I've been trying to think of some nice, creative way to announce our departure, but I've been just too busy. We're moving to the United States. There were many factors involved in our process of making our decision, and the main factor is that we want to be closer to our families. We moved to Brazil with the hope that we could show our children a different culture, to give them the experience of seeing a different part of the world, and to give them the chance to learn the language and hopefully thrive within another culture. I would have to say that for the most part, we have learned that. And I feel pretty proud of the fact that we have a good car, a nice apartment, and we are mostly satisfied with the schools the children attend. We have figured out how to make a life here, and that is an accomplishment.
And now we are leaving. Are we crazy??!!???
Probably. But I would venture to say that everyone is a little crazy. But I don't want to address that topic here. My husband and I feel like we've had the chance to teach our children one of our values by living in Brazil. And now it's time to show them that family is very important. We have been saying it, but now we can show it. And we are demonstrating to them that sometimes family is so important that we willingly and joyfully make sacrifices.
Here are some of the details--
Date of departure from Brazil: December 26
Last night we will sleep in our apartment: December 12 (the rest of the time will be spent between friend's houses and hotels)
Where we will move to? Cashmere, Washington
What we are doing for Christmas? we don't know
What I will do for work? look for a position in a school, and work on certification/a master's
What the husband will do? TBA
What the kids will do? go to school
How we will keep up the Portuguese? find some Brazilians, Skype, videos, books
What will happen to the hamster? a friend is taking him
Have we sold the car? yes
Can anyone rent our apartment? talk to Adimoveis
Want to buy our stuff? Send me an email, but most of it is sold. I don't deal with Correios, so I don't ship.
I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed with the sheer volume of stuff I have to do in the next month, especially before we move out of our apartment. Moving out of an apartment in Brazil is a pain in the hiney (you have to pay a lot of money and paint and fix everything). And then I have to do report cards, help with 3 talent shows, 2 graduations, do all my normal work, help my children with their final projects, and take care of all the normal things of life. Not to mention that it's VERY important for the children to have time to say goodbye to their friends, so I'm scheduling parties, sleep overs, final play dates and good bye presents. Aaaaaahhhh!
So, all to say, you may not see very much of me in the next month. But my husband has taken to blogging, so read what he has to say here.
Now I can't say I've "studied" the article, nor that my quick scan of it has allowed me to fully understand the depth of the issue. But I can say that I think I get the main idea, which is that Brazilian parents face a significant challenge while trying to raise their children. Parents want to (and have the responsibility to) teach their children values, but they are doing so within a country where the "Lei de Gerson" (take advantage of everything and everyone whenever you can). Essentially, those of us living in Brazil know that you really have to be looking out for number one here, because it really is a dog-eat-dog world. The expectation is that others will take advantage of you. They will take your son's stuffed animal one minute after it falls out of his bedroom window (true story, unfortunately). Salespeople will over charge you for inferior products. Those trying to buy a car will try to falsify documents (hence, the elaborate laws around verification and the existence of Cartorios). They will throw trash in front of your apartment. Elected officials steal money without shame. Now, I realize that I'm speaking in generalizations, and there are exceptions, and there are many, many Brazilian citizens who are making the hard choices to be think of others before thinking of themselves. But the article interviews parents who are afraid that if they teach their children morals, if they teach their children to obey laws, to follow the rules, to be honest, that their children will fall behind. Parents fear that their children will be taken advantage of if they don't learn how to operate within the reality of the society. So which is better, to uphold a higher morality, or to teach your children to be shrewd and successful within a culture of corruption?
As a foreigner with children, and as a teacher working in a school, I find this a particularly interesting challenge, and a cultural issue. I'm not trying to make a value judgement here (I could, but I will avoid). But I think that we face a difficult situation. I want my children to grow up to be honest, responsible citizens who care for those around them. And yet, we live in a culture where we are daily faced with a multitude of examples of dishonesty, irresponsibility, and a total lack of respect for others. How do I reconcile this?
And apparently the "levar vantagem" (take advantage of) came from this:
Interesting, and in my opinion, accurate evaluation of things in Brazil.
I do disagree though, about protests during the World Cup. I think that there will be protests. And I also think that there is a degree of complacency among citizens post protest. There was a wave of anger and people took to the streets. And now? I know change is slow to come, and is difficult, but I think that many people have become jaded (again), and have just resigned themselves to how it is. Your thoughts?
I have had numerous bad experiences with wind shield wipers.
1. When Matt and I were just barely dating, I went from my parent's house in Central WA to Seattle to visit him. The passes (highway over the mountains) had been closed for several days due to the excessive amount of snow that had fallen, but it just so happened that the roads were ok when I had decided to go. My wonderful, adventurous sister Katie came along with me. Being the responsible driver that I am, I made sure my Dad had the oil changed, and he also arranged to have the wiper blades changed because it was about time. Great! My sister and I took off, no problems. It was such a nice comfortable drive, that my sister dozed off. At the top of the pass, it started raining/snowing. I turned on the windshield wipers. After about 10 minutes, the DRIVER'S SIDE windshield wiper FLEW OFF. Yes, it launched off the arm into oblivion. I was driving close to 50 mph on the freeway, with lots of traffic, so there was really no way I could retrieve said windshield wiper. I frantically woke my sister up, and told her she had to be my eyes, because I couldn't see a thing. Meanwhile, the wipers are still going, and the wiper-less one on my side is now scratching the windshield. Great. Thankfully, we were able to exit the freeway pretty quickly. We pulled into the first gas station we found, and I went in to ask for some help. But because the passes had been closed and people had been forced to essentially camp at the gas station until the road opened, they were entirely sold out of EVERYTHING. Seriously: the shelves were bare. The attendant told us that there was a truck stop another 10 miles down the freeway that had gotten a shipment of stuff in earlier that day, and we might be able to find wiper blades there. We went back to the car, and I was able to find surgical tape in the glove compartment (??!?) so I wrapped the wiper arm to prevent any further scratching of the windshield. I then went on to drive 10 miles on the freeway, in the rain, with my sister guiding me, to the truck stop. The truck stop did happen to have a wiper blade. FOR USD $75!!! I had no choice but to put it on the credit card.
2. Flash forward a few years to when Matt and I were almost married, and I was living in Eugene, OR. Anyone who knows anything about Eugene, OR knows that it rains A LOT. Within a few months of moving there, I had to replace my windshield wipers. I vividly remember going to the auto supply store, and using their machine to make sure that I was buying the right size for my Toyota Corolla. I returned home, and went to replace the wiper blades, and for the life of me, I couldn't get the old ones off. My year in Walla Walla, WA had some how rusted my wiper blades to the arm! After a lot of work, and a lot of WD-40, I managed to get them off. But then I found out that the blades I had purchased didn't easily attach to the arm. I don't remember exactly what I did, but I recall using some kind of McGyver technique to get the blade to stay on the arm. Arg.
