10 Things I like Better: USA vs Brazil

I found this awesome post idea from a cool expat blog called A Suitcase and Stilettos. I thought I would take a go at the list.

Things I Like Better in the USA:

1. Mexican food. Mexican food in Rio de Janeiro is usually crap and overpriced. It's such a sad Mexican food situation down here that I get excited over wannabe store bought tortillas and Old El Paso spice packets I receive in the mail.

2. The parking spots. I can hardly park a small car in a large American spot, I am totally useless here. Parallel parking skills are so good in this country that Brazilians should be allowed to list it on their resume. "Brazilian Parallel Parker"

3. Couches. You all saw what I went through for my couch. I do love it and it is really comfortable but I have to say it can not beat American couches. In the US we have fabulous soft, fluffy, comfy and sleep inducing couch options you just can't really find here. Of course it may be because it is cold there, we sit on our asses much more than Brazilians, and that we need softer couches that will allow for the spread of our ever growing ass. Whatever it is, they are far more comfortable up there.

4. Candy. Seriously candy isles are a freaking a joke down here. The tiny little "normal" sized candy bar is the size newborn American babies eat. Give me a break and get this girl a real candy bar!

5. Moisturizers. I chalk this up to personal preference due to growing up there. I just find that the body and face moisturizers are nicer in the US. That and they are less expensive.

6. The toy selection. Toys for my kids are SOOOO much cheaper at home. Hell, anything for my kids is cheaper at home. I end up using the vast majority of my suitcase space for kids stuff like future bday presents, clothes to grow into, and shoes.

7. Milk. I do have a brand I like in Brazil now (leitisimo or something like that) but it still isn't the same. I go on a milk binge everytime I visit. Maybe it's all the chemicals pumped into our cows like water. Maybe it's the fact that our milk isn't made to hold for a year on a ridiculously hot shelf in a Brazilian kitchen. I don't know what it is but I have no problem killing a gallon of American milk in the 5 days before it spoils in the fridge.

8. Floss. This is a weird one and I totally blame Mr Rant. He got me into this thin wax floss stuff from Colgate or something. I have to say, it is now my favorite and you can not find it here.

9. Selection. The one good thing about being a somewhat heartless consumer country is the selection. There is a seriously large selection of anything and everything in the US. Hell, look at #8's floss preference. That kind of preference comes from a selection spoiled person. I mean, it's freaking floss, how different can it be?... but it sooo is.

10. The bacon. The bacon here is a little too fatty, too few per package, and too expensive for my bacon taste. I miss the neatly sliced rows of American bacon with the perfect proportion of fat to fat meat and all at a fair American price.

What about you? What do you like better in your Native country? 

Expat Adaptation and American Haters

A reader of mine, Marcio, asked two interesting questions in the comment section of my post  I Love my Gyno. No, they are not questions about my vagina, gyno, nor anything else related.

1. When does an Expat start feeling Brazilian, does your Brazilians friends/family consider you a Brazilian? 

I have been in Rio de Janeiro for 6 consecutive years now and I do not consider myself a Brazilian. I'm not. I'm American, born and raised. And that isn't a pride thing for my country but a stated fact. Of course I have picked up Brazilian traits. Hell, I even eat using a knife and a fork. I think Americans would string me up for that one.

There is always a need to compare how at home you are because Brazil is quite different. I do feel at home. I started feeling at home when I started understanding why and how things work here. A big part was being able to communicate with people and completing tasks without having to ask for help. When I went into small claims court and started the process of suing a company all by myself, well that made me feel pretty damn adapted! Keep in mind I also celebrated the first time I managed to order a pizza over the phone as well.

I find that Brazilians love to call foreigners Brazilians. My immediate reaction is to say "I'm a Carioca at heart." That is a true statement for me. I love a lot of the ways here. I feel at home in Rio. That being said, I still have days where I want to get on the next damn plane out of here. See, still a foreigner.

As for the family, they started considering me a Brazilian when I stopped being the quiet one at family lunches and actually became a part of them. That was the first sign. The other part that seems to amaze them is my raising my kids here. I don't know what aspect of it amazes them but they seem to be pretty pleased that I manage it.

2. I don't want to start a fight so if anti-americanism in Brazil is off-topic just ignore please. I think there is a little anti-americanism in Brazil most due to historical reason (search "brother sam operation" and you see what I mean) and bit of jealous mixed with back-slash but I always thought that brazilian would connect to you on a individual level - like bad mouth US government and politics for half an hour and them invite you for dinner with hi/her family...

