Wednesday, June 17
It was a mad rush getting everything packed in time to make it to my 2:30 p.m. flight. With Aimee’s invaluable help, I did three loads of laundry, refilled a prescription, went to Walmart and Target to find an outlet adaptor, and finally pack. In the scramble I left my white shirt and garments in the drier. Luckily, I had already packed three pair, which have been seeing me through just fine. The thirty minute flight to Atlanta was uneventful and I slept most of the way. I sat next to a vice president of T.G.I. Friday’s who was in Nashville doing a training seminar. As we were deplaning, he was looking for some coupons for the flight attendant and me, but no luck. Oh well. I’ve never liked that place any way.
I had four hours in the Atlanta airport before my overnight flight to São Paulo. Because I was unsuccessful in finding the proper plug adaptor at Walmart or Target, I made that my first item of business. Brookstone had some very nice adaptor kits, but I only needed only bloody adaptor for my laptop. Finally, an electronics store—that could rival even the most well-equipped RadioCrap—had what I was looking for. [It turns out that I have not had to use the adapter once. Each place I have stayed has had a three-pronged "tomada," or outlet, that accepts US plugs. Oh well. Better safe than sorry, right?] I ate dinner at a really nice Mexican restaurant, especially for an airport restaurant, and then set up shop at my gate. I watched about two hours of Battlestar Galactica on the laptop before boarding.
The flight was full but there was an empty seat between me and the next guy. I thought it would not be that bad since I could stretch out a bit. Unfortunately, they opened the doors right before our scheduled departure and let another twelve people on. A lady came and sat right between the other guy and me. To add insult to injury, my seat would not lock when I leaned back. The nice thing is that the movie options were plentiful. I ended up watching a documentary on Nelly Furtado, Taken, Yes Man, and The Wrestler. Mickey Rourke should have won an Oscar for his amazing performance. I think I slept about three hours the whole night.
Thursday, June 18
Long story short, we landed and I took a taxi to the Hostel Vergueiro where I would be staying for the next three weeks.
My fourth-floor room was spartan yet clean. There was a bed and a wardrobe and nothing else. The bathroom was tiled floor to ceiling with the toilet and electric shower sharing the same utilitarian space. I unpacked and napped for most of the afternoon. That evening, I walked to Shopping Paulista in search of a map of the city. The Saraiva, a bookstore much like Borders or Barnes and Noble, had dozens of travel guides for diverse places around the world. Although they had the Lonely Planet guide for Brazil, they did not carry a basic tourist guide for São Paulo. I grabbed a burger in the food court, wandered around the mall a bit, and then went back to the hostel.
Friday, June 19
The next morning, I slept in a bit, had breakfast downstairs in the commons area, and chatted a bit with the owner, Kit Wong. Kit is Chinese but he has lived in Brazil for the past fifteen years. He also spent many years in New York. His English is passable, as is his Portuguese, but he has a heavy Chinese accent. This man has traveled all over the Americas, from Toronto to the southern tip of Tierra del Fuego.
I grabbed my things and headed out with two goals in mind: one, find a guia turistico for São Paulo; and two, wander around downtown a bit. On my way to the metro stop, I said hello to another girl that was staying at the hostel. Ana Paula is twenty-one and from the southern state of Paraná. Her city, Cascavel, is about two hours away from Foz do Iguaçu. She recently graduated from college in journalism and is looking for a job in São Paulo. We chatted on our way to the metro stop and decided to hang out together that day. It was nice to make a friend. We ended up finding a good travel guide for the city and she showed me around a few places downtown. After we had lunch in a mall downtown, we looked everywhere for the bathrooms. We must have searched each of the four floors twice. We even asked people where they were, and every answer was the same: “The bathrooms are on the second and fourth floors.” Finally, we asked somebody on the fourth floor and they pointed them out to us—a corridor we had passed at least three or four times. For a moment there, I thought I was trapped in some Borgesian labyrinth with Escherian stairways that looped around on themselves.
