Gone With the Wind

Lo and behold I reached Maryland last night and am now parked in my Germantown suburb apartment. With only a few hours of light under my West Coast belt, I have already come to marvel at a number of local touches—first and foremost being the diversity and frenzy of this place. Stepping out for a bite to eat, I was surprised to find myself a distinct minority, surrounded as it where by Latinos, Africans (of Africa), and Indian men and women in far eastern garb. In my opinion, uniformity offers predictability, offers boredom, so a step in the other direction is a good step for me.

I feel as I did when I first stepped into Brazil, when I awoke to the bustling streets of Salvador, and the many unknown worlds it offered. I feel overwhelmed – though in a good way – by the mystery of this place, by the sharp corners of its unfamiliarity. First days are always like stumbling around blindly in the dark, praying that you don’t run into anything too sharp or pointed.

My trip up too K-zoo was way more fun than it should have been. I stayed about a week, feeling the whole time like I was walking around in some distant memory. I insisted on keeping my homecoming unannounced, reveling in the far greater pleasure of a surprise hello. I jumped smiling into so many doorways—first my younger brothers, and then on into portals of the KVM, Wilgenholf, Doster, and many other great dynasties. I kissed old acquaintances, and shook hands with forgotten kings. Got a free lunch from Donna, Mandana, and Paula, and another by Bay (thanks guys!). Got to kick some serious Kendo ass with Terry—that was way fun. Got to throw a rip-roaring Kraftbrau horseshoe playing kegger with Alec—go bro. Got to kiss a number of lovely ladies at a bachelorette party, me being the only attending male—go team me. And with Eric, my good friend Eric, well we had a number of interesting adventures including my first Hooters experience, drinking a pitcher of Old Style Green Top beer before noon, and accosting random pedestrians with camera routines. All in all it was worlds of fun, almost enough to get sucked back into the Michigan mayhem once again.

But now, after a difficult but satisfied extrication, I now sit at (take note):

19932 Sweetgum Circle, Apt 14
Germantown, MD 20874-3781
USA

I have four months here, living with my college buddy Doug in an over-priced one bedroom place, and then plan to move closer to D.C. (in a three/four bedroom household with ERIC & SHEILA…..YES THIS MEANS YOU). I have a ridiculous amount of work to look forward to, including finding a job and applying for graduate school, all the while somehow making rent. I guess this means I can no longer play the gypsy card, that my life will become far more regulated and routine, but you can be damn sure that my adventures will continue. Life is only boring if we make out to be, and this boy hasn’t laid down his weapons yet. Nay, not quite yet.

(Ingleside Terrace. Alec's home and my wayward destination. This place has been a noted party den for years, and has provided many services to the Kalamazoo community.)

(This was hanging on the door to my room. I never quite had the answer to this one.)

(You guessed it. My feet.)

(Me and a noted trouble maker. She was my first girlfriend in the sixth grade. So fun to come back "home" and to reminisce.)

(Various peeps at my kegger. The guy in the red hat got his ass kicked later in the night by a Lakeside girl. Lakeside is like a treatment center for troubled teens. It's well known that you don't mess with the teens, and you don't mess with the employees. He thought it would be fun to tease her, and she returned by beating his face into the ground. I thought that the whole incident rather amusing.)

(um...yeah...no comment)

(Eric and I decided to f*ck around at the down town mall. We decided to be pedestryian gorilla terrorists. I assualted random people with my camera. Climbing stuff was a must too.)

(Ahhhh, good to be back in the states where fun is prohibited.)

(This is some of the random people I assaulted. I would just knock on random windows and tell people to smile. Try and catch the looks of suprise beneath the reflection.)

(Eric playing bum.)

(Drinking Old Style at The Green)

(We hit the museum and jumped valiantly through the tornado.)

I swear officer, she was the one that raped me!)

(After pool celebration at Mindy & Mandy's.)

(And who could forget, the blue moon finale.)


HA! I ROCKED THE KALAMAZOO!

Cheap Tricks

Ok, so, not too many exciting things going on in Oklahoma. I must resort to blogorilla tactics to keep my readership interested. Here is some more nice shiny morsels from my trip in Brazil.

(Ahh, dinner with friends.)

(Check out the sidewalk peace signs. Thought those were cool.)

(My favorite eyes in Brazil.)

(Pretty churches and streets.)

(Dancing on the precipice.)

(My first New Yorken friends. They make me feel so hip, being from a big city and all.)