I have dealt with my fair share of anti-americanism here. One evening I had to sit across from some ass at a bar wearing a shirt that said I (with two planes) and a picture of the World Trade Center on it (a horrible play on the I heart NY shirts). It was very difficult to not throw my glass at his head.

I generally avoid going into politics and such here as Americans are blamed for everything. We are blamed for the wars we start and at the same time the ones we refuse to get involved with. We started the Brazilian military dictatorship.  Actually, we have appointed all dictators in South America.... Bad example as it is quite possible that the US did. Anyway, I have had people talk to me as if I have the power to make a call and end a war. Sorry, it doesn't quite work like that.

Of course these bad experiences have a tendency to overshadow the good. Generally I have been welcomed regardless of my nationality. Pretty much, even if criticizing, Brazilians have been like you suggested "bad mouth US government and politics for half an hour and them invite you for dinner with hi/her family". 


At any rate it isn't that important. I am not overly sensitive with the hating the US thing.


How about you guys?

Xtravaganza!

I was chosen for an Xtravaganza Interview over at Impossibly Glamorous! You can check it out here:

Xtravaganza Interview Hot Mama

Expats, Goodbyes, and Where Are the Grandbabies?!

Saying goodbye to my parents is a difficult thing. The fact that after 3 weeks in my small apartment neither is going home in a body bag is a testament to how much I actually do enjoy their company.

The thing is that when you are married to a foreigner you only see their family for blocks of time. Take Mr. Rant for example. He spends about 3 weeks a year straight with my family, if we are lucky. The only reason it is that much is because my parents are awesome enough to travel to Rio de Janeiro over and over again. They could be normal and say that this year they are going to Italy but no, my Mom won't have it. There are no grandbabies in Italy.

And Grandbabies really do mess up the expat system. There is no "it's only been a year" when kids are involved. In a year a kid has passed through 37 personalities, 2 difficult phases, a million photos, and about 3 honestly cute moments. That is a lot for an expat's family to miss. Let's not even get into close friends.

My saving grace is my life here. I have a life in Rio de Janeiro. I have my Mommy friends, my Brazilian friends, my Brazilian Mommy friends, and my fellow expat friends. I am doubly lucky because I have Mr. Rant's large extended family to top it all off. I'm talking a mega social 3000 calorie banana slip with around 3 cherries on top.

None-the-less, they aren't my history. Growing up you imagine raising your kids with their cousins, their aunts and uncles coming over for birthdays. Your best friends are supposed to be there to see you get fat... I mean really pregnant. You miss the people who, when your 3 year old storms off and slams his bedroom door (only to open it again for a second dramatic slam), laugh at you because he is just like you. The feeling is somewhat lost when your husband's family would give you that curious look like who did that come from. Thank you very much but we all know it came from me. At the very least you could mock me about it like my kin do. ;)

It is a fact of life when you marry someone from a different country. Someone is always far from home. Home also has a special definition as the expat just may have more than one. I, for example, call Rio de Janeiro my home. It is so my home now. I am only getting in deeper people.

In the end you resign yourself to the facts. You even come up with coping methods. Of course people will visit. You will also go back. Your children will be multicultural, how great is that. Skype rocks even with a slow connections. And lastly, who needs personal contact when Grandma is an awesome box sender.

Truth be told, I doubt I would ever have appreciated my family like I do now if I didn't move to Rio. It isn't just the distance but what the country has taught me about life. As hard as goodbyes are, I'm a better person than I was. I suppose that is what life is all about, right? Bettering yourself, learning, and living.

Whatever life is about, I miss my family. I love seeing my parents. I miss my brothers desperately. It breaks my heart daily that they aren't my boys' best friends. At least I have perspective, damn perspective, to remind me that I have a damn good life. Missing people means that I have a lot of people who I love and love me in return. I suppose there is something to say about that. 

Calling Home Made Easy

My Mother was very supportive about my move to Brazil. Who knew that support came with a cost, her cost. Regardless of my living outside of the country, she just couldn't drop our semi-daily phone conversations. Once I started reproducing the phone conversations became daily.

Now call me an old fashioned girl but I like a nice chat on the phone. Sure there's skype and a bunch of other options, but it just isn't the same. I can't pace in circles while chatting on skype or binge snack. It's kind of weird/gross with people watching you. Don't even get me started on how I can't skype and go to the bathroom. That's just down right frustrating. You turn on the facet and they still know what you are doing...

