The Inevitable

If you've paid much attention to my postings lately, they're beginning to sound like they belong on the food network, or maybe Bizarre Foods on the Discovery channel. Common sense would then say you could have predicted this post.

First of all, I need to clarify one thing. Upon further discussion with our cook, Tia Rosi, I have been informed that charqui, or at least her charqui was NOT horse meat after all. There you have it! I can still admire my Black Beauty VHS without her screaming, "Hypocrite!"

Second of all, regardless of whether I gnawed on Mister Ed's thigh or not, this whole eating organs thing has led to the inevitable. Last night I was awake until 5am tossing and turning with a wrenching stomach ache. As is natural, I thought, "Hmm... What did I eat?" I stopped the thinking right there. There really wasn't an "Ah hah!" moment at all--more like an "Ah crap..." moment.

It could have been the chicken heart churrasco I ate a couple nights ago. Or maybe the gristly chunks of beef and sausage on a churrasco stick that seemed a tad bit undercooked. Hmm... I did eat some stomach with beans and rice the other day (NOT recommended, although it's a local favorite). Beef liver? Maybe. Then again, it could have been the tripinha do porco (fried pork intestines) we ate at a an outdoor venue a few days ago. You know, it could have been the sausage with chunks of fat in it I fried and put in spaghetti sauce. And if it wasn't any of those, maybe it's because I tend to wash my vegetables in the same tap water that tends to smell like sewage now and then in my bathroom. Yeah, maybe it's one of those.

The scary part is that the stomach feeling and loss of appetite resemble what I came home with from Honduras about 2 years ago. That lasted almost 3 weeks until it finally cleared up a few days into my classes starting again.

Despite the diarrhea... Oh, too much information? I think we're headed to a bar tonight to watch a futebol ("soccer" for us United Statesians). Bars here are definitely different from bars in the US. The word "bar" is used for almost any place that serves beer. And since literally every business, gas station, street vendor, and restaurants sells beer, they seem to be everywhere. The atmosphere is a little different, though. We don't stand or sit at a bar stool like we would in lots of places in the US. Instead, we grab a table and start the conversation. In the US, I feel like the bar experience is a condiment for inebriation, while here the bar experience is the experience and inebriation depends on how long the conversation goes.

Some side notes...

I bought some cookies and a soda at the gas station today. The lady asked if I wanted a bag. After a few times saying "Oi?" (same as "Huh?"), I told her in my toddler-level Portuguese that I would actually like a bag. Then she asked if I wanted a straw... Oh jeez.

I walked to the beach today and just roamed around. I saw a guy fishing and a super-high man drawing a 30ft x 30ft map of the world. It wasn't a good map. His scale was completely off. He needed a cartographer's tool and less marijuana. And the US was labeled (translated to English) "The United States of Nuclear Bombs and Biological Weapons"--roughly. There were also rough sketches of police boats, helicopters, and laptops west of Australia. I tried talking to him and then pretended I knew what he was telling me until I finally walked home.

The exchange rate for the Brazilian Real (Brazil's currency) has gone down substantially. I checked again today and saw it dropped about 5 centavos since I've been here! In only 15 days! The graph below shows the exchange over the last 10 years. When the line is low, it's bad for me. When it's high, it's good for me. As you can see, I'm traveling in the wrong year.

I'll write more very soon. Thanks to all who have been reading!

Horse, Tripe, and Heart

Thursday Laís and I were invited to our friend Divas' house for dinner. His mom had been eager to meet me for quite some time. We arrived around 6:30pm and walked into an entryway filled with maybe 10 birds in an equal amount of cages. Their place was upstairs, and the room opened up to a nice sized flat with three bedrooms and an open setup. His house was busy with his mom, grandma, two sisters, brother in law, father, niece, and us--a total of nine people. Once again, I made an effort with my Portuguese throughout the night but usually found myself lost. 

His mom had made two dishes; one with bread and cream cheese with olives and cilantro, and the other with meat and cream inside of a pumpkin. The pumpkin did not look like what we would consider a pumpkin in the US, and I told them we would most likely call it a squash.

