Prepare for a loooong winter, boys. I'm going to be gone for like, 4-5 days, celebrating a new decade. Yeah, this is the first fully conscious decade I've lived, I grade it a/n
Anyway, last week, dog poop in my bathroom, flaming pieces of paper falling from the sky, christmas, running, soreness after running, bbqs,
Ana's mother tried to teach me how to drive stick. I am not capable. Pluses: I'm a nice guy, I'm college-educated, employed. Minuses : I can't drive stick.
Waiting for Dani to take me away, she was supposed to come at 8. It's 9. I expect her at 10.
RAMMIES!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Off to Campinas!
For a Campinas Christmas!
On the way to pick up my physical ticket, and nervous because I'm awful as a portuguese speaker, my friend Cris was there, and she helped me get it! Yeah!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
A pretty Mega-Update
I haven't been writing much at times because there wasn't much to write about. This was not the case with the past week and a half to two weeks. In fact it was pact with things to write about, unfortunately these things also kept me consumed.
And because this might be long, I'll give you a table of contents. Some you may skip through, as I will write this as thoroughly as I can. You can decide the ending. And, to be sure, I didn't skip write because I don't care about you. I assure you that.
Table of contents:
Pt. I - When I stopped being a bitch
Pt. II- When I went out 2 weekends ago
Pt. III - Ro Ro Ro the Bot
Pt. IV - when I started to realize how much I suck
Pt. V - When I realized how much I suck
Pt. VI - I didn't really get deported, but still...
Pt. VII - The Christmas Dinner
Pt. VIII - Buenos Aires pt. I
Pt. IX - Buenos Aires pt. II
Pt. X - Buenos Aires pt. III - the Departure
Part I - When I stopped being a bitch.
For the greater part of a month this blog has been no better than a teenage girl's Xanga page, I know. And I do attribute this to not embracing the gimmick. People responding "But you are Brazil!" stung more than it hung like a badge of honor. That wonderful summer talking point had at some point dissolved away. But it hangs once more, as mistletoe over my door. It's all I have and it's more than most.
Part II - When I went out 2 weekends ago
Two thursdays before, I walked home with thick wads of cash stuffed in my socks. Walking as fast as I could, I entered the door to my apt. and poured it on the bed. I then jumped up and down on the bed until I heard more creaks than I should like.
On the Tuesday of the same week Mari had given me an itinerary of what was to be an eventful week for them. Culminating in a dinner the following wednesday, but highlighted by a costume party on the Saturday. It was on Friday that I finished and scurried home. I was called on, and ventured over. Here at the apt. waiting for me was a package from Al featuring a scarf, a book, and, awesomely, $20 cash. Strange to try and hold in a smile trying on a scarf. Wasn't successful at it, at any rate. At their apt., three of their friends from Sao Paolo, whom I had met previously during the Bohemia fest, had arrived. I spoke in some portuguese. I did things like this. A few beers and sips of some flavored cachaça and we were off to a bar. In a car with Bel and another friend, we went to the first bar. It would not let one in because she did not have ID. To another bar, closing down. Another bar, closed. And finally we headed back to the apt. with no 'out' to have gone to.
Here some bottles of wine were opened, glasses filled and cheese consumed. Beers then after that. These are the nights I can't describe in any detail, because they are fleeting conversations. That said, these are the best nights. The ones I can't really describe, because I'm not thinking about it at the time.
Pt. III Ro Ro Ro the Bot
The next morning I woke up, lounged around for a bit and then made my way to the kitchen to finish off some ramen. In the kitchen a man resembling sean weatherspoon whom I'd met before, along with his roommate, a girl I think I'd met before, began trying to speak to me. The man's comments appeared to be in jest, including re-enacting how I eat. I giggle along like a fool, no one dislikes someone giggling like a fool. And we conversed enough with what little portuguese I know, and what little english they knew. And this was, to be sure, the most complete form of immersion I've had in Brazil. After implying we were to go shopping, I obliged. We walked to a christmas market, and he asked things like 'Do you like Mariah Carey' and...in an effort to seem likable, said I did. 'Do you like the Whitney Houston?' And in an effort to seem likable, I said I did. These things are painful at the time, but I'm confident I made the right moves.