That is when Ray at American Heart, Brazilian Soul saved the day! Turns out that Ray and my Mom became besties via Facebook chat and he told her about buying a Brazilian phone number. Say what?! Now I don't know how the entire process works. That is where Ray comes in. He is the genius behind this new knowledge! Go check out his post on it: Global: we are huge fans

This is a must have for families of Brazilian expats! It is seriously awesome! My Mom emailed me one day with a Brazilian number and told me to call her. And it was a Rio land line!

So I called the number and got a Brazilian recording in English with a HORRIBLE accent. That is the added bonus as I laugh every single time I listen to it. It says: Press onie for Mooms cell. Press Twoo for Mooms Hoom. etc. By the way, in case you are a little slow this morning like me, I was writing phonetically.

Anyway, I just wanted to personally thank Ray. Now I can easily call Mom without it costing her or me an arm or leg.

Go learn how to get your own: American Heart, Brazilian Soul

How We Know You Are A Tourist

1. You wear socks with sandals. Seriously, that is just wrong. You wouldn't do it at home, why do it when you are representing your country abroad? Shame on you.

2. Swimsuits should hug the bottom, not tent it. Your ass isn't getting fumigated, you are going swimming. Get something that cups your butt like it should.

3. You walk to a restaurant at 8pm with a can of beer you brought from somewhere else, and it is not Carnaval.

4. You travel in herds. It's like going on safari but the other way around.

5. You are tan when we are white or are white when we are tan. Think, for example, Norwegian in Brazil or vice versa.

6. You pull cash out in public and count it or carry everything in a wallet taped to your chest. This shows either an ignorant level of confidence or an extreme level of paranoia common to 1st world country dwellers.

7. You walk around with a bottle of water. Not only do you have that but you also have a freaking carrier.

8. Gear. You have a hat, sunscreen, glasses, camera, and a backpack full of other potentially useful gear. I'm walking to the store and you are out for survival. If that isn't an obvious difference, I don't know what is.

9. You are reading a book that talks about my city in a foreign language. Enough said.

10. You watch us like we are a live National Geographic Documentary. Foreigners always have a strange twinkle in their eyes as they view a new way of life. I like it. It almost gives me a Peter Pan like buzz. 

Once Upon a Couch... (with pictures)

Keep in mind that I'm around 5'10"

I have been ranting about my sofa drama now for ages, or so it seems. Yesterday the drama peaked and ended, finally!

It all started with my "priority" delivery only arriving at 8pm.  I hate to imagine when they would have arrive if I wasn't supposedly priority!  Anyway, this was a problem since the building does not allow deliveries after 5pm. Of course we live in Brazil and there is always a jeitinho or two lying around, or so I hoped.

When the doorman phoned saying that a maintenance man was going escort one of the delivery men up, I knew I was in a bit of trouble. I would need to be pathetic and persuasive all at the same time. I decided to go with my true ally in situations like this, my Gringa status.

For some reason it is very easy to convince Brazilians that you are totally confused as to how things work. I don't know if I should be offended by this fact, but it does come in handy sometimes. I busted out such a show that I should be nominated for an Emmy, or at least an MTV spaceman.

When the annoyed Maintenance guy got there, I was first "surprised" that there was a time limit when it comes to deliveries. Since I'm a foreigner, I had no idea these kinds of rules even existed! That and I had spoken with the delivery people throughout the day (so I said) and the poor guys had been stuck in traffic. Damn holidays and everyone on vacation. It is madness out there (an always acceptable excuse in a big city).

I then went for the pity. I told him that I understand that rules are rules but if the couch was not delivered at that moment there was no way I'd get it this year. I told him that I have guest arriving and I plan to sleep on the couch during their visit. I claimed desperation, which was true, and asked if he could ask the building manager if I could pay some sort of fine or something. I begged for him to see if there was something, ANYTHING, we could do to make this happen.

After they went back downstairs, and the judges met for a final evaluation of the situation, jeitinho won. The building manager was so stressed about the no water situation, the building didn't have any yesterday, that the doormen/maintenance men decided that my couch could slip by unnoticed.

I'm sure when they made that decision they never imagined my sofa would get caught in the stairwell. Hell, the delivery men even took the stairwell doors off, another situation I doubt they imagined happening at that time of night.

