Carnival...third time around!

It's hard to believe we've breezed into our third year in Brazil.  To say it has flown by is an understatement.  That fact that I can probably say it in Portuguese is even more unreal.  I'm a verified example that you can learn a language without lessons.  Can you learn it perfectly?  No way, not even close, but I can carry on conversations to my satisfaction (I might mention I'm easily satisfied with talking like a three year old).

Speaking of kids...mine are doing well, not complaining much and growing like weeds.  I think it's the food in this country.  It's not so "dirty", meaning full of chemicals and GMO'd (it's actually pretty "dirt" dirty, like actual mud on the veggies).  The cook (me), has also taken our diet to a new realm.  We're trying to be grain, dairy, sugar, and soy (no exceptions) free.  I'm strict with myself, less so with the kids, and David is still able to practice "free-will".  As the kids say, "We don't have anything fun to eat in our house anymore".  Well, if processed foods are fun, we're  boring in a "whole foods" kind of way.   For example, today was an exciting grocery shopping trip. What made it so?  I found quinoa/flaxseed milk at Walmart of all places.  What couldn't I find (after two stores)?   Fresh milk and bacon!  I refused to try three stores today.  I'll have to tomorrow though, as I don't think our house guests will enjoy seed milk in their coffee.

Yes, we're having house guests and coffee, caipirinha's, carnival, beaches, Corcovado, and pao de quiejo, are just a few of the things we're excited to share with our friends from Michigan during their week long visit.  We have a full itinerary including the Carnival parade, Rio de Janeiro, and the beach. We'd love to lay by the pool, but the weather just hasn't been that warm lately (although it's summer here).   I guess when you're leaving cold, snowy, Michigan, our 75 degrees feels pretty good.  It's always fun to show people Sao Paulo  and see what they are most intrigued about. For my Mom, it was the crazy motoboys.  I have  feeling it may be related to bikinis and speedos this time around.   Or maybe the beauty of Carnival.

Yes, I said "beauty"....not nudity, drunkenness, or mass insanity that I think many people envision when they think about Carnival.  I know I had a very different impression until I experiencedCarnival in Sao Paulo for myself.  We were so nervous about the madness of it our first year, that we headed to a quiet beach town to get out of the city.   Last year, a little more experienced, we decided we needed to see it for ourselves and took part in a guided tour.  To say I was amazed is an understatement.  The eight hours (9pm -5am) flew by in a blur of artistry, passion, culture and camaraderie.  We didn't see naked people, drunks, or sex.  We enjoyed it so much,  that this year, we bought our tickets and are taking a taxi to the Sambadrome to enjoy the event with our Michigan friends.  We're also bringing our good camera, something we were afraid to do last year, so I'm hoping for lots of great pictures.

I think if we lived in Brazil long enough, we may someday brave a "bloco" or block party, which is more similar to what foreigners imagine when they think of carnival, something like Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  Carnaval, which began as a small town parade in the 1800's, has evolved into a grand competitive parade of Samba schools.  They are judged in an official arena called the Sambadromo, built specifically for Carnaval.  These schools begin preparing for next years competition the day after this years conclusion.   There is an official song for carnival each year, that every school parades to.  Each school creates elaborate floats, costumes, and choreography revolving around a central theme chosen by the school.  I was overwhelmed with the complexity of their floats, unlike anything I'd ever seen.  Think Macy's Thanksgiving parade on steroids.   Using the floats as centerpieces, the Samba schools dance and sing down the route, being judged like an Olympic event.  As spectators, we sit in the stands, eat and drink, sing along (you eventually learn the song after five schools or so), oooh and aahhh, and yes Samba.

                                                  Mom and I, Carnaval 2012 Barra do Sahy

                                                   David and the kids, Carnaval 2011 Paraty

                                              Camryn and I,  Carnaval 2012 Barra do Sahy

                                             Silver Men, Carnaval 2011, Paraty

                                               View form our posada, Carnaval 2011, Paraty

                                                  Mud People, Carnaval 2011, Paraty

                                                   Beach combing,  Carnaval 2011 Trinidade



I'm sad to think this may be my last year to enjoy carnival in Brazil, but I know every year my thoughts will fly back to Brazil.     They say that people are born with the Samba in their blood and there's no better place to see it than Carnaval.

Have you forgot your password?

Have you ever walked up to the ATM, put your card in, and when prompted for your pin number, went completely blank?  (btw, this also happened when I returned to Brazil and went to use my Brazilian cards).

Well, that's also what happenend to this blog, in more ways than one.  First off, the part of my brain that makes me witty and wise just went on hiatus and nothing I had to say seemed blog worthy.  Then, I finally had a subject worth writing about and my "log in" info just completely left my head.  I entered every possible combination I could think of, only to get that red message explaining that I was incorrect again.  

