The Road to My House

Though the last road to my house has no name, turn right at the burned out car and the dead horse. Well, they moved the horse or maybe it was just sleeping deeply.

Okay, so I no longer live in a really small apartment in Rio. Now I live in a very large, but mostly empty house. I like it. When we first went to check out the house, we drove for forever along narrow windy bumpy roads, but the last road to our house was atrocious. We still signed the lease.

Shortly after we returned from visiting family in the States, as in we were taking a cab from the airport, the last road to our house fell into the hands of a construction crew with a vision and a lot of large bulldozers. They took what was left of our sad little road and tore it to pieces. The pavement was mercilessly ripped up, phone poles bumped into (resulting in really annoying power outages), and whenever it rained the now plugged drainage was even more ineffective.

Have you ever cheered your car on as it floated through a giant puddle? This became a regular habit, we have always felt that when faced with a difficult situation such as a giant puddle, cars respond well to encouragement.

I regress. Did I mention this road work started in July? Coming home from work every day we would carefully watch for things like pipes left in the middle of the road, large trenches, a new uncovered unmarked manhole, or perhaps the road had been widened, but a stray telephone pole was still in the road. One day we saw a lone worker taking on a boulder the size of a house with a single jackhammer. The workers faithfully spread large amounts of dirt, brought in their trusty steam roller to pack it all down. Then, the next day the buses would careen along at high velocity pushing all of the dirt into rolling pitching washboards that would have inspired dirt bikers.

Before long, they poured in the sidewalks. And let me tell you, these sidewalks are magnificent. They are spacious and wide. Whole families could walk abreast on them. They are curbed in white with pink cement going down the middle and they are so smooth. Don't judge, you would become a sidewalk admirer if you had stubbed your toes, skirted very suspicious smelling puddles, and broken toenails on the creatively designed sidewalks of Rio. It is rotten being klutzy in a city of uneven sidewalks.

However, what was truly amazing during this six month (still uncompleted project) is that one area would be seemingly complete. Then, the next day we would drive home and the beautiful pink sidewalk would be in midst of a destructive jackhammering operation. The workers would build, cement, jack hammer, dig up... we watched it happen over and over again. One day it might be a forgotten drainage pipe, a new bus pullover lane, another a light pole being moved (usually out of the road, so I suppose that is a good thing). But for God's sake, why didn't they do these things before they laid in the final work?

I can only conclude this is a pay by the hour job or each morning the boss takes creative ideas from the workers and builds self-esteem by making their ideas a reality.

On Strength and Grace

When do we really show our true grit? Is it when we challenge ourselves to be more than we already are, or when we stay true to who we are?

A few years ago, life seemed to be finally falling into place. My husband and I had finally finished graduate school, convinced some one to hire us, and had began the momentous task of paying off the debt we accrued while being poor grad students. As friends began to buy houses, pop out kids, and invite us over for dinner instead of out to dinner, the restlessness set in.

Luckily, my husband was also feeling the pressure of the suburban status quo, so we moved to Brazil. Life isn't easy here. What should take an afternoon frequently turns into two months of sheer frustration. We can never seem to get ahead at work. It takes a really long time to make friends when you don't speak Portuguese and do not seem to have an aptitude for linguistics. But through it all, I recognize that we imposed our present challenges on ourselves. I like to think it makes life more interesting and I don't feel restless. However, I frequently find myself complaining about the challenges of living in another country...

I have a friend who has gone through so much in her life. Yet she puts on a brave smile and encourages those around her. She holds onto hope when the going gets tough. She has survived more in the last few years than many of us will deal with in our lifetimes. It makes me feel so petty to think about the things I consider hardships. I think this is what grace and strength looks like. You live the life you are passionate about living, be it suburban wonderland, an expat, a city-girl... and you live it with courage, grace, strength, and humor. Someday, I hope to look in the mirror and see a little bit more of my friend looking back.

As the Mudslides and Rain Continue...