When I talked with Laís yesterday about the meat we ate inside of the pumpkin/squash and in the mashed macaxeira, she threw me an unexpected curveball. I'd noticed both were the same type of meat, a salty and stringy bright red meat. The best way I could describe it would be if bacon bits were reverted back into meat but in a salty stringy form. Hmm... I guess that would be called bacon, huh? Okay, bad analogy. It wasn't bacon.

In fact, the meat is called charqui. Don't follow the link before you read on. Nonchalantly, Laís told me it was horse meat.

"Hey, what's that meat that we ate at Divas' house and in the macaxeira at Rosi's place?" I asked.

"Oh, charqui? It's horse meat." she said.

"Seriously, horse meat?" I was a little disgusted.

"Yeah, well usually horse meat. Sometimes it's beef too, but it's never all beef. There's at least some horse meat." 

If you chose not to follow the link, Wikipedia informed me it's a salty jerky usually made from horse, llama, or beef and common in South America. I'm glad I didn't know what it was when I ate it, or I would have flashed back to our horse, Babe, and Medora trail rides. I would have had dreams of prancing through a rodeo ring and laying in meadows with Seabiscuit while the Budweiser Clydesdale's catered our picnic. Alright, not true. I'm not too worked up about it. But I truly am glad I didn't know at the time.

Last night we went out for some beers with Tuca and Maneco at a bar we'd been to once before. They serve something called torres, or towers, of beer. Follow that link for a photo. Maybe it's more common in the US than I know, but I had never seen them before. They're two- or three-liter cylinders of beer that cost a fortune on a Friday night (R$ 30 each, or $18). Other nights, not so bad (R$ 15, or $8). But don't go on Friday. But again, compared to the US I suppose the price isn't outrageous.

We were getting hungry, so Maneco and Tuca ordered some french fries. Later on, Maneco ordered some delicious sushi, putting him more in the credit card debt he'd showed me earlier in the day. But don't worry folks, he's making the minimum R$ 12 ($7) payments each month. He should be out by the year 2090.

Another dish found its way onto the table. I couldn't quite tell what it was. The pieces were brown and crispy and looked a little like fried dog treats. I asked Maneco what he ordered and he told me, "É tripa ('It's tripe'). From inside." Laís confirmed it. The dish was a pile of fried bite-size chunks of small intestine. Maneco insisted I try some, and I took a piece. It was gritty, crispy and failed to hit me in whatever part of the brain that says, "Hell yeah!" In other words, unimpressed. I took another piece, a little smaller, and it tasted like the pieces of chicken breading left in the fryer at the end of frying. A little better, but not worth buying, in my opinion.

Afterward, we took Maneco and Tuca to a Reggae music festival in the rain, while I stayed high and dry in the car at 2am. When we got a hold of them by phone, we took off and went to a sandwich place for a bite to eat nearing 3am. On a Friday night, nothing seems to close or stop. I definitely feel United Statesian when I seem to fizzle out by 11pm. I think their bodies have adapted to long nights of parties or dancing. 

Even more difficult is the fact that the sun rises at 5am, an hour different from Minnesota, due to our location very near the equator. Such a location also means the sun goes down before 5:30pm. When I left Minnesota in August, the sun would set around 8pm, giving us plenty of daylight into the night.

Anyway, we stopped at a sandwich place and Maneco and Tuca went inside for sandwiches. Feeling a little like we'd spent our lives away at the bar, Laís and I decided to try a churrasco vendor across the street. I'd seen them before but never bought. She asked what he had, and I heard "só coração," or "only heart". Chicken heart.

I remember my dad cooking up the innards of chickens or turkeys separately when I was younger. One time he gave me a piece of the heart and I actually thought it was good. There's something about that pericardial tissue that seals in a salty, rich taste for a burst of flavor. We bought two heart kabobs, each with about 5 hearts, and walked back to the car. Verdict? Delicious.

I have some more photos, but I still need to get them from Maneco's computer. I'll share more as soon as I can.

