Sao Vincent

This weekend I traveled to a small town south of Belo Horizonte. This was not just any small town, it was a town full of crazy people and it was my host families home town. I cannot tell you how many times I heard ‘Sao Vincent tem povo louco’. How does the saying go, if only I had a R$ for every time I heard… So after a week of people hyping up this small city of 5 thousand I finally got on the bus destined for Sao Vincent.

The weekend was a crazy experience. The town was small, with no real downtown and only cobblestone streets filled with Brazils abundant amount of concrete homes. The one thing I do remember on arriving on Friday night was the air. After being in BH for a month I had forgotten what fresh air smelled and felt like. It was so welcoming that I almost stuck my head out the window, a thought that made me think of spec. Sao Vincent was nestled in a small valley surrounded by rolling hills covered with farms and tree plantations. From the looks of this place one would not think that it housed 5 thousand crazy people.

From the moment I arrived Girino was sure that I attended the festa de julho, a seemingly big deal. We left the house and he gave me the five minute driving tour of the town, stopping every other street to yell Portuguese cuss words at friends walking by. After the tour we parked and walked to a huge outdoor party that must have at one point in the night everyone that lived in Sao Vincent plus one, me. I felt like I was on a different planet. I was introduced as the American to everyone which seemed to make people look at me differently, and draw way to much energy and attention. Girino seemed to know everyone in town, old and young. I was good to see him so happy. This was a ‘real’ small town, where everyone knew everyone business and happenings. Crazy. We got home late, my head felt full of Portuguese and I was exhausted.

The next day was cold. We did nothing until about 4:00, when we embarked on to the churrasco (BBQ). Driving up the party I could have never prepared myself or know the craziness that lay ahead. It would be the defining moment that would prove this town’s true craziness. It started normal, beer, food people talking. It was a party to commemorate several kids who passed there exams and were now moving onto graduate school. The more people drank, the louder it got, and the more rowdy things got. The people of this town are very welcoming, making an effort to talk to me and teach me their language, including several young guys who would constantly pester me with dirty cuss words to repeat and repeat. By the end of the night there was a group of about ten guys that were beyond drunk, thanks to pinga. Then things turned crazy. The music as louder than loud, making thinking almost impossible and bottles of cachaca were being passed and thrown around. The next thing I knew, people started tackling each other while pouring beer and alcohol everywhere. Peoples clothes were getting torn, the ground turned to mud, and dog pile after dog pile consumed the next poor victims. Thank god I was outside and only a spectator. It was a whole different kind of male bonding that I had never seen before. The perfect word to describe it was, crazy.

The next day I left for Belo Horizonte, and sanity. I still felt overwhelmed, and realized that I would never make it with so much energy focused on me. Thank god I am not famous.

To end the journey I got into the car with a fat older man who spoke very fast and drove even faster. To start the half hour trip he proceeded to cross his heart and say a prayer in Portuguese, something that shot a pang of fear to my heart. The only thing I could do was say my own prayer and hold on as he speed around each corner like he was in a nascar race. Brazil definitely makes you appreciate life more. It was a good adventure, but I was glad to be home, in bed, with silence…

Brasil Day fifteen

Galo Galo Galo Galo!!!!! Galo Galo Galo Galo!!!!!

This was the first thing that I heard as I walked up the worn concrete steps. People were crowed on all sides, black and white everywhere, with the smell of beer and bad food filled the air. To get inside I had to pass through two security check points with guards holding baseball bat sized human beating sticks and attack dogs every fifty feet. The whole place was filled with an animated energy that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and goose bumps form on my arms. I was at the church that all of brazil knows and worships; a place where people have screamed and danced with an ecstatic love for life and a place where grown men have been reduced to pathetic shambles of tears and sobs. I was at the Mineirao, the stadium of Belo Horizonte, and the local team Galo was playing a team from Rio Grande do Sul.

I had come with Kelib and my roommates, who were very excited to show the two gringos their first Brazilian football game. People everywhere were drinking beer, screaming and chanting songs for their beloved team, Galo. I was fortunate enough to have been given a jersey before we left so I blending in with the crowd amazingly well. I was excited, scared and awe struck at how much people really loved this sport. Rich and poor brought together to cheer a common cause. It was something that I have never seen in the US.

The game was actually kind of a boring with no score until the last 15 minutes. Galo lost and the crowd was not very pleased. People shouted ‘ vai tomar o cu!’ over and over again. There was even a guy that was beyond drunk, screaming at the empty field when the game was over. He was a true passionate fan. Cuss words and watery eyes were both present when the referee finally blew the final whistle.

