A Carnaval de Chuva or Rain, Rain, Go Away

How do you disclose an entire week of gluttony, indulgence and disarray? A week where refusal is out of the question and the pulsing music never stops. Well, you don´t. At least not entirely. Afterall, reputations are on the line.

Carnaval in Florianopolis played out like a college Spring Break in Florida, complete with a house near the beach, round-the-clock parties and red meat for breakfast. (Hey, when you´re shooting to wake up at noon everyday it´s not out of the question.)

I stayed in a rented house an hour south of Florianopolis at a beach called Ferrugem. The traffic was horrendous on the drive down as expected. I read that around 1.7 million people were expected to leave Sao Paulo that day. That´s a decent-sized city! We left Sao Paulo at two in the afternoon and checked in at Ferrugem at three in the morning. What I thought would be an eight hour drive turned into a thirteen hour drive-a-thon. The flat tire didn´t help.

In the spirit of the week, we took a stroll down the main road of Ferrugem after checking in to catch a glimpse of the night/early morning life. A surreal scene awaited.

A street party a few hundred strong was stomping and shaking to the techno music blasting from someone´s car in the middle of a blocked off intersection. Then another car pulled up a few minutes later and began blasting its techno music. I had walked into an all out techno-street-war. That wasn´t what was so funny though. The main source of amusement was the Argentinian men that were keeping rhythm with the music - particularly their hair. Single strand rat tails, double strand rat tails, all-out mullets. I felt like I was on the set of some bad 80s movie. I guess Argentinians love to visit the southern beaches of Brazil, and their hair is a dead give away of there country of origin. For comedy´s sake, let´s hope this trend continues indefinitely.

In contrast, the women appeared exceptional - wait, make that really exceptional. Do they have some kind of law against unattractive women in this part of the country? I guess there is a reason 7 Brazilian models appeared in this year´s Sports Illustrated swim suit edition. (I read that in a magazine, so don´t think I go counting these things...well, maybe both.)

My six companheiros and I spent most of our time in Ferrugem, but we traveled daily (and nightly) to the nearby city of Garopaba for the street Carnaval and food supplies. The weather was terrible for most of the week. It rained almost constantly for four days straight. I only saw the sun on our first full day and our last. This turned our daily drive into a daily mud ride as most of the roads in this area where comprised of dirt.

On the days where the weather was nice, I could see why Ferrugem is such a popular destination. The beach is golden and there is a nice, rocky hill in one area where you can get a good look of the surrounding area. Surfers flock to the waves, and on one day I even saw a couple kite surfers taking advantage of the strong winds. I think kite surfing will be my next hobby in another life. The only negatives were the cold waters and the blustery winds - that is, if you weren´t kite surfing.

For those who think of the ornate parades and scantily-clad women when thinking of Carnaval, please desist. That´s only what Carnaval is like in the large cities where they have parades.
Those kinds of things take place in Rio de Janeiro, Salvador and Recife. That´s where much of the insanity takes place and where most of the media images are broadcast to the world. Many Brazilians, however, travel to the beach for the week. They relax, they go to parties, they enjoy their free time. I was in that boat.

One night, while having a late dinner in Garopaba, I glanced at a television in the restaurant that was showing the Carnaval parades of Rio. I could see the insane floats of fire-breathing dragons and gun-toting alligator men (or something like that), the dancing women drenched in sweat from constant movement, the baianas twirling round and round. I was as close to that stuff as I was to the Super Bowl.

The cluster of houses that surrounded our place were always a good source of entertainment. As the rain kept most people from going to the beach, everyone instead stood outside their houses, blasted music and did their best running man. (Granted these are all young Carnavalers. In fact, along with ugly women, I believe the mayor of Ferrugem outlawed all people over 25 years of age.) A water fight would break out on occasion or someone would do a running dive into the kiddie pool. This is the neighbors, not me. It´s amazing what can serve as entertainment on a rainy day when you´re seperated from technology.

The food was one of the highlights of this trip as it was one of the few indoor delights of Ferrugem. More days than not, our group would buy meat at the market in Garopaba and have our own little churrasco or barbecue. I don´t think I`ve ever ate so much beef in one week in my life. One night, we went to a rodizio de pizza, where the waiters go around to the tables serving different kinds of pizza. I had pizza with broccoli, lettuce, coconut, peas, dark chocolate, white chocolate, plus all the usual toppings. Did Willy Wonka start a pizza chain in Brazil or what?