And to provide evidence I'm beginning to feel the difference in place, last night I dreamt that I gave a woman US money and she gave my change in US currency. And it was a big deal.

Even better, two nights ago I dreamt of flying between my old elementary school and high school gym. No one believed me, until I showed them I could just rise up and take off. Seemed a little ironic considering the title I chose only days before.

Thoughts, Gathering, and Açaí

Today I didn't do much besides set up this blog, so I thought I'd comment on a few things I've experienced in Aracaju.

Driving -- My dad could never live here. If you know my father, he's actually a very good driver. But here good means bad in terms of driving. All the good drivers are actually awful drivers. Make sense? Red lights are oftentimes only suggestions to look both ways before you speed through. Motorcyclists graze your arms if you choose to stop at red lights while they shuffle their way to the front between stopped cars. U-turns are a given. Power steering is uncommon. Manual transmission is 90% or more, and an equal amount aren't sure how to properly use one without jerking and jolting around. I've also been told not to stop at red lights at night because it's dangerous. People could approach your car, and that's a bad thing.

Communication -- People speak so loud! Have you ever heard of what we call "cell yell" in the US? Double that, and you'll have a friendly conversation in Aracaju. I've even had my friends tell me, "You speak so softly."

Politics -- Elections are coming up in October and that means campaigning. The voting process, however, is a little different. Instead of using paper ballots and viewing the names of the candidates you want to choose, you must remember their number. Each person is assigned a number and the voter needs to punch in that number at the ballot place. Such a system has led to some extremely annoying (albeit, creative) campaigns. Television runs political ads non-stop and cars, bikes, and trucks attach walls of speakers to blast jingles in the streets, usually containing the number of the candidate. The people I've talked to are just as curious as to how effective such ads actually are.

Food -- People eat much more often than I typically have before. Breakfast is always eaten as a relatively large meal compared to the typical bowl of cereal or toast in the US. Lunch is the main meal of the day and activities center around how, when, or where people will get lunch. Dinner seems to be a large meal as well. Food is typically less expensive than in the US. Street vendors are very cheap, and the smaller the establishment usually the less expensive the food. Price does not dictate taste, though! I've eaten some very cheap things that have tasted so amazing!

Independence -- I've also been surprised at the young people my age being surprised that I can actually function on my own. People are surprised when I tell them I'll cook, wash clothes by hand, or navigate the city alone. Most of them still live with their parents. It's completely common for people to stay at home through university and oftentimes until they get married. Many of the people I've been surrounded by have maids as well. Maids seem to be a given for any family of middle class status. Both of these facts leave only some room for young people to learn some of these activities. Also, along the lines of independence, albeit completely different, yesterday was Brazil's Independence day. I was absolutely surprised that I heard only one mention of it all day, and that no one seemed to care. Apparently, it's not a major holiday in Aracaju, although businesses are closed.

[Front Row] Tigolinho, Gafo, Aline
[Back Row] Dioclese, Aunt Rosi, Maneco,
Laís, Nate, and Karlinha

Two nights ago, we had a going away party for Gafo at Maneco's house. He flew out today bound for Porto Alegre after staying with Maneco in Aracaju for about 10 days. He was a great guy, and we'll all miss his company. Below is a photo of the crew gathered at Maneco's last night. The food was great as usual. Mashed macaxeira with meat, lasagna, and a chocolate peanut cake that Laís, Karlinha, and I bought at the mall. All washed down with Guaraná and Coca. Everyone here calls it Coca, never Coke or Coca-Cola. 

Last night Laís and I went out for coxinhas because I couldn't stop craving them. We went to a place called Baviera Haus along the beach. It's a chain restaurant that serves some great food. We ordered a coxinha and cachorro quente em pão (literally, hot dog in bread). It was a Bavarian twist on a hot dog that turned out to be really amazing. With two cans of Guaraná, our bill came to R $17 ($9), not bad for two people.