The Brazilian government is talking about relocating the people in the slums...but where and how will they house them? The slums perched atop precarious hillsides around Rio are out of necessity,,,people trying to carve out a space to call their own. Is the government going to help provide affordable housing or are they just going to clear out the favelas and continue to let the poor fend for themselves?

Here is a quote from the Washington Post about the slums slammed by mudslides that were built on top of a dump that Jake and I found particularly powerful:

"Yes, it was a dump. But people are desperate to have a home anywhere," she said. "What else were they going to do? Where else were they supposed to go? This is our reality. They knew the risks, but when you have no money, you have no choice," she said.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/04/08/AR2010040800860_2.html?wprss=rss_world/wires

In many places in the U.S. the poor are out of sight and mind. We can skip the exit off of the highway to the "bad" neighborhood. Most of us have the wealth and power, and education to move, to relocate, to advocate for ourselves. The poor are a visual part of Rio...their houses climb the rainforest hillsides throughout the city. People daring to live where others refuse... risking safety and convenience for a spot to call their own. Don't we all desire as much?

I encourage you, to look around wherever you live. Ask questions. Think about where the poor are. What are their options? Most are working hard, trying to care for their families, put food on the table. Are we really so different?

Flooding in Rio

"Hey Jake, could you move the toaster oven onto the dining room table?"

"Sure hon, just a sec."

This little snippet of a conversation from last night amuses me still. The things that have become normal for us... our kitchen counter can only handle a dish drain and a cutting board. So normally the toaster oven lives on the stove unless we are cooking. If we are cooking we put it on the floor (don't worry our apartment is super clean). However, whenever it rains heavily, our laundry room floods because it has a large latticed brick section with no glass or way to block the rain. This in turn floods the kitchen. We're pretty used to it.

Last night I was grateful for the rain because it resulted in four good things. Our Portuguese tutor canceled, we love working with her but two hours of Portuguese on a Monday night is tiring and requires at least one coke. The rain was pouring down so we didn't have to walk the dogs since we are lucky enough to have dogs that hate the rain, though they will both willingly take showers. Go figure. Since we normally have Portuguese, we never bring home work on Mondays so there were hours of guilt free t.v. The best best best part of last night was that it was a cool 70f, I made homemade apple crisp and we topped it with vanilla ice cream. It was the perfect fall dessert.

This morning I was just getting ready for work when the call came. We have no school, our first "rain day" in our teaching careers. Throughout the last fourteen hours, more than three inches of rain have fallen. Streets have turned into rushing riverbeds. Roads are flooded, the beach is covered in water.

The streets and sidewalks are not constructed with the same regularity as in the U.S. One curb might be three inches high, another 6 inches high. Sidewalks are uneven and have random holes. The most treacherous spots are where the water pressure from below has popped a man hole cover. You can walk along and fall into one.

A part of me wants to go and explore. I have always been interested in weather and there is something about school being closed that brings out the kid in me, like wanting to go play in the snow. However, my enthusiasm is dampened and empathy awakened as I watch the news.

Last night, I slept in a safe air conditioned apartment. I was comfortable and dry. Sure, our apartment had flooded a little, but this is pretty standard for us by now. Unfortunate citizens of Rio were stranded in the cars over night. The only consoling thought I can think of for the residents of the favelas (slums) surrounding Rio is that they are on the hills, so hopefully most of the water will run off. I was shocked to learn that eight people have died because of the flooding in the last fourteen hours.

Weather has always been interesting to me, but my emotions conflict. I have the resources to provide for m family so this won't really affect me. There are many who are not in such a fortunate position. This link is for the BBC News account on the flooding in Rio: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8605386.stm

Ups and Downs- Life in Another Country or Just Life

My brother cautioned me about the emotional roller coaster of living internationally. He said there are ups and downs and though they smooth out over time, they are always there. A lot of times I feel like I am chugging my way up to an up, but before I can actually get there I slide back down.

