Robin Does Rio

Beach Culture

2009-03-09T03:42:00.000-07:00

As you probably know, the most important part of Rio is the beach. It spreads miles and miles along the stretch of the marvelous city, and it's really what makes Rio such a special place. The sand is the softest you've ever dug your toes into, and the water is so clear that you can see the school of fish as they swim past your legs. As you float in the warm water, you look around and see that you're surrounded by lush greenery and amazing mountains. There truly is nothing like it...

But what intrigues me the most about Rio's beaches is the unique culture that comes with them. First let's look at the type of people on the beach. Who surrounds you on the sand depends on which beach you're at. The beach Fred and I live on, Leme, is a laid back beach that is mostly comprised of our neighbors. Sometimes there will be people from other parts of the country, but most of the time, it's a locals' spot. Next to us is Copacabana, which is the tourist hot spot and gringo central. There is also an elderly population on this beach, as Copa tends to be where the Old Money is. Swing around Arpador and you'll get to Rio's most glamorous beach, Ipanema. This is where the hottest of the hot take in the sun. The women that make Rio famous (heck, the girl in the song WAS from Ipanema, right??) and the men that spend hours on their chiseled bodies frolick in Ipanema. And then there is Leblon, which is a family beach. Sure there are beautiful people here too, but many have their little ones in tow.

When we go to the beach in the United States, we simply find a spot we like in the sand, throw down our towels, slap on the sunscreen, and lie there. Women are careful to remove the straps of their bikinis so as to avoid tan lines, and will go as far as untying their tops while they are face down. I have seen a few women forget about this when they stand up...quite funny. We spend the day periodically rotating like rotisserie chicken to ensure that all spots get tanned equally, and when we're bored, we take out a football and start a pick up game.

In Rio, going to the beach has rules and regulations. Over the course of the 7 months I have spent here in Rio, I have learned "how" to go to the beach. So read on to see what a typical carioca does while sunning in the sand...

It's about 10am, so it's time to "schlep" the one block to our local beach :) I put on my tiny bikini and a little flowered skirt that I bought on the beach. I also put on large earrings and some chunky bracelets, as jewelry is quite fashionable on the beach. I check my beach bag to make sure it has all of its contents: I have my canga, which is a large cotton sheet that resembles a magic carpet. I would NEVER bring a towel to the beach...only gringos lie on towels. I have my frescoball racquets (the Brazilian version of Kadima), and my SPF 30 sunscreen. I take 5 Reais (about $2) to pay for the beach chair and umbrella that I'll rent for the day, and another few Reais for the Matte Leao (cold sweet tea) and Globo biscoitos that I'll buy for a snack.

My Havaianas don't do much in the way of protecting my feet from the burning hot sand as I make my way to Posto 1. We always sit in the same spot...a little to the left of the lifeguard tower. This way our friends can find us when they come to meet us on the beach. I spread my canga on my beach chair under the umbrella, and head for the water. After a few minutes, I come out and immediately go for the hair brush to get the sand and tangles out of my hair. Then, it's back to the beach chair under the umbrella until the sun weakens a bit. Around 2pm, I can spread my canga out and lie on the sand. Tan lines are VERY desirable here, so I certainly don't untie my bikini top. Of course, I reapply sunscreen, because sunburns are very UNdesirable! After about an hour and some Matte, Fred and I will play frescoball. By "play," I mean I attempt to hit the ball to him and miss completely and he runs after it.

Because I am now a Cariyorker (half Carioca, half New Yorker), I am much more comfortable in my little bikini. I look around the beach and see that women of all shapes and sizes are donning the tiniest of bathing suits. Here, women are proud of their curves. And on the beach, there is NO flirting or advances by the opposite sex. That happens later at the night club...but here, everyone is comfortable and friendly. Sure, a guy can talk to a girl to see what she's up to later, but it's very uncarioca to hit on someone while at the beach.

As the sun begins to set, we pack up our things and head back home. It's been another beautiful Rio day and I look forward to my next beach trip...which will more than likely be the very next day :)

Inca Trail - Day 4: 12/12/08

2009-03-04T15:00:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I am going to pick up where I left off...arriving at the Inca Trail. I wrote it in my journal when I reached Machu Picchu, so it's wrought with emotion :)

3:45am wake up call. 10 minute breakfast of toast and tea. All picked up and ready to roll at 4am. Our goal: to be first at the gate that opened onto the trail to the Inca mecca.

We reached the gate at 4:15am and were behind one group. Percy informed us that the trail to the last "holding pen" before Machu Picchu was narrow and each man was for himself. As he put it, "it's anyone's game!" And when the gate opened at 5:30, it was all about hauling ass to reach the top first.

As we were a rather competitive and athletic bunch, we of course decided to take all necessary measures to dominate those in front of us. The wooden gate opened (and I swear I almost heard an announcer shout, "AND THEY'RE OFF!!!!"). Naturally, our Type A personalities were not well received by the leading team. A large redheaded boy lumbered along in front of me, and as I warned him, "passing on the right," he stuck his hiking pole out to try and trip me!

Of course, in hindsight, there really was no reason for us to 1) wake up so damn early, 2) be 1st, 2nd, or even 10th in line, or 3) haul ass for 50 min to be the first at the top. As exhilarating as it was to be the first ones at the top looking down into the valley of Machu Picchu, we all had to sit and wait until 6:30 to proceed down.

As we began our descent from the top of the mountain into the misty valley, Percy pointed out where MP was situated...beneath a thick cloud cover rendering it invisible. But then an amazing thing happened. The clouds parted slightly, forming a perfectly circular opening over MP. We all stood gaping in wonder...even Percy was amazed! We were the first group down there and the ONLY ones there, which means that no other group had this miraculous experience we did. And as quickly as they opened, the clouds merged again and covered the Lost City once more.

We continued to descend into the valley where we got our first close up view of Machu Picchu. You may have seen pictures in books, watched documentaries, or seen other people's photos. But nothing can replicate the true beauty that is this Incan city. But I must admit...while it was truly amazing to finally reach our goal, for me Machu Picchu was only a small sliver of an incredible experience. The friends I made, the physical challenges I went through, and the exposure to a beautiful culture made this trip one of the most fantastic things I have ever done.

I've been a bad blogger :(

2009-03-04T14:53:00.001-08:00

So I've kept this journal since I've been in Rio. It's basically a compilation of ideas I have had for the blog...only half of which I have actually gotten around to writing about. I wish I could say it was because I was SOOOOO busy that I couldn't find time to blog. But really, as a (mostly) unemployed, beach bumming New Yorker spending 7 months in A Cidade Maravilhosa, I have no good excuse.