It's not really important that you have anything in common with these relations, the mere excitement of understanding what the fuck they are saying is divine.
And then we went to the grocery store and I picked up aluminum foil and tape.
And we went back to the kitchen and the girl invited me to her hometown that next weekend. Though never intending to go, I did not know at the time how I really would not be able to go.
And then I took the bus over to their apt. Where I began on my costume. I taped a bunch of aluminum foil to my shirt. Made gloves of aluminum foil. Made a hat of aluminum foil. And I was a R$1.20 robot. Not bad. My costumes are always particularly awful, but honestly, this really wasn't that bad.
And then drinks and sips of cachaça and we were off to the costume party. Located on the hills of curitiba, in a house I suppose made for these types of events. Walking in, a cooler filled with beer and a table with spirits placed upon it. I made a stiff vodka-coke. Perhaps this was a mistake.
The following is in bits and pieces:
Eating fried cheese on a stick.
Hitting on the girl who passed out fried cheese on a stick.
Meeting the dude from Chicago who was perhaps the most boring person alive.
Doing some sort of robot as Bela was on a microphone screaming "Roboche, Roboche"
Trying to describe what song should be played next.
Being near some sort of chair.
Dancing with some sort of indian girl who was nice.
In some conversation where I offered to be some guys English teacher.
The following was relayed or asked of me:
Did you kiss that Indian girl?
Do you remember when we were dancing and I fell on my ass?
The following was on me when I woke up the next day:
All sorts of tomato.
All sorts of foil.
All sorts of some sort of beaded gems from an Indian dress.
I placed it together best I could. I didn't get up all of sunday. I ate all the white bread left in my drawer. The friends from the day before knocked on my door at 2 occasions: 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. and at both times I had to intimate that I was too tired still to leave. And I made a swigging motion.
Pt. IV When I started to realize how much I suck
On Monday I woke up knowing I had to go to the Policia Federal to re-up for 90 more days. It was here in the morning I realized my passport was not on me, but at the girls Apt. This was a big deal. Upon counting the days again, I realized that the next day was in fact the day I needed to go. This was a relief. I picked up my passport later that night.
Pt. V When I realized how much I suck
There is a certain assumption I had that people who tend to leave and travel for extended periods of time have a certain savvy about them. They have stories about how they jumped over tracks to make a train, convinced people of things, got out of robberies, got out of stuff.
I learned over the next two days I had none of that. I am the anti-savvy. But to my credit, I seem to find people willing to help. That may be of some consolation.
On Tuesday I woke up early. I looked up info on this process at the PF again. I realized I had only like half the stuff I needed, one being a return ticket. Freaking out at how stupid I was to leave this to the last minute - I did what I normally do, just sort of wallowed, letting the time pass where I could worry. Then I ran into the american I know. She told me that one time she just went to a travel agency and they printed out an itinerary saying I paid for a ticket. This was the savvy I speak of. This is where I have no skills. She took me to a travel agency and did all the leg work. Then all I had to do was go to the PF and all would be fine. I did not do this. I walked to where I thought the PF was, realized it was not the PF, then walked back. And then I thought, man, that was dumb.
Pt. VI I didn't really get deported, but still...
And I essentially had turned myself in. I went to the Policia Federal, and said "Eu gostaria meu passaporte estampar para 90 dias tambehn" which is incredibly broken portuguese filled with fake words and some words that might be close. The man looked at me and told me I was already illegal. "What?" I acted. "You are past the 90 days, theres nothing I can do" "Well, I just bought a ticket, please?" "I actually have to inform you that you must leave in 8 days, you have to sign a document saying that I told you" "LIke as a suggestion, or" ... He then took pity and told me that it wasn't like I had to return home, I merely had to leave the borders of brazil and return. He suggested Foz de Iguacu, the massive waterfalls on the border of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. A bus could take me over the border and back. Instead, if I had to waste money, I decided on Buenos Aires. I paid R$8.20 for my fine, took the letter, and bid him adieu.
