Good Times!

On Thursday, I received an email that I need to move immediately out of my Copacabana location. On Friday, my bags were packed and I was ready to leave. On Saturday, I was supposed to move, but it didn’t quite come together. On Sunday, it was the last moment before I-don’t-know-what but I-didn’t-want-to-stay-to-find-out.

Since my new hostess was not ready for my arrival, I was instructed to go to Flamengo Beach to stay with a temporary host. Once I arrived (as I previously mentioned in an earlier entry), I was told that another teammate wanted me to come to her home for the 3-day holiday.

Why not go? For the entire week, a lot of my teammates had been asking if I would go out with them to Castelo. I didn’t know what Castelo was but I was waiting for the right opportunity to see as much of the local scene that was convenient to my training schedule. I told my “housing coordinator” that it was fine so he gave me directions. He ended our conversation by saying, “I was just over there the other night Qiana, and I felt safe…” This phrase did not register with me until I was about to arrive at my destination. Am I going to be staying in a favella?

The bus stopped and I hopped out in front of the nightclub Castelo Das Pedras. I called Teka (my teammate) and she walked from her house with our other teammate, Larissa, to come meet me.

Welcome to Castelo. I cannot tell you how many people live there or how much area is contained in the neighborhood. I think this place met all of the criteria for being classified as a favella. I immediately saw this “vacation” as an opportunity to understand how a majority of my teammates live, and observe if some of the things that I had seen (in movies and in the Brazilian soap operas) were true.

The trek to Teka’s home led us through the middle of an open market that was being deconstructed. There were lots of people, trash and confusion. However, everyone was going about their business at a fairly calm pace.

As Teka and Larissa maneuvered me through the crowds, we picked up Teka’s mama somewhere along the way. I spoke to three ladies (who I believed to be her friends). We turned into an alley, hung a left, went up about 15 tall concrete steps, stepped over a small wire partition and then up another 10 steps to the top landing. This area was partially covered (the clothes lines were in one area, a bathroom and then the doorway to Teka’s bedroom. To this day, I still don’t understand if their family lives in the entire concrete building or if they have certain rooms because everything is divided by the open stairway.

I will say that my understanding of life in Castelo (because I can’t speak for any other neighborhoods like this) seems to be a lot like that show, Good Times. Families are working hard trying to send kids to school and keep them out of trouble. You can get everything that you need and want in the favella. You never have to leave, and many times this is the case for a majority of the residents. Are girls walking around looking cute in their best outfits? Yes. Are guys walking around without shirts on looking like they just stepped out of a gym? Yes. Are people walking around having a great time? Yes. Now don’t get me wrong. There are some seriously down and out people walking around, but for the most part it reminds me of a larger, more developed U.S. housing project development.

My stay in Castelo was all Good Times and has made my list of top Rio highlights because of the following:

1. Teka has the softest bed in Rio.
2. Teka’s air conditioning unit knows how to keep a room cold.
3. Teka’s family is so nice, and Teka’s dad gave me a tour of his videography shop.
4. Teka’s mama knows how to cook. Her chicken, rice and beans are serious business.
5. Teka’s neighbor, Alex, came over every day to entertain me with conversations about American music, life in Castelo, etc.
6. Teka introduced me to Pao doce. It is some of the best bread I have ever tasted.
7 Teka took me to Castelo das Pedras. A club that rains fire sparks and mist on hundreds of dancing people at about 4:00 a.m.
8 At 5:30 a.m. the party continues outside of the club, and the police do not stop it.
9. At 5:42 a.m., there are still guys on the corner doing their best body rolling to Baile Funk music. It was good, but it gave me a lot of laughs.
10. After going to bed at 6:00 a.m., 5 or 6 teammates run into Teka’s room at noon to turn the Baile Funk music on high to restart the party. (It seems that they not have noise/music restrictions in Castelo).

A visit this sweet deserves a picture. Look at a piece of Pao Doce that I had a chance to eat!

I Just Want to Watch the Game

Yesterday evening, the coach reminded me that Brazil would be playing an Olympic qualifying match against Ghana this morning. My intent was to be front and center to watch this game uninterrupted from start to finish. Since the game was at 8:30 a.m., I figured that I could watch it at my usual breakfast spot, Zona Sul. They have a nice big, flat screen television. Although it was not guaranteed that the channel would be set to the game, I had a good feeling I could politely request a channel change.

I approached a guy who always works in the café area to inquire about watching the game. He happily agreed to change the channel. (Honestly, who would decline to showcase their country’s team engaging in competition at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday?) Once we found the station, I decided to return the favor by loading up my plate with enough food to eat intermittently throughout the course of the game.

There were only a few customers sitting in the café area having breakfast when the game began. I did notice that there was a lady sitting at the next table. She was elderly, had on a cardboard, Indian headdress and was drinking a beer. Now, I thought to myself that this was not the time for me to pass judgment. I had a game to watch.

As soon as I finished my thought, the lady gets up from the table and comes over to me.

