I actually had this conversation in a bar last night after the where are you from, what do you do exchange with a very handsome, young twenty-something Brazilian:
Him: "American girls are really funny."
Me: "Really? Why?"
Him: "Because they always pretend they don't want something they really want."
Me: "Oh yeah? And what is that?"
Him: "You're pretending you don't know why I'm talking to you."
Me: "Am I?"
Him: "You know we made eye contact earlier and I think you're good looking and you think I'm good looking."
Me: "Ok. I'm not denying that."
Him (pulling me in really closely): "Then why fight it if you want me."
Me: "Well South American men have a way different approach than a lot of American men. Sometimes the blunt in your face-ness is a little overwhelming."
Him: "Have you ever kissed a Brazilian?"
Me: "Yes."
Him (obviously realizing that question backfired): "And what did you think?"
Me: "I thought it was great."
Him: "You are still pretending you don't want what you want, it's like a game with you American girls."
Me (grabbing his face and going in for it): "You mean that I want this?"
We kiss for a moment. I think to myself that it's not so spectacular, and decide it is indeed what I don't want.
Him: "Well...?"
Me: "Thank you."
Him: "Thank you? That's a weird thing to say."
Me: "Yes, thank you. Now I know what I want."
Pause
Him: "I knew you would come around."
Me: "Yes. I want to go find my friends. Thank you again."
Befuddlement as I found my posse and continued dancing.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Rio Posse
We've formed a solid posse here in Rio de Janeiro. And though the rain has kept us from sun worshiping on the beaches, we've kept ourselves pretty busy, sight seeing and eating our way through this great city.
Every morning we convene in the breakfast area, discussing plans for the day, either setting off solo or in small groups, knowing we will regroup at some later point. Yesterday a few of us set off for the Central part of town for some shopping. On my list were a pair of Havianas, a must for any Rio visitor, and a pair of short Brazilian jean shorts. We met up in a bigger group in Lapa at the stairs made famous by the Snoop Dogg video, Beautiful (which I do not remember at all), before heading to check out the famous Christo Redentor statue atop Corcovado. Despite the rain the afternoon had cleared up and we had high hopes of sweeping views.
As we took the tram up the hill we drove right into a cloud, spoiling those hopes. It was kind of cool though anyway. The entire surrounding area was covered in clouds, giving the experience an erie end of the world feel. Eventually some of the clouds cleared out allowing us partial Rio views. It was still totally worth it.
Today we took the Favela tour with Mary Ellen and Rodrigo. Again, due to the high prices of the hostel tour, we were happy to find CaRioca FreeCulture, which gives a tour of Rocinha on a donation basis. These people are pretty amazing. Mary Ellen is originally from California, and Rodrigo grew up in Rocinha. They met last year when Mary Ellen was here traveling, and are currently working on getting papers in order for their pending nuptuals. They set up the tours as an alternative to the expensive hostel tours, giving more of a local perspective. Their goal is to eventually create a tour company where Rodrigo and his friends can lead these tours, giving other work opportunities to community members than drug dealing and gang involvement. In the future Mary Ellen hopes to open an English school in their community where they can educate people and run the tour company. We were sold on it as we knew the money would go directly to supporting the Favela and would result in a much more personalized tour experience.
To say it was amazing would be an understatement. The 4.5 hour tour was informative, with M&R giving us the lowdown on Favela life, realities, myths, dangers, non-dangers, and everythng else we could have wanted to know. We took motor taxis screaming up the hill, dodging buses, trucks and fellow motor taxis. It was a rush. We walked up to the top of the hill, taking in the beautiful panoramic city views and a barefoot adult soccer match. As we descended the alleyways winding back down the Favela we stopped into two homes to get a closer idea of life there. Rocinha is run by traficantes, and is pretty much self-governed, with Favela laws and rules. Everyone takes care of everyone, and there is severe punishment for wrong-doing to fellow community members as well as outsiders. It's a complicated and interesting community history and I'm glad we got the local perspective. If you're going to Rio, or know someone who is, I highly recommend it. Check out their site. They're a pretty amazing pair - http://cariocafreeculture.com
I am in love with Rio. It's the best city I've maybe ever visited (sorry Spain). It's so alive. There people are so wonderful. There's so much to do and I don't have time to do it all and I need to come back. The fresh fruit juice, the acai, the cheap and delicious food, the best banana/nutella/ice cream crepe in the history of the world. I think we will be leaving Rio with a few extra pounds around our waists, happilly.
