It's All Over But The Cryin'

I am struggling to write succinctly and in an organized fashion, so please bear with me. I have not written in quite some time, and in the time being, I hope anyone who had been reading maintained the assumption that no news is good news. But now I will briefly try to wrap up the blog series about my experience abroad.

My exchange year in Brazil is over. It went by quite fast. It felt like a circle: starting at one point, making a wide curve and speeding up as it returns to the origin and coming to a close. In this final blog entry, I imagine that I’ll try to say either too much or too little. The odds are quite low that my words will do justice to my emotions and experiences, but I hope I can say more than nothing.

I like to imagine my body being dropped into Brazil, perhaps out of a helicopter and landing with a parachute, while the true essence of who I am stays in America and goes on a slow, ten month quest to find my body. I started out completely off balance. Take away friends, trust, and the ability to communicate, and you find yourself an uncomfortable person. As my essence - that’s what I’ll call it - approached my body, I became more comfortable. I rediscovered who I am. I made it back to the origin as a slightly older and wiser version of myself.

In retrospect, it’s funny to me. I didn’t like most of the exchange students when I first met them. I reckon it was because of my own personal insecurities. In the beginning I think I was a very closed person because I was experiencing emotions completely foreign to me, and I didn’t trust anyone enough to talk about them. I also came to Brazil with a certain standard of what a friend of mine ought to be like. It’s cute how I thought my standards were realistic, considering I was going to be surrounded by people from completely different countries, products of cultures completely different from New Ulm, Minnesota.

After a few months, I opened myself up. I became more comfortable with myself, and thus more comfortable interacting with other people.

Meanwhile, I was learning a new language. I won’t go into depth about it, but it went something like this. When I arrived I could convey very basic messages in an excruciatingly slow manner; after a short while I could understand the routine get-to-know-you questions that often came my way. Now I am at the point where I can understand when other people speak to each other, and I can not only communicate what I want to say, but I can also share my personality. Becoming fluent to a certain extent in Portuguese has been very rewarding. I believe that I have a much better appreciation for the value of language, not only as a means of communication, but also as a means of expression. The way I felt with the inability to speak compared to the way I feel with the ability to speak is the difference between night and day. After flirting with the idea of studying Spanish in college and praying that I wouldn’t forget Portuguese, I eventually decided that I will stick to Portuguese. I hope that some day I will be able to speak it as well as these foreign folks speak English.

Speaking English with non-native speakers for such a long time has extracted from my vocabulary. Due to the fact that I do speak English every day, I haven’t forgotten as much as I previously imagined I would, but I am noticing that I use the stutter word ‘like’ far too often and that I have forgotten American slang and perhaps have replaced it with Australian slang. (Australians talk to people from all corners of the earth as if Aussie-Slang were the universal language; as if everyone knows what “thongs, runners, Mackers, and chinwag” means.)

I will briefly discuss Brazilian culture. In addition to the warmth and hospitality, the most blatant thing I have noticed here is that everyone is nice to each other - all the time. It was interesting to discover that I never should have been worried about people saying nasty things about me behind my back; to me this seems like something that doesn’t happen in Brazil.

Brazilians are sweethearts. Today, the kids in my class threw me a going-away-party during intervalo (break, or recess, if you must). I was completely surprised and flattered. The kids in my class are really good in the way they are treating me now during the end of my run. It seems that they have put themselves in my position and have done their best to understand the complex emotions that I am going through. I cannot adequately express my appreciation for that.

Essentially my exchange exposed each and every insecurity I have ever had, and made me deal with it. Without the backup of friends and the ability to speak, I was a vulnerable person. But as time passed and I began to acquire these essentials which I had longed for, I re-learned how to be secure. I am willing to say that in the relationships which I have built, I have come to love the people I have met. It’s not the same way I love my mother. It’s not the same way I love my father, or my siblings, or my nephew, or my aunts and uncles, my grandparents, or our dog. It’s a different kind of love, but it is love nonetheless. The transition from mute to speaker, from lonely to surrounded by loved ones is something that I endured in the last ten months. And it is something that has brought about some changes in me.