Usually it's simple to fix.  They just email a link, you pick a new password and you're in.   Not so easy when you forget which email you set your account up under, so many moves ago.

  So today, as I was doing something completely unrelated to blogging, my subconscious gave me a poke, and my old email address popped into my head.  I quickly wrote it down with my old password and here I am, back to blogging.

There's lots to catch up on, hot topics to comment on, and most importantly, my extra ordinary life in Brazil.

We have a new address, new commutes and lots of new numbers to remember, but it's all been worth it.  I'll fill you all in on the next post.  For now, I'm just glad to back "in".

Running Away

It may that time of year(at least in the USA) when LOTS of people are running - running marathons, 5Ks, charity miles.  Some are even running just to run, tracking their miles on GPS devices and pedometers and posting on the internet for all the world to see.  And then there's me, the anti-runner. 

 I just don't get it, and believe me, I've tried. 

Running to me is like torture, the before (putting in those sturdy heavy running shoes), the during (getting through that first mile when my body tries it's hardest to get me to stop), and the after (when my knees and hips are throbbing and my shins have the "splints").

You might wonder why I'm even bothering to talk about it if this is how I feel, but truth be told, I've always wanted to BE a runner.  I want to be that person you see every morning, no matter the weather, that runs by.  That person who dons a number and runs a race to the finish line.  I want to "place in my age group" and have "a time".  Yet, when I attempt to run, I feel as if the dentist would be a more pleasant option.

The crazy thing is, I actually can run.  There's been a few times in my life that I thought maybe I was crossing that threshold into the runner's world.  I bought expensive shoes, made a schedule, and ran out the door every morning, rain or shine.  I ran five days a week, about 25 miles on average. And I still hated every stride.  Apparently my body did too, as my knees and hips started to feel the stress. I felt like the tin man in need of a good oil job. Yet I persevered.  I wore out a pair of shoes and needed to replace them. Well, surely at this point, I could call myself a runner.  No, I was just stubborn ...and determined to make running a part of my life.  After all, It's un-American not to run.  Why am I lacking the Forest Gump gene?  

It's taken a year+ in Brazil, (where at times, running has been my only option for cardio), to finally give in....I am never going to be a runner. Yesterday I gave it one last try. I shoe'd up, headed down to the treadmill at the gym and hit the belt.  1.6 miles in, I felt like I was walking, no strain on my lungs, knees, hips or shins.   By mile four, I felt like I could go all day.  I had found my groove and kept going until six.  The entire time, my mind was solving the world's problems, making my grocery list, planning my Summer in Michigan, writing a note to Camryn's teacher, and developing a cure for cancer.  And then it struck me, running allows my body to completely disconnect from my brain.  I think this is what runner's call "getting into the zone".  My feet go, my body keeps breathing, and my mind travels to far away places.  

Now it all makes sense.  I've spent years trying to be in the moment. Running takes me away.  Luckily, in Brazil, I've found my love of dance. It forces me to be aware of my body and what each part is doing.  The minute my mind wanders to the grocery list, I've missed a transition and am going left when I should be going right.  I love Pilates for the same reason, as most of what is happening in your body needs to start with your mind.  

Yes, I'll never be a runner.  I won't be getting in the zone anytime soon and you won't see me running by your house in the early morning rain.  Instead, I'll be busy perfecting the Samba, trying to get that right hip to go opposite of the left shoulder while keeping my head and neck  straight ahead.  

Wherever my body is, my mind will be also.  

I finally get it, Forest.  Some of us were born to run... and some of us were born to dance.

The Dreaded Dread

Note: In this image, I'm dreading nothing!

Dread-1. to fear greatly; to be in extreme apprehension of 2. to be reluctant to do, meet, or experience. Archaic definition: to regard with awe.

Have you ever woken up and enjoyed a few moments of complete peace and contentment before you remember that dentist's appointment? Until the dread sets in and you reluctantly drag yourself out of bed? Imagine having that feeling the majority of your days. Except it's not a painful root canal or big presentation thats sets your anxiety into motion. It may be a trip to the grocery store, a PTA meeting at school, or even going to your favorite restaurant. Dread has been a daily companion since living in Brazil and quite frankly, it's downright exhausting at times.

For example, today was the first day of my much awaited Zumba class. It seemed like this day would never come, but along with that excitement came the dark side of dread...dread of the drive through Sao Paulo traffic, finding the parking garage, walking in a strange neighborhood, and navigating a entirely new process at a new facility. Six months ago, I would have said forget it. It's not worth it. Today, I pulled my car out of the parking garage at 5 minutes to 10 so I could hit the pavement right as restricted driving lifted, breathed deeply through the bumper to bumper traffic, found the parking garage, hiked it to the gym where I was shown to the class, and danced my bombom off for the next hour. Next week the dread will be less and eventually it'll be gone completely.

