Flying Shoes

I resolved to submerge myself into Sao Paulo last Friday. Only the tip has been moistened, but gee, I sure do feel wet. 

You know, like being at a lake or something. 

I can't help but chuckle. It was the way I was raised all right?

I walk more than I breathe (mainly cause there seems to always be a cigarette hanging out of my mouth nowadays). Mainly because the city is damn big, I have many places to go, cabs are unrealistic, and in many cases, so are buses. Buses are real but unrealistic to travel on, ya dig?

Friday I found myself texting every single person on my contact list. It reminded me of the good ol' days in LexVEG looking for you know what (how's that for censorship? I say this in good humor Pops).

The Americans have adopted the Brazilian M.O. folks. It was midnight by the time I left my house. We procured (the Portuguese word for "look for" is procurar...but I guess the meanings differ a bit) and encountered (again, "find" is encontrar) a great spot--Ze Presidente. A really neat little bohemian bar, with a few rooms and subterranean chill lighting (subterranean chill--my new energy drink line), but the highlight was the band. At the bottom of the cave stood a stage. And on that stage stood a beautiful woman swaying her body and slurping up and sighing into the microphone Morrison style accompanied by her raggle taggle band of heart and soul Jimmys. 

http://www.myspace.com/barbaraeugenia                                         check it

Rock, blues, samba, island....a danceable sort of tunage. The highlight of my night. Closely followed by street hot dog (pronounced "hoche doggee," a close relative of the "chees bourger") consumption after the show. Here, they really do hot dogs folks. Dog, bun, corn, fried taters, mashed taters, mustard, ketchup, mayo, hot sauce...some other sauce....yeah. The real deal. It was delicious and disgusting only at 4 AM.

A Sao Paulo dysfunctionality: bars close at 7. AM. Trains and buses stop at midnight and don't open again til 5. WHAT IS THE PROBLEM HERE FOLKS? Drunk driving is rampant in this city. I have heard people here talking about how they didn't get home til 6 cause they wanted to be out til 2 (people don't even go out til midnight) but didn't wanna walk the hour home or pay 30 reais for a taxi so they just waited til the buses came. I scoffed and thought "ha. That'll never be me." 


On Friday it was.


But. I didn't even leave the bar til almost 4. So, you know, it all worked out well. I was waiting for the bus to come. Suddenly this woman comes up. Maybe in her 70s. You may have heard me speak of angels in my life. Especially while traveling. She was one. 


She lit my way to the Metro, and on the way, we talked about politics, people, drugs--all the things you talk about when you first meet someone. We said goodbye, and both went our separate ways. But when we got down to the platform, we encountered again. There was a track dividing us--we had opposite destinations. Not a word was spoken. We stared. Just looked at each other. And smiled. For minutes and minutes we did this. We couldn't take our eyes off each other. It was extremely intense. I got on the train and kept staring as I left. Such a deep unspoken connection was there. I will never see her again.


We are all humans, guys. We all have this! We can all do this! We share a common love! We can connect with strangers! It is within us all!


Saturday met me with more opportunities. Headed to Praca Benedito--a mighty open air market in Pinheiros. They had everything. Just a huge flea market. Pretty impressive. Really neat vibe goin on there. 



So. Because we are 55, we tend to travel in large groups, averaging 10-15. This is completely dysfunctional. It is silly to expect that we will all end up the same place at the same time. But we consistently do. People disagree--I know, it is nutso. I have turned this over. Completely let go. And decided to stick with a small group and do our own thing. 

After the market, we decided we wanted to get to Bixiga, or "little Italy." We left with 10 people. Like everything, it took around 2 hours to get there, and there were a few miles of walking coupled with buses and trains involved. But we got there. And it was not spectacular. But the spectacular thing is just walking around inside this massive hyperventilating organism.

Sunday was even busier. Got to 2 museums--Museu de Lingua Portuguesa and Pinacoteca. The first one was so-so, I am more of a fan of art than words, unless the words are art. Linguistics is extremely interesting. But yesterday I just was not feeling it. So we hit up the Pino. And boy, it was spectacular. I felt nourished by this art. Reminded me of Bilbao. 

