid ocean air with my dear friend, humming one of my favorite Brazilian songs that the guys at the restaurant had been singing. We were a small audience but the singer and I caught each other's gaze in this song, and shared a secret smile.

Quero a vida sempre assim
com você perto de mim
até o apagar da velha chama.
E eu que era triste, 
descrente desse mundo
ao encontrar você eu conheci
o que é felicidade, meu amor...

I won't bother translating that for you; I wouldn't do these beautiful words justice with my half-assed translations. But I, like most people, hope that someday, someone feels that way about me. I am starting to be the descrente, the disbeliever.  But that isn't to worry about tonight.

Boa noite, minha galera.

Nordestinos

Something I still can't figure out in Rio is this prejudice against people from the northeast of Brazil, known in Portuguese as "nordestinos". I have heard people refer to them as "paraíbas" (which is a state in northeast Brazil), even when the person is not from Paraíba. I have heard jokes about them being stupid, about them having giant heads, and worse things that I'd rather not mention here because they're just mean (as if the first two weren't mean enough).

Now this is a story for another post, but I have had a lot of problems in my apartment so far. Call it macumba. But anyway, everyone who has been here to do some kind of work for me has been a nordestino. Seu João the fix-everything man, Seu José the other fix-everything man, Carlos the electrician, have all been from the northeast of Brazil.  These are the sweetest people I have met in the country.

Carlos the electrician was my favorite. He came over after I had lost electricity a week before, had it kind of fixed by the building's handyman, and had been without hot water for seven days. When Carlos came over I was desperate. I asked him eleven different ways if he could at least just fix the water that same day, even if he couldn't do the other necessary rewiring. He looked at me, saw the desperation in my face at the thought of taking one more freezing cold shower, and said, "Vou dar um jeito para você."  I'll find a way for you. And he did. During the work, he told me all about his wife, his three daughters, and his grandchildren. He loved telling me how his wife was from the same city he was, but that he met her in Rio. And when he was leaving I walked out with him because I had to go to work, and in the street, he told me to take care of myself, and said goodbye with a hug and two cheek kisses. He gave me his cell phone number in case anything else went wrong and I needed an emergency contact, and said he doesn't usually give it out but that he was worried about a nice young girl like me being alone in Rio. My electrician, whom I had met an hour before, cared that much.

On my bus ride home, twice now, the same nordestino guy had gotten on along Rio Branco. I finally learned their accent to be able to pick them out (usually).  He carries two huge suitcases, he wears a dirty pair of shorts, havaianas, and nothing else. He has no more than four teeth. He is sweaty and he smells bad.  But he is sweaty and he smells bad because he is working in the street selling candy as his work, and then has to carry everything he is selling with him on the bus in these two huge heavy suitcases. When he gets on the bus, he tells everyone around how hot he is, and fans himself with his hands.  The looks on the faces of everyone else on the bus are inexcusable. He is a nice person! He is friendly, he moves his suitcases for people to get off, he smiles and makes small talk. And people roll their eyes and look away when he talks to them, sharing those knowing "He's crazy!" looks with their eyes.

Oh the looks I received the second time I saw him, and he said "Good evening" to me. I smiled and said good evening back.  He said I looked familiar. I said, we rode the bus together yesterday. He smiled, chatted a bit more, and then my stop came and I got off the bus with him calling a sincere "Boa noite, minha filha!" after me.

Tonight I saw him running to get on as the back doors of the 010 were closing. He yelled for the bus to wait, and it did for a moment. Then the driver saw who had wanted to get on, closed the door, and kept going. The man punched the side of the bus several times, and more as it drove away.  Wouldn't you feel the same if your ride home after such a long day had so deliberately left you behind?

I just don't get what the nordestinos did to get this kind of treatment, this prejudice.  Until someone can give me a good reason, I'll continue to spend my nights at the Feira de Paraíbas, singing karaoke and drinking caipirinhas, eating carne de sol com aipim, and dancing forró with them.  They have a lovely culture, and that place feels more like home than anywhere else in Rio.