If I get nothing else from this stint in South America, it's that fear is meant to be worked through, not walked away from. I've faced fear more these last 15 months than I may have in my entire lifetime. I discovered that for me, fear is rooted in the unknown and in situations where I have no control. So yes, I dreaded going across town today, but I also lessened it by checking out my destination on Google street view so I knew what the parking garage looked like and knowing exactly how to walk to the gym from there. I was as prepared as I had the power to be.

I think I've moved from "to fear greatly" to "to be reluctant to do, meet, or experience". I'm not at the point where I will run out the door with no GPS or drive around just to kill time, but I've come a long way from turning down invitations because a restaurant doesn't have a valet.

There are still occasional dreaded situations, like getting birthday party invites that I know we have to turn down because of this "restricted zone", or having to find a new store or restaurant, but overall the fear factor has gone way down and I've settled into a content routine. I can actually hit the snooze and fall back to sleep instead of being scared awake by the day's agenda.

There are days I long for a "driver" like many other expat wives have. Oh, how nice would it be to be picked up and dropped off at the door. Then I think how far I've come. I'm twice the woman I was a year ago. My confidence has grown, my trust in my instincts is bigger than ever, and there are days that don't feel complete without some big challenge.

I imagine a year from now, the dreaded dread will be gone almost completely and I may move on to "regard with awe" this city I call home. Maybe that is life's journey...from fear, to apprehension, to reluctance, to acceptance, to awe. You just need to face it head on.

Portuguese word of the post- Bombom: butt, as in shake your bombom. Love this word by the way. It's so much cuter than buttocks.

Motoboy Sao Paulo

As most of you know, my Mom just spent some time with us here in Sao Paulo, although in reality, we spent much of our time out of the city. We traveled to the beach and then the mountains. When in the city, we drove from North to South and spent hours in a traffic jam on the way to airport. My Mom didn't seem too fazed by all the crazy traffic, moving through the city streets without rules or reason. It wasn't until our final hours, that she seemed to be concerned....the MOTO BOYS finally got to her. As those of us in cars sat inching along the Marginal and then the Dutra, the Moto Boys zipped between us at normal posted speeds, beep beeping to let the motorists know that changing lanes wasn't advised. After keeping an eye on the side view for an hour or so, Mom finally concluded, that if she had to sit in this traffic day after day, she'd probably drive a motorcycle too. Yes, she too saw the many advantages to being a MotoBoy.

Here are a few that come to mind:

Reason #1- You automatically belong to a club(gang) that will immediately come to your aid should you need defense. Most minor fender benders involving Motoboys go unreported. It's safest just to drive away and pay for the damage they've inflicted on your vehicle.

Reason #2- There are few traffic laws that apply to you. You are able to drive between lanes, hop onto sidewalks, weave through stopped traffic, kick vehicles that are in your way, run red lights, park where ever there's room, turn any direction from any lane. Note: most of these apply to car drivers too, so the smaller the car, the more you can drive like a Motoboy.

Reason #3- You can easily peer into vehicles to evaluate whether there's anything of value or easily accessible to steal. Just point your fake gun to demand the occupant roll down the window and proceed to take what you want, or simply smash the window with your concealed hammer and pick through the glass for valuables. This is why many expats have tinted windows that we don't dare to roll down.

Reason #4 - Being an "ambulance chaser" is a perk of your job. It's your lucky day when an ambulance needs to get through traffic. Just follow behind like a parade procession and make your way through the parting sea of cars. Sadly, the ambulance is often heading to aid one of your fellow gang members who wasn't having such a lucky day.

Reason #5- Real men CAN wear pink... helmets anyway. As a Motoboy, brown isn't the new black, pink is. I'm not sure if this is a fashion trend, a trick to get an edge on your male competition, or if the Motoboy bike shop just a had a clearance sale on pink helmets.

All in all, driving a motorcycle of any kind, for any reason in this city requires a certain crazy gene. You're literally putting your life on the line, in between lanes, and sometimes face down on the pavement. I keep trying to talk my ten year old son into creating a video game called "Motoboy Sao Paulo". That'd be the only way I'd drive through this city without a couple of tons of steel between me and open air.

In a final note, and a little more seriously, I've personally seen three dead Motoboys laying in the road in the time we've lived here. It's really very sad because in reality, these "boys" are working...delivering, messaging, couriering. They have a place here in this busy city and dead in the road isn't it.