Tonight I miss my family and friends. A good shoulder to lean on or talk to about anything. I miss going out with the girls for happy hour at Unos, board games with friends or family dinner up at my parent's house. I have finally been able to admit to myself that it takes me a long time to make friends. I can be social and friendly with people, but the good friends, the ones who are really worth it are hard to come by.

Can I blame my down on living in another country tonight? Or are the ups and downs just part of everyone's life? If we are really honest with ourselves what is the daily mundane life like? I wish I was one of those people that could eat a pint of ice cream and feel better...

Brazilian Logic

As we zoomed up the hill to work the other morning, we began discussing how what was a two lane road on the weekends became a four lane road on the weekdays. Buses careen in and out of traffic, weaving with eye popping vehicular dexterity.

Motorcycles, fearlessly take on death as they pass on your right, driving in the gutter, or on the left playing chicken with the oncoming traffic. Even though I am a mere passenger, an observer of the absolute chaos of Brazilian driving, I always feel slightly relieved to get to work.

You know that successful feeling you have after making it to work on a really junky snowy day? Yup, same feeling every morning. Our Brazilian friend assured us that it was supposed to be four lanes. I asked why there weren't any lines... she thought maybe they had just forgot to paint them.

Driving home with the same friend we shocked her with the obscenities we shouted at a driver who almost smashed into us. We were in a left/go straight lane and he tried to turn left from the right lane. She informed us that he thought we were turning left. No #$%&! However, why is he making a left hand turn across traffic from the right lane? Why? Well, our friend thought he wanted to go left. Really? We are so glad she clarified that after he almost drove us into the canal.

Needless to say... I love Brazilians...but I have yet to see them drive with any sort of predictable pattern or walk in a straight line.

Relaxing in Rio

After weeks of blistering sweat dripping heat... it has cooled to around 80 degrees. It feels absolutely fantastic. Isn't it funny how quickly you adjust to temperature? Back in Colorado I would have found 80 degrees on the warm side, here it just feels pleasant. In fact, I haven't sweated all day and I have only felt the need to shower once.

We took the dogs for a walk along the beach road, which the city shuts down on Sundays. If often seems as if much of the city takes to road on Sundays, Children learn to ride bikes, roller blade, and skateboard as families stroll leisurely along enjoying one another's company. There is no proper side to walk if you are walking one direction, so we find ourselves weaving in and out of people as we meander along. Xuxa gets a lot attention from Brazilians, they seem enamored with her and it provides us one of our greatest opportunities to practice our Portuguese,

Later on we met up with friends and had a few beers at a beach kiosk on Ipanema beach. Life is good here in many ways. The beer is icy cold and a table at the beachside kiosk is yours for as long as you want it. Living in Rio has helped me to slow down and become a more patient person, to focus more on the moment. Seven months ago, I would have considered sitting around and chatting away an afternoon a slight waste. I always felt pressured to get work done or to go to sleep early so I could get up and work the next day. Life slows down with the heat, but maybe it is worth it...

Things to Bring When You Move to Brasil

Okay, so whenever moving to another country, people always want to know what they should bring. I have decided to compile this list after living in Brasil for seven months. I love living in Brasil, but there are is also something to be said for having products to use that you are familiar with. Creating a home in a new country must be a mix of the old and the new. Little comforts from home can make a big difference when you are adjusting to a new life. The first time you come to Brasil (if you have a work visa) you can bring in almost anything you want. We had a number of friends bring in all of these items, though of course I cannot promise you wouldn't have problems going through customs. Anything with a star is something that I have not been able to find yet. Everything else is just so much more expensive, its worth dragging here in your suitcase. Brasil is also one of the only countries that you can bring two 70 lb suitcases to for free. I am not sure how the policy was put in place but all of the airlines we have flown have this exception for travelers coming or leaving Brasil. It's great!