When the rain finally subsided, I had the opportunity to try the closest thing to a winter sport in Brazil: sandboarding. Sand dunes can be found outside of Garopaba and for a few reais you can rent a board and surf the desert. I´m not much of a snowboarder so I don´t know how it compares, but it was really fun - and really exhausting. There aren´t any ski lifts or anything like that, so once you slide down the dunes you´ve got to trudge back up. It´s like running stadium steps only the steps begin to sink under your weight as you go.

Runs down the dunes don´t end gently either. Most people end up wiping out in some fashion towards the end, which always is funny to watch - as long as they get up. After about an hour of sandboarding your whole body is covered in sand and you just want to collapse. It´s stuck to your face, your legs. It´s in your hair. Not the best feeling in the world, but it´s worth it.

The parties in Ferrugem didn´t start until around one in the morning. They didn´t stop until the sun came out. There were several barn-like clubs packed with people near the beach. The music of choice was techno and funk. Brazilian funk is probably the worst type of music ever created. It makes my ears cry.

I tagged along every night/morning though the clubs wasn´t really my scene. The free concerts in Garopaba were a little more interesting to me. Right outside the beach front, a stage was set up. On the Monday and Tuesday night of Carnaval people of all ages gathered and danced to axe, a type of popular Brazilian music. We arrive on Monday night at three in the morning and the band kept the party going until four.

All week, the beer flowed freely and people seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Of course, how can one float through Carnaval without being kissed? I gave it my best effort, but at 4 AM in Garopaba this persistent Australian girl wore me down.

After a short conversation in which I ignored every sign that a girl wants you to kiss her, I managed to awkwardly peel this girl off my leg and rejoined my friends. As we were walking to the car to drive back to Ferrugem someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back. It was Australia. ¨I can´t let you leave like that,¨ she said. ¨Afterall, it´s Carnaval.¨

So I shrugged my shoulders and bent down - way down (this girl came up to my waste) - for a big, sloppy wet one.

Big. Sloppy. Wet. That was my Carnaval in a nutshell.

Tooting my own horn

This is my blog, right? So I can add links to articles about myself winning awards without fear of repurcussions? OK, good.

The best part about winning an NCAA sports scholarship is you get your pic printed in the Final Four program. I don`t think even Gene Keady ever had that honor.

Carnaval is here (almost)!

This whole waiting for Carnaval thing has gotten downright maddening at this point. It seems like everything I`ve done for the past month has been building towards this week of festivities. It`s like I`m a kid on the day before a holiday waiting for Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny to come on the same night!

I`ve tried to stay occupied by visiting the parks and deciphering my readings on the urbanization of Brazil. (Yawn.) The readings are thick in jargon and every time I look at the words my eyes glaze over and visions of baianas dance in my head. (Those are the Carnaval dancers in ornate costumes.) More about my Carnaval plans later.

Of the classes I`ve attended thus far, my favorite has been A Historia da America, which I thought would be about the history of the Americas - North, South and Central. As it turns out, it is actually the history of the United States. This is a pleasant surprise.

The class met for the first time this week, and I was the only American. This is a double-edged sword. I think it will be superinteresting to learn (or relearn) the history of the US through a Brazilian lense. There also comes the pressure, however, of being the go-to guy in the class. My professor continually glanced over at me to correct his English throughout the class and at one point asked me if I knew the unemployment rate during the Depression. Uh, sorry prof.

Going over the syllabus, the professor explained we would be reading As vinhas da ira, which is better known as The Grapes of Wrath in the US. (Titles of movies and books never translate literally from English to Portuguese. Sometimes I wonder who retitles films around here. I mean who decided to change Walk the Line to Johnny and Jude? They need to be sentenced to half an hour in the ring of fire if you ask me.) As vinhas da ira literally translates to ¨The vines of...?¨ I didn´t know what ira meant, so I asked one of my classmates.

¨It`s like your really mad because someone hurt you, so you get back at them with violence,¨ he explained matter of factly. ¨Like what Bush did when he invaded Iraq and Afghanistan.¨

Like I said, this class should be superinteresting.

