Posterous theme by Cory Watilo
Haley A

Filed under: Sao Paulo

I promise I'm really not THAT tall

If this exercise in blog-writing has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not good at blog-writing.  I think about what I’m going to write a lot, it’s just that I never actually write (type) it.  Eventually, I forget what I was planning to write, so it’s like I have to start all over again.  But there is one thing that I’ve been wanting to write about which I am forced to remember, since I’m always being reminded of it: 

Brazilians (except for the occasional odd balls) are not tall.  I’m assuming it was for this reason that things here were built for smaller people.  Clothes, the metro, airplanes, staircases, etc are just not really made for anyone over 5’8”. 

I kind of arbitrarily chose that height because I’m somewhere between 5’9” and 5’10” (yeah, I still don’t know the metric system, so I can’t tell you my height in centimeters, sorry).  I’m not sure whether or not there’s any data on the average height of Brazilians, but I know there are a lot of people who are the same height that I was in, say, fourth grade.  I’ve always been “tall,” but, at home, I don’t feel like a giant.  When I flew to Bahia, my legs didn’t fit in the space between my seat and the one in front of it.  Sure, we flew on an airline which may or may not be real (Webjet), but I noticed very few other people with my problem.  When I end up in one of the seats on the metro that has a seat right in front of it, my knees hit that seat- which has made for some awkward encounters with people in said seat.  It’s not normal for me to have to duck while walking down the stairs (because of a low clearance), but I have to do that fairly often here. 

While many people mistake me for Brazilian (I think it’s because I walk so quickly that I give the illusion that I always know where I’m going, despite the fact that I get lost roughly once per day) and ask for directions, I have the suspicion that others can tell I don’t belong because of my height. 

Now, I have some serious questions for the Brazilians over six feet (about 183 cm):  how do you survive here, where do you buy clothing, and do you feel excluded from your own people?? 

Tall

3 Meses

     As of yesterday, I have now been in Brazil for three months.  I didn’t even realize until someone else mentioned it.  We had our mid-point meeting with our study abroad group, during which we discussed stereotypes, variations in study abroad experiences, and a very interesting “Cultural Adjustment Curve.”  The curve highlights the phases of “honeymoon,” “crisis,” “recovery,” and “adjustment;” all of which occur when you move to a new country and when you move home again.  The illustrated curve showed each event happening only once, while several of us remarked that, sometimes, we feel as if we go through each stage over the course of a single day.  I don’t know how many times I’ve entered into the “crisis” stage, or if I ever really did.  I can’t say I’ve had any crying fits of homesickness.  If anything, I’d say that I skipped the “honeymoon” phase and went directly to crisis. 

I was completely overwhelmed when I got here.  I think I was ok in the airport (although, as I recently told my parents, I’m not sure I’ll be able to leave, as no one took my customs form and the immigration agent merely glanced at my passport when I arrived) and on the bus to the hotel (with all of the American students).  The downhill slope must have started when I couldn’t figure out how to turn on the electricity in the room (now know that you have to leave your key in the slot by the door).  Then we embarked onto Avenida Paulista to find lunch.  Avenida Paulista could be equated to Madison Avenue in Manhattan, but here, everyone was speaking Portuguese.  I remember trying to fall asleep the first few nights I was in São Paulo while a soundtrack of Portuguese phrases and conjugations played in my head (it was kind of like… I’m imagining some scene from a movie where words are flying through the air and people are ducking… really, we might as well just call them lasers and compare this scene to Star Wars).  I was constantly asking myself who let me come here and if they did it as some sort of trick.

While I’m still not really sure who allowed me into this country (or if they don’t really know that I’m here) and if they thought I’d actually survive or not, I've lasted three months.  There was never a time where I thought to myself, “Wow, this is easy.”  Yes, I know how to get to PUC, and I pretty much understand the metro (there was one time where I got a little overconfident and got off at the wrong stop… I had been listening to music and not to the station announcement), but I still get lost just about every time I try to go somewhere new- even if it’s just for a couple of seconds.  I’m still not a pro at Portuguese; I sometimes use French words (which I haven’t used in 3 years), I sometimes second-guess myself when listening or speaking, BUT I’m a pro at ordering pão de queijo (which may actually be a bad thing).  I consider myself a real student, having taken three exams and written one paper since the start of the fall semester (remember, I’m in South America).  Honestly, my Portuguese is approximately 1000 times better than it was three months ago.  If I could communicate with people through writing all of the time, there would be no problems.  Alas, I am working on the speaking part. 