(Shopping Barra. Probably the most horrendously designed mall in Brazil. First world prices in a third world setting. Gotta love it.)

(Tattoo: the most effective thing one can do to irritate your grandma.)

(Impressive trees deserve climbing.)

(Leo and lions. If it wasn't for their appetite they'd be like family.)

(Imagine that. I never tired of the beautiful beaches.)

Ok. Thats all.

Um...Holla!

Hello you crazy cats of auto customization, you sultry souls of vehicular refinery, welcome to yet another addition of Pimp My Ride. Today, we’re bringing it to you live, not from the L.A. projects or the Big A’s urban sprawl, but from the little known outlands of back alley Oklahoma. It is here, with crescent wrench in hand, that were going to take one man’s sad little Neon, and turn it into a shiny new whip, a “brand new ride”.

So, without further a due, meet your host, mechanic, and recipient of today’s show -- Leo.
Leo hails from a long line of car detailers and traders, who’ve selected and sold such fine vehicles as the Volks Station Wagon, the Cargo Van, the Barby Beach Cruiser, the John Deer Mower, and many other finely listed farm and utility vehicles.

Today, Leo is going to show us what it means to be cool (minus the cool), and how to turn a not so sexy stock car into a formula one roadway fighter. Let’s watch:

First, you need a can of spray paint.
Next, for application purposes, a small roll of duck tape and some cardboard.

Before this, however, it is recommended to give the car a good soak, scrub, wax & wash.

Then, after everything is prepared, you need to stare into a camera and do this:

And this:

$50 dollars and a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken later, with a little seat cover, steering wheel mount, and a contact juggling ball, your car can look like this:

Plus some banging speakers and:

Bam!


Your ride is pimped!

I'd just like to take this moment to say, this is what happens when you get bored in Oklahoma.

Um...holla!

Off and Away

Well, I have returned. I sit in the same attic crawlspace from which my journey first began. My last few days in Brazil were incredible—Rio being the finale, and the true icing on the cake. In my final hours, I held hands with a monolithic Christ, I jumped off a nine hundred foot cliff, and I gave way to passion on a stormy beach until the rising of the next day sun. It was just as sweet as I intended it to be.

It is very strange to be back. I could list a thousand things which I notice more acutely now. The cars are so big, the people and the food equally so. Everything seems so clean, so neat, so ordered. It’s nice, to be able to sit back and relax, not having to focus intently on what people are saying or who is going to rob me.

What strikes me as strangest of all, however, is not how different everything is, but just how unchanged life has remained. I was only gone for four months, four measly little months, and yet I feel so different. Everything in Oklahoma, in the States, has remained in its place. My parents are here, the same people, working hard on the same daily things. My stuff lies unaffected, unmoved, if not for a bit of dust now collected on the rim. My car, my life, it is exactly how I left it, trapped in a bubble of static momentum.

And yet, amidst this regularity, amidst this collection of familiar things, I strangely feel somewhat foreign. I feel different than the person that left from this space—more full and more alive, like Dorothy stepping out of the whirlwind wondering where her Kansas had gone. My hair is ruffled, and my clothes torn yet everything else remains unchanged.

But this is a good feeling, and for me it reaffirms the necessity of such a trip. Having lived and breathed OZ, I return excited about my life, and confident in my ability to navigate through it. In less than a month I will be heading off to Washington D.C. I want to start up Kendo again. I want to continue working out at the gym. I want to save up for a motorcycle, get back into school, land myself a good job. I want to live and breathe the randomness of life.

For this adventure, and all that is to come, I am very grateful. For all you people who helped me get there, and who have lived with me on this journey—my heartfelt thanks. As one page ends, another begins, and I hope we continue to travel together on this great adventure.

These pictures speak for themselves:

Morning Thoughts

I woke up today staring up at the ceiling. My dreams were in English, the setting a world apart. Seeing the slanted red tile and the wood framing far above me, as my eyes slowly began to focus, it was only then that I remembered I was in Brazil.

I sit now in a tiny pousada room in the ocean village of Barra do Juco. A weed whacker is buzzing outside. The ocean breeze, carried not fifty meters off the beach, is playfully brushing my back. I’m listening to Afro Celt and methodically tonguing my teeth, hoping to dislodge the pieces bread affixed to my gums after my café de manha.

It feels good to write again. I got busy working on an article over the last few weeks, but it was all labor and no fun. I do prefer the freedom of my own thoughts, and the liberty to move in any direction as I descend the page. How fun it is to be the vessel through which other minds move.