Lady: Esta chuvendo. (It’s raining)
Qiana: Um hum (with a smile) (the game has just started-so my eyes alternating between the lady and the screen)
L: Chuvendo…Chuvendo.(she switches to English)...Raining…Raining…
Q: Sim, Sim (Yes, Yes)
L: Where are you from?
Q: Estados Unidos (United States)
L: Sweden?!
Q: United States
L: Oh, you should keep your bag close to you. (My bag is directly in front of me on top of the table.)
L: It is such a beautiful bag. (She picks up my bag, rubs it and places in on her shoulder. (Please note that I am prepared to run this lady down if she tries to turn with my bag.))
L: You have to be careful because people will take it.
L: Today is the day of the Indian. I will get you a headpiece. (She leans over to my ear and whispers) I need to get nine more because I have 10 grandchildren and I want to give each of them one.

I received two minutes of peace before she returned.

L: Here. You can take this to America as a souvenir.
L: Do you like this sport? (Pointing to the television)
Q: Yes
L: You have nice legs. When I was your age, I had legs just like you. (The lady turns to a guy working in the café.) Do you know her?
G: No.
L: She is American. Look at those legs. I used to have legs just like her, but now I am older. Look at my legs!

Everyone is silent.

L: Are those your friends? (She is pointing to the Ghanaian soccer players on the television.)
Q: No
L: What do you think about Hillary Clinton and Obama?
Q: I think change is good.
L: I like Hillary. I do not know this Obama. Hillary is a lady, but she is like a man. I would vote for her. Change is not always good. I changed husbands. Do I make the right decision? I don’t know, but I am old now. When I was married to my first husband, I was thin and beautiful. Then my friend, she liked him too! I left him. I get new husband and I don’t know if I make the right choice. Change is not always good. (I would be curious to know if her 2nd husband felt the same way. You there are two sides to every story…)

I am silent. (When elders speak and I don’t know what to say, I usually go with silence.) During this time, the lady starts playing with my hair.

L: In Rio, we sit up straight. She proceeds to move my legs directly under the table and pulls my shoulders back. You know I come here every morning. (I make a mental note of the time.)
Q: Obrigada (Thank you)
L: Have fun in Rio, and be careful. (She straightens my shoulders one last time and hits me on the back.)

Well, she pretty much occupied the majority of the 1st half of the game. Fortunately, I was able to watch the remainder of the game in peace.

As a nice reward for my tolerance, I had a wonderful opportunity at practice later. Donda, a member of the 1st Brazilian Women’s National Team, was present at our training. She is in her 40’s (which I think they consider ancient here) and she went through the entire workout with us. During our scrimmage, she played on my team and she gave me a few pointers (in Portuguese of course). It was really amazing to see her move with the ball. This lady is tiny and fast. I mean how many people get to play alongside Brazilian National Team members? This moment was priceless!

I Stay Moving

I know the posts have been slow lately. Last Friday, I received the news that I had to move from my Copacabana location. On Sunday, my bags and I moved quickly to Flamengo Beach. Upon arrival there, I was notified that I would need to temporarily stay (for the holiday) in Castelo das Pedras. Yesterday, I relocated (hopefully for the remainder of my stay) to a previous residence in Leblon. I stay moving! Until I can get situated and start writing about all of my activities, I have included a few pics from the places that I have been. The favella pics are representative of my time in Castelo. I made a conscious decision that I was not going to take pictures of the area (out of general respect--will explain in upcoming post). The last picture is of Barra Tijuca. On Tuesday, I had the opportunity to train at Barra Tijuca. It is a new development that is absolutely gorgeous! If you plan on coming to Rio, but you don´t want the hassel of Copacabana, I would suggest staying in this area. It looks like a newer Ipanema (in my humble opinion). Okay--enjoy!

Angel Award Recognition: Jersey City

The ATC (American Tourist Club) can prove to be beneficial to those of us outside the circle, if you know the code. I hope that I have adhered to those guidelines (on this blog) while still providing my readers with a various tidbits of insight from its members.

My short life has taught me that you just never know who you may need one day. On Thursday, this was case. Although Sprint keeps sending me texts repeatedly telling me that I can call the US using a special number, this is not the case. Also, I couldn’t understand the automated operator when I attempted several calls to the US as well. I was in a tight bind. Fortunately, I remembered that an ATC member was residing on my floor.

I knocked on his door. He happily greeted me, and if he could help me operate my Claro phone. This gentleman had met me only 24 hours ago, but because of the unspoken American code, he extended his assistance.

I do not want to reveal the identity of this traveler, but any other ATC members that read this blog and know a travel veteran from Jersey City, let him know that he will be hearing from me very soon. I tried to stop by to return the favor, but I never could seem to catch up with him. Of course, the ATC is constantly moving—who stays in their apartment when they are on vacation in Rio de Janeiro.

Thursday, April 17th: My Angel Award goes to Jersey City. I have attached an image of White Manor Diner for your viewing pleasure. Thank you so much!

