Brynn Barineau

Tag: Travel in Brazil

  • Beach Day Doctrine: Great weather leads to awful governments

    Beach Day Doctrine: Great weather leads to awful governments

    A typical winter's day in Brazil.
    A typical winter’s day in Brazil.

    My family went to the beach this past Saturday.  We packed a kite and a boogie board and stayed out through lunch. It was an absolutely perfect beach day, warm without being hot and breezy without being chilly.  The sky was a sheet of blue with a few fluffy clouds pulled decoratively across it.  But the best part was having the beach almost entirely to ourselves.  People in Vitoria just don’t go to the beach in winter.

    Yes, it’s winter here in Vitoria, Brazil.  You can really feel it today.  It’s 68 degrees (20 C) outside and drizzly.  People are wearing their leather jackets over their shorts.  This will be one of the coldest days of the year here.  I’m sure it will be a front page article in tomorrow’s paper.  “Cold Front hits Vitoria. Drives Locals to Wearing Coats!”

    In my opinion, the weather is one of the best things about Vitoria and Brazil in general.  I think it’s also why the government sucks.

    I have a theory that the weather of a country can be tied directly to the quality of that country’s government.  The better the weather, the worse the public services.  The worse the weather, free university for everyone!

    Let’s take Norway.  The Economist’s Quality of Life Index ranks Norway third in terms of quality of life and third in GDP per capita.  Norway is number one on the UNDP’s Human Development Index.  Norway’s government is the world champion of governing.  Year after year, they are crushing the competition. Why? Because without an awesome government, there would be absolutely no reason to live there.

    This is a place where citizens go weeks without seeing the sun.  Every winter, there’s a period when the sun never makes it over the horizon.  This isn’t a freak phenomenon.  It’s a lifestyle.  How to avoid Winter SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) during the polar nights is a regular part of the school curriculum.  Why would anybody live in a place where winter is accompanied by its own psychological disorder causing sadness, a loss of self-esteem, and desire to avoid social and physical contact?  Why? Free universal healthcare coverage for all legal residents.  That’s why.

    Not surprisingly, Norway’s tourism website doesn’t bring up those polar nights, but it does have a lot to say about its midnight sun.  You can take an ocean cruise at midnight or stroll through the park at 2am.  Come visit Norway in summer and have 24 hours of sunlight!  Honestly Norway, 24 hours of sunlight doesn’t sound like a good thing.  It’s slightly better than 24 hours of darkness, but I have no desire to live in a place with sunlight streaming through my window at 2 am.

    Except that in Norway, universities are tuition free for all students, including international students.

    On second thought, I could probably get used to wearing a sleep mask.

    Norway’s tourism site also touts its mild winter temperatures.  The average January high for Oslo is 32 degrees (0 C). I suppose that’s mild compared to Siberia, but it’s still a place where getting locked out of your house in December is potentially life threatening.

    Here in Vitoria, you can sleep on the sidewalk 365 days a year and feel, at worst, a little uncomfortable.  Good thing too, because there are quite a few people who do sleep on the sidewalk.  Does Norway even have homeless?  I don’t see how.  The winters would kill them off.

    And this is the crux of my theory.  The environment in Norway is so inhospitable, the government has to help its people survive and then give them a reason to stay.

    What does a person need to survive a winter day here in Vitoria? A sandwich and a tree.  Something to eat and shelter from the hot-even-in-winter sun or rain.  That’s it.

    My theory holds true for other countries.  Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Canada, Australia (Why is Australia listed? It’s hot, in the middle of nowhere, and has all the world’s most poisonous things). These countries have awesome governments and crappy weather.  Venezuela, Fiji, Mexico, Maldives, Greece: crappy governments, 365 days of beach.

    This past Saturday was a spectacular day.  Bright sun.  Soft sand.  It was the kind of day that warms you on the inside and puts hope back in your life.  Listening to the waves while getting drunk on sunshine and coconut water, a person won’t care about anything.  Not even that Brazil ranks 79 on the HDI or that dozens of top government officials have been indicted for stealing billions in taxpayers’ money or that the President’s approval rating is 9%.

    Here schools are terrible.  Public healthcare is broken.  Inflation is increasing.  But the weather is fantastic, the beaches are free, and with 4,655 miles (7,491 km) of breathtaking coastline, there’s space on the sand for everybody.  What else do you really need?

  • Flying with Preschoolers: It can always get worse.

    Flying with Preschoolers: It can always get worse.

    My only parenting standard at airports is "don't lose her".
    My only parenting standard at airports is “don’t lose her”.

    My little family of three took a trip to Rio de Janeiro this weekend.  Our nephew recently had a birthday and we needed to put in some face time with my husband’s family.  It’s only a 45 minute flight from Vitoria to Rio, but that was long enough to learn a valuable lesson.  There is no length of time short enough a three year old can’t turn it into forever.

