Rio Gringa

five hours

That's how long Eli and I spent at the Federal Police on Thursday. And neither of us has spontaneously combusted.

Due to my visa type, I am required to register with the police in the first month I spend in Brazil. So I wanted to get this over with. We took the bus to the airport, where the PF immigration HQ is located, and got there in about an hour, which was impressive. Every other time I've had to go there, it's been practically empty and I got in and out in no time. Today, however, I got to experience the real joys of Brazilian bureaucracy.

We walked in to the station, which is divided into the Brazilian passports section and the foreigners section. I got my number and saw the current number was 12 behind mine and not moving at all, so I decided to do the efficient thing--walk myself over to the fingerprinting stand and get that part done with ahead of time. There are, of course, no signs telling you this, which would help the line move faster--you just have to figure it out for yourself. While I was getting fingerprinted by a very funny cop, I turned around and there was my American friend, also there to register. Only she had been there two times before without any luck.

So we all sat around chatting and at about 2:15 they called my number, and I practically danced into the office. A very friendly guy took my papers and we made small talk (a must, apparently, at the Federal Police, who just love chatting and are not exactly what you would call "fast"). After he'd fiddled with my papers, he sent me back out to wait for my passport. At about 3, I was called and finally free to leave.

Except I have to go back to pick up my supposed ID card. That is, if it's ready in time. The cop told me that sometimes people leave the country before their cards are ready. So why did I pay R$200, exactly??!!

We took the bus back, and the obvious cure for not eating all day long and for suffering through the five hours at the police station was clearly a trip to our favorite churrascaria. The food there has never tasted so good.

election season

While the United States has whipped itself into a frenzy with the conventions, Rio, in the meantime, is gearing up for city elections. The process is profoundly weird to me, so I thought I'd share.

The elections are for mayor and borough presidents (bairros, in Rio's case), and once you step onto the street you are flooded with ads. Since it is illegal to hang up big posters, you'll find a person holding, standing behind, or crouching under every single poster, where they stay all day long. For some reason, a person holding the poster isn't illegal, but a poster all by its lonesome is. There are people with their posters on corners, in the middle of the street, and on highway medians. In the favelas, there are illegally posted signs on homes, as well as simply written ads with the candidate's name and voting number.

Ahh, the voting number. This is the really weird part. Each candidate has a five or six digit number, and once the voter decides on his candidate, he must memorize or write down the number to bring with him to the polling booth, where he must punch in the number for his choice on the voting machine. Some candidates are giving out business cards with their information on them to make less work for the voters, but it's still up to people to have the numbers on hand when voting. Not only that--voting is mandatory, so if you fail to show up at the polling station, you lose some of your rights, like applying for public jobs and getting a passport.

On Brazilian channels, there are tons of election commercials, which usually feature a talking head, his voting number, and either a person doing sign language in one corner or text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. All the ads kind of look the same to me--let's take Rio back, let's stop the violence, let's spend more on education, let's save our city. Yadda yadda.

However, the Brazilian government came out with a series of ads with the motto: "Four years is a long time," where they show people afflicted with an annoying problem that last four years (like having a bad politician in power for four years). One woman can't stop walking in circles when she's late; another guy has a bee caught in his ear, and my favorite, a guy tap dances when he's nervous (below). I think they are great, and I wonder what a Bush-like affliction would be.

The best ad I've seen so far, however, was not on TV but on the bay. We spotted what appeared to be a house boat near the bridge off the Ilha do Governador, but it was actually less of a boat than a small house-like structure on a large plank, with a big Brazilian flag, a guy in a rocking chair, and a simple sign with a candidate's name and voting number scrawled in black. (Incredibly, I found a photo of it before they put the sign up--it's the green structure in front of the trash/kayak/whatever is behind it).

gringo mania

I told my friend about Don Blanquito, and she told me about MC Gringo, who has quite an interesting story.

Born Bernard Hendrik in Germany, MC Gringo's parents died when he was quite young, and as a young adult he wound up in Brazil, where he fell in love and married a Brazilian. They lived in Minas Gerais before moving to Rio in 2004, where he fell for funk music. He became a funk singer, though he had a lot of trouble breaking into the genre since he is a gringo. Since then, he's become a genuine funk star, has performed on several national TV shows, and recorded an album (Gringao! ha). He lives in Rocinha, the biggest favela in Rio, so he not only sings about favela life, but really lives it.

You can see a six minute clip from a documentary about MC Gringo below and an interview here, which both have English subtitles so everyone can enjoy.

