Tag: Vitoria

My Brazilian Gym Membership Part 3: Dress Code

Most ads don’t reflect reality…this one does. This is exactly how many women show up to my gym.

I’ve been a regular at our new gym for one full week and I have to say I’m a bit of a standout. People come up to me and ask where I’m from. The trainers notice me and wave from across the gym. I notice guys doing a double take. Not to brag but people notice me. Yup, I have the distinction of being the most conservatively dressed woman in the gym.

With my t-shirts and running shorts, I might as well be using an American flag as a towel. It’s not just the fact that my abdomen is entirely covered that sets me apart. I’m not wearing eyeliner or chandelier earrings and I haven’t left my waist-length hair streaming down my back. The Brazilian women at my gym are the sexiest collection of gym goers I’ve ever seen. It’s like working out in a Flo Rida music video.

There’s more leopard print here than on a jungle safari. You can also see a good deal of paisley in all the colors of the rainbow. Every outfit is perfectly matched and accessorized. A flower-print sports bra paired with striped shorts? Major faux-pas!

Most of the women avoid the risks of mismatching by just going with the unitard. Until recently, the unitard was, for me, merely a myth. An extinct manner of dress that could be seen in historic records and frequently used in comedy sketches, like the toga.

I’m pleased to report the unitard is alive and popular here in Brazil. Surprisingly, there is quite a variety of cuts. You have very low cut backs that dip so far down it’s possible to count every vertebra. Some of the unitards have cutouts on the sides and others have lace-up backs. They also have fronts cut so low there’s no way the woman can lift her arms over head without everything popping out.

But lifting one’s arms is something most of the women never need to do since 95% of their workout focuses on legs. Probably, to pull off their unitards. And boy, do they pull them off. In addition to being sex bombs, I’m pretty sure every woman there is also a triathlete. These women sport six packs and perky, round butts without any jiggle.

I’m not exaggerating when I say every woman in the gym is hardcore. Yesterday, I scanned the gym specifically looking for women who could stand to lose a pound or two. I saw maybe four. Everyone else looked like an athlete and this includes the grandmothers in the room. One woman, who could not have been younger than 60, followed me on the squat press and upped my weight by 40kgs. A very humbling moment.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little intimidated by the overt sexiness of the women. The women are sleek, styled and fit. I’m in baggy shorts with my ponytail askew. In the end though, I’ll take a ponytail over sweaty hair clinging to my back. For me, comfort trumps fashion but I will take a cue from their commitment. These women, of all ages, have made exercise an integral part of their lifestyle. That, unlike unitards, is something worth imitating.

September 18, 2010
My Gym Membership A 3 part series Part I: Registration

“Just tuck the heart rate monitor under your sports bra. Just like that…good. Now I’m going to put the mask on. You let me know if it’s too tight.” I nodded as she slipped the rubber mask over my nose and mouth and adjusted the straps behind my head. “Ok, I’ll keep increasing the speed every minute. You let me know when it gets uncomfortable.”

When you’re running on a treadmill, with a rubber mask and hose on your face, things don’t become uncomfortable. They start out that way and proceed to get worse. Within, five minutes I was running flat out, sweating underneath my rubber muzzle and listening to the friendly blonde chat with my husband. To top off the indignity, they were chatting about me while I’m inches away with a hose running from my face.

I voluntarily submitted myself to all of it. Of course, I hadn’t known what exactly was in store when my husband and I were told we had to do a physical evaluation before starting our new gym. That’s right. Every new member goes through a complete physical evaluation that is kept on file and used by the trainers to develop your personal fitness routine. You can access it yourself from any of the gym’s computers if you’re feeling lazy and need to be reminded just what percentage of you is fat.

The morning after filling out our paperwork and paying our fees, we returned to the gym and were led to a small, flourescent lit room where we met Marisa, trainer and our physical evaluator. My husband graciously let me go first. (He probably knew I was hoping to memorize whatever he did and slack off on understanding Marisa’s Portuguese.)

The evaluation started with a series of questions. “Do you drink two liters of water a day?” (Does anybody?) “Do you smoke?” “What medical problems run in your family?” etc. Then, I took off my shoes and shirt, got weighed and measured. Marisa didn’t just take my height. She measured around my arms, legs, calves, waist, hips, ribs, everywhere. Muscles flexed and relaxed.