Packing List
Electronics in Brasil are very expensive and not quite as reliable... at least the brands we can afford. These are all items we have learned to live without, but would use on a regular basis.
-out flat screen t.v.
-dvd player
-speaker set for Ipod
-waffle iron
-large george foreman grill
-toaster oven
-blender (the ones here are entirely plastic)
-mixer

Clothing
-men's polo shirts
-men's dress khakis
-men's leather sandals
-workout clothes
-running shoes (they can be up to 4 xs the price here)
*I don't seem to have a problem finding affordable women's clothes, there are a lot of cute dresses for sale

Food Items
-pancake mix*
-real maple syrup*
-Ghiradelli brownie mix*
-chocolate chips*
-peanut butter*
-ziplock bags*
-cereal (kashi crunch, organic brands)*
-trail mix

Doggie Wish List
-squeaky tennis balls*
-jerky bones
-bully sticks*
-peanut butter*

Household
-fluffy towels
-linens

Toiletries
-high quality shampoo and conditioner
-deodorant (we can only find roll on)*
-spray on sunscreen
-contact lenses

If you live or have lived in Brasil and have anything to add, I would love the input. This list is a work in progress and I want to compile as complete a list as possible for expats.

Bad Dog Pele! Very BAD Dog!

It began on a hot steamy Wednesday night. Jake was sick with a high fever one degree away from taking him to the hospital for ice baths. I was pretty beat from trying to run around and do a million things. I awoke in the middle of the night to a horrible smell. It was as though something had died in our bedroom and the air conditioner and fan had thoroughly spread the god awful scent to every corner of the room. Some people say the scent of your own baby's poop won't really bother you. Personally, I have always been highly suspicious of such an optimistic statement involving poop. However, I can assure you that one never stops smelling a puppy's poop and tonight it was especially fragrant.

I threw a pillow over Jake's head, luckily he did not think I was trying to smother him in his sleep as he was drugged up on Nyquil. Then, I flicked on the lights and began to peer around. I couldn't find the poop anywhere and the smell wasn't getting any better. I tried to fall back asleep but was eventually driven to sleep in the hammock in our living room because of the stench.

Thursday morning, I scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees and mopped it three times. We found one spot that seemed a little extra stinky, but could not find any actual signs of poop. Now, Pele likes to add the occasional self created snack to his menu (he is now on special don't eat your poop medication) so we gave up. I bought some verbena oil to mask the vile scent and it did seem to get better. Only that night it wasn't. The smell was haunting me, I felt dirty just being in the room, much less trying to sleep there. Where was the (insert some vile words) poop?

Friday morning arrived. Now, I can be fairly easy going, most of the time, but sleeping in a poop/verbena scented room was not going to happen again. I was determined and armed with a role of paper towels, cleaner, and trash bags. I sprayed, scrubbed, and cleaned. Finally, driven to desperation I moved the bed and started cleaning under it. As I stretched my arms under the bed to reach a spot, something small, brown, and torpedo shaped caught the corner of my eye. What kind of dog would commit such a horrendous crime?

Recently, Pele had taken to scooting around under the bed on his back. It was really pretty cute. However, on that dark and steamy night, Pele took his fun one step farther... he dug into the box spring. He crawled up and scampered around. But that was not enough for Pele or maybe he got trapped up there and had to go. I must say my instinct perceives darker motives. Pele pooped four times in the box spring before he returned to sleep innocently on his dog bed.

Since his conviction, life had changed a little for Pele. He now sleeps in the bathroom. Cesar Millan says dogs need boundaries, well Pele now has four tiled walls and a door. Could even Cesar Millan have predicted such outrageous behavior?

6 Months in Rio...

We have lived in Rio for six months, rapidly approaching seven months. How has my life changed? What hasn't changed? In Colorado, I worked, worked out, took the dog to the dog park, went climbing at the Boulder Rock Club, ate Sunday dinners with my family, and hung out with a few good friends at CB&Potts regularly. Life seemed pretty straight forward. I started to get restless when I realized it made more sense to save for a down payment on a house than it did to continue renting. The idea terrified me. In many ways, I knew I would enjoy decorating a home, planting a garden (though I cannot keep house plants alive), and having a place to truly call my own. I think Jake and I could have made a good life in the U.S. I always would have wondered though... what would it be like to take the plunge and move to another country?

