eulogy to a cell phone

It took us a long time to finally get a cell phone plan when we moved here.  In retrospect, we should have got cheap cell phones in the states (Craigslist! Amazon.com!) with SIM cards, and then just gotten a prepaid chip when we were here.  Most bancas do jornais (the newpaper "stands" that you find all over in Brazil that sell everything from magazines to candy to cheap toys to parking passes to umbrellas...they deserve a post of their own...) sell chips that you can put in cell phones. You just pick the service (TIM, Vivo, Claro or OI...those are the major ones), and buy your pre-paid chip, which gives you a phone number and a limited amount of minutes to use.  You can recharge it as you go. Online. At the grocery. At the loteria (corner lottery stores where people pay their bills and buy lottery tickets). At the ATM machine.

But we didn't do that. We opted to wait until the orchestra got us signed up with the company plan. hen we got the free phones that came with the plan. The orchestra canceled this perk almost 9 months ago, but we got to keep our phones. But today, my phone is on the verge of dying. I can get calls. But my touch screen doesn't work anymore, so I can't make calls, check my texts, nor listen to the 15 Portuguese lessons that I saved on my phone to listen to on my commutes. 

Bummer.

So I'm now in the market to buy a phone.

Any followers have recommendations as to where to buy decent but cheap cell phones in Brazil?
And here is my eulogy:
Dearest LG, once Vivo then TIM
A long time you were with me, it did seem
But now your time is fim.

...And how I've not become Brazilian

I  have changed.  And there are many things that I just haven't been able to do, and I'm not sure if I will ever really be able to accomplish.  I'm not saying that doing things of my list below "makes" someone Brazilian.  Nor am I saying that all Brazilians exhibit these kinds of behaviors.  But I speaking to my personal experience, and reflecting on situations when I realize that I do not "belong" here.  And with that, here's how I've not changed:

1.  I don't do my nails.  I would get pedicures in the states every once in a while, but I've never been a fingernail person.  I play guitar, I garden, I get my hands dirty.  I'm more of a person that sees my hands/fingers as a tool, and not a thing of beauty.  And I've been accused of having Fred Flinstone feet, and there isn't really much you can do to doll these stubby things up.

But I have to admit I was kind of excited before moving here about the idea of going to the local salon and getting pampered.  And then we moved here, and reality set in.  I realized that I'd have to hire someone to watch my kids so I could go and do that.  My husband offered one time, and I went and got a pedicure and a manicure.  And it hurt.  Really, REALLY bad!  They really dug into my cuticles and cleaned things up.  Ouch.  I know that many women believe that experiencing pain is just part of being beautiful, but I'm not one of them.

2.  I don't get things delivered.  I have never asked the bakery down the street (or our favorite bakery for that matter) to deliver bread.  I've never asked the grocery store or sacalão (fruit/veggie market) to deliver my order.  And I haven't even ordered pizza here (friends have come over and done it).  Part of it is that I'm cheap.  Part of it is that I (still) get nervous about making phone calls in Portuguese, especially those regarding specific instructions and time and money (numbers are hard).  And I think the biggest part of it is the American part of me that wants to do it myself and do it my way.  Or maybe that is just the Shelley party of me....

3.  I don't visit beauty salons nor have I had work done.  I have never had any of the following:  peeling, escova inteligente (I think this is the same things as a Brazilian blow out), laser, eyelash extensions, drenagem linfático (intense massage to rid your body of impurities), lightening, etcetera etcetera.  Getting pretty is big business in Brazil.  Heck, it's big business around the world.  But my informal survey of local business indicates that beauty salons and places to get beautified far outnumber bakeries.  Maybe that's why people in Brazil are thinner--there's more opportunity to get done up than to eat.

4.  I don't have my children's birthday parties at a "party place."  Renting a salão de festas will run you at least R$2000, and that's for a very basic party.  And in my experience, birthday parties at these kind of places really aren't about the kids.  They tend to be more about the parents and their ability to throw a great party.  It's kind of a status thing.  Because I'm not Brazilian, I just don't get how the status game works, and I know that even if I tried to pretend I was wealthy and had social graces oozing out of me it would come across as the "cold" American I am.  So we'll stick with sleep overs, family parties and snacks at school.

5.  I don't watch novelas (soap operas).  I'm not a big fan of TV.  I watch it because my husband likes it, but I can find many other things that I'd rather do.  I know that I'm missing out on a part of Brazilian culture, and an opportunity to practice my Portuguese.  But I just can't make myself do it.