Salvador passed behind me three days ago. The sweltering heat and constant hum of traffic was easily left behind; the pastel edifices, the friends and newly won familiarities were not. The hardest disconnection broke in my girlfriends eyes, when her delicate tears dropped from her face to the cold tile patterns of the bus station floor. All of life transitory, I reminded myself, all of it falls and passes on. Yet, even in this verity, I felt the sting of sadness as I turned my back and walked away. For the beauty that she shared with me, and the weighty reaffirmation that life is indeed worth living, I silently thanked her. Her smile and soft comforts will safely be guarded as little treasures, and the memories cherished and upheld as the best part of my trip.

As I get up and traverse each new day, the face of this country continues to change for me. It has moved from the once called undiscovered country—a heady and exotic place—to something a bit more mundane and close to reality. After four months, my Portuguese remains fairly basic. I am able to converse, to make jokes, flirt, and get by that which I need to get by. I lack wit and depth of thought, but have earned myself a voice. With this acquisition, and the constant realities I face in the day, I have begun to pick apart that which I expected would be and that which is.

Brazil is a beautiful country. The land is vast and green, the people given to a million shades. People love to sing here. They love to hold hands and kiss and live in the present moment. They are an emotional kind, and they drive, dance, and revel in this way. If you like sun and conversation, charged energy and a patriotic spirit, this is the country for you. To enjoy yourself, you must learn to deal with frustration. You must come to accept the failings of a clumsy bureaucracy. You must expect long lines at the bank, crowds and over flowing busses, beggars and street kids around every corner. You must hold tightly to your cell phone and your wallet, watch hungry looks and dark corners, and pray to god that random of violence and criminality does not strike at you.

We speak of freedom in the United States, freedom from oppression, freedom of religion, freedom from poverty. Living in Brazil, in a society which I believe is in fact much more free, I have come to understand that a great deal of our beloved liberty is born of control. People worry less here about the should of’s and have to’s. Stand or climb on what you will, no frivolous lawsuit will come to weigh you down. Signs, rules, direction, these are simply recommendations. Safety is a personal matter, and responsibility a choice. Sell what you want, even if it is copyrighted, build where you will, rob who you must. Here one can speak of greater independence.

In the end, freedom is choice, and will, and at its most unfettered level—chaos—opposing agendas and needs scrambling for gratification. Here you have less control, but more fear. Freedom of space yet more gates. Lovely liberated chaos. I suppose that which is better remains a personal choice. It’s just too bad that we don’t call our stars and stripes “freedom” for what it really is. Control can be a good thing, yet why all the pretenses?

But I digress. I only have about nine days left in Brazil. Before long, I will be in Oklahoma, back to the beautiful sunsets, waking up and wondering if it was all just a dream. Today I’ve got a meeting with the translation professor who lives in town. I’ll probably hit the beach, eat something fried, and drink some Skol. Barra do Juco is like a little surfing Mecca. My pousada is actually called the Koala Surf Motel and the owner’s son is a national champion. Life for me here is all about adventure, and I think I’m going to try and pick up some lessons from him. Then I’ll be off to Rio de Janeiro in a few days. Hang gliding off the giant rock domes is a city pastime, and if it’s not to expensive, I’m going to have to check that off the list.

In lue of more words, here are some random pictures to keep the kids entertained.

Hissss....growl....aggggg. I had a lot of interesting photos ready to post, but the damn upload isn't working on this comp. My apologies. I only got two out.

(Me and Taisa at the zoo. Who was the animal was questionable.)

(Just a short stroll from my pousada yielded this view. The city of Vitoria is to the right, just out of camera range. The place is like California with beach and mountains. It's really quite stunning.)

For your viewing pleasure

Here's a little more slivers of life from Brazil. I don't have much time to write at the moment, nor the discipline to, considering I'm working on other stuff, so the pictures will have to suffice.

(Everyone welcome Sheila to my blog. Say hi Sheila. )

(Sneaked this shot during my last class at Idioma)

(See look, I really do study!)

(This wouldn't be me and Tai at a tattoo shop would it?)

(This wouldn't be me getting more ink would it? I didn't think so!)

(Enjoying the new apartment...more pictures coming later)

(I've decided that if I don't have enough money to travel, at least I'm going to get to know this city. I will be making day excursions to popular sites around Salvador, from here on in. This is the famous Campo Grande Square.)