So there we were, all looking at the stuck couch, when my Brilliant friend came to the rescue. She convinced them to take it all apart. I don't know if she gave some sort of pep talk or what, but they did just that. Fabric was removed from the bottom, staples taken out, and a HUGE mess made at the end of the hall.

Taking it apart in the stairwell

Come 930pm, I was starting to get worried. The delivery men were seemingly enjoying the quasi-demolition aspect of the job but would they remember where everything went? Would it even go back together seeing that this specific couch apparently doesn't come apart in the first place?

Bye bye fabric

Then around 10pm my front door opened. Did you know that my couch is made of plywood? Well, I do now as that was what they started bringing in. Pieces of wood, some fabric, and a big ass wood staple gun.

I will say, these men were damn impressive! They came into my living room and took all the random pieces I couldn't even imagine would make a couch and made it happen. I watched as they took over my living room, flipping pieces over and drilling/stapling the crap out of them.

Somewhere around 1130pm, it was looking like a couch. And right before midnight I signed the delivery papers and they were on their way.

It was a marathon but in the end it worked. Thank goodness for jeitinho!! 

F*CKING HELL!

I am so pissed, so annoyed. We bought a beautiful couch for our new place and guess what, they can't get it up to our apartment. The monster of a bastard couch doesn't fit in an elevator nor up the stairs. Apparently the model we bought does not come apart, a key piece of information the salesperson should have mentioned when we told her about where we live. All she asked was, are there stairs? When we said 'of course' she said it would be no problem. 

But it isn't her fault really. It's just bad luck, poor planning, and stupid construction of our building. Who makes stairways with a narrow section or a weird door. Come on people! 

As in true fail form, we neglected to realize that the couch is about 3 meters long. I take no responsibility with that because, as an American, I still only have a vague concept of the metric system. That and I am playing the girl card. 

To make matters worse, there isn't even a way to pull it up to our place via the balcony. Ugggggg

There's also the fact that it's the 13th of December and we are quite possibly totally screwed. We bought the couch 3 weeks ago, planned out so that it would be here well before my parents arrived. Now we'll be lucky if we can get any couch delivered before Christmas. If it doesn't come before Christmas there is no chance in hell it'll be here before New Years. 

And I know we could go find something, but I don't want some crap couch that I'm going to look at for the next 5 years and think "I fucking hell I hate that couch." I want my perfect purple couch. Royal purple for this royal pain in the ass. Ah well, I suppose it was not meant to be. 

Honestly though, I really wish I could do one damn thing here easily. I wish I could just go into a store, order something, have it arrive on the scheduled day, and have it delivered into my apartment without drama. FYI, for those who are afraid Brazil is going to get as consumer minded as the US, I doubt it. It takes far too much effort down here. 

Of course, in comparison to the shelving unit drama, at least this one did technically arrive at the building on the scheduled date. I suppose I should be giving out a gold star for that. 

Now if you could all please form a prayer circle, write Santa, and/or start chanting for a quick solution to our new adventure in the hell of purchasing furniture in Brazil. 

Em Vez de Crap

My blog isn't always particularly helpful for other expats or future Brazil expats. I'm not always full of information, more antidotes and rantings. But that is going to change right now!

While sifting through the last of our boxes, the most obnoxious ones that we saved for last, I found some notes from my first private Portuguese teacher. When I was fresh of the boat and speaking nothing, my Mother-in-Law recommended that Mr. Rant hire one of her friends. We had about 3 classes until I fired her. Way to start off on the good side of the Mother-in-Law, huh? In my defense, she didn't show up to one of our 8am classes. When I cancelled last minute I had to pay but she could not show up and I didn't get my money back. I called bullshit on that one quickly, especially because that was during my child-free days where waking up at 8am was a big freaking deal!

Anyway, I found one of her lists that was actually quite helpful. Words to know in Portuguese when you know none. Here they are in no particular order:

Valeu a pena: Worth it

Já: already: (ie. You: Let's go! Me: Já?)

Ainda: Still (ie. I still have this paper. Ainda tenho...)

Rapaz: Young man

Ontem: Yesterday

Ante de ontem: The day before yesterday

Em vez de: Instead of


Talvez: Perhaps

Com Licença: excuse me (interrupt)

Desculpa: Sorry (ie. you did something wrong)

Um momentinho: Just a minute/ a moment

Pois Não: It's ok or Can I help you

Não Posso: I can't

Não foi nada: It was nothing

Venha comigo (pronounced ven comigo): Come with Me

Valeu: Thanks (Carioca slang)

I know some of you have more to add. This is a beginner's list but go ahead and get crazy!