6.  I don't know how to bargain.  I pay my fair share of the gringo tax.  We had dinner with some friends a few weeks back, and they were talking about just how good Mineira women are at bargaining.  She's married to an American, and she often will be at the store trying to buy something and she will send her husband away because she doesn't want to pay more because the American is in the room.  I sometimes will try, but even then I don't have the patience, finesse nor ability to form any kind of nuanced conversation ("me pay less, yes? This price too high, I find store there and it be less...").  I've just resigned myself to being taken advantage of.

7. I don't throw trash on the ground.  I carry around my candy wrappers, used kleenex, and I've walked blocks carrying an empty soda bottle until I find a trash can.  In our neighborhood, there are many "designated" places for trash (tree stumps, the base of a power pole, the little bit of grass that surrounds some plants).  But to me, it just looks like the ground.  I've caught my kids throwing trash on the ground, and I always make them go back and pick it up.  Just because everyone else is doing it doesn't mean that we are going to do it.

8.  I don't follow soccer.  I thought that when I lived here, I'd actually watch soccer games, and pay attention to what is happening with the number one sport in the whole entire world.  In our old apartment, I had the pleasure of hearing our neighbors have shouting matches before, during and after games (which I have learned take place on Wednesday and Sunday nights, and sometimes other days...).  But now I'm just oblivious.  I know who the two teams are in Belo Horizonte, and every once in a while I hear who has won or who is playing.  But for the most part, I'm absolutely clueless.  I still would like to go to a live soccer game someday, but there's this thing called the World Cup and there's this crazy situation with all the stadiums being built/remodeled...

9.  I don't let someone else do it.  A lot of Brazilian working moms take advantage of the opportunities that exist here to let someone else help you out.  It makes sense to me.  If you are working full time, how can you have time to go grocery shopping and cook for your family?  How do you have time to do all the laundry?  To help kids with their homework and take them to their school events?  Where's the time to take little João to soccer practice, and Maria Clara Julia to ballet class?  And also take care of yourself (see #1 and #3)?  Most women with the means hire help for the house, nannies, drivers to take their kids to school/music lessons, buy the kids snacks through the schools (that hire bakeries to make deliver healthy fried snacks, cookies and sugary juices....real healthy...) and eat out (or do #2).  I have a great job, that allows me to work mostly part-time, and work while  my kids are in school.  That means that I can be with them, go pick out my own fruit and vegetables at the store, cook for them, and make things like homemade cornbread, apple muffins and  bread for their school snacks.  And I wash their clothes myself.  And I want to do this.  I like it.  I think it's part of who I am (kind of earth mama, granola mommy) and it's that darn American guilt about having someone else do the work that I should be able to do because I should be able to do it all because I'm superwoman independence. 

10.  I don't do Brazilian clothes.  First of all, I'm cheap.  Secondly, I'm cheap.  And thirdly, I can stock up on good quality used and new clothes on trips to the US.  I've bought some clothes here, for myself and for my kids.  But I have such a hard time paying so much money, and for things that unfortunately don't last very long.  As a result, we don't look very Brazilian and we're not always very fashionable.  But then again, Brazilian fashion is different.  I will say that I've become a little bolder in my tastes since moving here, but I still don't think I can pull of heels, blouses with only one sleeve, jumpsuits, and backless shirts. 

How I've become Brazilian

Moving to another country requires adapting.  I was thinking the other day about how I've changed since moving here, and I thought I'd share about some of the ways that I've become "Brazilian" in the past 2 years.

1.  I don't feel like lunch (the main meal of the day) is complete without beans and rice.  I really like almoço.  I like to eat a big meal in the middle of the day.  It feels healthier to me, and I've grown to really, really like my beans and rice.

2.  I don't have a problem any more with motorcycles whizzing past me while driving.  And I have no problem crowding the other cars out as I "merge" at the stoplight.  Or create my own lane at the stop light.  I have no problem with that.

3.  I buy pão de sal every day at the bakery.  We eat these little crusty rolls for breakfast, as a snack, or with hotdogs or sandwiches for "dinner."  They are a staple in our household.

4.  I've learned to be more relaxed with time.  We left our house 15 minutes after the birthday party started (the one I mentioned last post).  We arrived 45 minutes after it started, and WE WERE NOT THE FIRST ONES THERE!   I think that was a first for me!