3. Flash forward another few years, and we moved to Tempe, AZ. Anyone who knows anything about the desert knows that it doesn't rain very much. But when it does rain, it rains like crazy. By that point we have graduated to the ranks of the Toyota Camry, and I never once changed the wiper blades on that car the ENTIRE 9 YEARS I LIVED THERE. Every time it rained, I thought "I've GOT to change these!" as the mud slid across my windshield. But then it wouldn't rain again for another 6 months.
4. Flash forward to Brazil. We lived without a car for 9 months. I lost 20 pounds. Then we bought a Fusca (VW Bug). We owned it for about 2 years, and again, every time it rained I thought about how I should go out and buy wiper blades. But then we bought another car and sold the Fusca.
5. Flash forward to now. Those of you who know Belo Horizonte know that for about 6 months of the year it doesn't rain, and then for 6 months it rains. In the rainy season, it will rain probably about once a day (this is a very broad generalization) but it rains hard. We bought a new car right before the rainy season. It started raining, and it became clear that we needed a new wiper blade. But we'd never bought one in Brazil before. Where the HECK do you get wiper blades? I saw a guy on some random street corner selling them for about R$30, but of course, I didn't have any cash on me. I was getting gas at the station one time, and the attendant told me I needed a new wiper blade. Duh. I asked him how much it was. He went to look, came back and said "eight." Really!?!! Could it be that wiper blades were that cheap!!?! I was so excited! He tried to put it on, but realized it was the wrong size. He came back with another one and said it was more expensive, like R$100. Huh? He said the first one was "eight-Y." Oops, a case of hearing what I wanted to hear. But little did I know that I should have just shelled out the money.
We then proceeded to drive 6 weeks with the same bad wind shield wiper. We even drove to Tiradentes with my parents in a RAGING rainstorm that shut down the Maria Fumaça. It was a very stressful drive. We came back to BH. I saw a place that I thought sold wipers. My husband went back, and turns out they don't, but they told him somewhere else to go. He went there. He bought something that they said would work. He tried to install it, and it was the wrong size. He went back, and convinced them to exchange it. He came back, wrestled with it for a while, and got it to work.
I've avoided this post for a LONG time. It's been sitting there in my "to do" list for months. You remember that stupidleak that was plaguing us? Well, it is back. For those of you who aren't faithful daily readers, here's the time line:
1. Moved into apartment.
2. After 1 month, noticed growing wet spot on the ceiling in our 2nd bathroom. It quickly turned into peeling paint and then mold.
3. Talked to almost everyone in the building and at the rental company, and found out this leak has been an issue for well over 1 year. But they rental company/owner just kindly painted over the problem and were grateful to get some stupid Americans in the place to pay rent.
4. Ranted. Raved. Made threats. Enlisted help. Called daily. But FINALLY got the leak repaired, and the mold/damaged paint removed and entire situation "fixed." Hooray! We felt so proud and happy that we had achieved something.
5. Two months later, the leak/peeling paint/mold returned.
6. Called the rental company. And they actually came back in a timely matter and began fixing the leak.
7. After one month, the ceiling in the bathroom looks as good as new!
8. After 2 days (Yes! TWO DAY!!!!), the water returns. At this point THERE IS NO ONE LIVING ABOVE US. It is a mystery as to why there is any water running upstairs. My husband thinks that the owner of the apartment upstairs has come in the middle of the night and dumped water on the floor just to spite us. I have to concur, because I can't come up with any other logical conclusion.
9. We call the rental company. The "fix it guy" is mad. Maybe he will get things done???
10. The rental company calls us back 1 week later to ask if the wet spot has dried and the leak has stopped leaking. My husband said that it was still wet. They ask us to call back when it's dry. Wait a minute....is it our job to tell the rental company when to do their job? Oh, I forgot....it's Brazil....
By this point, I have just given up. I actually can't believe we got all worked up about the initial problem. It seems so trivial at this point. Now, we are ACTIVELY looking for a new apartment. This is not just due to the leak. I wish it were so simple. Here are some of the reasons that we are looking for a new place:
A. I don't like hearing our neighbors practice their farmer blows, clearing their sinuses, hacking, and coughing up lugies (as I WRITE THIS SOMEONE IS FARMER BLOWING! Thank you. I wish all you readers could be here to experience this moment with me).
B. Dora has had to put up with a lot of "love" from her little sister, and is begging for her own room. We are looking for a 4 bedroom. Plus next year, Dora will start going to school in the morning, and Bea and Sebastian will be studying in the afternoon. Logistically, it would be helpful to have the girls NOT sharing a room.
C. We'd like to be on the other side of town to be closer to my work, and the kids school (more on this later).
D. We have a neighbor who has become a BIG problem. Not only is she blowing her cigarette smoke into our apartment every day, but her 3 grown children that live with her in her basement apartment without windows (I think her living situation must be a wee little bit challenging) are now calling us uneducated, accusing us of throwing trash into their apartment, trying to take our parking spot, and just generally being very unkind. Ugh.
E. Termites
F. Is it too much to ask that bedroom doors would shut? Apparently so in this apartment.
G. Living on the first floor and having a lack of direct sunlight starts to make a person's soul feel a little dark.
H. Oh, and just to help me remember, another neighbor just threw their juice box out of their window onto the neighbor's roof. Not only do we get the joy of looking out our window and seeing all this trash, but we also get to pick up the chewed gum, candy wrappers, napkins full of chicken and rice (?) and other yummy trash out of our area privativa (patio). Ew.
All to say, we are all done with this apartment. It has been good to stay in the neighborhood, it's been good to save money. But it's time to have a little better surroundings so that I we don't start to think that our living situation is how all of Brazil is. I've been very actively looking for apartments on the other side of town. It is a challenge. But I keep telling myself that we will find a good place. Eventually....
Minas Gerais (our state) is known for the word "uai," which is pronounced "why." There are speculations as to the origins of "uai." Apparently President Juscelino Kubitschek said that it was the abbreviation of União + Amor + Independencia, which was the password for the Inconfidentes back around Tiradentes time. But most people agree that it comes from the English word "why." Mineiros would hear English speaking foreigners saying it, and they adopted it. Why all those English speaking foreigners were abiding in Minas Gerais is beyond me, but that's the commonly held opinion.
And today Mineiros may hear another English speaking foreigner wandering the streets of Belo Horizonte, shouting
WHY!???!!!
It's been one of those days. Why do people say they will give you an answer on Wednesday, and then when you call them on Thursday they say, "oops, sorry. Can you wait one more day?" Why do customer service agents tell you that you will be able to access your account in one hour, when they know it's not true? Why does the delivery man show up with a delivery 4 days after it was promised? Why do all the teachers have to talk at the same time at the meeting? And these are just a few of my complaints today....I'm not at liberty to divulge other complaints to the world wide webs while things are in still in the works....but lets just say I've got a lot to gripe about.
I know it's a bad day. And bad days happen all over the world. But I think that dealing with Mineiros will lead to lots of hair pulling, teeth gnashing, expletives and uai.
Ay. What a day. Actually, a week. Here's the story.