Now that I am leaving in less than a week, I have developed Blogger's Guilt. I've done some great things, taken some beautiful pictures, and created memories to last a lifetime...and I've deprived my devoted readers of these experiences.

In my defense, I must say that it is a ROYAL pain in the ass to upload pictures to this blog. I mean, you'd think on a Mac it would take 2 minutes instead of, like, 2o.

But, alas, I know that I will want to have this blog and these memories while they are fresh in my mind. There is so much that Rio has shown me and I want to share it with you. So, I am going to write up these posts now and be a good blogger again.

ENJOY!

The FROBIN story

2009-01-28T11:51:00.000-08:00

When I was 6 years old, I developed this fascination with Brazil. I don't know why it happened, as I had never been to the country, knew nothing about its culture, and had no Brazilian friends. My mother had taken me to a toy store to buy a doll from an International Doll collection. I immediately told her that I had to have the doll from Brazil. Of course, as a Jewish mother, she tried to convince me to the get the doll from Israel, but I held steadfast. I just HAD to have the Brazilian girl.

A few years later, I was given an assignment in school to do a research project on any country in the world. Of course, I chose Brazil. I can still remember drawing the outline of the country on the green construction paper and hoping that someday I could visit the Amazon. "What is it about Brazil?" she would ask me. And I had no answer except, "Mom, I don't know but I think it must be amazing there." I would trace the mountain ridges on my 3D globe, wondering what the beaches of Rio must be like, and how many animals were in the rainforest.

So when I told her I was going to visit Rio in October 2007, she told me, "well it's ABOUT TIME!" I laughed at her when she told me that she was sure I would come home with a love interest. But then I met Fred...

So now, 15 months later, I finally understand why I fell in love with the country: it's called "beshert." This is a word that every Jewish mother and grandmother knows, and it literally translates to "destiny." In modern day Jewish Grandma Talk, it speaks of your soulmate and the person that you were meant to be with. Falling in love with your childhood friend after reuniting 20 years later is beshert. Missing the plane and meeting your future wife while getting loaded at the airport bar is beshert. And developing a premature obsession with a country for no apparent reason and then finding your husband there is beshert.

If you've read my earlier posts, you know how Fred and I met and how we were brought closer by his near death experience. So when I moved out here, we knew we already had a strong bond that withstood the test of trauma and seemingly endless separation. But were we ready to not only live in the same country, but in the same house??

It wasn't always easy, as we were really getting to know one another VERY well VERY quickly. He hates that I forget to turn the lights off when I leave the room. It drives me crazy when his dirty socks are RIGHT NEXT to the hamper instead of in it. But over time, we have learned how to live together, how to deal with each others' moods, and when to leave the other one alone!

Before I moved to Rio, Fred asked me (over video camera on skype) if I would marry him. I laughed and said, "honey, I think you need to see if you can live with me first!" But when we decided to file the paperwork in November for our fiance visa, we thought, "well, I guess this means we're really engaged now!"

But for me, the official engagement only really happened when Fred asked my father for permission for my hand. My parents were visiting and I decided to cook a quiche (yes, I actually cook now...sort of). They came over for dinner and while we were raising our glasses for a wine toast, Fred turned to my father and said, "I really love Robin and I want to ask your permission to marry her." We had discussed previously that this was a nice tradition that some chivalrous men partake in in the US, but I didn't expect him to do it with me sitting in the room. Dad said yes, and of course, my mother and me cried!!

So now we wait...the Visa Waiting Game. There are many steps that one has to go through to finally bring his or her fiance to the US, and I'm sure you can imagine that nobody lights a fire under the government workers' asses to move quickly. We are hopeful that the first (and longest) step of the process will be completed by mid May, and then Fred can finally join me in NYC in early to mid summer. And once he is with me there, THEN the real celebrating can begin and we can toast our engagement properly!

So that's how it goes...not a "down on one knee with a huge rock and a big surprise proposal," but one that has been known between 2 people for many months and had the most important components. There's no giant rock on my finger, no big celebration at a bar with a huge group, and no talks of wedding locations and bridesmaid dresses yet. That will come later...right now, it's just 2 people very happy to have found one another and eager to begin a life together. It's beshert.

Inca Trail Day 3: 12/11/08

2009-01-10T08:30:00.000-08:00

I awoke bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to conquer the world on Day 3...until the stomach cramps hit. I was a bit sick the night before but thought I would be better after a good night's sleep. WRONG. Day 3 was the longest and I knew I had a LOT of walking a head of me. Simply put, the morning was atrocious. It was steep uphill for the first hour, and with every step, I felt the shock of contact fully through my stomach. Thankfully, as the day went on and I drank a lot of water (and took a lot of Pepto), the cramps subsided and day.

The best part of Day 3 was the ever-changing scenery and the gentle sloping of the terrain. One minute we were in the highlands overlooking snow capped mountains, then we were in the valley's forest watching a wild turkey in a tree. The less challenging terrain also allowed for a lot of individuals to bond. Because we were not huffing and puffing up steep inclines and not focusing on difficult descents, were were able to learn a lot about one another as we took in the Andean beauty. I learned all about Kevin's Polish grandparents and Charlie's Korean ancestry. Luke and Jonathan told me all about medical school in Australia, and Mark and Lindsey kept everyone laughing all day!

That night, I learned to play Asshole (the card game) and joined the crew at the campsite bar. After an intense, somewhat drunken discussion about relationships, disgusting habits, and other things new friends confide in one another, we all went to sleep and prepared for the Big Day. Day 4 was Machu Picchu...

Inca Trail - Day 2: 12/10/08

2009-01-10T01:38:00.000-08:00

Today I added a new experience to the small group of accomplishments I consider "exhilirating." Jumping out of an airplane and parachuting to the ground was exhilirating. Learning how to really attack the powder in Jackson Hole was exhilirating. And hiking a very steep trail to Dead Woman's pass (the highest point on the Inca Trail at 4201m) was exhilirating.

Our day started at 530am with a wakeup call and hot coco tea. Actually, my and Emma's began at 317am with dueling dogs barking and then a rooster who was 2 hours too early. After breakfast, we began our trek at approximately 650am. It was, for me, tough from the start; however, I kept Fred's principles in the back of my mind: positive attitude, a focus on breathing, and setting my own pace. And so it went for 7 hours. We stopped for a brief rest every 25 to 30 minutes to wait for the group stragglers to catch up (which, to my happy surprise, was never me). I have to say that as much as I appreciated the breaks, I did feel that they were often too long and broke my rhythm a bit. But, it went like this a s a "family" trekking to the 14,000 foot summit.