The coolest thing we did that day was visit the Museu da Língua Portuguesa [Museum of the Portuguese Language]. As a student of the language, I thoroughly geeked out over the exhibits and the interactive multi-media presentations. We were unable to see all of the exhibits because the museum closed earlier than we had thought. I shall return. Ana Paula and I went back to the Shopping Paulista and got something to eat at the food court. She asked me a few questions about similarities and differences between US and Brazilian mall culture. I told her that McDonald’s in Brazil tastes much better than in the US, especially the ice cream. We agreed that the best way to end our food court meal of beef stroganoff would be a McDonald’s sundae. Oddly, the McDonald’s was not in the food court, rather down on one of the lower levels. After finishing our delicious sundaes, I noticed I did not have my jacket with me. We returned upstairs but could not find it. We asked a security guard if anybody had turned in a jacket and he said he saw a dark green jacket with numbers on the sleeve. Mine was a black-hooded zip-up sweatshirt with “Vanderbilt” stitched across the front, so I was not that hopeful. Nevertheless, we made our way to the “Achados e Perdidos” [found and lost] and much to my relief, they had the jacket.
Ana Paula was meeting a friend that night so we needed to head back. I watched Young Frankenstein on my laptop. After a long day of speaking and thinking in Portuguese, it is a relief to just watch or read something in English. Speaking another language in another culture can be exhausting, especially if one is linguistically and culturally “out of shape.” Usually after a week, I feel very comfortable but it takes a few days to get back into the groove.
Saturday, June 20
The next morning, I decided to find the ward house where I would be attending church. I had hopes there would be people there, but it was locked up. I went to the MASP, São Paulo’s principle art museum, which is located on Avenida Paulista, the equivalent of Wall Street in New York. There was an exhibit on French Realism, but all the Cezanne’s, Monet’s, Manet’s, and Renoir’s were second-rate. I think there were only four or five pieces I actually recognized. I was disappointed that the fabulous Cândido Portinari collection was on tour elsewhere. The next floor I visited had an impressive exhibit of the Spanish photographer Manuel Vilariño. The highlight of the day, however, and perhaps one of the highlights of my trip in general, was the expansive two-floor exhibit of Vik Muniz. If you are not familiar with his work, I implore you to educate yourself. Let’s just say, he has a peanut butter and jelly version of the Mona Lisa, a Marinara Medusa, photographs of pictographic clouds written in the sky, and enormous paintings made out of junk. I was extremely impressed with his range, both on a micro and macro level, as well as his creativity, ingenuity, and artistic vision. Vik was born in Brazil but relocated to the States as a young adult. If you ever have the chance to see his work… you will not regret it.
After the MASP, I headed downtown again and wandered around Largo de São Bento. My travel guide said the monks at the São Bento monastery sang every evening at 5:25, but for whatever reason, they were not singing then. I later found out they sing a bit later on Saturdays, so I should have just waited around another half hour or so. I ended up going to the Liberdade area, the largest Japanese community outside of Japan, and had dinner. I would like to say I found a great sushi bar, but I just got some fast food. I will return, however, and enjoy the Japanese cuisine of Liberdade. I thought about walking back to Vergueiro because I knew it was close, but it was getting dark and I was not quite sure which street led back to the hostel. It turns out that Rua Liberdade turns into Vergueiro, so I could have just walked. Oh well. Another day, perhaps.
Sunday, June 21
According to the Church’s website, meetings started at 10:50, but I figured that was for Sacrament Meeting. I arrived around 10:00 a.m., just in time for Sunday School. I enjoyed the lesson quite a bit since it was about the benefits of acquiring both spiritual and secular knowledge and experience in this life. A few minutes into the lesson, a sister made a comment that called my attention. Actually, it was not the comment she made, rather, it was her voice. It seemed vaguely familiar. I looked over at her and thought that her face was familiar as well. She reminded me of one of the young adults that Aimee and I worked with when we were in São Paulo in 2002. At the end of the lesson, I asked her what her name was and when she said “Luciene,” I said, “I know you! It’s James.” And then she recognized me. It turns out she married Ivanildo, a guy that also participated in the same program, and they now have two kids. It was incredible to be sitting there with them after seven years. I asked if they knew of anybody with whom I could stay. As nice as the hostel was, I find it better to stay with families because you get more interaction and it’s easier to be away from home. Like the good Brazilians they are, they looked at me and said, “You can stay with us, as long as you don’t mind sleeping on a mattress on the floor.”