5.  I scrubbed my daughter's flip-flops before she went to her (Brazilian) friend's house the other day.  Why?  a) Clean shoes/feet/socks/flip flops are just assumed here.  b) It's "wrong" to let a child go barefoot inside, because walking barefoot on the tile will give them a cold.

6.  I socialized with the personal banker today.  I've learned that it's way too American to just jump right to the point of your meeting.  So often I'm internally freaking out prior to an interaction, trying to think about how to say basic things in Portuguese, and I get nervous and just try to say what I want right away.  But I'm' gradually learning that you have to ease into these things.  First, I need to ask about the family.  How is your child?  It's a girl right?  How is she?  How is school?  And how was your vacation?  And the weather?  And of course, the other person is going to ask you about your husband's work, your work, your Portuguese, what you think about Brazil, how long you've lived here, and so on and so on. 

7.  I've learned how to celebrate.  Most American birthday parties are about 2 or 3 hours.  Heck, 3 hours might be long.  An American wedding?  The ceremony and reception might be 4 hours, if it's at night and you know the couple well.  NOT SO IN BRAZIL!  I've been to lunches that have lasted 6 hours.  And we were the first to leave.  I've finally come to the point where I know that when we go to a churrasco (BBQ), birthday party, lunch, etcetera, we are going to be there for a while.  You have to get relaxed, linger, talk and talk and then talk some more.  I told a co-worker last week that American's unfortunately don't know how to have parties.  Brazilians know how to party.  Just take a look at the sheer number of party supply stores, salão de festas (places to rent to hold your big party), catering companies, cake vendors, party entertainers, salons to get your nails/hair/makeup done for parties, party dress stores, etcetera, etcetera.  And that's just for the kids (i.e. weddings is a whole other business...)

8. The Female Brazilian (Mineira?) Lilt.  I sometimes catch myself speaking English like I hear Brazilian women speak.  It's almost like singing, a bit whiny, in the higher range.  And I hear my 5 year old speaking like this all the time.  Sorry, I don't have a visual nor a video for this.  Anyone else out there know what I'm talking about?

9. I open the window every time I get into the car/bus.  It doesn't matter if it's raining, if it's cold, or if I'm right next to a big truck blowing fumes right in my face.  When we were in the states, my youngest kept asking to open the window in my parent's car.  In Washington state.  In the dead of winter.  She just couldn't understand why we wouldn't open the windows.

10.  I spontaneously say "nossa" (pronounced NO--sah) when I'm surprised.  Short for "Nossa Senhora," which I would translate as "jeeze," or "oh my god."  When I see a woman wearing 4 inch heels walking up a steep hill.  When I find out how much the bill will be at the restaurant.  When a child at school does something cute.  When the bus sits at a bus stop for 5 minutes because so many people are trying to crowd on and the bus driver won't go because there are too many people hanging out the door. 

I realize that most of these things are life changing, but they are certainly things I was NOT doing 2 years ago.  And if you want to read about a fellow-blogger who is trying to "become Brazilian" every day this year, check out Born Again Brazilian. 

What are you doing on Saturday night?

Howdy folks!  I had a great day at Parque Mangabeiras with the Maple Bear students and staff, belting out the Beetles songs. It went relatively smoothly (i.e. not TOO many children crying) And I'm pooped. 

I get to go to a Brazilian birthday party tonight for my son's closest friend at his new school.  I've been trying to rest all afternoon, and psyche myself up for a night of speaking Portuguese while children overdose on Guarana and candy.

And then I went to the website for the party.  Oh my. I should have known that a party place with the word "marshmallow" in it would be over the top.

Wish me luck. What are you doing this Saturday night?

Kino, Kiwano or Horned Melon

Last week I found this crazy looking "fruit" at school:

The package said "kino," and I said, "I have to try this!"  Unfortunately, it pretty much just tasted like water.  I cut it open, and it had LOTS of little seeds inside.  It kind of looked like maracuja (passion fruit), but the seeds were lighter.  Wikipedia says it tastes tart, so I must have tried one that wasn't very mature, or just plain bad.  Here are some better pictures:

http://todaoferta.uol.com.br/comprar/sementes-de-kiwano-TKU9Q24WRD#rmcl

Wikipedia also says that it's a traditional food plant in parts of Africa.  Interesting looking, and I found some really fascinating pictures of it online (makes a good subject) but not a fruit I'd recommend.

paranoia and the expat

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.

The downside of living in an older building

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...