As we rose in altitude, my body began to feel the effects even more. My breathing became more labored, my feet began to tingle, and the muscles in my neck tightened up. But I kept on.

At last we could see our destination, and though it looked so close, at the same time it seemed like infinite steps separated me from the top. The last 600 feet were particularly brutal. The size of the stone stairs got higher; at times I was climbing steps that were as high as my knees. My lungs burned from trying to suck in as much oxygen from the thin air as I could. But as I got closer, I began to hear cheers. Fellow hikers who were already at the top and had reached their goal called out encouragements to their teammates. Every time someone reached the summit, cheers erupted.

And so, inspired by the shouts from my "family members" who were already there, I persevered. I literally bounded up the last 5 steps with a burst of adrenaline and was immediately overcome with...exhiliration. Of course, I joined in the cheers as my fellow Yellow Llamas each made it to the top, and I think the smiles on our faces say it all in the group photo! And to think...this wasn't even Machu Picchu yet!

But alas, with every high comes a low (literally) and we spent the next 90 minutes going down steep rock stairs to our campsite below. It was totally exhausting and I got hit with my first bout of altitude sickness, which made the last 30 minutes particularly unenjoyable. But alas, here I am at camp and tomorrow we will set out for Day 3. It's the longest at 20km, but not nearly as steep and rigorous. I feel ready and...exhilirated!

Inca Trail - Day 1: 12/9/08

2008-12-30T04:56:00.000-08:00

We began our journey at 9am at Km 82 - a town called Piskakuchu. From the start, the view were amazing. Hiking along the Sacred River, we were surrounded by mountains, endless fields of corn, and the little local towns. Throughout the hike, we shared the sacred pathe with Incan descendants still living in the area (and their many mules). Periodically the porters, each carrying 50-60kg of our belongings, zipped past us with their ripped calves flexing as they rapidly trekked up the path.

This first day was the "easy one." With little incline and varied terrain, it was cake compared to what was to come. We stopped frequently and our guide Percy explained to us the incredible history of his ancestors. It seemed that around every turn there were more ruins, expertly crafted by the Incas in the 1500's. We stopped for our first meal, which was cooked for us by the chef that traveled with our group. After lunch, we hiked for another 90 minutes and reached our campsite for night 1, which was nestled in a valley surrounded by green mountains (some still snowcapped, even in the summer). Our tents were set up, and the group quickly hiked over to the adjacent soccer field, where the boys proceeded to play 4 games against the village locals. Despite the altitude and obvious disadvantage of being gringoes, our team (Inca Kola) had an impressive showing and although they ultimately lost the majority of their games, they still kicked ass.

Emma and I sat on the sides to be team cheerleaders. The prospect of tomorrow's hike (which will be grueling) combined with my lack of soccer skills made sitting this one out an obvious choice. As I sat and looked around me, I tried to fully take in the beauty of my surroundings. I feel bad because the pictures will not do this place justice. The only way to truly experience the Peruvian Andes is to be encompassed by them, breathe in the fresh air, and feel the sun warm you. A simple photo only captures a few degrees of 360 degree panoramic amazement.

Now It's about dinner time and while I hiked in shorts and a T-shirt, I am now clad in a wool hat, gloves, scarf, and 3 layers of clothes. I can see my breath in the glow of my headlight and it is FRIGGIN' COLD OUT HERE! I pray that tomorrow will be ok for me and that I can maintain the positive attitude that Fred has taught me. Good Karma...and OFF I GO!

Journey on the Inca Trail

2008-12-23T06:55:00.000-08:00

Last week, I returned from Peru, which was INCREDIBLE. I met up with Emma, my favorite adventure buddy and dear Aussie friend (who moved back to Australia after our trip and I don't want to talk about it). The trip was a 2 weeks adventure in Peru. The second week was spent prancing around Lima and Cusco, and exploring the jungle (which was surprisingly mediocre). But the first week was the highlight of the trip - and certainly one of the highlights of my travel life - hiking the Inca Trail for 4 days to reach Machu Picchu.

If you haven't already done it, you MUST put it onto your to-do life list.

Since we went through GAP adventure tours, we were joined with 9 others for our excursion to Machu Picchu. And what a group we were! I could not have asked for a better crew of people to spend the week with, and it made the trip even more amazing than it would have been otherwise. Almost everyone else was from Australia, save for 3 other Americans, a guy from Ireland, and another from the UK. I have never met an Aussie that I didn't adore, and that has not changed. We all bonded quickly, and became the Yellow Llamas, the most kick-ass group to ever hit the Inca Trail

Once I arrived in Cusco (2 days before the trail), I began to keep a travel diary so that I could record exactly how I was feeling at the end of each day. So, here it is...

Cusco: 12/7/08...The Drama of Getting Here

Today we arrived in Cusco, which is the historical "hub" of Peru. After a 630 am wake-up call, which actually came at 5:10 am and made me close to pulling a Russell Crowe on the hotel front desk, we headed to the airport. After a one hour flight, we landed and Cusco...and thus the fun of altitude sickness began! Despite the fact that I am taking Sorochi tablets (Peru's version of Diamox), drinking roughly my body weight in water, and relaxing today, I am still getting my ass whooped by Team Altitude.

I have had a hard time catching my breath after 1 fight of stairs (which sucks when your hotel room is on the top floor). My breathing feels labored, even at rest, and despite the 10 gallons of moisturizer I have applied to my face and body, I am still thoroughly dehydrated. But, tomorrow is a new day and I hope to be adjusted to the altitude.

Actually, I really can't complain, as it's a minor miracle that I even made it here! You see, being a dumb and naive traveler, I didn't THOROUGHLY check the Brazilian embassy website before leaving. I knew I needed a yellow fever vaccination and I knew I needed it 10 days before hitting the Amazon (which will be 10 days into my trip). What I did not know until my friend Melissa (another American living in Rio) pointed out is that I needed the vaccination 10 days before LEAVING Brazil. If you are flying out of AND returning to Brazil, the government requires that the vaccination be fully effective before you leave the country and enter into Peru. This means a person needs to get vaccinated at the very least 10 days before the flight out of Brazil. My flight was December 5, and I had gotten the shot (and dated certificate that proved it) on Dec. 1. So, when Melissa told me on Wed night that I would likely not be allowed on my 6am flight Friday morning (the same exact thing happened to her last year), I panicked.

Thursday is a blur in my head- a day spent FREAKING out and trying to figure out a solution. Enter my incredibly stable and resourceful boyfriend, and we wound up at the Peruvian embassy in Rio. I found out that if I flew out of a different country, such as Uruguay or Argentina, I would not be asked for the yellow fever vaccination (since those countries do not require a traveler to get the vaccine before going to Peru). Alas, this meant that all I had to do was change my early morning flight from Rio-Peru, to Rio-Argentina, and then Argentina-Peru.