I knew this was serious data collection when the calipers came out. Nothing brings you down like watching all of your body fat get pinched and recorded. I also discovered that nothing gives you body issues like having your body evaluated. I had thought I was in pretty good shape but I began to doubt it with every notation Marisa made. The phrase ignorance is bliss flitted through my head more than once that morning.

When Marisa finished cataloguing my fat, she asked me to stand against the wall, centered in front of a grid painted on it. You know, similar to the one criminals stand in front of for mug shots. Like the criminals I got my picture taken, front, left side, right side, and back, but unlike traditional mug shots my pictures cut my head completely out of the shot. It was a mug shot of my butt. Wanted: my ass for being disproportionately large.

The exam finally ended with the aerobic test on the treadmill. The mask measured my oxygen output in relation to my heart rate. When I finished my husband went through the same process. I feel pretty strongly we should now be cleared for astronaut training.

Despite feeling slightly foolish while doing the tests, I am very glad I had the evaluation. True, I became acutely aware of the places my body likes to store fat, I know that I’m a healthy weight with a healthy lifestyle. Plus, isn’t knowing where the fat is stored the first step in getting rid of it? That’s the whole point, obviously, of doing the physical evaluation. The trainer knows exactly what areas you need to maintain and what you need to improve. A personal fitness plan.

Or at least that’s how I felt until I saw the mug shots.

Up next…
Part II: The Results

September 13, 2010
Why Does Brazil Not Have Closets?!

We saw our current apartment for the first time about a month ago. We had two days in Vitoria to find an apartment to rent so my husband could move and start work in 10 days. One step across the threshold and I knew I liked it. After a quick tour I was ready to sign the papers. My husband hesitated.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Well, it doesn’t come with closets.”

I did a double take. Plenty of cabinets in the kitchen, and…nothing else. That’s it. No closet or storage room of any kind. Unless we wanted to store our socks above the sink, we would have to purchase a closet.

“Brazilian homes typically don’t have built in closets,” my husband explained later. “It’s just a piece of furniture your have to buy. It’s cultural.”

Obviously, Brazilians have clothes. They have towels and bed sheets. Cariocas seem to think 60 degrees requires a coat and scarf, so where do they store the coat? In separately purchased, often custom made, cabinets and closets like the one pictured above.

In our quest for a closet, I developed my own theory to explain the lack closets. It is one giant conspiracy between developers and furniture manufacturers. Oh, the architects and interior designers are in on it too. Everyone’s involved. It’s a massive, money-making conspiracy. And you the poor home buyer, with your four suitcases of clothes and one of shoes (yes, you need it all), you are the victim.

For those of you scoffing at the idea of a closet conspiracy, let me tell you about the first stop on our closet shopping quest. We went into a beautiful store, just a few, tree-lined blocks from our new apartment. They had efficient yet elegant looking layouts of closets and cabinets for every room of the house. We sat down in front of a lovely woman. My husband spoke to her for all of forty seconds. Before I could even catch up in the conversation, we were leaving.

“What was the problem? I couldn’t understand what she said.” I scurried after my husband out the door.

“They only do custom work.”

“Is that a problem?”

“It would probably cost around R$3,000/m. So, a big closet could cost between R$27 – 30,000.”

In dollars, about $15,000. A $15,000 closet! A closet! Hell no, I’m not paying for a closet the same amount that I could pay for a car. Never going to happen. I will live out of my suitcases forever, before I spend that kind of money on what are essentially very tall cabinets. Now, tell me there is not a conspiracy here?

We did eventually find the above closet for way, way less and it is working beautifully. It keeps our clothes off the floor, which is where we’ve had them for the past two weeks. My husband keeps saying this is just how Brazilians do it. Big closets are an American thing.

I thought about that last comment. I’ve stayed with families in a few different countries and I have to admit that I don’t remember ever walking into a closet or even seeing one. Still, if the idea of “0” can be developed independently on two different continents, I refuse to believe the concept of a walk-in closet is uniquely American.

September 10, 2010
Happy Birthday, Vitoria!

Today, the city of Vitoria turns 459 years old. A long time ago, September 8, 1551 to be exact, the Portuguese fought and won a decisive battle against the Goitacazes tribe. They were so tickled with themselves for winning, the Portuguese called the island where the battle occurred Ilha de Vitoria, or Island of Victory. Thus, the city of Vitoria was born and has been continuously inhabited for the past 459 years.

A founding date of 1551 seems quite old to me, at least for a European city in the Western hemisphere. The city government claims on their website that Vitoria is the second oldest capital city in Brazil. I did some research (i.e. went to wikipedia) and found a list of the oldest cities in the US for comparison.

