Christmas, Rio de Janeiro, Paraty, and Reveillon!

I am really making love to this blog today. :)


Alright, so I was working on this and then I realized that I told a friend about the trip and had it typed up anyway, so here's what I told her, edited for this blog and to make it more like a story and less like a mindless ramble. WARNING: This is a massive wall of text, (I like to write...it's a bit of a problem), so bear with me. 


I'll add pictures later. Let's go.
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I still can't believe it. Fortaleza seems so boring now. I live in a tourist destination and I think it's boring. This is so not good. Except not really. Fortaleza is actually pretty interesting place, and if you get the chance, you should totally come here. It's just that coming back from Rio, well, sorry Fortaleza.

This story actually starts on Christmas Eve, and then ends, well, it hasn't quite ended yet. It's one of those long and complex stories that sticks with you for a few months, maybe even a year, or a couple, although we haven't gotten there yet.

In front of one of the first cable cars
to serve Pao de Acucar (Sugar Loaf)

The kind that keeps you on your toes, because you never know when it might spruce up in your memory. 

Christmas Eve is a day designed for family reunions and parties, I think we can agree on this. It is strange for me, celebrating Christmas Eve without snow or cold weather that threatens the existence of my nose. But that's part of the experience - I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this. Well, I suppose it's more accurate to say that I 'kind-of' knew, but that's irrelevant

Normally, in the states, we spend Christmas Eve with my mother's family and Christmas Day with my Father's, unless we're doing Christmas Eve at our house, in which case we will probably still go see my Dad's family Christmas Day, but we see them anyway on the 24th. But we've never gone to both on the same day. This might be due to the fact that they live about 4 hours from each other. To put that into perspective, that's about the time it takes to drive from Gettysburg to New York.

I start to Skype with my family in the evening. (Right now, Fortaleza is two hours ahead of Eastern Coast US Time - we don't observe DST.) Then, we exchange gifts. My host mother has taken to calling me a monk, since I only brought one pair of shoes with me. So, I receive a pair of social shoes. As for me, I give books and chocolate.

After I am dressed in my spiffy new shoes (and new pants), we go to my host father's side of the family, situated on the outskirt of Fortaleza, to an area I'd never been to. I don't know most of the people there, but everybody was definitely in the Christmas spirit, and so I soon learned names and faces. 

From there - it is a quick visit - we go to my host mom's side of the family. Here, I'm going to make a note that Brazil is a very family-oriented culture. Extremely family oriented. So, in other words, of all of the family and extended family there, I know just about everybody by name and face, what their relation is, and other miscellaneous details. I try to think of somebody doing that with my family in the US and I want to cry. Except not really.

We start the party with a small prayer of thanks and appreciation to Our Lord and then everybody makes a beeline for the food. Food in Brazil is good. In fact, it's an absolutely wonder I haven't gained any weight (AFS says you'll probably gain weight. This is a lie. Come to Brazil. We're all getting thinner here.), since I love the food here (except for pineapple...there are a few stories about that), and the family-prepared dishes are excellent. Rice is mandatory at all important meals, and it is always accompanied by either beans or meat, such as beef or pork. Then there are a few quirky dishes - a sort of bread that at first glance appears to be a multi-tiered cake, but is actually bread and fish and cheese and some other things. Things that appear to be soft tacos, but are actually ground beef wrapped in a thin pancake and drizzled with sauce. And etc. 

With the grandparents. Not actually Christmas Eve.

We mingle around for a bit until my host mother manages to Skype with Bella, at which point the same thing happens here which I expected happened at my house. One, maybe two or three, person talks, and then somebody else takes their place, either through Bella's own request or because they happen to be in the right place at the right time.

Dessert is delicious as well. Cakes, ice cream, and more quirky dishes that I don't know how to describe. Brigadeiro, a staple Brazilian dessert, is there as well.

Afterwards, presents are exchanged and we go home. Time to hit the hay, because tomorrow is going to be exhausting.

I wake up Christmas Day to the sound of my host father rappelling on the door. It is earlier than I care to know, and I am fighting to keep myself awake. Today is going to be a rather unconventional Christmas. I get dressed in the roupas de viajar, and we pack our luggage and leave for the airport. 

I have probably been in the airport more during this past year than I have in my entire life combined. We've at least touched base. I used to hate planes. At this point, I don't care anymore. It's a plane.

This is a reference to the story of another AFSer, Mary Beth.
Read it: marybeth-afs.blogspot.com/2011/10/barajas.html

At the airport, we meet one of the Aunts, who is flying to Rio and then flying to New York/New England/Vegas to visit her old host family (she went to the United States and we placed in Massachusetts, I think. East Coast - represent!) and promote a program for UNICEF. So, um, if anybody is interested in coming to Brazil and volunteering with UNICEF..