Armed with this advice and a credit card, I proceeded to change my flights (and dole out an extra few hundo). Sure, it was 5pm on Thursday by the time I figured it all out. Yeah it was expensive and made my travel more complicated...but guess what?! I am HERE IN PERU and nobody asked to see my damn vaccination certificate!! WOO HOO!!

Tomorrow it's off to Ollytatumbo for my last night in civilization (and my last hot shower) for the next 4 days. And then...THE INCA TRAIL...

Ilha Grande

2008-11-28T14:27:00.001-08:00

Last week, Fred andI spent a few days in Ilha Grande, which is portuguese for "big island." After hopping on a 2 hour bus ride (at 5 am), the very cranky and tired couple boarded the ferry for the 90 minute ride from Mangaratiba to Ilha Grande. The ferry dropped us off on the beach of Abrao, which is the mainland of Ilha Grande. We began our journey by hiking for about an hour to Praia Palmas, where we found a charming campsite and set up our tent. Then, it was off to hike and explore other beaches!

Ilha Grande is famous for it's incredible beaches, and each one is aesthetically unique. You can hike all around

the island, and each trek opens up onto pure paradise. Praia Maria Lopez Mendes frequently makes the magazine lists of The World's Most Beautiful Beaches due to its turquoise water, white sand, and

lucious green backdrop. Praia Palmas is

surrounded

by jagged rocks, stray dogs, and pebbly sand, and San Antonio...well, get there early on a Monday morning and you just may have a private beach all to yourself (which we DID!)

We spent the first day hiking and exploring Palmas and Maria Lopez beaches. Fred found some rocks to climb, and I consequently found some nice back muscles to take pictures of :) (see for yourself)! We hung out on the rocks, played in the sand, and decided to head back to our tent around 5 for an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT EVENT: The Flamengo futeb

ol game. Somehow, on this tiny beach waaaay in the middle of BFE, Fred found a guy with a TV who was happy to bring it to the little cabana bar and broadcast the soccer match. Sadly, Flamengo lost the game, but it was loads of fun to watch drunk-ass beach bums slur cheers for the team!

Night 1 brought tons of rain, but Day 2 started with a beautiful sunrise! We awoke and decided to hike to San Antonio beach, where for the 4 hours we spent there, we were the only people

But alas, where there was a lack of humans there was an abundance of another type of creature...THE SIRI CRAB.

Buenos Aires - Part 1

2008-11-17T02:18:00.000-08:00

Adventures in Salta, Argentina

2008-11-08T12:24:00.000-08:00

Salta is a city surrounded by mountains in the northeast part of Argentina. It came recommended to me by a friend in Bariloche, so I decided to spend 3 days exploring the mountainous region (via an organized Gap Adventures Tour) before jetting to Buenos Aires. I arrived in the charming city and was quite surprised at what I saw. Salta is kind of a mix of European and Spanish architecture, with some New York City boutique shops thrown in. Walking down any street, you will find a bodega, an empanada restaurant, a Citibank, and an adjacent high-fashion boutique (with a name like Rhapsody or Charming). Oh, and of course there’s a McDonalds, which is currently serving “cuisine prepared by the famous chef Pablo Something-Or-Other,” but thankfully, there is no Starbucks.

First let me say that my Spanish has gone to shit. Really. I have been fluent since high school – I never even had to think about speaking it came so naturally. Enter Fred and this decision to learn Portuguese, and POOF…there goes the Spanish. I guess it’s a testament to how well my Portuguese is going (and how similar the languages are) but seriously…I kept trying to talk to the guides and the locals, but all that came out was “Bom Dia” instead of “Buenos Dias,” and “Obrigada” instead of “Gracias.”

Salta is Argentina’s most Incan influenced region, and the people definitely look the part. Many are in traditional Incan dress with alpaca (similar to a llama) ponchos, and they have very Incan features – dark, straight hair, dark skin, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. If you don’t remind yourself, it’s easy to forget you’re in Argentina. One of the most remarkable things about Salta is the brilliance of the colors: the sky is SO blue, the trees are SO green, and the rocks are SO red!!

My first exploration was south of Salta to Cafayate Canyon, which was amazingly beautiful. On my tour bus were Winston and Kris, a gay couple from Amsterdam; Dieter from Germany (so cliché, right?); and Elaine from London. Throughout the 12-hour excursion, we trekked through the winding roads of this unbelievable gorge (Quebrado del Rio de las Conchas), with the strangest and most colorful rock formations I have ever seen. It was ever-changing: sometimes the rocks looked like giant candles with wax dripping down. Other times they were massive colorful plates jutting out of the ground at all different angles. But the most fascinating rock formations were the “castles,” which were eroded clay structures that looked like majestic buildings. It was truly one of the most fantastic things I have ever seen, and I really don’t think my pictures can do it justice.

After a traditional Cafayate lunch with the group and some shopping at the local markets, we visited the Nanni Winery, which was beautiful but somewhat disappointing – they say you have to look hard to find a bad Argentinian wine, but it seems I only had to look at my first winery! Who knows, maybe I’m spoiled by the California wines of Napa ;) (that’s a joke). Alas, I returned to Salta with a massive headache (likely from Elaine talking my friggin’ ear off for 12 hours…I considered using the “No Hablo Ingles” line, but by the time I thought of it, it was too late).

My second day-trip was a journey north of Salta- to Jujuy, Humahuaca, and some assorted towns/monuments along the way – defined by Gap Adventures as “a trip into the past along the Inca road.” I was informed as I got on the bus that I was the only English-speaking person on the tour that day and the rest of the group was from Italy. “Ok,” I thought, “the guide will speak in Spanish so we can all understand and it will be a good review for me.” But as we began our trek through the mountains, I was utterly dismayed to discover that I could not understand ANYTHING! I mean, I know Argentine Spanish is tricky to decipher sometimes, but this was ridiculous! So for the first hour, I gathered only words such as “mountains,” “colors,” and, of course, “McDonalds.” When we pulled over for a picture-stop, I told her that I thought her accent was so strong it sounded almost Italian to me…at which point she informed me that she HAD BEEN SPEAKING ITALIAN THE WHOLE TIME!! Hello!? Did anyone remember that there was an American on the bus, too? Is it not enough that I speak Spanish and Portuguese, people?? Both frustrated that I missed the first hour of information and very relieved that I was not as remedial as I thought, I asked her to please speak both languages on the tour. 10 minutes later, a couple from Ireland got on the bus, so the tour wound up being in English, too…

Though far less beautiful than Cafayete (except for the Seven Colors Mountain, which was gorgeous), the trip was culturally fascinating. We stopped to see some Incan ruins, present-day cemeteries (which consist of colorful tombs built on hills so the dead can be closer to heaven), and more craft markets, which all look the same after a while. I ate llama meat for lunch (surprisingly tasty), and we almost hit a wild horse in the road on the way back. But alas, the time came to leave Salta…and continue my adventures in Buenos Aires!!

