The Silent Month of March

Well, this has been an awfully silent month. The following sentence will not be shocking: I have been working a lot lately. The translating job has officially been quit. Now I am working simply as an English teacher, a bit over 20 hours a week in the school, plus private classes. Other than work, I spend my time procrastinating at starting my Master's applications, and other activities related to said Master's: I am attending some linguistics lectures at USP just for fun in the mornings, trying to read all I can on my possible research area, and studying for the TestDAF (German proficiency exam) which I will take in Rio on April 26. I'm still kind-of doing translations and editing, but more freelance this time, and not the trapped-in-my-dark-bedroom-nine-emotionally-exhausting-hours-a-day way like before. I'm a lot happier now that I spend my days working with real people and not just my computer. Teaching at the language school is fun because it is in groups, and each group is different.

To get back into the rhythm of things, here is a selection of things that happened during the Silent Month of March with a few days of April thrown in:

1)     I saw my first motorcycle accident. Motorcycles are extremely common in Brazil, at least in São Paulo, because they are cheap and allow one to weave through traffic while the rest of the city is stuck in a traffic jam. Motoboys are everywhere to be seen. Want a pizza delivered? Your delivery boy will come to you by motorcycle. Motoboys even do private deliveries (documents, that kind of thing) here. Every now and again you get the lewd ones who make a big show of slowing down to let you pass right in front of them so that they may call you gostosa, but generally these guys go fast and don’t slow down for anyone. I have had more than a couple near-death experiences with these guys here in São Paulo. So, a couple of weeks ago, when I saw a motorcyclist go flying onto the ground on my way to the English school, I was a bit shaken and mentioned it to my workmates, who nonchalantly responded, “Oh yeah, that was your first time? Seen it already three times on that road out there...”  *insertshiva'sshockedfacehere* I then enquired about the Brazilian emergency number,which, incredibly, I had never learnt before. I think its 922... I think...

2)      We went to Guillaume’s uncle’s chácara (shack) a few hours away from São Paulo city, in the countryside. It was a nice change from the crammed and littered streets of the big city. It reminded me a bit of Australia – the houses there are spread out, one-storey, people have front and back yards, etc.. We pet some cows, chewed some sugarcane, and had churrasco. OK, they had churrasco. I’m back to being vegetarian.

Guillaume and Bessie. Because every cow in an Anglophone country has the name Bessie. I wonder what the typical Brazilian cow's name is..?

3)      The Brazilian Federal Police wasted two pages of my passport with their foolishness. I went to ask about the documents needed to extend my visa; they, unsurprisingly, did not listen to my question at all (which, mind you, was asked in very clear Portuguese), made me wait more than an hour long, only to call my name and present me with a document to sign. I looked at the document, and asked the stupidwhorebehindthedesk secretary, "O quê é que é isso que eu deveria assinar? What is this that I am supposed to sign?" She snarled that I should read the document more closely. She explained that I was being fined nearly R $ 200 for overstaying my visa. I stood there arguing with the stupid secretary for ten minutes about her idiocy, pointing out my second visa and entry stamp. Absolute fools. I mean, the Federal Police here are generally idiots, that's nothing new. But this time, I was shocked by how far it went. 

4)      It was Persian New Year on March 21st. Naturally, Brazilians were not aware of this (neither are my Aussie friends, generally). It was a normal day, nothing special – but Guillaume, a wonderful cook, did surprise me with zoolbia, a Persian sweet which is eaten on the New Year and for celebrations. We gave it to our housemates to taste; they were shocked by the thought of cooking with rosewater!  

Zoolbia for Persian New Year

5)      I was robbed of my mobile phone yesterday morning at the bus stop outside the geography/history building in the university. Ah, well. I knew some minor crime had to happen to me sometime here. My phone was a piece of crap and barely worked, though, so, in my opinion, it was really just a waste of time for the thief! Anyway, it’s probably a good excuse to get away from my TIM contract... (There’s a tip for anyone looking for a mobile phone providor in Brazil: TIM is alluringly cheap but their SMS and calls policy is something along the lines of “when we feel like it”.)

Meanwhile, today it is Sexta Santa (Good Friday) and we are relaxing at Guillaume’s aunt’s place. Last night I had my first Thursday off in a million years; we went to a vegetarian sushi rodízio (remember rodízio, which I have previously described?) in Vila Madalena, São Paulo’s ‘arty’ district (If you’re from Adelaide, think: Rundle St.) ...I  know, I know, not exactly comparable, but it’s about as ‘artsy’ as Adelaide gets). Something that I notice when travelling is the way that different ‘international’ foods are adapted to different host country’s tastes. Lebanese food, for example, is one way in Australia, another way in Germany, and another way in Brazil. With Japanese food, it is the same. The sushi that we had last night was definitely Brazilian sushi. 

On the plate on the left: Fried – yes, fried – sushi. This is something I have only seen in Brazil. The fillings were shimeji mushroom or abacaxi, pineapple. On the right dish were california rolls with shimeji and cream cheese (another Brazilian invention as far as I know), pineapple california rolls, dried tomato sushi, and – wait for it –

On the plate on the left: Fried – yes, fried – sushi. This is something I have only seen in Brazil. The fillings were shimeji mushroom or abacaxi, pineapple. On the right dish were california rolls with shimeji and cream cheese (another Brazilian invention as far as I know), pineapple california rolls, dried tomato sushi, and – wait for it –

...Cream cheese and goiabada (dried guava made into a kind of jam. It’s very common here) You think it’s weird? So did I! But it’s sooo good!

So, that was Silent March and a bit of April. Happy Easter, or Feliz Páscoa!

Dogs With Bindis?

The other night, while still at our old republica, Guillaume and I went to get some açaí at the fruit stall just near our house. There, on the steps near the fruit stall was a very-neatly-trimmed grey Maltese puppy, looking up at his owner who was having his açaí. 'He's so cuuute', I squealed to Guillaume, 'he looks fresh, fresh out of a banho e tosa, as though he literally walked out of a grooming session before coming here!' 


Guillaume agreed in regards to the Maltese's cuteness, but disagreed with my remark, 'If he had just walked out of a grooming session he would have a lot of glittery shit stuck to his forehead, Shiva.'


