Brynn Barineau

Author: Brynn

  • The World Cup aka The Single, Most Exciting & Greatest Event Ever

    The World Cup aka The Single, Most Exciting & Greatest Event Ever

    In case you’ve recently emerged from a cave or live in the United States, the World Cup, the global soccer tournament which occurs once every four years, began last Friday.  Well, it technically began last Friday.  As far as Brazil is concerned the World Cup truly begins today.  Today, Brazil plays it opening game against North Korea.

    I grew up playing soccer but being a soccer fan in the US is tough.  In terms of media hype, international soccer ranks above curling and below high school football championships.  That trend is changing but, Americans have, at most, a passing interest in it.  Brazilians, on the other hand, have a fanatical obsession that if directed at any other object would require medical treatment.

    Every building I’ve walked into over the last week, from banks to grocery stores to juice bars, is decorated with Brazilian flags.  Green and yellow streamers hang over the streets.  Walking in Leblon, I came across an intersection that had been repainted as the Brazilian flag.  While I’m writing this, I can hear Brazil’s version of the vuvuzela being blown and the game doesn’t start for 6 hours.

    The World Cup is everywhere.  In the grocery store, all soda, candy and chips have soccer themed packaging. The tournament is on the front page of every newspaper and covered in every broadcast.  Every commercial features groups of green and yellow clad fans having what is clearly the best time of their lives.   I can only imagine how lonely a non-fan must feel right now because the media’s message is pretty clear.  If you are not watching the World Cup, then you are an eccentric and probably dangerous recluse who is missing the greatest party and most thrilling display of human athleticism ever.

    So as not to miss out on the party, I’m going to put on my Brazil jersey and watch what the commercials promise to be the most exciting sporting of my life or at least of the next four years.

    Don’t miss it!  Brazil v. North Korea  2:30pm EST

  • Hosting family

    Hosting family

    Last week, I played host to my cousin who flew down from Atlanta.  It was her first trip to Rio. And she did her research.

    We drank coconuts on Copacabana beach and watched footvolley on Ipanema.  We shopped in Leblon and rode bikes around Lagoa.  We hiked up Morro da Urca and fed monkeys.  We explored the botanical gardens and got harassed by some aggressive strawberry salesmen at the market.  Salgados, acaraje, tapioca, sushi, and pounds of red meat were consumed in addition to 16 different kinds of fruit juice.  (Not even half of the 41 fruits on the menu.) Her trip ended with the obligatory visit to Cristo Redentor.

    After a week with my cousin, I now have some idea what it’s like to have a five year-old on summer vacation.

    I’ve had to translate for all of my family but, unlike other visitors, my cousin has an endless supply of energy and tendency to shout recently learned Portuguese phrases at totally inappropriate times.  A pre-departure nightmare involving a kidnapping meant leaving her on her own was out of the question.  Her first question every morning was “What are we doing today?”  So, she couldn’t read or speak to anyone, couldn’t be left alone, needed to be entertained every day, and she found the Portuguese word for armadillo absolutely hilarious.  In Rio, my cousin becomes a 23 year-old child.

    Our week went like this.  “What would you like to do today?”  “What do you feel like eating?”  “What do you want to drink?”  “Who else do you need to get gifts for?”   “The word for opossum is gambá.”  “Where do you want to go now?”  “Let me ask him where the bathroom is.”  “Not a good idea to shout ‘gambá!’ in the middle of the market.”  “What would you like to do if it rains?”  “Fui assaltada means ‘I was assaulted.’”  “What size do you want?”  “It’s 35 reais.”  “Please don’t tell the taxi driver you were assaulted.”

    On her last day, she proudly announced that this was the first time she had ever exhausted a guidebook.

    For my cousin every new experience, no matter how small, was worthy of being celebrated, turned into a joke, and discussed repeatedly.  While her constant enthusiasm is tiring it is also her most admirable trait.  She still has that childlike wonder which turns a trip to the grocery store into an adventure and pot-roast flavored potato chips into a treasure.

    Our week together in Rio was great fun!  Exhausting but great fun.  She helped me realize just how much fun Rio can be with a sense of adventure and that I will probably be sending future kids to summer camp.

  • Winter Fashion in Rio de Janeiro

    Winter Fashion in Rio de Janeiro

    It’s 73 degrees and partly cloudy in Rio.  Lows are around 63 and the sea breeze is decidedly nippy.  You know what that means?  Shake out the sweaters and get the mold off that leather coat.  It’s winter in Rio!

    Of course, this only applies if you’re a Carioca.  If you are from pretty much anywhere else (ok, anywhere outside of the tropics) you grab a light jacket to wear over your tank top or opt for a long-sleeve t-shirt (the sleeves of which will be pushed up for the entire day until the sun sets).  But if you are Carioca, you’ll wear enough layers to be comfortable in deep space.

