Coffee Cultures are not Always the Same

The other day I found myself very distracted in my yoga class.  Beside her mat, this woman had what appeared to be a cup of Starbucks coffee. A clarification to my foreign-based readership: there are no Starbucks in Brasilia. I meditated over that cup while we were doing breathing exercises, wondering about the reasons of my disturbance. I mean, I am not a Starbucks lover. Even if crowds love them, I have never found their coffee amazing; the various coffee mixes and drinks they proposed never were my thing.
But in many other countries, Starbucks coffee shops are merge into the urban landscape. They have invaded cities like Paris, London and Moscow, they are a place to retreat, read, surf the web, more than just a place to get a drink.
In Beijing these stores would inhabit the lobby of many towers. Affluent Chinese would splurge to get a coffee that could cost them 4 times less in a local shop.
In Vancouver, I remember a street corner with 3 Starbucks shops kitty corner from one another. And in the streets, hardly no passerby's hands, strollers or backpack was without a Starbucks thermos-mug.
Here in Brasilia then, no Starbucks.  Nope, none. Zero. (There is no Ikea either, but that is another topic entirely).
My years in Africa were also Starbucks-free - but this was no surprise as neither Senegal, Congo or Liberia rhymed with coffee culture, nor popular destination for American imperialism. And I was not there looking for places to hang out, I was far too busy with my work then.
But the absence of Starbucks does not mean a place is not a coffee culture, at the contrary.
As an example, Italy is entirely Starbucks-free. But in Italy, the coffee culture is strong, and with like any Italian things, its making and serving requires precision. No frapuccino latté with soy milk topped with cinnamon is allowed passed the Italian border. Here, tiny cups of creamy and smooth coffee are drank quickly standing at the bar. And cappuccinos are reserved for late afternoon, when there is time to leisurely savor the beverage.  In Italy, coffee is so good that even an expresso is drank without sugar. Now Starbucks cannot compete with that.
Here in Brazil coffee is available almost everywhere. It is no surprise since the country produces about one third of all the world's production. The coffee culture is deeply linked to the history of the economic development of the country and slavery.
Yet for my North American eye, this local coffee culture is full of contradiction.
Today, years after the abolition of slavery, coffee is very present in Brazilians' lives. I like to think it is expressed by this interesting linguistic fact: When having their breakfast, the Brazilians say "tomar café de manha", literally to drink a morning coffee, even if there is no coffee involved, or even if they are solely eating their breakfast.
In daily life, coffee is usually available for free in popular restaurants, those buffet "by the kilo", from a thermos, in a self-help form. The super strong and sweetened brew is also available for free in grocery stores, gas stations, doctor's office and other places with waiting involved. It is available in about every grocery stores, even in the dodgy ones, maybe hiding at the end of an aisle. And at best you might get three sips from these baby size plastic cups. Not really the best way to enjoy it I guess, but certainly a good way to get a coffee fix.
When we arrived here, I tried to find where I could go for a coffee. Even if i quickly found the stand in the aisle of the grocery store, it did not really feel like my kind of hangout. But coffee shops did not pop in front of my eyes the same way they did in Italy, France or New York, yet this could initially be attributed to the unique quirkiness of Brasilia. I found them in malls and small shopping complexes. But what I found most often were pastry shops serving coffee. And while these shops would serve all the unimaginable types of local and foreign cakes and pastries, coffee was usually a very simple, black, bitter expresso (which I love).
In some of them, I sat with my computer to work, but in most occasions I felt at odd, either stealing valuable seating place for those rushing in and out. Laptops in these pastry shops were not a common sight, or even just people sitting for more than 20 minutes after they finish their drinks. Probably nobody said anything because I was obviously a foreigner. Or because my portuguese was null at the time. These places were not coffee shops in a anglo-saxon world, Starbucks way. I eventually just gave these up.
In any cases, the other day I just walked into one of these restaurants, those that have their breakfast buffet open early. I was seeing people walking out with what I assumed was egg sandwiches. I ordered a coffee, to go.
Just the Starbucks way, right.
The waitress firstly expressed some kind of surprise but produced the desired beverage in a styrofoam cup, without lid. When I indicated that this was not going to work in my car, she just simply covered the cup with a plastic film. I stood there puzzled, at the cashier, wondering how to address this situation, how to drink it while driving.
I was just reminded again there is no Starbucks way here.
I just picked a straw into the film: Ready to go!