Later that afternoon, Ivan picked me up. I was ready to settle my account with Kit, but he was out playing soccer with some friends. We ended up stopping by later that night when I paid for the four days I was there. Ivan and Luciene are amazing people. They have opened up their home and their hearts to me. I finally feel like I have some solid friends in São Paulo. Their two children, Daniele and Davi, are darling. Although, I find it hard to deal with other people’s kids screaming. I mean, I can barely stand my own kids’ screaming. Other than the normal noises and craziness that accompany a 5-year-old girl and a 3-year-old boy, my stay with them has been stellar.
More updates to come!
*The Portuguese in the title roughly translates to "the pleasing smell of the sewer," which of course is said with tongue firmly placed in cheek. When Aimee and I stayed in Portugal, there was this pig farm we had to pass to get pretty much anywhere. Since the AC in Quinn and Lúcia's car was broken we had to drive with the windows rolled down. Everytime, I mean, every single time we drove by this pig farm, Quinn would say, "Ah, o cheiro agradável do campo" (Ah, the pleasing smell of the country [Those of you that have driven by a pig farm know that it is one of the most disgusting smells on this planet]). I have since appropriated that phrase to show my displeasure with stinky smells.
You have to be careful where and when you breathe in São Paulo, as well as in Rio. For example, on the walk from Ivan and Luciene's apartment to the metro station, I pass over a polluted stream that stinks to high heaven. (It's still not as bad as the Rio Pinheiros). Then, I pass by a depot of garbage trucks. That smell lasts for several blocks. Any way, those of you that have done any traveling in Brazil, or other parts of Latin America, know of the numerous "cheiros agradáveis."
It was a mad rush getting everything packed in time to make it to my 2:30 p.m. flight. With Aimee’s invaluable help, I did three loads of laundry, refilled a prescription, went to Walmart and Target to find an outlet adaptor, and finally pack. In the scramble I left my white shirt and garments in the drier. Luckily, I had already packed three pair, which have been seeing me through just fine. The thirty minute flight to Atlanta was uneventful and I slept most of the way. I sat next to a vice president of T.G.I. Friday’s who was in Nashville doing a training seminar. As we were deplaning, he was looking for some coupons for the flight attendant and me, but no luck. Oh well. I’ve never liked that place any way.
I had four hours in the Atlanta airport before my overnight flight to São Paulo. Because I was unsuccessful in finding the proper plug adaptor at Walmart or Target, I made that my first item of business. Brookstone had some very nice adaptor kits, but I only needed only bloody adaptor for my laptop. Finally, an electronics store—that could rival even the most well-equipped RadioCrap—had what I was looking for. [It turns out that I have not had to use the adapter once. Each place I have stayed has had a three-pronged "tomada," or outlet, that accepts US plugs. Oh well. Better safe than sorry, right?] I ate dinner at a really nice Mexican restaurant, especially for an airport restaurant, and then set up shop at my gate. I watched about two hours of Battlestar Galactica on the laptop before boarding.
The flight was full but there was an empty seat between me and the next guy. I thought it would not be that bad since I could stretch out a bit. Unfortunately, they opened the doors right before our scheduled departure and let another twelve people on. A lady came and sat right between the other guy and me. To add insult to injury, my seat would not lock when I leaned back. The nice thing is that the movie options were plentiful. I ended up watching a documentary on Nelly Furtado, Taken, Yes Man, and The Wrestler. Mickey Rourke should have won an Oscar for his amazing performance. I think I slept about three hours the whole night.
Thursday, June 18
Long story short, we landed and I took a taxi to the Hostel Vergueiro where I would be staying for the next three weeks.