I had to concur. This is something that I have noticed about Brazil in general: Brazilians absolutely love their dogs. And they demonstrate this love through the use of cute costumes, hair accessories, glittery jewels, and hairdoes on their canine friends. Cats do not seem to be nearly as popular.

I first became aware of this national obsession when visiting my friend Rodrigo's home in Poços de Caldas, Minas Gerais. He also had a cute little Maltese named Nina, whose hair was adorned with little clips and who had a little diamante stuck to the middle of her forehead, almost like an Indian bindi. I asked him, why did Nina have a bindi on her forehead? 'She came from her banho e tosa (bath) like that. They always put decorations like that on her. At Christmas, they put green and red for example...' I remember finding this very amusing. Since then I haven't ceased to notice the extravagant dog-decorations on the Brazilian dogs I see in the streets.

This is the connection that my brain makes everytime I see one of these Brazilian toy puppies with diamantes stuck to their furry foreheads. Unfortunately, the original Nina was unavailable for a photo at the time of writing this blog as she lives 5 hours away in Minas Gerais.

That's okay - It's funny, and most of all, cuuute!!!!!

A Chance To Practice Some Portuguese Swear Words

I am ...how can I put this? ...continually shocked by my consistent bad luck here in Brazil. But I am too stubborn to give up and go home, however much I may feel like it.

Don't judge me - I know that life isn't a bouquet of roses - and I am a reasonable, logical person. The past few months have just been really ...crap. I have even been feeling this in my body - Over the past month I have felt  food-poisoning-like symptoms for at least 7 days. It occurred to me the other day that perhaps my nausea and awful stomach cramps might not in fact, be food poisoning, but just plain stress. I am esgotada.

On Tuesday Guillaume and I got kicked out of our republica, our sharehouse. Why? Well, apart from the leaky ceilings, water literally inside of my walls, the fact that my room actually flooded once, yes, flooded, the very noisy work from the probably illegal construction on the house, the washing machine that made our clothes dirtier, the internet which constantly cut out, and the gossipy maids and construction workers reporting my every move to the landlady, the landlady was also a totally stupid, manipulative cow who thought that her boyfriend (one of the construction workers on our house - yet another example of her absolutely unprofessional and disgusting behavior) was interested in me, and decided to get rid of me, for her pure insecurity. So, when she came to me to report that 'everyone was complaining about me' (and believe me, I could write a whole essay on those people), I was not very impressed, and told her where to go. Why, after all, had she been coming to ask me every few days if her boyfriend was trying to flirt with me? It seemed very convenient for her to have a reason to get rid of me. After lying to me and trying to intimidate me about Brazilian laws (I did not fall for this crap), she also told me where to go. Com prazer! I told her, with pleasure.

Needless to say, this verbal altercation did not leave us much time to get out of our place. Rafael, my good friend, who never ceases to amaze me with his problem-solving skills and engineering brain, cleaned up my mess with the maldita filha da puta vagabunda dona de merda landlady and helped us get our new place. Yes, you just witnessed my intense effort at swearing in Brazilian Portuguese, as you can imagine, I had a lot of practice using them in this past week.

Now we are living in a much larger, more dormitory-style accomodation, in a better location, still near the university. It is a dorm with 34 other people, shared bathrooms and kitchens. A place which Guillaume once delicately described as Cap d'Agde, a reference to a nudist town in his native France. This, because in our few days here, we have encountered an astonishingly mostly male population walking around barechested. It's damn hot here, they can't be blamed, right? Guillaume however persists in his dislike of our shirtless housemates.

Amusingly, in our new place, there is this very-Brazilian microwave:

Brigadeiro and cocada are in the easy-cook sections!

We managed to move all of our belongings without any suitcases (we had them stored in Guillaume's aunt's place, 1.5 hours away, for lack of space in our old room), but by use of plastic bags, rubbish bins, cardboard boxes, backpacks, açaí buckets, and hammocks-turned-bags. Another demonstration of the versatility of our Amazonian-bought hammocks. 


The next day, on the way to a voice recording for an English textbook (one well-paying but hard-to-find job for English natives here in Brazil), I took a hard fall down the marble stairs of my new place. Havaianas are comfortable and cute but they consistently seem to do me wrong while walking down stairs. Unfortunately this past Thursday there wasn't anyone at my side to catch me from falling and I got to top off my awesome week with a very sore back, neck, and lots of analgesics. I think this one will take a while.

I am trying to not be a pessimist...

How To Get A Brazilian Visa

Yesterday I got back from my Foz/Paraguay Trip (#2). Hang on, I can hear you saying, didn't you already blog about this, Shiva? Well, yes, I went there about 6 weeks ago, and now I've just gone back to get a tourist visa, as my student visa was going to expire. On Sunday we went on a 16 hour bus trip to Foz do Iguaçu. When we arrived at 8am, we hopped straight on a bus to Paraguay. At this point it was already well above 30 °C. A girl even fainted in the seat behind me on that bus ride. We crossed over into Paraguay within an hour (normally it takes about 20, 30 minutes - it was peak hour), by just passing over a river. On both ends of the bridge there are customs offices but...nobody (really, nobody) stops at them. 

We made it to the consulate office in Ciudad del Este a few minutes walk later. I showed the lady my documents. She said, "oh, where is the stamp to say that you left Brazil?" Oh, fuck. Seriously? I had totally forgotten about that. Isn't the fact that I am here in Paraguay proof that I left Brazil? "Go back to Brazil and pretend you are entering for the first time", she told us. 

We walked about 30 minutes back over the bridge to Brazil, had breakfast next to the bridge, and walked back. I entered into the Federal Police's office (naturally, Guillaume and I were the only two people in there) and asked for an exit stamp. Guillaume asked the employee if it was usually this quiet. Hoje está tranquilo, mas normalmente tem bastante gente, she responded, "Today it's quiet, but normally there are quite a lot of people". We left with an exit stamp in our passports, wondering if by bastante gente she meant two, three, or possibly four more people. We walked across the bridge to Paraguay. While walking, Guillaume mentioned that the consulate in Bolivia had written back to him after he made some enquiries about my visa application, saying that in order to come to Bolivia to get a visa from them I would have to first get a visa to enter Bolivia. "Imagine that!" I chortled. Arriving at the end of the bridge, Guillaume grabbed me to go into the Paraguay customs office. I went and asked for an entry stamp. The man pointed to me and said (in Spanish, of course - on this whole trip we spoke Portuguese at people and they spoke Spanish at us), "She needs a visa". F**k. Up until this point I had thought that my temporary visa for Brazil gave me the rights to enter countries in the Mercosul area just like Brazilians had. For some reason I had just assumed it was like the Schengen Agreement. And I had been advised that (by a tour guide) about 6 weeks earlier when I crossed the border into Paraguay from Foz. "You can go to the Paraguayan consulate in Foz do Iguaçu, or you can pay me $20", he suggested. (Paraguay uses US dollars because their currency is shit.) "You can get me a visa for $20?" I asked, not understanding that he had been asking me to bribe him. "No", he said. "Let's just walk out", I said to Guillaume, and we simply walked out into Paraguay. 