Vamos marcar!

There is something very "carioca" that was a huge frustration for me early on, but that in these few months I have come to love.

Brazilians, especially the cariocas, will say a lot of different things just to end a conversation. A popular one is to say that they want to see you again soon, and, "Vamos marcar alguma coisa!" which means, "We'll schedule something!"  For someone who is new in the city with no friends, hearing that is a like a ray of light from heaven. Wow, I might actually have plans this weekend!

But then, nobody schedules anything. Even when something was actually scheduled - for example, a couple of girls from work knew that I would love this "Feira de Paraibas", a nightly festival that celebrates northeastern Brazilian culture, and made plans for all of us to go after work on a Friday night.  I went to work that day dressed up a little, really excited to go. At the end of the day, I waited, expecting someone to say something, but then everybody just said goodbye and went home. Not wanting to be the annoying puppy, I also just went home, but I was confused. Didn't we schedule this? This was an actual plan, right? Did I imagine it?

I did not imagine it. Turns out, it is just a carioca thing to make these empty plans with no intention of actually doing the thing you planned.  So when I was new, you can imagine how frustrating this was. But now - wow - this works to get me out of ANYTHING that I don't want to do!  That annoying girl who you want nothing to do with? Sure, we'll go out some night! (The key here is to never mention any specific night).  That guy who you always see out and about in your neighborhood who keeps asking you to have a drink? Sure, this week is busy, but we'll get together sometime!  Even that person at work who you don't want to have lunch with?  Sure, I have a lot of meetings today but we'll make it happen!

Cariocas, you have been sitting on a goldmine of empty promises. Bravo for this one!

Vivo a vida

Today when I woke up, my phone didn't work anymore.  Admittedly I had gotten a text message about this that I saw when I had woken up for 30 seconds at around 5 AM, looked at my phone to see what time it was, got excited that I had a text message, got sad that it was from Vivo (my mobile provider), and went back to sleep.

When I woke up around 8:30 AM, I went to check my phone and noticed I couldn't get onto the Vivo network. No calls, texts didn't work, no internet.  The same thing had happened earlier in the week, and it took a phonecall to SAC (Suporte ao Cliente, a.k.a. customer support) and a reset of my chip/sim card from their end to make it register again.  So I got up and by 9 AM, I was using my home phone to call SAC.

I won't bore you all with the tiny details, but let's just say that it took my Brazilian friend searching the website, an hour and a half of my time, literally all of my patience, and a few tears to finally get through to a person. When I did, she asked where I was, and when I said Rio de Janeiro, she said, "Oh, sorry, I only provide service for São Paulo. You will need to call a different number."  That was when I took all my anger out on my R$16 phone from Casa e Video, which now has constant static on the line. Oops, female hulk broke her phone, all because of the irritating (you have no idea how much) voice of the damn Vivo guy on the automated menus that go nowhere.

So I got through to a person who could help me in Rio, only to be told that my line was blocked on purpose. The girl got frustrated with how slowly and simply I needed her to explain it to me, so with some heavy sighs and some utterings like, "Ok, let me explain this to you again for the THIRD TIME," I got to this conculsion:  I had gone over some kind of limit, that she didn't know what it was.  I argued that my phone plan doesn't have limits. I signed up for unlimited internet, unlimited texts, and 100 minutes of talking which I am so scared to go over that I barely talk on my phone at all.  It was impossible that I would have gone over any limit.  I still didn't really understand. There was something about a limit, another bill, something about 5 business days, and when I finally asked the fateful question, "Is there anything that can be done to get my phone turned back on today?" she said a simple no.