I have no way of knowing who is out there reading this blog, but to all of those who have sat behind their computer screens and contemplated the words I have written, I give thanks. The idea that someone else takes time out of his or her day to read about what is going on in my life is humbling. Thank you for your patience and loyalty. I realize that to anyone who had any expectations, this final entry may have been a letdown. But nonetheless, I appreciate that it was read. I will see many of you this weekend, and I imagine I will see almost all of you by North American summer’s end.

The Northeast

It has been over two months since I last published anything, and it’s crazy to think that in under four months I will be returning to The States. So I reckon it’s about time to write something. I recently spent 30 days in a bus, traveling throughout the Northeast of Brazil with 43 other exchange students. It was awesome. We started in São Paulo, went north all the way up to Brasilia, and then made our way down the east coast of Brazil, until we reached São Paulo again. Essentially we would stay in one location for three days, then spend a day traveling. I now have around 1,700 pictures of the trip on my computer. They will be on the internet soon. We exchange students went to some of the best beaches in Brazil, visited small towns with lots of culture, saw famous landmarks like the Christ the Redeemer Statue, and got to know one another very well.

I’m fairly certain that my pictures will do a better job describing the trip than my words, but I will write anyway. I regret not keeping a journal of the trip because I know that I will leave out some things worth talking about. But nonetheless, here is what sticks out to me, in no particular order. In Rio de Janeiro, our final city, we ascended to the top of a mountain and saw the Christ the Redeemer Statue. The view was incredible. That same day, we went on top of a different mountain island by means of an air pulley system and had another amazing view. On the island, we found a tribe of small primates. I don’t know what they’re actually called, so we just referred to them as monkeys. There was a sign that said not to feed the monkeys, so of course we spent the better part of a half hour feeding the monkeys crackers from continental breakfast. They were adorable, and they would come up on our laps if we gave them food. It is incredible how something only 8 inches tall can resemble a human with its eating mannerisms.

In our first city, Lençois, we hiked a few kilometers through the woods and went to a river and swam there for a few hours. There was a natural waterslide, a natural jumping-into-the-river point, as well as rocks in the river that encouraged jumping to and fro. I suppose we could have pretended the water was lava, but we didn’t. Nevertheless, it was still a good time.

One day we took a boat to a near island in the ocean. It was a very pleasant trip. At the island, we took pictures and swam in the water. After I had applied my second layer of sunscreen, the trip chaperones looked at me and told me that I looked like I was already red, and told me that I must put a shirt on, lest I burn up and get a fever that night. So I reluctantly obeyed, and got teased by the people who had more melatonin in their skin than me (a.k.a. everyone). The important things, however, are that I did not get sunburned and that my shirt didn’t get ruined in the salt water.

While in Porto Seguro, we went to a beach festival event. Another excellent beach sat in front of a stage of dance instructors and a floor for everyone to dance on. We danced Brazilian funk style, and got sprayed with water. Three people in our group won t shirts. One American boy named Taylor caught one that was thrown in the crowd. A German girl named Johanna was given a shirt by the instructor. And Jack, an American, won the shirt by smooching the (male) instructor on the lips. Worth it. Another funny thing happened. At the end of the show, everyone went up on the stage, and Johanna got party-boyed by about four middle-aged, intoxicated Brazilian men - the same way high school boys just choose someone at random and dance around them. A few exchange students saw what was going on, so we joined in as well. Good stuff.

The best part of the trip, though, was meeting 42 new exchange students (I already knew Casper), and spending nearly every minute of thirty days together. I made some great friends. It was funny to notice how people remind me of friends from home, and to hear them say some of the same things about me that my friends at home used to say. Towards the end of high school, I was referred to by some as “Old Man Johnson.” On the trip, there were a few occasions when an American or two told me that I had old man-ish qualities. And because English was spoken by nearly everyone on the trip, it was nice to hear and be able to use slang again. Some things are just hilarious because they haven’t been heard in five months. Another thing that reminded me of home was being able to sing at the top of my lungs. I noticed that in my first five months in Brazil, I only sang out loud when I was home alone. But on the trip were Danish and American boys who played the guitar and sang, so it was nice to have some musical company. By the end of the trip, I felt like I had known some of these kids for a very long time. Saying goodbye was not a fun thing to do.

The 2011 school year has started, so I’m back to class. Going to school reminds me of my first month in Brazil. It’s kind of like being the new kid on the block again, except this time around I can speak and understand the language. In addition, I am now an “oldie.” Alejandra, a Mexican who arrived in February 2010, left Londrina last Saturday. She was the last former “oldie” to leave. Now, we just received a batch of Australians. I’m looking forward to making the most of the next four months. I’ll see you all in no time. Time is flying. Thanks for reading.