Walking from there to the Embassy we debated how to get around the problem of me having no entry stamp to Paraguay. When we arrived, the lady first approvingly looked at my exit stamp, then asked, confused, "But where is the entry stamp?" "They didn't give me one", I shrugged, "They said I didn't need it with my visa...I don't know why..." She looked confused but then took my documents for processing. Perhaps she was dumb, or perhaps she was just being nice because when we had first arrived at the embassy I had explained my sob story about how we were running on limited time and had had just enough time to come there with our holidays from Carnaval. Anyway, the important thing was that I had an exit stamp from Brazil. Basically, the Brazilian consulate in Paraguay gave me a visa even though I was illegally in Paraguay. Hah.

They told us to come back the next day, so we went and found a hostel on the Brazilian side.  Foz do Iguaçu is motherf***ing hot, so made sure it was one with A/C. We went to the waterfalls and went to a rodízio de churrasco for dinner. Rodízio is a (as far as I know) uniquely Brazilian style of dining. It is like a buffet where the waiters come to you to offer food. There is a salad buffet in one area of the restaurant, but the 'main' is served to you by waiters who walk up to your table and announce "(insert-name-of-meat-here)!", to which you say "Yes, please!", or "No, thanks", and they put it onto your plate. So far, I know of rodízios of  churrasco (barbecue, meat), pizza, and sushi here in Brazil. This is something that Australia could take some advice on: all-you-can-eat type restaurants simply don't exist there anymore. I remember them as a child, though, up until about 1996... Eating out here in Brazil is great because rodízios and 'kilo' restaurants are very common - In a rodízio you pay a flat price (often at the equivalent of AUD 10) and can totally stuff yourself, and in a 'kilo' restaurant you can choose from a buffet and pay for the weight of your own plate, so you only eat what you want. In some places, they do it a little differently: you pay a flat price in a 'kilo' restaurant and you can take a plate full of whatever you like, but you if you leave anything on your plate you have to pay an extra 'fine'. Reasonable, right? I digress, back to visas.

We came back the next day, already sweating furiously under the 9am sun,  and payed the visa fee. I was supposed to get my visa that afternoon but ended up getting it the next morning due to *coughtheconsulateputtingupaclearlymisleadingsignregardingtheiropeninghourscough* a misunderstanding. On Wednesday morning, after at least 8 trips in and out of Paraguay, I got the bastard visa, and we decided to try to go to the bus station to see if we could change our tickets to leave from the Brazilian side instead (I had had to show proof of entry to Brazil at the consulate). We walked for about 40 minutes, much deeper into Paraguay than the average Brazilian-Moambeiro-Shopping Tourist probably has ever done, to find that bus station. To get to the entrance, we had to walk through a tent community. Yes. Anyway, we changed our tickets, got out of there, bought cheap European chocolates in US dollars, and 'entered' Brazil.

Illegal in Paraguay

 A 'pub' that we passed every day on the way to the consulate. The sign reads: DUBLIN. THE AUTENTIC IRIS PUB. (sic) ...And what do they serve in this 'authentic' Irish pub? Sushi, of course. Yes, seriously, WTF?

Brazilian border

The beginning of Paraguay

Ciudad del Este...

Oh, oh, am I in Paraguay or Brazil? Or both? Hehe

First moments as a 'tourist' in Brazil.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Today I wanted to write about the phases I have been through here in Brazil. Clearly, after having spent 8 months here now, my headset is different to when I stepped off of the plane in July last year. These are the stages I have been through since arriving. I'm not sure if I could describe them as culture shock - I'm not sure they fit so neatly into that description, but these 'phases' have definitely morphed during my time here. They are kinds of 'filters' through which, for certain amounts of time, I viewed everything that was happening around me in Brazil.

1)      The I'm-Going-To-Die-Here Phase:

OK, this phase could be said to have started in Australia while I was planning my trip. This is where I thought I was going to be attacked by street bandits at any minute in Sao Paulo. The month before I arrived here, I was 100% convinced that I would die on the streets of Sao Paulo. I was 100% convinced that I would be kidnapped. I dreamt about this more than a few times. I checked my insurance policy and my bank to see if they had coverage for kidnappings (they did, but advised me not to advertise the fact, hah). When I got out of the Sao Paulo airport I was shocked at the calmness of the carpark - perhaps nothing would happen until we were on the road. From the backseat of the car during that ride, I looked fiercely at pedestrians around the car through the tightly rolled-up car windows, guessing which one might turn out to stick a gun to my head while we were waiting for the lights to change. After a successful trip to my new place, I felt slightly calmer. But I did spend the next four weeks clutching my purse and never taking out my mobile phone on the street and, perhaps, running from the bus stop to my house if it was late. I know it sounds stupid. After a while I realized, hey, nothing has happened, and started to relax. Shiva-Getting-Off-The-Plane sounds paranoid, right? Well, I had heard a lot of horror stories about Sao Paulo, and had never been to South America. Add that to me just being a worry-wort and this is what you get!

2)      The Why-Is-Everyone-So-Horny? Phase:

While still experiencing my first phase, I spent a good month shocked by how...how can I put this...horny (!) people are here. I would explain to my new Brazilian friends how the concept of ficar was so foreign to me. Of course casual relationships exist in Australia and in other countries - but as far as I know we don't approach them with the ease and detachment that Brazilians normally do. I would explain, when Australians wanted to talk about ficando they would not have the ease of resorting to one simple verb like Brazilians do - they would akwardly explain how they were kind-of seeing someone, having a casual, physical thing with someone, you know. Another shock was the shamelessness of strangers in the street here. Random men in the street shout gostosa! (this is hard to translate - think: delicious and sexy at the same time) or linda (beautiful) to women who they decide are deserving. The other day, someone told me parabéns! (congratulations!) on the sidewalk. Some do not shout but instead mutter it quietly as they pass you while walking. Others lick their lips. Drivers of cars and motorcyclists constantly honk their horns to... (I suppose?) praise women on the street. Brazil is a great place to be if you are a woman with low self-esteem. At the beginning of my  stay here, this whole attitude was a big shock to me. It was super-weird. Now, I just expect it. 

