Adventures of a Gringa in Rio

Serginho in The Economist

Sergio's PR person must be getting a promotion because this week's Economist has a glowing story about the governor of Rio. See here.

It talks about Sergio's cleaning up of the state finances, attracting foreign investment, and half-heartedly attempting to tackle the security situation. It also mentions that his predecessor "governed the state with startling incompetence."

But what the article fails to mention about this former governor, Anthony Garotinho, is that he has been accused of being the boss of an armed mob, which was involved in such activities as corruption, contraband, and money laundering. And he is in, as we say, deep merda, despite his supposed "political immunity."

So really, anyone or thing is better than that. No offense, Serginho.

bring it, argentino

Thanks to Henrique for this hilarious new Havaianas commercial.

For the non-Portuguese speakers, the gist is the following:

Lazaro Ramos, a famous (and awesome) actor is chatting with the beach bartender. The bartender notes that they have the same sandals, and Lazaro tells him he's lucky because he can wear Havaianas to work every day. The bartender then starts the usual complaining about Brazil, and Lazaro agrees, saying, "How is it that such a rich country has so many problems?"

Just then, an Argentine tourist chimes in, "I agree with you guys! I don't understand why Brazil has so many problems."

"WHAT problem?!" asks the bartender.

And then Lazaro and the bartender proceed to mock the Argentine and it is glorious.

Rio Gringa Breaking News: Pure Brilliance in Copacabana

I am currently at a place that is not my house and not a cafe if you know what I mean, but I couldn't resist writing about this right away.

The Rio de Janeiro city government has come up with an ambitious plan to install free wireless across practically the entire city by the end of 2008, which should reach around 100,000 people. It is supposedly the largest open air wifi project in Latin America.

The plan began in Copacabana today, where free Wifi was installed on one block along the beach. Twenty-one more wireless spots are due to be installed by the end of August.

The main cheerleader for the project is, of course, the governor, Sergio Cabral, who said the following:

"Copacabana is my beach. I was raised here and now people will be able to have the luxury of drinking a beer and using their laptop on the boardwalk," affirmed the governor, who guaranteed the security of the area.

"We are boosting security in all areas, including Copacabana. We are having some difficulties, but we are facing the problem with courage."

Well Serginho, [pictured below] you're going to need a hell of a lot more than courage. A less than one block radius is easy enough to police, but the entire boardwalk? The entire CITY? I never venture to bring my laptop out of the house in Rio, let alone the beach, which has such a high rate of theft, especially in Copa.  Maybe you should focus on your bike project instead.

wha?

One of the things weirding me out about being stateside are those added costs we're so used to, especially as New Yorkers, that I had nearly forgotten about while I was in Brazil--namely, taxes and tips.

First of all, there's no added sales tax in Brazil on regular consumer goods (I'm sure it's added in beforehand from the exorbitant prices of things like electronics). I forget if there's a restaurant tax, but if there is, it's small. At lunch buffet places, similar cafe-like restaurants, and grocery stores, there's no tax. Also, at restaurants, the tip is automatically included, at 10%, and is still optional. Here, people keep reminding me about the tip, and that it's 20%!

It's not just restaurants and stores--taxis, too. Though taxis in Rio aren't exactly cheap, you also are not required to tip them. I still am unsure about the deal of tipping hairdressers and the like, mostly because I went to a salon the grand total of one time.

Anyhow, I'm overwhelmed by the taxes and tips.

How it all began: Part XIII

There are certain moments that you expect to change your life, those milestones that mark your memory like rest stops on a highway: high school graduations, sweet sixteens, bar mitzvahs, weddings. But there are other moments, the subtler, unexpected ones that come and go, and only later you realize how those very moments are forever etched into your mind. This moment was one of those.

It was my last night in the country. I had some time to kill before going out, so I went down to the lobby and sat with the building super and handyman. His name was Octavio, a seventy-something, rickety, wise-cracking viejito. He was taking a break, rocking gently in one of the ancient rockers. I sat next to him in a cracked pleather armchair with my journal, expecting to write some of my final thoughts. Instead, I asked Octavio an innocent question that snowballed into an hour-long exchange. It wasn't particularly dignified or eloquent, but our conversation changed everything for me.

