Your House Your Life

One of the cliché images we have from Brazil is the favelas, the shanty towns filled with poor people. Indeed Brazil is struggling with a huge number of its population that is not able to access decent housing, and ends up living either in slums or on the streets. About 6% of the country's population lives in favelas, or about 11.4 million people reports the IBGE in their 2010 census. Homeownership is unaffordable for more than 60% of the Brazilian population says the IDB.
However living in Brasilia keeps our eyes away from the issue: there is not really any slums to see. There are various reasons for this, one of the main is that Brasilia was never designed to include lower segments of the population. In fact Brasilia has rather been described as a city of exclusion, you can read some more about the topic here.
In one of my driving afternoon to shoot Emmanuel to sleep I ended up in São Sebastião. It is a small community of about 100,000 souls a few kilometers from where we live. It is a typical low income suburb of Brasilia, far from the city center. Very different from Brasilia, it is unplanned, with one main street along which small concrete buildings line up their garage-door storefront, and with people hanging out and socializing in front of them. The area looks less manicured, more densely occupied, more vibrant, more real Brazil, and yet probably more rough and tough. Before reaching the town center, at the intersection from the main road and the highway, this housing complex was under construction. The vision of these aligned small concrete structures with empty openings on several hundred of square meters of land initially pleased me; it looked like a mini Chinese housing development (I admit to be nostalgic in strange ways). These are part of the social housing program the country is currently developing.

Indeed, during his presidency, Lula put in place a program addressing the housing problem of lower segments of the population. It is called "Minha Casa Minha Vida", My House My Life. Launched in 2009, the public housing program initially had for objective the creation of one million housing units; since a much larger number have been developed.
The mechanisms are similar for all of them: banks finances the development of the units and provides mortgages to the eligible families. The developers make the initial investments in land acquisition and developments. The government provides a number of guidelines regarding the units and the complexes, but does not directly oversees the projects. Upon completion, the government provides its approval while the banks give the financial structure to provide the mortgages to the participating families. In practice it means that the low income segments of the population have access to this type of housing, but not the poorest. As there is a mortgage involved the families beneficiaries of the programs are usually earning an income, even if very limited.

This photo shows an other development we passed on our way to Val Paraiso. From the looks you can tell right away that architects are not part of the design process. However, I am curious to know more about this program and its mechanisms. I will return with more details later.
Until then I will keep on driving around with Emmanuel sleeping in the back.

Back to the Hospital

We needed to a follow up appointment for Emmanuel with his Scarlatina. Conveniently enough Noam woke up that morning with a pretty bad sore throat, so he hopped on for a ride to the hospital with us. The good thing is that with one paid visit, you get a follow up appointment. The sad thing is that it needs to be back at the ER, with exactly the same doctor. It meant that we had to wait until he showed up, about one hour and half. Keeping the positive in mind, that is less than a regular doctor office in my hometown in Québec.
Noam was diagnosed with tonsillitis, which is in fact a pre-scarlatina stage. I learn everyday here.
I also paid up for his visit, for a total of 72 reais (US$ 35) for his consultation. This is a private hospital. The hospital is clean, it seems to have a "system that works", as I was always able to retrieve the documents I needed following each visit, and that payments easy to manage (unlike in China) and deliveries of Xrays are done on time. Now in terms of equipment, what they used for my foot's Xray was directly from the 1980s, and some of the testing was "slow" (they did not do it right the first time). But well, assuming that nothing is rare or grave, we are getting a pretty decent service.
For any expat community, medical care is always a big issue, along with education. It was the main reason we left Africa when I was pregnant, and it was a heavy topic of discussion while we were in Beijing. Maybe it is not as much discussed here, as the community is smaller. While the proportion of horror stories is probably similar, I assume we probably have less exposure to them (limited number of people on english speaking forums, no local english language magazines or websites). But the health care system is a factor of inquietude for many new comers, and a reason for the departure of some, for example in case of serious accident or disease.
In any cases, I just returned home and put my two boys back in their PJ. We went back to our couch therapy - the one where you just lie down with a blanket and a doudou and your brother and your mommy. It is the best to get better...