3)      The Aw-Everyone-Is-So-Friendly-And-I-Love-Brazil! Phase:

Typical-Shiva-Quotations during this phase included: "I love Brazil!", "Why would I ever want to go back to Australia?", and "It's so easy to make friends here". I was so happy, everything was exciting and fun, and I had lots of nice new friends. It is true that Brazilians are very welcoming to foreigners - they are generally very curious about them because they are quite rare. And instead of doing what an Australian would do with his/her curiosity (i.e. be too shy to ever say anything), Brazilians loudly ask whatever questions pop into their head, usually: Do you eat rice and beans in Australia? Do you have a boyfriend? Where do you live? Do you have a football team here yet? Do you have saudades for your family? Is it hard to learn Portuguese? while making side-comments on your appearance and weight, until they become exhausted. Another thing you just get used to! I also fell super in-love with the University of Sao Paulo - with the class offerings, with the amazing opportunities, with the extracurricular activities, with the student life - and decided that I really wanted to stay here.

4)      The Shit-I-Am-Graduating! Phase:

This was, as it may appear, the phase where I realised that I had to get my act together to prepare for what I would do after graduating. Why didn't I think about it before? I had a boyfriend in Australia, and had planned that after this year I would go back to Australia to do my Honours year, which was an optional extension of my program. When that didn't work out, I decided that I would try to enter into a Master's program here at USP. But this put me into a frenzy of trying to put together a research project – Sure, I have had some ideas since I’ve started studying linguistics, but I wasn’t ready to present a proposal to a supervisor. In Australia we do this in the second half of our Honours year, or in the case of a Master’s, in the second year of the Master’s degree. Here, the proposal is a condition of entrance to the Master’s program. So I scrambled to the library to grab a bunch of linguistics books, and spent a month worrying that I might make wrong decisions about my potential specialization, and very slowly gathering up the courage to talk to a professor whose research I was interested in,until…

5)      The I-Fell-In-Love-With-A-French-Man Phase:

...(which I hope, is not really a phase^^) where the idea of a Master’s here became logistically impossible for our relationship and so morphed into Shiva-Trying-To-Find-A-Job-For-The-Next-Six-Months-While-Dreaming-Of-Europe. During this time, the semester ended, we went to the Amazon for three weeks, and came back to Sao Paulo to start looking for jobs. I definitely wasn’t expecting this to happen, at least not in Brazil (he he he).

 I am currently going through a phase, which some describe as the Regression/Isolation Phase of Culture Shock. The Honeymoon Period is over, definitely over. No more honeymoon, my friends, no, no. I am frustrated and can barely remember the last time that I wasn’t. It is not so exaggerated to the point where I think that Australia is perfect – again, definitely not. But I am experiencing all of the other ‘symptoms’. They say it lasts up to 6-8 weeks? I’m on the 8^th week mark – hopefully I’ll pass through this soon. 

Hopefully getting my visa stuff over and done with will give some relief, and I think I will quit my translating job and stick to teaching. The hours are bad, the pace is stressful for me, and I get depressed staying indoors all day (with the sounds of construction blasting into my ears as I work). Teaching is fun, especially in groups. 

Oh, look at me, all narcissistic. It seems that this blog has turned into a blog of Shiva’s-Emotional-Drainage more than a blog about my experience as a foreigner in Brazil. But… this is my experience, as a foreigner, in Brazil. 

So, I’m heading to Paraguay on Sunday to get my visa – let’s hope it actually goes okay (unlikely, like most things here). About an hour ago I went to take photos for my visa application. I look like Saddam Hussein before his execution (as if those photos were real anyway, ha..ha..ha). An indication of what I went through to get this visa... Don’t disappoint me, Paraguay… I’m exhausted, exhausted. ESGOTADA – I looked that Portuguese word up just now. That’s what I am. Forget Carnival – I haven’t even had time to think about that. I’m crazy…I’ve gone crazy here… I’ve gone crazy…

O Jeitinho Brasileiro

My friend Rafael is helping me practise my written Portuguese by giving me little essays each week which he corrects. This is our first one. As you can see, I was kind of pissed last week when I wrote it, ha. Here is my take on the Jeitinho Brasileiro. I know it could be a little bit more balanced, and I could have given a better example, but let's just see it as an exercise in 'opinion essays', as I was doing with my ESL students the other day, for example. Hehehe.

O Jeitinho Brasileiro

Obs: Às vezes minha vista do Brasil pareça um pouco destorcida nesta redação. Eu geralmente vejo o Brasil de uma forma positiva, mas fiquei desiludida após acontecimentos recentes burocráticos. 

O conceito do ‘jeitinho brasileiro’ é efetivamente uma maneira escondida de descrever o ato de manipular pessoas e situações em proveito próprio. 

Para entender o porquê este ‘apto’ é exclusivamente um apto brasileiro, precisa-se conhecer um dia típico na vida de um brasileiro. Para realizar qualquer tarefa oficial aqui, é preciso se matar tentando imprimir os documentos (o Xerox não está funcionando, o segundo que você tenta não consegue abrir PDF, o terceiro está sem papel, o quarto faz apenas Xerox e não imprime, e o quinto, no caminho para qual você se perdeu durante uma hora, está sem grampeador); autentificá-los (você tem que andar de ônibus para chegar e os três caixas eletrônicas perto da sua casa não estão funcionando para você sacar dinheiro para pagar a passagem); e levar para qualquer agência dita ‘’oficial’’ para esperar uma, duas horas numa (ou em varias filas – não esqueça que aqui existe essa bobagem de ‘’triagem’’ e uma obsessão nacional com a senha em todo lugar) para um funcionário publico olhar, durante menos de um segundo, no seu documento (se você está com sorte).