Food Obession

I always loved cooking. I can't recall when I cooked my first meal. But I remember regularly assisting at night my mom as she was busy with work. And I remember as teenager cooking at a friend's house with a bunch of my girlfriends, and my friend's mom noticing a certain ease and ability maneuvering a dish.

Cooking, but also eating, has always been an important part of my life. My husband sometimes finds that with my family devotes too much time talking about the next meal, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up afterward. As I grew up like this, to me this is "good living" and I don't see any problem obsessing about the next meal...
I also read a lot of cooking books. I have a number of favorite cooking websites, look here here or here or here again. I spend a lot of time in my kitchen, it is a relaxing time for me, even when I have guests. I remember after my assignment in Congo, where I did not have access to the kitchen (a rule of a shared house with cook), I landed in Paris at my friend's, and just invaded her already tiny kitchen, cooking four or five course meals, and gorging myself on fresh berries and other goodies unavailable in Africa. Bliss.
Recently a friend showed me this book from Ottolenghi. He is a well-known Israeli chef in London. I could not resist, I ordered it.
His approach to food is completely different than what I have seen before. His recipes are always fresh, amazingly tasty. They are mostly simple and easy to make, but they use a number of ingredients that are often mis-loved or harder to find. Think quinoa, eggplant, tahini, za'atar and other middle eastern goodies. Yet is food cannot simply be described as "Middle Eastern". It is more than that. More subtle and researched (Middle Easterner, please don't get offended, I love your food).
After trying several of his recipes, I realized that the selection was entirely vegetarian. I mean, this book is about vegetarian cooking, and I did not get that right away! What a feat!

It is something important to note, actually. I have to confess slowly de-vegetarianazing my dear husband. I love my meat, so I should not have minded, getting more on my plate that way. But to be clear, it was by shear laziness.  Yes, I always found vegetarian dishes to be more complicated to make, and taking much longer to complete. A big piece of meat get slapped with a bit of mustard or something, and stuck in the over, et voilà! Dinner is ready. Can't do that with a bunch of lentils, right? Well, wrong. Wrong, since I have my slow cooker. And wrong, says Ottolenghi. And wrong, says me, more and more convinced that not only there is an easy way to be eating less meat, but also that less meat is more healthy.

Equal Rights

On May 14 2013, Brazil turned a historic page: the country legalized same-sex marriages. Brazil is consequently placing itself at the forefront of the LBGT rights, with a handful of other countries (namely Canada, Spain, Portugal, Netherlands, England, Belgium, Argentina, New Zealand, even Uruguay and a few more). Recently France also have joined the ranks, but the French created much more havoc about the issues than the Brazilians.
Here or in other places in the country there was no demonstrations against the passing of the law. And when you look around, the Brazilians appear to be pretty open, specially in places like Rio and Sao Paolo.  Guinness is saying that Sao Paolo has the world biggest gay parade in the world. And yet, as I am writing this, I learn that Brazil remains a country with a very high level of violences against the LBGT community. 
Tonight we were invited with friends to a party. The same-sex marriage topic came to table.  
And then I fell off my chair.
The thing is that as expats, we evolve into a generally super open super intelligent super life-loving crowd of people. People who have lived in many places, people who are often in mix-cultural marriages, people who have often gown up in a culture that is not theirs, people who generally need a pretty good sense of openness to be able to evolve comfortably in cultures that are foreign, people who are used to being out of their comfort zones. So I found myself very surprised, and then very upset by the fact that I needed to debate the values of the liberals laws that were just passed in both countries. Laws that are about freedom of sexual orientation, freedom of family choices, freedom of adoption for same sex couples. I even needed to defend the benefit of a law allowing single mothers to procreate medically or to adopt (like in Canada or Israel). I felt I was replaying a discussion set in the 50s. It just did not make sense with my views of the world, with my values, that someone from my entourage would not share these values. 
There was no way of changing my interlocutor's point of view, tainted with religious dogmas. 
Then I was reminded that yes, even if it is a world trend, LGBT rights are absent in most parts of the world. Only a handful of countries have jumped over the fence of prejudices and discrimination and started protecting legally these people. Yes LGBT are vulnerable in most places of the world. Consequently it is normal to bump once in a while into people who are not yet aware of the issues at stakes. 
At least my friend and I were able to debate, to hear each other, and to agree to disagree.  