After the game we waited for a nonexistent bus that didn’t show up. We were there for an hour, sitting on the side of the road watching the crowd disperse in their small cars, still chanting Galo. About half of an hour waiting, we got to see the bus carrying the opposing team. It was quite the entourage. In front of the bus were four military police SUV’s filled with police guards all holding shot guns and semi-automatic riffles. With sirens blaring they stopped traffic in both directions to make way for the team. Crazy stuff and quite a show. We finally decided to take a taxi home, as things were not getting any safer the longer we stayed there. This was my first real game, and I will be sure to return for more.

Brasil Day twelve

I played in my first soccer game. And yes it was with Brazilians, and yes some of them were pretty good.

My roommate invited my to play with him and his friends on Wednesday, so of course I said yes and stepped up to the exciting and intimidating challenge. It was at a school walking distance from my house through a kind of bad neighborhood with rundown houses and small streets. The game was ‘sala futebol’ which is played on concrete with indoor soccer like shoes. It was basically a basketball court converted into a soccer field with goals on each end that were no bigger than six feet tall and 8 feet wide. They played five on five rotating out the losing team with fresh players. I wasn’t nervous until I saw what kind of game I was to play and be judged at.

My friend Girino and I went into our first game with me not knowing how this game was really played but to my surprise I did pretty well considering that I had never played the game before. It was all about ball control, with the better players being able to manipulate the ball and juke most people out of their way. It was actually cool to watch with goals being scored every few minutes instead of every half hour as is common with traditional soccer.

Through out the game everyone kept telling me what to do, in Portuguese, screaming and pointing. I only got about half of what they were saying, which by the second or third game started to annoy some of the players. I was doing my best to understand and play as well as everyone else. I scored three goals, something that was very satisfying considering the fact that I knew some people were talking shit about how bad they thought I was. I was actually puzzled at how much people were telling me what to do I Portuguese because my experienced up until this point in Brazil has shown people to talk to me as if I were a child or mentally challenged when they hear that I am just learning their language.

After a few hours we quit and everyone started packing up to leave. They talk fast here, with a lot of slang so I caught less than usual. And then my friend started laughing and said, ‘porra, ele e Americano e nao fala Portugues!’ It was at this point that every looked over at me and smiled, some laughed. And then I realized that everyone here had thought that I was Brazilian, understanding everything that they had been yelling and just choosing not to listen. At this point they all burst back into their fast paced conversations and one by one started talking to me with their limited number of English words, saying things like ‘I am in sorry’ or ‘thinking you were Brazilian’.

I found it funny; imagining what they all must have thought when I said close to nothing during the whole game. Shit! It was a compliment in the way that I could be Brazilian, physically anyway and amusing because of all of the shit that was said without me understanding almost any of it. And as I learn more everyday, it is amazing at how many miss communications happen when there is limited language. I am learning more every day, about myself and the language that is difficult for me to learn. I love you all.

Brasil Day nine

It is the end of my weekend and I did almost nothing for two days… Thank God. After ‘hell week’, as Kelib and I refer to it, I needed a physical and mental rest. I have only had five days of school and this is my first week… It is hard for me to comprehend these facts for in my head it seems so much longer. I know once things start to become habitual and routine time will slip through my hands like dry sand. But for now, days seem like ages.

This last Friday I went to my first Samba club. Crazy place. I went with my roommates and we all shared a taxi and drove the 20 minutes out of the city into a kind of ‘favela’ like neighborhood. The club looked like all of the run down buildings crowed on the narrow street, old with no signs or any hint as to what lay inside. We walked in and being some of the first people to arrive I was not very impressed. The club was a single room with a stage on one end, a dance floor in front of it and tables lining both sides. It reminded me of any rundown bar in the States. A band was tuning there instruments on the rickety stage; two guitars, one of which was played by a 70 year old man that needed help getting on and off the platform, two drums, and a ukulele. We took a seat close to the band and ordered a few cervejas and I started soaking up as much Portuguese as I could.

The band started play about twenty minutes after arriving. They were good, playing traditional samba, as my friends informed me. It was at this time when more and more people started piling in the small room. The background noises went from a pleasant melody of soft conversations to a roar that often accompanies large crowds. The energy level rose very quickly and within ten minute the dance floor was full with people moving in a quick but very fluid motion with the up beat samba music. The music was loud, people were dancing and the night had begun.