And then there are all of the little but amazing experiences I’ve had.  You know, those things that you’re only able to put into perspective later.  I went to Bahia for Carnaval, but I also got to experience it as if I were a Brazilian (because I was with Brazilians and only two or three Americans most of the time).  I went to the “real” Fountain of Youth on an island in the Bahia de Todos os Santos (yes, they will tell you that Ponce de Leon got it completely wrong).  Plus, it was just steps away from property where Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, and, apparently, anybody who’s anybody own condos.  I’m not sure if this is because of its proximity to the Fountain of Youth (which has three spouts- for love, health, and I think the last was beauty) or not.  I was reminded of the warning we received about not adjusting the temperature setting of the shower after you’ve started the water when a large bolt of electricity shot out of the showerhead (I was not shocked, but I was startled).  I’ve eaten manioc (flour, whole root), chicken hearts, feijoada, carne seca, so many fruits that I don’t know the names of, carrot cake with chocolate icing (yeah, I like carrot cake now), pão de mel, tapioca that is nothing like the “fish eggs” we were showed as children, catupirty (regrettably), and I’m sure lots of other “Brazilian” things that I can’t think of right now.  I also bought my first Brazilian-authored book in Portuguese (which wasn’t required for a class).  It’s the basis of one of the top-grossing movies of the last year in Brazil. 

      Last but not least, I’m leaving for Rio de Janeiro in a few short hours.  Actually, I should probably finish packing and head out- like, now.  Hopefully, I will have lots of fun, new experiences to write about shortly (and maybe I’ll be more prompt about my next post… I guess we’ll see). 

A Pre-Dated Post (12.02.2012)

So, I’ve finally convinced myself that I need to start exercising here.  It’s only been like a month and a half.  I don’t really want to pay for a gym membership that I may or may not end up using, so my beloved eliptical machine is not an option:  Instead, I’ve decided that a combination of running/jogging/trying to run and pilates led by an instructor on video.  If you know me, you’re probably aware of the fact that I cannot run.  I’m not really sure if it’s supposed to be an innate ability, but I don’t think my issues with the act are normal.  I look ridiculous doing it, I tend to forget to breathe (this is an all the time thing though), and I get shin splints.  Another problem might be that I don’t know how to pace myself, if I’m going to run, I’m going to really run.  Sad story, I know.

In order to convince myself to do something, I often have to bribe myself to do it.  In this case, I decided I’d run to Parque Agua Branca (the one with the birds).  I had heard that there are venders there selling organic coffee and breads on Sunday mornings.  However, today was the “Festival of Summer”- aka there were tons of people there to see me attempt to run.  Whatever.

I bought a coffee and sat down somewhat away from the crowds.  I then noticed that there was a chicken seated at the next table over.  After that, a peacock casually strolled past.  Things like that remind you that you’re in South America, even in São Paulo (that is, if you forget that these birds are kept here by the Department of Agriculture).

Brazil exports all the good coffee??

I discovered Starbucks at Bourbon Shopping on my frozen yogurt trip the other day.  It looked very chill, a welcome refuge from the typical São Paulo hustle and bustle (and the various crowded Starbucks in New Orleans- not sure how many times I’ve gone from coffee shop to coffee shop looking for an open seat to do homework).  Currently, I’m sitting next to the one electrical outlet I could find... odd.  I guess I’m the only one who comes to a mall to do homework?  (Side note:  Bourbon Shopping confuses me.  There are four levels... I think... and multiple stairs and escalators.  It’s not just a square.  I can navigate King of Prussia, but I’m still wandering around the malls here aimlessly.  I guess it gives me something to do, as I don’t really want to buy anything- really , I do.  I’m just trying to fight the urge and being lost seems to help.) 

I quickly learned that I needed to learn the word for “skim milk,” as my cappuccino tastes like buttermilk (with a little coffee in it).  I can’t imagine how much fat/calories this entails.  This is my first time at a U.S. chain, and I’ve been here for a month!  I’m very proud of myself.  Still, I can’t help but think that the Starbucks workers are making fun of me.  However, I can’t tell what they’re saying unless I dedicate my full attention to their conversation, and I don’t feel like that would be a productive use of my time.  I may or may not be wearing a “Bama” shirt.  I doubt many people understand its significance, but I'd assume that they assume that it's a foreign thing.  (I can’t wait to get my PUC-SP shirt!  Except I’m not sure how many students actually wear them.  I think I’m going to feel it out.  I will be bringing one home though.)  Anyway, after I ordered, they just stared at me.  Apparently they wanted my name, but they didn’t attempt to ask for it in Portuguese.  Was I just supposed to know that?  I get a little angry when people switch to English, instead of letting me try to speak Portuguese.  I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything when the Starbucks barista says “Your name?”  No one can understand my name here.  No matter what.  I know there's a problem with the initial “H."  Maybe the “l” in the middle doesn't work either.  I began to spe ll it for her (in Portuguese), but she nodded me off.  So, my name is apparently “H allen.”