photo from wiki

SMDBs

We live in Lago Sul, a suburb of Brasilia, in the SMDB area; in the Setor de Mansões Dom Bosco. The name could be translated by the Dom Bosco Sector of the Manors, or something similar.  Even if it is not within the Plano Piloto, Lago Sul is a suburb planned along with the same rules as the rest of Brasilia: everything of similar use goes together. Consequently, the SMDB are the areas for large single family houses. And it is hard to find anything else there.
The interesting thing about the SMDB area is its order, which is very different from the rest of the city. Usually in Brasilia things are organized in an orderly fashion. Number are organized in order; 1, 2, 3 follow each other, as one would normally assume. I mentioned earlier that there is no conventional street name. Things are rather divided in areas, in large zones (like the SMDB for example, but also like the hospital sector, the school sector, the shopping sector), and then broken down in Quadras (neigborhoods) or in Conjuntos (junctions), and then the building number can be given. In Lago Sul, the entire area was sub-divided in two, the quadras along the lake - QL - and the inner quadras - QI. Then a set of numbers are given to all the little dead-end streets on which houses are aligned.
Here in the SMDBs, it is a little more tricky. First the SMDBs are not accessible from everywhere. They are clusters of a few SMDBs conjunctos (or small streets) and each of these clusters are accessible from a limited number of entry points through the QIs, and sometimes by only one point. The first trick is to learn where are these entry points. Then the SMDBs are sprinkled in a orderly fashion that is visible only from above - some big (ego) master plan power (also known as Costa, the planner), laid these around like someone sprinkles salt on his beans. The result is a little odd from the ground, where 17 and 16 are encountered before 14, where 12 is mix beside 28 and where you have 12a 12b and 12c next to 31 but really really far from 12 - an after-thought obviously. These SMDBs are usually on the hills behind the QIs. They all have either a view of the lake or a view of the surrounding hills, streams and nature.

Why am I writing here about this? Simply because the spatial arrangement of the SMDBs creates a unusual maze of roads and nature. I have enjoyed driving along their roads while trying to get Emmanuel to nap (a car ride does wonders these days).  I have circumvented my son's sleep patterns with the discovery of the area, while day-dreaming of landscapes over which these houses gaze. I keep taking some shortcuts (that are not always so short) just to keep that impression of being in the countryside. At times I stop the car, and contemplate a landscape that, if standing in the right place, makes you feel that you are somewhere else, away from a city, deep in nature. And I just love it...
Here is a view from this backroad shortcut to our house, under the light of the afternoon ending. Gleaming atop of the hill is our house and our neighbors'. I love this view.

And this photo does not really makes justice to the beauty of landscape.

Paying Up

I have a collection of traffic offenses, most of which were related to going a little over the allowed limit.
Wanting to get things done, wanting to avoid waisting more time in these banks, wanting to just tick one box on my long to-do list, wanting to get a life, I get to the bank a few minutes before opening hours and line up. To get to the bank on time is not a great feat, since the opening hours are eleven to four (yes my friends, banks operate only five hours per day here!).  I was not the only one with such brilliant intentions, about 20 people were already standing. But since my fellow bank-aficionados and I have nothing better to do, conversations were engaged; a good way to practice my portuguese. After standing for 15 min, the entire line of 30 people (who by now know where I am from and where my kids go to school) is moved downstairs to wait some more before getting to one of the two tellers counters. We each get a little number to make the wait more pleasant. The combination of two of these factors probably explains the clerk's kindness: I am kindly assigned the preference line, a privilege given to those with reduced mobility (remember I am wearing my super-boot), with kids in tow and with more candles to their cake than they usually want to admit. This practice also explains why I usually pull my kids along to all my banking trips: they reduce my wait time quite considerably. In turn, to entice them, I promise them ipad time during the wait.
Eventually, after a decent wait - to the despair of my video-games-addicted kids, I come to the counter, with all my multas (fines), my printed notes, my cash, my cane. And pay. Get a receipt.
5 minutes at the counter.
Walk out with my kids.
35 minutes in total.
For some reasons, it feels like a great accomplishment.