My fourth-floor room was spartan yet clean. There was a bed and a wardrobe and nothing else. The bathroom was tiled floor to ceiling with the toilet and electric shower sharing the same utilitarian space. I unpacked and napped for most of the afternoon. That evening, I walked to Shopping Paulista in search of a map of the city. The Saraiva, a bookstore much like Borders or Barnes and Noble, had dozens of travel guides for diverse places around the world. Although they had the Lonely Planet guide for Brazil, they did not carry a basic tourist guide for São Paulo. I grabbed a burger in the food court, wandered around the mall a bit, and then went back to the hostel.
Friday, June 19
The next morning, I slept in a bit, had breakfast downstairs in the commons area, and chatted a bit with the owner, Kit Wong. Kit is Chinese but he has lived in Brazil for the past fifteen years. He also spent many years in New York. His English is passable, as is his Portuguese, but he has a heavy Chinese accent. This man has traveled all over the Americas, from Toronto to the southern tip of Tierra del Fuego.
I grabbed my things and headed out with two goals in mind: one, find a guia turistico for São Paulo; and two, wander around downtown a bit. On my way to the metro stop, I said hello to another girl that was staying at the hostel. Ana Paula is twenty-one and from the southern state of Paraná. Her city, Cascavel, is about two hours away from Foz do Iguaçu. She recently graduated from college in journalism and is looking for a job in São Paulo. We chatted on our way to the metro stop and decided to hang out together that day. It was nice to make a friend. We ended up finding a good travel guide for the city and she showed me around a few places downtown. After we had lunch in a mall downtown, we looked everywhere for the bathrooms. We must have searched each of the four floors twice. We even asked people where they were, and every answer was the same: “The bathrooms are on the second and fourth floors.” Finally, we asked somebody on the fourth floor and they pointed them out to us—a corridor we had passed at least three or four times. For a moment there, I thought I was trapped in some Borgesian labyrinth with Escherian stairways that looped around on themselves.
The coolest thing we did that day was visit the Museu da Língua Portuguesa [Museum of the Portuguese Language]. As a student of the language, I thoroughly geeked out over the exhibits and the interactive multi-media presentations. We were unable to see all of the exhibits because the museum closed earlier than we had thought. I shall return. Ana Paula and I went back to the Shopping Paulista and got something to eat at the food court. She asked me a few questions about similarities and differences between US and Brazilian mall culture. I told her that McDonald’s in Brazil tastes much better than in the US, especially the ice cream. We agreed that the best way to end our food court meal of beef stroganoff would be a McDonald’s sundae. Oddly, the McDonald’s was not in the food court, rather down on one of the lower levels. After finishing our delicious sundaes, I noticed I did not have my jacket with me. We returned upstairs but could not find it. We asked a security guard if anybody had turned in a jacket and he said he saw a dark green jacket with numbers on the sleeve. Mine was a black-hooded zip-up sweatshirt with “Vanderbilt” stitched across the front, so I was not that hopeful. Nevertheless, we made our way to the “Achados e Perdidos” [found and lost] and much to my relief, they had the jacket.
Ana Paula was meeting a friend that night so we needed to head back. I watched Young Frankenstein on my laptop. After a long day of speaking and thinking in Portuguese, it is a relief to just watch or read something in English. Speaking another language in another culture can be exhausting, especially if one is linguistically and culturally “out of shape.” Usually after a week, I feel very comfortable but it takes a few days to get back into the groove.
Saturday, June 20
The next morning, I decided to find the ward house where I would be attending church. I had hopes there would be people there, but it was locked up. I went to the MASP, São Paulo’s principle art museum, which is located on Avenida Paulista, the equivalent of Wall Street in New York. There was an exhibit on French Realism, but all the Cezanne’s, Monet’s, Manet’s, and Renoir’s were second-rate. I think there were only four or five pieces I actually recognized. I was disappointed that the fabulous Cândido Portinari collection was on tour elsewhere. The next floor I visited had an impressive exhibit of the Spanish photographer Manuel Vilariño. The highlight of the day, however, and perhaps one of the highlights of my trip in general, was the expansive two-floor exhibit of Vik Muniz. If you are not familiar with his work, I implore you to educate yourself. Let’s just say, he has a peanut butter and jelly version of the Mona Lisa, a Marinara Medusa, photographs of pictographic clouds written in the sky, and enormous paintings made out of junk. I was extremely impressed with his range, both on a micro and macro level, as well as his creativity, ingenuity, and artistic vision. Vik was born in Brazil but relocated to the States as a young adult. If you ever have the chance to see his work… you will not regret it.