It was not long before the group made me get up and start to learn the difficult beat and the movements that comprised the Samba dance. And you can be sure seeing my first steps were nothing short of funny, and that might be an understatement. To do things right one has to synchronize their feet, legs, hips and music. I have trouble doing two things at once so getting to a point that at least mimicked the experienced dancers was an accomplishment.

Watching the people that could dance was really cool. The men controlled the dance, flinging girls into spins, dip and drops while the women went with the flow. A good couple looked as if they were in a movie with a practiced dance routine, never missing a step, always with the beat, and always smiling and laughing with each move. It was something to see. These Brazilians loved dancing to their Samba music, and most people didn’t stop until after 2:00 am.

In the taxi ride home I thought about the differences between the world I grew up in and the one I was now introduced to. I am very thankful for so much that I have and have had, a safe place to live, a beautiful family, good education; but there things that this culture has that I have rarely lived. I don’t know all of the songs that everyone here seems to know, I don’t watch every game that my team plays, screaming with joy when they win and having a bad day if they loose. Life is different here, and I am thankful to be somewhere that lets me see another side of things. I am in the Jungle… I must now study this foreign language because as I have learned before, wishing to learn something never works as well as working hard and studying. I love you all and until the next time I write… Tchau.

Brasil Day six

So far the first week of this adventure has seemed like months. From the moment I wake up, 7:30am, to the time I fall asleep I am bombarded with thousands of pieces of this foreign culture. From the language, to how the bus system works, to what Brazilians eat. At the end of each day my head feels like it is overloaded and numb.

Since arriving I had not gotten a good night sleep. I don’t know is it was the hard bed, the foreign setting, or my nervousness but until this morning I would sleep lightly waking at any noise. I think it is the first sign that I am settling in. Thank God.

Today was also the first day that I felt confident on getting to school and home without getting lost and walking an extra mile, which (as I have failed to mention before) has happen several times already. Belo Horizonte is a very confusing city. It is probably on the same level as being stoned in Amsterdam. The city is designed in a circle, with ruas (streets) running north and south and avenues running 45 degrees to the ruas. If you can’t visualize the layout just imagine an American city, add some of the craziest drivers in the world, put streets coming from all angles, multiply the confusing factor by 10 and you have an idea to what it is like here. It is the most disorienting place to navigate. In addition to all of this, none of the bus stops are labeled. It will take weeks for me to master this Brazilian city.

On the positive side, the sun is shinning bright, the people are cool, and I am learning a lot. We went to a beautiful museum that was full of Brazilian history, pretty cool. It is crazy that a country that has more resources than any other place in the world in not the richest country in the world. They had a gold rush that dwarfed California’s, they have more trees, more minerals, and a huge amount of land. It’s weird how things work out.

I’m over hump day (Wednesday), and it is all down hill from here till the weekend. I can’t wait to sleep in and hopefully have time to get a little exercise and give my books a bit of rest. Boa noite e ate amanha. Tchau

Brasil Day four

Today was the hardest day on my trip so far. In addition to having to wake up at 6:30am, I was not able to sleep last night. It was as if I couldn’t find my way from reality to my dream world, waking several times before morning. After my wakeup call I went to my first day at school. It felt like a mixture of my first day in Paris and my first day in kindergarten. I have found that living in a place where almost no one can understand you brings a feeling similar to that of a small child just learning to speak. I guess because that is about what level I am at speaking Portuguese.

I was filled with both excitement and fear. Fear of the challenges ahead and excited for what I would learn. We took the bus titled UFMG, number 5102. The route winded around the center of town finally arriving a the university 50 minutes later. The campus is huge, with big gaps between each building as though the designers planed for a huge expansion. There are over 30,000 students attending UFMG with people studying almost every subject. Again, all of the buildings are concrete, I suppose because in the wet and humid climate it is the cheapest and most durable material. Walking up to my building, titled ‘Lestras’, I was reminded of a scene from jungle book, concrete stained with black moss and vines hanging from ledges. This is to be my second home for the next five months.

The orientation was completely spoken in Portuguese. I understood about half, I think… All of the professors seem very nice and excited to teach, something that I rarely see. They gave us our schedules for the week accompanied with a chique bag and literature about the university. After the introductions we broke for pao de queijo, sandwiches and cookies. Brazilians seem to love sugar as much as they love salt. We then proceeded to take several tests placing our academic worth. I have a feeling that I will be with the beginning group. It is crazy the size headache one gets when concentrating on each word said. I realize how nice it is to take a language for granted.