(This is me by the elevator that connects the cidade embaixo to the old part of town.)

(And this is a view from the ever glorious Pelourinho. I've seen it many times and it still takes my breath away.)

Crap...I'm spending a s*#t ton on the hotel internet. Will have to send more along later. Cheers!

Breaking the Bank

There is one problem concerning Brazil that I didn’t necessarily anticipate when first planning for this trip. No it’s not that the fact that the food is incredibly salt laden, or that everyone owns yapper dogs for the sole purpose of breaking me of my sanity. It’s not the daily annoyance of people asking for my money, or the unavoidable discomfort of public transport. Nay, these things I can deal with. These things are quite minor.

What really vexes me, irks me, and ruffles my feathers, is just how expensive everything is here. When I first visited Brazil back in 03, the dollar rained supreme—a testament to the empire-strikes-back resilience of the American economy. But now, with strain of military defense spending – as things move closer and closer to the shit house – my proud American greens aren’t holding up quite so strongly. The conversion rate steadily approaches 2 reais to every dollar—a marked increase from years past. This doesn’t look to bad, at first glance, but often merchandise and food here cost twice as many reais. All things considered, one ends up with a level playing field, and no advantage is afforded to my first world monetary status.

To make matters worse, my position within this Brazilian household continues to negatively influence my spending. Access to my host family kitchen is all but restricted, even when I offer to pay for utilities or gas. Every now and again, I’m able to heat up a plate of pasta, or nuke something in the microwave, but not without earning dirty looks from the “true” members of the household. Meals out have thus been so much easier, all too convenient and stress free. But as much as I’ve tried to avoid the really expensive places, eating out every day has taken its toll.

Now add my lifestyle variables to the mix, and one has a solid equation for instant poverty. Cell phone + over priced minute plan + pricy language school + girlfriend + weekly fieldtrips + lots of beer + living expenses + no income = a quick end to my money. And I do mean quick. Staring at my bank account yesterday, with my mouth hanging agape and tears in my eyes, I realized that a six month stay in Brazil just won’t be possible. Not only that, but three full months of language study would be equally impractical.

So it was with an empty purse in mind, and a need for hard and fast budgeting, that I put an end to the two most expensive things in my life: school and housing. Most students study at the school for two weeks, maybe three at most, and my plan for a full three months of courses was perhaps a bit unrealistic. Also, looking at my host stay bill, after doing a bit of research, I realized that renting an apartment would be in fact much cheaper. And in truth, I have become a bit fed up with my restricted freedoms within the house, and my family’s lack of desire to involve me in anything that they do (among other things).

So all together, this weeks book keeping has threatened a marked change in my lifestyle. With the aid of Taisa, who has been really quite incredible in helping me find a place of my own, I should soon acquire a Bahian apartment. And now that school is coming to a close, I will have more time on my hands and will be looking for work—volunteer or otherwise. Unfortunately, my basic Portuguese and “tourist” visa status will be my greatest roadblocks, for any work of the paid kind. My original plan was to do some volunteer work after school, and actually I have some great possibilities in that regard (more on that later), but I would to say the least prefer and income, with real money coming in! Just something to get me through the full six months anyway.

Aside from all of these business issues, and my now constant fear of becoming a street beggar asking for a centavo, just one centavo, I have really begun to enjoy my life here in Brazil. I feel a constant fulfillment by the fact that this reality is mine, that I made this trip happen through sheer will and force of my own. Before I left for Oklahoma, when I was living out my time in Michiganian purgatory, one of the main complaints that I had about my life was that I never “got out in the world”. Seeing the same old high school friends, the same old places, I felt like a failure for not having taken the initiative to get out there and live my own adventure. Now, I walk by a beautiful otherworldly beach everyday. I see the sway of the palm trees, and watch the movement of this strange place pass before me. And when I do, I have to thank myself—myself and the other the people that made this happen. I pat myself on the back and say, “Good job Aaron. Leo. Here you are. You did it. You’re living out your own adventure, and no one will ever be able to take this from you.”

However much time I am blessed with in Brazil, even if I am destined to return home early, or lose myself here for all time, I can at least come away with this feeling. That something beautiful steadily rose out of so much sadness, and that this, and this alone, is my own adventure.

Here are some complimentary pics of pre Carnival preparation, fun with the maids, and Taisa, Kazu, and I at the Barra beach drinking Skol and being happy:

(Getting ready to hit the streets, Carnival style)

(Gringo's are from Mars, Brazilians are from Venus)

(I walk by this mysterious little building on my way to school. I think it's abandoned and oh so creepy. )

(Hmm...upgrades. Taisa and I getting some sun.)