I miss seeing my mom and dad. My dad always made me give the cat a kiss, though it is quite clear the cat does not want a kiss from me. Have you ever tried to give an unwilling cat a kiss? The dog would snuggle against Jake and get him as furry as possible. For five years, Jake would accidentally wear black up to my parent's house every Sunday. Jake's more of an intellectual than a planner. I miss seeing the Rocky Mountains jutting out of the golden prairie as I drove home from work each night, the nights when the sunset was so spectacular, I almost wrecked the car. Honestly, one time I was craning my neck out the window in awe of the swirled palate of colors and I hit the curb. I never did tell Jake about that one, the car seemed okay. However, missing life in Colorado does not consume me. It is good to miss some things, it helps you to know what you value.

In Rio, I am not on the extended vacation people assume when they hear you've moved to Rio de Janeiro. People picture gorgeous babes in thongs on the beach. A nonstop party every night of the week. Endless samba dancing. Living in another country can be a lot like living in any country. After all, you are living a day to day existence where you have to find a way to feed and clothe yourself. In many ways, work is the same as it was in Colorado. There are petty frustrations, the usual bureaucracy, and long work days. The work week flies by, a mixture of every emotion. So what has really changed about my life? Why did we move to another country?

It all comes down to moments like last night.

After work, I showered, guzzled some caffeine, went to two stores to find xixi (pee) pads for our puppy and headed home. All pretty normal and boring. We grabbed the dogs and headed down to Ipanema beach to meet friends. Drinking beers, watching the sun set, and getting kicked off of the beach because of our dogs (this happens a few times a week), moving our beach chairs to sit by the board walk with the dogs... all pretty normal. Just some of the perks of living in a beach town.

Later on, Mark took Xuxa down to the water for a joyous run... he came back up and his flip flops were missing. I felt a little guilty since the flip flops had been within a few feet of me. Then, my eyes zoomed in on a homeless man wearing some navy blue flip flops with white straps, definitely Jake's. Our friend Chivas, a Canadian married to a Brazilian, offered to go and get Mark's flip flops back. They went over and started talking to the guy. The guy offered to give them back to Jake, he had thought some one had just forgotten them on the beach. This make sense, because few people hang out at the scene of the crime.

As the guys were talking, I took in a glimpse of this man's life. One ankle had a duck tape rigged cast. His feet were dirty with cracked and swollen heels. Over his shoulder was a black trash bag full of cans he was collecting. He had passed by our table a few times that evening and always been gracious and polite when he asked for our empty cans. Our lives were very different.

Then, in the same moment Jake look over at me as the guy was passing back the flip flops. A realization flickered across his face... he turned and gave the flip flops to the man. He needed them more than Jake did.

These are the moments...moments when I fall in love with my husband all over again. Moments when I see my life with more clarity. Jake and I have opened ourselves up to another culture and country. To new experiences. I hope I grow as a human being in my experience, compassion, and knowledge of the world's people. I am so lucky in so many ways. I have so much, so many have so little, I think I need to start doing more...

Why didn't I? The least I could have done was buy the man a cold beer on such a hot night. It wouldn't have been much, it would have been something so little, but maybe all of the little somethings could add up to a big something someday.

Sweat

Okay, okay, so maybe this is not the most life changing or soul searching topic you have read... but have you ever spent significant time in the tropics? Vacations and travel do not count! I thought I had experienced the heat before, but living it is another matter. Working, cleaning, cooking, walking the dogs, grocery shopping, I should just throw the towel in and wear my workout clothes. I find myself pausing in front of stores that blast their air conditioning out onto the sidewalk. Shamelessly, standing there and feeling slightly cooler, if only for a moment. Do they leave their doors open to tempt us in with their cool air? Is it cheaper than advertising?