Pt. VII Christmas dinner
They, the girls : Bela, Bel, Mari and Dani, picked me up for their Christmas dinner. Bel gave me chocolate, Mari gave me a candle. We went to an Indian restaurant. It was delicious. I got the spicy chili curry, which had strips of filet mignon. We gave toasts to our year, I saluted undoubtedly the greatest year of my life. And I informed them of my misfortune in having a temporary time limit on my stay. Bela told me she'd talk to Maxi. We spoke of new years and all sorts of goodies. And I ate my fill. And then they wrapped up the left overs all for me. And then they paid for my dinner. It was not cheap, and did I mention how though I'm not savvy, I tend to surround myself with people willing to help?
Pt. VIII Buenos Aires pt. I
that lunch was on Wednesday. On Thursday I looked at flights. All day at work I looked at flights. During an online class I looked at flights. I booked a flight for the next day. I went home. I booked a hostel. I called Bela, asking how to get to the airport. She gave me explicit directions on how not only to get to the airport at curitiba for R$8, but how to get from the airport in BsAs for cheap as well.
The next morning I woke up at 6 a.m. packed some shirts in a backpack and headed to the shopping estaçao, where a bus picked me up and took me to the airport. At the airport, I ordered a coffee and pão de queijo and I kid you not it was the best pão de quiejo I've had in Brazil. And I got on the plane and then got off. Went in circles in Porta Alegre. And then the moment of truth at that time, the international customs where they checked my passport. I looked as my plane was calling last call. The woman stared at my passport for 20 min. rechecking the letter of the fine paid, talking to her supervisor, before stamping and passing it back to me. Flight to Bs. As. Arrived.
Then as I get to Bs. As. I find the transport to the hostel in a little kiosk. She spoke english to my astonishment. I pay money. I found out where the bus was. And while on the bus to my hostel I thought how savvy I was. Then I remembered Bela had given me explicit directions on everything I must do in order to get where I was. And I still smiled. in less than 72 hrs, I had been nearly deported, booked a flight immediately, found transport and was in another South American country all by myself. Autonomy ftw.
Pt. VIIII Bs. As. pt. II
The bus gave way to a station. And the station had little cars transport us to the hostels. The car dropped me off and the bus driver pointed. I walked with my bag down Ave. Florida, which has to be the busiest street in Bs. As. (no cars, just walkers and counterfeit merch.) Went to the hostel and checked in. First floor was all rockin out with a bunch of american travelers and brazilians. Went to my room. Nice and clean. Own locker with lock. Put my stuff in and took a walk, went to the computer and then said "Now what?"
That would meet me in my room, a kid who spoke English, like, proper queen's english, was there. I asked him if he'd eaten, and off we went. (Prior to this, a Brazilian was in the bunk below, and now I had the pleasure of having in common that I lived in Brazil. And we communicated okay. And that was nice.) But the brit was for the rest of the trip what they might call a "mate." We walked along, finding a restaurant finally and had a beer. He had been traveling for 19 mos. in the likes of Australia, NZ, and Asia. He had saved up for 5 years for it. But I, shockingly, had all the knowledge of South America. I was able to communicate best with the waiter. It was nice. I, for once, was not helpless.
And for that dinner I had an empanada. Eggs, beef, spinach, tomato, cheese. Awesomeness. And a beer. The empanadas would only get better, but also overshadowed by steak. The steak here was cheap and huge and delicious. Fuck Texas.
Upon re-arrival at hostel, we decided to 'give it a go', found a bar in Lonely Planet travel guide. Which is bullshit. Among how it's written are things like "In Bs. As. looking FABULOUS is as important as anything! These people have style and aren't afraid to show it!" How is this informative? Anyways, for one of the clubs it advised "This is the hottest club in Bs. As, but the lines are LONG, be sure to grab a VIP pass." How is this helpful? Are the VIP passes baked into the empanadas? Or fried I guess? I could write better. But won't.
Oh, and of Buenos Aires? Absolutely wonderful. Maybe the best city I've ever traveled to. The perfect mix of old European-style architecture and mixing of modern architecture as well. Beautiful trees lining the streets, apt transportation, wonderful city planning. People were beautiful, truly beautiful. Tall as brazilians with the french body type. Music was all over the streets. They were much more politically active, and with the Falklands war with Britain, I feel Argentina has a certain amt. more street cred than Brazil.