Despite her crabbiness, I half-suspected that even if there were something to be done, she couldn't do anything anyway since the registered person on the account is my best buddy from work. We'll call him Comparsa for the purposes of this blog.  Comparsa was kind enough to register my cell phone for me upon my arrival in Brazil, since I wouldn't have a CPF or any other documents for a couple of weeks.  So my account is in his name. We tried to fix it to be in my name as soon as I got a CPF, but they also needed some kind of utility bill in my name to change it, which I wouldn't have until I had an apartment for at least a month, so long story short, 3 months later, it is still in his name and not mine.

So I got frustrated on the phonecall when she said she couldn't do anything for me. I decided the best thing to do would be to go to the store, cancel the plan, and switch to a pre-paid plan so that this wouldn't happen again. I took everything with me: my rental contract (which has Comparsa's name on it as the primary renter, since they did not want to rent to a foreigner - another story for another day), Comparsa's CPF, a bill in my name, and my passport.  I walked from Lapa to the store on Rio Branco near Carioca Station, just to try to calm down before talking to someone.  I arrived with a smile, because anger gets you nowhere. 

I explained my situation to the lady, and she said I would need to call Vivo, that they could not help me in the store, but that they had a courtesy phone to call SAC in the back. Her face when she saw my face was priceless. She immediately said, "If you need any help talking to them, just wave and I will come over."  So I went, heard that damn guy's voice again, and the tears started to fall. I knew at that moment I would get nowhere today, and would spend the weekend without a phone until I could go with Comparsa on Monday to resolve it.  That was my moment of acceptance.

I did talk to a girl on the phone, who told me that she could help me, but not until I got my name on the account with Comparsa. She said I could do that at the store. So I hung up with her, went back to the lady at the front of the store, and explained again. She said she also couldn't help without Comparsa there. I gave as much of a smile as I could muster, thanked her without meaning it, and left.  The poor faces of the people who saw this pathetic, teary girl walking down Rio Branco.

Stopped at Lojas Americanas for some retail therapy and house things that I have been wanting/needing. Felt a little better, and finally accepted that I would be fine until Monday with no phone. I would just stay home, take it easy, and not talk to anyone.

I got home and wrote to Comparsa on Facebook, and told him we would have to go on Monday during lunch to the Vivo store.  Being the ever awesome superhero that he is, he said no, he would call them now and get it straightened out.  Using his Southern Brazilian charm, he somehow got my phone turned back on (sometime in the next 4 hours). There is no other bill coming, and I didn't actually go over any limit - but I did use 60% of my minutes in the first week of this month. I call "bullshit" because I looked in my phone logs and I simply did not talk for more than a few minutes here and there.

So my next piece of advice?  Go for prepaid.  Because eff today.

Turistas

Since I came here, I have been the foreigner in all my social settings.  Even living in Lapa, I don't see that many tourists for some reason. Maybe I'm just in my own little world.  After all, since I got here I have been much more of a homebody than I was in the US.

But tonight I went out and sat the whole night speaking Portuguese, drinking chopp, at a table in the street near the entrance of a bar here in my neighborhood.  Toward the end when we were having that lingering conversation before parting ways, a group of Australian tourists came up to the entrance.  I finally had a moment of not feeling like the newest, most lost person in Rio.

A tall blonde guy wearing a tight v-neck t-shirt and loose swim trunks (Rio attire for sure) asked a passing waiter, "Can we have a table for ten?"  When the guy didn't understand, he held up his hands to show the number "10" and repeated himself, but really slowly and in a very loud voice.  Then a girl in the group said, "Tenaymos dyes pur-SO-nus."  In case you didn't get that, that was really bad Spanish.  The guy did manage to understand and looked at them as if to say, you are in Lapa on a Friday night, in one of the most crowded bars on the street, and you expect us to somehow have a table for 10 people?

He went away and brought back a paper for them to mark their drinks on.  He then came back out a minute later with a tray full off caipirinhas (probably guessing).

