baile funk

My first few weeks in Rio, people talked about going to these things called a "baile funk" that take place in various favelas. I'd vaguely remembered a scene in Cidade de Deus (City of God) that took place at some giant party with walls lined with speakers. I also remembered that one of the characters got shot at one. So, naturally, with my pidgin Portuguese skills and still rocking my American pale-ness, I was like...maybe next time. For a number of weeks.

Upon returning from my mini-vacation to Buenos Aires (who takes a vacation from a vacation?), now I forget how, but I was totally peer pressured into attending one of these baile funks. And now I'm hooked. It's hard to paint a picture but I'll try. First of all, let me just complain say that Brazilians do not dance with each other. Now after the enlightening "girly pizza party," I understand that it's because dancing = I will have sex with you, so it's a little more understandable. But it's frustrating! Because we gringas look like prostitutes when we dance compared to Brazilians. So you can imagine my joy when I found the one place where I looked downright prim and proper compared to how the women at the baile's were acting/dancing.

They're held in one of the larger favelas of Rio, Rocinha, every Sunday night. Lucky for me, my school is a joke and I only have class Tuesday/Thursday, which leaves Monday wide open for recovery. The bailes are held in a parking garage (I think?) that is emptied out and they play bumpin music. Off on the side there's a bar selling ridiculously cheap beer/caipirinhas (and when I say "ridiculously cheap," I really mean fairly priced. As opposed to everything else in Rio) and then a huge mob of sweaty people dancing to funk. This is not the kind of funk you're thinking of.
Here's my favorite "funk" song

Then, around 3 or so, is when you head to the after party. Well, technically first on our agenda is always stopping for chicken nuggets. At 4 for 1 real (about 67 cents), they're pretty epic at 3 in the morning when you need to refuel. The after party is outdoors, and is just a continuation of some funkyyy music. There's a wall of speakers and (don't read any further momma!) usually a fleet of guards walking around with AKs..."protecting" us. We're usually home by around 6, and I inevitably wake up around noon and look in horror at my mud-splattered feet and legs. And then promptly head down the street for a fresh agua de coco (coconut water, nature's hangover cure. Seriously, try it).

Sometimes, life doesn't feel real here.

"You have the right to say no. But up to a determined point only."

A few weeks ago, all of the "intercambistas" studying at PUC received an email stating that there would be a mandatory "girly pizza party" for all of us...girlies.

At first I was like, mandatory meeting? Pass. And then I realized that I've never been one to turn down free pizza, so we all missed class to see what this was all about.
Turns out, essentially the entire premise of the pizza "party" was to let us know that in Brazil, no does not mean no. In fact, apparently by: kissing boys, dancing with boys, dancing with girls and talking to boys, you are informing them that you'd like to have sex with them. Seriously.

The kicker was finding out that once you're in bed with someone, if they want to have sex with you...they're having sex with you. In the US we're like...hey that's rape. But here they're like...hey you seemed down. That being said, violent crimes are apparently treated very seriously, and our coordinator assured us that any man put in jail who is convicted of rape is pretty much a goner. Immediately.

After the meeting, we wolfed down ate our free pizza, and discussed the fact that we would never again dance with Brazilians. Or each other, apparently.
It's times like that when you're like...being American is pretty great.

carnaval

Brazilians partying are interesting. For two and a half months, I'd never seen one wasted, never seen a girl sloppily dancing at a club (like we Americans are so thoroughly inclined to do), and never seen some dude hanging on his friends to keep from face planting on the ground.
Until carnaval.

First of all let me give a little breakdown on what carnaval consists of in Rio de Janeiro (things vary city by city). For the month or so prior to carnaval, the city holds what are called "blocos." These blocos are essentially massive street parties (Brazilians love their street parties), where huge bus/floats drive through a designated area playing samba songs. Samba songs that every single person has dedicated to memory. Except us foreigners, of course. Seeing as how Brazil understands the merits of no open container laws, there are hoards of guys hawking cheap, watery beer (although they make sure it's "bem gelada" - real, real cold) and smirnoff ices (now an unironic favorite of mine). During the actual days of carnaval, at any given time - starting at seven in the morning- there are a myriad of blocos going on throughout the city for you to choose from.