The bar though, we were just walking for ages. And ages. And upon nearing to turn back the brit said "how bout this place", miraculously it was the exact bar we were looking for. A tiny pub my most opinions, it served a cold pint for cheap price. We sat ourselves in two leather chairs and admired the human scenery. They new we were gringos, but being a traveler now instead of a transplant, I kind of admired it. Novelty! On this chair I taught him spanish pronounciation, for which I know little. "And what are the numbers," he said. "Uno...d-dos...tres...quatorze" "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I said. "U2 really did that to you?" And we had a hearty laugh. And he exchanged stories of 19 mos. of travel. Ridiculous jungle trips in asia. How cheap Asia is. How he killed a kangaroo with a car.
And then we went to get something to eat. And we went to a steakhouse. And I got a big steak. And he got a big steak. And I got the wine, b/c I owed him a round, and b/c the wine here is 12 pesos for a nice malbec. That's about $4. And he discussed more about his trips and I, Brazil. How friendly the people are, which I've truly come to admire. The brazilians I asked said that Argentinians were a bit snobbish, but if you are to put Brazil as the standard for approachability, the world will seem cold and bitter in comparison.
The steak came out, gigantic, and french fries as a side. And I discussed how his language has problems. "What about aluminum" "What about it?" "There's no I after the N, it's not aluminium," "For fuck's sake it's our language, if we say it's aluminium it's because that's the way it's pronounced" And I suppose he won that one. I had a shameful tendency to use the word "proper" more often than I normally do.
Then we headed back to the hostel bar, proper wasted, and down below, a sort of cruiseline bar filled with tourists. We started talking to some swiss girls. And after being thoroughly bored by me, and I them, I thought of how they are banning minarets and wanted to really try their neutrality but alas I just bought tequila. And then I found some Brazilians, and they took me in, told me I am brazilian now. And they tried to teach me Portuguese. I began speaking to some women, and the brazilian came back and said "no, friend, they are ugly" and I thanked him. And the brit was lost at this time, it turned out he met a swedish girl in the lounge to some effect.
And the next day I woke up at about 5 p.m. We went to go find a restaurant at 6 p.m. on a saturday, and I kid you not the world was closed. After walking ages, we finally found one, and ate steak. And french fries. And he described how much he desired a sunday roast, which is like a roast with vegetables and potatos and gravy or something. I unno. I really wanted lots of soda with no refills. Same bar that night, few drinks. Retired.
The next morning I ventured off sightseeing. Went to the Plaza de Mayo. Went to a Botanical garden and Palermo. Took some truly awful pictures, which I will post tomorrow. Ate lunch by myself. Had a truly snotty waiter this time. I took the subway and all. Proper autonomy aye?
Pt. X Bs. As. Pt. III - The Departure
The next day I woke up early, took the shuttle to the airport, and got in the long line for TAM to Porto Alegre. She took my passport, looked at the mark from PF saying I had overstayed. She told me they might not let me back in. Then she said, one minute, I have to speak to Sao Paolo. And she was gone for 40 minutes. They made me stand aside. I waited. I thought about how I would have to find a flight to the U.S. Ship my stuff back. Notify everyone.
She came back flustered. It's all okay, she said, just show them this. She was an angel. I wouldn't wish going through that much brazilian bureaucracy on my worst enemies. I got some food, went on the plane. And, unfortunately I sat next to an old woman who I'm sure had pooped herself. And I covered my mouth the whole way. I was confident I'd have 2 hours between flights at Porto Alegre. So confident I discounted the fact that we boarded late. I discounted the fact that we were stuck on the runway forever. And when we arrived, I didn't mind that I was in line at customs for 30 min. I saw the clock 18:00, ahh, it's only 4 p.m. Because I'm retarded I can't tell time. I also forgot there was an hour difference between Bs. As. and Porto Alegre. And so I stepped up to the Policia Federal. She checked my passport, she made a call, and 10 minutes later, I was off. And I dillydallied, used the bathroom. Went to my gate, and ... wait, why is no one there yet. Okay, it says last call. What time is it...it's 630? My flight leaves at 605. The board? Changed to "taking off"
So I went to the TAM and got a new flight at 22:00. Got in at 23:10. Went to some people, asked in broken portuguese where the shuttle was. They laughed and pointed 3 ft. away. I got on the shuttle. He dropped me off in my place, and Here. I. Am.