.

We get on the plane. My host mother has a philosophy that the window side is the best - it's hard to argue with that - and so Rapha and I are behind them, in window seats, watching Fortaleza as it recedes into the distance and is blocked from view by the giant cotton balls of the sky. During the flight, I read. There's a book in French that I bought at the bookstore, since I am forgetting my French. Oddly enough, I can read and understand it just as well as always, but when I try to speak, I have to think more, and it mixes with Portuguese. The book is titled J'aurais Préféré Vivre, just in case anybody cares. 

Eventually, after a good three and a half hours, we land in Rio. I cannot believe it. We are in Rio. Rio de Janeiro. That city with Copacabana Beach and the beautiful mountains and Sugar Loaf and Christ the Redeemer Statue. Yes, that city. Plus, they made a movie based off of it. Have you see Rio? 

This is a memorial on Copacabana. I think I make a pretty
good imitation, if I do say so myself...

The first three days blur by in my memory, (thankfully, I journaled about them) but we spend them in Rio. We stay in the apartment of one of Mae's cousins, about 2.5 blocks from Copacabana Beach. 


We spend the first day getting to know Rio, I suppose. It is already the afternoon by the time we arrive, and the place is alive and kicking. Besides the atmosphere of the beach itself, there are people everywhere - people walking with their dogs, jogging, breakdancing, trying to sell things to tourists - lots of activities. We eventually end up at Mass, and that ends the first day. 


It is here I note that normally, mass is at night. Sunday night mass. Christmas night mass. 

Inside of the fort.

On the second day, it rains. Again. It is here that I'm going to note that I shut down when it rains. I totally shut down. I get headaches before the rain, and then I'm usually in some kind of comatose, zombified state for the first bit of the downpour. It depends, although I haven't figured out why. Just to clarify, I am a human barometer. Yay fun.


We eat breakfast in the apartment (Brazilians never go out for breakfast) and head out for a full day of shopping. I still have not decided if the decision to leave my wallet at home was good or bad. On one hand, I really don't trust myself with a debit card in the malls of Rio de Janeiro, but on the other hand...

Does anybody know who this is?

We hit three malls. The first one is absolutely colossal and has literally everything, including a second copy of some stores. Rapha points out a soccer player - it is Rio, after all - and we are on our way. At the exit, one woman is absolutely distraught because she is separated from her 3-yr old son, and looks ready to tear the world apart with her own two hands. I hope that the police found him. 


We hit a second mall - the selection of stores here aligns more to my taste than the other - but it is for the chief and express purpose of finding an ice skating rink. I think this goes without saying, but ice skating isn't exactly a conventional activity in Brazil. I actually might have been better than some of the other people there. Unfortunately, the ice skating rink won't open until 5:00 - it is a little past 2:00 now - and so we are on our way. 

A minha mae in the garden of the museum.

The third mall is a fashion mall. I haven't the slightest idea how this distinguishes it from any other mall with choice clothing brands, but I don't ask. This time, the item on the agenda is a movie, but we ultimately decide against this, and so we head out. 


We park back in front of the apartment and walk to Copacabana Beach, this time to the end, until we reach a fort that has now been converted into a mini-museum. Rapha and I break off to explore and take pictures, but he goes back before me. On my way back, I run into this group of guys speaking English, and I plaster a silly grin on my face and am totally like, "Yo, dudes! I speak English too!" And they look at each other, confused - so maybe it wasn't English - and it is all I can do to not fall to the ground and laugh. Instead, I walk back, calmly. 

More garden pictures...

That was really bad. I'm just a bad example. Don't do that. 


We head back along a strip of the beach that caters mostly to selling things to tourists. Mae, Pai and Rapha are occupied, but I am not in the mood, and so I find myself a tree and wait. There is some guy who tries to sell me popcorn (or at least, that's what I think it is). At first, I ignore him, but he doesn't get the impression that I am not interested in his probably-delectable popcorn. So what do I do?


I made The Face. If you have never seen the Jenna Marbles video "How to Avoid Talking to People You Really Don't Want to Talk to", this will probably not make sense. So Google it. Just be warned that there is some language. But for those of you with reservations, it looks a little something like this: 


[And like I said, pictures later! Desculpa gente. :P]


At first, he doesn't know what I'm doing. I just stand there, motionless. Then, after a few seconds, he starts laughing. I just stand there. Eventually, he takes the hint and leaves. Seriously. Works every time. 


That is also really bad. Don't do that either. I am just in a really weird mood today. 