                                             

The next expedition was for Parque Ibirapuerra. We get this destination in mind, and although it takes hours to get there, we gotta get there!!! So, again, 15 of us set out, and I think we all made it, but at very different times and in very different places. The park was nice. A nice green area. Relaxing was had. We were very voyeuristic. 

The evening entailed my much sought after pouch of “tobacco para enrolar” YES! great friendship and conversation and futebol in a small cafe. Only to be followed by sweat (its a sacrifice we make to keep the bugs and the city noise out by keeping the windows closed) and music sharing. 

These days I am passing through the city for 12 hours straight. Just go time. And it has quenched that thirst to get out. Tonight will be so relaxing and home oriented you won't even believe it. 

There you have it. A completely uninteresting and newsy blog post. Not much about real things. Just tangible ones. 

What's going on inside? Well--let's just say it resembles feijoada. 

Tchau gente.

Welcome Home, Sampa

One does not realize how widely read they are until they start getting messages from people they do not know. A great reason to be less censored. Complimentary sentiments must be appreciated and ignored thank you.

Hello, blog. It has been awhile since I've entered your impressionable vulva with my figurative pen.  What matters more? The author's thought or the reader's interpretation? A hermeneutical question for Ricoeur, not completely without a doubt. Either way, there is an initial awkward stage in the re-acquaintance between my mind/"pen" and your hearts/vulva. A traditional Brazilian icebreaker will suffice.

What football team do you like? 

No, no. Not good enough. How about a joke to ease myself back into you, a joke that will segue nicely into the tales of our week apart.

I learned a lot at the beach last weekend. Aside from things that not even the growing circulation of my pen and its thrusts could allow me to disclose, words came to light. The only thing I heard more than "quemado" (referring to the bright vermilion of my shoulders) was "tranquilo"--and you can only infer what that means. 

(case in point)



By the way, I am talking to YOU now. 



Its only a joke if its funny though, right? Well then.

The beach. What is there to say? It was a beautiful beach. Physically absolutely stunning.  

And the vibe. Oh that beach vibe. Let's just say this: it ain't no Sao Paulo folks. 

Why elaborate on details? We did what people do on the beach. We tanned. We swam. We walked on rocks. We had BBQs. We hung out with people. We played music. We languished in tranquility. Mostly, anyway. I refer to a pall of misery for everyone involved that need not nor could not be reckoned with on such an interface. (if you think this refers to you it might) 



I would like to call one event in particular to the attention of the people. They call it "Luau." As they say, when in Brazil, do as the Hawaiians do. 

Man, the city is harsh. It is like a tundra. A tundra with millions of discombobulated buses. I have resumed my smokestack status--reading about Jerry gives me chills, but then again, I am not a genius rockstar junkie either--(well, the beach environment caused me to pick it up again...or no, being in the subway station just thinking about getting to the beach was really my bane...) it just feels so goddamned fitting in the midst of this squalor. Like I can add to the filth of the environment by emitting fumes of my own, and assimilate better by fumigating my own self (though this type of fumigation does not kill roaches. It kills bronchi and relaxes minds. And makes one look cool, but we all knew that). Of course I could relish in being the only clean thing in this tangle of asphalt and steel. A beaming beacon emanating light. Nah. 

You know, I love traveling. I really do. I like to see myself as this prolific Sagittarian travl'r. But you know what, folks? I really love home as well. Being settled. 

I am not making the most of my experience here. I get up, go to class, do stuff on the internet, go home. I am having a good time doing this thing. I am playing so much music. Reading so much. Writing so much. I generally don't want to go out and explore the city. Go to a club, bar? Nah. Walk around? Eh. But you know what--this is me being an isolationist.  Yeah, I am in a healthy routine.  But I am going to go out of my way to be here in Brazil. (if you think this refers to you it don't)

I feel like I am in limbo. Sao Paulo is cool for a little while. But it suffocates me. Sao Paulo esta me atrapalhando. A perfect word for it in Portuguese--I can't really think of a good translation in English. Even these suggestions from Google Translate do not really get the sentiment:

1. disturb
2. confuse
3. muddle
4. embarrass
5. obscure
6. rattle
7. perplex
8. flurry
9. puzzle
10. mix up
11. abash
12. nonplus
13. discountenance

Just waiting for Bahia. Gotta get there. 