To Keep the Blessing Coming In

Today I found myself rummaging into a small box of "things",  the type of box holding a number of random objects, of collected objects and treasures from the past, of pieces of our common history so random that it is almost impossible to organize them in a way or another, yet often not glorious enough to display. While giving the box an ultimate look before pushing it deeper into our storage room I found a mezuzah with its scroll, along with an old horseshoe. This modern and elegant brass mezuzah is the design of our friend Yaly, who is an Israeli jewelry maker and artisan.
The horseshoe is also a unique find. I discovered it in the grass, next to an the abandoned ruin of a hotel, in Trois-Pistoles. It was the summer prior to the final year of my architectural school degree, while I was exploring the area for a potential "site" for my thesis project.  While the decayed stone structure generated a number of dark legends in the region, finding the horseshoe was like finding a talisman, as if it provided me with light and luck to complete brilliantly my studies. (at least this is how it felt at the time!).
In any cases, both the horseshoe and the mezuzah deserve a better place than this old cardboard box. I pulled out my hammer and proceeded to install them on our front door. If in both tradition - jewish and western - hanging these objects might protect a house or bring it peace, I have no problem juxtaposing them here in ours. Double luck. The Chinese also have a symbol like that, they call it Double Happiness. I guess in the end we are all just the same,.

Self-Image

There is something about being young, really young, and still having a very positive image of oneself.  As parents, we all hope to provide our little ones with the necessary tools so they love themselves the way they are, with their special talents and their little flaws. We know too well that as we get older our own flaws become exaggerated by our personal experiences, our lack of self-esteem and often by our desire to achieve some abstract form of perfection given by the media. Sadly this distorted image of oneself we carry within us is too often far from the reality. Did you see the Dove test?
In art, self-portrait is one of the most common type of work, yet certainly one that is very challenging. "Draw what you see!" was saying my old drawing teacher at McGill, Gerry Tondino. The simple challenge of drawing what is in front of your eyes is then increased tenfolds when you stand in front of a mirror. Yet when Deborah gave my boys a paper, a pen and a mirror, and with a little guidance, they were able to draw the most lovable self-portraits ever!
 