My Newest Brazilian Friend...

2008-10-27T18:53:00.000-07:00

Some Interesting Facts About Brazil...

2008-10-27T13:40:00.000-07:00

We all know that Brazil is beautiful. If you didn't before, you should after seeing the pictures on my blog. Everything you hear about Brazil is true - the beaches are amazing, the mountains are majestic, and the people are as warm and welcoming as you can imagine.

But there are some things that you would not know about this beautiful country - or, specifically Rio de Janeiro - unless you've lived here. As part of my "semester abroad," I have been teaching English to Cariocas. My favorite part of the class is "free conversation," where I can talk to them about anything I want to. And this is where I learn the most about life in Rio de Janeiro. So here are some interesting facts about Rio that you may not know...

1. Voting is mandatory here for residents between 18 and 70 years of age. If you do not vote, you can be fined and/or arrested. While there is no law that applies to persons over the age of 70, many elderly Cariocas choose to vote anyway. People LOVE to talk about politics and are surprisingly informed about the upcoming presidential election in the US. And so, while 100% of eligible voters cast a ballot in Brazil, in the US 2004 presidential election, only 56.7% of those eligible actually voted. Many people are conflicted here on the law of mandatory voting...what do you think??

2. Brazil is a very energy efficient country (I think) and continues to improve on its conservation. In almost every building I have visited, hallway lighting is motion sensitive and only turns on when a person is approaching. In the subway stations, the escalators going from the train platform to the entrance level only become activated when a person steps on the first step. Otherwise, they remain motionless, which saves a lot of energy when nobody is using them. Toilets are only half full of water. There are separate trash bins for all types of materials. Unfortunately, Fernando Gabeira, who was the mayorial candidate from the "Green Party" lost yesterday to Eduardo Paes. Gabeira had plans to make Rio even "greener" than it already is, but he was defeated in the closest election in Brazilian history: 49.3% for Gabeira to 50.7% for Paes. Now if that doesn't emphasize the importance of voting, I don't know what does...

3. Brazilians never worry about terrorism. The thought of an attack on this country is far from a Carioca's mind It's amazing to live in a place where the news rarely discusses the middle east, and only briefly touches on the war in Iraq during the international news segment. Brazil has no enemies [unless you count Argentina, but that's really only during the World Cup :) ]; however, their greatest problem is a threat from within. Violence is a big problem here - of course, in America, we see films like Cidade de Deus and Tropa de Elite and we think we need bullet-proof vests just to walk out of the hotel. This is not the case, but people do need to constantly be aware of what's going on around them. Favelas (slums) CAN be dangerous, but they can also be very peaceful, like the one I am looking at right now outside of our living room window. Random robberies are certainly more common here than in the United States, and there are many areas that look benign but are actually quite dangerous. But like anywhere else, you just need to look over your shoulder and know your surroundings. It certainly helps to have a big, strong, Brazilian boyfriend who was a Jiu Jitsu student for many years by my side...

But despite the difference in the dangers that plague Cariocas and Americans, there is a common thread: how we all choose to face our fears. In America - and particularly in NYC -most people have committed to going on with their lives in a normal fashion and not living in fear everyday. We know that if we stop flying in airplanes, stop driving through tunnels, and stop using our public transportation, we are letting the terrrorists win. The same holds true here in Rio - I spoke with a woman last week who told me, "I work hard for my money and hard for this beautiful jewelry on my hands and wrists. So what am I going to do? Leave it all at home? Not wear it because I am afraid? No - I must go on with my life as normal and not live in fear or else the violence wins." I couldn't have put it better myself!

Here is a picture I am borrowing from Hayley and Ryan, who are visiting me this week in Rio! It was taken in Copacabana right along the beachfront...Can you guess who is the political favorite here in Rio??

Becoming a running beach bum...

2008-10-20T05:28:00.000-07:00

Since I got to Rio, there are 2 things that have changed ... 1) I am now running 4-5 miles, 3-4 times per week, and sometimes on the sand, and 2) I love the beach. Let's address the first change: I never thought I could become a "runner." I have tons of respect for people who do it and complete admiration for those who do marathons (GINZ!!). But I never thought I could do it. I didn't have the endurance, I hated every second of my 3 mile treadmill runs, and I could not ever comprehend what the hell a "runners' high" was...until I came here and moved 1 block from the beach. It's almost sacreligious to be living in Rio de Janeiro and not run on the beach, and being that Fred is a runner, it was even more motivating. So, I started with a simple 3 miles on the asphalt bike path next to the beach. It was exhausting - I would have to stop and walk frequently, then run until I got massive abdominal cramping in my sides. But I stuck with it. Then, once I got more comfortable with that, I transitioned to running in the sand - sometimes close to the water, other times in the soft, hot sand closer to the street. It was brutal at first (and some days, it still is), but I'm actually LIKING it! I look forward to my runs. And then, on Saturday, I finished my first 5 mile bike-path run - the entire distance of the beach from Leme to the end of Copacabana. It was pouring rain, there was nobody else on the path, and I was PSYCHED!

Now, the second change: becoming a beach bum. Until I got here, I think it was safe to say that I really did not like the beach. I hated getting sand in my bathing suit. I hated how dry my feet feel after I left the beach. But the biggest problem was this: my fear of the ocean! How, you ask, can someone who jumps out of planes, hangs off of rocks, and climbs mountains be afraid of the ocean? I wish I knew the answer, but the best one I can come up with is this: fear of what looms beneath me! I once had a patient who was a SCUBA instructor, and he told me that it was very common for type A personalities to hate the ocean. He said that it was the loss of control that made a person freak out, and Type A's are, well, control freaks. Either way, I never felt comfortable in the water. Enter Fred, beach-loving boyfriend o' mine. There was no way I could carry on like this any longer and be in a successful relationship with a Carioca. So, slowly he (and, embarassingly enough, his 11-year-old nephew) have been coaxing me into the water. Patiently, they waited until I finally felt comfortable enough to dive into waves...and now I'm hooked. When it's sunny, I want to go to the beach. When it's cloudy, I'm pissed because it's not sunny and I can't go to the beach.