Saudade

Tonight I had the opportunity to go out with friends, but I decided to stay in instead. Why would I do such a thing? The one word answer can be found in the title of this entry. If that doesn't convince you, read on. I think there exists no word more fit to describe the current disposition of my mind.

The first reason has to do with health. Overcoming today’s sore throat and the day before yesterday’s fever were both unpleasantly familiar tasks. When I realized that I had a fever, I debated whether or not I should tell my Brazilian family that I was under the weather. Not because they wouldn’t have done anything to help me, but because the thought, “This sure is better when Mom is here,” was in my head. I ended up keeping to myself. And even now that I’m almost 100 percent, I notice a differences in my own behavior. Normally at this stage of any healing process, I would be convinced that I’m recovered enough to carry on with life and go out. But such experiences--missing two football games from pneumonia and leaving senior prom early from strep throat--give me an excuse to stay at home and indulge in feelings of homesickness.

The second reason has to do with American sports. The New Ulm Cathedral Greyhounds just won the school’s first state tournament. I watched it online (with two Rysdahls and one Fischer), but I can’t ignore the fact that I wish I could have been at the dome to watch my boys live and celebrate with my friends. The selfish part of me dares to ask, “Why couldn’t you have waited to win state until I came back?” to which the unselfish part of me replies, “Shut up.”

The third reason has a little to do with science. According to surveys done (I think) by psychologists who work with Rotary, normally at four months exchange students feel the most homesick. I don’t exactly understand why four months is the magic number, but there’s nothing about the proposition that makes me want to disprove it. Even if the graph were a work of fiction and I were only under the illusion of homesickness simply because I know how long I’ve been here, I have a hard time dismissing the feelings that I’m experiencing as unworthy of my own time.

The word to describe it all can be partially defined as follows:

“Portuguese and Galician word difficult to translate, which describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for something or someone that one was fond of and which is lost… In the latter half of the twentieth century, it became associated with the feeling of longing for one’s homeland.”

For those of you who enjoy reading Wikipedia articles about etymologies and such, I strongly recommend this one.

In Brazil, the official holiday is not officially celebrated until January 30th. But with Thanksgiving having just passed and Christmas creeping over the horizon, Saudade Season may as well have begun.

Please don’t get the impression that I’m looking for pity. Saudade is not synonymous with sadness. The truth is, I feel grateful right now. To be numb to this feeling would be unfortunate--in a similar way that it would be unfortunate to not feel sad after the passing of a family member or close friend. The reason I miss home is that I know home is worth missing. And if I can't be home, I might as well be in the place I call my house--at least for tonight.

Congratulations to all Greyhounds; once again, I couldn’t be prouder. Thanks for reading.

Traffic

In Londrina, people drive fast but not because they’re in a hurry. Cars don’t follow the traffic laws, yet they all still seem to be on the same page with one another. Public transportation makes it easy and affordable to get wherever you need to be, but sometimes it takes more than an hour to travel about five miles. Motorcyclists are crazy, but nearly all of them wear helmets. Stop signs are treated as suggestions -- sometimes interpreted by drivers as “do not change speed,” other times interpreted as “speed up” -- while speed bumps offer convincing reasons to decrease velocity. Taxis are expensive, but it’s better to pay someone than to be robbed. Drivers consciously avoid potholes and other cars, but pedestrians have to be careful. I can’t think of a great word to describe this traffic, so I’ll just mention ‘hectic” and let the reader decide for him or herself.

I don’t know if there are more or less serious traffic accidents in Brazil than in the States, but in my first weeks I would enter cars with the feeling that crashing was a serious possibility. Since then, I’ve become more comfortable with the fact that the lane lines on the road seem to be ignored, and that some drivers change lanes without looking or signaling. I think that they think that any potential collision mate is and ought to be on the lookout for such occasions. A few days ago a technologically distracted driver in front and to the right of us made a blind lane change, almost crashing into us. My host father hit the breaks and sighed, nonchalantly saying, “Falando por celular.” I would bed his heart rate went up at least a little (mine did), but on the outside he remained completely relaxed, almost uninterested. Close calls happen all the time, although it seems people never honk their horns.