Serious Growth and I'm NOT Talking Mold

Living in Brazil has taught me so much about myself. We are talking serious growth here people.

Take my space issues for example. That has basically been beaten out of me, or at least it felt like that at the time. In Zona Sul, there is no space. And when it seems like you just may have founds some, you realize that there was a person on deck waiting to invade it. If you don't believe me, just try being pregnant down here. I had total random strangers rub my baby and lower down to talk to him. It was quite interesting and a bit of a boundary pusher for me at the time. I mean hell, go down a few more inches and you'd be talking to my vag. Yes, that is a little too close for comfort.

I have also started to become organized. This is directly related to the above space issue. While Mr. Rant and my Mother may call bullshit on this one, I do believe they have blocked the memories of my past ways out of their minds. Yes, it was that bad.

And not to be forgotten, I am damn good at pinning clothes. I like to consider myself a 1950s inner city wife. I do it well but keep it classy people, no clothes hanging out my window. Of course they are on my balcony but that's just between you and me.

Then there is food. My major source of nutrition in the states, if you could call it that, came in the form of a box and was heated in the microwave. I only have good genes to thank for not falling victim of the American Obesity trend. In my defense, I didn't really know how to cook and I drank a lot so crap food just tasted better. Of course I'm in Brazil now where, when I got here anyway, the only frozen ready-made food was basically Pão de Queijo or some stuff that I didn't even recognize. Not to mention the fact that there are so many fresh fruits and veggies that they basically fall out of the sky and right into your mouth. FYI, so odd to be saying this, don't swallow. Wash them first or they'll be going out even faster than they went in.

There's also the whole cooking from scratch thing. While I had seen my Mother do it, I just thought she was old school. Apparently it has quite a little following. My biggest shock was when I realized that I, Rachel's Rantings, is capable of making something from scratch that tastes a hell of a lot better than the stuff in a box (and keeps you much more regular thank you very much.)

All this stuff has me thinking that I was really immature when I came to Brazil for the first time at 23 years old. Oh wait, isn't the definition of 23 immature anyway? Sweet, there's my excuse!

Seriously though, how has where you are, physically or otherwise, changed who you are for the better? 

Grandma Brings the Booty

Not that kind of booty people! That's my fabulous Mother you are thinking about! Anyway, not only is she playing Santa by hauling piles a crap to Brazil, she is also my guest post for the day. Read on and see where I get my sass from:

____________

Heading for Rio for Christmas…Santa and his wife flying economy on American Airlines. I get two suitcases at 70 lbs each. Looking at the booty piled in the dining room I think I’m already screwed. I’ve been eyeing Santa’s suitcases…he can get all of his clothes in a carry-on. It’ll be hot…how much does he really need.

I have mad packing skills. I’ve hauled down a desktop computer, a Diaper Genie, Thanksgiving dinner minus the turkey, the entire toy aisle at Target, the candy section three aisles over, piles of little boy clothes and shoes, Bisquick, Campbells soup, A-1 sauce, shower heads, a million Zip Lock bags and a zillion disposable diapers…and a blow-up rubber ducky bath tub.

Ducky was the last item in the bag, smoothed out over the top of a box of Lego’s and a set of Tupperware, with his bill stuffed in a crevice on the side. I could hear him quacking as the suitcase rounded the corner on the conveyor belt. The TSA left me a note saying they had cut my TSA approved (they have a key) lock off and searched the suitcase…bet they were sorry. I think they took some of the peanut butter cups as compensation…

I have a growing list on the fridge and the doorbell just rang…UPS dropping off another box of must have toys and a few shirts Only Daughter found on line and had shipped here…I may have to pay for an extra suitcase.

Dear Mr. Rant…when you pick us up at the airport you may need an extra car….bring backup.

The Apartment Has Perks!

We are so close to moving into our place that I can taste it! I went over to the new building today and randomly decided to video the common area so that you guys could see it. Check it out: 

See that guy at the end? He came back and started questioning me. He wanted to make sure I lived there, which would be hard to believe seeing that I got lost. All was worked out and he found this gringa speaking bumbling Portuguese innocent enough. That reminds me, I really need to start my life of crime... 

Life Isn't Always Easy in Paradise

My life as an expat was the topic of conversation with numerous people today. While I realize I have a positive spin to the blog, I want to clarify something.

Being an expat is hard. While I may seem on top of it now, it would have been a very different blog if I had started writing my first few years.