I am doing well in many ways--growing, learning, and just simply having a great time. But in some ways, I am torn up, devastated--who I am sometimes makes butter out of my inside (through churning, ne?). I was talking with a good friend about being out of step with the world. I think it is my destiny. I brush my teeth on the bus, put my cigarette butts in my pocket, and eat fruit off the ground. It is normal that these abnormalities, among other things, might cause some torture. 

But hey. Life is only good if life is tough. And people, life is both. I am happy and sad and many things more. This is positive knowledge people.

For me? Yes, friends, time to do what I do every day. Smoke a butt, listen to the Grateful Dead, and walk to my bus stop. I have Brazil to behold. So behold it. And relish in its minced pickle finery.

And so after an extremely long ejaculation, your vulva with its soothing heartbeat curls around my resting and satiated pen. The mind continues to gurgle and spew, and there the matter rests. 

 

 

Pensando

Thinking a lot about my life, things and people in it. 

I feel pensive and unwise. 

What is real? 

An uneasy but extremely calming and satiating state. 

This weekend at the beach will serve as an extremely beneficial and introspective vacation from things. Can't try too hard though. And no expectations, right?

Gotta jibboo. 

Weather, Football, and Saudade

You know you are feeling sentimental when you are sitting in a street cafe in sunny Sao Paulo and listening to Bob Dylan's Christmas album. 

I miss Charlottesville. My house. Those chilly evenings, with a blazing fire, eating lots of delicious food--my friends. Today I have felt out of place. Like I belong in the cold mountains of the American South and I couldn't be further from that right now. 

Good moments intermingling with difficult ones. As it should be. 

A word on the weather: here, in the rainy season (which we are in right now), the days will start out extremely hot and sunny. And then around 2 or 3 in the afternoon, the sky just explodes. Monsoon style. Thunder, lightning, torrential rains...and it lasts about 30 minutes. Then the climate is all nice and wet and fresh and cool--and the sun returns, and the evenings are a perfect 70-75 degrees. 


Last night a few of us guys went out to a football match.

It was incredible to be there, really something to see. This was unsaid amongst us, but I felt it, and I think the other guys did too: we gringoes have this notion of soccer in Latin America. Or anywhere besides the States for that matter. We thought it was gonna be a fucking nutshow. Packed with millions, people screaming, kicking, combusting, etc. Maybe it usually is like this--however, it is still the beginning of the season, and the stadium last night was practically empty. 

It wasn't the craziness we expected. Nobody blew up. But the scene was explosive. Completely different from sports in the States (I try not to say "America" anymore, because I am in America, just South America). No big scoreboards or screens or ads or bullshit. Just a huge field and guys playing. But here is the best part: soccer hooligans really do exist. There is a big percussion section that plays CONSTANTLY. And there are probably 10 or 12 different chants that just organically spring out of the beat. The chanting is constant. Nobody stops cheering. Really something to behold. 

(will insert video when I have more time because it takes forever to upload)

Needless to say, I did not chegar a minha casa (I love inserting Portuguese words into English sentences) until 2:30, feeling tired and delighted and dreading the moment of my clattering alarm just 4 short hours down the road. Well, this moment occurred--and I tried to get up. I really did. I probably could have. But I made the conscious choice to sleep through class. I have been so sleep deprived here--there is no way I would have been able to stay awake. There is a point where it is physically impossible.


Every night I dream deeply, and I am right in the middle of a dream when my alarm goes off and I completely forget it. It is very frustrating. This morning, when I re-awoke at 10:30, I remembered my dream, but it was a difficult dream (although I did learn something extremely essential to my state of being from it. This notation is more worthy than the parenthetical treatment it is receiving--and my commenting on it completely negates the intended subtlety (hence the parentheses, which I should now change to brackets)]. I felt guilty and irresponsible for choosing to go to a soccer game over going to class. Am I too "good"? I am in Brazil, after all....