“Driving” is included in the four big no-nos of Rotary Youth Exchange. I don’t intend to break that rule, but if I did I would first have to learn how to operate a stick shift because that’s what most people in Londrina own. In the beginning of my exchange I felt like a nuisance asking for rides, and at times I had to summon up courage in order to do so. It wasn’t because my host parents gave discouraging looks when I asked for rides, but rather, because they never said no. I never knew if it bothered them or not. I’d had a car to drive since I was sixteen, so the feeling of needing to be chauffeured around all the time was uncomfortable. That was part of the reason I didn’t join the weight room at the sports club; getting to and from AREL every day seemed like an onerous task. I don’t remember exactly when -- I think after being in Londrina for over a month -- I asked my host dad if there was a bus schedule that I could look at or if he could just show me how to use the bus. He said yes, but he never said when this was to happen.

After more than a month of not-happening, my desire to leave the house overcame my desire to not be a nuisance, so I joined the gym and started asking for rides to the sports club almost every day of the week. I don’t think going to the club was ever a problem, because my parents leave the house in the afternoon anyway. It was coming back that required a special trip. A few days of playing the taxi who works for free caused my host dad to tell me it was time to learn how to use the bus. (I like to think of it as my personal transformation from a stop sign to a speed bump.) My host parents were nice enough to buy me a bus card, but now I have to take the much slower bus home from the sports club. By car, the trip is about 15 minutes. By bus, it’s more than an hour. And I was just getting used to my new lack of independence.

One time I saw a lady fall off her motorcycle. My favorite primary source told me that there is about one motorcycle accident each day in Londrina. When I asked why, he said because the cyclists don’t know how to ride. Well then how did they get their motorcycles in the first place? The response: there is a deal where a person can buy, not lease, a motorcycle for about 100 reais per month for 20 months, the equivalent of about 1,200 dollars, and the sellers will sell to anybody. The deal is appealing because most people with a job can afford it, and it’s faster and more convenient than taking the bus. It’s unappealing because it’s dangerous. The motorcyclists that I’ve seen really are reckless, and lots of them are ill-trained and unlicensed. The driving age is eighteen for motorcycles and cars, but there is a sixteen year-old boy in my class who told me that he drives a motorcycle. My host dad told me that because of there are not enough police in Londrina, it’s difficult to catch people riding illegally -- in two senses of the word: weaving through traffic at high speeds and operating without documentation.

It's easy to argue that one shouldn't drive recklessly, but here's some evidence. On the 22nd of October, I spoke with a distressed Brazilian woman who experienced some culture shock after returning to Brazil from America and seeing a bloody, dead man on the streets of Londrina. He had been struck by a car.

I have a love-hate relationship with taxis. Here are the positives about calling a taxi: I get a discount because I’m an exchange student, and I’m fairly certain that, to begin with, taxis here are less expensive than in America; I don’t have to bother my host parents up at 4:00 am; and its safer than walking alone in the dark. I have an Australian friend who has been mugged three times here. Here is the negative: even though I get a discount, it’s still counterintuitive for me to dish out that kind of cash. After all, I am currently unemployed. Normally, I’ve had to pay between 10 and 20 reais, 7 to 14 dollars, per trip. I don’t recall ever having my teeth pulled as a child, but I would imagine that it’s like paying for a taxi.

Big city Brazilian transportation is indeed different from what I’m used to. I have my likes and dislikes. I’m still adjusting to some things, but overall the process has not been stressful.

I still intend to finish what I started with this “Differences Series,” but of course I won’t be able to do it in a trilogy like I said earlier. Right now I'm just gonna see where the flow takes me. Thanks for reading, and stay tuned.

Part Deux: School Activities

4. Starting in fifth grade, and extending until my graduation, I had the opportunity to be involved in a number of extracurriculars: band, choir, theatre, football, basketball, baseball, golf, speech team, and knowledge bowl. My school day would go from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., would almost always include a period of music, and would be followed by an athletic practice of some sort; after practice I would eat supper at home and if I were in a musical, I would go to rehearsal. Friday nights almost always included a football or basketball game. My days were filled by a plethora of activities, and they all in some way were related to my school. Although my American schedule wasn’t necessarily typical, I know for certain that I would have had a much different experience had I been raised in Brazil. My exchange has given me a better appreciation for the school activities in which I used to participate.