    It’s like in Interstellar.  For the pilot and crew who have tasks to complete, 45 minutes is barely enough time to toss bags of crackers at everyone.  They’re the lucky ones down on the planet.  The parents of small children are the ones stuck in orbit who stumble off the plane with more grey hair and beards, demanding to know what year it is.  How long were we up there?  Six years?  Ten?

    For our flight home, boarding was scheduled for 6:50pm.  Right at dinner time! But my husband and I were prepared.  We had packed sandwiches…which my daughter ultimately refused to eat because we miscalculated the nap.

    The ride to the airport was about 30 minutes.  When my daughter fell asleep in the taxi, we thought “Oh good, she can take a short nap and be in a better mood.”  Only, she didn’t fall into nap-time sleep.  She fell into bedtime-for-the-night sleep, and as my grandmother says, “You don’t need to step on a snake to know it’s going to bite you.”  The same principle applies.  You don’t need to wake a preschooler up from deep sleep to know it’s going to cry.

    And cry she did.  Through the whole check-in process.  While we searched for a place to sit.  While I bought water and snacks.  Even after we resorted to the emergency M&Ms.  Eventually, she calmed down and filled her stomach with 2 tiny bites of sandwich and 5 pão de queijo.

    No longer hungry but still exhausted from the weekend, her emotional pendulum swung to the other extreme. We then had a deliriously giddy 3 year old on our hands.  While deliriously-giddy child is less emotionally exhausting than inconsolable child, she is more physically exhausting because deliriously-giddy child cannot occupy the same space for more than 3 seconds.

    Did I mention that my back locked up this weekend?  It happened while checking in at the airport for our flight to Rio.  For the first time in my life.  I couldn’t bend over, lift anything, or even take a deep breath the entire weekend.

    Because I was benched from parenting due to injury, my husband was the one running after her while I kept our place in all the various lines.  He was the one who chased her through security, from the gate to the plane, and took her on the bathroom run she needed the moment we stepped on the plane.

    Eventually the plane took off and everything was ok. For about half an hour.

    With fifteen minutes of flight time left, my daughter decided she could no longer tolerate her seat belt.  My husband and I desperately tried to head off the fit we could see coming.  She was straining and arching her back against the seat belt.  Her face was scrunched and turning red.  She stopped speaking in sentences and devolved to “No seat belt!”  Very aware of the 150 people trapped on the plane with us, I grabbed a doll and made it sing “Let It Go”.  As we got to the chorus, my daughter joined in and shrieked “Let it poopy! Let it poopy!”  She dissolved into a fit of laughter and proceeded to sing at the top of her lungs different versions of the song featuring everything from pee pee to smelly socks to farts.

    I’m certain if there had been a vote, the other passengers would have unanimously voted us off the plane.

    That was the emotional knife edge we balanced on for the remainder of the flight.  We teetered between a breakdown over the seat belt and belting out classic Disney songs rewritten to feature bodily functions. “Let it fart! Let it poopy! Let it poopy and faaaaart!” The plane eventually landed three months later, and we made it home where my daughter finally ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and went to bed.

    All in all, it was a pretty uneventful trip.  It could have been so much worse.

  • The Super-Awesome, Amazingly-Exotic Expat Life

    The Super-Awesome, Amazingly-Exotic Expat Life

    The daily rainbow in Brazil.
    The daily rainbow in Brazil.

    When I’m back home in Atlanta, I try not to mention that I live in Brazil.  The opportunity presents itself with surprising frequency, usually when a sales associate asks if I’d like to sign up for a rewards card.  I decline saying “I’m just visiting for the holidays.”   Nine times out of ten, at least in the state of Georgia where people still practice things like small talk and friendliness, the person will ask “Oh, where do you live?”  Then I’m stuck.  “In Brazil,” I answer, and I’m at the counter another five minutes as I tell my story and confess that I have not in fact learned to speak Spanish.  Though I have learned the local Portuguese.

    I can’t blame people for their wide-eyed excitement and curiosity about my life.  Americans are under the impression that life south of Texas or north of Idaho or on the other side of an ocean is more…something.  More exciting.  More dangerous.  More romantic.  More barbaric.  More luxurious.  They’ve seen movies set in these “foreign” countries and read articles like “3 Things Dating Foreign Women (And Marrying One) Taught Me” which tell people what a romantic adventure life can be if they only find a spouse with a different passport.

    As someone who did manage to land a coveted foreign spouse and move abroad, I can state that it’s all true.  My life is more exciting than everyone else’s.  It’s more romantic and luxurious yet still a rewarding, character-building challenge.