I have respect for this guy (unlike a certain other gringo funkeiro), since he speaks Portuguese and really has Brazilianized. He seems to respect and love Brazilian culture and clearly wants to be a part of it. But I just don't think he's very good. No offense.

starting over

Allow me to wax poetic to accurately describe the expat experience, in particular, my experience coming back to Brazil.

Moving to a foreign country--even when you return after spending time there, like I did--is like jumping into a pool of freezing water. When I was growing up, we belonged to a club with a big pool and tennis courts, and though I loved summer, I hated that pool, since it was a terrible shock to jump in the unbearably cold water. That's what it's like to move abroad--the anticipation, the shock, the horror, and the relief when you finally pop your head above the water.

Now, returning to Brazil to find that nothing was as I expected, is like building a sandcastle, turning away, and then turning back to find it washed away by the tide. Then you have to rebuild the castle, but this time out of wet sand. After spending all of that time to build a life and to be happy with it, I find that it's gone and I have to practically start from scratch.

Finally, having this apartment incident happen is especially traumatic since I have an unusually high anxiety level. This would bother a normal person, but since I am such an anxious person, it bothers me all the time. It's like trying to sleep on needles at night, and having a bee buzz in my ear all day long. My home is my haven, and in a strange, dangerous city, my apartment has really become my safe place. And it's so beautiful and ideal that I have come to see it as one of the few things I will completely miss about Rio. Knowing that this perfect place will soon no longer be mine is like having the floor pulled out from under me and falling into a deep pit, from which I am desperately trying to scramble out.

you're so welcome

If there is anyone who believes in strengthening Brazilian-American relations, cultural exchange and expanding your horizons, it's me. But sometimes, just sometimes, you just gotta say NO.

Behold, a Jewish gringo from the States who calls himself Sir White Boy (in Spanish, of all things) who has somehow become a Brazilian funk singer. There are so many things wrong with this I can't even begin to list them all. You just have to see for yourself.

fun times at the dentist

One of the worst things about being an adult is having to organize your own health and dental appointments. Since I absolutely hate going to the dentist, I put it off until January last time, where I went to this slightly ghetto clinic on my street where what appeared to be a dental student cleaned my teeth rather ungracefully. So this time, I decided to go to a more upscale place. After all, as my dad says, you get what you pay for.

Initially, when I went yesterday, the secretary told me I'd have to do a pre-consultation to get a price (for free), and then I could decide whether or not to make an appointment. But it didn't quite happen like that.

The office is housed in an immaculate white house on several levels. I noticed that all of the dentists were shuffling around in surgical slippers, which I found a little odd. Then I was sent upstairs and instructed to put on the ridiculous surgical slippers (Brazilians are so weird about hygiene). There, a full-fledged dentist was waiting for me in a huge, pristine room overlooking my street. Directly across the street, the apartment resident posted huge photos of the Pope and of Mary and some other religious stuff, and I had to wonder if it was just a coincidence.

Instead of "assessing" me for a price, he went ahead and got started. At that point, I was like screw it, I hate the dentist, I don't want to have to find another dentist and make another appointment LET'S JUST GET THIS OVER WITH. So he did the usual electric scraper thing, which was highly unpleasant, and then instead of the little vibrating thing with special paste, he seemed to sandblast my teeth with a high-powered tooth blaster mechanism. He gave me a prescription for some stuff and warned me about a potential cavity. He charged me half, though it was more than I paid last time (though I got what I paid for, and for that I was willing to pay).

He also got wind of my accent and asked where I was from, and I was happy he seemed so impressed by my Portuguese. On the way out he called, "Congratulations!" (in English). "Uh, thanks?" I replied.

After all, I did survive yet another Brazilian teeth cleaning.

How to speak Brazilian

One of the things that most cracks me up is how English words and expressions are pronounced in Portuguese, since these products, people and things are used or known in Brazil. Here are a few. Can you think of any others? (excuse my rough phonetics)

King Kong: kingee-kong-ee
Gmail: zhee-may-ewwl

band aid: band ey-gee
notebook / laptop: noh-tee boohhk / lahpee tohpee

George Bush: Zhor-gee Booshee
Woody Allen: Woo-gee Ow-ehhn

Tylenol: Chee-leh-naw
Ford: Fohh-gee

Tic-tac: Cheeck-tack
Hyundai: Hee-iw-die

Texaco: Teh-shah-coh
shorts: shohh-chee

Disney: Geez-nay
Elizabeth: Eh-leez-ah-beh-chee

Vick's Vapor Rub: Vick-ee Vah-poh Roo-bee