Trailing Low

I woke up feeling crapy, wondering if this tightness on my chest will turn into a normal cold or into pneumonia. So I laid low most morning.
After lunch, a friend came by to drop her kid for play date with my boys. Since returning from our travels, my boys have been in Lego LaLa Land, playing hours non-stop, almost making me feel obsolete. So the idea of a play date while feeling unwell is not really dreadful, as their little friend is as much of a Lego passionate as them. And my dear Empregada is watching.
Yet I was enjoying my decaf when the mom and son pair came in, and used this as an excuse to get some company to my sipping. We nicely chatted about mundane things. Then she eventually opened up, talking about her own difficulties to be an efficient, productive, home-based contractual working mom. And self-estime issues related to performing such role.
In this life, where simple errants require logistics and planning (ever gone to the bank for 2 hours? or twice a week? or driven 10 km for it?), it is not difficult for me to equally feel incompetent at performing the regular stuff. In a way, since I arrived here, I have been mostly absorbed with mundane things in the morning, and kids care for the rest of the day.
It brings me back to two elements: self-confidence and work. Since I started my expatriate life, I have met many types of expat wives (the trailing spouses, as we are often labeled). Those who try to keep a professional life, and adapt their career and occupation to their new surroundings, despite the odds. And those who, for various reasons, decide to just make the best of their situation, without a professional take on their occupation - either by painting, golfing, charity work, coffees and chats, language learning, sewing, shopping, hosting, knitting, writing, you name it. In Beijing I even met a group of women, self-labelled "snitch and bitch", meeting around a yarn in a coffee shop. These women who give up their careers are not always doing it by choice, but they seems to enjoy much better time during their posting.  I guess I have a guilt factor that hinder fully enjoying these activities as full time ones.
As women who studied for a long time, and worked hard to get (close to have) a career, we give a great value to what we do, and it is always a little difficult to be reduced to be "the wife of" and to really only be remarkable for the quality of your housekeeping skills. 
So many of us will try really hard to keep at it, sometimes working remotely, sometimes creating a new career path, sometimes accepting work conditions we would usually rebuke, sometimes creating our own business. Sometimes it is easier, as we have a comparative advantage - maybe our language skills, maybe our own international experience. But most time it won't be easy. 
My friend's pain certainly comes from working in isolation, on tight deadlines, in a very competitive environment where she is somewhat disadvantaged, by working remotely and intermittently. I share her pain. I have experienced this in China, and now, although I am not officially working, I am somewhat feeling this, the disadvantage and the loneliness of writing articles on my own. The feeling of not really being able to realize oneself fully, professionally and/or personally, and to feel lost or forgotten behind the action.
But in fact this post will probably need to be expanded later, as there is so much to be said about being a working mother, a home-based working mom (there is a contradiction just in this label), and a mutant-always-reinventing-yourself-professional due to our constant rotation of postings linked to our expatriate status. Have you ever imagine how much energy it takes? Maybe that is why today I just laid low in the morning. That felt better.

Night Out

Despite having a very amazing babysitting, we are not going out enough. Most of the time, we tour our friends places for more BBQ and social evenings. Not doubt, they are always enjoyable. Consequently, when we drive "to town" for a nice meal just for the two of us, it is quite special. Last night we felt like sushi. (Asia saudade?) And since we could not recall where was the good sushi in town, we landed on a random one. And consequently were disappointed. I mean, sashimi should not try to become ceviche, and cream cheese should stay at the breakfast table.

It is almost unmistakable, our random restaurants trials are usually a fail. If that would be only that, we could keep on trying until success, but the price tags are often Ritziesque. In most cases, the meals are overcooked, meat well overdone, full of creamy sauce, with few overcooked greens. Whether it is a typical Brazilian dish, or a French or an Italian one. Or even a Chinese one. The most practical and safe way to eat out is the buffet by the weight. But for dinner, I can't resolve myself to the cafeteria ambiance. Yeap, call me snob just for that.
It is not only the way the food is prepared that is sad, it is often the lack of imagination in the types of produces used and dishes made. Despite all the goodies this country produces, it is often surprising that people have not developed a more evolved taste buds. Our gardener needs to have his feijao (beans) and rice, she cooks him that daily. Maybe this situation is similar to the Quebecers' in the fifties. It must be just a matter of time to see some evolution. 
For us, our excuse for being "food snob" is this common love of food we share. I am pretty sure my cooking skills helped sealing our deal. Further, for my Israeli husband good food means mezzes and fresh produces and a gazzilions of different traditional ethnic dishes of several origins. For me, it is translated by a family affair with food, where meals are often homegrown, discussed and prepared together. And Beijing was for both of us a smorgasbord of flavors and produces far superior to any other places we lived in before. Chinese food is by far more varied than one could ever imagine. And the vibrant Beijing food scene is home to some of the best tables of Asia. And while we tested some (most) of them, we also loved the little unknown corner stall, where we would discover some amazing specialities.
That said, to be fair, we have discovered a few yummy addresses in Brasilia. I will report, I promise. I guess I just miss the infinite freedom of amazing food choices we had in our Beijing alleys.
For those readers who love typical Brazilian food, I would assume you either have Brazilian blood, or were raised here. And if it is not the case, I am ready to offer you a home cooked meal in lieu of apologies. Just email me.