Assim sendo, se der algum jeito de acelerar esse processo, a maioria das pessoas aproveitarão a oportunidade. Se você tem amigo que é funcionário publico ou se você é boa em paquerar o funcionário no banco, você aproveita disso. Como se vê, até realizar tarefas simples aqui exige uma enorme quantidade de esforço, tempo, e dinheiro. É por isso que esse fenômeno pode parecer exclusivamente brasileiro. É uma conseqüência do sistema brasileiro.

Eu tenho juntado muitas experiências com aquele “jeitinho” durante minha estadia aqui – geralmente não que eu mesma use, mas sim observo no comportamento de brasileiros a minha volta. Acredito que, como regra, estrangeiros não são tão hábeis a aproveitar desse ‘’apto’’ por causa de uns obstáculos: 1) A noção geral que o povo de uma sociedade desejam o melhor um para o outro 2) A expectativa que é razoável confiar no sistema publico para se ajudar a resolver seus problemas, 3) Uma falta de contatos locais em vários  lugares aos quais se pode recorrer quando se precisa. 

Assim, eu contarei uma experiência que está bem viva na minha memória porque trata-se da dona da minha republica, para quem eu paguei o aluguel essa noite:

Em novembro do ano passado eu tive uma experiência traumática quando tirei meus dentes de siso, que envolveu muito sangue e uma visita na emergência. Quando voltei para casa o Guillaume estava cuidando de cada movimento meu, pois estava muito fraca e com muito dor. Ele dormia num colchão ao lado da minha cama, no chão. A manhã seguinte ele acordou sentindo água nos pés dele – meu quarto estava alagado. Eu estava ambos chocada e não chocada: fazia 3 meses que o pedreiro estava selando um vazamento no teto do banheiro cada três semanas (depois de, claro, cada vez quando vazou novamente, eu pedir durante uma semana).

A chuva forte tinha derrotado, novamente, aquele vazamento – mas, durante a noite, quando dormíamos e não podíamos pegar uma balde para nos proteger da água. Chamamos a dona, que chegou com pressa, pois meu amigo da república tinha mencionado alguma coisa que tinha a ver com dinheiro naquela telefonema, e ela me pôs num quarto no outro andar, com colchão e lençóis frescos para meu namorado. Ela garantiu que o problema seria resolvido. Fiquei três semanas naquele quarto. 

Enquanto eu ficava naquele quartinho, meus amigos da republica me encorajaram de pedir desconto para ela. Eu estava com vergonha de fazer isso. Durante aquelas três semanas, a dona aproveitou do fato que eu estava fora do quarto para repintar as paredes. Após duas semanas e meia, ele pediu a construção de uma gambiarra gigante no teto, para impedir o vazamento.

Quando eu estava preste a voltar para meu quarto, e pronta para pedir meu desconto, a dona da república revelou paredes frescas azuis e um espelho novo. Estava então com muita vergonha de pedir desconto. “Querida”, ela explicou, “você mereceu”. Usando essa frase de “eu mereci”, ela transformou suas ações interesseiras (reformando o quarto para aumentar seu valor para o próximo cliente sem perder tempo para alugar, já que ainda me pertencia) em me fazer um favor!

Ainda bem que não tem mais alagamento no meu quarto desde então. Mas tinha um grandíssimo buraco no meu teto que só foi arrumado faz uma semana. 

Isso é, meus amigos, um excelente exemplo do ‘’jeitinho’’ de um profissional experiente na arte. Essa dona ai, Dulcie (ou alternativamente, “DURRRCIII”) tem um bom jeitinho – ela consegue manipular as pessoas e as situações para proveito próprio, embora elas possam parecer inicialmente como problemas. Uma observação interessante, portanto: o jeitinho dela poderia se melhorar se conseguisse NÃO fazer todos os moradores da república odiá-la. 

Em minha opinião, não tem muitas resoluções para o “jeitinho”, pois é uma resposta profundamente arraigada a um sistema desnecessariamente burocrático e difícil. 

Acredito que não existe um equivalente australiano, porque nossas condições e  nosso sistema para resolver problemas é mais eficiente do que aquele do Brasil, o que significa que nos não precisamos recorrer ao “jeitinho”.

Por fim, quero ressaltar que o Brasil vai ficar amaldiçoado por seu “jeitinho” até que tenha uma mudança na escala nacional sobre a resolução de problemas, e até que o sistema (inclusivo todos os serviços públicos, os bancos, etc) seja reorganizado, de uma maneira efetiva, e não apenas pelo fato de mudar, para se tornar eficiente.

Iguassu Falls

About three weeks back I took a 17 hour bus trip to Iguassu Falls, Paraná, to spend a few days with my friend Simone. She is a Brazilian who I met last year when she came to study with her boyfriend at my university in Australia, and who was back home to spend the summer with her family.

I arrived early in the morning, had breakfast and a chat in German with her gaucho father, and off we went to the Três Fronteiras, where the three countries, Brazil, Argentina, and Paraguay meet. Later on, we went to the town's famous waterfalls, which, despite Simone's insistance that they were particularly 'dry' this year, were still amazingly impressive. Later in the afternoon, we went to the neighbouring Parque das Aves, a zoo where we were able to get close to and touch some toucans and ararás. 

Parque das Aves

Cataratas - Waterfalls

That night, I met her aunt, uncle and cousin who had come down from São Paulo state to spend a few days in Iguassu. They were relatives from her Japanese side of the family, her mother's side. They were also enjoying popping over the border to Argentina and Paraguay to do some shopping during their stay. The next day, we joined them in Paraguay. 

Paraguay, for Brazilians, is shopping-central. It is not the most pleasant shopping environment (think: Manaus) but worth it for the money saved. We took a bus over the bridge which divided the two countries. On each end of the bridge was a former check-point, still standing but now more-or-less empty. Simone pointed out the tattered-looking fence on the sides of the bridge. Apparently, in order to get past the border guards, people used to buy contraband cigarettes in Paraguay and throw them over the side of the bridge to their 'business partners' waiting on the Brazilian side underneath the bridge (away from the guards). To counteract this, a barbed wire fence was put up. But people just made holes, and threw the cigarettes over anyway. And then the Brazilian government would fix them up again. And the smugglers would open them up again. Hence the tattered fences. Nowadays, thanks to Mercosul, the borders are pretty relaxed, and you can come and go as you please. When we took the bus back into Brazil, customs briefly stopped the bus, to pick on people with huge bags of purchases, and we went on our way. 