You may also be wondering about the graceful "sweaters". Yes, they are out there. Somehow, these women (and some men) wear their sweat as an elegant healthy glow. Their hair curls ever so wistfully, and their clothes never soak and stick. They stroll the streets in temperatures in the high 90's as cool as chameleons. Is there a secret I do not know? Do they smear deodorant all over their bodies? Where does the sweat go?

I am not an elegant "sweater". The moment I am in the heat the sweat begins to creep down my skin. I am sweating so much, it feels as though there is something crawling along my back. It runs in mini streams down my legs. By midmorning, my sweat-stache is in full force. I never knew my upper lip was prone to sweating profusely. It would be easy to feel angry at one's upper lip, but then I realize the poor thing is just trying to do its part. Every other conceivable place is dripping sweat, why shouldn't my upper lip. My ears have yet to start sweating, but I will not even pause when the medically improbable event occurs. This is the tropics or subtropics (input from Jake) after all.

Coping with Living in Another Country

Coping with Living in Another Country

It has been six months now. Am I adjusted? In many ways yes, I have a routine, I can buy groceries, go to restaurants, hang out with new friends. But, deep down, it still feels very different. There is always a looming feeling under my calm facade of the unknown that I will not be able to handle. I like handling my life, in fact after twenty some years, I am pretty good at it. But there is something about living in another country and culture that can take away that calm confidence. In the time we have been, here we have handled taking a friend to the emergency room. Jake helpfully asked him about his sex life with our trustworthy Lonely Planet phrasebook (our friend had cut his finger). We took our dog to the vet, language wasn't an issue because she didn't know what freaky animal had given our dog such a vicious bite. We have a bank account (it only took 4 months). We can pay our bills online (six months, Jake figured it out yesterday). So we are learning to handle life in another country...

But how do you cope? I think everyone does in different ways. I know I am reading a lot more and that I am quieter at home then I used to be. I check facebook religiously...I miss my old friends and I like seeing what they are up to. I have thought about learning how to cook, thought about being the key phrase. But how am I really doing? As I look out the window at a view that is pretty familiar by now, I am not sure if there is a good answer. I am okay. I no longer have the restless feeling I had in Colorado, which is a good thing. I love trying to learn a new language... though I have a tendency to say dirty things in Portuguese to people without realizing it, we'll save the details for another post.

Right now, I wish I could have it both ways. I wish I could be with my sister, her husband, and my new niece. I wish I could relax with my parents and my in-laws. I would like to eat a chic-fil-a sandwich and some good Mexican food. And I want to be living in another country, experiencing new things, and learning a new language. I am lucky to be doing one of the things on my list, but it would be great to have it all, wouldn't it?

The Hammock in Our Living Room

When we decided to move to Rio a year ago, we began researching and trying to learn about Brazilian culture. Somewhere, and I am not sure where, Jake found out that Brazilian's hang hammocks in their living rooms. We have been here six months and I have yet to see a hammock in any one's living room except the one proudly hanging in our own. As I type, Jake is trying to teach our 60 lb. boxer (Xuxa) to climb in the hammock. Xuxa just nailed him in the nuts while trying to jump in the hammock. It looks like...oh wait he is going to try again. He has the nerve to tell the dog that she is a pain and she would love sleeping in a hammock.

Jake actually got our dog to lie in the hammock and she looked happy about it. I have a good feeling about the hammock hanging in our living room. It portends good things to come. In the U.S. I never would have considered hanging a hammock in my living room, but why not? Why do our living rooms have to look a certain way? What does the "right" living room look like?

What does your living room look like? Does it represent you in some way? If some one just walked into your living room, what would they learn about you?

Here I am World

Caro World,

I have always struggled with sticking my foot in my mouth, not saying enough, and hiding too little or too much. I think the blogging world has opened the door for those of us that may never get around to writing the book that hit the bestseller list but we are just a bit too much of an exhibitionist for a diary. So here goes...

Beijos,

Andi