Feliz Dia de Obrigada!

Despite my inability to stay in one place, this year was the first Thanksgiving I was away from home. I missed the 4th of July when I was studying in London, but a trip to a Hard Rock Cafe decorated with American flags and memorabilia made up for it. I missed Easter when I was working in Australia, but Dan and I managed to make our own Easter dinner consisting of kangaroo and Asian noodles. But what was different about yesterday was the fact that in Brazil nobody knows what Thanksgiving is.

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I took it upon myself to devote the day to teaching my classes about the history and traditions associated with this great American holiday. And they took this day to suck up to me.
Me: On Thanksgiving it is common for families to talk about the things they are thankful for. What are you thankful for?

Student: Teacher, I am thankful for you.**

(When you read this in your mind you must pronounce "teacher" as if it were spelled "tee-sher")

**This happens to be the response that I enjoyed the most...the remainder of the class found other seemingly more important things to be thankful for.

While the students were writing their responses, I compiled my own list of things that I was thankful for.


Things I am thankful for:

I'll get it out of the way first by stating the obvious: my health (minus my inability to run as far as I used to), my supportive and a tad bit crazy family, my amazing friends and my extremely patient boyfriend.

My fourteen year old cat, who I hope that upon returning home is still able to jump up onto the kitchen table and sprinkle his hair on the top of all our meals.

I will group the food into one category since there is so much of it: First and foremost, pinto beans, which have made my life in Brazil complete. Acerola juice, brigadero, dolce de leite, mangoes, acai with granola, jabuticaba, mocoto and goiaba, which I am going to sorely miss upon leaving Brazil. And of course, back in the United States, Special K, which I could not have survived college without. Honey wheat pretzels, peanut butter and nutella sandwiches, and Raisinettes, which make the long road trips and flights much more bearable. New York bagels, Chicago deep dish pizza, Wisconsin cheese curds, San Francisco sourdough bread, Munich potato dumplings, my mother's meatballs and my grandmother's delicious spaetalae. And I can't forget Moe's and Red Mango.

I am thankful for not currently being in a prison in Paraguay, for surviving numerous mototaxi rides, for my bungee cord holding tightly in New Zealand, for not getting kidnapped while hitch-hiking in the US, for my parachute releasing at the correct time while sky diving (okay, perhaps a few seconds late) and for surviving the Peru flu, among many other things...

The invention of the airplane, which can successfully take me to a new cultural experience in a matter of hours.

My GPS, which never lets me down (except the times it takes me through the streets of Time Square on a "shortcut".)

Soccer, which has provided me with uncountable hours of entertainment and friendships.

Couchsurfing, which has introduced me to some great people and provided me with free places to stay in Australia, New Zealand and Brazil.

After discussing the things we were thankful for, we watched clips from the Thanksgiving Day Parade on the internet while my family emailed me pictures of their tur-duck-en dinner and Dan texted me about his disappointment in finding apples in his stuffing.

Definitely a Thanksgiving unlike any other.

And time for some more interesting facts...

The average life expectancy in Angola is currently 38 years old. The second lowest in the world (Swaziland is lowest with 32-- for those who are curious the US holds the #38 spot with a life expectancy of 78, and Japan wins with 83). The high infant mortality rate and widespread malaria are two of the reasons why. When I asked my Angolan students if they knew anyone with malaria, one student calmly replied, "I get malaria every year." He then proceeded to tell me that once a year his tongue will get really dry and he'll know that it's time to go to the doctor. No big deal.

"Vestibular" is a university entrance exam in Brazil used by Brazilian universities to select students. Each university has different exams that are given between the months of November and January. When a Brazilian boy passes his "vestibular" exam and is accepted into a university, it is common for him to have his head shaved by a close friend. Slowly but surely, my male students are starting to become bald...

It is customary in Brazil, when it is your birthday, to have an egg cracked on your head.

An Angolan weekend...