Every morning we convene in the breakfast area, discussing plans for the day, either setting off solo or in small groups, knowing we will regroup at some later point. Yesterday a few of us set off for the Central part of town for some shopping. On my list were a pair of Havianas, a must for any Rio visitor, and a pair of short Brazilian jean shorts. We met up in a bigger group in Lapa at the stairs made famous by the Snoop Dogg video, Beautiful (which I do not remember at all), before heading to check out the famous Christo Redentor statue atop Corcovado. Despite the rain the afternoon had cleared up and we had high hopes of sweeping views.
As we took the tram up the hill we drove right into a cloud, spoiling those hopes. It was kind of cool though anyway. The entire surrounding area was covered in clouds, giving the experience an erie end of the world feel. Eventually some of the clouds cleared out allowing us partial Rio views. It was still totally worth it.
Today we took the Favela tour with Mary Ellen and Rodrigo. Again, due to the high prices of the hostel tour, we were happy to find CaRioca FreeCulture, which gives a tour of Rocinha on a donation basis. These people are pretty amazing. Mary Ellen is originally from California, and Rodrigo grew up in Rocinha. They met last year when Mary Ellen was here traveling, and are currently working on getting papers in order for their pending nuptuals. They set up the tours as an alternative to the expensive hostel tours, giving more of a local perspective. Their goal is to eventually create a tour company where Rodrigo and his friends can lead these tours, giving other work opportunities to community members than drug dealing and gang involvement. In the future Mary Ellen hopes to open an English school in their community where they can educate people and run the tour company. We were sold on it as we knew the money would go directly to supporting the Favela and would result in a much more personalized tour experience.
To say it was amazing would be an understatement. The 4.5 hour tour was informative, with M&R giving us the lowdown on Favela life, realities, myths, dangers, non-dangers, and everythng else we could have wanted to know. We took motor taxis screaming up the hill, dodging buses, trucks and fellow motor taxis. It was a rush. We walked up to the top of the hill, taking in the beautiful panoramic city views and a barefoot adult soccer match. As we descended the alleyways winding back down the Favela we stopped into two homes to get a closer idea of life there. Rocinha is run by traficantes, and is pretty much self-governed, with Favela laws and rules. Everyone takes care of everyone, and there is severe punishment for wrong-doing to fellow community members as well as outsiders. It's a complicated and interesting community history and I'm glad we got the local perspective. If you're going to Rio, or know someone who is, I highly recommend it. Check out their site. They're a pretty amazing pair - http://cariocafreeculture.com
I am in love with Rio. It's the best city I've maybe ever visited (sorry Spain). It's so alive. There people are so wonderful. There's so much to do and I don't have time to do it all and I need to come back. The fresh fruit juice, the acai, the cheap and delicious food, the best banana/nutella/ice cream crepe in the history of the world. I think we will be leaving Rio with a few extra pounds around our waists, happilly.
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| haviana heaven |
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| Graffiti and arches in Lapa |
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| the famous stairs |
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| this is i went to bed at 6 and woke up at 8:30 and i'm tired face |
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| taking the tram up - it's still sunny - virgil, claire, loes, me, joslyn |
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| jesus in the clouds |
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| cloud separation |
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| a less cloudy jesus |
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clear views for a few moments
|
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| inside a samba school |
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| Rocinha |
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| futbol |
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| this is how you make your electric bill cheaper |
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| $.99R hotdogs do taste like $.99R hotdogs |
Monday, March 21, 2011
Favela Funk
Most hostels give free breakfast of white bread and dulce de leche. Dulce de leche for breakfast is great, but it gets old after awhile. I chose this hostel because all the reviews said it had good breakfast. I was not disappointed. Super delicious coffee, tons of fruit, and eggs. Oh eggs, I've missed you. It's a solid way to start off the day.
I spent the day wandering the beach with two of the members of my new Rio posse, Joslyn and Anita. We hit up Copacabana Beach first, stopping for a swim, then continued wandering Ipanema, hitting up the hippie fair. It didn't take long for Rio to get its hands on me and make me fall madly in love with it. This city has an energy that's contagious, and the perfect mix of city, mountains, and beach. The one downside of our hostel (and I would imagine every other hostel here) is the tours are outrageously expensive. I wanted to attend the Favela Funk Party, but the $80R pricetag put it out of my reach. Enter Colm, an Irish guy from our hostel who caught up with us in the afternoon and told us about the favela tour he'd just been on with a couple who actually live there, not a tour company.