I work one day a week at a campus that is about a 40 minute drive outside the city. Last year I started the year by driving, but quickly realized that the roads were sooooo crappy (think big trucks, heavy rains, and minimal road repair) that it was not worth adding more grey hairs to my head. I was able to carpool with a group of teachers. But this year, for various reasons, the carpool doesn't really exist. At least a convenient carpool. So I've been trying to figure out how to get to work without spending too much time (taking the bus) or without going thru too much hassle to meet up with other teachers to get to work. Each week there are always various factors that affect my decisions regarding transportation. And I'll admit, I've driven a few times.
A week and a half ago, I drove. I was having a great time, belting out "All We Need is Love" by the Beatles, puttering along in my VW Beetle. Feeling so 1973. And then I heard a VERY loud noise. I was almost on the exit for the school, so I kept driving, but midway thru the exit I realized that I had a flat tire. I almost freaked out right then and there, thinking "I AM IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY WITH A FLAT TIRE, 40 MINUTES FROM REAL CIVILIZATION." But I was able to calm myself down, pull over, and start changing the tire. Granted, I haven't changed a tire in almost 20 years, but darn it all, I was going to try. And I actually got the car jacked up pretty good (like, on the jack, not messed up). But thankfully a very kind man named Julio stopped and took over. He changed my tire and also managed to make me feel very wonderful about being a) a teacher b) a native English speaker and c) someone who can play the guitar. Wow, thanks Julio for changing my tire and giving me an ego boost! The spare was a little low, so I drove to the nearest gas station to fill it up. The guy at the gas station told me that my spare had a leak. He filled up the spare to 30 psi (even thought I was pretty sure that I'd been told 24 was okay), and within 30 seconds it lost 2 psi. He convinced me to leave the car there so that I could come back after work, refill the tire (that would be flat by that time) and drive to the closest tire repair shop. I then walked to school, and even managed to make it to class ON TIME. Yes, I am that awesome.
After work, I walk back to the gas station, and what do you know? The spare tire is NOT flat. He insists on refilling it up, and of course it loses 2 psi in 30 seconds, and at that point I was pretty sure that he really knew nothing about tires, and I'm just thankful that he didn't blow up my remaining tires! I made it back to BH, picked up the kids from school and got home. I then got the chance to look closely at the tire, and saw that I had hit something pretty serious, and ripped a big hole in the tire. But I had to at least try to see if it could be repaired.
I went to the neighborhood tire repair shop, and was kindly informed it was a lost cause. Then began my search for a good price on tires. I went back to the place where we had purchased 2 new tires back when we bought the car, and the prices had gone up almost R$50 a tire!!! I called around, but found pretty much the same price. And of course, because the tires were used (not that much, but enough to count), I had to buy 2 new tires instead of just one. This stupid drive to work was starting to get really REALLY expensive.
So I finally scheduled the time to get the new tires. And that was today. I took the car. No problem. The shop even called to tell me there was an issue with some machine and my car would be ready later than they had told me (that NEVER happens! Usually I have to call the shop and harass them to find out when my car will be ready). Finally, they call and say everything is ready. I went to pick up the car, pay my hefty bill and leave. But then I realized that I'd forgotten to check the spare, and make sure that they'd traded the old tire with the hole for the old "good" tire. I pulled over a block away from the shop, and saw the old, holey tire. So I went back and explain what I need. And then this guy shows up holding a tube, and says that the tube has a hole so they can't give me a good spare. But what happened to my two good tires? The old tires that you just took off? I went back and forth between the secretary and the grease monkey and I just didn't get it. At that point, I should have called my husband to get his help with Portuguese and even to help me think rationally here. The grease monkey said he would see if he could get a new tube and they would call me. And I drove away. And I felt this increasing sense of dread. How was is that I drove into the shop with 4 decent tires, but then bought 2 new tires and drove away with only 4 good tires? I should have gone back to the shop and tried to clarify things. But instead I went to the grocery and then home. By then I was feeling really crappy. So finally I told my husband, and of course he was mad that they had put a hole in the tube (that was the only conclusion I could come to based on what they were telling me) and we were going to have to pay for yet one more thing.
He called the secretary to ask how they were going to fix this problem that they created, and she was really rude to him, and then he got really frustrated. He said that he was not going to let them take advantage of us, and we had to go back there and figure out how they were going make this wrong right. In the process of driving back, we found out that they had broken the handle on the driver's side door that had just been repaired. I didn't notice it when I went to the store because I was so upset about the tire problem. Ug.
We get to the shop, and the secretary is still trying to talk over my husband, and is not listening to anything he's saying. Finally the manager comes out, and explains. All the tires have tubes. Old tires. New tires. They used the old tubes (which were still good) with the new tires. They didn't make any holes in any tubes. The grease monkey was talking about the repairing the tube in the tire that I had put a hole in.
Oh.
And he would fix the door handle. He apologized about it, and was quite nice, even though we got all worked up about it.
So essentially I made a big mess of things by not understanding Portuguese. And I realized, that we are still in the paranoia stage of being expats. We still are very quick to assume that people are trying to trick us, take our money, and essentially use jeitinho to take advantage of us. The blog that I linked to defines "jeitinho" as personal benefit or advantage that is detrimental to the benefit or advantage of others.
It's tricky in Brazil, because jeitinho is alive and real. Not a day goes by when I don't encounter it (either attempting to use it, or being it's "victim"). So it's easy to quickly jump to the conclusion that someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes. But there's also the reality that we are foreigners in a foreign land, with still a very limited understanding of social norms, culture, language and the many, many nuances of communication. When I don't understand how something works, it's tempting to make a quick judgement that I'm being made fun of, and that my lack of understanding gives the person I'm interacting with full license to "get" me. It's hard to be vulnerable. It's hard not having the tools of language and culture. It's hard to not understand. And it's hard to live in a place where people can maneuver their way into benefits without following the rules (my rules? North American rules? Just who is making these rules...) But somehow we've got to hold in balance the reality of jeitinho and our assumptions. Like when it seems like someone is charging us too much for an inferior product. Or convincing us to do something that we don't want. Or giving us the raw end of a deal. Hmmm....
But my moral to my story is, if I don't understand, keep asking until I do. And maybe try not to jump to conclusions so quickly, and then drag my unsuspecting husband into the paranoia as well.
We have a nice apartment. It has a nice "area privativa," what we also call our patio. It is on a VERY quiet street, and we don't have construction or traffic noise to deal with. It's close to many bus lines, to some nice restaurants (not that we go out that much) and a very nice bakery. Our neighbors are usually quiet, and the sindica (building super) is very helpful. And the owner of our apartment lives upstairs, which has been very, VERY helpful.
And the building is 40 years old. When we were looking for apartments, I remember several people telling us to avoid renting older apartments. In many people's opinion, anything older that 10 years is considered old. In the US, older buildings can be charming, quaint, with lots of retro chic details. And I think that those kind of places exist in Belo Horizonte, but the challenge is that unfortunately most rentals have not been well maintained. I think there are many reasons for this. First of all the imobiliárias (the property management companies) really only want to take your money. In my opinion (biased, and very uninformed I'll admit), the imobiliárias exist to serve the interests of the owners, and renters have fewer rights. And the rights that we renters have, have to be fought for. You have to work your tail off to get things fixed. You have to jump through lots and lots of hoops to have documents corrected and updated and notarized. The imobiliárias are not here to help us renters out. And that means they do everything possible to avoid fixing problems.