Language

It is a real pleasure to spend an entire evening in this new language. After less than 10 months here, it feel like an achievement (specially in comparison with Chinese). Obviously this evening is not the first time I am conversing in Portuguese. I usually manage daily with the empregada (maid) and the gardener, but conversing about dishes and plants is not vastly intellectual, and leave a great deal of room for improvement.
Indeed, learning a new language is always challenging. Yet it is greatly rewarding. Each time I start understanding bits and pieces of a new language, it is as if a door cracks open, allowing me to access a completely new and fresh world. The harder the language, the greater the reward feeling. So imagine learning Chinese! I remember how ecstatic I was after my first "real conversation" (not in class) in Chinese (about pop-corn!) Or when I deciphered my first line of Chinese ideograms. In Portuguese the language barrier is certainly less arduous to climb, since the challenge remains in the domain of latin-rooted languages. It means that these shared roots enable a lot of guessing and interpretation. Despite this element of , it is as rewarding. this newly acquired skill allowing me to a entire new level of cultural understanding. Indeed, learning a language is not just putting new vocabulary together. It might be learning to communicate with new words combinations, new accents and new tones. But it is furthermore about the way ideas are expressed, how emotions are conveyed, how cultural elements very unique to the context are introduced and embraced by the local speakers.
A language is a direct reflection of a culture. The inuit language has been used as an example of this, as they would have more words or expressions than us to define what we call snow. The total number of these words might be argued by scholars, yet a significant point is made by this reference. As a specific culture uses several words to describe something important to them, a limited vocabulary would reflect a significantly different perception by people of another culture. Here the inuit language indicates the special relationship of these people with their winter environment. Consequently one could argue that a language imposes a particular view of the world, as it limits or expands the speaker understanding of it. It is probably why, as a learner I find it always interesting to find elements that are very different (or very similar) to the other languages I know.
And then I always have pleasure in discovering the colorful expressions of a new language; these expressions that, if taken word for words, might not make any sense.  In English, falling in love could be one. French and Chinese are languages constantly using some. In Portuguese I recently learned "é um abacaxi" - literally "it is a pineapple", to describe a situation that is complicated or difficult.
If our common latin roots help, there is room for serious confusion between the languages I know. Take this: in French I drink my tea in a tasse and my coffee also, except that I might prefer using une tasse à café (ou à expresso), which is smaller. I sip my wine in a coupe, and my water in a verre. In English, I drink my tea in a mug, my coffee in a cup, my wine in a (wine) glass and my water also. In Portuguese, I drink my tea in a caneca, my coffee in xicara, my wine in a tassa, my water in a copa. Or more simply: tasse = mug = caneca, but tasse = cup = xicara, or also coupe = glass = tassa or maybe verre = glass = copa. But a copa is not a cup neither a coupe, and a tasse is not a tassa... Are you still following?
Portuguese also holds many "faux amis", these expressions that sounds the same as a French word (or sometimes an English one), yet their meaning being very different (and sometimes just the opposite). For example, I visualize a balcony when I hear "balcão", pronounced exactly like the French balcon (balcony), but instead I am standing in front of a counter - the kitchen one or the customer service one. 
And to hinder the learning of Portuguese, like French, verbs are a little tricky. I need to memorize the verbs, the times, the verbs' declensions. Furthermore,  there are a few times of verbs that do not exist neither in French nor in English. It would certainly be interesting to understand the reasons behind this, or to analyze a little more its linguistic implications. Yet I ought to make an effort in improving my conjugations if I ever want to master better the language. I still have a lot to do. 

Saudade

Moving from an apartment to a house has been fun, allowing us to do things we were not able to enjoy before. I planted a garden (still waiting for the harvesting period). We play football or pétanque in the grass. We take pleasure in observing the wildlife around us. We play in the pool (even more since our filter is installed). We eat outside, hang out in our hammocks, and spend our evenings enjoying the breeze on our terrace. Occasionally when we are not busy taking care of the kids, we catch a sunset over the city. I am from Rivière-du-Loup, where each night the sky is a wonderful tableau of colors, and where sunset watching is an activity in itself. Here the sunsets are also definitely pretty, but since we are in the tropics, the sun goes down so fast that I often forget to take the time to watch it.
Last week we received an email from our landlord, praising this time of the year, the dry(er) season, when sunsets are wonderful to watch. He was probably suffering a bit from nostalgia, or saudade, as he had to leave this beautiful house to move in a city apartment. Upon reading his message, we invited him over for a sunset. And tonight, it was really pleasant to have him and his girlfriend over a few bottles of bubbly and some interesting conversation so em portuguese. And to really take the time.

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.

Coloring our Present

Expat wife lives is often colored by their daily coffees, tennis lessons and house decorations, right? I guess I fit the bill...

Shopping Habits

Similarly to when I lived in other emerging (or depressed) economies, supply chains in Brazil do not always equal demand. In other words, you might find a lot of an item one day and never see it again later. For example these large jars of sun-dried tomatoes in oil that were available in Carrefour in the fall, and completely disappeared since. Or I might never find a specific item, until I stumble on it in a very unusual store - recently here I found blueberries, fresh. Or at times some items are getting the exotic tax (so the blueberries are US$30).  The taxation has a lot to do with this unreliable supply of goods. Who would pay for US$10 for asparagus or 15 for endives - apart from me?

In terms of shopping habits, it means that if I see something I might eventually need later, I buy it now, and usually in quantity. Or I might not remember exactly where that specific store was in the row of these very nondescript facades. Or some items are so hard to come by I might as well buy a collection of them, for the future. Or just because I hate waiting in line for these things I need week after week. Any of these are essentially a good excuse for really bad shopping habits, and make it difficult to achieve my ideals of simple living.