Favelas are the shanty towns built high into the hills around Rio. Any Brazilian will tell you they are dangerous and you should under no circumstance visit a Favela on your own. On Sunday nights Rocinha, one of the biggest holds a Favela Funk party. All the tour operators in town charge anywhere from $60-80R for a "tour" to the party including transportation, VIP area, and a guide. Through inside information from Colm's tour we found we could go to the party solo, pay only the $2.20 transport and $5 entry. No brainer. In the tour company's favor, the danger factor of a Favela party is really revved up, making you think you will die if you go alone. Yes, Favelas can be dangerous, but if we couldn't do it alone, Colm would have never gotten the tip. After searching frivolously online for anyone who had flown solo, we decided to take the risk. We assembled a group at the hostel and upon leaving were warned that we were stupid to go alone, and that we wouldn't be able to get in without a ticket. Bull shit. Half of our group was on the fence, but Colm, Anita, Joslyn and I were up to the challenge and headed out. We would either make it there and have an epic night, or we would have an adventure trying to make it happen. We agreed that if we felt unsafe or uncomfortable we would jump in a cab and get out of there quickly.
It was excitement from the first moment we left the hostel and flagged down a small shuttle bus. We hopped inside and held on for dear life as it sped down the empty streets. In broken PortuSpanish Colm tried to get the lowdown on the party. As luck would have it, the shuttle was dropped us off at the base of Rocinha. Score one for us as the Cariocas in the shuttle laughed heartily at their fellow Gringo passengers.
Upon arrival in Rocinha, we wandered up the hill as we had no real idea as to where the party was. We selected a small bar, bought some beers, and were soon spinning around the dance floor with some local men who tried to teach us how to shake our hips. We felt so at home with the bar patrons who were so proud to welcome us to their community. After 30 minutes or so I took on the role of Portuguese translator, and we were told the party was further up the hill. After another 20 minutes of walking, I stopped a motor taxi driver and his friend to find out more, as walking around a Favela all night didn't seem to be our best bet.
The party was in fact back down the hill, but we were a bit too early for the festivities. Wallace offered to acompany us to stop for a drink at a bar, then on to the Funk. Finally, we arrived, paid our entrance and that of Wallace, and put on our dancing shoes. The venue is a large non-descript cement warehouse building with a huge stage and two bars where they serve you canned beers in plastic bags of ice. We might have found it eventually, but were thankful to have our new local friend in tow. We danced like crazy people all night, smiling pitifully at the tour-attending travelers because we knew the Favela Funk secret. While they paid upwards of $60R before even setting foot in Rocinha, our tab for the night would be a mere $10-20R per person for transportation and entrance. The "VIP area" they were promised was a room that led into the bathrooms which played American pop music that everyone had access to.
The bathroom consisted of two stalls with a cement divider wall sans doors. I squatted over the toilet staring right at the line of ladies waiting to go, totally normal. But you know what? When you have to go you have to go. Later in the evening I found myself the lone stander in liner as I entered the facility to find 7 women, dropped trou, squatted and peeing on the floor. I'm all about cultural immersion, but some things I just can't do. Instead I waded through the puddled pee pee floor and squatted over the toilet.
At 3:30am after a fun filled night of dancing, giggling, and rescuing each other from unwanted dance partners the party was over. We hit up one last bar before calling it a night at 4. With my new-found Portuguese skills we flagged down a shuttle, and after a very long trip home I crawled into bed at 5:30, exhausted.
I am so happy we got to go, and that we made the decision to do it on our own. Top notch. For more info check out this link and scroll down to info about Rocinha... http://cariocafreeculture.com/favorites.html
I spent the day wandering the beach with two of the members of my new Rio posse, Joslyn and Anita. We hit up Copacabana Beach first, stopping for a swim, then continued wandering Ipanema, hitting up the hippie fair. It didn't take long for Rio to get its hands on me and make me fall madly in love with it. This city has an energy that's contagious, and the perfect mix of city, mountains, and beach. The one downside of our hostel (and I would imagine every other hostel here) is the tours are outrageously expensive. I wanted to attend the Favela Funk Party, but the $80R pricetag put it out of my reach. Enter Colm, an Irish guy from our hostel who caught up with us in the afternoon and told us about the favela tour he'd just been on with a couple who actually live there, not a tour company.