The oldest, continuously inhabited city in the US is St. Augustine, which was founded in 1565. Pensacola, FL was originally founded in 1559 but destroyed shortly after it’s founding. It wasn’t refounded until 1698, so it loses the title on a technicality. Either way, Vitoria is older than the oldest city in the US.

Actually, Europeans began living on the islands that now make-up Vitoria beginning decades before the city was officially founded. The first Portuguese governor of the region of Espirito Santo, Vasco Fernandes Coutinho, arrived in 1535. The bay was protected by a series of small islands making it an ideal port. The Portuguese could easily defend against the French and the Dutch. There were also some problems with the locals. With thousands of people already living up and down the Brazilian coast, the Portuguese had a little trouble convincing them to relocate.

The local Indian tribes called Vitoria Guanaaní, Island of Honey. The calm bay, bejewled with emerald green islands, was a beautiful site. The waters were filled with mollusks and fish and the forests were filled with parrots and monkeys. It was an Island of Honey, an island of plenty.

Unfortunately, a city cannot be a major port for 400 continuous years and remain an untainted oasis. While not at the levels of Rio, Vitoria has serious problems with water and air pollution. Fortunately, it only takes an hour or two to reach the small beach towns that line the coast of Espirito Santo. There you can see glimmers of the paradise Vitoria must have been.

So happy birthday Vitoria! I’ve only been here a week but I’m already a big fan. To be honest, you had me at your incredible fish stew, but throwing in centuries of history and a candy factory was a nice touch.

September 8, 2010
Welcome to Vitoria, Brazil

Last Monday, my husband and I loaded up our suitcases, and after being delayed by a meteor, we arrived at our new home, Vitoria.

Vitoria is the capitol of Espirito Santo, the state immediately north of Rio de Janeiro state. Including the metro area, Vitoria has a population of roughly 1.6 million people. That’s only about 13 million less than Rio.

I’ll be writing more about the city and how life here compares to that in Rio as I explore the city. For now, here are some of the neat places I’ve found in our new neighborhood.

September 2, 2010
I don’t think we’re in Rio anymore.

Well, just when I’ve made it my personal goal to try every kind of snack food in Brazil, it looks as though our weekly road trips are coming to end. Barring any changes of heart or collapse of the Federal government, my husband will be able to take a position in Vitoria starting in September.

This means one apartment in one city and all our possessions in a single location. Eventually. Of course, we have to decide whether to sell or rent the apartment in Rio. We’re going to rent an apartment in Vitoria as we get to know the city and decide where we would like to buy. Some of our stuff will probably stay in Rio until we buy our apartment in Vitoria, because only masochists want to move all of their furniture twice in one year.

But, eventually, at a now foreseeable date in the future, we and all of our stuff will be in one place.

With this happy day in mind, my husband and I spent the weekend in Vitoria strolling around the neighborhood of Praia do Canto. We wandered up and down the streets, taking note of the restaurants, shops, traffic, noise levels, and the many coffee shops. My husband also literally noted down (always thinking, he had brought a notepad and pen from our hotel room) the address of apartments for sale that had the quiet street and netted balcony we are looking for.

Praia do Canto is very, very promising.

It wasn’t just tranquility and friendly cafes, that gave me hope of finding a home in Vitoria. At one point, I realized I was walking around staring up at apartments without any consideration as to where I was putting my feet. In Rio, if you take your eyes of the sidewalk for ten seconds you’ll probably be lost forever in a pot hole. At the very least, you’ll have a sprained ankle.

Not the case here in this tranquil, little hamlet of only 4 million people. The sidewalks are almost entirely free of pot holes and garbage. The city is new and the people calm. Drivers stay in a single lane and use their blinkers when they want to move to a different one. There was so little horn honking I wondered if the population was sedated. When a car slowed down, came to a complete stop, and the driver waved at my husband and I to cross the street, I almost fainted in shock.

I didn’t faint because I wanted to hurry up and get across the street in case this was some sort of trick. Perhaps, the driver was going to floor it right when we hit the middle of road just to see us leap to safety. But he didn’t. He waited patiently, until we reached the sidewalk, and then slowly eased around the traffic circle. I was amazed.

After this series of events had happened a dozen more times and I realized coming to a stop for pedestrians was the rule as opposed to the exception, I knew this was the city for me.

July 4, 2010