Men Talk

I had the chance opportunity to see my interviewee walking down the street on the day of his departure. We exchanged pleasantries, and as we were conversing, another American man passed by us on the sidewalk. My interviewee stopped mid-sentence to say a few sentences to the guy. Being that I am inquisitive, I asked my interviewee if this gentleman was a member of his traveling party. My interviewee responded that he was not, but as a matter of course, the men all make a point to speak to one another.

On the next morning, I was heading out of my building when I passed by two gentleman from America. The men did not speak, but they did make a point of discussing (amongst themselves) the fact that I was American and I play soccer. I kept walking. It immediately became apparent to me that the cat was officially out of the bag.

One conversation with one American tourist was all that it took.

The following day during my afternoon visit to pick up an item or two from Zona Sul. I noticed that there was a table full of American tourists having pizza. When I passed by their table, one of the gentleman stopped me. He had not received the memo that I was American, but one of the other members quickly brought him up-to-speed. This guy had heard me speaking to my interviewee on the sidewalk a few days earlier. Had I ever met this guy formally? No, but I didn’t want to be outdone so I quickly informed him that I knew he was staying on the 9th floor in my building because his apartment appears to be an apparent revolving door for the American Tourist. The guy look taken aback but then commented that I was the “rude Brazilian” that would not speak to him on the elevator…Rude, quiet or merely observant-these adjectives are interchangeable depending upon whose side of the story that you get.

It is less than one week since my first meeting with a tourist, and I have been invited to sit down and have a conversation with four American tourists. I looked at my cell, checked the time and figured that this was an opportunity that I should seize. These guys were full of questions, and ready to provide me with a little more insight into the “American Tourist.”

Location: Zona Sul (Copacabana) Time: 15:20 Age Range: 35-50

Fast Facts:
· All of the men came alone. They did not come with a group of friends.
· All of these gentlemen are veterans to visiting Brazil.
· The gentlemen met on previous trips or during the current visit.

Initially, the guys put me on the hot seat. They were fascinated by my reason for being in Brazil. I answered their questions, and quickly moved the conversation to one that they would enjoy-themselves. I gave them a brief overview of my Not For Tourists entry, which they found to be entertaining when I publicized the famous Rua Xavier da Silva corner. However, they asked me to name the local meet-up restaurant for the brotherhood. I was stumped. Now, I had an educated guess, but no one would confirm.

As the conversation continued, the “pizza party organizer” explained that many American Tourists look forward to coming to Brazil because they have an opportunity to meet their peers. Most of these guys are have careers in professional sectors, and because everyone is 5,000 miles away from America, they are more prone to being cordial towards one another. This is something that does not necessarily occur routinely stateside. From these cordial conversations, these American men are able to exchange their experiences and, most importantly, information. For example, another gentleman approached the table with a young Brazilian woman. All of the guys knew this gentleman, and in the midst of the conversation, this gentleman spoke of needing the services of a barber. One of the gentleman announced that he has a barber who he uses when he is in town. The barber would be making a house call during the upcoming weekend, and the gentleman could come over for an edge-up.

In my hour visit with these guys, I witnessed them exchange information with each other (and me) regarding: where to buy good shoes for a low price, the location for a nearby historical military site, why everyone should go to the movies in Rio and how the theaters let you bring in food from outside the theater. Also, they allotted a few minutes to putting together their collective knowledge on a former politician’s questionable activities.

My grandfather always told me that men talk. It is true. They talk a lot. For the American tourist, these conversations are an admission pass to the boys club and instruction manual to making the most of the Brazilian experience.

Field Trip: Around Rio in 6 Hours…

I want to bring you along with me on my journey today. However, I am going to use a different format for this entry because I am tired. All the energy I had in me was utilized between the hours of 1:00 -7:00 p.m. today. Please note all conversations are being conducted in Portuguese. I have translated them for your reading pleasure…

April 14th (9:30 a.m.): I sent an email to one person in my Rio support network. Time obviously has been flying by because I realized the night before that my Visa is going to expire in either 10 days or 15 days. Either way, I need to act fast. Tomorrow is a day off of training so I am determined to have this situation handled before the close of business.

April 14th (12:35 p.m.): I receive a message back with two web site links. These two sites were not able to effectively communicate, in a way that I could undertand, the location, cost and forms that I needed to submit.

April 14th (9:00 p.m.): I email two translators listed on the U.S/Brazilian Consular site. I tell them what I need, ask if they can assist and ask for their rates.

April 15th (10:00 a.m.): I pay a visit to the mother of my hostess. I ask her if she knows where the Federal Police office is located. She gives me a location but she is not sure if it still exists.

April 15th (10:05 a.m.): I ask the two doormen if they know the location of the nearest Federal Police Office. They apologize and tell me no.

April 15th (10:07 a.m.): I receive an email message from each of the translators. One has requested to see the document and so she can provide a rate. The other told me that she is not an attorney so she is not going to be able to assist me. However, she wanted me to continue having a good time in Rio and stay dry (it rained all day today).

April 15th (10:17 a.m.): I pay the internet café guy, and then I ask him if he knows the location of the nearest Federal Police Office. He tells me to walk down the street 4 blocks. I decide to do a trial run before gathering my papers.