The next day, we went to Itaipu Binational, the second-largest hydroplant in the world. It powers practically all of Paraguay and about 20% of Brazil. It is a huge plant, with a huge number of employees, and has an important role in the region. 

On the way home from that excursion, I asked Simone about an anklet I had noticed her wearing the whole time I had been there. She explained that it was a Fita do Senhor do Bomfim, a little ribbon from Bahia, which is given as a gift. The user ties three knots into the ribbon, making a mental wish with each knot. When the ribbon falls off, by disintegrating, the wishes are said to come true. The ribbon can only be given as a gift. Hearing this, I became very interested; I was, after all, in the middle of a job search and had been having a bit of bad luck recently. The only problem was, I needed someone to give me a fitinha as a gift. I asked if the ribbon would still work its magic if I asked someone to give it to me. I didn't know anyone going to Bahia soon. Would my attaching the wishes to the ribbon prevent them from occurring before the ribbon came apart, if the chance came? What would happen if I told someone my wishes? Her relatives noticed my apparent eagerness and Simone's cousin had a look in the glovebox to see if there were any fitinhas to give me. I was in luck! I carefully and strategically made my wishes. If they come true, I know who I will be writing my thank-you letter to! Hehehe.

Fitas do Senhor do Bomfim

That afternoon I got on the bus back to São Paulo. The trip back was 4 hours longer and 100% more frustrating than the trip down. I was stuck at the very back of the bus, next to a Paraguayan man who wouldn't stop talking to me, sweating to death, and was among the very few passengers on the bus who were not smuggling contraband whatever back up to São Paulo. I caught on to this after the third time the bus stopped in the middle of puta que pariu (Portuguese for 'woop-woop', as we say in Australia. It literally means 'the-whore-that-gave-birth') in Paraná, and the same old man came around the bus collecting money from the same 20 or so people. He was collecting money to bribe police with. Needless to say, this happening, repeatedly, made the trip a bit frustrating. Especially when we crossed the border into São Paulo at 3AM and the police decided to wake me up, to do a random check on me, instead of, gee, I don't know, the 20 criminals around me. Yes. 

All in all (excluding my super-comfortable bus trip back, rs), I had a great time, with great people! Thanks Simone!

Hosts in Iguassu Falls

Consulate Officers Are Useless

It would be a lie if I said I haven't been a *bit* stressed lately. Firstly, I was running around trying to get a reliable job, which is never easy, no matter what country you are in. Meanwhile, my boyfriend, Guillaume was trying to open a Brazilian bank account, which, my friends, appears to be its own full-time job. Then Guillaume moved into my place, which was also a bit of organising to deal with. Since then, I have been dealing with the stress of my new jobs (8 hours of translation and 2 hours ESL teaching per day) and scrambling to pay the rent. I am now currently trying to organize a trip to Argentina to get a tourist visa, which, of course, means more scrambling for money and time spent on organization. I will have to go during the time that Carnaval is on, because it is the only time Guillaume and I can get that much time off work before my student visa expires.

I called the Brazilian Consulate in Argentina this morning, because after five days, they have not responded to my (very pertinent) questions about the tourist visa. (If they had sufficiently prepared their website and apparently-only-source-of-reference-to-the-public, then I wouldn't be asking, would I? I don't want to spend all the effort going to Argentina and then being rejected for lack of documents or incorrect number of staples, do I?) I assumed that I would be unsuccessful in my telephone call, because, like the Brazilian Embassy in Australia, on the Fale Conosco ('Speak to Us') section on their website, they simply list a few email addresses, and if you are lucky enough to spot the telephone number in tiny print somewhere on the page and manage calling, you will be greeted with an answering machine message saying 'Don't you dare ask us about visas, don't you dare!' or something similar.

So, when I finally got through to a live person, on my third try, this is how it went:

Mean Argentinian Man: Buenos dias.
Me: (In Portuguese) Hi, may I speak in Portuguese? I am Australian and have some questions about a tourist visa.
Mean Argentinian Man: PREGUNTAS SOLAMENTE POR EMAIL!!
Me: (In Portuguese) Yes, I have already sent an email but nobody has replied.
Mean Argentinian Man: REPREGUNTA! (Or something like that - I don't claim to speak Spanish - but anyway, I know he said, 'JUST ASK AGAIN!')
Me: (In Portuguese) Okay, but while I am on the phone with you, couldn't you help me just briefly?
Mean Argentinian Man: *Hangs up*


I emailed them again. I am going to email them again and again and again, every day from now until I get a response.
Why are people in consulate offices so useless? This is a worldwide problem. The Brazilian Embassy in Australia would only reply to me in Portuguese, on my third try at emailing them, when I was trying to get my student visa. That's cool, I'm a linguistics student, I speak Portuguese, and I get the whole 'being-proud-of-your-language' thing. But aren't people in consulate offices, like, very specifically supposed to be able to speak the languages of both countries? If not them, who?  You ain't gonna get tourists that way, guys. Better fix this up by 2014.

Besides that, I have been taking the first steps towards applying for a M.A. in Linguistics in Europe. I recently sent copies of my transcripts to one university to see if it would be appropriate to apply, and they replied, that no, it would not be, because their M.A. programme assumed a B.A. in Linguistics, or similar. I spent the last days angrily composing a letter in German explaining that I do, in fact have a B.A. in Linguistics.

Otherwise, today, some client for whom I did a translation, sent it back with 'corrections'. They only had a couple of corrections which were correct - the rest were synonyms for the words that I had chosen - which were wrong. I made those choices because they were still accurate, but more appropriate-sounding in English than the literal translation. I'm stubborn, and I'm right.  Four years of English classes at FISK can't equal a native English speaker, and certainly not a translator. (Again - I am not a professional translator but I have studied a lot about it so I have some idea, at least. I have also studied several languages to fluency so I know the amount of time and dedication that it takes.)

Another angry, sarcastic post. I'm hoping to reduce the number of such angry posts in the near future, I'm hoping. I'm hoping...


*To clarify: I also think Australian Consulate Officers are useless; Iranian Consulate Officers are useless... from personal experience. For haters: IT IS NOT JUST A DIG AT BRAZIL!