Last night I visited Angola.

Well, not really. But as close as I could come without stepping foot on an airplane. I learned about the culture, and experienced the people, the food, the music and the dancing.
A good portion of my students here in Brazil are from Angola. Angola is a country on the western coast of Africa, that before coming to Brazil I knew nothing about. Every year, selected Angolan students are sent over to Brazil to attend university. After passing an exam these students are given the opportunity to attend university abroad in Brazil, Portugal, France, the UK or the US. However, the country is not their choosing and often times their field of study isn't either. In addition, upon being granted the scholarship, the students sign a contract committing themselves to working for a company in Angola for a few years after they complete university.



The Angolan students in my classes are among the 7% of Angolans that attend university and are among the friendliest, most intelligent and driven people I have ever met.

Angola was formerly a colony of Portugal, but gained its independence in 1975, so when my students invited me to a party to celebrate Angolan Independence Day, I couldn't turn the offer down.





Rachel and I arrived to the party at 7:00pm (the time written on the invitation), and to our surprise no one was there. We later learned that it was Angolan custom to be late...very late. The majority of guests arrived around 8:30pm.

What followed was one of the most entertaining shows I have ever seen of Angolan music, dancing, singing and fashion trends. Two of my students walked Rachel and I through the buffet line explaining all the delicious options to us.

After dinner, we sang "Parabens" or "Happy Birthday" to Angola, and then boarded a bus to continue the party at someone's house.

The house consisted of a large empty room, equipped with two laptops and a huge speaker. When we arrived the music was blaring and the Angolans took to dancing right away.

Angolan dancing consists of two main dancing styles, each unlike anything I have ever seen. The slower dancing is very slow and sensual, as the men and women close their eyes and move together in the same, repetitive motion. After observing this dancing technique, I now understand why the average Angolan family has five children.

The faster dancing is the complete opposite. It is called "kuduro" and it is the most high-energy dancing style I have ever seen. Watching the Angolans dance "kuduro" is like watching a group of people all electrocuted at the same time. Traditional drums and whistles sound as Angolan bodies begin to gyrate furiously. They develop into a trance-like state as they seem to lose control over their body and thrust their pelvis back and forth in abrupt motions. They kick their legs around, and at random moments, they get on all fours and crawl around the floor. Basically anything goes.

I can only imagine what I looked like as I tried to mimic their dance moves.

I think my students teach me more than I teach them...

It is amazing to notice the subtle similarities that exist between cultures. This past week I explained the concept of "pet peeves" to my students and after giving them some examples, I had them come up with their own. We reached the conclusion that every country has those annoying people that talk through entire movies, the student that feels the need to click his/her pen during tests, the person that licks their fingers to turn the page of a book, the people that stop in the middle of the sidewalk to talk, and the person that parks in two parking spaces.



After watching "Eat, Pray, Love" and noticing that the Brazilian man sounded nothing like a Brazilian should sound, I have realized that I am beginning to become an expert at recognizing the Brazilian accent. Brazilians have the most trouble with the letter "t." It is common for Brazilians to pronounce "t" as if it is "ch" and for "tea" to sound like "chee" and "to" like "chew." In addition, some words that I would have never thought sounded alike, often sound exactly the same to them. Last class we spent about ten minutes repeating the words "said" and "sad."

I sympathize with my student's trouble pronouncing English words, because no matter how hard I try, I still cannot pronounce the "r," due to my inability to roll my tongue, or "ã" due to my inability to sound like I always have a head cold.

I have come to the conclusion that any discussion purely in English is beneficial to the students, so I have taken it upon myself to ask the students questions that interest me. As a result, I am becoming an expert on Brazilian culture. Some weeks we discuss sports (aka soccer), other weeks food or popular customs and traditions. But this week the topic was politics and controversial issues.

After describing the different American political parties to my students, trying my best not to be biased, I asked them which party they thought I might belong to. They knew right away.