"Are you happy?" I asked.

At first, he gave me a laundry list of reasons why despite the many hardships, life had been good to him: universal health care, free education for life, discounted housing, subsidized food. He explained how each had impacted his life and made an otherwise meager existence easier to bear.

But bit by bit, he transitioned into all of the things that weren't so wonderful.

"I make a pittance with this job--only one peso an hour [about US$0.04 at the time]. It's barely enough to live on, but what's worse is that everything I need to buy is in a different form of currency that makes everything much more expensive. I can't even afford to buy shoes. I've had this pair for years. I really wish I could get new ones. I can't afford to buy new clothes either, and I have to take really good care of the little I have. I haven't bought a new pair of pants in ages, and the ones I'm wearing are falling apart. I'm getting old and I have to take medicine and sometimes pain relievers, especially since I have a bad back. But simple things like aspirin are scarce or expensive, and most of the time, I just have to take the pain."

I nodded dutifully, biting my lip and trying to keep my face from falling. He went on:

"But you know, in the end, it's not all so bad. I get by, and I'm happy. The worst thing, the thing that really has made life unbearable, is that my wife died six months ago."

Before I could say the usual polite things you say in this situation, he pointed vaguely, his voice trembling, "Sometimes I forget she's gone...I can just see her standing over there, across the room." And with that, he burst into tears.

I'm not sure if you've ever seen an old man cry, but it's one of the most terrible things you can possibly see, much worse than a child or a woman crying. And so, of course, tears began to well in my eyes, and gradually poured down my face during the rest of his story.

We sat quietly for a moment, both weeping, and I broke the silence by telling him that my grandfather had just died a few months ago, and how hard it was for my grandma. Then he launched into the painful story of what happened to his wife, in his windy, circular Latin way (below is the very condensed version).

"She was getting headaches all the time, terrible, splitting migraines. She went to the doctor and they gave her some drugs for the pain but that was it. They said nothing was really wrong with her. A few more weeks went by, and she was still getting the headaches. I took her back to the doctor, and this time they ran more tests and they found something. She had a brain tumor--a malignant brain tumor. By then it had grown and it was too late. She died very soon after. There was nothing they could do."

I sighed through my tears and reached over to hold his withered hand.

"Our love was so pure, you know? We got so lucky, because were made for each other. We did everything together, everything. We had this mutual respect for each other that you don't always find, a respect for each other as human beings and as husband and wife. We always understood each other and we hardly ever fought. We were just perfect together.

It's funny, because we met so late in life. We were in our forties at the time, and we fell hopelessly in love and got married right away. We were married for 29 years when she died. She was 73. We could have had so much more time."

"I'm so sorry," I managed.

"It's been months, but I'm still heartbroken. When she died, I vowed that I'd never so much as look at another woman again. Every night before I go to sleep, and every morning when I wake up, I kiss her picture that I keep on my nightstand. I even left her blanket on the bed where it's always been. There will never be anyone like her, and I'll miss her every day for the rest of my life."

"But in the end, has life been good?" I ventured.

"Of course," he answered. "I had such a wonderful youth, and I enjoyed every minute of it, as much as I could. I went to school, and I had friends and girlfriends, and I'd go dancing and watch games, and life was good. Now I'm old, and God will take me when it's time. In the end, love has kept me alive. Despite the poverty and the scarcities and the constant struggles, love is the only thing that has ever really mattered, in the end."

When I recounted the conversation later that night in my journal, I wrote, "It's a kind of love I can't quite comprehend, but more than anything I can only hope to have someday. Maybe that's what keeps people here alive, united, surviving. Love."

New Design

You'll notice I have a new design and a new banner, thanks to Ryan! If you too, are interested in graphic design work, please see her website here. I love how she put together the two skylines from Rio and New York, especially because even though I may physically be in one place, I feel as if I'm always in both. The Rio photo is courtesy of Eliseu from my parents' visit to Rio.