Where Am I?

Sometimes flashbacks of a previous life assault me. At first glance, not many things would confuse me as whether I am here in Brazil or there in China. Yet at times, the other side of the world winks at me.
For example the other day I walked by a store on the W3 and saw a kitchen tool I needed, so I walked in to buy it: a battery-operated vinaigrette mixer. No comments please. As it was there on the shelf, and I walked in with the intention of spending less than 5 minutes in there, just enough time for the transaction to be validated on my card. Oh! what was I thinking again? A staff had to get a new box downstairs. Then record in one computer what I am buying. And ask me for my CPF and my complete address and all sort of very important details. And then send me over to another cashier, who would find my order in the system, pull it out, and complete the sale and print a few tickets. Then I would need to go back to the first counter, where upon presentation one of these coupons I would retrieve my purchase. Nothing short of 30 minutes.
Although the speed of the cashiers are not comparable, the process was similar in China when making purchases in department stores. Exasperating.

I found a number of other strange similarities with China:
- In a chicken purchased at the grocery store, I found not only its gibbets but also its feet!
- There rice is a staple here. Required by everyone for every meal. Ok, granted, it is not the same type and accompanied by much different fare. But no one would discuss the importance of this grain in these two cultures.
- One other thing that I found striking when comparing those two country-continents was the importance of the "face". We ear often about the Chinese face, and how messages might be conveyed in a rather indirect way, just to avoid de-facing an interlocutor. Surprisingly enough, the Brazilian will also take great lengths to convey their negative message in the less possibly direct way, wanting to preserve their relationships and the person their are dealing with. Like China, Brazil is a country where connections are essential to for many things in life.
- Generally, both Chinese and Brazilian are bad drivers. On this I might post more extensively later.
There has been a number of other "flashes" but for now I will leave you with this.

If I Could Fly

We are just returning from a very interesting exhibition at the CCBB. What an interesting guy. When we lived in Beijing, my students had mentioned this guy who was building the strangest robots, robots that were more like themselves references to art movements: Cai Guo Qiang (蔡国强). His work was installed here in Brasilia. In fact there was several parts to this exhibition. The first one was presenting these funny (and at times spooky) rough-looking animated robots; painting, pulling a rickshaw, playing chess, barking, walking around, spitting water. Emmanuel did not really like this hooded one, which admittedly had the feel of some kind of horror movie when walking rigidly towards him. The staff was having a kick at following small kids around with its tele-guided puppet. Thankfully my son did not have nightmares.

A large room was dedicated to CGQ's "paintings" with gunpowder. As a child who witness the Cultural Revolution, CGQ grew up in a setting where both fireworks and cannon blasts were common. This work is certainly a way to channel those memories. The artist had initially laid large canvasses in the outdoor covered space in the garden, where some tiered stands were installed for the public to witness the performance. Under the canvasses, with specific care, he would lay down certain quantities of gunpowder in specific patterns, and eventually set it in fire that he and a number of his assistant would put out. The walls of this room where we watch a video of this where covered with the results of his experiment.

The last portion of the exhibition was CGQ's curated collection of flying and floating machines and devices made by various unknown peasants in rural China. All this handmade machines presented there at one point flew or floated, which is pretty amazing when you start thinking about it. I really like the story of this one machine who was saved by CGQ and some villagers, as the wife of the constructor was furiously destroying the machine to burn it, upset that her husband wasting all their small income on the construction of devices such as this one.