(not that that has anything to do with it--and yes, this tidbit is not consequential enough to receive anything more than the lowly parenthetical status I bestow upon it)

My host mom was upset (she woke up at 6 to make me breakfast...I parenthete to minimize the severity of this situation but it is a delusional way to make me feel better), and worried, and it just was a bad scene all around. Getting on the bus and hearing Jerry's sweet serenades cheered me up a bit, and seeing people did too. My impulse is to isolate. I was gonna see a movie and listen to some sad Townes maybe and maybe cry a little and reject humans. But humans feed me. 

I have no regrets. I learn. And this time, it won't take me twice.  
 

Time for this cannibal to beat it on down the line. Check it.

Grateful for the bad things especially

Yesterday was an interesting day and I learned a lot. 

Mostly, it was difficult. Exhaustion is epidemic among American exchange students in Brasil and I am no exception. So are generalizations. 

Everything seemed to be dragging. Brazil lacked luster yesterday. THIS incredibly small but huge part of it did anyways. 

For a moment, everything worked out perfectly. After desperately searching for meetings and how to get to one, I found one pertinho (real close) to my house--and it happens 7 days a week, and early too, at 1800. I took this not as a stroke of luck but as a result of my prayers the day before. 

I had time planned for my recovery. A glorious feeling itself. After spending an hour and half at "a secret location" (if I disclose this information here surprises will be ruined), I was so spent, and I had my laptop on me, and I just wanted to get home and drop it off and then figure out what to do. Time was running out though....

However. Gracas a Deus, my bus, the exact bus I needed, passed right by me. Again, Gracas a Deus, it hit a red light. My sprinting skills are still intact, even in sandals and with a heavy load. Got that bus. Had about a million people on it, but I got it. 

Then came the rains. Floods. 40 minutes and 40 seconds. Our ark brought us to salvation--to a figurative state and literal place of regeneration.  

I arrived at another beautiful church with 1 minute to spare. The welcome I received was...I can't even describe it....it just made me feel wonderful. Here I am. A recovering American drug addict in Brazil. Away  from my system. And here I am. Finding my system again. The same guys and girls. The same basic text. The same keytags. I just felt at home. 

Yes--it was frustrating, a bit, because I could not understand a lot that people were saying. A lot of slang and fast talking. But I got the sentimentos. I could relate. Feel it. Yeah. 

Got a Portuguese basic text and some phone numbers. 

As I left, and later on as I was doing some writing, I realized: I am not as open-minded as I think I am. Or willing. Or humble. I have my own ways, beliefs; I don't want to change them and I think they are the best. But people--I am just a person too. A small person. But an important person. I am responsible, in society. 

It was just a really humbling experience. To feel this way--this one small person walking down the street in a huge world, completely open, and completely powerful. 

I was griping about my difficulties of my day to myself. But by the end of it I was more grateful for the day's difficulties than the day's fruits. Because I am not on a cloud. Life is real. Brazil is wonderful and difficult. So is Virginia, and Boston. I have a hunch everywhere is. I feel the balance of a daily routine set in, and I feel healthy. 

When I got home, I talked with Tia Eleanor for a long time, an hour maybe. I told her that I am an addict and that I was at a meeting. She asked me how I knew. I told her I had help from a woman who loves me very much. Of course--this led to the necessary dropping of the age card (Oh--is she the same girl on your calendar? No, that is her daughter....)--but folks, Tia No is wonderful. It is a difficult conversation to have in English, let alone Portuguese--addiction and age differences--because there is the pervasive worry that the explicee will judge. But she took it with an open mind and open heart. We talked for awhile. I told her I think that honesty is the best way to go and I think she is great and I am really grateful for her--she told me I am a good boy. Then we watched Law and Order (made me miss you, Mom). I fell asleep feeling extremely content. Not just happy. Filled up and calm.