Secondly, I think that renters in Brazil don't take care of the problems either. Renter are already paying lots for rent, condominium fee (the fee for maintaining the building and public areas, which also pays for doormen, cleaning, elevator, the pool if the building has one and so on), and taxes (yes, renters have the pay the owner's taxes). Renters also will want to paint when they move in (the previous renters used the cheapest quality paint when they left), but of course you have to paint when you leave because the walls have to look the same when you leave. So why would a renter really want to take care of the place? If you are already feeling taken advantage of, why bother keeping things up? If you already know that when you leave you will have to pay out the nose for things that were broken YEARS before you moved in (and the imobiliária and owners will just pocket the money and not fix things), what the point?
We decided to politely disregard the advice that was given to us, and we decided to rent our current apartment. Like I said, there are many great things about it. And yet my list of problems to take care of seems to grow week by week. Right now, and for the past 2 months, one of the problems has been our "extra" bathroom, referred to as the "service" bathroom. It's the small bathroom next to the maid's room (yes, think The Help. But we use the maid's room as my husbands office, so hopefully the beautiful music he makes there redeems any injustices committed...). We found out while we were in the states that the pipes in that bathroom had rusted and they were leaking into the downstairs neighbor's apartment. Within a week of returning, we had a bombeiro (plumber! not fireman!) come and rip everything out and change the pipes. Wow! It was so quick it left our heads practically spinning! But that's what you get when a grouchy Brazilian grandma neighbor is fed up with water coming into her home. And then we waited for the pedreiro (mason, tile guy). And we waited. And waited. The owner of the apartment wanted to make sure that she had a trustworthy guy that would do a good job. And it's really hard to find those kind of people right now because of the HUGE construction boom in the city. But finally after about a month, she found a pedreiro. And after 2 weeks, he got the tile down, and the toilet back in. Hooray!
Not so fast. While all this was happening, a problem was growing in our other bathroom. The sink had been leaking, and someone did a very crappy job attempting to repair a leak in the shower. Water had infiltrated the floor, and was damaging the wall in the hallway. Great. So now that the service bathroom is repaired, we are going to have to repair the main bathroom. But the problem is that there isn't a functioning shower in the service bathroom. So starting tomorrow, I don't know how we are going to shower for the next week. Fun times.
I am thankful that we have bathrooms. I'm thankful that we have a roof over our heads. It really could be a lot worse. But when you are already daily dealing with language/culture challenges, it gets pretty tiring to have to come home to a place that is constantly leaking, breaking, getting repaired, getting broken again, smelling funny (mold!?), or being eaten by termites.
So if you are in the market for an apartment in Belo Horizonte, beware of the older buildings. They are cheaper, but are they worth it? And if you are in our neighborhood this week, and smell something stinky, it's probably just our family...
I got pretty irritated this week. My husband said that I should just let it go. And I've tried, and I have become less annoyed. But I'm hoping that writing about it will be some additional therapy. So bear with me as I try to work this out.
In my last post, I wrote about how good our experience has been in Brazil. It's not been without difficulty or frustration, but we've been able to figure how to "do life" and make a place for ourselves in a foreign country. I try to use this blog as a place to focus on the positive, and remind myself that we are actually doing what I'd dreamed about doing. And in my opinion, we've done a pretty good job at it. We have friends. We can usually communicate what we need in Portuguese. We can get around, pay our bills, make phone calls, resolve problems, and plan parties.
And what irritated me was that I had a conversation with someone who made me question my ability to do these things. And the funny thing is that this person had been an expat as well. I met this person about 6 months ago, and I should have seen the warning signs back then. They were obsessively asking me questions about my neighborhood, schools, teachers, and philosophy on teaching music. Don't get my wrong; this person has a great heart, seems like a great parent, and is trying to figure out what the best options are for their family. Our paths crossed again, and we found out that we had a similar problem that needed resolving. He offered to help me, but unfortunately, the info he had didn't help me. I finally got things figured out, so I contacted him and shared with him the good news and suggested that perhaps this might be a good option for him. And then, he started with the obsessive questions again. And of course, there were some questions I couldn't answer. He was really surprised that I would consider my solution to be a valid if I hadn't answered all these questions. I could start to feel myself getting angry and defensive. What I had done was use my resources to the best of my ability to find a solution that seemed the wisest based on my situation. I had tried to use the information that he had given me to solve things, but websites didn't work, people didn't answer phones and my phone Portuguese is still pretty remedial. But I had to figure something out. And I did. But they way that this person asked questions made me feel like I was dumb and that I had made an irrational decision. And coming from another person with experience living abroad, it stung.
The truth of the matter is that I still don't know how many important things "work" in Brazil. I was not born and raised here, and I am still limited in being able to communicate. And sometimes I don't do things right. I don't pay at the right counter. I don't get the school supplies in time. I don't understand that Beatrice has not been held back at school (oops, that was a big boo-boo that we made). I don't understand that I should save every receipt. I don't know that you are supposed to open the door for a guest when they leave so that they will come back. I don't know that you aren't supposed to give children cold water to drink. And I don't know about laws, regulations, and procedures. I know that Brazil has many systems in place to protect people, and for the most part they work. Things happen. People are protected. The way this happens is foreign to me and mind bogglingly complex. So, it is tempting at times to feel like Brazil is in chaos. As an outsider, it just looks messy. I did not break any laws with my solution, and I did not put anyone at risk. But this person that I spoke to made me feel like I had taken an uncalculated risk, I should know better. And I started to question myself, my decisions, and I started worrying.
In my opinion, worrying is not helpful but in fact self-destructive. The reality is that life is dangerous and full of risks. We get sick. We get hurt. We love people, and they don't love us back. We try to do things to protect ourselves (and we should), but you can't manage and control everything. As an expat parent, there are SO MANY more things you can worry about. I could make a HUGE list of things that I've worried about. But there has to be a point where you extend some trust, when you let it go. It's a challenge. But I have calculated the risks, and I ultimately think that we are coming out ahead.
I probably shouldn't have let this get to me. And my husband says that what I wrote isn't clear because I didn't give all the details for the situation. But, it has helped to write it out. And I'm going to move on: we're driving to Sabará today with some friends to use a Peixe Urbano (like Groupon in the states) coupon at a "resort!"
Ug. Our motorista did not show up at 12:30 yesterday. I tried calling him all morning (on all three of his phone numbers) but there was never an answer. Of course in retrospect, I realize that I should have called him on Friday, Saturday and maybe even Sunday to make sure all the details were clear. My Portuguese is improving, but it's still not 100% trustworthy. Especially with these kind of the details. I had to drop Matt and the girls off at their school (it was too early to drop the girls off by themselves) and then drive across town with Sebastian. And then drive home at the end of the day. Boo.
But, the funny thing is that the motorista did show up at 1:05 and spoke with our empregada. Then my husband called him later, and made arrangements for him to come today. I guess he wasn't clear on the time. So we're going to try it again. Oh please, let him come today. I'll let you know.
