Post #60: The Mirage

Brasília is a planned city shaped with two wings coming off of a central axis. Many say that it looks like an airplane. It was intended a city of the future and has many pieces of modernist architecture as well as wide, impressive avenues and a central mall with government buildings that extends from the tail to the nose of the plane.

It is also a city that was designed for cars. Crosswalks are often an after-thought, even in pedestrian zones, and they are located many times a large distance from the actual interchange. Brasília, you see, was designed with few to no traffic lights, so there are circles that regulate turns and the flow of traffic. This makes walking around tricky but there are a lot of worn foot-paths showing that human traffic will be governed by the shortest distance between two places rather than along long, paved routes.

Before I came to Brasília, I thought that distances would be pretty manageable on foot or by bicycle, but the map can be deceiving. Because of how the roads work (without left turns and without many traffic lights), you have to loop back and forth to arrive at any destination. Our home is 6-7 miles from work, depending on which route you take and, without any traffic, should take around 20-25 minutes. Sometimes, during the peak traffic hours, it takes around 40 minutes because there are a few choke points.

All to say that this is a city where a car is necessary to get to and from work, to visit your friends, to do your shopping, to do anything at all. Living in Brasília without a car is like living in Denver without a car. You just cannot quite do it.

So, we did buy a car to come here. Nothing special. A simple, small car with good gas mileage. Seemed smart at the time and we shipped it with our other goods to Brazil for our tour here the next three years.

Our car arrived last week. Apparently, a Mitsubishi Mirage has never been imported to Brazil before. The Department of Transport does not have a drop down menu for it. Hence, we are still waiting for license plates and have been told it will take a while. My initial jubilation that the car had arrived is now a bit muted and I continue taking Uber and the shuttle, ever the more discontent at my lack of independence and mobility. Grrr.... Seems that it all is a bit of a mirage.

(And, yes, I know, these are a bit of first-world, diplomat problems, but I wanted to share my lack of mobility anyway.)

Post #59: Shopping

So. Our stuff is here. Our stuff is actually everywhere. In putting things away, we started to compile a shopping list of kind of regular-type things needed for settling in. You know, nails, a picture frame, hooks, a stepladder, plant trays, a candle lighter. Trivial things that should be easy to find. Should be. Optimistically, we caught an uber (the car is still another story) and headed to the Big Box shopping area not too far away. Carrefour and Leroy Merlin awaited. We trudged through the stores looking up and down aisle after aisle after aisle. We did not find anything we wanted. And many of the small shelves we looked at to support one of our living room speakers cost over $100 for press board-type furniture that we can buy at home for $15. The loudspeakers were blaring with special offers. Families with strollers were crowding the aisles. Nothing was quite as we imagined and yet we kept searching... to only come home with a few items, completely defeated by the exhausting shopping experience. Phew! From now on, it's online shopping for me.

Posts #55-58: To the Interior

This week I had the chance to visit the interior of the state of São Paulo for some programming. It is an agricultural center for the country with farms, coffee, sugarcane, and famous for leather work. I did not have much time for shopping but I did meet with some fantastic students, teachers, and partners -- getting out and getting to know the local environment is one of the best parts of my job.

With teachers in Franca

Access Program Franca

Post #54: And our stuff finally all came

Moving is supposed to rank right up there with serious life stressors like divorce and taxes. Today, our household goods arrived from the shipping container like a tornado. In two hours flat the movers entered with boxes, divulged their contents, and departed. We were left with piles of hapless hangers, staplers, and spatulas to try and piece together a home. It feels good to be reunited and yet horrifying when you realize how much junk you haul around... and now for the mildly less stressful organizing part!

Post #53: Recoleta

We ended our week in Argentina with a cemetery stroll in the Recoleta to admire ancient tombs of the famous and elite of historical Buenos Aires. A pretty (and kind of haunting) finish.

Post #52: And there was wine?

So, Argentina has some really fine wine. And it is not only tasty and affordable but also everywhere. We tried many delicious bottles for under $10 and could not resist but to bring some back with us to Brazil... this may just inspire a future Southern Cone wine trip.

Post #51: The Colorful Corno at Teatro Colon

One of the best opera houses in the world, Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires is a site not to be missed. A premiere of a horn concerto and local star player together with the Buenos Aires philharmonic in such a setting is an experience. I enjoyed soaking up each and every note. And, apparently, we were not alone as there was standing room only in the balcony seats behind us -- young students and locals there to catch the show.

Post #50: Work?

So, I am in Buenos Aires not for the wine, long walks, or tango but rather for a conference of Binational Centers from across all of Latin America, including many from Brazil. It was really useful to meet everyone at once and have such an excuse to travel and enjoy the city (yes, I did attend the conference and even presented and participated in a panel!). 

Maybe you cannot see it but this is the first conference ribbon I've ever had that says "tango dancer" (I signed up for a social lesson one evening)

Opening event included tango, of course!

