Get your carnival on!

It's the nation's biggest holiday with glitter, wigs, samba, and silly costumes almost everywhere, even in Brasilia. We went out to meet our Portuguese tutor at a local cafe on Saturday morning and the spirit was already moving the block in a neighborhood celebration (yes, at 11 a.m.!). With a spirit of anything goes and everyone belongs, I was already tapping my toes and looking for that long-lost glitter...

In Case of Pain, Dance

In town this evening running errands, I walked past this sign. The message hit me over the head. The sign must be a sign.

IN CASE OF PAIN, DANCE

I've been in a bit of a funk lately in pondering the planet, ecology, humanity, our communities, our discourse with each other, and my own place. Perhaps I should blame it on over-consumption of news as I think that if my head were in the sand and I were more oblivious, my mood would not be contaminated. Perhaps I should blame the dry examination and brooding that happens after the holidays when I set out to tackle a new year. Perhaps it is that very sentiment of "tackling" life that is to blame, whether a personal or cultural mindset. Perhaps we're just in a very heavy moment of history when there is more cognitive dissonance and discord than I can handle. I don't know. But, sometimes, we have to be in the moment that we are in to examine and work beyond it. There isn't another way...

...unless we might dance! One of my tacklings this new year has been to find community in Brasília and to learn some Brazilian dances. These endeavors both bring me distraction and joy. We are attempting some Forró and Samba de Gafeira at a local dance school, and the entire community has embraced us with friendly welcomes and chit-chat during lessons.  Maybe the secret is turning my funk into a bit of toe-tapping Bruno Mars.

Change of Scenery

Sometimes the best way to find respite is to break up your routine and get out of town for a weekend. We took advantage of the MLK holiday and took off for the nearby town of Pirenópolis. The short two-hour trek from Brasília (150 km) is a beautiful drive across the cerrado or wind-swept savanna. The Portuguese colonial town is clearly an accessible escape for weekenders from the capital city, and it was particularly full of visitors on Saturday evening. The cobblestone streets are lined with vendors, restaurants, and guesthouses. We were tucked back from the party zone for the evening and choose to put our energies towards exploration of the terrain. We joined a guided trip through the information office to the State Park -- and it was lucky we did as our little car could not have possibly handled some of the rough access roads. We swam in waterfalls, awaited a rainstorm under shelter, walked to rock outcroppings and viewpoints, and breathed in the fresh air and surroundings. In less than 48 hours we found total escape from reality, and it felt rather good! 

18th Century Church

Side street in the town

Ahhhhh! The Cerrado!

First waterfall of the day

And the second 

Swimming in the cool, clean water (right before the rain)

Rocks!

Pretty spot for a selfie

Third waterfall where we swam (and got bitten by little itchy bugs)

Vista point - one of the highest in the state of Goiás at around 1,300 meters (4,500 feet)

Sunset -- and rain

Waterfalls are the Brazilian Mountain

Context is everything, right? I love to hike and, if given a choice, I spend my free time outdoors. For me, as a Wyomingite, a hike means an ascent, a sense of accomplishment, and a view. With my husband, we have had many a debate between my concept of hike and the German sense of wanderung. Basically, my version involves a mountain and a scramble to the top and his version involves more of a walk... I remember when I was a student at Augustana and meeting fellow students from Minnesota who went camping at lakes! (Yup. For me, camping involves mountains.) In Indonesia, I understood that hiking might mean walking on a trail in town or climbing up a volcano, probably in flip flops.

Here in Brazil, it seems that the attraction that pulls people out of their urban lives and draws them to nature is the waterfall. Or at least that is the case around Brasilia. And it probably involves proper hiking gear -- you know, a bikini or speedo and flip flops.

My fellow hiking friends and I headed outside of town last weekend to a waterfall trail head about 40 minutes away. We saw four waterfalls, including the Spanish waterfall, Indaia, the Bride's Veil, and the backside of Itiquira. It was not a mountain, but it was beautiful. Take a look.

Feeling green

It's summer time in Brazil, and we are almost upon the summer solstice in the southern hemisphere (seems weird, right?). You might imagine that it is hot here. But, it's not really. Instead, we are in the middle of the rainy season. When it rains here, it pours. And it is raining a lot. The skies clear between storms but sometimes we have a downpour more than once a day. Driving during a storm can be particularly hazardous as visibility gets pretty abysmal and the streets flood with several feet of water to plow through with the car. The high plain of Brasilia is bursting with green outdoors, looking lush in stark contrast to the dry season when everything gets brown and dehydrated.

The truth is that I kind of like the weather and the moisture, but the truth for my houseplants is something different. One plant has already been sacrificed to the winter rains in a sad, withering death spiral that finished in the compost bin. The others are not so happy with the diminished sunlight and cool temperatures. Today, I moved all of my greenery next to the windows in hopes that they might perk up and begin to dry out a bit. Who knew that it would be so hard to keep them feeling happy and green?

Rio de Janeiro

...is so fabulous I did not take many pictures. And, yes, it is as wonderful as everyone says it is.

In the Neighborhood

The human mind is a miraculously curious organ, isn't it? Every single day on my drive to or from work I follow blindly the GPS through "Avenida das Jaqueiras." Severely mispronounced by a computer-automated English speaker, the street is part of my neighborhood. I can locate it and successfully navigate its dangerous roundabouts and even get gas or a car wash nearby. Without blinking, I know this street. What never occurred to me was to investigate the meaning of "jaqueiras." So much for curiosity. 

Last weekend, we were out with a friend and turned onto the famed "Avenida das Jaqueiras" when I noticed large fruits protruding from the trees along the route. Every tree had tons of spiky, enormous jack fruit protruding from its branches. Suspicious that every tree on the road seemed to be producing jack fruit. I said as much to our Brazilian friend, who replied, "of course, that is why it is called Jack Fruit Avenue."

Really, what could be more obvious to decode? 

Three days in Floripa

Work travel took me to southern Brazil to the city of Florianópolis. Most famous for its beaches during summertime vacations (in January-March), this "small" Brazilian city is located on an island and is home to almost 500,000. The identity of the city is shaped by the influence of Portuguese immigrants and traditions of fishing, and many view themselves as a small, under-served area of the country. They were quite flabbergasted upon learning that my entire home state is comprised of the same population!

The city is beautiful with fragrant bakeries lining cobblestone streets and a wonderful beachfront to stroll. I made it out several mornings before the workday to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the cool breeze. In the historic center we bumped into an impromptu concert and some beautiful old buildings. The city is progressive and has transformed itself into a tourism and technology hub.

In short, I was impressed and hope to make it back for a more leisurely exploration of the city!

Street Art on a Saturday Afternoon in São Paulo

Pigging Out at Casa do Porco

While visiting friends, we found ourselves in central São Paulo at one of the trendiest foody places in town, Casa do Porco. Yes, it is literally the house of pig. We had read about the restaurant in a NYTimes piece about the city, and our friends swore that the sometimes 2-4 hour wait was well worth it for this sinfully delicious experience. So, we went. We have no regrets. And now I am writing home about it.