Playdates

So what can one do every afternoons with two small boys with this weather??
Here I have a lot of impeding factors:
- my smallest is too young to join all these "clubes" where they proposed sport activities - capoeira, football, swimming, gymnastic. When he is four it will be easier.
- the layout of the city, and the area where we live do not provide outdoor playgrounds that are convenient. In Beijing we used to meet friends outside and below our tower, there were always a few playing in the shared structures. Here if there is a playground or two in Lago Sul, they will be empty mostly because nobody wants to drive to a playground located along a main road full of traffic and exposed to the blasting sun. Furthermore most people have nice gardens and prefer staying home. Therefore the social aspect of going to the playground is obsolete.
- and in any cases, this is the rainy season and most times playing outside is not really an option.
- but unlike Beijing, indoor playgrounds are limited in numbers, they are usually in the city (count the km) and in malls. I try to avoid.
- and being between holidays (Christmas and Carnival) there is little options to organize art classes home.
That said, each kids has a good number of friends. So I started inviting them at turns at home, to entertain each others. There was that day when I ended up having three over, and for longer than expected. But in most cases, it is bliss for them (and for me). The kids are playing together quietly, busy building lego worlds, playing doctor, making a mess or just watching a movie. See how happy they are.

On our way to Canada

On our way to Canada, we made a little stop in Panama. There the kids rehearsed for our 3 days in New York City. And we were reminded about refined Chinese pleasures.

No Beijing. Panama.

In New York City.
Completing the cycle of celebrations of Hanukkah with our friends Boaz and Stacey and their kids. Lights. Hope. Friendship.
Swinging on an installation of Ann Hamilton, in the Park Avenue Armory, on one of the 42 large wood-plank swings, "The Event of a Thread". Their movements agitates an immense curtain in the middle of the even larger space. Child memories. Happiness. Flow.
Walking among the crowds of Fifth Avenue. Meeting some old Beijing friends near the Rockefeller Center and its huge Canadian tree. Sitting in a Tom Ford booth to get my make up done by an old friend. Street excitation. Anticipation. Wealth of experiences. Experiences of wealth.
Touring a night market. Eating in an art installation. Discovering the crowded new "in" areas of the city at night. More urban bliss.
Yes. I need more of that. We will be back.
Back on a plane now, to Canada.

Expat Blues

I have the expat blues. I am not feeling settled. It has been months now that we are "settling in". Since the month of June, we have been "moving", first preparing the move and all sorts of related logistical issues, then moving around places and countries for a couple months, then landing here, finding a place, waiting for the place, then waiting for our stuff (which is supposed to arrive tomorrow, by the way). But after 5 months of "nomadism" and despite almost 3 of them here in Brasilia, I am not feeling settled at all. And it is starting to bother me seriously.

In fact, I feel I should know better. I have moved houses and countries now more than anyone I know. From my hometown to cool and fun Montreal. In a village in India, probably the most intense culture shock ever. In Vancouver, same country but different mentality and weather. In the warm and happy Toulouse, in the South of France. In Lausanne, pretty and quiet. In slow Ziguinchor, in the lush Casamance, the southern-most province of Senegal. Back in Montreal, welcome back reverse culture shock. In Brazzaville, recovering from the war, yet troubled. In Liberia, discovering the peacekeeping world and sub-culture and learning surfing on my free times. In Washington, back to civilization, yet a stranger in the American culture. A year later, in Beijing, digging deep in this millennial culture. And now Brasilia.

All my experiences have come with an intensity of their own, with questioning and soul-searching, and at one point or another, with resistances from my part to "be part" of the new culture. In almost all cases, there were struggles not only with a new language or new expressions, but also with new ways of dealing with problems, and new ways of thinking. And of course in some cases, it came with the impression to be a bit of a circus animal for the local who watched me bemused. At times, I had the impression that I had to mourn something inside myself, some part of me, or maybe some beliefs before being able to enjoy my new "home". But in all cases, in various degrees, I was able to settle, immerse myself in my new place, and enjoy it. 

This time is no different. Same struggles on different grounds. The language. The orientation in a new culture. The new settings. Figuring out what are the "special rules" of Brazil, whether it is socially or on the road. Meeting new people, making new friends. Searching for the good addresses, scoping stores searching for the right ingredients or the rights produces. Determining the value of things. Finding differences. Looking for similarities. 

Yet this time this move is different. Settling in with two kids is not the same. The freedom to explore rapidly this new city is limited. The choices are more complex, more involved. The kids requirements - food, play, school, bathtime, bedtime - make for a schedule that is more regimented, taking our days on a rhythm leaving less room for impulsive explorations and unexpected discoveries. But in fact, it is this coupled with my difficulty to find a nanny/household help that leaves me stranded with very limited time for anything other than the mere "mundane". In fact this has been one of the most important factor infringing my quest of "making my own place" here. 