As I’ve previously mentioned, the school day is short. So when class ends at 12:30 p.m., students have until 7:15 a.m. the next day to figure out what to do with their time. Some lift weights at athletic clubs. I have friends who take lessons in mixed martial arts, and tennis. And of course, everybody plays soccer, but I’ll get to that later. When it comes to music, the most popular choice is guitar. Other than (one) harmonica, drums, and bass; guitar is the only instrument played by people that I’ve met. I’ve heard some talented singers in the break time mini-shows, but I have yet to meet someone who has ever been in a choir.

The closest thing to organized school sports is the boys indoor intramural soccer championship, of which I am a participant. Two male teachers supervise the games: one is a referee and the other keeps the book. Teams are permanent, and were chosen by the players; a team usually consists of a group of six to eight friends. Each team plays one night per week. Most games are go on without spectators, save the on-deck teams and the occasional parent.

One evening, while watching a game, I asked one of my friends if any schools sponsor traveling soccer teams. I imagined that some of the best intramural teams at my school could come to America and compete for a high school state title. After an answer and some follow-up questions, I learned that Brazilian schools don't have the money to finance such things, and I also came to understand just how much of a commitment it takes to play ‘competitive’ soccer in Brazil.

Soccer balls enter the lives of Brazilian children at very young ages, but it’s at around age seven when boys start playing on hard courts at clubs. After a few years the good players start to separate themselves. Around the ages of ten or eleven, the decision has to be made. What will be your focus: soccer or school? Most choose school. But the ones willing to take the chance choose soccer, and they begin to play on grass fields. I would imagine that it’s a decision made by parents who are advised by people who know how the system works. I’ve heard from a number of sources that most professional soccer players came from poor families, and that soccer was their way to escape their unfortunate beginnings. It is this kind of commitment that explains the fact that Brazil has won the World Cup five times.

To my understanding, there is at least one boy in the league who is going to college in the U.S. next year on a soccer scholarship. The fact that he’s ‘only’ going to an American college and not pursuing competitive soccer in Brazil tells us that he’s really good, but he’s not good enough to go pro. However, the fact that he goes to a private school means that he is a lucky one. He didn’t have to sacrifice his education to pursue the game he loves, and an American education will look good on his resume later in life.

It's interesting to think about how many great soccer players there might be -- in Brazil and in other countries -- who have never had the opportunity to play in front of other people.

There is an obvious desire to be active, musically and athletically. I think clubs and private lessons do a good job in satisfying that craving, however, whenever I talk to my Brazilian friends about American high school, the first things that come to mind are the activities. A few nights ago I was working on a PowerPoint presentation about life in America that I will deliver in English class, and I noticed that most of the best memories I have about high school all involve football, basketball, band, and theater.

I am definitely a promoter of youth exchange, and I want people to come to America. I imagine that the people here who play guitar would also be singers and would play other instruments, if they had attended an American high school. I was excited to hear that my friend Barbara, who recently left for an exchange to Oregon is taking a drama class at her school.

I think that the competitive athletes would all find their places on the school teams. I was also happy to hear that a friend of mine who went to Texas for an exchange a few weeks after I arrived, is on his school’s football team. Although he did mixed martial arts in Brazil, when I talked to him in class about playing American football, he seemed a little hesitant to go out for his future school’s team. I like to think that his school has a welcoming and encouraging coach (similar to the one I had) who convinced him to give American football a try.

I also know that Barbara brought her tennis rackets to Oregon, and I would be surprised if she isn’t one of the best players on her school’s team.

Although slightly ashamed, I now feel comfortable admitting that when I was asked what I would say to convince a potential exchange student to come to America, I thought I was just giving the logical ‘good interview answer’ by talking about the sports teams and school activities. But now that I’m away from it all, I can see that those things meant much more to me than I had ever realized.

Thanks for reading.

What's the Difference Between Me and You?

I apologize for the abrupt Font change, from the slightly curvy, yet still practical Georgia style, to the thin, straight, banal Times New Roman script. Before publishing my last post, I gave Times a try, just to see what it would look like. Once I decided that I didn’t like the change, this obstinate blog website would not allow me to return to Georgia, as if to calmly say “once you go Times, you never go back.” But I went back. And now that I’m in Georgia, I’ll tell you about the differences between Brazil and the United States. (Now that’s an ambiguous sentence.)