We eat dinner at a small place on the side of the corner. I get a cheeseburger and acai - needless to say, I am completely satisfied. And it is on the corner of the street of the apartment. The apartment is right next to a supermarket. Right next to a supermarket. That is so cool. I honestly don't think I'll live in the city when I'm older, but if I do, Rio definitely makes the list of potential candidates. 


Day Three is overcast, but not rainy. asdfghjkl


We go to a museum on the history of Rio and Brazil, and I find some people from France. Sadly, I cannot make out what they are saying besides the obvious words - 'sont', 'tres', 'je', etc - and that one of them speaks Portuguese. That, and they have heavy accents, so I automatically know that I'm hearing legit French people. That, and I ask. At the moment, when I speak, my French is a weird mixture of French and Portuguese...like Portuench...or something.

Amazing shots such as this. Rio...que lindo!

We then go up to a point on one of the mountains and get some amazing shots - it is the same height as Sugar Loaf, minus the fee and atmosphere - and I can see the smaller satellite cities. We are that high, and Rio is that big. It's amazing. 


Afterwards, we go take the trip to see Jesus, but he's chilling in the clouds today. So no, I do not get to meet Jesus today. But eventually, I will. Now I have a legit reason to come back. 


We go to another mall, and this time I have my money. I buy a purple button down shirt for R$89.50, which is equivalent to $55.35 at the time. This is actually not a bad deal, since the model is new and the same shirt would have costed me anywhere from $40-$60 in the US. And I like it, so there's that too. But generally, clothes in Brazil are much more expensive than clothes in the United States. I am coming to appreciate that the US is a cheap place to spend your money. The catch? We have high taxes, or we get paid less by the hour, or something. I have yet to figure it out.


There is a lake around which we go biking, and in the middle of this lake there is a large Christmas tree. I am completely and utterly confused as to how I did not pass the Christmas tree (I thought it was at the other side, silly me) until I reach the point where I started, and then my brain puts two and two together. It was a long day, alright? Don't blame me. 


The entire distance around the lake is 8km, and this is the first time I pick up a bike in 5 months. Also, no helmet. Please, parents at home, don't kill me. (My Dad was a paramedic, and they're both nurses. Helmets are mandatory under pain of death.) I asked for a helmet, and they laughed at me. 


We go to bed early, because tomorrow, we are going to Paraty. 


This story can be broken into four different parts - Christmas, Rio de Janeiro, Paraty, and Reveillon, hence the title. Christmas is the first two days, Rio de Janeiro is the second through fourth days, Paraty takes the next three, and Reveillon is the final two. So if you desire a water/bathroom/popcorn break, this is where I recommend you do so. We are halfway done, give or take.


Paraty is a historic city on the Costa Verde, or Green Coast, of the state of Rio de Janeiro (just like there's a state of New York and a city of New York, fellow Americans). If you are ever given the chance to go, YOU MUST GO. Seriously, it is absolutely beautiful. 


It's not your conventional tropical paradise, but that's why I loved it so much. Paraty has a little something for everybody - an old city full of history, interesting architecture, beaches, boats, kayacking, horses - it is impossible to not be able to love this place. I'd even go as far as to say I loved it more than Rio. 

Statue in the museum garden

Paraty is divided into two areas - the modern district, which is exactly like every other small Brazilian town (therefore, almost nobody cares about it, but you should go there anyway), and the historic district, which is stunning (if not inconvenient at times) and therefore, everybody cares about it. There are several hostels and inns, all relatively cheap, too. 

This may be a terrible thing to say, but I don't like seeing modern technology and conveniences in places that don't have modern everything else. I know that's a horrible thing to say, but when you live in a three-room, one-story brick house along an interstate highway in a town so small that it only takes five minutes to drive by...I dunno. It kills the atmosphere and it makes me feel like the place is losing its culture...like the Sinification of Manchuria. Which is why I liked Paraty's historic district, which was cobblestone and colonial. The horse poop in the street is part of the charm. 

Speaking of horse poop, we take a tour of the historic district on a carriage, and while we are stopped in front of the church, our horse starts to pee. And this American couple behind us gives it this wide stare, like they've never seen a horse pee before. Is it bad that I now laugh at American foreigners? I can always pick them out. We make absolutely no effort to blend in. Stay classy, United States. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

The drive to Paraty takes a while - it is long enough that we stop for lunch in a nearby city, Angra dos Reis, for lunch, and we arrive sometimes in the evening. After confirming our place of residence for the night, we take the aforementioned house and carriage tour. Afterwards, we walk around the downtown area. At night, there are lights in the windows, and it is beautiful. It's really very calming. 