But beyond this, it is Brasilia, the city itself, and its structure that has also been, in a very unexpected way, a factor of "pain". I am using the word loosely here, but in fact I refer to the frustrations resulting from how this city forces us to do or not to do certain things. The hyper-segregation of everything in sectors  (commercial, medical, education, housing, recreation, all in their respective corners of the city), the distances involved daily, the risks related to security issues, the lack of physical center to the city, its awkward line of commercial buildings in some places, and the lack of a physical street front almost anywhere else, the impossibility to walk around. All these elements have contributed to my incapacity (yet) of "falling in love with the place". Of course this compounded by the difficulty to get things done quickly and efficiently adds up to my frustration. But that should be the subject of another post later!

So so so. So what to do? Earlier in September, feeling a wave of frustration, I dropped everything for a day - language classes and errands - and baked. The result was good, for the soul and for the tummy. For those who know me, I never bake (I usually limit myself to cooking meals). Later, I escaped with my newly made friends to do some yoga for the weekend. At times I go to playdates with new friends (and enjoy some time with new mommy friends while kids are playing) or drop everything to join an special event. But I know now I need to find the perl to replace our beloved ayi so that I can start having a bit of time to make my soul feel at home here. 

A banana-cake tatin, made with the instructions of Ricardo, the famous Quebec Chef.
Despite all of this, all hopes are not vanished yet. I am still hopeful to settle happily. When it comes to  expat blues, there is an abundant literature. This resonated for me: "When you live abroad, you realize that, no matter where you are, you will always be an-expat. (Read more at here). So indeed, and consequently, as an expat, I was forced to grown adaptive tools and mechanisms. These make me much faster at ease in a new, unknown or difficult environment. And knowing this, deep down, leaves me with no panic. I will learn to love to be here, I will learn to extract the best out of this place. It is the slowness of the process that drives me in sane. As the Brazilians say: "Devagar". Slowly.
I need to meditate a little more on that. 

Welcome home?

Leaving Floripa to return to Brasilia. Flying back with the kids is always an excitement for them: they get un-interupted TV time and video games. And a pause for me. Our exit of the airport was slow, luggages slow to come out, kids' nature calling timely as always. We boarded a cab and headed home.

The driver pulled up to our dark driveway and unloaded our suitcases at the front door. Home sweet home.
Supposedly.
I approached our parked car, hopeful it would be repaired, as I had instructed. Nope. The bumper was the same old torn piece of metal. I will have to go myself deal with the insurance next week. Deep sigh. 
Upon stepping in our house, I felt in a different climatic zone: it was probably one of the hottest day of the year, and the windows were left closed all day, accumulating heat and transforming the house into a very uncomfortable box. In other places, it would be easy to fix, but in the night the house is difficult to ventilate without inviting mosquitos and other beechoos in.  (In Portuguese, a beechoo is a creature, whether four legged or multi-legged). To be hot or to be bitten, that is the question. Sigh.
A few minutes later, I noticed a few more things that were left unattended despite my instructions. Sigh.
A plane passed noisily. Deep breath. It is only temporarily.
I unpacked quickly some of our things and dumped them in our new machine machine. I am still without any real household help. Sigh.
Then a little later when sitting in front of freshly made instant chinese noodles (my guilty take on comfort food for the kids), Emmanuel spurred out: "Mom, why are we here?" Me: "Honey, this is our house, this is where we live." Him: "Yes, but daddy is not here." Me: "True, for now. But he will return soon, in two dodos, in two nights." Him: "But why are we here, in Brazil?" Me: "Because it is where daddy's work is." Him: "No. His work is in China. I want to go home now."
Double sigh. 
Me too. 
A cockroach passed by.
Deep breathing. 