Beach culture is very interesting here. I personally think it's fantastic, and I'll tell you why: women of all shapes and sizes wear tiny bikinis, and feel comfortable walking around the beach in them! Unlike in the US, curves are embraced here and women love to show them off. I have seen 70 year old grandmas in bathing suits that rival dental floss, and nobody gives them a second look. Plus, it is culturally discouraged to hit on people at the beach - so a girl can feel comfortable wearing anything she wants, and no guy is going to stare or come onto her. I think we could learn a few things from the Brazilians...

So what's the highlight of my day here in Rio? A good run on the beach followed by a jump into the ocean to cool myself off :)

Sao Paulo is sao ugly...

2008-10-15T02:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the delay in postings, kids. I wish I had a good excuse, but really it's just a matter of being lazy...So, let's pick up again, shall we? I went to Sao Paulo last weekend in an effort to get to know more parts of Brazil. Now, I should have thought twice about this when EVERY Carioca (ie, Rio inhabitant) responded to "I'm going to Sao Paulo this weekend" with "why the HELL would you do that"?? But, I figured hey, I'm a city girl and I'm sure I'll appreciate something about Sao Paulo.

So, I planned to go from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening. Fred was working out of town, so it was the perfect opportunity for me to do some solo exploring and test my Portuguese. Things got off to a great start as I got FREE food on the plane AND a newspaper! HELLO! Do we EVER get this anymore in the US?

The quick 1-hour flight put me in my hotel at around 1230, and I was ready to begin my discovery of the city so hated by all Cariocas. Using my Lonely Planet book, I did a 3 hour walking tour, which was painfully boring, and I discovered this: Sao Paulo is a crumbling, ugly city with haphazard parks throw in just so people can say, "oh yes, we have greenery here, too!" I don't think my pictures do it justice (which I don't mean in a good way). Finding nothing appealing about the idea of spending another 2 days in Sao Paulo, I changed my flight to the following afternoon. On Friday night, I went to dinner at a fabulous restaurant (if you're there, you must try it: www.gostodebrasil.com.br/inicio.php) and was tempted to go for a brew at the bar up the street. But, alas I decided that meandering around Sao Paulo solo was not the safest option, so I retired back to the Blue Tree Paulista for the night.

I woke up the next morning early, with the intention of hitting the famous MASP (Museu de Arte de Sao Paulo), but then heard there were great Brazilian designer jeans at the mall near my hotel. FYI, ladies, Brazilian jeans are specially designed (via proper shading, beaded patterns on the pockets, etc) to make your ass look like a million bucks - where America is obsessed with breasts, Brazil is butt-country. I figured that this was WAY more important than Picasso, and I headed to the Iguatemi mall. Plus, the dollar was at 2.30, so how could I NOT go shopping??
2 pairs of fabulous jeans later, I left Sao Paulo and headed for the airport.

It was an...interesting 2 days. I think Sao Paulo is great if you 1) are gay and want a really great gay scene or 2) are REALLY into eating and shopping, and that's pretty much it. If you happen to hit Brazil, I'd skip Sao Paulo...your time is much better spent on the beaches of Rio :)

Arno's Place...

2008-10-01T19:47:00.000-07:00

Tonight we went to Arno's Place. We go to Arno's Place every Monday and Wednesday. I arrive full of energy and anticipation and leave roughly 2 hours later barely able to walk out of there.

What is Arno's Place? Well, you may think it's a bar...but it's certainly not. Arno is Fred's friend - he's a biologist who works with Fred and lives nearby in Rio. And in his apartment, he has a climbing wall. Yes, in his apartment. It's not a fancy place at all, mind you, but Arno has successfully built an 8-foot by 12-foot climbing wall contraption that KICKS MY ASS EVERY TIME.

The wall is angled so that you are always hanging off - 100% negative all the time. For you climbers, the easiest route (the "warm-up" for everyone but me) is a 5.10b. The goal at Arno's Place is to do as many climbing moves as you can - because the wall is short, you move up, then to the left, then to the right, then down, then back up, etc. Arno has developed about 20 routes that range in difficulty from said "warm-up" to 5.14's.

So, as I said, we go to Arno's Place on Mondays and Wednesdays. So far, I'm very much enjoying it (though my hands are becoming quite calloused and I need to keep in mind that I use them for my JOB). But, I have to confess, there is a part of it that I REALLY love! You see, I'm the only girl there. They've tried to recruit women, but apparently nobody is comfortable enough to climb with the boys, and the few that have tried have given up. Sad, sad, sad, ladies! Do you know what you are missing??? 7 rock climber men with AMAZING backs all climbing with no shirts on while I sit behind them and watch for 2 hours!! I'm serious - this is what I get to do 2x per week and my boyfriend encourages it!

I'm going to bring my camera next week so I can post some pics of the back -er, the wall. It's really cool...ok, off to ice my fingers. You think I'm kidding?

Capoeira in Paraty

2008-09-27T10:21:00.000-07:00

Weekend in Paraty

2008-09-27T09:09:00.000-07:00

Today is Fred's birthday (Parabens, Benzinho!) so we went to Paraty last weekend to celebrate. Paraty is a quaint and incredibly charming fishing town about 4 hours from Rio. Yes, it's a hike
but the drive is so amazingly beautiful that it only adds to the pleasure of the trip. A highlight for me was re-learning how to drive a stick shift after 12 years- props to Fred for not having a heart attack during the first hour of my driving! We stayed at a pousada that Dana and I had stayed at last year when we were here - check it out at http://www.urquijo.com.br. And of course, I made friends with the local cat, Violeta.

Aside from eating tons of amazing seafood (which is what Paraty is known for...obviously. It's a fishing town) we rented a boat for the day on Saturday and went island hopping. Our captain was a friendly, if not annoyingly talkative, chap who gave us the history of Paraty and it's surrounding islands throughout the ride. We were lucky enough to see an endangered monkey, the Titi Leon Dorado, which was one of the most beautiful animals I've ever seen. The picture does not do it justice, but it has this gorgeous yellow-orange coat with a black tail and a mane like a lion. On Saturday night while meandering the cobblestone streets, we happened upon a capoeira show...and I fell in love. If you have never seen capoeira, please put it on your to-do-immediately list. Believe it or not, you can actually find it in NYC. It's like the Tae-Kwon-Do of Brazil - every kid takes capoeira lessons at some point. It's a playful, beautiful, graceful sport and I was in awe, especially when HUGE men got out onto the floor and turned into graceful, fluid dancers. I'll post a video so you can see for yourselves...