April 15th (10:27 a.m.): I see one federal office. However, it doesn’t say Policia. I decide to just ask anyway, who knows what I might find out.

April 15th (10:35 a.m.): The gentleman at the front desk hands me a slip of paper and tells me to go to this web site for information. I thank him and keep heading north. I need a location. These web sites are not cutting it right now.

April 15th (10:42 a.m.): I spot a Police Office. Excellent! I return home to gather all of the paperwork that I think I may need.

April 15th (11:15 a.m.): I just sit down on my bed. I know I need to just get myself together for my visit to the Police Office. It is a public facility so I am not sure what to expect, but I am confident the process will go smoothly.

April 15th (1:00 p.m.): I am standing in a very short line at the Police Office. I notice a sign that reads “Civil Policia.” I don’t know if this is the right Police office, but I am confident that they will be able to assist me in some way.

April 15th (1:15 p.m.): I make my request to the front desk receptionist. She hands me a slip of paper and tells me to go the International airport. I ask her if she knows how much an extension costs. She calls the number, and the person on the other end tells her that I am not eligible for an extension. Fortunately, I still have until May 5th to legally be in Brazil. I have more than 9 days (My visa issue date was January 24th). At this point, I don’t feel like the person she spoke to knows what they are talking about. The lady encourages me to just go to the airport. I ask her how I can get there. She asks me if I speak Spanish. I nod in the affirmative, and she tells me to take one of the blue buses. The lady wishes me well, and I leave the Civil Police Office.

April 15th (1:30 p.m.): I walk a few steps to the closest hotel. I ask the bellhop a few questions about travel to the airport. I have to know exactly which bus, if any, I need to take. Time is of the essence. He suggests that I take a cab, and quotes me a price of 30 Reais. I wasn’t trying to pay that because that would mean 60 Reais roundtrip—unless I located a bus after I successfully obtained my Visa extension. I walk away from him for a second to think, and then I return to accept the offer.

April 15th (1:38 p.m.): A black Volkswagen pulls up to the hotel. I hop in, the bellhop wishes me well, and I pass the driver the address at the airport. As he is driving off, the driver tells me the rate will be 60 Reais one way. I reply with the rate that I was told, and he calls the hotel. It is then discovered I was provided a quote for a different airport. An ongoing conversation ensues between the cab driver and hotel contact (via cell) and me, as the car circles the block in Copacabana. The cab driver secretly agrees to charge me 45 Reais. I agree to it, and we head to the airport. The driver tries to entertain me during the ride with tidbits of information about people he knows who live in the United States.

April 15th (2:15 p.m.): I enter the airport. I am not sure where I am supposed to go so I approach a cleaning lady who directs me to a desk clerk. The desk clerk instructs me to go up to the 3rd Floor.

April 15th (2:20 p.m.): I am at the 3rd floor but I do not see any signage for the Federal Police Office. Fortunately, I am standing in front of a hotel that is located inside the airport. The front desk clerk directs me to go to the end of the hall.

April 15th (2:25 p.m.): I enter the Federal Police Office, and I approach the front desk clerk. He points me to the Estrangeiro line. Yes, I am a stranger in a strange land. (I think my granddaddy said that to me right before I left to come here.) They call foreigners estrangeiros. I wait until it is my turn. A gentleman hands me a number, and points me to another line in the back.

April 15th (2:48 p.m.): An immigrations Clerk makes an announcement for the next person with a yellow ticket to come forward. My ticket is green. However, he motions to me to approach the counter. I am trying to get an extension so I comply. He looks at my ticket and makes a sarcastic comment and tells me it is not yellow. As I return to my seat, a Brazilian woman is laughing. She is holding her toddler as her “new American husband” is stumbling over some words to receive permanent residency at the counter. I don’t know if it was the look of “you could be in my shoes one day” or overhearing her husband struggling to present his file for acceptance that made this lady quickly cease her laughter.

April 15th (3:00 p.m.): I ask a British woman, who has some forms in her hand, where she obtained the forms. She briefly explained that I would receive all of the information from the clerk.

April 15th (3:10 p.m.): The immigrations clerk hands me the extension form to complete. I have to go to the cybercafé, complete an online form with the code he provided, take the form to the bank, pay the bank 67 Reais, and bring the receipt back to the desk. After he rattled off this long list, I was certain that I would have to make a return trip to the airport on the next day. The clerk politely explains to me that the cybercafé is at the end of the hall and so are the banks. I can have everything done before they closed for the day.

April 15th (3:18 p.m.): I am at the cybercafé. Another European lady, who I saw in the Immigrations office, comes over to my computer and offers her assistance while her boyfriend is printing off his paperwork. Then, the store clerk approaches my computer and quickly types in all of the information for the fields that are related to my residency in Rio so that I do not have to spend more money using the Internet.

April 15th (3:28 p.m.): With my printout in hand, I enter Banco do Brasil. The teller receives my paperwork and payment of 67 Reais. He provides me with my receipt.