    Take my very first meal in Brazil.  I got to eat in the food court of the nearby mall.  My future husband took me and it was incredibly romantic.  The din of the other customers drowned out our voices, so we could only stare into each other’s eyes.  Because I arrived in the midst of remodeling the apartment, I had the opportunity to tour all the best hardware stores in Rio de Janeiro.  The thrill of shopping for toilet seats abroad really gets downplayed in expat blogs.  The only thing in Brazil that rivals shopping for toilets is getting finger printed for a visa at the federal police.  The ink smells like jasmine.

    Living in Brazil has also given me the opportunity to learn a new language.  It’s a fact that everything is sexier in a foreign language. Doesn’t matter which language.  They’re all sexier than English.  Here are some of the local Portuguese phrases I learned in my first months here.  Encanador.  Plumber.  Conta corrente conjunta.  Joint checking account.  Seguro de saúde.  Health insurance.  Absorvente interno.  Tampon.

    If you are ever lucky enough to visit Rio, I recommend driving from downtown to the suburbs at 5:30pm.  It will give you an authentic local experience.  Turn the air-conditioning off and roll the windows down to really go native.  Be sure to have the GoPros charged because friends back home will want to watch this trek. All three hours of it.

    Anyone leaving the US should do their family and friends the favor of recording every second of their time abroad.  They’ll thank you for allowing them to live vicariously through you.  After all, life outside the United States is one long perpetual vacation.  Nobody goes to the grocery store or a “job” in foreign countries.  The people serving coconuts on the beach here in Brazil? Robots.  All of them.  Where do you think Walt Disney got the idea for the Hall of Presidents?  He stayed at the Copacabana Palace in Rio.  Actual Brazilian citizens don’t work and if you’re fortunate enough to get residency neither will you.  People who live here just go to the beach and gym everyday.  I haven’t had to run an errand since I arrived in September of 2006.

    Having a child abroad with a foreign spouse (Yes, even in Brazil my Brazilian husband is the foreigner.  I can’t be a foreigner because I’m American), it only adds to the drama and glamor of the expat life.  I’m writing a screenplay based on my experience of visiting the US consulate to prove the maternity of my child.  I’m hoping Ridley Scott will direct and it will star Angelina Jolie (as me), Antonio Banderas (as my husband), and Jack Black as the unwieldy and misunderstood stack of paperwork that ultimately saves the day and gets us the US birth certificate.

    Those of us living in far-off, exotic lands know that “living” abroad is exactly the same thing as “vacationing” abroad.  Don’t make the mistake of thinking that most people in the world are busy going about the tediousness of living day to day, with the jobs and childcare and home repairs and laundry that human existence demands.  No, no.  Life outside the US is romantic and electrifying all the time.  In fact, I have another Brazilian adventure planned for this morning.  I’m going on an excursion for light bulbs.

  • Flight Changed Due to “Meteor Delay”

    Flight Changed Due to “Meteor Delay”

    My husband and I arrived in Vitoria yesterday, three hours later than planned.  Our flight was eventually moved to a different airport because, according to the departure board, of a “meteor delay.”

    I can’t be certain, but I’m willing to bet had there been an actual meteor hurtling down out of the sky, I would have been much more amenable to changing airports.  A meteor crashing into Guanabara Bay would have put things into perspective and made having to pass through security at two different airports seem a comparatively minor inconvenience.  And it would have made for an awesome story.

    Alas, there was no meteor involved in our meteor delay.  You’ve probably already guessed that “meteor” is short for meteorological, which is a fancy way to say fog.  Our flight was moved due to fog.

    While not nearly as interesting as a meteor, this particular event is a curious yet common occurrence in Rio.  Cariocas call it névoa, or neblina.  It is a dry fog that blankets the entire Guanabara Bay reducing visibility in the area to almost nothing.  The névoa is a winter phenomenon and happens when the air is particularly dry over a body of water.

    I don’t have a lot of experience with fogs but the little I’ve had led me to believe fogs are always damp.  Rio’s dry fog was a truly bizarre phenomenon the first time I experienced it.  Our apartment in Rio overlooks Guanabara Bay and it’s pretty amazing to have the entire bay disappear from view.

    The fog quickly goes from amazing to pain in the ass when it closes the local airport and forces you to go across town with 150 lbs of luggage.  But we’re here.  We made it to Vitoria in one piece, as did the wine glasses.  A statement we might not be able to make if there had been an actual meteor.

  • Mad Expat Skills

    Mad Expat Skills

    Expats develop a unique skill set over many years of international travel.  For example, at airport security, I can strip off shoes, jacket, and watch: move my computer from backpack to plastic bin: get three bins worth of personal items, a backpack and myself through the metal detectors (without setting anything off) all in under 20 seconds.