Favelas are the shanty towns built high into the hills around Rio. Any Brazilian will tell you they are dangerous and you should under no circumstance visit a Favela on your own. On Sunday nights Rocinha, one of the biggest holds a Favela Funk party. All the tour operators in town charge anywhere from $60-80R for a "tour" to the party including transportation, VIP area, and a guide. Through inside information from Colm's tour we found we could go to the party solo, pay only the $2.20 transport and $5 entry. No brainer. In the tour company's favor, the danger factor of a Favela party is really revved up, making you think you will die if you go alone. Yes, Favelas can be dangerous, but if we couldn't do it alone, Colm would have never gotten the tip. After searching frivolously online for anyone who had flown solo, we decided to take the risk. We assembled a group at the hostel and upon leaving were warned that we were stupid to go alone, and that we wouldn't be able to get in without a ticket. Bull shit. Half of our group was on the fence, but Colm, Anita, Joslyn and I were up to the challenge and headed out. We would either make it there and have an epic night, or we would have an adventure trying to make it happen. We agreed that if we felt unsafe or uncomfortable we would jump in a cab and get out of there quickly.
It was excitement from the first moment we left the hostel and flagged down a small shuttle bus. We hopped inside and held on for dear life as it sped down the empty streets. In broken PortuSpanish Colm tried to get the lowdown on the party. As luck would have it, the shuttle was dropped us off at the base of Rocinha. Score one for us as the Cariocas in the shuttle laughed heartily at their fellow Gringo passengers.
Upon arrival in Rocinha, we wandered up the hill as we had no real idea as to where the party was. We selected a small bar, bought some beers, and were soon spinning around the dance floor with some local men who tried to teach us how to shake our hips. We felt so at home with the bar patrons who were so proud to welcome us to their community. After 30 minutes or so I took on the role of Portuguese translator, and we were told the party was further up the hill. After another 20 minutes of walking, I stopped a motor taxi driver and his friend to find out more, as walking around a Favela all night didn't seem to be our best bet.
The party was in fact back down the hill, but we were a bit too early for the festivities. Wallace offered to acompany us to stop for a drink at a bar, then on to the Funk. Finally, we arrived, paid our entrance and that of Wallace, and put on our dancing shoes. The venue is a large non-descript cement warehouse building with a huge stage and two bars where they serve you canned beers in plastic bags of ice. We might have found it eventually, but were thankful to have our new local friend in tow. We danced like crazy people all night, smiling pitifully at the tour-attending travelers because we knew the Favela Funk secret. While they paid upwards of $60R before even setting foot in Rocinha, our tab for the night would be a mere $10-20R per person for transportation and entrance. The "VIP area" they were promised was a room that led into the bathrooms which played American pop music that everyone had access to.
The bathroom consisted of two stalls with a cement divider wall sans doors. I squatted over the toilet staring right at the line of ladies waiting to go, totally normal. But you know what? When you have to go you have to go. Later in the evening I found myself the lone stander in liner as I entered the facility to find 7 women, dropped trou, squatted and peeing on the floor. I'm all about cultural immersion, but some things I just can't do. Instead I waded through the puddled pee pee floor and squatted over the toilet.
At 3:30am after a fun filled night of dancing, giggling, and rescuing each other from unwanted dance partners the party was over. We hit up one last bar before calling it a night at 4. With my new-found Portuguese skills we flagged down a shuttle, and after a very long trip home I crawled into bed at 5:30, exhausted.
I am so happy we got to go, and that we made the decision to do it on our own. Top notch. For more info check out this link and scroll down to info about Rocinha... http://cariocafreeculture.com/favorites.html
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| a chat about life - copacabana |
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| such a good chat about life |
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| fresh coconut water |
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| first views of ipanema beach |
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| surfs up |
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| beginnings of sunset - ipanema |
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| anita, joslyn, me |
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| RIO |
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| dinner - acai vitamina and chicken pastel - $5R |
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| after the funk - our local companion, wallace, anita, and me |
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| a rough and interesting journey home - colm and anita |
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Crossing the border to public masturbation
Part of the reason I crossed the border back to Argentina (besides my love affair with Spanish) was to take an overnight Argentine bus with full-cama service.
Adventure town.
I arrived at the bus station at 12:30 to catch my transfer to my bus. Was informed the bus was running late. Got lunch. Returned at 1:30 and was transferred to bus washing/gasing station. Here we were informed in Spanish that the bus that's supposed to pick us up is stuck in traffic due to a huge accident, and will be slightly late. No one on the bus understood Spanish. I love when people respond to information in Spanish saying, "In English please," and the non-English speaking workers just shrug their shoulders and say, "No". Ego boost translation time for me.
We spent 3 more hours sitting in this bus "terminal" when the bus finally arrived from Buenos Aires to carry us on to Sao Paulo and Rio. The adventure really started there. The bus passengers from BA had really bonded by the time we boarded. I don't know if this was a result of being stuck in traffic making their bus ride infinitely longer, or if it's an Argentine thing to make friends with everyone, but it was like being inducted into the special bus club.