And no doubt, no doubt, with Christmas with Ana's family and then New Years, there is plenty to look forward to.
Pictures to come.
And because this might be long, I'll give you a table of contents. Some you may skip through, as I will write this as thoroughly as I can. You can decide the ending. And, to be sure, I didn't skip write because I don't care about you. I assure you that.
Table of contents:
Pt. I - When I stopped being a bitch
Pt. II- When I went out 2 weekends ago
Pt. III - Ro Ro Ro the Bot
Pt. IV - when I started to realize how much I suck
Pt. V - When I realized how much I suck
Pt. VI - I didn't really get deported, but still...
Pt. VII - The Christmas Dinner
Pt. VIII - Buenos Aires pt. I
Pt. IX - Buenos Aires pt. II
Pt. X - Buenos Aires pt. III - the Departure
Part I - When I stopped being a bitch.
For the greater part of a month this blog has been no better than a teenage girl's Xanga page, I know. And I do attribute this to not embracing the gimmick. People responding "But you are Brazil!" stung more than it hung like a badge of honor. That wonderful summer talking point had at some point dissolved away. But it hangs once more, as mistletoe over my door. It's all I have and it's more than most.
Part II - When I went out 2 weekends ago
Two thursdays before, I walked home with thick wads of cash stuffed in my socks. Walking as fast as I could, I entered the door to my apt. and poured it on the bed. I then jumped up and down on the bed until I heard more creaks than I should like.
On the Tuesday of the same week Mari had given me an itinerary of what was to be an eventful week for them. Culminating in a dinner the following wednesday, but highlighted by a costume party on the Saturday. It was on Friday that I finished and scurried home. I was called on, and ventured over. Here at the apt. waiting for me was a package from Al featuring a scarf, a book, and, awesomely, $20 cash. Strange to try and hold in a smile trying on a scarf. Wasn't successful at it, at any rate. At their apt., three of their friends from Sao Paolo, whom I had met previously during the Bohemia fest, had arrived. I spoke in some portuguese. I did things like this. A few beers and sips of some flavored cachaça and we were off to a bar. In a car with Bel and another friend, we went to the first bar. It would not let one in because she did not have ID. To another bar, closing down. Another bar, closed. And finally we headed back to the apt. with no 'out' to have gone to.
Here some bottles of wine were opened, glasses filled and cheese consumed. Beers then after that. These are the nights I can't describe in any detail, because they are fleeting conversations. That said, these are the best nights. The ones I can't really describe, because I'm not thinking about it at the time.
Pt. III Ro Ro Ro the Bot
The next morning I woke up, lounged around for a bit and then made my way to the kitchen to finish off some ramen. In the kitchen a man resembling sean weatherspoon whom I'd met before, along with his roommate, a girl I think I'd met before, began trying to speak to me. The man's comments appeared to be in jest, including re-enacting how I eat. I giggle along like a fool, no one dislikes someone giggling like a fool. And we conversed enough with what little portuguese I know, and what little english they knew. And this was, to be sure, the most complete form of immersion I've had in Brazil. After implying we were to go shopping, I obliged. We walked to a christmas market, and he asked things like 'Do you like Mariah Carey' and...in an effort to seem likable, said I did. 'Do you like the Whitney Houston?' And in an effort to seem likable, I said I did. These things are painful at the time, but I'm confident I made the right moves.
It's not really important that you have anything in common with these relations, the mere excitement of understanding what the fuck they are saying is divine.
And then we went to the grocery store and I picked up aluminum foil and tape.
And we went back to the kitchen and the girl invited me to her hometown that next weekend. Though never intending to go, I did not know at the time how I really would not be able to go.
And then I took the bus over to their apt. Where I began on my costume. I taped a bunch of aluminum foil to my shirt. Made gloves of aluminum foil. Made a hat of aluminum foil. And I was a R$1.20 robot. Not bad. My costumes are always particularly awful, but honestly, this really wasn't that bad.