I’ll admit, when I arrived, I expected to see monkeys in the street. Nah, kidding. But in all seriousness, when I got here I felt like I missed out on my share of culture shock, if that makes any sense. Because I was well informed of Brazilian lifestyle, thanks to former exchange students from Brazil, and the Rotary program, things weren’t as foreign to me as I would have expected. I wasn’t ever knocked off of my feet in the way some ex-exchange students had described their arrivals to different countries. But I’ve made an effort to notice specific differences between things at home and things in the southern part of Brazil, and I’ve divided them into seven categories : Catholic influence, poverty, extra curricular activities, transportation, scenery, things that relate to mealtime, and climate. I’ll even throw some Justin Bieber in there, too. Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to make you listen to his music, I’m only going to talk about him.

1. I had never seen a crucifix in a bank until I came to Brazil. The fact that about 75 percent of Brazilians consider themselves to be Roman Catholic, not just Christian, explains why when I made a transaction at Citi Bank, I saw a crucifix as opposed to just a cross.

Most people have probably seen a picture of the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro. Well it doesn’t only exist in Rio. There are mini replicas of it all over the place. My host parents and I took a road trip to visit relatives in a city called Dourados, seven hours northwest of Londrina, and it seemed like every town on the way sported a smaller version of the statue. Jesus is well-liked here.

In my Catholic school education, I learned that it was a mortal sin in violation of the fifth commandment to drink to the point of intoxication. I think Brazil prefers a loose interpretation of the Ten Commandments because even though everybody’s Catholic, they’re not afraid to inebriate.

2. I have heard Brazil being referred to as a “third world country” a few times since I’ve been here. This weekend, I got a small taste of what the phrase actually means. We passed through many small towns on the way to Dourados, and it was not uncommon to see adults and children sitting on curbs in dirty clothes, barefoot, wearing tired and gloomy expressions. Moreover, on the way home, I noticed a group of about forty one-room homes made with tarp roofs and walls. I’ve been told that the south of Brazil is an area that is less poverty-stricken compared to other places. In Rio de Janeiro, there is a tarp community of over 100,000 people.

The political leaders in Brazil are not helping the poverty situation. It’s election season, and my host dad is not a fan of the current president. During my first month, he told me about the political corruption in Brazil. At first I imagined that his statistics were greatly exaggerated when he said that half of the country‘s tax money goes into President Lula‘s pocket. But while we were in Dourados, his claim became more realistic. We watched a segment on the national news about the scandal that unfolded right in our relatives’ hometown. Twenty eight of Dourados’ municipal officials including the mayor, the vice-mayor, and the mayor’s wife were all convicted of embezzlement.

In the U.S., increased taxes are frustrating a lot of people. But I imagine that it would be even more frustrating to know that greedy politicians are literally “taking the money out of your pocket,” not spending it on roads or public schools that desperately need improvement. More frustrating than that, I think, would be to not any have money in the first place; to know that the people who were elected, probably having made claims to get the country out of poverty, are more interested in getting rich themselves than helping the poor. I imagine that embezzling politicians are not easing the discomfort one feels while sleeping under a tarp.

3. Justin Bieber is the cutest thing since sliced bread. Well, that’s what they tell me anyways. I don‘t actually know what he looks like. The only reason I can attach a name to the annoying falsetto singing “Baby Baby” (is it a falsetto or is he just twelve?) is because of the fact that Brazilian girls drool over him. I spent the better part of Monday thinking about the young star, and how the female brain works; fascinating, the latter. Someone should write a book about it.

I got to thinking about JB because of what happened Last Friday night, while I was out on the town with some exchange students. It was about 1 a.m. when we decided to go to a Karaoke bar. As we arrived, two girls outside of the bar saw, and reacted to, my friend Lars, a tall, slender, sixteen year-old German boy with nice hair.

“O JOO SHTEEN BEE BER!” screamed the more excited, and more intoxicated, of the two. (The article ‘o’ is a form of the word ‘the.’ In regular speech, the masculine ‘o’ and feminine ‘a’ are placed before names, corresponding with gender.)

It was his hair that sealed the deal. That long, soft, thin, tantalizing, light brown hair. How’s a girl supposed to resist?