Flypath

Now there is always a hidden clause when you sign a contract, some small print that will make things complicated. Well our house has one big hidden clause. In fact, it a very not discreet problem: we are on a flypath.
For those who do not know, it means that planes almost land in our neighbor's yard. It means noise. Loud jet noises.
We should have heard it when we visited, right? Well, we did not. We did not even ear anything for the first four days in the house. Then one evening, it was loud and roaring every five or ten minutes. I wondered how I did not hear this before. How did I missed this? Was I enjoying the house so much that I did not hear the planes until four days in??  We did hear some planes when we came to sign the lease - but we were probably too fed up with the rental unit, and too excited by the house features to notice the noise.
So our first Friday night, while trying to watch a movie, and having to pause it every ten minutes, Paul and I could only wonder on how to deal with this - now and for the next three to five years. How to sustain our sanity with such annoying noises? The following day was pretty relax, yet I felt we were a bit robbed of our peace of mind with all these planes going. Lying by the pool under roaring jet noises is not relaxing. Albeit it is not constant, it is not pleasant.
I swear I must have wondered hundreds of time how we could we not have heard something when we first visited?!
Then, on Sunday morning, after one more plane at 6 AM, the first of the day, that was it. There was not really any other loud planes later that day. Of course we could hear planes passing over the next neighborhood, but it was normal plane noise - distant - and at this point I qualified it as pleasant.
So tonight when the planes started to go low again, I did not really get phased up as much. It will be passing. Only temporary. Not all the time. Only when the weather is like this or the wind like that (which I still need to figure out). But I am feeling much better that we are not in a full fledge flypath. Because that would be much more difficult to bear.
And later, when the kids were heading to bed, Noam told me that he did not like the noises, that it was a bit annoying to have this again and again, that maybe we should not have rented the house. I tried to encourage him to see it only occurs for short stretches of time - hoping to make it easier on him. Hopefully it will work.

My days

Long day:
Up at 5 having a coffee with my hubby before his departure for a couple days of business travels, getting ready, doing my language homework, eventually dressing and feeding the kids, driving them to school, prepare a quick meal for lunch, then portuguese lessons, meeting other UN spouses, coffee at a friend's house (along with 20 others) (while gathering essential life saving data about where to buy things, how to deal with administrative procedures, and so forth), drive 20 km to pick up kids from school, pull kids out of school playground, drive home, warm meal up, eat/feed, go do some errants (unsuccessfully), buy popsicle for everyone, drive to a kid friend's house (another 15 km), chat with mom (while kids play) (gather more data), swim with kids (coooold), drive home (15 km), pick up dry cleaning, cook dinner, eat/feed, skype grandpa, bath kids, read story, call daddy, put in bed, dishes, prepare bags for next day, do homework for next day language class, wash clothes, pay bills online. 23h00. Maybe blog.

Falling Apart

No, I should not complain. We could be living in a 35 square meter room all four of us piled up on each other, in one of the few apartment hotels in town. Instead we have been able to find a short term rental apartment ready at our arrival.
While the apartment looked decent at first glance, and has plenty of space - probably about 180 square meters and three bedrooms - many of its features just did not make me feel comfortable.
Yes this post will be a free ranting one - so skip it if reading complains is not your thing.
Details in the unit were at first putting me off.
A full side of the unit is having no windows. Well, there are openings, things to allow the air in, but not way for me to see anything outside - and as a visual, it is often frustrating to hear noises and conversations occurring a few meters down, yet not be able to see anything. The capoira gathering, the school fairs, the recess, the garbage truck, the call of some vendors. All of this remains sounds without images.
Then there is the very limited kitchen equipment, the lack of washing machine, and the fact that the place was rented to us really dirty. I spent the first night cleaning it.
An other element of disappointment for me has been the general low level of quality of things in the unit. Again, if I had imagined that Brazil is "emerging" from so low, or if I had imagined something near Africa, there would have been no upset. But in fact I have lived in much worst places before - in India, in Liberia, in Senegal, in Congo. Yet arriving from China, with all the things that we had there, our landing in Brasilia has been feeling more like a sharp downgrade.
Here is a photo of Emmanuel eating in our kitchen. I hated the place so much that I did not take pictures of it.