    The Carioca reaction to cool weather is charming.  The temperature drops below 80 and store mannequins are clothed in knee-length coats and turtleneck sweaters.  A drizzly rain plus a temperature of 60 degrees requires scarves, gloves, and boots.  While the Carioca may dislike having to wear closed toed shoes, it does give her a chance to wear that beautiful leather coat she bought in Buenos Aires.

    I’ll admit the last two days have been chilly.  I brought a jean jacket with me to class last night, but even with the jacket, I seemed to be dressed for an entirely different climate than the office staff.   One assistant was wearing what appeared to be a wool sweater over a long-sleeved, button-up shirt.  The office manager was dressed in a black suit, with jacket buttoned, black stockings and pumps.  While I don’t know how they avoided heat exhaustion, they both looked killer.

    And that’s what I miss about winter.  The clothes.  I do not like cold weather and unless you’re in a Lifetime Christmas special, snow is simply a cold, wet mess.  I do, however, miss the clothes.  Turtle necks, long coats tied at the waist, gloves, lined slacks, boots, sweater vests, corduroy pants, jewel toned anything.  The human race appears so much more competent in winter attire.

    Would you want the guy in the speedo and tennis shoes holding the nuclear codes?  No.  Nothing says “We’re doomed!” like a speedo accessorized with gold chains and athletic footwear.

    I do love the weather in Rio.  The lack of freezing temperatures is one of the city’s greatest assets.  But I miss the sophistication of winter clothes.  And a speedo with a parka on top does not count.

  • iOdyssey

    iOdyssey

    Saturday, May 8
    Computer running a little slow. Hmmm…

    Sunday morning, May 9
    Nothing.  Force quit. Restart. Nothing.  White screen.  Mad, frantic, hunt for instruction manual. Entire content of bookshelves and desk drawers on floor. Troubleshooting guide.  White screen. Now file folder with question mark and sickening click, click, click sound.

    Sunday afternoon, May 9
    Still nothing.  Discover 2002 iBook in closet. Realize I have time machine.  Plug external drive into antique laptop.  Sick feeling in stomach disappears.

    Sunday late afternoon, May 9
    Realize computer has not been plugged into the external drive since Tuesday.  All power points, handouts, and materials created for new class being taught this week are gone.

    Monday, May 10
    Day spent frantically recreating class material.  Finish at 3:00pm. 2 hrs before class.  One plus, retro clip art for power point presentation.

    Tuesday, May 11
    Take computer to closet sized and only Mac store in Rio.  In Portuguese explain, “My computer is not working.  It is very, very bad.  It does not wake up.  I need my computer. I love my computer. Please help me.”  Tech guy says my insurance is still good through July.  Any repairs or replacements will be free.  Silver lining.

    Tuesday night
    Power out in building.  Climb 12 flights of stairs.  Antique laptop battery does not hold a charge.  Cannot work on class materials.

    Wednesday, May 12
    Still recreating lost class material. Printer runs out of ink.  No spare cartridges.

    Thursday, May 13
    Return to Mac store. Due to limited knowledge of both computers and Portuguese, the diagnosis must be given face to face.  The hard disk is dead and all material gone.  “You have time machine, right?” New hd in 10-15 days.

    Friday, May 14
    Finally catch up on class materials.

    Saturday, May 15
    Try to catch up on Daily Show.  Adobe needs updated quicktime.  Quicktime needs updated firefox.  Firefox needs OS 10.3 or later.  My 2002 iBook has 10.2.  Oh, just forget it.

    Friday, May 21
    Tech guy calls.  Computer is ready.  Actual jumping for joy.

    Saturday, May 22
    Pick up computer.  Pick up printer ink.  Informed by computer during startup that it cannot sync with time machine because of different operating systems.  Spend afternoon loading OS Leopard, Snow Leopard, Bobcat and Cheshire cat onto computer.

    Sunday, May 23
    Download all episodes of Lost, House and Grey’s Anatomy for the last three weeks.  Click ok when time machine asks to backup for this computer.  Of course, isn’t that what it’s been doing for the last three years?

    Monday, May 24
    Spend day working on class materials.

    Tuesday, May 25
    Finally, get back to syncing new HD with time machine.  Sync.  Nothing changes.  My old data is not restored.  Open time machine and see four folders.  The earliest date is two days earlier. Heart stops.

    Tuesday morning
    Complete and total breakdown. Spend the next two hours berating myself for losing three years of writing, photos, videos, music.  All gone.

    Tuesday lunchtime
    Go through 2000 sent emails to recover drafts of essays and short stories.  Bursting into tears throughout process.

    Tuesday afternoon
    Allow rational thought to once again control actions.  Look more closely at time machine folder.  1 out of 36 files selected.  Hmmm.  Scroll down past blank space and discover all backups for previous two years.  Spend the next hours berating myself for being such an f’ing moron.

    Wednesday, May 26
    Cannot look at a computer.