Yes, I let them by, fold in my mirrors to give them more room, and check and re-check like a crazy woman before I change lanes. I curse then, envy them, and pray my son never wants to ride a motorcycle, other than the virtual kind. After living here, I don't think I'd be a happy MotoMama in any country.

Portuguese word of the post: "pare"-meaning stop, as on a STOP sign. In reality, a stop sign is just a "heads up" to warn "if someone needs to stop, that person would be you".It's more like, check to be sure it's clear and then GO....fast.

Dear Money Spender

The Martin Family Banker

When it comes to financial freedom as an expat wife, I consider myself pretty lucky. I have a joint back account with my husband at a Brazilian bank. This gives me my own debit card, checks, and ability to get cash from the ATM when I need it. That might not seem like much, but just getting a bank account in Brazil can be difficult and having "almost" full access as a spouse is a luxury.

It's the "almost" that seems to be the inconvenience. You see, there's this great little service in Brazil that allows you to pay people, services, businesses by directly transferring funds from account to account, but for some reason, only David is able to do it from our account. So every time I have a "bill" to pay, I have to, *gasp*, ask my husband for money. Worse, he actually has to do the paying. It really makes it inconvenient to sneak a few bucks by the banker.

Last week was a particularly large "outflow" (of cash) week and at weeks end I once again had to beg for money. What better way than to forward the "bill" and ask for it to be paid. Here's the sweet email I sent my husband and his equally sweet response.

Dear Personal Banker,

Please pay my INC dues when you have a chance.

Thank You,

Your loving money spender

Dear Money Spender,

We are sorry to inform you your request for funds has been denied. You will receive an official notification in the mail indicating reasons for this denial. The initial feedback was “insufficient funds”.

We are sorry for this inconvenience.

This is a system generated email. Please do not respond.

David B. Martin

South American Regional Controller

Leave it to my husband to trump my wittiness with his cottonmouth sense of humor. Needless to say, I laughed out loud all afternoon and forgot to remind him to SERIOUSLY PAY MY DUES!

Portuguese word of the post: conta which means bill, as in "pague a conta" (pay the bill), but used most often to request the "check" after a meal as in "conta, por favor".

Year Two...

I just heard on the news this morning that social networking like FB is detrimental to your self esteem. People are constantly striving to keep up with the virtual "Jone's". I have to say I agree, but know that very few FBookers are willing to tell it like it really is. Even I hesitate to post anything negative or controversial for fear I'll be attacked or ridiculed. For me, FB is a real "time waster". It sucks me in for hours some days with nothing to show for my effort. God forbid you update your status and no one "likes" it or comments. LOSER with a capital L.

So here I go into "year two" in Brazil and I'm not sure where FB will fit in. I know in "year one", it saved me from despair many times. I think I'm in a better place now, with more real life pursuits to fill my days, but maybe I'll want to brag about all my triumphs and what better place than FB?

For those few that follow this blog, you'll be happy to hear that I'm going to post regularly. You'll be sad to hear, it'll be all things mundane, because living in Sao Paulo isn't much different than living in Detroit. If I wait for that exciting event to come along, I may never have reason to blog again. Here goes the first blog of YEAR TWO.

Reasons I'm Not So Thrilled With My Life Sao Paulo Right Now......

It is HOT, hotter than I remember it being last year.

Our apartment has NO A/C and NO ceiling fans (what were we thinking?)

There are mosquitos that we didn't have last year. We look like we have chicken pox.

Friends have been canceling plans at the last minute. I heard this is a Brazilian thing and maybe it's just taken a year for the expats to think it's ok too.

Prices for groceries have continued to rise.

I need to stop drinking beer and beer in Brazil is sooo good (and cold)...and did I mention it's hot outside?

David continues to work late into the night and being a single Mom isn't fun.

Reasons I'm feeling lucky to live in Sao Paulo Right Now....

It's HOT. When I'm at the pool, I feel like I'm on vacation.

David and I are going to Carnival this year!

I started Samba lessons at a dance school.

My kids are happy and LOVE school.

The food is so healthy and delicious and worth every penny.

I have a maid (who is scrubbing our bed pillows by hand right now) that irons EVERYTHING!

It's two and a half hours to the beach.

I've met several new friends in the few weeks I've been back, even one in my building (a psychologist which may come in handy once I give up FB).

A year later, life is still good. The honey moon may be over, but there are still times when life here takes my breath away (and not only because it's so hot I can't breathe). How many people can see a double rainbow against a city skyline from their bedroom balcony? Which reminds me...I need to share those pictures on my FB wall.

Portuguese word of the blog: Beijos- Kisses. Often used to close a written note, like

Beijos,

Kimberly

Ciao, ciao for now.

Sorry about the font changes.