Last Friday, I tagged along with my new brother Marcos to do a little anthropoligical study of Sao Paulo`s upper echelon. (The music, drinks and promise of beautiful young laidies did not factor into this decision.) His band was featured at a young lady´s private birthday party at the horse track in Sao Paulo. Marcos´ band plays American cover songs mainly, so I felt right at home. Marcos sings, plays the keyboard, percussion and guitar - all while drinking a beer inbetween numbers. I think he is what you call ¨musically versatile.¨

The party was held at the Jocquei Clube (Jockey Club) right outside the horse track. It`s interesting to note that gambling is illegal in Brazil, and yet people blow loads of cash at Bingo parlos, on the lottery AND at race horses. Only in Latin America. I recently noticed a large sign outside of one of the Bingo parlors near my house that said something to the effect that, ¨People that gamble frequently may experience financial or emotional harm.¨ They also print pictures of black, decaying lungs on packs of cigarettes. At least someone warns people what they are getting into I guess.

With so much free time this week, I decided to visit the Sao Paulo zoologico and brush up on my animal vocabulary. The Sao Paulo zoo contains a fairly diverse sample of Noah`s ark with my favorite exhibit being the Aves de Rapina, that is, birds of prey. I think the Harpy eagle is my bird of the month. Like zoos go, every animal is interesting for about 15 seconds unless they are honking, braying, spitting, squawking, playing, fighting, roaring or digging a hole out of their cage with a spoon. Then they are worth 30 seconds. And once you`ve seen them do their business, you know it`s time to move on.

American food abroad was definitely a disappointment this week. I was on Avenida Paulista and decided to go to my first McDonald´s in Brazil. Brazilians view the house that Ronald built a little differently than Americans. McDonald´s is considered quality food here and the people that work as burger flippers actually wear their golden arches with pride. It shows too. My order was prepared with so much TLC it actually looked like the picture on the menu! Here´s the kicker though: I paid the equivalent of $8 for two chicken sandwiches and the smallest McFlurry I´ve ever seen. I could´ve ate at a real restaurant for that price! Which leads me to this conclusion: Brazilians are thinner than Americans because they can´t afford to be super-sized.

In other food news, I went grocery shopping today in preparation for traveling this weekend and had a craving for one of America´s near and dear protein-filled substances: peanut butter. I heard a rumor that you could find peanut butter in Liberdade, the Japanese neighborhood, so I took a look this afternoon and hit up every supermercado I saw with unintelligble characters scralled across the top. No luck. The closest thing I found was some kind of wheat germ that looked like watered down Peter Pan. Not even the Loja Americana (American Store) sold jelly´s significant other. I think any store with Americana in the name that does not sell peanut butter is misleading it´s customers. How can they not have peanut butter in a city of 11 million! Eventually, I broke down and settled for Nutella and a tub of Pacoquita, which is a peanut butter-like candy that I found in the largest bulk candy store I have ever seen. I think I got a cavity just breathing the sugar-filled air.

All right, on with Carnaval! Let´s go! Everyone get out their party hats!

I will be spending Carnaval in Florianopolis, a city about 8 hours south of Sao Paulo by car, with an American and five Brazilians. Florianopolis is known for its beautiful coast line, and, since it is so close to Argentina, the people have a slightly different take on the world. My former host told me that one street during Carnaval in Florianopolis is filled with crossdressing males every year. (Too bad I don`t have a camera anymore, huh?) We are renting a two-bedroom house for a week. That´s right, seven people, two bedrooms! We will either really hate each other or really love each other by the end of the week (or possibly both at different stretches).

This event seems so foreign I´m not really sure what to expect. I could love it or I could hate it, but I probably won´t be experiencing another Brazilian Caranaval for awhile so I will be sure to take in as much as I can and figure out how I feel about it later.

Lost in all the Carnaval-mania, however, is the reason behind the revelry: Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. I´ll be sure to remember that part too.

A fresh start

This week has been something of a new beginning for me in Sao Paulo. Classes began at PUC last Monday and I moved into my third (and hopefully last) place in six weeks. Classes really don´t get going until after Carnaval here, so the next two weeks are more of a preview or sampling of things to come. But first, how `bout those Colts!

I did get to see the Super Bowl late Sunday night and early Monday morning with a few American friends. Unfortunately, we didn´t get to see the multi-million dollar commericials that make the Super Bowl appealing to even the non-football fan. Instead, I was subjected to the same soccer commercial about 50 times. I think I would rather have watched the Chevy/Mellencamp commercial on a loop between game action, but I´m pretty sure that song is outlawed outside of the United States. This is our countrrrryyy! I am a bit dissappointed that I wasn´t around to celebrate the Colts´ Super Bowl Championship with people that actually understood football and had followed the ups and downs of the team over the years, but then I remembered that I´m wearing shorts while it´s zero degrees in Indiana. This made me feel a little better.

Back to less important stuff...