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I voyaged here with the intention of getting some stuff done (since I don’t have class today), but I was deceived by the website.  There’s no wifi.  I could maybe pay for Internet, except I’d need a CPF.  The CPF (similar to a Brazilian social security number, but used ALL OF THE TIME) may be the single most frustrating thing in my life right now.  You need one for everything.  I can’t get one. 

I’ve also noticed that Starbucks used the Spanish upside down exclamation point that goes at the beginning of sentences (I don’t speak Spanish) in the Portuguese, as well as the Spanish, on their cups.  You’d think someone would have caught that. 

 

Ch-Ch-Changes

I feel like a lot happened today.  In reality, maybe it wasn’t that much, but the cultural differences and language barrier make everything that much more complicated.  Hence, I’m dedicating this post to the culture adjustments I’m making (read:  trying to make) in Brazil.  The title is also a reference to what appears to be Brazilians’ love of American 80s music.  I haven’t heard any Bowie yet, but I have heard Karma Chameleon, Africa, and Don’t Stop Believin’ several times.  Not 80s, but “Hollaback Girl” appears to be a popular choice as well.  (My favorite musical experience has to be the little kids singing “Yellow Submarine,” though.)

So, today was my first real day of school at PUC-SP.  It was scary.  I had heard that upperclassmen haze, but I didn’t expect to see kids covered in paint, chugging cachaça at 7:30 am.  For whatever reason, I had signed up for an upper-level economics course this morning, so I managed to avoid most of it.  I heard it got worse in the afternoon.  I’m planning to act like I know what I’m doing and avoid this for the rest of the week (it also helps that the freshmen are about 17, and I look quite a bit older than them). 

My class wasn’t bad; the professor basically just introduced the course (no one goes to class for at least the first week, so there were four guys there in their later 20s in professional-looking clothing- maybe I don’t belong in this course, but I have another week to decide). 

But, on to the everyday cultural differences I promised.  In my opinion, one of the biggest is the difference in dating/flirting/I’m not sure what you’d want to call it.  If I wear a skirt, shorts, or anything relatively form fitting, I get about five car horns while walking down the street, two guys making kissing noises at me, and the occasional dude who is even more forward (hanging out of cars, asking you to come with him, the persistent jogger who gave me his email address as a way to contact him).  In a club, guys just grab you.  And they don’t really like to let go.  It’s gotten to the point where this is no longer an ego boost.  I would just like it to stop.  But it’s 90 degrees (farenheit) this week; I’m not about to wear a big sweatshirt and sweatpants everywhere I go. 

Temperature brings me to my next point.  I don’t know metric.  This leads to a lot of conversions when my computer is available and to some mix-ups when it’s not.  For example, today at the mall, I spent about R$14 on fro-yo.  I looked at the R$5.50 for some amount which I don’t really remember (but assumed it was standard), and thought “Wow, this is cheap.”  Not so much.  (I should admit that my inability to estimate weights and measures probably contributed to this mistake.) 

I was really at the mall for about a half-hour at the most, but this was not my only issue while there.  I went with the purpose of finding frozen yogurt, checking out the Starbucks (for the future), and just wandering around a little.  While there, I remembered that I’ve already rendered one pair of sandals useless and that one half of my other pair is missing a heel.  I casually strolled into a shoe store to be confronted with the fact that I only know my shoe size in U.S. sizes.  Everything around me was labeled with a size somewhere in the 30s.  Unwilling to come across as the “stupid American” (which I feel like I do fairly often), I went right back out.  Or maybe I didn't want them to see my awkwardly sunburnt/tanned feet.  (I also bought some new suntan lotion- it's Nivea brand this time.)

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After that adventure, I proceeded to discover Stroganoff-flavored ruffles, was, once again, mystified by the vast under-supply of (and I guess demand for) peanut butter, and was forced to face the reality that there is no Dr. Pepper available here :(.  Like I said, big day. 