(This picture made me realize how white I had again become. It prompted me to hit the beach for three days in a row. I ham happy to report that I no longer look like a marshmellow.)

(There's nothing more classic than a Skol, the king of "bem geladas".)

(The facial expressions say it all.)

(I love this picture not for the overly passionate kiss, but for the gringo in the back ground staring at us doing it.)

(Shadow of the farol)

(My eye. Why I attach it here I'm not quite sure.)

Just some comings and goings...

I’m afraid that I’m still a bit burnt out from Carnival to want to write at length about it. Let me just say that it was massive, intense, an “explosão de cor e alegria” as promised by the citizens of Bahia. Highlights of my festival week include being steps away from Bono of U2, who partied it up near the Barra point lighthouse; getting waved at by Gilberto Gil, the famed musician and now minister of culture of Brazil; and finding, on one occasion, my now quasi girlfriend Tai amidst a crowd of millions. All romantic moments to be sure.

I wore a pair of light black and grey sneakers throughout the week, along with some polyester pants that I bought for Capoeira. They now occupy a dark corner of my room. Considering their present state, I’m thinking of throwing them away. They’re almost to dirty to look at or ever wear again. I would feel the same way if not for a week of showers and intense rest.

Strangely, after a month and a half of struggling through awkward moments and confused states, life here is beginning to become, of all things, normal. Getting this city wired, becoming adjusted to this new planet, this was really the first thing on my agenda. Figuring out where the buses run, how to pull cash out the bank, how to order out, these mundane tasks now slide past me with relative ease. I don’t have to go about my day sweating the small things, wondering how to communicate and interact with the world around me. It’s a relief to be sure, but also in a way a little less exciting.

My nights out have also definitely begun to diminish, as I continue slowly to dig myself into a routine. I am now content with staying home to watch a good movie on my laptop or to get some much needed rest. Aside from doing some writing, and working on a new tattoo that I’ve had in mind, the last few days have been quite free and uneventful. I took breakfast and lunch in the house, and went outside for walks every now and again. I’ve done some studying, some reading, and not much else. I feel like such an old man.

Last night, I headed out to the Rio Vermelho district to celebrate the birthday of my friend Sheila. The central praça of the neighborhood is just off the beach where a number of city streets converge. A small yellow church angled towards the main road divides the square into asymmetrical parts. Bars of varying quality line the edge, and large acarajé booth of famed appeal sits in the center. People come from all around to sample the fried shrimp and pepper laden dish made there. We sat just behind the booth at a small white plastic table, drinking cold beer and readying ourselves for cake and light conversation.

Arriving a tad bit early, I scanned the crowd for Tai and Kazu, anxious for them meet my friends and give Sheila her proper birthday dues. I had invited them earlier that day to come join in the fun. When I arrived, I brought with me a birthday cake substitute—a small donut covered in chocolate sprinkles with a pink candle on top. I was unsure whether the customary delicacy was going to be provided, and had to scramble around to various supermercados looking for something similar. Candles also proved hard to find, and I ended up with one that had the number three carved in wax on top of it. But hey, who doesn’t like to feel younger on their birthday.

Tai arrived just minutes after I sat down. As usual, her feminine charm resolved unremorsefully to take my breath away. She wore a delicately laced low cut top, a jean skirt, and cute little black shoes that drew more height to her walk. Large sea shell earrings dangled and swayed from her ears as she approached me in the crowd. The soft line of her chin and the wayward smile between were enough to invite supple kisses then and throughout the night. With her light voice playing in my ears, and with glasses raised and sweets to pass, I certainly didn’t want for lack of good company.

Having missed the last runs of city transport, I slept at Kazu’s lofty apartment that night. The view from his 20th floor balcony was incredible, offering vastly different images at dark and in the morning. With my head turned to the left I could just catch a glimpse of the breaking waters of the sea, either black or azure depending on the time of day. Following the skyline outward, endless shantytowns and apartment high rises came into view, with green space and concrete jungles weeding in between them. Black and white sidewalk stones patterned the rest of the ground. It was awe inspiring.

In the morning, I was woken by, what else, a boisterous informal football game being played out many floors below. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I spied the players moving briskly on a faded concrete court beside the apartment building. Most were bare foot, and all seemed intensely interested in what they were doing.

More later...