I shared last year about our decision to move Sebastian to the school where I work. Way back in September when I enrolled him, I asked the school's van driver if he could drive Sebastian. School transportation is one of those realities that one has to deal with here. If you have the ability, you send your kids to private schools. But, private schools don't offer (free) transportation. I wonder if free public transportation for school children is a phenomena unique to the United States. So if you can't walk to school or take the kids yourself, you have to hire a van.
Most of the time, these vans are operated by people who are not associated with the schools. In Belo Horizonte, you can go the BHTrans website and find companies that work with your child's school and service your neighborhood. However, Sebastian's school has it's own van (kind of). The owner's husband purchased a van, and he can be hired to pick up and drop off your child. How convenient! I already knew the guy, he knows the school, he's good with kids. Great.
So, back in December, I talk to him, and he tells me that they are probably going to have to buy another van, but again he reassures me it's no problem. This is when I should have been worried. And it very well may have been that he was giving me some big, Brazilian clues (inferred, implied) that I should look into other options. However, I'm not Brazilian. And my Portuguese does not include inferences and subtle hints. And Mineiros (Brazilians?!?) don't like to say no. So I took him for his word. He told me to contact him in January. I got his email. And like a good and responsible mom, I emailed him in January, assuming that it was still going to be "no problem."
He mentioned that he needed to make another route, and he would be in touch with me. Again, I should have seen the warning signs. But at this point I was still in the states, and I didn't know what else I could do.
We returned to Brazil two days before school started, so I knew that I wasn't going to be able to figure this out for the first day. I had already planned to drive to Sebastian to school (especially since I would be working there the first day). After teaching, I searched out the van driver, and tried to get an answer from him. And finally he was straight answer: there wasn't room in the van. They needed another van. He didn't know when that was going to happen. Then I started to panic--did he know anyone who could help me? Any suggestions, and he said he would help. At least as far as I could understand.
The next few days I probably made 50 different phone calls. I called all the numbers on the BHTrans website. I wrote down every number of every van I saw in the general vicinity of the school. I called friends asking for help. I talked to parents. And all the while I was calling the van driver, asking for help. No luck. I also spent between 2 and 3 hours each day driving across town to get Sebastian to and from school. Traffic has gotten worse. It was not fun.
After a week and a half, the driver tells me that they have an opening in the evening, and he can take Sebastian home from school. Great! I asked when he thought he'd get Sebastian home. "Oh, about 7:30 pm." An hour after school is done. Not great, but not bad. Unfortunately it ended up taking almost 2 hours for Sebastian to get home. We started getting worried, and Sebastian was miserable. And I don't blame him: who wants to spend that much time in a van?!
I spent another few hours making phone calls, and realized that we were going to have to go the route of a motorista (driver). I'd heard other people talking about drivers, and always thought, "I'd never be one of those kind of people." Well, never say never. On Friday, I finally talked to a motorista that wasn't charging an arm and a leg, and said he was willing to do it. So, hopefully tomorrow we'll be testing out this driver, and Sebastian and I will be riding across town in the comfort of someone else's car.
What have I learned from this? Unfortunately, I think that I've learned that I need to be a little more careful in trusting promises. I probably should have learned this based on thevazamentoexperience. I also (again) have realized that I need to continue to work on my Portuguese. I wish I could say that I've also realized that "it will all work out in the end," because it always does (by some miracle). But in this case, I just feel more frustrated than thankful that it has "worked out." But, if it all does work out, I can feel good that I was able to make all those phone calls in Portuguese and actually be understood!
***update*** After consulting my dictionary (oops, should have done it first) and reading comments and then talking to our housekeeper, I've learned that this kind of "bolo" does not bring to mind cake. Even thought the highly educated coordinator at the school told me it meant cake, I stand corrected. But I'm keeping this post, mainly because I like the picture of the cake.
I learned a helpful phrase last week. I was talking to the coordinator at our school, and I asked her about microphones for the upcoming presentation. She told me that the sound guy had called her Monday, scheduled an appointment for Tuesday, and never showed up. She said he gave her cake, thinking that it meant the same thing in English. Huh? So she explained that if someone says they will come to a meeting/show up for an appointment/fix your leaky faucet/meet you for coffee and they don't show up, you'd say, "ele me deu bolo," or literally, "he gave me cake." I like this image, taking an unfortunate, far too common experience, and making it "sweet."
I wish that I didn't have so many opportunities to use this expression, but you remember the leak in the bathroom that I started mentioning back in September? Well, finally the source of the leak was repaired. Then we had to wait for it to dry. Then we had to wait for the painter/repair man to come. Then he came, but he has to come back to do another coat of paint. Well, during the past almost 3 months, we'll just say that I've had LOTS and LOTS of cake. And that was just vazamento (leak) cake. I've not mentioned anything about pest control cake. Or broken faucet cake. Or João cake. João from the rental company gives me the most cake of all. I should start calling him the bolo man.
Which makes me think I've got to make my list of people to call tomorrow to try to haggle them to show up or fix problems. Wish me luck!
It's 10:45 pm on a Saturday night. And I'm blogging about a leak. Our friendly little vazamento.
Yes, that's how exciting life is around here.
I've mentioned before that we have a leak in the "maid's" bathroom. When we moved in, it was all nice and freshly painted. Within a few weeks, we started to see a wet spot. It grew and grew, and along with it, in our nice, balmy climate, grew some mold. "Mofo." I think that the word "mofo"is a very good, descriptive word. We complained to the sindica (the "super" of the building. If you live in Brazil, it is VERY important to know who your sindico/sindica is. They can be VERY helpful if they want to). She told us that this problem had been going on for over a year. The owner of the upstairs apartment essentially does not want to own up to the fact that there is water leaking from his pipes. He refuses to acknowledge responsibility, and everyone down the line throws up their hands and says they can't do anything. The rental company that he works with can't do anything. The rental company that we work with can't do anything. The owner of our apartment can't do anything.
But they have yet to encounter the wrath of an angry American.
We started asking for advice from our circle of friends shortly after this happened. We found out that our rental company is the only party that we should have to deal with, and it is their legal responsibility (per our contract) for them to address problems in the apartment, and resolve them. So, I've been trying to figure out who has any power at the rental company. Or should I say, who actually gets things done.
Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get to that person.
But yesterday, water started dripping into the bathroom. This was the last straw for my husband. He called the so called "fix-it" guy at the rental company, and essentially demanded that he come over on Saturday morning. I then went to the owner of the apartment (who happens to live in our building), and told her about what had been happening. This morning, the owner, the "fix-it" guy and I had a little meeting in our apartment, while they watched the water drip from the ceiling. It went something like this:
Fix-it guy: "This is such a difficult problem, and I'm working so hard. This has to be resolved. Blah blah blah blah, nice words, empty promises, more nice words, and so on........."
Owner: "Listen Mr. Fix-it guy. You are a nice person, you work for a nice company. I know the owner of your company. It is Dr. So and So. Dr. So and So is like a brother with the owner of the apartment upstairs. They are very close. You need to talk to these people, and help get this resolved." Fix-it guy: "Oh yes yes, blah blah blah. The senhora is right. The other senhora is right. This is bad for the children. Blah blah blah...."