I had many many days where I hated everything Brazilian. I could not imagine living here. I could never imagine actually having conversation in a language other than my own. I didn't know if it would ever be possible for me to understand the crazy way Brazilians think (and by crazy I mean different, or that is how I finally understand it to be.)

And most people will say things along the line of: You live in such a great place! It's so exotic! How could you complain?

Let me break it down for you. Have you tried to do the day to day annoying bullshit in a second language, not to mention in a bureaucratic maze that even Houdini would have a hard time getting himself out of?

I will never forget telling a friend I was jealous of her living in Spain. How amazing it must be to wake up there every day. She looked at me and said "You know, once you settle, regardless of where, it turns into daily life." Such true words that my little 20 yr old soul couldn't grasp.

The thing is that it is not easy to find your place anywhere. The complexities can seem insurmountable when you can't figure out which freaking sign means starting point.

As for me, I was the biggest and most horrible of the whiny baby expats in the world when I first got here. I can even prove it. At the end of my 3 week intensive Portuguese course at PUC the teacher broke us into groups and asked us to make skits about our fellow classmates. I was in one of the skits... whining and complaining. It was one of the most embarrassing and honest moments of my life. I sat there with the "Oh Shit that is SO me" look on my face. I was that girl.

I couldn't dig a hole and die there because, let's be honest, the cat was out of the bag. Time to either go home or make a change.

I'm happy I got it thrown in my face because I was being a big old baby. It forced me to take a painful look in the mirror. Time to suck it up. I had a choice, either I was going to let Rio de Janeiro bitch slap me around or I was going to stand up to the bully. Funny thing was that when I went to stand up I realized that I was the one I had to stand up to. Perspective is a bitch like that.

It was hard at first but I grew up with Rio de Janeiro. Now we are brothers from another Mother.

In the end it is your life and your choice. You don't ever have to be anywhere you don't want to be, and that doesn't necessarily mean moving. You can change where you are just by adjusting your head.

And now that I have fully made all of you throw up in your mouth a little bit with my corniness, I leave you with this note: Life can still be a bitch even when it's surrounded by caipirinhas and palm trees. I just decided one day to focus on the palms instead of the bitch while drinking the caipirinha. 

Social Media Friendships: No Nudity Required

My stalker proof picture

Who says you can't make real friends on social media? Is it you over there? Or you? Well I am here to tell you that you are all full of crap. I have made a real deal friend using solely social media and she didn't even ask me to send naked photos!

Before we start this debate I am going to ask you what a friend is to you? Well I'm pretty easy. My friendship can be bought by way of Mexican spice packets. Ok, not just that. We would ideally enjoy each other's company (virutally or not), be able to banter and actually carry on a conversation (yes under 140 characters can count as a conversation), have my back (as I do yours), and send me Mexican spice packets.

So here's how it played out. I came home after an EXTREMELY long day of motherhood, work, and general life to a package. A package? Really...  It was a small nicely wrapped box and my heart sang out. It had to be from Stay at Home Babe! 

Someone does not go light on the tape

No that is not her actual name and yes I do know it. Not only did I not have to send her naked pictures, I also know her name. Sorry but I had to earn that information and so do you. 

Anyway, I was bitching on Twitter, as it is a hobby of mine, about running out of Mexican food spice packets that I use to make my wannabe Mexican food here in Brazil. It was the cry that was heard around Twitter and Stay at Home Babe (@stayathomebabe) came to my rescue.

This fine lady, a fellow American with a strong love of all things spicy, sent me spice packets from England! By the way Old El Paso, if she can find these pockets of fajita gold there why in the hell don't you sell them here?!

As I slowly pulled out the packets imagining all the yummy spicy goodness in my future I found another surprise. A token if you will. An awesome gift just for me! The perfect thing to go with my new apartment and something that actually made me get all sentimental.

It was this key chain:

Wow, someone practically on the other side of the world did all this just for me, just to make me happy. She went out of her way to pick something up that I was homesick for. On top of that she gave me something that I will make me smile every single time I see it on my keys. Something that will remind me that I am lucky enough to call such a sweet person a friend.

Thank you Stay at Home Babe! You are the best 21st century pen pal. I really hope to meet you in person one day. (Please note that I meant that in the least stalkerish way possible)

Our Tiny New Apartment!

Here is a video of our new place. Be kind :)

I Did it!