After the MASP, I headed downtown again and wandered around Largo de São Bento. My travel guide said the monks at the São Bento monastery sang every evening at 5:25, but for whatever reason, they were not singing then. I later found out they sing a bit later on Saturdays, so I should have just waited around another half hour or so. I ended up going to the Liberdade area, the largest Japanese community outside of Japan, and had dinner. I would like to say I found a great sushi bar, but I just got some fast food. I will return, however, and enjoy the Japanese cuisine of Liberdade. I thought about walking back to Vergueiro because I knew it was close, but it was getting dark and I was not quite sure which street led back to the hostel. It turns out that Rua Liberdade turns into Vergueiro, so I could have just walked. Oh well. Another day, perhaps.
Sunday, June 21
According to the Church’s website, meetings started at 10:50, but I figured that was for Sacrament Meeting. I arrived around 10:00 a.m., just in time for Sunday School. I enjoyed the lesson quite a bit since it was about the benefits of acquiring both spiritual and secular knowledge and experience in this life. A few minutes into the lesson, a sister made a comment that called my attention. Actually, it was not the comment she made, rather, it was her voice. It seemed vaguely familiar. I looked over at her and thought that her face was familiar as well. She reminded me of one of the young adults that Aimee and I worked with when we were in São Paulo in 2002. At the end of the lesson, I asked her what her name was and when she said “Luciene,” I said, “I know you! It’s James.” And then she recognized me. It turns out she married Ivanildo, a guy that also participated in the same program, and they now have two kids. It was incredible to be sitting there with them after seven years. I asked if they knew of anybody with whom I could stay. As nice as the hostel was, I find it better to stay with families because you get more interaction and it’s easier to be away from home. Like the good Brazilians they are, they looked at me and said, “You can stay with us, as long as you don’t mind sleeping on a mattress on the floor.”
Later that afternoon, Ivan picked me up. I was ready to settle my account with Kit, but he was out playing soccer with some friends. We ended up stopping by later that night when I paid for the four days I was there. Ivan and Luciene are amazing people. They have opened up their home and their hearts to me. I finally feel like I have some solid friends in São Paulo. Their two children, Daniele and Davi, are darling. Although, I find it hard to deal with other people’s kids screaming. I mean, I can barely stand my own kids’ screaming. Other than the normal noises and craziness that accompany a 5-year-old girl and a 3-year-old boy, my stay with them has been stellar.
More updates to come!
*The Portuguese in the title roughly translates to "the pleasing smell of the sewer," which of course is said with tongue firmly placed in cheek. When Aimee and I stayed in Portugal, there was this pig farm we had to pass to get pretty much anywhere. Since the AC in Quinn and Lúcia's car was broken we had to drive with the windows rolled down. Everytime, I mean, every single time we drove by this pig farm, Quinn would say, "Ah, o cheiro agradável do campo" (Ah, the pleasing smell of the country [Those of you that have driven by a pig farm know that it is one of the most disgusting smells on this planet]). I have since appropriated that phrase to show my displeasure with stinky smells.
You have to be careful where and when you breathe in São Paulo, as well as in Rio. For example, on the walk from Ivan and Luciene's apartment to the metro station, I pass over a polluted stream that stinks to high heaven. (It's still not as bad as the Rio Pinheiros). Then, I pass by a depot of garbage trucks. That smell lasts for several blocks. Any way, those of you that have done any traveling in Brazil, or other parts of Latin America, know of the numerous "cheiros agradáveis."
1 comment:
Speaking of "cheiros agradáveis," on our study abroad bus trip from Sampa to Iguaçu, we got off the bus in the middle of nowhere in my mission boundaries. People complained about the smell of the farmland and whatnot, but all I could think was, "I'm at home."
I love the Museu da Língua Portuguesa.
And I love wandering cities.
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