    A well choreographed routine for security lines is something expats share with all frequent travelers. A week ago, I realized a skill exclusive to the frequent international traveler.

    At any moment, I can drop what I’m doing and be at the airport completely packed to leave the country in an hour. From zero to transcontinental in under an hour. How is that for an awesome, albeit totally unmarketable, skill?

    I remember the very first time I traveled outside of the US.  I was going to spend three weeks in the British Isles with a high school exchange program and I spent at least three days packing.  Lists were made, checked, rechecked and amended.

    Every single family member participated in the preparation and packing for this trip.  My grandmother told me to roll my dresses instead of folding them in order to avoid wrinkles.  My Mom bought me detergent tablets for washing clothes and a string for hanging them to dry in the bathroom.  My Dad made sure I had extra batteries for my camera.

    I have streamlined things considerably since that first trip abroad.

    Today, I have a set of strict rules when it comes to my luggage.  First, I must be able to lift my own suitcase and carry it up and down stairs.  I will not be dependent on others to move my own luggage. Second, if you haven’t had to sit on your suitcase to close it, then it’s not full.  Third, thongs are the go to underwear because you can pack a month’s worth inside of a shoe.  And finally, hoodie sweatshirts can cushion anything from computer printers to brass lamps.

    When I pack it happens in a logical and well established order.  Underwear, bras, socks, pajamas, bottoms (casual, dressy), tops (casual, semi-dressy, dressy), workout attire, one dress, shoes (1 comfy, 1 cute, 1 dressy pairs), and finally accessories (jewelry, belts).  Then I pack my carry-on with my laptop, iPod, book, snacks, plastic baggy with hand sanitizer and chapstick, and of course passport and wallet.  I pack my toiletries last because I take a quick shower and brush my teeth right before I head to the airport.  (I assume the other passengers appreciate this habit.)

    I can go through this entire routine, including the shower, and be in a taxi on my way to the airport in an hour or less. I believe most expats have an equally impressive travel prep routine.  We never have to search for our passports and we always have some cash in a variety of currencies in the house.  If I ever need to flee a country, I’m confident I’ll make it out and still be well packed for any occasion, be it casual, formal or sporty.

  • Road Trip Munchies

    Road Trip Munchies

    About a year ago my husband began working in the state of Espirito Santo, just north of Rio.  As a result, road trips have become part of our weekly routine.  And you know the best part about roads trips?  Junk food!

    I believe road trips offer a brief hiatus from rules of healthy eating.  Any car trip lasting longer than two hours puts the world into a state of suspended animation allowing you to eat whatever you want without consequences.

    True road trip food must come from either a fast food chain or gas station convenience store.  (Rest station vending machines work too.)  My go to road trip munchies in the US are Yoohoo and ranch flavored corn nuts.  Mmmmm, delicious!  Sadly, neither of these exist in Brazil, so I’ve had to explore new options.

    First, candy!  Brazil has two big candy makers, Garoto and Lacta.  Garoto sells many delicious candies including mini chocolate bars, only four squares, in a variety of flavors.  In my opinion, Lacta is a second-tier candy maker. The only Lacta product worth consuming is a Bis, a type of Brazilian Kit Kat.

    Another popular snack is Japanese peanuts.  They’re roasted peanuts with a crunchy, salty shell around them.  I don’t know what the shell is made of or what exactly makes them Japanese.   They sure are tasty though.

    You can also find small bags of pretzel sticks.  Based on the exclamations points and the word “NEW” all over the packaging, I can only assume pretzel sticks only just made it to Brazil and everyone is very excited about it.

    There seems to be a lot of dried fruit.  I don’t really know.  I don’t shop in that section.

    A favorite of many Cariocas is the biscoito de vento, air cookie.  It’s salty so it’s not really a cookie but it has so little substance I’m at a loss as to exactly what it is.  It’s crispy, filled with air pockets, and dissolves immediately upon hitting your tongue.  Is it corn?  Wheat?  I can’t say but it has a very satisfying crunch.

    Finally, potato chips. I can sum up the difference between American and Brazilian chips in two words, meat flavored.  Yes, the US has BBQ flavor but it’s referring to the sauce.  When a Brazilian chip bag says “roasted meat” the chip is going to taste like pot roast.  Unmistakably and disconcertingly like pot roast.

    If you’re not a red meat fan, there is also grilled chicken and turkey breast. Even the “herb” flavored reminded me, oddly, of tandoori chicken.

    And here we have the limit of my cross-culture understanding.  I do not want my potato chips to taste like meat.  Ranch dressing, fine.  Turkey breast, no.  My tolerance goes only so far. This is one tradition I will not be adopting.  I’m going to stick with my Japanese peanuts.

  • 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.