Sigh. I am going to go for a descansinho (my favorite word--literally meaning "little rest," but in popular usage, simply a nap) now before the FOOTBALL GAME tonight. I don't even know who is playing. But I am ready to go nuts! 

Tchau amigos. Beijos para voces.

(thumbs up)

Gimme that ol' time religion.....

Yesterday I wandered down to Praca de Se--the center.

It was a small adventure getting there--this is how I get around around: I ask someone how to get there. I don't understand what they say completely because place names are hard, but I get a general direction. I walk in that direction for a few hundred meters....and then ask the next person. And so on and so on. A slightly inefficient but extremely effective system.

Praca de Se has an cathedral.

                             

Inside there were hundreds of people praying. On a Monday afternoon. I have never seen anything like this before. You know that I do not adhere to any religion in particular (especially not Catholicism...)but I was incredibly moved to bow my head and talk to the genderless being I choose to call God. So I did. 

It was all very powerful and striking.

Not Beginning Anymore

So--that "disaster?" Yeah. I am a wimp.

First of all--it has been an extremely liberating experience so far not having internet in my house. I read more. I play more music. I go out and see people more. Second, there is free fast internet at school. A place I am at everyday. And now. Que bom!

Speaking of that whole "school" thing--yeah. Right. Getting up at 6 this morning for an 8 o clock class reminded me that I am not on vacation. And let me tell you why I thought I was this weekend: 

Saturday's magic incited a monumental shift in my mindset. My man big A has a man who has a woman. 

Whoa whoa whoa. I am getting ahead of myself. My man big A has a man who has a man. He--who--scooped us....wait. No no no. Still talking too fast. 

We are chilling at my man's house--the man who my man big A has. Playing futebol in his futebol field. Relaxing in his pool. Listening to samba music in the background. Looouuunnggeeee. The quintessential Brazilian paradise. Or it was until about 3 hours later when the trumping occurred.  

                                     

Now the scoop. A journey with a known but unfamiliar destination awaiting, thru the busy streets of SP (by the way--this  is NOT a city for walkers. Peds. Ya feel me? The motoristas are louco!).

We get to a gate. With a guard. The trunk is searched. Clear. We were basically entering a castle. We pull up to a how do you say....house? There are about 15 cars there--the thought is that the party is seriously bumpin'. We walk through the "house" (I just can't seriously call this place a house)--passing by a full bar, a huge spread of food, beautiful art everywhere (the most memorable is an oil on canvas of a black and white Frida Khalo looking demurely at a colored non-chalant Brad Pitt enjoying a smoke. Both smiles say extremely different things), marble statues--the works. 

We emerge on the "backyard" (still having trouble using such average phrases, but having even more trouble finding the right words for this incredible place). 10 or 15 people hang out in the grass, by the pool, by the grill. I can feel the juice of the best meat in the world dripping INTO my nostrils. Ohhhh it was mighty fine! 

Long story medium: we were at an authentic Brazilian churrasco (BBQ) at the casa de Brazilian Elite. Pool, yes. Samba, yes. But add dripping steak, caipirinhas, more palm trees, marble statues, and beautiful people all around--and yes. The trump card. The quintessential Brazilian paradise (that one is for you Patrick). At least until now. I would not be surprised to be surprised. Check out the sitch:

Big A in all his glory

 

                                                                       

We stayed for hours and I ate at least a  pound of steak, 3 linguicas, and 15 chicken hearts.  That is probably an exaggeration. But a necessary one. Everything is bigger and better. Grander. That is it. Grand.

This day changed everything. It ripped me open. Bared me. In the best way imaginable. My Portuguese improved this day. Tangibly so. Instead of beginning to see the sun—I saw it. I see it. I am not in it yet. Hopefully I never get there, for that is a limit. I dept sleeply and sremt droundly. 

Sunday morning brings the dawn in. I awoke only to a find massive plate of 10 different kinds of fruit awaiting me. Banana, mango, strawberries, lychees, guava…goiaba? O que e isso!? Liquid refreshments included but were not limited to: kiwi juice, cafezinho, and chocolate milk. I think I forgot to mention the bread with nutella. Yes, son. 