April 15th (3:38 p.m.): I am at the Visa Extension counter. My paperwork is reviewed, and the clerk requests some small edits. Once these are complete, he tells me that I can stay in his country for another 90 days. Thank you! Now, I just have to find a way back to Copacabana…

April 15th (3:45 p.m.): I approach a military guard outside of the airport to ask him where I can catch a bus to Copacabana, Leblon or Ipanema. The guard laughs, imitates my request and gives me directions.

April 15th (4:00 p.m.): I am on a chartered bus which will take me back to Copacabana. The cost is 6.50 Reais. I wonder what this ride is going to be like and how long it will take me to get home.

April 15th (6:00 p.m.): Will this ride ever end? Although my ride is showing me many places that I have not seen, it is raining, I am cold and I just want to go to sleep.

April 15th (7:00 p.m.): I am off the bus, and walking to my place of residence.

According to my count, it took 22 people to assist me in completing my goal of receiving an extension on my visa. I would like to publicly thank each of them for the important role that they played today. Readers—thanks for going along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed the adventure! Future Tourists—in the event you need to extend your visas, you have step-by-step instructions of where to go, how much it costs and what your procedure will entail. Bring a good book and a blanket for that bus ride back to your Rio residence.

Interview with an American Tourist

Hello doctors, lawyers, IT gurus, journalists, ballers, preachers, teachers, fashionistas, rappers, actors, administrative assistants, superstore managers and sales clerks. Although this list is not all encompassing, I think I pretty much greeted 98% of the people that frequent this blog. I know most of you fall under that umbrella category of “ballers” so do not be offended if I didn’t list your specific job title of Chief of Paperclips at B&B records….

I have a treat for you today. As I promised in the Not For Tourist entry, I have snagged an informal, one-on-one interview with an American Tourist!!! Put your hands together and clap everyone because you are getting the inside scoop on one man’s journey to Brazil.

To maintain the identity of this gentleman, I am going to give you some general background on this guy. I think it is only fair since he was so gracious, open and frank with me in his discussion.

My typical Wednesday routine included lunch at a restaurant around the corner from my living quarters. I frequent this place so much that I simply walked up to the counter. I did not have to say an order. For protocol purposes, the cashier greeted me and told me the price of my order. As I was preparing to pay, I noticed a gentleman hunched over the counter stumbling over an attempt to communicate his order. The guy looked in my direction as I was sitting at the counter waiting to receive my food.

I proceed to my usual table on the second floor of the restaurant. Unfortunately, all of the booths were taken so I sat at a large table. The American guy came upstairs as well. He approached my table to say…”you are the reason that I came to Brazil.” Fortunately, I spoke before he had a chance to say those words. I said, “Hey, you want to sit at my table?” I think I had some residual guilt from the guy and the rental car situation, plus I had 5 empty chairs at my table. Why not share? The guy paused and with a look of surprise said, “You speak English!” He was definitely excited. We exchanged all particular information and I asked him if he would be so kind to give me his personal story. He gladly obliged. Enjoy and thanks again to my interviewee for providing me with an entertaining and insightful conversation last Wednesday.


Background: African American male who currently resides on the West Coast. This gentleman is equipped with quick wit, solid looks and a highly compensated career. (Age range: 29-33)

Q: Why did you come to Brazil?
I: I came to see the women. Some guys come to look. Other guys come to do other things. Then, there are other guys that meet women and have “long distance” relationships.

Describe your group’s make-up.
Most of the guys I know have been coming to Brazil for years. They were coming here long before the rappers and other guys publicized that it was cool to come here. One guy, in my group, has an on-again-off-again relationship with his Brazilian girlfriend. A few of the other guys have been here several times, but a few of the guys in my group are first timers like me.

Do you ever talk to the women?
Yes. When you come to Brazil, you expect to get rejected because of the language barrier. Guys do not mind that. For example, in America I would not have tried to approach you because I think you would’ve told me to go away, but here it is different. You really look Brazilian…. (Compliment Accepted by Qiana Here).

Do you think that you have received a good return on your investment?
Yes! I have seen the most beautiful women in the world here. They are everywhere. Their shape, facial features and skin complexion are second to none. (As an aside, he prefers the darker complexion ladies.)

Do you have any plans to take in any of the other sights in Rio?
Yes, I have a cultural tour scheduled on Saturday.

How do you like the clubs?
They are alright, but if you do not speak the language it is hard to talk to the women because they speak very little English, if any at all. You may dance with them for a few songs, but that is about it.

Why do guys come to Brazil, especially if they can’t communicate with the women?
Guys like to be around beautiful women. It just does something for their egos. They don’t have to talk to them. It is just wonderful for them to see them. Do these statements offend you as an African American woman?

No. I have a brother and know a number of guys who provide me with insight into the male psyche so I am not offended in the least. Also, I think (in the end) all of the pairing off just works itself out. I think it’s better that you are with the person that you want to be with than settling because of tradition or culture.

Now, if you meet and like someone who doesn’t speak your language, would you conduct a relationship with the person? No, because it is just too hard. For example, the cultural nuances can not sometimes be translated to people who are not native speakers of a particular language. I may tell a joke and she will not be able to understand it. This would be too frustrating.

