Only in Brazil...

The Brazilian phrase for "cheers" is "tim tim," pronounced "ching ching" like glasses clinking together. Unfortunately, this is very similar to "xi xi," the Brazilian phrase meaning "pee pee." No wonder everyone looked at me strange last night.

The pronounciation between "coco," the Portuguese word for coconut, and "cocô," one of the Portuguese words for "shit" isn't that much different either.

Getting lost in Lins is much better in the daylight than at 5am.

Homemade feijoada is delicious, but to be honest, some parts of the pig are a little too chewy for my taste.

Every Brazilian man claims that he does not know how to dance. But once you enter the night club, you realize that every Brazilian man is a liar. In addition, every Brazilian man assumes I can dance and doesn't believe me when I inform them that I can't. It doesn't take long for them to believe me though.

Last night Rachel and I took it upon ourselves to invite the teachers out for some drinks. The turnout was better than expected, and after hanging out a few hours, Rachel, two other teachers and I made our way to one of the two local bars. To make a long story short, the night ended with us puttering home in Gear 1 as Rachelattempted to drive stick shift. Despite the abrupt stalls in the middle of intersections, we managed to make it home alive.

Just outside of Lins, there are farms spanning in every direction for miles. I have wanted to visit a farm since I arrived, but despite the hints, I was never invited until this past weekend. It was nice to escape the confines of Lins and be surrounded by fruit trees and sugar cane.



The other day for lunch I made myself a overflowing plate full of a rice, corn, meat and beans mixture. I gobbled down the plate in a matter of minutes, and followed my typical trend of refilling my plate for seconds (my stomach has definitely expanded since I have been here). As I battled with my subconscious about why I feel the need to eat more, the doorbell rang and a man began speaking to me in Portuguese. "Dona Katarina nao aqui," I said, not understanding a word of what he was trying to say. "Nao falo Portuguese," I added to let him know that I didn't speak Portuguese. "Comida," he explained gesturing towards an empty plate. He was asking for food. I went back inside the house and took my warm plate and waited patiently as he engulfed it, secretly praying that Dona Katarina wouldn't come home and see me feeding random people in the middle of the street.