In practice, for us expats, it also means using our visitors as mule. Our friend D came one time with a delivery of cereal and mac&cheese boxes. My dad carried kids underwear, cereals and French language exercise books, all for the kids. Another friend lugged gin bottles. My husband shrugs to the idea of going to the US, as the terms "mission" aptly applies. The kids are always thrilled when we have visitors, except when they carry alcohol. 

It also means that when I travel, I already have a list of items to purchase, mostly food items. This latest trip to Tel Aviv was a special stocking moment, an unique occasion to fill my pantry with fresh spices, sun-dried tomatoes, cheeses, olive oil, yogurt, typical israeli snacks, bread, what not. I came back with 35 kilos of goodies. I just could not help myself.

As I am writing this post I realized that you might find me slightly neurotic. Until you come over for dinner.

Flying High

So despite the odds (a broken foot, a kid with a plastered arm, a 23 hour journey), I would not cancel this trip. Kids are off school for two weeks - French system oblige - and what am I going to do with them during all that time, specially with the rainy season that is stretching itself well into April? So off we go!
Travel tips for parents of young kids: take all the screens you can - for us it was one portable DVD reader and its DVD selection, and fully charged with games, 2 ipods and one ipad (without counting my own computer). Bring unusual snacks (M&Ms, new types of cookies, raw veggies), some new workbooks, stickers, small cars (take a count before each landing). Take the usual suspects (doudous or blankies). Socks, light long sleeves. A book. And then, broken foot oblige, reserve a wheelchair service with the airline (luxury!). And some patience too. At take off, a glass of some alcoholic beverage if you can. 
We did get a little delay in Sao Paolo, waiting from midnight until 4 before flying out towards Rome yikes! I had initially booked my tickets for them to sleep on flight. They ended up being so lovely, coloring, watching DVDs or playing on the ithings - thank you airport power outlets. The good thing with this delay: my boys were fast asleep on the second leg, faster than the boarding. We later needed to wait one hour in Rome for a wheelchair (which delayed our flight), but the plane waited, and I could drink a real italian cappuccino (ooh! joy!)... We also were able to get various rides in the process: bus, train, small electric car, mommy's wheelchair - what fun! The grand finale: our welcome committee waiting for us in TLV airport - everyone was relieved, happy and excited to be together again.

Going Up to Say Goodbye

Far from the architectural significance of the Eiffel tower, the visit of the TV tower still provides the visitors great vistas of the city center. Nevertheless, with its 218 m of height, it is the highest tower in Latin America. Standing in the center of the Plano Piloto in between the two avenues of Monumental Axis, it is over looking a set of water cascades, just a bit up from the Rodoviaria. It is possible to reach by elevator the 75 m high observation deck from which the Three Power Square at the end of the Monumental Axis can be seen.
In a very strange set of weather circumstances, we were forced to hide from the rain at the bottom of the TV tower. We eventually had to turn around, the deck being open to the elements, and therefore not open during or right after showers. At the base of the tower, there is a craft fair where my dad and June spent their last dinheiros in a last-minute shopping spree.
Despite its touristic importance, like many other architectural icons in the city, the grounds and the surroundings of the buildings are poorly maintained, with very little elements to facilitate, or even encourage visitors. Under the tower, the access to the elevator does not have anything to make this experience pleasant or memorable; the ground is covered with a dirty cracked concrete, the base is half boarded up, half covered with graffitis, and the touristic office that sells city tours is hidden away under a pillar, almost as if it is illegal. The rain only aggravated this impression that we were not welcomed. Brasilia has a long way to go before really being the touristic and cultural center it aspires to.

We eventually returned, with better weather. Our final touristic visit was more successful, leaving a better impression of the city, once seen from high up. Yet our best moments were more the casual family times, around a good meal or while playing some games with the kids.