And then drinks and sips of cachaça and we were off to the costume party. Located on the hills of curitiba, in a house I suppose made for these types of events. Walking in, a cooler filled with beer and a table with spirits placed upon it. I made a stiff vodka-coke. Perhaps this was a mistake.
The following is in bits and pieces:
Eating fried cheese on a stick.
Hitting on the girl who passed out fried cheese on a stick.
Meeting the dude from Chicago who was perhaps the most boring person alive.
Doing some sort of robot as Bela was on a microphone screaming "Roboche, Roboche"
Trying to describe what song should be played next.
Being near some sort of chair.
Dancing with some sort of indian girl who was nice.
In some conversation where I offered to be some guys English teacher.
The following was relayed or asked of me:
Did you kiss that Indian girl?
Do you remember when we were dancing and I fell on my ass?
The following was on me when I woke up the next day:
All sorts of tomato.
All sorts of foil.
All sorts of some sort of beaded gems from an Indian dress.
I placed it together best I could. I didn't get up all of sunday. I ate all the white bread left in my drawer. The friends from the day before knocked on my door at 2 occasions: 2 p.m. and 7 p.m. and at both times I had to intimate that I was too tired still to leave. And I made a swigging motion.
Pt. IV When I started to realize how much I suck
On Monday I woke up knowing I had to go to the Policia Federal to re-up for 90 more days. It was here in the morning I realized my passport was not on me, but at the girls Apt. This was a big deal. Upon counting the days again, I realized that the next day was in fact the day I needed to go. This was a relief. I picked up my passport later that night.
Pt. V When I realized how much I suck
There is a certain assumption I had that people who tend to leave and travel for extended periods of time have a certain savvy about them. They have stories about how they jumped over tracks to make a train, convinced people of things, got out of robberies, got out of stuff.
I learned over the next two days I had none of that. I am the anti-savvy. But to my credit, I seem to find people willing to help. That may be of some consolation.
On Tuesday I woke up early. I looked up info on this process at the PF again. I realized I had only like half the stuff I needed, one being a return ticket. Freaking out at how stupid I was to leave this to the last minute - I did what I normally do, just sort of wallowed, letting the time pass where I could worry. Then I ran into the american I know. She told me that one time she just went to a travel agency and they printed out an itinerary saying I paid for a ticket. This was the savvy I speak of. This is where I have no skills. She took me to a travel agency and did all the leg work. Then all I had to do was go to the PF and all would be fine. I did not do this. I walked to where I thought the PF was, realized it was not the PF, then walked back. And then I thought, man, that was dumb.
Pt. VI I didn't really get deported, but still...
And I essentially had turned myself in. I went to the Policia Federal, and said "Eu gostaria meu passaporte estampar para 90 dias tambehn" which is incredibly broken portuguese filled with fake words and some words that might be close. The man looked at me and told me I was already illegal. "What?" I acted. "You are past the 90 days, theres nothing I can do" "Well, I just bought a ticket, please?" "I actually have to inform you that you must leave in 8 days, you have to sign a document saying that I told you" "LIke as a suggestion, or" ... He then took pity and told me that it wasn't like I had to return home, I merely had to leave the borders of brazil and return. He suggested Foz de Iguacu, the massive waterfalls on the border of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. A bus could take me over the border and back. Instead, if I had to waste money, I decided on Buenos Aires. I paid R$8.20 for my fine, took the letter, and bid him adieu.
Pt. VII Christmas dinner
They, the girls : Bela, Bel, Mari and Dani, picked me up for their Christmas dinner. Bel gave me chocolate, Mari gave me a candle. We went to an Indian restaurant. It was delicious. I got the spicy chili curry, which had strips of filet mignon. We gave toasts to our year, I saluted undoubtedly the greatest year of my life. And I informed them of my misfortune in having a temporary time limit on my stay. Bela told me she'd talk to Maxi. We spoke of new years and all sorts of goodies. And I ate my fill. And then they wrapped up the left overs all for me. And then they paid for my dinner. It was not cheap, and did I mention how though I'm not savvy, I tend to surround myself with people willing to help?