Being raised in New York and attending university in New York City, many modern controversial issues seem like a no-brainer to me and many of my peers. But in Brazil, a country where religion plays a huge role in everyone's life, I found my student's views to be much different than my own.

One student tried to convince me that nobody in Angola was homosexual, because it was not in the genes there (interesting...). What followed was one of the most interesting discussions I have ever had about prostitution, drugs, abortion, euthanasia, animal research, and health care...I hope they learned something, because I sure know that I did.

Pantanal

To describe this past weekend in a blog post is impossible, but I am going to try my best (with the help of some pictures).

My friend, Irua, was raised in Pantanal and spoke wonders of it from the first day we met. So, when we were given a few days off, Rachel and I decided to travel with Irua back to his hometown to see if it was really all he cracked it up to be.

...and it was.




Pantanal is the world's largest wetlands. No, it is not the Amazon, and in fact, it is scarcely known throughout the world, and even unknown by some Brazilians. Imagine a place with over 600 species of birds (parrots, toucans, owls...), over 200 species of fish, an uncountable number of butterflies, crocodiles (or caiman), capybaras (the largest rodent in the world), monkeys, giant anteaters, armadillos and tons of other animals.





The rainy season goes from December to March. During it, the rain is intense, and the temperature is high, and Pantanal gets flooded. Fortunately, we arrived in Pantanal at the end of dry season (and aside from the severe thunderstorm in the middle of our boating safari), we managed to stay pretty dry.
During our four days in Pantanal I was introduced to more fruits than I have been in my entire life. It was almost surreal to be able to walk around the town and just reach up for some fruit whenever I had the slight urge to eat something.

I ate acerola, (which contains 100 times the vitamin C of oranges), jabuticabas, Indian bubble gum, tomatinhos, and more mangoes than I have eaten in my entire life.

To be honest, I wouldn't even mind being a vegetarian if I lived in Pantanal. Despite the fact that the meat is also delicious there!



Our last two days were spent at a family farm where we were surrounded by horses, cows, roosters, peacocks, monkeys, calves, Angolan chickens, and parakeets.

We spent the first day zip-lining from the top of the mountain into the river below and the night chatting in broken Portu-glish with the other people on the farm.

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I fell asleep on one of the many hammocks just a few feet away from one of the horses and was awoken in the morning to the sunrise and a parakeet sitting on my head.

In the morning, we milked the cow and then filled our hands with corn pellets to feed the monkeys. After feeding the animals, we fed ourselves and marched 866 steps up to the top of one of the most beautiful waterfalls I have ever seen.

Returning home this morning after an overnight bus ride felt like waking up from a dream...

The hottest day of my life.

If someone were to ask me about the coldest moment in my life, I would know my answer without a moment's hesitation. I was eleven or twelve years old, playing a State cup soccer game in a town nearby and it was not only freezing cold, but sleeting. I was wearing shorts, a t-shirt with long sleeves underneath and my entire team was on the verge of crying in the middle of the soccer field because we were unable to move. The game was called off at halftime and it took about a week to regain feeling in my fingers and toes.

Before this weekend if someone asked me about the hottest moment in my life, I would be unsure of my reply. There have been plenty of heat advisory days in New York where I would choose to go for a run, or times at the beach when I have thought that I could form a pool with my own sweat.

But after this weekend, I know my answer: a Friday in October in Pantanal, Brazil.

Typically when I am hot, I know that there is some way to escape. In college, I could look forward to arriving back to my air conditioned room. I could go to the mall, the library or just any old store to escape the heat. In Pantanal things are different. For the first time in my life there was no escape. The heat took over my entire body transforming me into a lazy mute, unable to move and requiring too much energy to even speak. I am not sure what temperature Pantanal reached midday, but judging from the 99 degree reading at 11pm later that night, I can only imagine it was somewhere around 106 degrees.

And yes, it is spring here. I can't even imagine what the summer has in store...