Pool Work

When we were negotiating with our landlord, we briefly talked about the pool. He said that there was no solar heating system for it. What I missed is that there was also not filtration system. With its dimensions of 20 m by 5 m, it is probably one of the largest dengue mosquito breading pond in the area.
The filter-less pools are not really unusual here. Many young men make a living cleaning these pools, driving around beaten up cars, motorcycles or even bicycles. They are easily recognizable with the long pole and its nets and brushes attached on their vehicle.
Despite our attempts to keep a clean pool, whether spraying chlorine and chemicals, brushing, vacuuming and flushing water, we only were able to reach various shades of green, not really a crystal clear water. At some point, we even turned it a pretty lime green, and were able to get a little tickle on our skin with all these brews. Which eventually helped us conclude for our need of a real filtration system.
So I did my homework and visited about every pool store in the area to get pricing. Obviously what appears simple here is not.
The first issue is technical: the pool is already fitted with a machine space in the back, and some pipes. However, these are not done correctly and some changes are needed before the installation of a filter. Then there is the risk of using a set of pipes that have been buried for ten years. Any kind of problem with them would require digging, and consequently destroying the patio brick floor treatment.
The second is just brazilian: getting a quote is not difficult. Finding a person that is reliable and decently priced a little more tricky. One of the largest and best located store in Lago Sul send me their technical guy to check things out. He was supposed to come back with a construction guy to do some further estimates. By the time they both came, a month had passed (call that the brasilian time zone!) and I had gone to three other stores, sure that they were avoiding me.
In the end, Severino was my man. His suggestion also was wise: a set of hydraulic stairs, which circulate the water to the pump was the least involved option for us, avoiding the possible risk of defect of the existing system, and the resale possibility when we leave (as we are dishing the dinheiros for this).  Despite delays in his schedule and some small details (my garden suffered a bit), the pool finally is clean. What a relief!

Traffic Jam

Again it is raining buckets. And I am bringing the kids to yet another birthday party. It is at least a well thought out one: we drop the kids and pick them up. Caveat: a 45-minutes trip twice. Under the rain (a.k.a. traffic jams). With no parking (the usual). And my ski-boot to carry around with my cane.
When I returned picking my sugared-high kids, I realized how terrible the whole road network is, even outside the plano piloto  (the other name for the city or downtown). Well, I guess I knew that, it was only a confirmation. Everyone is in direction to Sao Sebastian, as it is the only way there from the city. And when it is raining the traffic is worst.

Because civil engineers and urban planners here hate street lights and prefer using rounds-abouts, the circulation is completely backed up for about 2 km. The entire length of the road between two rounds-abouts (the one above JK bridge and the one of the Botanical Garden, near our house, maybe a good 2 km), is backed up car to car. Why? Because of these round-abouts. When a driver reaches a round about, he needs to yield to those already engaged. It means that the flow of traffic trickles car by car, specially at rush hour, cutting completely the flow to a deadly walking speed. This system is only efficient when the traffic flow is light to medium. Otherwise, at high traffic volume, add a red light and the problem is solved. I wish. 
With my cranked up kids back in the car, I felt bless to have an alternate road as an option to return home. I just drove back down towards the city, and took the road along the lake. A few extra km, but probably 30 minutes saved. Those living in Sao Sebastian are not that lucky.

Sunsets are Girls Colors!

At times, we have pretty deep and interesting conversations in our house. My 3 and half boy has been asking me why he is not a girl, and when he will be one. I have tried to explain to him that he is what he is, yet he comes back regularly with the question. When I ask him why, he tells me it is because he wants to wear skirt and dresses. These are pretty, he says.
So after repeated pleas, mommy went out and procured him the simplest, straightest, frilly-less one. He obviously insisted on wearing it to school the next day. I cringed but decided to let him have his own learning experiences. And I also assumed that his little classmates could not really be too mean towards his difference.
Later that week, my boy's teacher took on to help him understand what is socially acceptable, afraid he would eventually get bullied. She conducted activities in class talking about what is appropriate for each sex, in terms of clothing.
I am not yet convinced it was the way to go - ingraining him with a very "sexist" and binary view of what is right or wrong, of what is acceptable - and not embracing his desire to dress as he pleased, not embracing who he is. In any cases, he is no longer talking about dresses and skirts. And the other day, when me and his brother we were talking about the colors of the sunset - yellow, purple, pink - he plainly said: "these are girl colors!"