Pt. VIII Buenos Aires pt. I
that lunch was on Wednesday. On Thursday I looked at flights. All day at work I looked at flights. During an online class I looked at flights. I booked a flight for the next day. I went home. I booked a hostel. I called Bela, asking how to get to the airport. She gave me explicit directions on how not only to get to the airport at curitiba for R$8, but how to get from the airport in BsAs for cheap as well.
The next morning I woke up at 6 a.m. packed some shirts in a backpack and headed to the shopping estaçao, where a bus picked me up and took me to the airport. At the airport, I ordered a coffee and pão de queijo and I kid you not it was the best pão de quiejo I've had in Brazil. And I got on the plane and then got off. Went in circles in Porta Alegre. And then the moment of truth at that time, the international customs where they checked my passport. I looked as my plane was calling last call. The woman stared at my passport for 20 min. rechecking the letter of the fine paid, talking to her supervisor, before stamping and passing it back to me. Flight to Bs. As. Arrived.
Then as I get to Bs. As. I find the transport to the hostel in a little kiosk. She spoke english to my astonishment. I pay money. I found out where the bus was. And while on the bus to my hostel I thought how savvy I was. Then I remembered Bela had given me explicit directions on everything I must do in order to get where I was. And I still smiled. in less than 72 hrs, I had been nearly deported, booked a flight immediately, found transport and was in another South American country all by myself. Autonomy ftw.
Pt. VIIII Bs. As. pt. II
The bus gave way to a station. And the station had little cars transport us to the hostels. The car dropped me off and the bus driver pointed. I walked with my bag down Ave. Florida, which has to be the busiest street in Bs. As. (no cars, just walkers and counterfeit merch.) Went to the hostel and checked in. First floor was all rockin out with a bunch of american travelers and brazilians. Went to my room. Nice and clean. Own locker with lock. Put my stuff in and took a walk, went to the computer and then said "Now what?"
That would meet me in my room, a kid who spoke English, like, proper queen's english, was there. I asked him if he'd eaten, and off we went. (Prior to this, a Brazilian was in the bunk below, and now I had the pleasure of having in common that I lived in Brazil. And we communicated okay. And that was nice.) But the brit was for the rest of the trip what they might call a "mate." We walked along, finding a restaurant finally and had a beer. He had been traveling for 19 mos. in the likes of Australia, NZ, and Asia. He had saved up for 5 years for it. But I, shockingly, had all the knowledge of South America. I was able to communicate best with the waiter. It was nice. I, for once, was not helpless.
And for that dinner I had an empanada. Eggs, beef, spinach, tomato, cheese. Awesomeness. And a beer. The empanadas would only get better, but also overshadowed by steak. The steak here was cheap and huge and delicious. Fuck Texas.
Upon re-arrival at hostel, we decided to 'give it a go', found a bar in Lonely Planet travel guide. Which is bullshit. Among how it's written are things like "In Bs. As. looking FABULOUS is as important as anything! These people have style and aren't afraid to show it!" How is this informative? Anyways, for one of the clubs it advised "This is the hottest club in Bs. As, but the lines are LONG, be sure to grab a VIP pass." How is this helpful? Are the VIP passes baked into the empanadas? Or fried I guess? I could write better. But won't.
Oh, and of Buenos Aires? Absolutely wonderful. Maybe the best city I've ever traveled to. The perfect mix of old European-style architecture and mixing of modern architecture as well. Beautiful trees lining the streets, apt transportation, wonderful city planning. People were beautiful, truly beautiful. Tall as brazilians with the french body type. Music was all over the streets. They were much more politically active, and with the Falklands war with Britain, I feel Argentina has a certain amt. more street cred than Brazil.
The bar though, we were just walking for ages. And ages. And upon nearing to turn back the brit said "how bout this place", miraculously it was the exact bar we were looking for. A tiny pub my most opinions, it served a cold pint for cheap price. We sat ourselves in two leather chairs and admired the human scenery. They new we were gringos, but being a traveler now instead of a transplant, I kind of admired it. Novelty! On this chair I taught him spanish pronounciation, for which I know little. "And what are the numbers," he said. "Uno...d-dos...tres...quatorze" "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I said. "U2 really did that to you?" And we had a hearty laugh. And he exchanged stories of 19 mos. of travel. Ridiculous jungle trips in asia. How cheap Asia is. How he killed a kangaroo with a car.