ATMs in Brazil

One thing that I will never understand about Brazil is the way that ATMs work here.

ATMs here seem to be like Brazilians public servants: both the sucess of your transaction and the answer you get depend on their (its) current mood.

Some facts about the caixa eletrônico here :

1) Brazil is the only place where I have seen an ATM announce that it has run out of money. True story.

2) Brazilian ATMs, strangely, announce which bills they have available to give out your money. For instance, you walk up to a machine, and you want to take out R$30. The ATM screen shows Available Bills: R$20 and R$50. You have to go elsewhere for your R$30. Goodbye.

3) ATMs, from the same bank, even in the same physical location, may work differently depending on the moment. For instance, the first time you try your card it might say hey, this shit isn't working, sorry for the inconvenience. And then a minute later, when you try again in the exact same machine, everything will be fine. One second, one machine will warn you, the maximum transaction is R$400. Then the machine next to it will give you different information: the maximum transaction is actually R$600. It's like the machine just tells you what it f***ing feels like saying.

You want money? Better have the time to try your card in all four machines. Good luck, you'll need it.

4) Any traveller coming to Brazil with a credit card/ key card should be warned : don't expect to be able to take out money when you feel like it. You will be able to pay for most things with credit card, generally without a lower limit like we have in Australia. But if you do find an ATM that actually accepts your card, take advantage of this. And: have all kinds of change available when you go into a shop - salespeople often shamelessly say, sorry, got no change, when you try to break a larger bill. One time I wanted to purchase a R$35 top in a large-chain clothing store, and went to pay with a R$50 bill. The saleswoman was horrified at my proposition, "não tem troco", she snarled, there's no change. I paid by card, thinking to myself, but, this is a clothing store. Shouldn't this be one place where people regularly spend amounts of money similar to me? 

5) ATMs here generally have a closing time. You usually can't go to an ATM between the hours of 10PM and 6AM or so here. I have been told this is to inhibit flash kidnappings. Anyway, you can't get money out at 3AM after your night out to pay for your Macca's meal here, like you can in Australia, no, no.

6) You have to slide your card in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out, during the transaction. It does not stay, effortlessly in the machine, as it does in Australia. Another method, I assume, to make it harder for theft. Good, I guess, at least you won't forget your card in the ATM...

Speaking of methods-for-inhibiting-crime (it seems to have turned itself into a bit of a theme here), Brazil is constantly evolving ways to stay one step ahead of its criminals. Guillaume scolded me one time recently for accepting money with a pink marking on it. Apparently, if an ATM is (don't ask me how) is exploded by thieves to access the money, the machine releases a pink ink onto the bills so that they can be recognized as stolen money and therefore not used. Pretty smart.

I'm sure it would make things slightly easier to have a Brazilian bank account with a Brazilian bank card. That, though, requires opening a bank account, which will make you want to commit suicide is not so easy.

Two remarks may sum up today's entry: 1) when I go to the ATM here, I basically assume that I will have no success, and 2) Brazilians seemed to have nipped that flash-kidnapping problem in the bud, at least.

First Day

Today was the first day of my new job. I got on the internet at 11am. At 11.30 they sent me my assignment. An article of about 1800 words about the petroleum industry in Brazil. After I had asked for him to give me an idea of how much time I could have, the employee who sent the text to me said 'faz tranquilo e bem revisado, ai nos medimos quanto tempo levou', do it calmly and edit it well so then we can see how long it took. At 2.30 the boss asked me, 'are you ready to hand it in yet?' I was halfway through. I replied that, no, I was only on the second page, and asked if I was translating too slowly. He said 'yes, lol.'

Because apparently everything is less offensive with a lol on the end.

After that, I rushed through the text. I eventually turned it in without editing properly because I was worried that I would waste too much time. That was stupid. Thirty minutes afterward I realised that I had mismatched columns in the PDF document - I had missed a paragraph. I told him that I knew it was unprofessional but that I had to fix it and resend the document. I fixed it in ten minutes. He had already sent the document to the client. I felt really stupid.

I was speaking to him online throughout the day and he said that their translators produce on average 700 words per hour without translating software . I felt awful. The rate that I went at today was 300 per hour (and I don't have the software either). From my brain and internet research. I do not touch any automatic translators on the internet. I thought, wow,700 per hour, that sounds crazy - but hey, maybe I really am just slow.

Anyway, I had a cry to myself about being dumb and then I had a look around on the internet and it seemed like I had at least a normal-good pace for technical translations. But that's relative, I know.

It makes me wonder though, who the hell are these people who are doing the translations this fast? They must be native Portuguese speakers translating into English without doing much research on terminology and who think to themselves, hey, awesome translation, let's send it off, because they don't have a clue of how disjointed or artificial it sounds to a native English speaker. Texts like that cannot be of much quality.

Just saying. I will get faster with practice and one I get more used to the different technical jargons. But I do still think a good translation takes time and a bit of reflection on the less-obvious things. I don't settle on a word-for-word translation. That's not what it is about at all.

Look at me all-up-on-ma-high-horse! To be honest, clearly, I am not a professional translator, nor do I want to be. I have learnt Portuguese for less than a year and a half. What I want is to be a linguist. This is to sustain me while I spend some more time here to improve my Portuguese. And I like the fact that you get to learn more of the language while working. Anyway, the pay is good, so I hope they keep me and are not dodgy. We'll see. Suck it.

Eight Jobs That Only Exist In Brazil

Writing about the cobradors yesterday made me think about the fact that there are some jobs that only seem to exist in Brazil. Brazil is a world leader in unnecessary employment. It's a good and a bad thing; I'm no expert in economics but I'm pretty sure all these extra jobs have played an important role in the improving redistribution of wealth in Brazil. But at the same time, there are many times where I simply think hey, this is just going a little bit overboard, isn't it? Brazilians will not bat an eyelid over these jobs; they will be totally used to seeing them in their daily lives - even I don't find them remarkable anymore. But other Australians and foreigners would be surprised to come to Brazil and see:

1) The Flanelinha: This is the guy that helps you park your car on the street. He stands behind the car, encouraging you to keep going, keep going or just a little to the right. He may or may not be employed by a company  - but is probably not. 