People, I did it. I went into that classroom and read a book in Portuguese to a group of 4 and 5 yr olds. And you know what, I did pretty damn good!

Of course Chatterbox started trying to correct my correct pronunciation. I almost pushed him out of the reading circle by his forehead but I felt that may be frowned upon. Seriously though, I did have to give him the Mommy look and whisper a "That's enough now." Smart boy though. No better time to totally mock Mom's language skills than in front of a group of people who are all watching her.

All and all it went well. The kids had moments of massive laughter and also a page or two of not too impressed. Overall the kids seemed to enjoy the book. I mean, how could this age group not like a story about Martians' love of underwear.

After reading I also managed to get them all riled up with an impromptu game of "Let's copy every movement Rachel makes." I noticed a girl copying me while her friends watched so I obviously started doing ridiculous things. Before I knew it I had the entire class jumping up and down like frogs and trying to pat their heads while rubbing their stomach. I freaking love this age!

Let's hope tomorrow's reading in The Menace's class goes just as well. 

Stress and Signatures: Only in Brazil...

I've never thought too much about my signature. Hell, no one in my country even gives it a second glance. Seriously! Over about a year I signed all things with Bob Hope. I never got one call from a bank, credit card, or store.

Imagine how I felt when I got to Brazil and had to register my signature. Not only that, when I signed anything it had to be the same. No, not zen like 'sure it's close enough' same but actually the same.

I discovered that this was doubly true whenever signing anything somewhat official. They have people at the Cartorio (Brazilian registry) who are trained to tell if the signature is right on. Regardless of you being there, they will not accept it if it does not match your registered signature.

And it's not only them! Our bank calls Mr. Rant monthly to ask about the checks I write. Apparently my signature is never close enough to the two they have on file. Never. I blame the children because, let's be honest, it's why I have them.

So it comes as no shocker that signing things in this country stress me the hell out. I always wait just a second or two too long to sign things. People always think that I'm going to change my mind.

Take the signing away of my apartment for instance. I almost had a panic attack! And if I didn't sign it correctly? If the people at the Cartorio rejected my signature? Of course the buyers were smart and had a paid witness from the catorio there so I think I could have pulled off one of my old Bob Hope stunts. Of course, this is Brazil and I would get a call 40 years down the line when the Grandchildren were trying to sell the place saying that their paperwork is bad because I'm an ass.

Yes, paperwork, signatures, and all things "official" here are stressful. The details are so anal you'd think that the government is into S&M. Of course you should look at the other side. I don't have one Brazilian friend annoyed that someone is living as them. I'm sure they have it but I personally know of no personality theft here. Maybe there is some sense to all this madness. 

Living with Two or More Languages

As an expat in Brazil, I find that the vast majority of my expat friends speak English regardless of where they are from. I have always found their flexibility in switching between English and Portuguese intriguing. Since neither is their first language and they live in Brazil, it is actually quite normal. Though because I speak candidly to them in English, I find it amazing that they can have the same level of conversation in Portuguese. But of course, why wouldn't they be able to?

This begs you to ask: is it your home language, the languages you speak, where you live, or the company you keep that decides which you are most comfortable speaking? When you are a person of less flexible abilities than some of the multilinguals and world travelers out there, that crosses your mind.

What I find among these social nomads is that they have found a bridge. Don't get me wrong, they don't have the secret to the linguistic fountain of youth or anything like that. They do know, however, that the secret is acceptance, immersion, adaptation, and work.

That last one is the thing that surprisingly never comes up in multilingual talk. While some of had the  advantage of being raised with at least 2 languages from birth (not including me sadly), many had to earn their language stripes. That includes suffering through the pains of not understanding anyone where you are at, never being able to adequately share your feelings, and generally feeling lost.

Yet, once you learn a language, you will find yourself torn between the two. I have moments where I can't find an English word for something because it is much better in Portuguese. Honestly, descriptive words in Portuguese rock and I find I have a much easier time discussing the medical issues of my children in my second language. Not a shocker seeing my boys were born and are being raised here. Brazil, and in Portuguese, is where my Mommy vocabulary was born.

On the other hand, I can't express my own feelings worth a damn in Portuguese. It's a block and I can't seem to get past it. I can be quite direct in English, or so I am told, and I know I can come off as a Satanic Bitch in Portuguese. Alright, I can come off as a bitch in English too but I think I've figured that one out at this point in my life.

How about you? Is there one language you prefer in certain circumstances? Do you find yourself mixing more than one language as a means of expressing yourself?