Museum Garden Fountain

The second day, we take a small detour to a place that produces cachaca. For those of you who don't know what this is, cachaca is the most popular distilled alcoholic beverage in Brazil, made from fresh sugar cane juice. Pai offers me a tiny amount - like, 2 mL - and so I taste it. I immediately wish I hadn't - it feels like my throat is about the dissolve. This stuff is strong. I don't know how people down it. I really don't. 

For the record, this is the national alcoholic beverage of Brazil. I tried it purely for cultural and educational purposes. 

Oh, and by the way, there are over 2000 different names that are/were used to describe cachaca. So if you go to Brazil and get some alcoholic beverage of which are you not familiar, chances are, it's some type of cachaca.

Church in the historic district

We return to Paraty and wander the streets a bit more, this time when it is daylight. We decide to stay at a different hostel tonight, one that is actually in the historic district (our other one was just outside it). I feel like such a Brazilian when one of the monkeys that we saw in Pipa begins to amaze all of the tourists. Yeah, I fed one of those a banana. And he dropped it. And it was adorable. What now, gringos?


At a beach, Rapha and I kayak for about an hour. I am not such a great kayak-er, but I like doing it, if that counts for anything. I separate from him when I see a stork on some rocks and want to get closer. Unfortunately, I scare the stork away. Drat.

I do this pose a lot...

Today is my five-month mark in Brazil. I cannot already believe that it is five months. Where did all of the time go? I think back to watching the capoeirists at Pipa, or walking the streets of Sao Paulo, and it seems like so much more than four months ago. Almost as if it was years ago. 


On the third day, we take a boat trip around the bay and some of the islands. There are a total of 365 islands in the Costa Verde, all with different names. We go swimming and eat lunch and I get this absolutely miserable sunburn on my knees and the back of my hands. It has already peeled (it healed pretty quickly, in just one week) and some of it faded, but not all of it, so it looks like I have some weird skin disease. I do not have a weird skin disease. I just have abnormal peel lines. I swear. That's kind of disgusting, sorry.

Then we drive back to Rio. It is night by this time, and so we arrive and sleep. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. In Portuguese, this is called Reveillon. Everybody wears some kind of white base (for purity and cleansing, I think) and then you may add other colors for what you want the New Year to bring. No Labor Day here, so it's all cool.

From the observatory atop Sugar Loaf. 

We go to Pao de Acucar in the morning, although there is already a long line, and it is ever increasing. Eventually, we get through (the fee is R$53, or about $30) and hit the cable cars. On the first level, Mae actually sees people that she knows. Only she would find somebody that she knows on Pao de Acucar. I mean, seriously, what are the odds? My Aunt is like this, but jeez, my host mother. She's in an entirely different class.

And during lunch that day, I found a
little piece of home that made my day. :)

We go back to the apartment around 5:00 and wait for the arrival of some other cousins. Then, we gather around the couch and sing songs in tons of different languages - Portuguese, English, French, Italian, Latin, Japanese - basically everything that I know, since I don't know any songs in Spanish, for some reason. All kinds of stuff, too, from Ave Maria to Puff the Magic Dragon and Sakura. Then my host father would join in with a song that I don't know, and I just make up some kind of harmony as we go along. If you ever get the chance to do this, I highly recommend it. Music knows no language.

Towards the back, it is jam-packed.

And then go went to Copanabana Beach. It. Is. A. Party. Seriously. I don't think I've ever seen such a lively scene. It's raining, so nobody is running (because that's really unsafe in crowds), but all of the people basically shut down the street. We make out way onto the beach, about five meters from the shore, and watch the fireworks. I have it on video, which I'll put up whenever I get around it to. This is totally crazy. Totally crazy. People are jumping up and down and it is screaming. It is raining, but nobody cares. We are all wearing ponchos, and I have a Disney Princess umbrella (because I'm a princess?). And there are film crews! I want to talk to them, but my host mom doesn't let me. So, whatever, fine. I won't be on national TV. No big deal. Just national TV. And actually, considering how weird I am this week, that's probably for the best.

Just before we got on the beach
to watch the fireworks

Almost as soon as we get back, I am in bed, asleep. We wake at 4:30 and head to the airport around 7:00. Our flight back to Fortaleza is at 9:00. I find a lovely piece of mail sitting on the kitchen table, stating my acceptance to Allegheny College. This seriously brightens my day. Then we go and eat beef. I feel like such a Brazilian. 

The first thing I notice about Fortaleza is how hot it is. As mentioned, it was cool in Rio due to the clouds and rain. But Fortaleza is just hot. It's not dry and not humid either, just hot. It makes for excellent beach weather, although we do not go to the beach. We sleep and go to mass and then sleep some more.

And thus, the end of that trip. 
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Except not really. I never got to see Jesus! This is such a problem. I have to go back. I'm already making plans.