Sunday was rainy, so we walked around town a bit and then went to the local beach. Fred taught me how to play Fresco Ball, which is a beach game involving a ball and 2 wooden paddles. Strangely enough, there seemed to be a large hole in my paddle, and the ball kept going through it! The weirdest part about this is that in high school, when I took tennis with Ms. Hill in Phys-Ed, my tennis racquet also had a hole in it!! I guess I just have bad luck with racquet sports... :)

And we headed back to Rio on Sunday night (this time with me driving much, much better...)

Why I am Here...

2008-09-23T03:44:00.000-07:00

So, I am very happy to report that friends from all parts of my life are reading my blog (thank you facebook)! An old friend requested more information regarding why I am here in Rio...who is this guy? Why is he so great? What made you move to Rio for him? So, in this post, I'll explain. If you already know the riveting story, you can enjoy the gory details again. If not, here they are:

I met Fred last October when I was rock climbing here in Rio de Janeiro. He was recommended to me by a travel agent, so I hired him to be my guide. Of course, as soon as I got out of the taxi at the base of Pao de Acucar mountain, I noticed that he was quite cute! But over the course of the climb, I developed a little crush on him, and when he shared his apple with me, I knew it was love. Right before we got to the top, he asked me if I wanted to go samba dancing with him the next night (my last night in Rio), and of course I obliged. A funny sidenote- when he asked me if I was in Rio alone, I told him that I was there with a girlfriend (holla DG!!) - he thought I was a lesbian for the first few hours. Girls do not refer to their female friends as girlfriends here!

So, we went out the next night and had a total blast! I met all of his friends, drank somewhere between 2 and 30 caipirinhas, and attempted to samba with him (though I think much of the time it was a pee-pee dance in an effort not to "break the seal.") Anyway, we had an amazing time together and when I left to come back to NYC the next day, I had Fred on the brain. We began to exchange emails, then progressed to Skype (video IM, for those of you who are still in a vacuum and don't know Skype), and then decided to plan an amazing New Years getaway. We would meet in Monterrey, Mexico and after a few days there, go to Potrero Chico, the mecca of all rock climbing. It would be tons of fun, with no future committment because we lived so far away from each other.

On Christmas day, I left for Mexico and when I arrived in the airport and saw Fred waiting for me, my heart started beating a mile a minute! We spent the next 3 days in Monterrey, getting to know each other a little better (and taking photos of ourselves making obscene gestures with the artistic statues all over the city). We left for Potrero, ready to have the climbing adventure of our lives. On the third day of climbing, Fred was ahead of me leading a route, and I was belaying him when disaster struck. Here is the email I sent to everyone on January 2, 2008:

"I spent my New Years Eve in Mexico this year. The plan was to be in Potrero Chico, a rock climbing mecca, riding a mechanical bull and throwing back Coronas with Fred, my adorable Brazilian climbing partner. Instead, I spent the big night in the Sheraton Ambassador Hotel in Monterrey drinking hot chocolate, watching the Tom and Jerry cartoon marathon, and playing Florence Nightingale (and not in the sexy way)...

On December 30th, Fred and I were climbing an amazing route called Dope Ninja. It was a 6 pitch climb with a really cool variety of difficult and technical moves. At the top of the 4th pitch (roughly 250 feet off of the ground), I anchored myself in and Fred unclipped his anchor, prepared to lead-climb the next pitch. For you non-climbers, this requires me to stand on the ledge and feed him rope as he goes up and gets the route ready for me to climb after him.

He climbed about 10 feet and went over a protruding rock face, where he was no longer visible to me. No big deal- this happens all the time in climbing and partners communicate with one another via loud screams or pre-planned tugs on the rope to signal different things. I was enjoying the scenery around me and waiting for him to tug the rope 3x to tell me he was ready for me to start climbing.

All of a sudden, I felt a violent pull on the rope as the slack slipped through my hands. Instinctively, I "locked down" by pulling the rope downwards and behind my back. This allowed me to catch him and keep him from falling. He let out a terrified shriek and because we were in a canyon, it reverberated off of the rock and filled the air like surround-sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that looked like a body go flying past me and tumble into the canyon. Horrified, I decided that Fred's equipment had malfunctioned and he had fallen off the rock face. Or, a boulder had fallen onto him and severed his rope, sending him barreling down.

Hysterically, I started screaming for him. I was completely by myself and there was nobody around. I had to stay in the locked-down position or else the rope would go loose and he would fall. I still felt weight on my rope, so I thought there was a chance that he was still attached and it wasn't his body that I saw flying past me. However, the rope was not moving, so I was fairly certain that if he was still tied in, he was dead. I kept calling him over and over again, asking if he was ok, and got no answer. It was windy, so I had a hard time hearing anything, but finally I got an answer: "No, I am not ok." After what seemed like hours, I finally felt him moving on the rope and he started to climb back down. Somehow, I slowly lowered him down to me, and realized what had happened: as he was climbing up, he had attempted to hoist himself up onto a giant boulder. However, the boulder was loose, and he succeeded in pulling the rock out and directly onto his head. It slammed into his face as he fell and then the small-car-sized rock fell into the canyon. That was what I saw go flying past me.

His face was an absolute bloody mess and he couldn't move his left arm. I will spare all of the gory details but suffice it to say that if I was not in the medical field, I would have passed out looking at him. He was completely out of it and his eyes, almost swollen shut already, kept rolling back into his head. I had to keep grabbing his head and telling him to stay with me, to focus on helping me get him down. Fortunately, he was coherent enough to guide me through tying the knots and preparing his rappel. After he was tied in, he slowly began to lower himself down and once again, he dropped out of my sight. I had no idea if he was actually moving down or just hanging on the rope - I was still convinced that he would go into shock and pass out or die from blood loss on the way down. Due to the short leash that was anchoring me to the rock, I was able to lean out only far enough to see 3 climbers about 100 feet below us. I screamed to them to help him. Unbeknownst to me, he was so disoriented that he had veered way to the right and was lowering himself completely off of the route. Thankfully, they heard me, took one look at him, and immediately began to ascend to help him.

As for me, I was stuck on the ledge and starting to panic. Having learned the proper way to rappel myself down only the day before, I was not too confident in my ability to do it safely on such a steep and uneven rock face. And, since he was in the ambulance, there was nobody on the other end of the rope to control the rope should my rappel fail. Furthermore, even though he was off the rope and in the ambulance, the rope was still taught and appeared to be tangled in some trees.

Out of nowhere, this amazing girl climbed down from above and told me she and her partner had seen the boulder fall and they were there to help me. I broke down and started sobbing with relief. We watched from the ledge as - after what seemed like hours - Fred finally was helped to the ground and put into a waiting ambulance. And after another hour, I was back on the ground and on my way to the hospital.