*Motivation for this post came from an article on the Psychology Today site. 

Immigrants Are Coming Home

Word on the street is that many Brazilian expats are returning to their homeland. Contrary to the 1st world countries out there, Brazil's economy is doing well. 

While I only know a small handful of people who have returned to Rio de Janeiro from abroad, I can say that I have seen an attitude change in the Brazilians here.

When my husband and I first visited in 2003, the general consensus was that we should live in the US. Of course that does not include my Mother-in-Law. She is a believer in working to live not living to work and is also very Brazilian in that "ahhhh, everything will work out here. It always does."

Mr. Rant's and my motives were still questioned when we officially moved here in 2006. Even though Mr. Rant had a good job upon arrival, people still questioned our decision. Since he was legal there, why move back? Weren't opportunities better in the US? You can buy everything there! Isn't it also safer? 

Those questions always led into some story about someone's cousin or best friend's brother who was making it big American style. As if Guilherme's (or whomever) story would just push me over the edge and make me pack my bags. 

Regardless of other personal issues bringing us back to Brazil, Mr. Rant also wanted to be a part of changing his country. We had a whole conversation about it before our move. Just like this article, Mr. Rant said that all the young educated workers have left or our leaving his country and that they needed to return in order for Brazil to become great. 

Fast forward to around 2009 and people stopped asking about why we chose Brazil over the US. This was big being that a foreigner's living status here the #1 conversation starter for all people you cross paths with. Even taxi drivers would turn to me and say that I did good choosing Brazil and that life here is better.

While I know part of this new way of thinking are the new developments in business down here, I'm  thinking there's more to it. There is something about the US economic crisis that hit home for Brazilians. They are no stranger to this kind of thing. Actually, in comparison to what Brazilians have dealt with in the past, what the US is going trough is is merely a kick to the balls. You recover eventually from that.  

Brazilians have a way of taking these things in stride, relatively speaking. I remember watching a documentary where they showed where the happiest people lived. No, it was not Iceland or anything Utopian like that. It was Brazil who was named the country with the happiest people as no matter what is going on around them, they find time to enjoy life. There were clips from bbqs in extremely poor neighborhoods, people having beers on the street when the market was apparently going down, and of course they showed people watching soccer games. 

That, my friends, is the difference in the quality of life down here. People don't let money problems rain on their parades 24/7. If you lose a job you have a support group in family and friends to emotionally, and some times financially, help you out until you get on your feet. And let's be honest, the country is pretty damn beautiful too. 

I figure that Brazilians are thinking that if the US isn't going to be stable, they might as well come home. Not only is the country doing well, the lifestyle is a simpler and happier one. 

What is your take on this? 

Brunching like an Expat

Yesterday I went to a fabulous brunch at a fellow expat's place. I have to say, one of my favorite parts of being an expat is brunch! It's a tradition a bit lost with Brazilians although they already do pretty nice breakfasts down here in the first place.

I think the real problem is that Brazilians are obsessed with lunch. They just can't go a day without sitting some time between 1 and 4 pm for a large meal. It would be sacrilegious for them. 

Us foreigners understand the beauty of the brunch. It's breakfast and lunch combined! Where can you go wrong with that? And brunches always showcase the best from each contributor. 

Here a tradition was created somewhere along the line that the host provides a large base and each guest brings a nice additional item to pick at. It usually comes in the form of some really good bread from a hard to find French-style bakery or a pastry that takes far too long to make for anything other than special occasions.  

My absolute favorite comes from the kitchen of Becoming Brazilian. She makes this ridiculously amazing spinach, salmon, and cream cheese roll thing. Of course it's completely homemade and makes my tongue scream like a... let's just say in a very NC-17 way. 

Anyway, it was a wonderful way to spend our day off! Not only did I get to spend time with friends and their families, I also got to meet some new fellow foreigners. There were people from everywhere. It felt like we were at a UN meeting or a Carnival Cruise or something! 

And I am already reading some of the minds out there. Yes, I like to hang out with my fellow expats. While having our Brazilian circle is wonderful, it is also nice to hang out with families like our own. It is a chance for all these traveling and bi/tri -lingual children to chat with others like them. Us parents get to talk about all the kinds of things we adults talk about as well as all thing fellow expats discuss.

Finally it seems that I have my yin and yang, my expat and Brazilian friends. We were a bit heavy on the yang there.  And while you can never go wrong with yang, a little yin is much appreciated.