At the Argentine border we filed off the bus, got our passport stamps, and filed back on when a domestic dispute broke out 5 seats in front of me. A Chinese couple was having it out, screaming obscenities and actually physically punching and shoving each other. She kept trying to get off the bus and he kept pulling her back into the seat as a kind woman tried to mediate. We all looked at each other wondering if we should do something. After a few more moments the mediator informed the couple that they had called the police, and the wife's only response was, "Good, call them!". Luckily the dispute was resolved before we had to wait for the police and we continued on to Brazil.
At the Brazilian border same thing. Line, stamp, reboard. A Hatian man who only spoke French was denied at the border because he didn't have a Brazilian visa. Problem: he speaks French, unlike anyone for miles at both border crossings. Luckily there was a French man on our bus who was able to help him out. But it took another hour to explain to him what he needed to do and get him on his way.
We spent the rest of the ride giggling about the day's adventures and swapping tips for Rio. South American hospitality was in full swing as each person around me handed me their email address for help with anything while I'm here. Man I love these people.
I arrived at my hostel in the Botafogo area of Rio around 7pm. Sometimes you arrive at a hostel and the second you walk in the door you know you made the right decision selecting the place. I joined in the group dinner and met some girls from Canada, Holland, and France. We took a walk to the beach to check out the full moon. As we were chatting by the water's edge an older gentleman was sitting closeby meditating under the brigh sky. How lovely. Wait a second. Is he? No, Kelly, you're paranoid. No, I think he... Wouldn't you know it, public masturbation has caught back up with me. This man was not in fact meditating, but seated indian style wanking off. I conferred with the girls to make sure it wasn't just my paranoia and it was indeed happening. I filled the girls in on my experience with this phenomenon on the way back home. Once we reached the street we turned to find the man seated on another bench finishing himself off. I wanted to run after him to kick him in the balls. One of the girls informed me that wasn't a good idea. "It's what he wants, a pretty girl right in front of him to finish it off. The only thing you will get left with is a face full of semen." Good point.
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| waiting at the bus "station" |
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| full cama seat - all is well |
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| view of sugar loaf from botafogo beach |
Friday, March 18, 2011
Oh, Argentina. Speak to me in your language.
My neck and I carefully crossed the Brazil/Argentina border on Thursday morning, spending a lot of time waiting for buses. My cup runneth over with Castellano. I was talking to EVERYONE.
When I arrived in Puerto Iguazu the green-wig wearing receptionists at the hostel reminded me that it was St. Patrick's Day as well as the marking of 4 months on the road!
I quickly dropped my bags and caught the first bus to the Argentine side of the falls. A Canadian couple talked my ear off the whole way, so much talking that their son moved 4 rows in front of them after 2 minutes saying, "I'm so tired of all the talking. All you guys ever do is fucking talk at everyone. Please, just stop talking. I can't handle it anymore". I kind of wanted to join him but felt it might be rude.
The Argentine side of the falls is a totally different experience than that of Brazil. There are more walking paths, and while Brazil has a great vista of the falls as a whole, you can get a lot more up close and personal in Argentina. Language bias aside, I liked the Argentine side better, but am glad I got to check out both.
My favorite two things from the day were the following:
1. While waiting for the train to take me back to the first set of walking trails I witnessed a grown woman get stung by some insect. In my imagination it was a small sting, but you would have thought that a bee bit her whole arm off. It started with a shrill, "Aah, me pica," which means aah it bit me, and the next thing we all knew she was bawling. Like howling bawling. It was ridiculous. While everyone else tried to calm her I stayed where I was trying to take incognito photos. I later came up behind she and her boyfriend 2 HOURS LATER, and she was holding her finger in the air, STILL CRYING. C'mon lady. I wanted to go ask her boyfriend if he was sure he wanted to continue the relationship.
2. On another train ride to the front of the park I sat next to a Japanese girl who was visiting by herself because her friend is afraid of butterflies. I've never heard of such a thing, but to each his own. An older couple from California was giving her tips on travel to Costa Rica. The only part of the conversation I picked up was when the man asked in the LOUDEST S L O W E S T English voice, "does your friend like monkeys?" (think Grandma Dorothy talking to Long Duck Dong in 16 Candles). Now that I write that it's not that funny. Guess you had to be there, but you weren't.
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| me and my neck slowly making our way to the border |
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| c'mon ride that train |
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| first view of devil's falls |
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| on top of the action |
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| pretty pink parasols for real men |
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| i got water in my eye |
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| turtle |
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| butterfly |
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| don't be fooled these little guys will attack you for food |
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| she's still crying with her finger in the air |
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| this time i got smart about wet t-shirt contest white tank tops |
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