Fred suffered several fractures in the frontal lobe of his skull (or, as he told me, "baby, I broke my brain"), a severely broken nose, fractured right eye socket, and needed 50 stitches in his face to close up all of the wounds. His shoulder is not fractured, but I think he may have done some damage to the rotator cuff. But otherwise, he is miraculously ok and he returned to Brazil yesterday to undergo facial surgery today.

I spent my New Year's Eve in the hotel room taking care of him, cleaning his wounds, and giving him medicine. As I helped him into a bath, he broke down and started sobbing. I asked him why he was crying and he said, "Because I am alive. Because I felt myself falling and thought there was no way you were going to catch me. I am so heavy and I had the boulder on top of me. I was falling and was sure I was dying. But you saved my life and you caught me - you are my angel and my hero." Obviously I started crying too, as the magnitude of it all really hit me.

So despite the fact that Tom and Jerry replaced the mechanical bull, it was a damn good New Years Eve. I think there was a lot to celebrate."

After that, our relationship went into high gear, and we spoke everyday, at least once per day. I went back to Brazil 3 times to visit him, and decided to finally do my "semester abroad" in Rio from August - February! Fred is doing much better, though he will have his final (of 4) facial surgeries in a few weeks. His nose still looks like he was in a bad fight, and he needs some titanium plates to repair fractures that didn't heal. But hey, where else are you going to find better plastic surgeons than in Rio????

Redecorating the Living Room

2008-09-16T14:38:00.000-07:00

Today Fred and I decided to finally hang up our pictures in the apartment. Lucky for me, he is quite handy with tools (and I fell over the toolbox twice and knocked a wooden horse statue off of the shelf three times... so there you go).

The blinds in our living room are beige and dirty - Fred bought new blinds to hang up instead, but we haven't gotten around to hiring someone to do it. So, he had a brilliant idea - we should just spray paint the blinds we already have to cover the dirt! Two minutes later he emerged from his back office carrying "amarello sunrise" spray paint and away he went. Needless to say, it was horrendous and instead of being plain dirty, it now looked like Big Bird had vomited all over the blinds.

Deciding that this was a really bad idea, we realized we had no alternative but to move forward. So here's how we redid the blinds in our living room...oh, and we also hung up a fingerboard over our bedroom door to help strengthen our hands for climbing!! Tomorrow, we are going to buy black spray paint for the blinds...stay tuned for more excitement.

Today...

2008-09-11T15:47:00.000-07:00

I am just happy to be healthy, alive, and able to enjoy this amazing life adventure in Rio.

Living in Leme...

2008-09-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

Corey left so now it's back to "normal daily life" here in Rio. I want to use this post to tell you a little bit about where I live. We are in Leme, which is the neighborhood bordered by Copacabana and Botafogo. If we were to do a comparison to NYC, it's kind of like living on the Upper East Side. It's far removed from the craziness of Centro (Midtown), not as swanky as Impanema (Tribeca) and not touristy like Copacabana (Times Square). It's quiet, has a lot of families, and is a beautiful place to come home to at the end of the day.

Our apartment is in a quaint elevator/ doorman building on a tree-lined street. As I type this, Fred is working hard to organize the place and get our pictures/ mirrors hung up on the wall. Once we're done decorating, I'll post some pictures! Our doormen are all "Paraibas," which means they are from a northern state in Brazil. According to Fred, the Paraiba is Rio's version of a guido. Our Paraiba doormen have frosted hair, like funk music, sport unilateral earrings, and speak with an accent that is completely unintelligible to me. So I THINK they're nice...but I don't really know what the hell they say to me when I come and go, so who knows???

Right around the corner is the best acai place in Rio. I'm sure of it. For those who don't know what acai is, check out this link: www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acai. It's a fruit and it tastes like chocolate...seriously, it does. Don't ask me how God created such a food, but PRAISE HIM for doing so.

My gym is a sh*thole and costs 2x as much as I pay for the NYSC. But, it's the only gym in the area and it's right around the corner. Almost everyone at the gym is middle-aged, and most people have no idea how to work out. If I was licensed to practice PT here, I would be handing out business cards left and right. On the bright side, I have a new trainer friend at the gym named Fabio (though sadly, he doesn't look as hot as his name suggests he might).

My class is pretty good. The building is in Copacabana and is easy to get to (a 30 minute commute). There are 3 other students in my class: Claire, a cool girl from Amsterdam here for 3 years because her husband got a job in Rio; Hugo, a gay Parisian who is on sabatacle from his high-powered CEO job; and Arthur, a gay New Yorker who, unfortunately, is SO weird and withdrawn that we can't even celebrate our common Big-Apple-ness together.

So that's basic life here in Leme! It's a rainy day today and I just taught my first private lesson to Fred's best friend, Jose. I have some work to do - knowing how to speak English does not an English teacher make!!

Flamengo Scores a Goal at Maracana!!!

2008-09-06T17:25:00.000-07:00

Here's a little clip of Fred and me at the "jogo de futebol" last weekend!

Getting Settled...

2008-09-05T10:28:00.000-07:00

So I've been here a little over 3 weeks and things are finally starting to get on track. I started my Portuguese Level 2 class last week at Ibeu (a language school), got my first 2 students with whom I will do private English classes (Fred's 2 best friends) and may have landed a gig recording soundtracks for an English language school ("The boy is running." "The dog is playing." "The gringa is on the beach in a micro-bikini drinking caipirinhas." That kind of thing... ).

My sister Corey has been here this past week, so we got to do a whole bunch of tourist things (again). On Sunday, we went to the Fla-Flu futebol game. There is a huge rivalry between Flamengo and Fluminese, 2 of the 4 futebol teams in Rio. Fred (and by default, myself and Corey) are Flamengo fans. Fred's best friend Jose is Fluminese. So it's a big deal for all of us. Now, being a Michigan Wolverine, I am well aware of the emotional investment that one makes when rooting for a team. So, it came as no surprise to me when Fred (and the entire stadium, for that matter) went ballistic whenever a team scored a goal. Fireworks, smoke, singing, dancing...things we boring Americans can only dream about at our sporting events. Ok, I know, Yankees games are "really exciting," but really, we could use a dose of Brazilian Fanfare at our venues.

We did some other things like take a van to see Christ the Redeemer (not the same as climbing up the side of the mountain and charging through the jungle-like brush to emerge at the base of Jesus, but still fun), hiking the trail up Pão de Acúcar to the summit for sunset, and going out with Fred and company to the 80's dance club, Casa de Matriz last night. She is leaving tomorrow and I'm sad- it's nice to have her here to do things with.

So that's kind of the recap for this week. Now that the blog is up and running, I'll do frequent posts with more details about my daily life here. So far, so good...