What is the common perception of African American men by the Brazilian women?
They think that we are all rappers or basketball players. The ladies want to meet you because they think you have money. (For the record, this gentleman at first glance may look like he is the financial advisor for a rapper or legal counsel for the basketball player—but he definitely would not be mistaken for a rapper or basketball player in America.)

Do you plan on returning to Brazil?
I will return if I learn the language. Otherwise, I do not think so. However if I am still single when I retire, I will own a place here and come to Brazil a couple of times per year just to see the women.

Ground Hog Day….Almost

A while ago, I was randomly flipping through the channels on my television when I came across this movie called Ground Hog Day. It is a pretty popular movie about this guy who wakes up every morning to live the same day, Ground Hog Day, over and over again.

I was thinking about this movie the other day when I entered Zona Sul to have my morning breakfast. Everyday that I come into the store, all of the workers are in the same places doing the same thing.

It is really strange, but I guess I am just as much a part of the “Ground Hog Day” scene because I come into the store like clockwork every morning. I go to the bakery and select two French rolls. After I weigh them, I make my way through the shoppers to the breakfast bar and select four, deli slices of turkey meat. Then, I proceed to the scale to receive my charge so that I can sit down at a table to watch television and eat my breakfast.

A day or two ago, my Ground Hog Day scenario was unfolding as usual. I had just selected two decently sized French rolls. As I turned to go weigh my bread, the Coke stockperson, in his usual location, dropped a can of Sprite Zero. The can hit the floor, burst open and sprayed me entirely. I think the remainder of the soda landed on a lady behind me. The stocker ran over and told me desculpe (sorry) several times. I calmly asked for some napkins and I wiped myself off.

What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a little twist in the story every now and then?

The next morning I entered the store to participate in Ground Hog Day. I selected my rolls and managed to get to the breakfast bar without incident. As I am standing in line, two ladies in front of the line begin to engage in a heated argument. A gentleman at a nearby table yelled his two-cent to one of the ladies as well. One of the ladies yelled a scathing dialogue at the entire store and left. Everyone was motionless for a few seconds, and then we all proceeded to continue our normal morning routine. I made it to the front of the line, had my rolls and turkey weighed and then sat at my usual table.

What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a little community debate every now and then?

On the same evening that I witnessed the argument, I entered Zona Sul after my training. Apparently, I entered into the middle of what seemed to be one woman’s cry for help. I do not know what this lady needed, if it was medication, a hug, groceries or what, but she was standing in front of me at the cash register pleading her case to the checkout clerk. (I have a soft spot for the elderly, especially little elderly ladies. They are so fragile and many times people are zooming past them like they just don’t see them.)

The elderly lady was distraught. Everyone was looking and no one seemed to know what to do. I couldn’t even make out what she was saying. Eventually, she disappeared. I saw the checkout line that she was in and I decided that I would just go to another line. I don’t know but something just directed me elsewhere. About two minutes later, the lady was back in the line crying. All the cashier could do was pat the lady on the shoulder. The lady reached out to touch people in her line and point to others in the adjacent checkout line. My intuition definitely saved me because I would’ve been one of those people. When I left the store, the situation had not been resolved.

What’s a visit to Zona Sul without a public cry for help every now and then?

Just when I began to think that I was living my own Ground Hog Day—Zona Sul showed me that all things are subject to change…

Rule 214: Regarding Public Domain

Our training time on Saturdays has changed. Therefore, I have an opportunity to have breakfast in the morning at my usual spot, Zona Sul. During the week, the breakfast crowd is not as large so you do not have to hunt for a spot at someone else’s table. On Saturdays, it can be pretty tight. To try and get a leg up, I simply close my eyes before I look over to the dining area. I visualize lots of empty tables and then I head back to the bakery to select my two French rolls that I will eat. These rolls are located in huge covered baskets at the back of the grocery store. The bakers dump them into the baskets right out of the oven so they are always hot!

Once I get my two rolls, I put them on the scale to weigh them and I head to the breakfast bar to select my 4 slices of turkey meat and one slice of banana nut bread. The banana nut bread is hands down some of the best banana nut bread that I have ever had. It is soft and moist, but with a twist. It has a few chocolate chips on top!

My visualization worked because I was able to sit at a table by myself. I figured that it would not last long because the breakfast line was entirely two long.

I never mind sharing a table with people. I realize it is just part of normal course in Rio. There are a lot of people and not as many tables at these establishments. My only apprehension is that I don’t want to out myself on being a foreigner, and it happens when the table guest wants to make a comment or ask a question. I will admit I am pretty good at faking agreement and understanding; but then sometimes a person will ask a question and, I look like a deer caught in headlights.

Well, two ladies ask me if they could sit down. I nod in agreement. Both of the ladies could be considered elderly. The older of the two sits down and immediately starts chattering. I tried to catch the words, but she was going too fast. Before I knew it, she was reaching into a folder to hand me a pamphlet on bereavement. I didn’t mind the pamphlet but I knew it foreshadowed that there was more conversation to come. As the lady continued talking, her companion kept going to the bar to gather the items for their breakfast. The companion delivers a plate of cheese, two small slices of bread and coffee to the lady who was talking to me.