So a few days after our arrival, the sink got blocked. Upon looking under the sink, I realized that the pipes are all made of flexible thin plastic tubes of a very really narrow shape - explaining why they clogged quickly. The brother of the owner came to fix it almost right away.
A few days later, the freezer started to beep and to unfroze. This model has a digital thermometer, showing us the slow rise of degrees. As we had brought with us about 15 kg of French cheeses (then frozen), it was really urgent to get this fixed. Again, a few visits of owner's brother followed by a repair person, the appliance was fixed and our cheeses saved.
Then slowly we started to find a smell of gaz. At times it felt more obvious, at other times, not so much. At one point I decided to leave the windows open, just in case, to make sure the air would never get too saturated. A few days later, it was just too much. Again, a few visits from the now very friendly owner's bro, followed by a few more visits of some specialist. The stove was the problem, with a burner completely broken, leaking gas. It was changed for a new one.
But it was not enough, the installation was problematic, and gas was still leaking. So the guy from reception came to fix it. By this time, I forgone the owner's bro, and figure we needed a more efficient action.
Then a few days later, while reading a story to Noam, I heard the noise of something falling. I went back to the kitchen, unable to notice anything different from when I left it a few minutes earlier. Only later did I realized that a few tiles in the washroom had fallen down on their own.
At least by then I knew we were going to leave - our lease was signed. What a relief!

The cost of living (the high life!?)

So yes, coming back to the cost of things here. What a shock, specially coming from China. When told about how expensive some items are here, I imagined Africa-expensive, where some of the local things are really cheap, and then maybe a 20 to 40% increase from the actual price in Europe or America. Here, we are more talking about a 100 to 500% increase of cost, depending on the item.
Imagine taking a mortgage for your shoes!!! Seriously, I actually saw more than a pair here where you can borrow on a yearly plan.
Also seen: a superman costume for 50R$ (worth USD 10 or 12 at Walmart in the US); a simple couscous for 29R$ (maybe worth USD 3 in the US); the infamous running shoes for 999.99R$ (maybe for 100 or 150 in the US); a typical Matel toy car for 30R$ (maybe going for 5 to 7 in the US), the DVD of the movie Rio for 80R$,  a can opener - the camping type, the type that is really small, hard to manage and holds in the hand - for 25R$... The list is longer.
The good thing is that these high prices are for a good cause - taxation, where hopefully the money goes back to the people. (we can talk about the corruption another time/post). And it is a good way it encourage the consumption of the "made in Brazil" things, encouraging the local economy (because most commonly used things have a cheaper version. But that is limited to things Brasilian actually like using (unlike balsamic vinegar or wasabi sauce). The other good thing is the limitation of consumption to the essential and therefore the limitation of waste and pollution.  And always a good chance to ask ourselves if we really need a fourth pairs of trainers.
The bad thing is that certain things might be unavoidable once we settle down in our new place, and I am afraid of the bill (and the fact that the least expensive is of really poor quality).  I could not allow myself or indulge myself in some of the usual "luxuries" I have in the past. Not that I ever imagined couscous being a luxury actually. But there are things that are not going to be part of our budget here.
It also means that our visitors will be carrying special requests for us, and that our suitcases will be filled with important and precious goods every time we travel out of the country. Watch me import couscous and balsamic vinegar and maple sirup!!!

For info the real is currently value at about R$ 2 for USD 1 - so make the math. 

Tim, Vivo and I, part 1

I will relate here my first experiences with what is known by many as "the best Brazilian communication provider": Vivo.

In the middle of our house hunting, we made a pause to get ourself a cellphone line. After a brief and non-scientific survey around us and online, we determined that Vivo would be our best bet. People mentioned quality of service, network capacity, etc.
We went to a Vivo store in a large mall in the suburb of Lago Sul. We had to take a ticket, and sat down.  Ipods were pulled out (refer to previous post).

Wanting our kids to stay quiet, ipods were pulled out while we could get some service. I have to admit resorting to this kind of "tool" too often since our arrival. The continuous house visits in this first week,  and these administrative tasks at the office, all these moments of waiting require entertainment. But those little devices are also very addictive, creating a boomerang effect that is rather unpleasant, with whining, aggressiveness and selective deftness.
We waited for about twenty minutes before being served by a young pleasant english-speaking lad. For some unknown reason, the process of opening our accounts was lengthy.  Which package, which cell phone, which extras took some time. Then he offered we choose our phone numbers from a few options. And things got slower, as a bug in the terminal started to delay things. He suggested we take the kids to eat while he completed the transaction.
Upon returning from our meal, he confirmed all was good, our lines would be opened in about one hour. Here are the papers, thank you. Three hours. Threeeeeee Hours!
One hour later, I do not yet have a signal, and Paul tries to call anyway. Someone else answers. He proceeds to call his own number, and there again, someone else answer. We have been given numbers that are already in service.
It then takes me another separate trip to the store, and another to fix the situation, and get real numbers.
If this is the most best better of all Brazilian telecommunication companies, I am rather afraid by what is to come...