Owner: "Listen again Mr. Fix-it." (with a very slightly raised voice). "This can't go on. This is bad. Listen to me, I'm shouting I'm so upset (she was only talking a little bit louder, but for a Mineiro, this is shouting).
Me: "You me represent. This is bad. I no pay. You have to contract follow. "
Fix-it guy: "The senhora is right. This has to be resolved this week. If it isn't resolved, I personally will go into the upstairs apartment, break the tiles and fix the leak."
Me: "If no fixed this week, me find lawyer."
Owner: "My brother is a lawyer, and I've already talked to him. He could help, my little dear one."
And so on, and so on. Then we went upstairs, spent 20 minutes staring into the service bathroom for the upstairs apartment (no sign of any leakage. But would you believe it, the leak increases on Thursdays/Fridays/Saturdays after the maid comes and uses the bathroom. Go figure). There was a lot of talking, a lot of blah blah blah. But, this meeting ended with me saying in my poor Portuguese "THIS HAS TO BE RESOLVED THIS WEEK." And Fix it guy and Owner apparently understanding.
I don't believe that it will be resolved, and unfortunately, I think we may have to resort to getting with a lawyer. But despite the frustration, I do feel a little bit better. I fully expect to have an ongoing uphill battle with this, but at least the owner is on our side, and she "shouted" at the Fix-it guy.
Things have been a little quite on this blog recently. Life has a way of becoming consuming. I think that life with 3 kids and a job is just busy and full. And then we add in the fact that we live in another country. It's a miracle that we are functioning as well as we are!
Here's my to do list, and the things that I keep thinking, "dang, I've gotta do that!"
1. Take the car to the shop and schedule to get some work done on the brakes. I have to actually go to the shop, because it's way too complicated to try to communicate on the phone with the guy. He talks too fast, I don't know the car vocabulary, and I just can't understand his accent.
2. Schedule 3 mold-removal companies to come out and give us an estimate for removing the mold in the service bathroom and repairing the water damage. Our rental company is really not doing anything to help us with this, so we've got to take matters into our own hands.
3. Make Halloween costumes for the kids. This is the holiday that the kids miss the most. Thankfully the expat group is holding a Halloween Party, and one of Dora's friends is going to possibly have a party. I could go and buy some costumes (it's suddenly become very popular to dress up and go to Halloween parties here), but I can't justify shelling out all that money.
4. Buy tennis shoes for the girls. Unfortunately, Dora's shoes for the US are falling apart (I think her feet are growing) and Beatrice's Brazilian shoes have a big hole in the toe. Not looking forward to schlepping 3 kids to the shoe store to pay well over R$100 for shoes that will probably not last until Christmas.
5. Arrange for babysitters/childcare for some extra work events I have coming up. There's a Teacher's day luncheon this Saturday, and of course the hubby has to work. I could schedule a babysitter, but I'd rather save that money to get a babysitter so I can go to the Opera later in the month. And there's a big event at my school in November, that also happens to coincide with a double rehearsal for the hubby and a big event at the kids' school. So I've got to figure out the logistics for that.
6. Figure out who is going to take care of the cat while we are gone at Christmas. We are taking a trip to the states (yay!), and we're going to be gone the WHOLE vacation. So, I've got to make arrangements for 7 weeks for George. I'm not willing to pay for a cat hotel, plus I think he would be miserable. And we know from experience that we can't take him to somebody else's house. And Irene, our empregada, gets vacation during that time. Any suggestions about what to do?
And these are just the big things, not all the daily stuff that takes up my time. Oh dear, gotta go. Someone needs me to move the car...that's another story.
I've not written very much about our new apartment. Overall, we are very happy. The rent is less. It is SOOOOOOOOOOO much quieter. I'm growing plants and some herbs in our back patio area. We painted the walls and are making it like a home. There are many good things.
However, there is a leak.
We didn't know about the leak when we moved in. It had been painted over. The person we hired to help us do some repairs before we moved in told us that it was probably going to be a problem. And of course, within a few weeks, we could see the wet spot growing on the ceiling. Now we have mold. Yuck.
It turns out that this problem has been going on well over a year. The sindica (the super) in our building has already been very involved because the leak has damaged the wall in the hallway, so it has become a problem affecting the building. There are many layers of issues and problems, but it all boils down to the owner of the upstairs apartment. It has been verified that the leak is originating in his apartment. But he does not want to take responsibility and pay for the repair of the hallway and to repair the damage in our 2nd bathroom. I've talked to the sindica and the owner of our apartment, but they both feel like they can't do anything. So, it's time to get serious.
A friend of ours had a horrible problem with termites and is now helping me navigate the ins and outs of our contract and educating us about our rights as tenants, and the correct way to move forward. We have to go through the imobilaria (rental company), and essentially nag them to fix the problem, and get them to deal with the owner. It's all about being the squeaky wheel. Because it really won't get taken care of unless we make it an issue (hence the fact that the leak has been happening for over a year, and nothing has happened). This is a big difference here for me. I'm used to being able to call a business, make a request for something to happen, and for it to happen. When I call the bank because I was charged incorrectly for my groceries, they tell me how to fix it, and it gets taken care of. Here (specifically in Minas Gerais and with rental issues, because that's what I'm dealing with right now, and have had numerous problems in this area), you call, you ask for something (a copy of your rental bill, someone to email you a statement, help resolving an issue with the gas or oven), and you get a positive response (of course! I'll help resolve that problem! I'm emailing you right now!) and nothing happens. You have to call again. And again. And show up, and essentially bug someone until they get annoyed and do something about it.
I realize that I'm speaking in broad generalizations, but this has been my experience with our past rental company, the past super in our old building, the maintenance guy in the old building (remember Miguel?) and our current rental company. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed by this for a while, and angry, but I'm feeling better now. I know what I will need to do, and I can anticipate all the hoops I will have to jump through. Knowing this is helpful, and helps me feel a little less dread. But I'm gearing myself up emotionally to fight this battle, knowing that it's probably going to be a long haul.
Yesterday my husband and I finally decided we had to go to the bank. I've been putting it off for months, because it is not one of my favorite things to do. It mainly comes down to time. I really don't like spending a whole afternoon to try (emphasis on try) to resolve problems that really should be able to to be dealt with over the phone. But yesterday, it was time.
We have been out of checks for a month. My husband had already gone to our "agencia" or home branch to try to pick up checks that we had been told were available and waiting for us. He went, waited a while, found out that there really weren't any checks there, waited some more, and found out that he had to talk to a manager who was on his lunch break. My husband hadn't budgeted a whole afternoon to this, so he had to leave. I'd been told that we could print out checks at the ATMs, but I've not been able to figure out how to do that. So, back to the bank.
We arrived at around 2:00 pm, hoping that the managers would all be returning from the their lunches. There is no system to speaking with a manager at our bank. There's no line, there's no "take a number." You take a seat, take stock of who has already been waiting and try to figure out where you are in "line." But it's not just about waiting for your turn. It's really a competition, a fight to get and hold the attention of the managers.