Choosing classes in Brazil can be a difficult and confusing process for American students. Brazilian students only get to choose the professional program in which they enroll. All their classes are mandatory. For this reason, professors don`t make detailed syllabuses that describe courses as students have to take the class whether they want to or not. As an international student, I get to choose any class I want, but basically all I have to go off of is the title of the course and maybe a brief general description. I know what I DO NOT want to take, but finding something I DO want to take may be a little trickier.

Since most Brazilian students work during the day, almost all classes take place early in the morning or late at night. But at PUC the first week actually contains very little class. The first week at PUC is dedicated to hazing incoming freshmen, called bichos, which translates affectionately to animal or insect. It is a rather alarming and disturbing sight to encounter a freshly released bicho on the street if you don`t know about the tradition. They look like a rainbow threw up on them as they are covered head to toe in sloppily applied paint. Some of them are wrapped in toilet paper, and some of the men have chunks of hair shaved off in random places. Needless to say, many male freshmen have buzz cuts their first semester of college. Oddly enough, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves - especially the bichos - and not even the 24 hours of rain we`ve had here as of late has slowed down the celebration of a new school year.

PUC is unlike any school I`ve ever seen before. Space is at a premium in the city and every building looks slightly dilapitated. Still, the place has character and it´s the people that really bring it to life. You can see a bit of the main campus here, although I don´t think it gives you a good idea of what the place is like.

Like I mentioned above, I moved in with a new family this week. There was nothing significantly wrong with the living arrangement I had before in the castle on top of a hill, I just was given the opportunity to visit a few other places and decided to take advantage of it. That being said, the giant cockroach that greeted me in the shower one morning with its legs flailing upwards helped make the decision to move a bit easier.

The house I am living in now is within walking distance to PUC and the metro and also has a tennis facility nearby (major bonus points!). I now have a mom and two host brothers who are older than me, work in the city and also have their own band. Oh, the house has lots of space, the largest movie collectionI´ve ever seen, I have my own room, own bathroom, Internet access - Is this heaven? I mean, I have to ascend over 100 white stairs to reach the house walking from PUC, so I actually think this might be heaven. And speaking of heaven...

This past Sunday was a day of odd extremes for me. I attended a German Lutheran church near the center of Sao Paulo in the morning. The service took place in the oldest Lutheran church in Sao Paulo and holds a service in German as well as Portuguese. I could follow the service for the most part, but I have no idea what the sermon was about. That´s nothing unusual though. One man thought I was German and was surprised to learn that I was an American. They probably don`t see too many Yankees walk through their doors.

It was a beautiful day on Sunday, so I decided to take a stroll around a public park and near a few museums downtown. Everything is a bit more still downtown as there is not as much traffic and it was a hot, lazy Sunday on this particular day. I did notice that there are a lot more homeless men in the downtown area. They sleep on the sidewalks and make makeshift shelters out of scrap material. The poverty foound in this city can be really disturbing at times.

Anyway, as I was making my way back to the metro I was stopped by a man about my age and his companion. The man didn´t appear threatening and stopped me by putting his hand on my chest. Being the naive foreigner that he thought I was, I didn´t realize what was going on until he lifted my shirt up and pulled my little pink Mary Kay camera right off my neck. He didn´t run away or anything, he just began to walk away with a smile like a bully that just stole some kid´s lunch money. I made a few mild protests, but really I felt there was very little I could do in that situation that would turn out in my favor. He knew it too. I stopped following the two men and went home. I was carrying way too much cash at the time, so losing just the camera was a bit of a relief.

I guess if I was going to get robbed at some point I would want it to be like that, but it was definitely an unexpected occurence at that time and place. I think I learned a thing or two from the experience about being a target because of my appearance, walking alone downtown and letting someone put their hands on you - even if they appear nonthreatening. Still, I can´t help but shake my head in amusement at the thought of whoever ends up with that little pink camera with Mary Kay scrawled on it. Yeah, that´s not going to look sketchy at all.

When I went to buy my metro ticket right after being robbed, the attendent asked me where I was from - as I obviously wasn´t from around here. ¨I´m an American,¨ I said. I didn´t smile.

Super Bowl Sunday/Monday in Sao Paulo

The following is a column I wrote for the IDS this week that never ran. Oh well. If you want an update on my travels see the post below. If you want to read about my professional soccer experience click here. Happy Super Bowl Day!

I fell in love at a young age. Nine years-old to be axact. That`s when I discovered football could be fun.