UPDATE: My apologies to Ryan, since I linked to another graphic designer's website--who knew there were two graphic designers with the same last name who both live in Massachusetts? Anyway, the correct Ryan's website is http://www.mtholyoke.edu/~ferla20r/portfolio/. Sorry!

news briefs

1. U.S. Position Complicates Global Effort to Curb Illicit Arms
Perhaps if we dropped some NRA representatives in Complexo do Alemao, then they could see the value of putting firearms in the hands of civilians!

2. Immigrant, Pregnant, is Jailed Under Pact
Sometimes I think I should be a lawyer so I can sue the pants off the people who violate immigrants' human rights.

3. Given a Shovel, Americans Dig Deeper into Debt
Given the consumer and real estate credit boom in Brazil, I think Brazilians should see the American crisis as a warning.

for your consideration: Brazil on the Colbert Report

the Brazilianization of New York

Just walking around the city, I've noticed that the Brazilians are quietly taking over, in their own way.

I passed several of the city's most famous Brazilian restaurants this week, including Plataforma and Porcao, both of which have their famous flagship restaurants in Rio. I passed a few other Brazilian restaurants, too, and not just in Little Brazil.

Brazilian food is popping up in supermarkets, and not just Whole Foods, from frozen acai to acai juice to boxed coconut juice, all made in Brazil. In fact, one of the coconut juice manufacturers, Vita Coco, has some sort of summer campaign going on, in which every other day young people in mock Brazil soccer jerseys hand out free samples of coconut water near my office.

Havaianas are everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. From fancypants stores like Nordstrom's to that sketchy shoe store on Union Square Park, they are selling like hotcakes, since maybe one in two women I see wearing casual flip flops are wearing Havaianas. The regular ones, the flag ones, the slim ones--those things are getting a work out all over Manhattan. I guess they haven't quite caught on with the guys yet. But otherwise, I really had no idea they'd become so wildly popular.

There's a Brazilian film festival at MoMa in July, and not one but two Brazilian nights during Central Park's Summerstage festival during the next two months.

And finally, the kicker: the NYC Tourism Bureau announced that the fastest-growing tourist population in New York are....yup, you guessed it. The Brazilians. According to statistics, 251,000 Brazilians came to New York City last year, a 66% increase from 2006. The crashing and burning dollar, mixed with cheaper American consumer goods and increasing Brazilian salaries, have driven Brazilians to New York in droves, despite the humiliating, pain in the ass visa process.

Bem-vindos a cidade mais maravilhosa do planeta, gente!

dominican week

Being back in Nueva Yol, aka Dominican York, I've been surrounded by Dominicanness all week, between "In the Heights" and reading one of the best books I've read, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (more on that later), and even reuniting with Dominican friends. So I was whatevering around Youtube and I found this. If you ever wondered what a "tiguere" was (and you will if you read Oscar Wao), here is a very accurate, and very amusing definition (en espanol):

stalkerage

In a completely unexpected turn of events, the thing I miss most about Brazil, after Eli and my ballet kiddies, is Portuguese. I never thought about speaking it all the time while I was there, and suddenly I've gone cold turkey, while my abnormally tiny ears forlornly strain to hear those "shhs" and "aos." Since I've been back, I've heard it twice.

First, I passed two clearly Brazilian girls in Whole Foods chattering away, and I stopped dead in my tracks, but they gave me a funny look, so I just smiled and hurried away. The next time was on the subway. There was a skinny white guy and a lanky black guy with a mammoth surf board, speaking with the oddest accent I've ever heard (Portugal? Mozambique? Angola? No idea) Being my mother's daughter, I was incredibly curious, but being me, I didn't ask, since I have a strict policy of not talking to strange young men, especially on public transportation.

I suppose I could go up to Little Brazil in Midtown, but there are mostly just restaurants, and I'm not desperate enough to walk in and make small talk. Nobody in my office is Brazilian, and speaking to Eli somehow doesn't feel like it counts, since we speak our own weird little language anyway.

In the meantime, I'm back in Spanglish land, and I'm surrounded by Spanish everywhere I go. It's good because I like getting back into the groove of hearing it, but so far I have been too terrified to speak it, for fear of my Portuguese slipping in and overpowering those poor little chee-less verbs and nouns.

geography lesson

Eli wrote to some English schools in Ireland when he was considering heading over there to study and work. Here's the email he sent:

Hi,

I would like to know if there is an English course starting in July. I need to know the price as well. Also, I would like to know how I can apply for a student visa. I'm in Holland now, but I'm from Brazil.