And then we went to get something to eat. And we went to a steakhouse. And I got a big steak. And he got a big steak. And I got the wine, b/c I owed him a round, and b/c the wine here is 12 pesos for a nice malbec. That's about $4. And he discussed more about his trips and I, Brazil. How friendly the people are, which I've truly come to admire. The brazilians I asked said that Argentinians were a bit snobbish, but if you are to put Brazil as the standard for approachability, the world will seem cold and bitter in comparison.
The steak came out, gigantic, and french fries as a side. And I discussed how his language has problems. "What about aluminum" "What about it?" "There's no I after the N, it's not aluminium," "For fuck's sake it's our language, if we say it's aluminium it's because that's the way it's pronounced" And I suppose he won that one. I had a shameful tendency to use the word "proper" more often than I normally do.
Then we headed back to the hostel bar, proper wasted, and down below, a sort of cruiseline bar filled with tourists. We started talking to some swiss girls. And after being thoroughly bored by me, and I them, I thought of how they are banning minarets and wanted to really try their neutrality but alas I just bought tequila. And then I found some Brazilians, and they took me in, told me I am brazilian now. And they tried to teach me Portuguese. I began speaking to some women, and the brazilian came back and said "no, friend, they are ugly" and I thanked him. And the brit was lost at this time, it turned out he met a swedish girl in the lounge to some effect.
And the next day I woke up at about 5 p.m. We went to go find a restaurant at 6 p.m. on a saturday, and I kid you not the world was closed. After walking ages, we finally found one, and ate steak. And french fries. And he described how much he desired a sunday roast, which is like a roast with vegetables and potatos and gravy or something. I unno. I really wanted lots of soda with no refills. Same bar that night, few drinks. Retired.
The next morning I ventured off sightseeing. Went to the Plaza de Mayo. Went to a Botanical garden and Palermo. Took some truly awful pictures, which I will post tomorrow. Ate lunch by myself. Had a truly snotty waiter this time. I took the subway and all. Proper autonomy aye?
Pt. X Bs. As. Pt. III - The Departure
The next day I woke up early, took the shuttle to the airport, and got in the long line for TAM to Porto Alegre. She took my passport, looked at the mark from PF saying I had overstayed. She told me they might not let me back in. Then she said, one minute, I have to speak to Sao Paolo. And she was gone for 40 minutes. They made me stand aside. I waited. I thought about how I would have to find a flight to the U.S. Ship my stuff back. Notify everyone.
She came back flustered. It's all okay, she said, just show them this. She was an angel. I wouldn't wish going through that much brazilian bureaucracy on my worst enemies. I got some food, went on the plane. And, unfortunately I sat next to an old woman who I'm sure had pooped herself. And I covered my mouth the whole way. I was confident I'd have 2 hours between flights at Porto Alegre. So confident I discounted the fact that we boarded late. I discounted the fact that we were stuck on the runway forever. And when we arrived, I didn't mind that I was in line at customs for 30 min. I saw the clock 18:00, ahh, it's only 4 p.m. Because I'm retarded I can't tell time. I also forgot there was an hour difference between Bs. As. and Porto Alegre. And so I stepped up to the Policia Federal. She checked my passport, she made a call, and 10 minutes later, I was off. And I dillydallied, used the bathroom. Went to my gate, and ... wait, why is no one there yet. Okay, it says last call. What time is it...it's 630? My flight leaves at 605. The board? Changed to "taking off"
So I went to the TAM and got a new flight at 22:00. Got in at 23:10. Went to some people, asked in broken portuguese where the shuttle was. They laughed and pointed 3 ft. away. I got on the shuttle. He dropped me off in my place, and Here. I. Am.
And no doubt, no doubt, with Christmas with Ana's family and then New Years, there is plenty to look forward to.
Pictures to come.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
today
My ceilings are tall enough that I can scatter dolla bills on the mattress and jump up and down without hitting my head.
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