The lady stops her conversation with me to thank her companion for bringing her food. She places the cheese between the bread, and then she reaches over to my plate to grab my knife to cut her sandwich in half.

I was stunned. The lady didn’t ask. She just took my knife that I had placed on the edge of my plate and used it.

For the record, I am generous and I will share with others. However, I had used this knife (to slice my French rolls). More importantly, I was not finish using it! I have a ritual that I do with my banana bread so I can savor every bite of it. I take my knife and I slice the bread horizontally three times and vertically 4 to 5 times. Then I eat each individual square. If the lady wanted me to get her a knife, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I know the word for knife it is “a faca.”

The lady tries to put the knife back on my plate, but I politely motion for her to keep it. I didn’t want a knife back that had been used to cut cheese (for those of you who don’t know—I am not a fan of cheese—unless on pizza) and that has been used by a total stranger.

The other lady finally returns to the table with her breakfast and silverware for them both but the lady tells her that she just went ahead and used mine. There was another 15 minutes of witnessing and pamphlets before the two ladies left my table. At that point, I was thinking that I was fortunate that the lady only swiped my knife because had she swiped a piece of that banana nut bread….

I read a Brazilian customs and traditions book before I came to Rio. It did not mention any rules regarding the public domain and use of knives by elderly ladies. Perhaps, it is Rule 214. If anyone has any insight into why this lady felt comfortable snagging my knife, please comment.

I Left My GS Card…

Since the wireless on my laptop is still out of commission, I have been going to an internet café close to my current, temporary residence.

Background
The café has lots of computers that people rent by the minute or hour to handle all of their “personal” and professional business. Yes, I have seen some “personal” webcam business occur in the internet café. I had to just ignore it because the clock continues to tick on my computer.
The two girls that regularly work in the café do not speak any English. I think this may be one of the reasons that they are able to charge a cheaper fee. The other, more expensive internet cafes, in the area, have workers who are bilingual.

Main Story
As I am on my computer, a gentleman literally dashes into the internet café. It was such a commotion that I glanced over to the front desk to make sure that I wasn’t unaware of any potential “developing” situations. Initially, I thought the guy was Brazilian (the population in Brazil runs the gamut in appearance, in case you do not know); but when he started speaking, I knew he was American. He frantically asked, “Can I rent a car?” The girl at the front desk had a blank stare on her face. The guy repeated, “Do you rent cars?!” It seemed like such a strange request that I think I had this confused smirk on my face when the guy looked at me. The girl replied in Portuguese that she did not understand him. As a result, the guy spoke louder and slower, “Where can I rent a car?”

At this point, I am trying to think where a car rental place could be located. To be honest, I had not ever seen one. Everyone I know has a car or uses public transportation. However before I had the right mind to step in and speak, the guy darted out of the door. The girl at the front desk looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and laughed.

Today, it seems that I must have left my Good Samaritan card at home. This guy, probably through 6 degrees of separation is a cousin of someone I know, needed some help. Moreover, I really felt bad that I did not lend my assistance to this guy because his line of questioning suggested that he may not necessarily need to be in the market for a rental car in Rio.

So if I could turn back the hands of time, I would assist this gentleman by asking him the following questions below. I may not ever see him again; but perhaps if you plan on heading down to Rio, these questions and responses may help you save some time and anguish in the arena of car rentals.

Do you really need a rental car in Rio if you can’t read the street signs? I know it is common for travelers in America to rent cars when they travel to other cities. Internationally, you may want to reconsider unless your business requires you do to so. The drivers here do not stick to a lane. It is common for multiple cars to share a lane. Rarely does anyone use signals of any kind. It is pure chaos.

Who directed you to the Internet café to rent a car? You have to be weary of who you take advice from. People might hustle you. If you must go to an internet café to ask about car rentals, head to Rua Xavier da Silveira/Avenida N.S. Copacabana, and you will see over to your left Tudo e Facil. Those guys are nice, and they will speak to you in English to get you going on the right path. Also, it would be more advantageous to ask the front desk of your hotel. If you are not staying in a hotel, try the Savoy Othon right on Avenida N.S. Copacabana. Many of the bellhops speak English and can, once again, put you on the path to obtaining some wheels.

In closing, I just want to wish the gentleman from today a fun and safe time in Rio. If anyone thinks that they know the guy from this entry, please extend my apologies for not translating his request for him...

Best In Show

Almost one week ago, we had a scheduled day off from team training. The sky was really overcast and it seemed that it would rain. I looked out of the window and determined that I could probably get an hour of juggling in before the rain hit. So, I quickly changed my clothes and headed to the beach.

Due to the lack of sun and rough waves, there were not that many people on the beach. A large group of surfers were out in the water, and I was happy to see them because these guys are extremely entertaining to watch.