There are always people coming up to the managers' desks, interrupting whatever they are doing with the customer they are already helping. These interrupters are usually very polite, telling the customer who is already being helped that they just need a little favor. Then they proceed to ask for whatever it is that they need. Who do I talk to about opening an account? Is João is working today? Etcetera etcetera.
And then, the phone is ringing. Pretty much non-stop. And what I've found is that a ringing phone trumps a waiting customer. So the manager answers the phone, and has to deal with whatever the person on the phone wants. It's like this spinning plates act, and the only way (as a customer) to get what you want is to keep putting yourself and your request in front of the manager.
So, back to yesterday. We arrived at 2:00 pm, and there were only 4 people already waiting for the 2 managers that were working. Then another manager came back from lunch, and only got interrupted by one person, so it was our turn! We only had to wait about 15 minutes! Her computer had been off, so we had to wait for it to boot up, and then she got a phone call. While she was on the phone, she opened up a package someone had just dropped off at her desk. It was a 2011 desk calendar. Yes, it is September 7th, and she just got her calendar. After about 5 minutes (so quick!) she got off the phone, and proceeded to update our address. She tried to order checks, but because we just changed our address, we have to wait 24 hours to place the order. Unfortunately, today is a holiday, so we'll have to wait until Thursday to order the checks. She opened up her brand new calendar to make a reminder to order our checks tomorrow, but for some reason, her calendar was missing the page for September 8th !?!
So, hopefully tomorrow Alessandra at the Itau Branch on João Pinheiro will remember to order our checks, and we will get them at our new address in 10 business days. I'm a little skeptical, because I only sacrificed about an hour of my time to the bank beast, and I'm really not sure if that's enough to pay for checks. We'll see.
Domestic help is a part of middle class life in Brazil. Those with the means hire house cleaners, nannies, dog walkers, gardeners, and even extra weekend help to cover when the normal help has their days off! When I started working, the first thing we did was hire someone to help. And I remember how wonderful it felt to have someone help me with the dishes and laundry, and someone who knew the products and in general, how things work in these here parts. What a gift.
And with this gift comes a responsibility: paying the benefits. I had a HELL of a time figuring out how to pay INSS (or Previdência Social) online. It's essentially the benefit that employees get, like Social Security, when they retire. It's mandatory to pay into the INSS of your hired help. I still have no idea what "INSS" stands for, but once I learned that it's also called "GPS" things got a little easier. So here is what I do:
1. Log into your bank account (I have ITAU).
2. Click on "pagamentos," and then "GPS" or "impostos ou tributos" (it is a tax, after all).
3. Click on "federais" (or GPS). It's a federal tax.
4. Then you have to enter the information for your employee. This is the "identificador" on the bank website. This number can be found on your employees Carteira (work papers). It is the "PIS" number. If your employee is older (like, older than 40 years old), you will need to confirm this number with them. If your bank does not accept the number, you may need to add three zeroes (000) to the beginning. You can go to this website to check to see if your employee is registered:
http://www.dataprev.gov.br/servicos/cadint/cadint.html
5. The Código do pagamento for domestic workers is "1600."
6. The minimum value may have to be 20% of the minimum salary (i.e. 20% of R$545 or R$109) in order for the payment to post.
7. Make sure you have a total value (Valor arrecadado).
8. Post the payment, but make sure to save a copy of the payment for your records. When in doubt in Brazil, ALWAYS make copies, save copies, print copies. You get my drift.
The payment needs to be made each month, and before the 15th of the month.
Now of course, this was all done mid-year, with a new employee, and I have not triple-checked my facts. But hopefully, maybe, JUST MAYBE, this will help someone out there who is pulling their hair out and feeling stuck.
Today was not my favorite day. In fact, this week has been a bit exhausting and exasperating. As I mentioned, we're moving. We were all prepared to turn in the contract and get the keys on Tuesday. But, it turns out that we had to get all the signatures verified at Cartórios. From what I've heard (please correct me if I'm wrong, fellow bloggers) Cartórios came into existence due to some political shenanigans. If I remember correctly, some friend of someone in power had a kind of notary business and did a favor for said person in power. To return the favor a law was passed that made it necessary to register signatures to make sure that they are valid. And thus the Cartório business was created. It seems as if any time you have an official document, you have to take it to the Cartório where the signature is registered, and they compare the two signatures to make sure they are the same. Essentially it's just another step in the bureaucracy that exists here. I'm sure these kinds of things exist in the states (I'm having flashbacks to signing our mortgage documents, and how inconvenient it was and how we had to do it in a certain time period, and so on and so forth). But wherever in the world you have to deal with these kind of extra steps, dare I say, unnecessary silly official procedures, it is a big pain.
My hubby went to go get the keys on Tuesday, and found out that we had to check 5 signatures. Great. Thankfully he was able to get 3 of the signatures done on Wednesday, even though he had to work two shifts for a recording session (not the normal schedule, nor the normal demands). My job was to figure out how to check the other two signatures, belonging to a couple, some friends of ours. I called the husband first at about 10 am, and he couldn't really tell me where the cartório was located, just in Nova Lima, close the hospital. He made it sound like it was really obvious where it was, and I should have no problems finding it. He was going to look up the info and get back to me. Meanwhile, I did probably 20 different google searches and I found 4 different places, but I couldn't figure out which one it was. He never called me back, so I called him (no answer). I called his home (not there). Then I called his wife, who did answer but she was driving (it's illegal to drive and talk on the cell phone) and rushing to the hospital because of an emergency!!
Ay!
Thankfully, the emergency room visit was short and everybody came out okay. But while they were at the hospital, I spent another hour searching the internet for the possible location of this Cartório, and “looked” around using Google street view. The next morning I called the husband yet again to ask if he could pick between the 2 options that I thought I had narrowed it down to. Was it by Mangabeiras Pizza? Yes! Finally, an address. It only took me 22 hours.
Meanwhile, we had to go the Policia Federal. I think I will save this saga for another post. Because there’s only so much Brazil craziness you can handle at a time. Trust me.
Between visits to the Policia Federal on Thursday, I made a trip to the Cartório. Found it, no problem. Took my number, waited my turn, went to pay. But hold on just a minute, it can’t be that easy. They could only find the signature for the husband, but not the wife. I call the wife, and it turns out her ID number (CPF) was missing a digit. I go back to the counter and ask them to look her up under the correct ID number, and making sure they were spelling her name correctly. No luck. I call the wife back again. She was certain that she was registered there, but if not, she was also registered someplace in central on Rua Bahia and at another place on a street that began with the letter “G.”
Do you see the theme here?
I am not a happy camper. I ask her if she can talk to the lady at the counter at the current cartório. I go back in and hold up the cell phone, but the lady holds up her hands in the universal sign for “get that thing away from me.” She’s not allowed to talk to anyone on the phone. I ask to speak to the manager. Several times. The manager appears. He can’t talk to the owner of the signature on the cell phone because it’s not allowed (no phone calls). I ask him what happened to my friend’s signature, did they lose it? He is insulted that I would even suggest that, and says that she is not registered there. But she says she is. We go back and forth. He looks again. It’s not there.