While we ate, we were approached by all sorts of people. My skin tone seriously makes me stick out like a white egg. People tried selling pirated DVDs and begging for spare change. It's happened a good number of times so far when we're out. Some young boys, presumably brothers, came to our table and asked if they could have some Guaraná. Laís poured a little more and gave them half of the can. She looked and felt bad as they walked away and the three of them shared the small amount left in the can. She told me she sees these kids so thin and worries about how they're making along. The boys gave the littlest one, about 2 or 3 years old, a few drinks of the soda as well. We told each other we'd buy them hot dogs at a nearby vendor when we were brought the check. Unfortunately, they had walked out of the area without us being able to catch them first. I guess it wasn't meant to be at the time. Maybe another time.

Gafo, Nate, and Maneco at the farm last weekend

Afterward, we randomly found Laís' sister, Ligia, with her friend, João, at a nearby stand drinking coconut water. We agreed to get açaí at a place nearby. Most of us in the US hear a lot about açaí. It's in every tea and every diet pill advertised, or at least it seems to be. But tonight I started to realize I really have no idea what it meant to "eat açaí" in Brasil. The berries of the açaí palm are cultivated, blended, and frozen into a soft serve sorbet served with small side cups of granola, sweetened condensed milk, and honey--an absolutely delicious dessert or snack. Click HERE for a picture. The cost was similar to an ice cream treat in the US at about R $5 ($3).

Hot Showers!

My Shower Head -- Yeah, I seriously put a
picture of it here.

A day of revelation. I've finally learned how to provide myself a HOT shower--follow me.

The shower head in my apartment is a self-heating unit that uses an electric heater to heat the water immediately before it comes out of the shower head. When I first saw a line covered in black electrical tape running into the same shower head that dumped water on me, I was pretty skeptical. Never have water and electricity gone well together in my books. Even worse, the second shower I took gave me quite the shock. Well, 2 shocks. The first being the cold water that refused to heat, and the second coming from trying to adjust the heat on the shower head. It gave me a nice little zap. The funnier part was when I described what I did to my friends, they acted like I was dumb for touching a shower head while I showered. "Yeah, don't touch it when it's on," they said.

My New Room

Anyway, today when I complained about never having hot water in the shower, Laís told to keep the water pressure low so the water could heat before falling out of the nozzle. Genius, huh? I would have taken cold showers for 3 more months and never have thought of keeping the pressure low. I still find it funny that everything is so obvious to my friends and so new to me. When I showered at my friend's house a few days ago, he told me their water was really cold. He was absolutely right. No hot water. I guess it wakes you up pretty well each morning. I feel so lucky to finally know how to get hot water!

A Trip to the Fazenda & My First "Incident"

This last weekend, I traveled with Laís and three other friends: Maneco, Mauricio (aka Gafo), and Tuca. Maneco's aunt and uncle own a farm in the countryside just off a gravel road from a small town called Areia Branca. The town seemed small and simple in my mind, but later I learned it actually had a population of about 17,000 people.

We met early Saturday morning at Maneco's to another amazing meal: cuscuz (Eng. couscous), ovos (eggs), bife (beef), café (coffee), and leite em pó (powdered milk). Rarely here do people drink liquid milk, and when they do it's only sold in one liter containers. After a very cold shower we sent our bags with Maneco's uncle and took a taxi to the bus station. The driver had no problem packing the five of us into his small car. Almost all vehicles here look exactly the same, with only slight variations. Imagine a Geo Metro and multiply that image by one thousand. Got it? Now that's the streets of Aracaju.

Arriving at the bus station we stepped onto a bus headed somewhere. I guess I just trust my friends knowing where we're headed. The bus was quite comfortable with a nice interior but no air conditioning. I felt completely comfortable the entire ride. The woman in front of me carried a cardboard box with jagged holes poked in the sides and wrapped in kite string, and inside she carried a pit bull puppy. We rode for about 40 minutes, paid R $3 ($1.75), and exited in Areia Branca waiting for our ride to the farm.