Stroganuffles

A Chuva

Inspired by today's events (aka the fact that it started to pour as soon as I got off the bus, and despite, the fact that I had an umbrella, arriving home pretty much soaked), I've decided to compose a pictoral entry.  This is dedicated to January in Sá is gone. Maybe I shouldn't be complaining..)

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One of my earliest impressions of São Paulo.  This is a shot of Avenida Paulista in the rain from my orienation hotel room.

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For the anniversary of the founding of São Paulo, we made the long journey to Parque Ibirapuera, a huge green space in the city.  The weather forecast called for a perfect day, and then SURPRISE.  Rainstorm.  We huddled with approximately a million other people (some of whom were making out, PDA is a little more common?/acceptable? here) under one of the very few roofed structures. 

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A picture I took in Luz when it looked like it would rain.  Not sure if it did- we went inside soon after.

 

And this is what I hope to see more of in the near future (including during Carnaval-fingers crossed!)

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Porque?

Last week, in an effort to make us practice our speech/comprehension/verb conjugations, my Portuguese teacher was asking us random questions about our likes and dislikes, our dreams, and the choices we would make (conditional tense) in hypothetical situations (the subjunctive tense).  One question was about our favorite movies and books.  While neither is easy to answer, I do have a go-to favorite movie, Pulp Fiction.  My favorite book was more difficult to name.  I ended up going with a favorite author, Mitch Albom.  Every one of his books has made me consider what’s important in life (and also cry).  He’s a pretty profound guy- it’s easy to forget that he was/is a sports writer.  However, I still was not able to put my finger on a single favorite book. 

That is, until just now.  I’m currently working on a scholarship essay that will hopefully lead to some extra funds to cover some of my study abroad costs.  Anyway, the application asks why I am studying abroad.  I doubt that the scholarship committee would like the simple answers of “I’m an IR major,” “well, I’ve just always planned to study abroad,” or “I’d like to be able to speak Portuguese.”  So, I was forced to consider why, exactly, I’ve planned a career (somehow) involving international relations, why I’ve had an urge to move so far away from everything and everyone I know, away from a familiar culture and the only language I’m fluent in. 

Well, from what I can pin down, the (somewhat abridged version of the) progression goes like this: 

Sometime, during elementary school, I decided I was going to Harvard.  What is Harvard known for?  Law School.  I was going to be a lawyer when I grew up.  As an over-achieving eighth grader, I went to a college fair.  I found out that “pre-law” is not usually accepted as a major, but a lot of people on pre-law tracks major in Political Science.  Politics is cool- basically I was interested at this point in my life because I wanted to be a liberal (I am SO not a leftist though).  When I applied to Governor’s School during my junior year, the program that most closely matched my interests was the School for International Studies.  So, I applied to colleges as an IR major and I haven’t (really) looked back.  (I don’t plan to apply to law school anymore, though.)

Not so captivating.  So, when I really consider my motivations for wanting to be involved in a culture other than my own, the reason why I didn’t change my major to astrophysics after I took that astronomy class, I come to a couple of more-convincing conclusions.  First, the “where were you” moment from my lifetime was September 11, 2001.  Since then, it seems like our country has become inalterably involved in foreign affairs.  The Middle East was no longer “over there.”  Now, it was in our living rooms.  The isolationism of the past did not seem like it would be a viable option ever again.  Yet, the area where I grew up still seemed pretty isolated.  I think that just about everyone has CNN available in their home, yet so many people had no idea that there was a difference between Iraq and Afghanistan.  It seemed like all that some people got out of the news was an intense hatred for those who practiced Islam (and they were sure that everyone in that region did).  I saw it among my classmates, who did not hear any of my arguments against “bombing them all.”  I wanted to make a difference in people’s perceptions of the rest of the world and in the nature of the foreign relations of the U.S. 