Then, my friend (still waiting on the cell phone) says that maybe she didn’t register there.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
So I ask here where she is registered, and she tells me that it’s someplace off of so and so street and so and so street. “Do you know the address?”
No.
“Can you remember the name of the street?"
No.
But you could go to that area and ask around.
Really??!! Me, a foreigner, with a horrible accent and lousy Portuguese, walking around downtown Belo Horizonte looking for some location about which she really has only a vague idea.
I call my husband, who works in the area she is talking about, and he tells me that there are at least 3 cartórios in this area.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
I went home, found the name of the street that starts with a “G.” I call her back and ask for ANYTHING to help me find the cartório on Rua Goías, landmarks, stores. ANYTHING. “It’s by a newspaper stand, a banco do journais.” Just like every other store in downtown. “And there is a bookstore on the corner.” Great.
Then we go back to the Policia federal, but of course we don’t get done until HOURS after we start. We rush the kids to school (they were super late), rush home to get some paperwork, rush downtown to the general area of the cartório, and by a miracle, I find it. But of course there is a line of 15 people, and there is no way that we are going to get out of there before the rental agency closes. So, I wait in line, finally get her signature verified and almost cry with joy because this whole drama is over. Oh, but then I remember that I still have to get the keys.
Thankfully I had no problems this morning getting to the rental agency, paying the fire insurance, and getting the keys. And I even did it with 2 kids in tow.
Only 4 days after we were supposed to. Now, to make the new apartment habitable...
Sometimes the bureaucracy just feels like a big game. Last year we went to register as foreigners, and from what I remember it went like this:
Go to some obscure location and wait. Then wait some more. With 3 kids. Then show all your paperwork. And wait. Then explain to them some detail that doesn't seem quite right. And wait. Then get a picture taken (again) and your finger prints. And wait. Then, watch the clerk pull out a HUGE book, full of millions of signatures. And add your signature (does someone actually look at this? and verify the signatures? really?!?) And then you are told you will get your card in the mail. So we wait.
A few months later, a friend wanted to go to this location to get this (or something similar) taken care of. She looked and looked for the address or phone number online, emailed us for the info after not being able to find it, and finally just ended up going. Only to find out that that location had been shut down. It had been a pet project of some government official, and then shortly after opening, was closed down. And then a few months later it opened up again! It's almost like a form of entertainment. Like hide and seek. "Make the estrangeiros find the office to register!"
I won't even get into what is going on now with our Visa status.
But here is a little something that I would like to do when I do have to actually show up and sign that big stupid book again:
We had planned to visit Rio de Janeiro for the first time in January, but very unfortunately, we had to cancel our trip. Since then, I've been dreaming of the beach. I honestly think that the beach is the perfect vacation spot for our family. There's something to keep everyone entertained, you can make a big mess and be loud and no one cares, and there are lots of things to try and explore. So, I kept pestering my husband about going. After studying our school/work calendar, I realized that Semana Santa (the week before Easter) was going to be the only time (besides Christmas) that we had the same vacation time. So I pushed some more, and finally my dear husband relented.
Since we were still recovering from the shock of buying school supplies, and our rent and condominium rates went up (arggggg) we decided to keep it on the cheap. Plus I'm just cheap. I spent a lot of time online looking for an apartment to rent, so we could do our own cooking. I mostly looked at Alugue Temporada (or it's English version, Home Away). A LOT of time. Like hours, and hours and hours. What I did was find a town/beach, then just start emailing all the owners. What happened was that many people responded quickly, but they would not remember to include pertinent details. Like the price. Or how close to the beach it was. What I learned: just call when planning for a vacation rental. Brazilians are still getting used to using email/the internet for selling and promoting things, and (in my opinion), because this is such a relational culture, it's just better to talk to people. After the 2nd rental didn't work out, I started getting panicky because our vacation was just a month away. I started calling people, and that's when I really made any headway. Another word of wisdom: never believe that you have a place reserved, until you've paid and you get confirmation from the owner.
We finally decided on this place. The price was right, it was outside of Cabo Frio, so a little calmer, and close to the beach.
The other way we decided to save on money was to drive. I'd looked into taking a bus, but with a family of 5, it really starts to add up. Plus, it was a chance to take a road trip with the Fusca (the bug).
Yes, we drove over 1000 kilometers with 3 children in a foreign country in a Fusca. We are crazy. And it was great.
But it would have been better had 2 things happened. 1. Somebody besides Shelley was in charge of maps/directions, and 2. driving in Brasil wouldn't be so difficult. I am what some might kindly refer to as "directionally challenged." My husband asked me once if I always have to turn around when I drive. I can get lost in our parking garage. I could get lost in my hometown of 2500 people. I can't tell you which direction north is. Give me a map, and you throw in a whole other series of problems. You'd think that both my husband and I would know this, but apparently we are slow learners. I printed probably 20 pages of maps and directions. And we were fine until we got to our first major turn of the first freeway (thankfully this was about 5 hours into our trip). Another thing I learned on this trip: freeways and streets are usually not marked here. But there are signs that tell you which way a road might take you. So, it's helpful to have a map that indicates which towns you will pass through and go by when you are traveling in Brasil.
We weren't sure where to get from one highway to another, stopped and asked someone for help. Granted, stopping to ask for help was asking the random guy standing in the middle of the interchange. He gave us the wrong directions, which we accidentally didn't follow, and somehow ended up going the right way. But I second guessed myself, and we turned around. We had to pay to go through a toll booth, and essentially wasted an hour driving around. Grrrr. After we finally got going the right way, it became clear that we weren't going to make it to our destination before dark. We left at 7 AM, expecting to arrive well before 5:00 pm. But Google maps must give time estimates for cars that drive well over 110 kph, and it doesn't take into account that every little town you go through has at least 2 massive speed bumps that you have to practically stop for. Nor does it take into account the huge hills, getting stuck behind a truck full of chickens going 10 kph up that hill, and horse drawn carts (of which we saw seven). That last 2 hours was the worst, because it was abundantly clear to me that I really had no idea where we were going, that we were going to be driving in the dark, and that my maps and print outs were not going to do ANYTHING for us. I'd like to say it was all rainbows and flowers and happy thoughts in the car, but....well, it we just weren't at our best. But by some miracle, we made it through Cabo Frio proper, and then stopped at a gas station for directions to the praca by the house were we were staying. And we made it. 12 1/2 hours later.
Thankfully I'm not the only one that has suffered through traveling in Brasil--Danielle in Brazil talks about driving to a new place in Brazil here. It's hard to redeem that kind of trip with a beach, but after 3 days, I think we had recovered from our drive.
So that's the road trip part (at least the way there). Coming soon--pictures! Descriptions of the beach! Fun stories! Stay tuned...
Belo Horizonte (pronounced bell-oh oar-ee-zonch) is the the 3rd largest city in Brazil and is almost completely unknown to the outside world.
How to contact me
I can't promise that I will respond quickly, and I can't promise that I will have the answers to your questions, but if you'd like to reach me, you can email me at srkelz (at) gmail (dot) com.