Presenting! :-)

The delegation from Brazil

Post #49: Going to the Dogs

Ferocious Argentinian Guard Dogs

Post #48: Vivid

Color explodes right onto the streets in San Telmo and La Boca. We walked there (of course) from another corner of the city and saw so much life on the streets. People with dogs everywhere. Children out playing on the streets. Hundreds of football fans streaming from the stadium. And brightly colored houses haphazardly stacked together in this neighborhood of immigrants that now is quite the tourist destination. Buenos Aires has quite the Bohemian feel to it. I am completely in love with its brightness.

Post #47: Tango

Tango was everywhere! We stumbled upon an international festival and snagged tickets to a wonderful concert at an open arts center. The artist was wonderful and there were even dancers who switched seamlessly between lead and follow.

The city is so obsessed with tango that even the crosswalks embrace a leg flick or two -- they appear to dance rather than simply march across some of the massive boulevards of Buenos Aires!

Post #46: Just walking

I fell out of rhythm with blogging and apparently lost track of time. Work took me for a week out of Brazil and further south to Argentina -- to Buenos Aires -- and we had a wonderful time. Here, in the next few posts and pictures, are some of my favorite moments! 

Walking is not such an easy task in our new hometown in Brasília, and it was splendid to explore the city on foot. The organic city layout and interesting architecture made it enticing to walk just one more block. On our first day, we discovered some gems in the neighborhood!

Evita (who used to light up but is not lit now because the current President does not favor the mural)

Mural on a labor building for teachers

Statues were everywhere

Wandering at the port with my favorite walking companion

Post #45: What Diplomats Do

What diplomats do, why it matters

Guest Column by Barbara Stephenson

My daughter, who aspires to be an American diplomat, once gave me a card in lovely calligraphy with a great quote from Laozi, the Chinese philosopher: “A leader is best when people barely know he exists. When his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say, ‘we did it ourselves.’” And the same can be said for us diplomats — we are at our best when the people we work with say, “We did it ourselves.” That makes telling stories about how we deliver for the American people a bit tricky.

Post #44: Linguistic Challenges

First of all, Portuguese is a beautiful language! A romance language with many lexical and grammatical features in common with Spanish, Portuguese has its twists. Spoken on several continents - Africa, Europe, South America, and Asia - it has its variations too. I took four months of conversion Portuguese from Spanish before coming to Brazil, and the language comes in very handy. Almost no one in the service sector is capable of speaking English, and, even in academic and government circles, it can be difficult to find interlocutors with the comfort and confidence to conduct a meeting in English. So, I am getting quite a lot of practice.

One funny aspect of Brazilian Portuguese is the word meia. It can mean middle or half, but it is also used for numbers here in Brazil, something my Portuguese for diplomats course did not teach or use. We have lots of these homophones in English but I am reminded at how difficult it can be for a non-native speaker to parse and interpret when it seems out of context. Here, meia can mean

- half

- half past as in time

- sock

- and the number 6

It is this last meaning that has thrown me for a trip. Almost no one uses "seis" to indicate the number 6 in spoken Portuguese. I have been confused on the phone, at the bank, and in the store. Meia, coming from a half dozen, is the short-cut normal way of saying six. 

The question prevails: If everyone uses meia to mean six, why didn't we ever talk about this in class? Seriously... those brain synapses are keeping fresh because I'm still learning. 

Post #43: Quanto Custa?

Curious about our cost of living? Here is a small market basket survey from our recent shopping trips:

3 large 20 liter water containers: USD $9
.5 kilo of ground beef: $2
1 kilo fresh fish: $9.60
1 kilo salami: R$5
1 loaf of "italian bread": $1
1 kilo of onions: $.10
200 grams of butter: $2.40
500 grams of Fettuccine noodles: $1.8
1 craft beer: $4.50
1 liter of fresh milk: $2
1 liter of orange juice: $3.40
1 dozen eggs: $2
1 bottle of drinkable red wine: $13
1 bottle of decent white wine: $7
1 kilo of mangos: $1.60
1 kilo of papaya: $1.30
1 kilo bananas: $2.40
1 kilo flour: $.60
1 kilo parmesan cheese: $10.60
1 can diced tomatoes: $1

Post #42: On Time is Always Early

Imagine what it is like to be married to German in Brazil and what kind of discussions we have about arriving to someone's home or to a party... Yes, it is complicated. In fact, so far, I have asked our hosts with a bit of humor to level with us so that we do not show up 15 minutes early and it has worked out to be between 60-90 minutes after the stated start time. It reminds me of my experiences in Mexico and knowing that you begin to get ready when the party starts, taking your time to get dressed and have a bite to eat before then calling a car to head to the site. Although we have now shown up appropriately on-time (tardy by German standards), it is a constant discussion.

Check out this well-written article about Brazilians and time from the BBC:

Thanks to an unhurried ‘life’s a beach’ attitude, Brazilians – especially those from Rio de Janeiro – have learned neither to expect nor appreciate punctuality.

Post #41: Brazilian Clothes Dryer

The most ingenuous thing about apartment living is the system Brazilians use for drying clothes. I have never seen anything so practical and am convinced that the custom is worth exporting to my next home. We have always had drying racks that are awkward to put out and take up a lot of space while our clothes are drying. Here, they have a system of pulleys that allows you to put wet clothes on your rack and then raise it up to the ceiling so you can go about using the space while things dry. Take a look for yourself (and feel free to copy this great idea!).