That explains why I’m passionate about IR, but why do I have “a burning desire to go, to move, to get under way, anyplace, away from Here,” other than the fact that it improves my chances of getting a job someday (a day that is actually approaching way too quickly)?  John Steinbeck made me do it.  I’ve read Travels with Charley twice now, and it was not any easier to put down the second time through.  I’ve become one of those people who can easily fall asleep while reading, but not with this book.  I don’t know if it’s just that I agree with everything that Steinbeck has to say, or that his recounting of his travels made me want to have my own adventures, but I absolutely LOVE this book.  “A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys.  It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness.  A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.”  Why wouldn’t you want your own?  And that’s how I got to Sampa:

 

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O Primeiro

I’ve been in São Paulo for almost two weeks now, and I haven’t written one thing.  So, here goes:

I arrived in São Paulo, SP, Brasil on Thursday, January 12th after a ten hour flight from Atlanta.  I was pleasantly surprised to find meal service, free movies and blankets, and an empty seat next to me on my flight (I found the blankets to be kind of questionable though, I’m not sure what the protocol with washing/changing them out is, so I decided not to risk it).  I breezed through customs and immediately met up with some of our program coordinators and my fellow exchange students. 

On the trip from Garulhos to São Paulo, I learned that Walmart does exist here, and that Brazilians seems to be pretty serious about their Christmas decorations- i.e. a metal Christmas tree, several stories tall, with at least 5 life-sized Santa Clauses who appeared to be climbing to the top. 

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Metropolitan São Paulo seems to be bigger every time I go somewhere new (In truth, it might actually be growing.  At least there’s construction outside my window on the Estadio Palestra Italia- the stadium where the Palmeiras FC plays- just about every. single. day).  I’ve mastered my walk to PUC (pronounced “pooky”) and the CIEE Office (which are a block apart)- down Avenida Sumaré and UP João Ramalho (and I mean up- Perdizes could be described as “hilly”/ there are stairs at some places in the sidewalk because of the steep grade).  Other than that, my experiences outside Perdizes (my neighborhood) have been limited.  However, I hope to explore it thoroughly within the time I have left (12 days gone already!).

 

 

So far, I’ve eaten chicken hearts and a quail egg unintentionally.  Neither was what you would call a good surprise.  Then, I tried bacalhau (salted cod) which is a Portuguese specialty, on purpose.  I have no ambition to ever consume any of these three items again.  On the positive side, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all of the fruits I’ve found here, especially the mangos and passionfruit juice.  And then there are the pasteis.  Pasteis are deep-fried dough “pockets” with a variety of fillings inside.  I think just about anything goes for the filling- chicken, beef, shrimp, cheese, palm hearts, bacalhau, and even pizza.  At about R$3, a pastel makes for a cheap, adequate, portable, and tasty meal.  As if the street foods weren’t enough, my host mom is an excellent cook.  She has not repeated a meal yet, and they've all been tasty.  As far as I can tell, rice accompanies almost every meal.




 

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My first and only major “cultural outing” was do the Memorial da América Latina.  The monument is in a huge space, very close to my homestay and the Barra Funda transportation terminal.  First of all, it was cool to be in a space that Oscar Niemeyer designed, after having studied Brasília.  Secondly, the Memorial is moving.  It was planned to that the visitor would feel diminutive, compared to the large buildings and wide, empty spaces surrounding him or her.  I found the sculpture of the hand to be my central focus, as well as the most thought-provoking component of the Memorial da América Latina.  The outline of Latin America is carved out in the palm of the hand in red, with the red dripping down through the bottom of the South American continent.  This is series of structures is a memorial to the violent injustice of the area’s colonial past, as well as a promise for a much brighter future, filled with diversity, democratic government, and cultural richness.

 




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I’m going to conclude with a list of things I’ve learned so far (I know some have already seen this):

  • It's considered odd to not wear shoes inside.  Inside their houses is the only place that Paulistanos (people from Sao Paulo) will wear flip flops on a normal basis.  I almost never wear shoes.
  • There's no central air/heat in most places, even though this is the largest city in South America, and I’d say it’s pretty modern.  The weather is fairly moderate all year though.  (Public places like hotels, some restaurants, etc do have air.)
  • It seems to be breezy all of the time.  I can’t really account for why this is.
  • Apparently doors in Brazil don't have some spring or something (in the knob, I guess) that we have in the U.S., so they're more likely to slam. Loudly.
  • Lines don’t seem to exist so much... people don’t like to be in line?  I’m not really sure what it is.
  • Anything not produced in Brazil is outrageously expensive.  I knew this, but I was not prepared.  Peter Pan peanut butter (which I consider sub-par) is R$15 per jar.  Sunscreen is about R$25.  Some type of Sony Ericsson phone I saw was over R$1,000.
  • I saved the best for last:  you can't flush toilet paper down the toilet.  Instead, there are special trash cans for it.

 

Hopefully I’ll get better at this whole “blogging” thing and possibly write more consistently.  But, for today, this is it.  Tchau!