    Thursday, May 27
    Take computer and external drive to Mac store.
    Me (in Portuguese): “I cannot sync together time machine and computer.  Needed to get snow leopard.  Now, it has snow leopard but I cannot sync.”
    Tech guy: “We don’t do that.  Call this man and he can help.”
    Me: “What do you do?”
    Tech guy: “Only hardware.”
    Me: Pause “Is Brazil going to get a real Mac store?”
    Tech guy: “No, probably not.  Here’s the guy’s card.”

    Friday, May 28
    Suck it up. Do some research. And sync the gd computer myself.  Try to update blog.  Internet is out for the entire neighborhood…Consider giving up all technology continuing to blog by carrier pigeon. Mother f&#)&@!!!

    Monday, May 31
    Computer is synced.  Internet is working.  Printer has ink.  New blog post going up.

  • Combatting Hypertension and Puritans

    Rio has a way of bringing out the Puritan in me.  I see a fourteen year-old girl in a thong and I’m thrown into what can only be described as a tizzy.  I turned into a flustered grandmother when handed a government sponsored condom upon arrival at the Carnaval parade.  My husband says not to be too hard on myself.  He says I’m just a product of my culture.

    I’d like to protest but he’s right.  Americans are so uptight about sex.  Brazilians seems to be more open about sex and the fact that people actually have it.  This open attitude is certainly embraced by the ministry of health as demonstrated by their carnaval themed condoms and a report they issued last week.

    A new study shows the rate of hypertension in Brazil has risen from 21.5% in 2006 to 24.4% of the population in 2009.  Hypertension is a problem the US and Brazil share but Brazil seems to be taking a slightly different approach to combatting the problem.

    As part of fighting hypertension, the health minister recommends, “besides eating five portions of fruits a day, you could try to have sex five times a day.”

    Take a minute and try to imagine an American cabinet member or any government official saying those words to the press.  If your head hasn’t exploded from trying to visualize something so inconceivable, move on to imagining the voices of the FOX news pundits.  And finally, picture the headline a week later announcing the resignation of this official.

    Here in Brazil, the newspaper article acknowledged the minister was joking and further quoted him seriously recommending, “dance, sex, a change in diet” and physical activity as ways to combat high blood pressure.  Then the article went on to discuss the report in greater detail.

    A government official recommends sex five times a day and the reporter focuses on hypertension statistics?  What is wrong with these people?

    As far as I know, the health minister still has his job and no reports have come in of children irrevocably damaged from hearing their government acknowledge that there are physical benefits from a healthy sex life.

    But before anyone starts applying for residency visas, a word of caution.  While Brazilians have fewer hang ups about sex, the country is far from being a bastion of liberal values.  If any daughters result from these hypertension treatments, good luck convincing their fathers to let them play soccer.  Soccer turns girls into lesbians.

    Now, if you’ll excuse me.  I’ve had french fries a few times this week and my husband is out of town.  I’ll just have to go to the gym.

  • “Brazilians Don’t Burp”

    “Brazilians Don’t Burp”

    Brazilians don't burp.
    Brazilians don’t burp.

    “Brazilians don’t burp.”  My husband made this declaration a few days ago.  We were coming home from a movie and I had just a let out a rather loud and decidedly unfeminine burp, which put us on the always entertaining topic of releasing excess air form one’s body.

    “Brazilians don’t burp.” He said it so matter of factly like, “Fish don’t fly.”

    “What? Brazilians don’t burp?  Like, ever?” After three years in Brazil this was a fact I had failed to pickup.  “You’re telling me Brazilians, as a people, just don’t burp?”

    “Think about it.  Have you ever heard me burp?”  I did think about and honestly, no, I can’t think of a time I’ve heard an audible belch from my husband. He might occasionally interrupt complete silence by saying “Excuse me,” but there hasn’t been anything that I can remember loud enough to dictate the conversation as mine had just done.

    So, no, I can’t remember him burping but my husband also doesn’t use deodorant and he never smells like BO.  I’ve always assumed that he is freakishly lacking in all unpleasant bodily functions.  Maybe he’s the next stage in human evolution or a very lifelike zombie. Whatever it is, I believed it was something unique to him.  Now, he’s telling me that “not burping” is a defining feature of Brazilian culture.  Brazilians love soccer, eat a lot of beef and never burp.

    “You can’t be serious.  Everyone burps.”

    “We don’t.  We just hold it back.”

    “What, as a Brazilian you just decide not to release the excess air in your stomach?”

    “We just hold back the burp and release the air slowly.”

    “How is that even physically possible?”  This is something I would really like to know.  Is it physically possible to drink a can of Coke through a straw and not burp?  Of course I can control whether my burps are heard by the entire room or just the person standing right next to me, but there is always something audible. Isn’t there some point of no return in the burping process when you lose control of the air speed? Is there some trick that people, apparently Brazilians in particular, have mastered to give up burping all together?

    This is not a rhetorical question.  I want to hear from other Brazilians, people with Brazilian spouses, family, friends.  Do Brazilians really never burp?  Let me know.  In the meantime, I’m going to pay close attention whenever I see someone drinking a soda through a straw. I’m determined to see a Brazilian burp.