My “hospedeira” is wonderful. I call her “tia,” or aunt. 

Common phrases (in Portuguese of course—she does not speak a word of English) of hers:  Do whatever you want, you can come home late, you don’t need to call, let me do the dishes and wash your clothes, a kiss for you....among others of this nature. We even talk, like, have conversations.

To all the lovely women out there who do such a wonderful job of taking care of me: no need to be jealous. You can never be replaced. You are loved beyond comprehension. 

To the same women: It turns out, I can take care of myself too (with an endearing smile). After my fruit stack, I sauntered down to the pool: belted out some Grateful Dead tunes through a long black veil on the old geetar, read in the sun, swam, read some more, napped...got sunburned (my gringo whitiness is not yet used to Brazilian heat! Like I said: I saw it, and such a sight singes).

Ate more. Chicken rice beans POTATO SALAD. Took a nice descansinho--a little nap. A nice shower (it is hard to speak English agora) afterward--it turns out Brasileiros DON'T shower 4 times a day--and I thought I was screwed. 

Last night went out to an American bar to watch the Pats game. There were 3 dudes there from Boston! And a ton of rare Brasileiros who love American futebol. Probably every Brazilian who likes American football in the entire city was in this bar last night. It was so great to see the Pats whoop on the Jets. A true spanking. 

(failure to see reality only brings temporary satisfaction and is not worth the eventual harm).

Let's go Pittsburgh. 

Met up with big A--who very non-chalantly told me he was on an adventure while accidentally getting lost in the favelas--twice. So glad to see his corpse still breathing. A padaria is one of the coolest things ever: you go in, and it is PACKED. There is literally 500 things to order. Meals, snacks, extremely fresh bread, dessert--Misty and Emma: you guys would fall over. At every food/drink establishment here, you get a card when you enter, and put everything on it, like holding a tab, and pay when you leave. Thus with a padaria. 

Had the most delicious pizza there. Upper Crust ain't got shit on Rick James! 

I am meeting people. So many people! Yeah, the Americans are fine--but I made friends and got phone numbers of at least 4 Brazilian guys last night. We are going to play football and hang out. Having the language is extremely valuable. So valuable. For emphasis. 

I haven't been hit on by any women yet...but last night I was heavily petted by an extremely nice man who wanted more than I could give him. Everyone says I am "branquinha"--I look like a gringo. Like the boys in American Pie. O meu deus! 

This is why I feel like I have been on vacation. And even so--today, class was excellent. I am in the advanced class, and there are only 6 people in it. The professor is primo. Que bom, peixes!

I am feeling more at home here. Life is becoming routine. I am happy. I am free. I am excited. I have routine nostalgic moments--for people and places. But they are here with me, and I am, here, too.

Drop me a line you wonderful fools.

Nicholas Lenderking-Brill
CIEE
R. Cardoso de Almeida, 985
05013-001
Sao Paulo, Brasil

Amor para todos. Tchau.

Disaster?

Oi pessoal.

So. It turns out I do not have access to the *WORLD WIDE WEB* at my house.

This scares me. It just goes to show how dependent I am on INTERNET. I shall take this as a rare opportunity to disconnect and BE. That is what this is all about, right? Or at least--to tune into something else new.

My posts will be more dispersed and brief, because this magical Internet phenom is hard to come by. My ego might be a little hungry.

I must tell you something: right now, I am at a friend of a friend´s house. It is 25 degrees. Sunny. About to go listen to Miles Davis next to the pool. Perhaps go for a sauna after, or kick around the futebol? Maybe a BBQ? Oh yeah. Vida e boa.

(still adjusting, finding communication sometimes like butter and sometimes like molasses, still feeling "out of place," having fun but not having FUN. Nao e? Of course--I will settle. Brazil is feeding me well. It is amazing and exciting to be here.)

I went to an Irish pub last night and watched basketball and listened to David Bowie and ate buffalo wings. Very Brazilian experience.

But today--went to the Liberdade marketplace--and yes, a VERY Brazilian experience.

Tchau, for now. (I know it, I hope I don´t blow it)