I located a good place in the sand, and pulled my ball out of my bag. (For those of you who do not know, I have a size 1 ball that I use for my juggling. It is easy to pack when I travel, but I find that it is very intriguing to most people. I purchased it on a tip provided to me by a fellow soccer player when I was in the Bahamas a few years ago. He told me that the small ball would help me to better develop my touch. I followed his advice and have been extremely pleased with the results.)

Well, there was a little boy who was playing the sand a little ways down the beach. He was watching me juggle. Eventually, the toddler and his father made their way over to me. The little boy had on a diaper and was timidly heading my way to get my ball. I decided to help him out because it was evident that he was still trying to get his proper walking technique together. I said Oi (hello) and reached over to hand him the ball. The ball was just big enough for him to hold and walk around with. As he is being entertained, his father began speaking with me about soccer, his recent arrival back in town from Denver and his hopes that he and his son would catch a little sun at the beach. After a few more minutes of conversation, the father told his son that they had to let me get back to juggling, and the toddler politely returned the ball to me. It was a nice time had by everyone. The toddler had an opportunity to play with my ball. His father was able to talk with me about soccer, and I received a chance to speak a little English and meet a nice, little boy.

I returned to juggling. About ten minutes into it, I heard some slightly rambunctious conversation behind me so I turned to see two guys making their way towards me. I assumed that they are going to just pass me on the way to the beach. However, I could not continue my juggling because something about these guys did not seem quite right. I couldn’t make out their conversation, but I sized them up and immediately decided that they were European. They were extremely pale and slightly overly excited about the beach on this overcast afternoon. (Now, I see Europeans all the time at the beaches here. Typically, they have on the appropriate beach attire.) What captured my attention about these guys was their choice of attire. Both of these guys seemed to have on regular underwear. One gentleman had on white boxer briefs and the other guy had on a (much bigger, slightly loose in places) gray pair of briefs.

In a place where 92% of the men walk around at the beach in speedos, I know many of you think that there is not much of a difference between regular underwear and speedos. The important difference is in the fabric content and its reaction to water!

As these guys pass me, I am thinking to myself that these guys must have had a few beers and made the executive decision to take a dip in the ocean. What harm would it do? Obviously, they did not consider the consequences of their actions.

I watched these guys tip toe their way to the water. The waves hit, and as I predicted, all of their business was available for the world to see. The guy who had on the white boxer briefs just didn’t stand a chance. It was like he literally had on a piece of saran wrap for a swimsuit. Totally transparent! His friend in the gray briefs fared a little bit better. You know how a t-shirt looks and hangs when it gets soaked? Well, those gray briefs were looking and hanging the same way! After a few more minutes of “catching some waves,” these guys walk in my direction to leave the beach. I had to do everything that I could to maintain a straight face. Once the guys had passed me, a Brazilian gentleman, who was walking along the beach, looked at me, said his commentary about the guys and we both laughed.

At this point, I decided that I would work on another trick or two and then head back to the house because the clouds were moving closer my way. I finished up, and I am preparing to pack up my ball when this little boy comes running down the beach screaming at me.

[A few entries ago, I had planned to politely everyone to this kid. I always see this kid at the beach because he works at his father’s beach stand selling chairs, umbrellas and drinks. Now, this kid is loud and pretty healthy. (As a side note, you do not see that many “healthy” kids in Rio..)

Initially, I made a snap judgment about this kid because I saw him eat a pudding cup and toss the cup on the beach before he jumped into the water. Also, I saw him try to hustle some patrons of his father’s business on some chair rentals. Fortunately, they just ignored his request for extra money.]

Now, about a week earlier he had asked if we could play around with the soccer ball, and I had agreed. For about twenty minutes, I let him try his best moves on me. We juggled the ball and then I needed to go home. He begged me to stay, but I told him that I would play with him another time.

On this afternoon, the kid wanted me to make good on my promise. I told him that I would play with him for 5 (cinco) minutes. There was a couple sitting not too far away from us being entertained by this kid’s antics as I played along with him.

When time was up, I asked him for the ball and he was not trying to pass it back to me. I used all of my nice Portuguese vocabulary to get this boy to comply without having to embarrass him in front of the couple. I guess the boy didn’t care because he decided to tell me in English that it was his ball. Since he wanted to change the language of the conversation, I told him in English that he better give me my ball back. As soon as he went to make a move with the ball, I retrieved “my ball.” The boy decided he was going to follow me off the beach with a fistful of sand in his hand threatening to throw it at me! I told him in Portuguese that I was going to call the police on him. I guess it must have struck a nerve because he tried to say sorry in Portuguese but I had a scowl on my face. It prompted the boy to not be as remorseful and he drew his fist back to throw the sand at me. The last comment I said was that I was going to tell his daddy.

There was an old man who was preparing to have a beach soccer training who just shook his head and told me that the boy was horrible. From that moment forward, I have named him Menino Tyrant. I guess I should’ve listened to my intuition that he was not the nicest kid.

When I decided to the beach that day, I did not plan to have to judge best in show for male behavior on Copacabana Beach. However, sometimes your number gets called for duty. In my case, there were four males and only one, a toddler, exhibited proper behavior. May be the others should take note and follow his lead.