My personal favorites included:
One morning, me and my roommate (I say roommate, but really we're bedmates. Sup Mitzi!) randomly both woke up at 6:30 after having gone to bed maybe two hours prior. We decided to get our day started and headed to a bloco we had heard about that morning that started at seven. Turns out it's one of the largest of carnaval, with over a million attendees reported. It was amazing, but we learned quickly that unless you're interested in being kiss raped and having your hair pulled by strangers, it's generally a better idea to have a few guys with you at any point during carnaval.
Another favorite bloco was one that took place about...2 blocks from my house. It's famous for it's trannys and outrageous costumes - check out the pics.

Not kidding about the Smirnoffs. L to R: me (obvio), Lindsey (roommate), Jenna and Karen (best friends from Pi Phi, studying abroad in Argentina. Lucky enough to have them visit me for carnaval)

Brazilians were also REALLY into these janky free fedoras from beer companies. And afro wigs.

Slightly alarming tranny.

general debauchery

This picture doesn't do it justice, but a few days after carnaval I realized that those are not balloons, as you might imagine, but rather bottle caps.

Seriously, go to carnaval.

Also not kidding about the men in drag.

Some things I learned from carnaval in Rio:
- Smirnoff Ice is delicious. Yeah it will absolutely lead to my inevitable abroad weight gain (I've given up all hope of being that one girl who doesn't come back significantly chunkier than when she left), but they're also delicious. And let's be honest - get you drunk a lot quicker than watery beer.
- Don't make eye contact with men. During carnaval that is an open invitation to be kiss raped. Which does not get any less shocking as the days wear on.
- For that matter - don't make eye contact with women. Being kiss raped by a woman is even more startling.
- Brazilian men are really down to dress like women. Like...really down.
- There is nothing quite as repulsive as honey flavored cachaca-in-a-rope.
- If you wear havaianas for a week straight and party perpetually on the streets...your feet will never be the same (I'm still laboring away at scrubbing the black off of my toes. Overshare?)
- It's unlike anything you will ever experience in your life. Seriously, if you ever have the chance to make it to Brazil for carnaval, you will have an outrageously good time. Promise.

Adventures in Brazilian Bureaucracy

One of the first pieces of information we were given through EAP (our abroad program) was a warning about Brazilian bureaucracy. This warning came in the form of a 15 page long packet with instructions detailing how to apply for a visa. Including a step-by-step guideline of how to fill out the form online exactly, warning us that we would face dire consequences if our parents names were not written exactly as how they are on their birth certificates.

After two nervous breakdowns and three trips to San Francisco over the course of a week to get my visa, I foolishly figured the worst was over.

When I was given my visa, the woman at the consulate warned me to guard the two papers she had stapled to my passport with my life. It turns out, there was another step in the process of making sure I was staying legally in Brazil, only this part could only be completed while in Brazil.

During our first orientation we were told that we'd be sent in shifts to register with the Federal Police. We were told to expect an all day affair, leaving campus at SIX AM, and they could make no guarantees as to when we'd be back. My first thought was, wow, the Federal Police must be out in the boons and take a while to get there. Of course not. It's at the airport (?), a mere twenty minutes away. All day to register with the police? Welcome to Brazil.

After enduring the 6 am shuttle ride (I don't think I've been on a bus here that has any shocks to speak of, I've been known to catch some air if the driver is feeling particularly aggressive while making turns or speeding over potholes) and spending a solid five hours waiting for my turn to get my papers stamped, I figured it was over. Great!

So now I'm registered with the police, because, naturally foreign exchange students are the ones that Rio should be worrying about.

Only that's not all - we're now expected to go to a bank, fill out some paper work, and then go to the one store in Rio that can give us our "CPF" (and I don't even know why we want or need a CPF, except that apparently without it we can't get the equivalent of a Safeway card at the local grocery stores. Ok...)