It was an innocent love at first growing out of recess interceptions and backyard hail marys, but the affection quickly spread to the living room on Sunday afternoons. That`s where I met the Chicago Bears. They were mean and tough - just like I wanted to be, and it seemed like they measured victory not by the count of the scoreboard but by how dirty there jerseys were at the end of the game.

I bought a Bears hooded sweatshirt shortly after we were introduced and wore it to every neighborhood game of tackle football. It sometimes took three or four of my friends to take me down in that sweatshirt. Oftentimes they would give up tackling me and wait to two-hand tap me on the cement of the driveway. If only teams could have used that tactic against bruisers like Refrigerator Perry on the goal line.

Not long after hitting it off with the Bears, I bumped into the Indianapolis Colts one Sunday. They weren`t particularly intimidating or flashy, but they lived just as close to my home in northeast Indiana and who doesn`t love an underdog? I can still remember our inaugural season.

They had a running back named Marshall that knew how to get that extra yard and a quarterback named Jim who played so well at the end of games people started to call him Captain Comeback, like he was a super hero in tights. I fell hard for Captain Comeback and the Colts that year. I even asked for a Colts wintercoat for Christmas which I wore until the white horshoe turned yellow.

Sundays became a competition for attention between my two midwestern mates. Who was putting up the most points? Who had the best chance to make the playoffs? Who had the most exciting players? I never went a week of the NFL season without a game to look forward to.

Still, even though I came to know both teams intimately, season after season ended in disappointment. The Bears normally blew it early in the regular season and hibernated in January. The Colts seasons tended to fizzle in the postseason - a couple times in Foxboro against those pesky Patriots.

There were still positives to take my mind off the present troubles of my teams. For the Bears it was their past, their vaunted history full of legends like George ¨Papa Bear¨ Halas, Dick Butkus and Walter Payton - men that seemed larger than Soldier Field itself. For the Colts it
was their future, for the promise of a young man born to play quarterback named Peyton and a defense that could only improve from the previous season. For both teams it was the thought that next year could be the year - HAD to be the year.

Then a funny thing happened this season. The Bears and Colts started the season winning. 7-0 and 9-0 to begin the season, respectively. They faltered slightly in the latter part of the season - just enough for people to doubt. When the playoffs began, however, they were on their games. The Bears advanced to their first Super Bowl in 22 years in classic fashion - with sloppy weather and a blistering defense. The Colts advance to their first Super Bowl since arriving in Indianapolis by cleaning out every skeleton that hid in their closet with a thrilling comeback victory over New England. Now, the two teams that I`ve grown so close to over the years are meeting in Miami for Super Bowl XLI and I should be walking on air, but another funny thing had happened. I left.

A month ago, I boarded a plane headed to South America to study a semester in Brazil and expand my horizons beyond Sunday afternoon heartbreakers and Monday Night Football miracles. Both of my teams had been punchless in the playoffs for so long I thought I could get away from them for a spell without missing anything sensational. I was wrong.

I watched the conference championships of my respective teams without anyone to embrace and with Brazilian announcers using words like ¨incompleto¨ after an errant Rex Grossman pass and ¨Maravilhoso!¨ after a diving Dallas Clark reception. Luckily, a fumble in Portuguese needs no translation.

And so this Sunday, I will watch the Super Bowl of my dreams with ¨saudade¨, a word Brazilians use to mean a feeling of yearning or longing. If absence makes the heart grow fonder then I have never felt more connected to the beasts of Super Bowl XLI.

Partying in Paraty

After my four day excursion in Paraty, I have to say everything in Brazil may be downhill from here. It was that amazing.

On the drive up, our charter bus stopped at a nice beach for lunch. Of course, relaxing on the sand and taking a dip in the water just wasn`t cutting it for me, so I decided to follow the boulder trail that ran along the far left side of the beach. Why relax when you can explore? I banged up my leg a bit when I lost my footing (it was the start of a theme for this trip), but the view at the end of the trail made it a worthwhile endeavor. After hopping from stone to stone for a good 20 minutes, I crossed a small channel and wound my way to the top of large granite island where a perfect perch for one beckoned at the top. The view was great. Distant waters, the beach at my back, the sounds of the ocean, a nice sun. It was very calm. I couldn have sat there for hours.

We arrived in Paraty in the late afternoon. Paraty, a coastal city south of Rio de Janeiro, used to be the beginning and end of the gold trail in Brazil when it was still a colony of Portugal. Today, it still rakes in the gold, but it´s coming from the pockets of tourists instead of the gold mines of Minas Gerais. The city has been virtually unchanged on the outside for a couple centuries. The roads made up of randomly arranged stones can best be described as cobblestone, and it´s a good idea to watch your step because trickles of water flow in the middle of the streets (not to mention the occasion pile of horse manure). The shops of Paraty sell all things touristy and many of the restaurants are super expensive, but the real attraction is the ecotours that are offered.