We chatted outside the bar for a few minutes, and eventually went in and sat at table with the girls and their friends. The rest of the night, because of the language barrier, notes were passed back and forth between the boy wonder and the intriguing stranger. Yes, notes. Like in middle school. Get over it. English is Lars’ second language, and he speaks very little Portuguese, so we were glad to assist him with the note composition. Of course, we had to include our own creativity and interpretation to the messages.

The final outcome of Lars’ encounter remains to be seen. Phone numbers were exchanged, although Lars doesn’t have a cell phone (poor thing). You can use your imagination to decide how things played out because, if and when they ‘play out,’ I’m not going to post the results on this blog, as that would be uncouth. Perhaps I’ve already been uncouth.

This section is about Justin Bieber and a Karaoke bar, so it’s about time I talk about some music. That night, I was happy to have found “Strangers in the Night” by Frank Sinatra in the song book. Unfortunately, the girls were outside smoking while I sang, so the only props I got were from a friendly old man.

I now know why Justin Bieber trades musical integrity for a catchy, ring-tone-esque sound. He would rather appeal to young girls than to old men. That’s fair, I guess.

For now, the female brain remains un-figured-out.

Speaking of female brains: this just in! Literally 18 minutes ago, my mother told me via Facebook that my blog ‘needs dusting off.’ Because I never disobey my mother, I will take her hint and publish this blog entry in the form of a Trilogy. You just read part one.

Thanks for your time. Stay tuned.

Recent Happenings

One, two, go!

1. Last weekend I went to my first Rotary Inbound Orientation. I met 31 other exchange students from the following countries: Denmark, Germany, Japan, Thailand, Taiwan, the U.S., Mexico, Colombia, and Argentina. We spent Friday afternoon through Sunday morning in an exquisitely scenic farm/hotel. I felt like I was at summer camp. (I've never actually been to summer camp, but I imagine it to be just like my Rotary Orientation.) We swam, went horseback riding, played soccer, learned some funky dance moves, ate food, and spent a lot of down time getting to know each other. The fact that we all share similar circumstances makes us exchange students become fast friends. I dig that.

2. I had my first real tennis lesson on Wednesday, but I'm not going to tell you about that. I'm going to tell you about the event preceding it. Long story short, my neighbor's mother offered to pay for my membership to the club in exchange for English lessons. My heart skipped a beat when I heard the offer! Of course I accepted her proposal, but I felt kind of guilty taking money from a generous woman, in exchange for work that I knew I would enjoy. But after thinking about it for awhile, I discovered a new perspective. After recalling a day in the first week of my exchange when she told me how badly she wanted to learn English, I began to realize how lucky I was to have been born in an English-speaking country, and that I might as well share my good fortune with anyone who shows interest. The biggest reason why I know that I'm going to enjoy this experience, is that she is truly eager to learn.

Everybody in Brazil wants to learn English. I don't know exactly why, but I have some theories. My host dad told me that whenever an American businessperson comes to Brazil, the negotiations are done in English, not Portuguese. The ability to speak English gives people a leg up in workplace. Even our Rotary Orientation which featured students from nine different countries was conducted in English. However, I also think there is something about the language that just captures people's interest. Barbara's mom doesn't need English for any vocation, she simply wants to learn for her own enjoyment -- which, in my opinion, is an excellent reason.

I like our agreement because it’s mutually altruistic. ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.’ It’s a perfect system. My neighbor isn’t asking me to be forever indebted to her. Although I absolutely consider what she’s doing to be a favor, (tennis lessons are not cheap), I still maintain the fact that she presented to me the opportunity to ‘earn my keep.’ Everybody likes to feel useful, and I’m no different.

Before I came to Brazil, I entertained the notion that later in my life I might want to teach English as a second language, to young children in unfortunate areas. I have friends and family who have taught in other countries, and it seems like the kind of job that would both open doors for other people and give me a lot of personal satisfaction. Teaching my neighbor will give me incredibly useful 'hands on' experience. If my first pupil ends up succeeding with the language, I will have the confidence to pursue this kind of endeavor in the future.

It was a good week.

If anyone knows anything about teaching English as a second language, please email me at frankiej84@hotmail.com. I have ideas about which direction I will take, but I am very, very open to suggestions. Thank you very much for reading.