I told my friend in Portuguese, "Watch, they're all going to clink glasses and say something like, 'To Rio de Janeiro!' and then cheer and drink."  And then they did just that.

It was satisfying, but in the end I did offer to help them out with communicating with the waiter, and then told they could have our table since we were leaving.

And then on my short walk home I bought my first coxinha ever from a little place I always pass, because I never had dinner but somehow drank like 8 glasses of beer. Yes, I have been to Brazil four separate times, for a total of five months of time in the country, and never ate coxinha.  I liked it, but what made it really really good was the Heinz ketchup :-)

You can take the girl out of Pittsburgh...

Adventures in Banking

I opened my bank account well over a month ago, but I still did not receive my debit card to actually be able to use the account.

On my first visit to Itaú, I was rejected to even create the account because I did not have a good enough copy of my passport, a permanent RNE (the real card takes six months, for now I just have a piece of paper that SHOULD be official enough, but nobody ever wants to accept as ID), or my CTPS.

On my second visit, I was able to open the account, but not able to put my correct (new) address on the account because I did not have a copy of my rental contract with me (silly me for not carrying my rental contract around all the time). The address on the letter from my company referenced a temporary aparthotel where I was staying until I found my own apartment.  I told them how I wouldn't be living there anymore by the time the card would arrive in the mail, and they confirmed that they would send it to my work address instead then. Great.

My third visit was to ask where my card was, as well over 10 business days had gone by and my card did not arrive. I was informed that it was sent to the old temporary address in Botafogo. "But why?" I asked. "You said it would be sent to my work address. I said from the beginning that I would not be living in that place anymore."  I was answered with that annoying shrug and smile and "Deus sabe!" excuse. Deus shouldn't know, you should know. Deus doesn't work at the bank.

The fourth visit was to officially change my address to Lapa, now that I had an official notarized rental contract.  They changed my address in the system and confirmed that my card had been rejected from Botafogo (when I called Botafogo, they told me it wasn't there and that it was likely that one of the receptionists had done a return-to-sender) and was on its way back.  The lady confirmed it would be delivered to the bank itself in another 10 business days.

That brought me to yesterday - the 11th business day (because I'm gracious like that).  I asked if my card had arrived and they said no, it had not. They checked in the system, to see that it had been sent to my current address in Lapa.  "But I didn't receive it there, I just checked my mail this morning."  I was told that you have to sign for it, and since nobody was there to sign (why the doorman wouldn't sign for it for me, I have no idea - he knows I live there!), it was sent back again.

Now they will send it to my work address in another 5 business days (supposedly).  I have taken all possible action to ensure that someone here at work signs for it, or calls me upon its arrival so that I can sign for it.

I know I'm not supposed to compare, but I have to. I remember opening any kind of account in the US, even opening my first bank account or ordering a new card for whatever reason. You just confirm some info about yourself, they mail you the card in 7 days (and it usually just takes 3 or 4), you activate it, and bang, you're in business.  Over a month, and 5 visits to the bank later, I am still without my card.

My advice? As a foreigner, always carry with you:
- Colored and laminated copy of your passport
- Copy of your rental contract
- RNE
- CTPS
- Blood sample
- Medical and dental records

You know, just to be safe.

Intro

Boa noite!

I have been toying with the idea of starting this blog since I arrived in Rio in early March.  I've been back and forth on the idea countless times. Do I really want to commit to writing all the time? Will this be like everything else I do - fun for a week or two and then I'll lose interest and feel guilty for never updating?

But then Rio happened. Rio and all its "bagunça".  And I thought...I need to be writing this down. Because someday, some other new lost girl is going to arrive in this city and she is going to feel just like me. Lost, homesick, and frustrated, with that twinge of something-big-is-going-to-happen-here in her heart.  When she does, I hope she finds this.

And I hope she never buys anything from Ponto Frio.  Trust me, girl - pay a little more and buy it somewhere else. They will only break your heart.

Welcome to Rio through my eyes.