I guess it is not mine

Here in Brazil, there are things I cannot hold.  Time is a commodity that is elastic, ever-expanding and without limits. It is really hard to imagine something like this when we are outside Brazil. Even for us who lived in places supposedly "less hectic " or more "laid back" such as Africa. That, combined to a real love for useless administrative procedures and paperwork, you are well served.
What does it means in practical terms?

• It means that a person who tells you that he will come at your place (to fix something, to deliver something) might show up 3 hours late. Or 2 days later. Even 3 weeks later. Yes it happened to me. 
• It means that if you call to inquire about their delay, people tell you they are coming, and still never show up.
• It means that, at the grocery, in the Express line, you are bound to take longer than the other lines. I mean, other normal lines in other countries. If there would be such things as cashier speed competitions.
• It means that the cashier might stop in the middle of your transaction to discuss holidays or other important issues with her supervisor.
• It means that while you wait at the cashier of the hyper/super/normal market you can make friends with your fellow consumers waiting with you.
• It means that if you stand in line at the cashier, the person in front of you might as well go back to her car pick up her wallet she forgot while the cashier (and you) patiently keep waiting for her to return to complete the transaction.
• It means that the person in front of you in line might not become your friend after all.
• It means that if you go take an appointment to the dentist, and need to see the hygienist, the secretary will offer you two different times on two different days, with no understanding of what you are trying to ask for when you say you want to see them at the same time - meaning the same day.
• It means that if you ask your staff to do something, it might get done, but certainly not right away.
• It means that if you buy something and you need to return it, you might have to go through a loop of a few counters, papers and wait before being able to retrieve your money. If.
• It means that if buy things that need to be picked up in the store room, you are bound to wait for a few minutes. And that if the person at the counter is also the one fetching things for you, you are bound for an even longer wait.
• It means that when it is a national holiday it is a really bad occasion to do what all Brazilian are doing, whether it is going to the beach, take the plane or rent a car. The later two specially as they involve waiting in line.
• It means that if you go to a show, you might see it the next day. I swear, it happened to us last nigth! (see below).
• It means that if you imagine completing a number of errants in the morning, you are bound for failure, either because they are out of the specifics (how can a city be out of red onions?), because you wait at the cash (read above), or because you can't find parking (always). Combine the three in various order of importance and multiply by the number of errants = FAIL.
• It means banks only open at 11 and close at 4. And that after 3 there are a number of transactions that cannot be done anymore. 
• It means that if you go to the bank you might half of their opening hours to complete all your transactions. (I will write a full post on banking very soon). 
• It means that if you are invited to a party (specially a birthday party) and you arrive 30 minutes late, you might be the first one.
• It means that if you invite people home, if they are Brazilian, they might come with more than one hour late. They might also come with other unannounced friends.
• It means that if you invite expat guests they might come one time, a bit late or very late, and it is impossible to know. The same when you are invited to an expat dinner. How late should we come to not be the firsts ones to arrive?

• It means that you might see the repair guy that you waited for all morning arriving when you are just getting out to fetch the kids from school, and that you can tell him to wait just a few 15-20 minutes. And that when you return 40 minutes later, he is still there waiting for you. That is when I love Brazil.

This is us patiently waiting for Seu Jorge's show to start. The artist, scheduled for 10 PM did not show up until 1:45 AM. By that time we were leaving to release our babysitter.

Getting out of Brasilia

We drove out of Brasilia into the state of Goias. I am posting these pictures gathered on our way to our weekend destination, and back. I love these landscapes with these amazing clouds - they make me feel like I want to paint them. And I just want to roll myself in the wheat. Or the soja.

A Few Facades

I really like taking photos of the facades of the housing blocs here. Maybe one day if I have time I will make a compilation. Not sure why I find so inspiring - in fact they are repetitive, grey, damaged, and certainly lacking a certain expression of intimacy housing should provide... In any cases, I guess the lover of straight lines, of order and simplicity in me still finds some kind of beauty in these.