In our last class we tested our speaking skills. A group of 20 students packed into a small room made for 10. Our teacher was not much older than me, being probably 25 years old. He had small glasses and the traditional college grad attire, knit sweater, khaki pants and a new pair of Puma shoes. I had to concentrate very hard to catch the drift of the discussion, especially when a ceiling tile feel and almost landed on a Florida student. All I could do is cover my mouth and laugh hoping the air wasn’t filled with asbestos. Only in the Jungle. Brazil is definitely third (terd) world, although it has something that most of the USA has lost or never had at all. People here have less, their cars aren’t nice, the city is dirty, they don’t have many things, but they seem to very optimistic. Everyone seems to know how to let lose and have a good time, their lives are not all about work…

I finally made it home. I did very little physical exercise but I feel dead tired. Mental fatigue I call it. I love you all. Tomorrow awaits me with who knows what.

Brasil Day one

This is the first time that I didn’t have a burning urge to leave for a trip abroad. My life back home seemed perfect. I am in love, I could hang out with most of my friends and money was easy to be made. I almost felt like I was being kicked out the front door when the time came to pack and drive to the airport. The support was there from my family, my girlfriend and my friends, something that I was more than grateful for. Now that I am gone I must focus on the time here, learning Portuguese, making friends, learning Brazil.

I left my cousins house early in the morning, waking with a short lived pang of worry thinking that I had over slept. But to my surprise it was sunny at 7:28 am in the San Francisco hills, something that I had never experienced before. I then ventured to the Brazilian consulate with Jonathan taking in little bits of advise about traveling, like ‘don’t bring a towel’ and ‘when I travel and need to catch a plane that is the only thing I have planed for that day’. And I realized that my life is never like that. Take the day that I leave for six months, today. Up until the last minute I had things to do, including picking up a visa that would either let me in the country or waste all of the money spent on school and air tickets with a polite rejection note and a small smile. But to my relief when I picked up my passport both Kelib and I had the stamp proving that this trip was for real. “You are going to Brazil, where?” the working attendant asked with a thick Portuguese accent. “Ah, Belo Horizonte the best city in Brazil, it is where I’m from.” This was my first taste of Brazilian pride and culture. All Brazilians seem to know that Brazil is the best country in the world, with the warmest people, best food, best soccer, most beautiful beaches, and best music. I have found that out of any country I’ve been to, they have the most pride and love for their country. I then left for SFO and the stuffy dry air that waited for me.

Surprisingly, my life after leaving the comfort of my dad’s car was relatively without stress. I arrived with plenty of time, meeting Kelib and checking my bags in with ease. For some reason I felt very calm and collected. To tell the truth all I really wanted to do was sleep. We flew to Washington DC in 4 hours 44 minutes with some of the worst turbulence I have ever experienced leaving me with a huge headache and a feeling that at any moment I might vomit. To my rescue off the plane was 1000mg of Tylenol and the bag of organic food bought the day before. Kelib seemed to be unaffected, which did not surprise me.

We finally arrived in Belo Horizonte 25 hours later. What a long ass trip. I have never felt so thankful to be somewhere and not have to get on another plane. The air was perfect. BH actually had the most pleasant airport I had seen the whole trip. The scenery around the city reminded me off the African savanna, red dirt and crazy trees surrounded by lush grass and vegetation. Jose, Jennine’s host family, was there to greet us all with a warm smile and broken English. We got on an over crowed bus full of long stares and awkward looks headed toward our final destination, the center of Belo Horizonte.

26 hours… And finally I am close to my new home and bed. Luiza, part of my new host family, directs the taxi through the crazy streets and even crazier drivers of this South American city. I was full of mixed emotion. Fear, excitement, nervousness, but most of all, fatigue. At last, we stop in a quiet neighborhood close to downtown. The building is very similar to many that I’ve seen in Brazil, concrete everywhere with clay block walls and tile floors. I live on the third floor in a three bedroom apartment with four students, two guys and two girls. And yes, I get my own room. Luiza, Paula, Paulo-Andreas (girino), Joao. Girino is Luiza’s brother and Paula is their cousin. Joao, from what I understand, is just a family friend. They are all extremely nice, trying to understand my broken Portuguese with patience and welcoming me into their home. No one really speaks English well, which is a plus if I am to learn this language.

After getting to know everyone a bit I ask to retire to my new room and settle to sleep. As I laid there the shock hit me. Shit… I am thousands of miles from everything I know. I am virtually alone on my adventure, trying to sleep in a foreign land filled with people that don’t speak English. It was the first time that moving to Brazil became a reality. I am here and must now make the best of my new life…