2) The Gym 'Motivator': This is a person employed by the gym to just hang out in the gym and excite people about the fact that they are exercising. For instance, the other night at the gym I asked a lady next to me when the Body Jam class was going to start because it was past the time on the schedule and nobody was in the room. She said, it starts in fifteen minutes. Let's go on the treadmill while you wait, hey? Go on, there it is, I'll turn it on for you, there you go - go, go on, get on it. Meanwhile I was thinking, hey lady, who the f*** are you? I just want to do Body Jam, not go on the boring treadmill. Luckily, then, my phone rang. Saved by the bell. These 'motivators' hang out in the weights and in the cardio room, to tell you what to do if you have questions. This is one unnecessary Brazilian job I guess I don't mind though, at least in the weights room.

3) The Xerox Man: This is the person who operates the very high-tech photocopying machine. He photocopies papers for you and puts your USB in the computer to print papers off. It is unthinkable for a Brazilian to operate a photocopying machine themself. You can generally find a Xerox Man every 100 metres.

4) The Man Who Wears a Sign Advertising Other Jobs: That is his job. I have not seen this one yet, but Guillaume swears that there are people who do this in the centre of Sao Paulo. We do not know the Portuguese word for this; any suggestions?

5) The Person Who Gives You a Consumption Card When You Walk Into The Bakery:  Many restaurants or 'bakeries' here are kind of like big buffets. When you walk in the entrance, this employee hands you a 'consumption card', on which all of your purchases are either ticked off or, in the case of the electronic ones, scanned onto the card. If you lose it, you pay some outrageously large price. It is the same in bars. You present the card to the cashier and pay on your way out. Which brings me to (6)...

6) The Cashier: In any shop or bakery or restaurant, there will be a person whose job is exclusively to take money and give change. Nothing else. It's weird, right?

7) The Security Guard For The Street: There are security guards everywhere here. This is so unfamiliar for an Australian like me. They are everywhere you go - university, the train station, the bank, the shopping centre... Sometimes whole streets band together with a security guard just for their street. They stand there, observing their surroundings during their ten-hour-shift and are generally used for giving directions - similarly to Brazilian police officers. I have never seen either (security guards nor police officers) reprimanding anyone while I have been here. Except on TV. But that's Globo. Fuck Globo.

8) The Cobrador: Remember him, from all that talk about buses? The cobrador also acts as a human indicator for the bus - using hand signals to show the way the bus will turn and getting aggressive motorcyclists to back off and make way for the bus in heavy traffic. His other duties include: letting the bus driver know that he can close the back doors again and turning a blind-eye to the Brazilian parents who pick up their clearly-over-ten-years-old-children and pop them over the turnstile. If there is a soccer game on, he also provides the radio on his mobile phone for the whole bus to listen to the commentary. This would have to be my next favourite Unnecessary-Brazilian-Job. They are quite useful, because they know the bus lines very well.

There you go, a possible explanation of the improvement in the Brazilian economy from a linguistics student...

How To Catch A Bus in Brazil

I have been super busy in the past week since I got back from Iguassu Falls. I had a few interviews: one was for a coordinator position at a translation company, and two were for English teaching jobs. I also did a 'test' translation and got offered a job as a full time translator (Portuguese--> English). I also have had more and more private students. And the craziest part: I got 3 job offers on the same day. I think what I will decide on is the full time translating job (11-7pm) and then teaching in the school that is close by (8-10pm) on weekdays. I'm going tomorrow to the translation company just to meet with the boss and check the company is trustworthy and then I'll try it out for a month. I'm excited about this job because by translating you learn so much - but I'm also a bit unsure about myself because I have never done it professionally before. But we'll see how this first month goes. Yesterday I also did a voice sample at a recording studio for possible work in  recording dialogues in ESL books for publishing companies. 


All this job negotiating has meant a lot of catching buses and metro around town. 


Catching a bus in São Paulo is an art. It involves various skills: excellent core strength - to stop yourself from losing your balance and falling over while the bus weaves around motorcyclists as it rides up and down the hilly terrain; hunting skills - to successfully find a pole to grip onto through the mass of bodies surrounding you; fantastic timing - to know which few seconds you can take your grip off of the poles to put your bus ticket back in your wallet; spatial awareness - to get past the catraca (the turnstile) while carrying anything larger than a purse;  and good estimation skills - to know when you should start making your way through the crowds toward the back of the bus to get off (too late, and you might not get off; too early, and you will be stuck clinging to the inside of the bus as people angrily request licença to get past you to the door).


This may sound a bit strange to people in Australia. After all, the buses here are quite different from the ones there. All the buses that I have been on in Brazil (excluding in the Amazon) have been the same: you board at the front. The front section is separated from the back by a turnstile where the cobrador (the person who takes the money) also sits. You get off of the bus generally at the very back (after the turnstile). Old people, disabled people, and obese people get off at the front part and don't pay for the ride.


My first reaction to the cobrador was 'gosh, another one of those unnecessary jobs that only exist in Brazil!' ...but I think it's at least a little bit more sensible here - after all, Brazil is slightly more populous than Australia, right? A full bus in Australia is an empty bus in Brazil. Somebody's got to take the money from all of those people.


I remember being shocked at the violent bumpiness of the bus rides when I first arrived. It was discussing this with my friend Rafael that I first learnt the Portuguese word for 'rollercoaster' - montanha russa (which means, literally, 'Russian mountain' -  there's one for you, Valentina, if you're reading this^^).


Another remarkable thing about Brazilian buses is what I like to call The Seat of Death.


If you are Brazilian, I'll give you time to realise which seat I am talking about...


































Got it? Yes. It is the seat right at the back of the bus, in the middle, generally placed higher than the seats in front because it is on top of the wheels, where there are no poles to hold on to to stop yourself from flying into the crowd if the bus jolts around (a highly likely occurrence). You sit there, you may as well have thrown yourself off a bridge. You will die. When I first came, I remember going to sit there and being told by Rafael NOT TO. I avoided the seat until a couple of months later, when, without thinking, I sat there with another friend beside me. The bus started moving and if my friend had not caught me...I would not be writing this today. These days, I have learnt my lesson - I am not tempted by that seat, however alluringly empty it may appear in peak hour traffic when you are fighting to stand upright on a bus full of people hot and sweaty from work. It's just not worth it, kids.


Also, here in Brazil, there is no such thing as a 'bus schedule'. You just go to the bus stop and hope for the best!


Somehow, it works...