Best, Eliseu

Here's the response he got, which I've copied and pasted as it was sent:

Hello,

Thank you for your enquiry. Our courses are all starting on the Monday of every week. There is no problem for a visa, as a mexican you can enter Ireland and once you are in our school, wegive you a letter and you then bring this letter to the immigration office here.

Best Wishes,

Dumbass in Dublin   Diane

Good thing I didn't want to go there to learn geography, he said. Good thing you didn't really want to learn English, either, I told him.

on being a patriot

About six months ago, I saw this trailer at my favorite art house movie theater in Rio and could not wait to see this movie. Except it never came out. If it did, it was such a tiny blip that I completely missed it. So finally, just now, I watched it on DVD. It's probably the worst movie you can watch coming back from abroad, since it is an extremely, completely disturbing depiction of the U.S. But I think everyone should watch it anyway. And I think every single U.S. congressman and woman should have to see this.

The movie in question is "In the Valley of Elah," a film by the guy who wrote "Crash," one of my favorite movies. It's about an American soldier who serves in Iraq and then disappears several days after arriving home. His dad, played by the amazing Tommy Lee Jones, makes it his mission to find out what happened to him.

Not only is the film incredibly well done, but it is completely realistic with only minor Hollywood touches (like someone as gorgeous as Charlize Theron playing the cop, though they did try to ugly her down). In fact, the movie is actually based on a true story.

I sobbed through the last half, real, wrenching sobs, knowing that this really happened and knowing that the that so many Americans really are being destroyed by this war, be it in death or in life. It really was eye-opening, in a shocking and terrible sense. But since the movie was so beautifully done, it was an odd, ambiguous sensation, like being sucker punched at an art museum.

Amongst other things, one of the most important messages is that you don't have to go to war to be a patriot, and that you aren't a coward for not wanting to fight in a senseless, bloody war. I think we have finally, finally arrived at a point when most Americans agree the war was a big mistake, but in a post 9-11 world I still get the impression that Americans have a very narrow definition of patriotism.

My impression is that patriots are thought to be people who enter the armed forces, people who fight in Iraq and serve in the Middle East, people who hang American flags outside their homes or workplaces, people who wear American flag pins, and people who unconditionally support the U.S. government. Forget about voting, or running for office, or calling your congressman or serving your community.

I feel as if many Americans have forgotten about the beauty of democracy, that we, the people, have the power to decide our fate and to make change. To me, a true patriot is not someone who stands idly by as the country crumbles around him, but someone who makes a stand. We don't have to die to prove our love for our home, and we shouldn't have to either. We should fight to make things better by improving conditions here, at home, on our own turf, where there are plenty of problems to be addressed. Criticism shouldn't be seen as an attack, but rather as a sign that we care, that we're paying attention, and that we strive for better. We shouldn't blindly follow our government out of loyalty, but instead should be helping participate in its most important decisions, like in a real democracy.

For this reason, I consider myself a patriot. Because despite my endless rants, I am in fact very proud to be American, because I honestly believe it's a place where you can realize your dreams. It's where I plan to return to, someday for good, to serve people in need. I plan to vote in every important election, no matter what continent I'm on.

Ironically, the more of the world I see, the more I'm forever grateful to be a part of such a great place. As a nation, we have produced so much good, some of the best things in the world, from our cinema to our music to our novels. But we've also done many things that are not good at all, and many of them have come from our government. For this reason, I don't support the current US government, but I have great hope that one day soon, I will. After all, I have the power to make change, just like every true American patriot.

note

Dear Internet,

I am sorry for flipping out at you yesterday. I'm stressed about a lot of things and my blog isn't usually on that list. I am obviously not going to stop writing or password block Rio Gringa. I've received so many great and supportive comments that have really outweighed the few negative ones. I love writing too much to stop sharing. Mean commenters, in the future, though, should prepare for the worst. Thanks to everyone who has shown their support for Eli, and I'll let you know what he decides to do soon.

Love,
Rio Gringa