Post #40: Festa Agostina

Tonight we were hosted along with around 80 other guests by our work sponsors for a typical harvest-time party in Brazil. Generally, the traditional parties from Northeastern Brazil are in June and called Festa Juninas, but nowadays the parties are so fun that they happen everywhere and also in July (Festa Julina) and August (Festa Agostina). The tradition includes dressing up like simple, country folk and enjoying plenty of Forró music and quadrilha dancing (like square dancing). There is a lot of food, much of it made from corn. Our celebration was a bit more international but included all of the most important elements!

Post #39: Montage of Voltage

Something quirky about Brasília is its mishmash of electrical voltages and outlets. I made a rookie mistake on my first work-related trip out of town as I completely forgot that a electrical plug adapter would be necessary. So, what is the deal, you ask? Our apartment is partially wired for 220 volts but mostly with 110 volts and American plugs. Surely, this must be an American Embassy thing? Nope. Our apartment is leased from a Brazilian owner and you find inconsistency across the city with the plugs. Apparently many wealthy Brazilians will pay to have their homes wired in 110v so they can use appliances they've imported from elsewhere. One of my Brazilian colleagues travels with two hair straighteners/curlers: one in 110 and another in 220. Crazy, right? It gets better the "standard" plug in Brazil consists of three round prongs -- but is not compatible with the European 220 prongs like those you see in Germany. The result? Our house is a confusion of cords, extensions, and adapters.

Post #38: In the Mood for an Interlude

Setting aside Brazil for a moment, I am brooding about other people, places, and times today. In this seventh week in country, the thoughts close to my heart today are far, far away. It's peculiar how this lifestyle is one that supersedes arbitrary boundaries, even if entirely by necessity. Since graduating from high school, I have explored many parameters, moving first from Sioux Falls to New York City and the continuing to Stará Turá to Guadalajara to Monterey to Craiova to Brașov to Tartu to Arlington to Tartu to Astana to Jakarta to Arlington to Brasília. My intention is not to boast but rather to share how my sense of place overwhelms.  This attention to naming is somehow coupled with a lack of attachment to their definition - in my mind one runs right into another. It doesn't matter that I am in Brasilia because I feel that pieces of me are everywhere, attached to each and every one of you and the different trails I've traipsed. The biggest piece of me is connected to my sense of home place and family. That core piece has been quivering as some of the boundary lines that have not changed over time are imminently and irreversibly being altered.

The one constant in the list of places above is the square red house I returned to, the living room in which I played cribbage with my father, the petunias I planted with my mother, the countless cups of coffee drunk with those stopping by to visit, the bedroom where my best friend and I played school, store, and barbies, the rooftop on which my red tabby cat Tigger meowed each morning until I got up to let him in, the split level steps at the bottom of which my first dog laid to greet with thumping tail for visitors, the driveway in which we held a block party and rehearsal dinner for my wedding, the backyard which I and my brother mowed a few thousand times, the yard which served us for snowforts in blizzards, improvised imaginary zoos and acrobatic stages, and hastily constructed daredevil bike tricks... There is so much connected to that spot of earth - I could literally go on and on and on. 

My childhood home in Wyoming

My experience is not unusual as I suppose all adults eventually have to say farewell to a childhood home for various reasons and become less tethered to their youth. What strange luck for a self-professed world wanderer and vagabond to have grown up in one place for so long and to have remained connected to the same steps and walls and bright marigolds year after year. The house is just a place - the people are the ones that make it special. And yet, when this property belongs to someone else, I will feel a bit of a hole. I feel it already, knowing that it is empty of junk drawers and the pictures that hung on the walls. All to say that I am feeling surprisingly sentimental while grappling with this loss of space.

At the same time, I am preoccupied with one of my favorite aunts (actually, I would probably say that she was my childhood favorite, but it is plausible that another aunt might read this, so I'll hedge a tiny bit). My Aunt Gus is only ten years older than I am, and, when I was a child, she was still at home with my grandparents. This was incredibly awesome - our aunt was young and funny. We got to spend more time with her making cookies, doing chores, and watching her cheer leading. I loved penpals as a kid, and she was also the aunt who would answer my letters when she was in college and beyond. My aunt, the youngest of 8 kids has been attacked by insidious cancer and she is not doing very well. I can easily imagine her dry wit and the sound of her voice as she made up a song or did something goofy. I am completely flummoxed and sad about her illness. I just don't understand and I hope that she knows however far away I am, I am hugging her close to my heart.

A visit with Gussy in Seattle in 2017

And what happened to me today in the midst of brooding? An old friend called out of the blue to say hello and to listen. Sometimes those dissipating boundaries work equally in my favor.

Post #37: Brasilia, My Home

Today, I made the trek back to Brasília, and I am honestly grateful to be back home. Funny how after only 6 weeks that a place can have that feeling at home. Even though our apartment still void of our furnishings and artifacts can feel a bit sterile, it is our new center of gravity. My own bed and pillow, food from my own kitchen, the silence of reading a book in my own living room, and the comfort of being in the company of my partner in life. Ah, home. There really is no place like it.