Brazilian bureaucracy exists in almost all forms of daily life in Rio. If you go down to the local suco (juice) stands, there are approximately 45 barriers between you and your delicious suco de abacaxi. First you pay at this strange register located in a remote corner of the store, then you're given a receipt, then you hand that receipt to someone who hands that receipt to someone, who maybe brings you your suco. If you're lucky.

It's not to say that I don't totally love it here, and appreciate Brazil for it's little oddities, but sometimes I just want to talk to one person instead of explaining to four in pidgin Portuguese that I'd like my drink "sem açucar."

and why haven't you bought your ticket to come visit me?

Sunset in Ipanema. It's a hard life.

things brazil gets right

- If you're at the beach at sunset, everyone spontaneously applauds when the sun sets. At first I was like "oh is there a fight? someone performing?" but nope, just the sun setting. And really, if you live in a place where you can comfortably be on the beach until sunset, why wouldn't you applaud to that?

- One of the biggest perks about Brazil, that I've noticed, is the myriad of food that is at your disposal when you're out at night. Last night after a few caipirinhas, I decided that I needed a hot dog. Or as they call them here, cachorro quentes. The woman kept asking me what toppings I wanted and the only things I said no to were onions (pass) and mayonnaise (double pass). What did I end up with, you might ask? Ketchup, mustard, corn, peas, potato crisps, some sort of flavored dust (really I have no idea what that was) and an egg (that looked questionably like an eyeball). Needless to say, it was the best hot dog of my life.

- If you know me at all, you know that I love straws. Love them. EVERY drink here is served with a straw, and if they're not, almost all restaurants have big dishes that provide them. The downside of utensils/supplies/whatever you might call them, is that "napkins" are essentially tiny sheets of wax paper. Picture an oil blotting paper. Now picture trying to wipe your hands with that.

- Moral of the story: I need to start bringing out my camera so that these can be accompanied by pictures.

tid bits

Since I last posted, school has started. Well, not "school" per say, but rather our "intensive language program." Essentially this consists of being in school for 5 hours straight practicing our Portuguese. Intensively. Classes start at 8:30, which means that I have to be out the door at around 7:30 (which translates to me actually leaving around 7:45). The buses are less of a mystery than before...I still regularly make an ass out of myself when I bumble around for loose change (why is it that as soon as you're in a foreign country, scouring for change automatically becomes the most frazzling experience of your life?).

Here are a few tid bits from the last few days:

-Although I may feel like I know my way around Copa already (see, I've even taken to calling it Copa, which totally amuses all my taxi drivers) it turns out that this false sense of direction lead me squarely into the outskirts of a favela yesterday. Whoops!

-The nightlife is insane. Most things don't start until around midnight, and the last night I went out to a big party I was home at around 6. Even what I thought would be a quiet night watching (real) football turned into a 4am outing. Before this trip I never really understood the term "disco nap," but now they've become an integral part of my day.

-My worries over men's shoes were absolutely unfounded. The men here dress...amazingly. The only leather loafers I've seen are on other tourists, and I like to imagine that the Brazilians are judging along with me.

-Most people think I'm Brazilian...until I open my mouth. Which is cool on the one hand, because who likes to feel like the blatant outsider, but it also makes for some incredibly awkward situations. Yesterday, after my brush with the favela, I was buying some grapes at the grocery store by myself. As I stood there, debating the pros and cons of each bunch, a young man came up to me and started (I assume?) joking with me about something. In a panic, I did the awkward "heh heh" and quickly scurried away. He was confused, I was confused, it was way too uncomfortable for the fruit aisle. Fittingly, today in my class we had a lesson on what to say in those situations where you just have absolutely no idea what is being said. It turns out an emphatic "isso!" or "claro!" would have done the trick. My hope is that by the end of this six months my conversations will cease to consist solely of uncomfortable giggles and "sim, sim!"

-Corcovado is amazing. That's where there is the giant stature of Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) that overlooks almost all of Rio. The contrasts here are remarkable - whether it's the wealthy elite (the girls are called burguisinhas, and the boys playboys) and the favelas or the lush craigy mountains with the high rises on the beach...I think that's definitely what makes Rio unique.

It's hard to believe that I'm actually here - everything still looks like a postcard. That I would assume was photoshopped.