After our arrival, we settled into our pousada, which is like a bed and breakfast hotel. My room had old wooden floors, squeaky beds and old-fashioned wooden shuters. Kinda cute. The bathroom, however, was conveniently modern and the air-conditioning was heavenly.

I recieved my first introduction to basketball brasiliero-style that night when I found a court where a 3-on-3 game was being played. It felt good to be on familiar territory again - even if I had no idea what the score was.

On my first full day in Paraty, our group boarded a schooner in the morning at the dock for a tour of the islands. There were many commercial boats available looking for tourists. They were all fairly similar boats with canvas covers and wooden masts. Our boat took off with a group of about 50 people on board.

The landscape was beautiful throughout the tour. Island after island reminded you of a postcard picture. With the mountains in the distance, the trees sloping towards the beaches and the crystal water on all sides, it`s hard to imagine a more ideal landscape. Our boat stopped several times so people could swim in the water or walk along the beaches of one of the islands. At one stop, I enjoyed battered shrimp and cashew juice on a sandy beach. All that was missing was a little parasol for my drink to complete the picture. We ate luch (fish, of course) on the boat and returned to the dock in the afternoon. Though I did little more than lye on a boat all day, I was fairly exhausted when we made it back to dry land. I don`t know if I will ever have the energy to retire in paradise someday.

That night, I attended a puppet show like no other in the Teatro Espaco in Paraty. The show was entitled ¨Em Concerto¨ and was composed of seven independent scenes which ranged from cute and funny to bizarre and unsettling. The style of puppetry was rather unique as the puppets were basically like action figures, and the puppeteers dressed entirely in black and manipulated the puppets with their hands. Next time just give me Pinocchio or something. I can´t take dolls seriously.

The second day in Paraty, the group boarded all-terrain vehicles and went on an amazing tour in the mountains. You know you´ll be visiting some cool places when your guide shifts into four-wheel drive. After driving uphill for about an hour, we began the tour with a light downhill hike on the historic gold trail. Our guide stopped us at various places to explain the natural benefits of a few plants, but if my life depended on it I couldn´t tell you the difference between the plant that settles your stomach and the one that gives you diarrhea when consumed.

The highlight of the weekend was the gentle rapids and not-so-gentle waterfalls that we stopped to explore and swim beside. The water looked clean enough to drink and felt absolutely artic at first. I decided I would choose fresh water over salt water any day of the week. A few of us daring Americans ventured upstream about a quarter of a mile, hopping from stone to stone, struggling against the the rapids and wriggling ourselves out of tight spots. After surmounting a giant boulder and surveying our conquered rapids, we dismounted and made the tricky return. (Actually, we were told to come back. I guess they don`t normally allow tourists to do their best Louis and Clark impersonations.) The return to the waterfall was much more difficult than the initial journey. It´s much easier to fight the current when you are traveling against it then when you are traveling with it. I think I went down at least two rapids face first, and I`ve got the bruised to prove it. Louis and Clark probably did the same on their first river walk too.

I just finished the Intensive Language and Cultural Program in Sao Paulo yesterday, and let me tell you, they weren`t joking about the intense part. Just about every day this month there was something planned for us and even when there wasn`t something planned there were things to do. I spent this past week writing the papers - in Portuguese - that I haven`t had time to write for my Brazilian culture class.

I always thought this whole writing in another language thing would be easy once I got into the flow of things. I thought I would absorb the language like a dry sponge thrown into a bucket of water. It hasn`t been anything like that. I labored over those papers for hours, and I`m sure a sixth grader probably has better grammar than what I managed to patch together. Still, I`m glad that I was able to complete the assignments, and if I showed my paper to someone who didn`t know a word of Portuguese they would probably be impressed.

To celebrate the end of ILCP, our group met on the top floor of Edificio Italia, one of the tallest buildings in Sao Paulo. On the 47th floor, I stuffed my face with finger foods and bite-size desserts. After finishing all those papers, I had worked up quite an appetite.

It`s hard to imagine that I`ve been here for over a month already. I feel like I`m still getting to know the place. Next week classes begin at PUC, and I`m not too sure what classes I`ll end up taking. Enjoy the Super Bowl. Colts by a touchdown.