The bus ride to Areia Branca was unreal. The countryside is an extraordinary view of rolling hills, distant mountains, plots of natural vegetation, and vast expanses of sugar cane fields. I suppose in a different but similar way the landscape is similar to Iowa. The different part is the hills, mountains, and types of vegetation, and the similar part... Well, very little. But comparing the way the land used to be compared to what it is now must cross comparisons. At one time the landscape would have been all tropical savanna with  palms, bushes, and dense lowground vegetation. Now the entire landscape has been transformed by man to fulfill the needs of expanding food and industrial needs of a growing Brazilian population. The sugar cane fields dominate all else and stand more than 12 feet. A beautiful site with little thought. Add thought, and it's somewhat saddening, but necessary?

Maneco's uncle picked us up from a random corner in Areia Branca, and we took a short drive to the farm. On the way, his uncle stopped his truck in the middle of the road, walked into a small open air bar, arm wrestled the bartender, raised his arms in victory, and took a shot of cachaça (popular Brazilian drink made from distilled fresh sugar cane juice). He got back in the truck and we took off. We made it to the farm and it was even better than I'd expected. It seemed to never end, giving true meaning to the word fazenda. There was a small building for horses, living quarters for the farmhands, and a relatively modest house for the farm owners. The yard was filled with mango trees probably 100 years old, bananas a little downhill, papayas and fruits I had never heard of--all  atop a hill overlooking a large lake where they have sectioned off an area to farm tilapia.

We spent the entire weekend eating amazing food and socializing with some of the most gracious people. I ate churrasco (Brazilian barbequed meat), pirão (Brazilian gravy eaten with rice), macaxeira (cassava, the root is much like eating potatoes), cuscuz, and so much more. Saturday we went to some 15-20 foot waterfalls on a crazy truck ride where we piled seven people in the truck box. The waterfalls were cold, but a truly beautiful experience. 

Saturday night turned into a typical farm night of beer, cachaça, and jokes on the veranda.

Sunday morning I woke up at 7am and accompanied some folks (farm owner, his wife, daughter, and son-in-law), none of whom spoke English, to a market in Areia Branca. What an experience! To give an idea of its magnitude, imagine an outdoor area the size of a Super Wal-Mart selling anything from fresh produce to reusable cell phone chargers. I walked through vendors selling beans, rice, shrimp, fish, vegetables, fruits, and an open air building with meats galore--all appearing fresher than any store in the US. The guys told me the market is every Sunday and at 8am it was packed with people. I was sent to accompany his son-in-law with a wad of cash on a couple of errands. We stopped first at the local barber shop where a handful of old men sat chatting and getting a trim. He paid out half of the wad, and we moved on to a grocer where the second half was given. On the way back to the market, he explained to me that this was payment for their work on the farm.

We found our way through the maze of people to a little stand selling something from a pitcher and pasteis (huge ravioli-looking pouch filled with meat and fried crispy). He asked if I wanted the sugar cane juice and a pastel. I said I'd have some juice but felt too much of an obligation to also demand a pastel--the Minnesota in me. He ordered two small cups of juice and a pastel. My very limited Portuguese has made me nearly mute, but I managed to tell ask him the cost and tell him I'd pay. As usual, he insisted on buying and said it was "muito muito barato," or "very very cheap". While we drank, I watched a young man running stalks of sugar cane through a mechanical press that collected its inner juice. The young woman behind the table would then dip a pail into the larger bucket and strain the juice into the plastic pitcher on the counter. We drank and drank as she continued to fill our cups whenever they were low. My new friend paid out a total of R $1.50 ($0.80) for our snack, and we wandered back into the market. 

When we found the others, we drove back to the farm where my friends were chatting on the veranda. Throughout the day we took the opportunity to swim in the beautiful lake down the hill from the house, and I took a ride on one of their horses--the first time I've ridden in years. Unfortunately, I brought my camera but didn't remember batteries, so the photos below are courtesy of Maneco and Gaforelli.

Swimming -- [Front Row] Regina (worker's daughter),
Dioclese (owner), Diana (Dioclese's daughter),
[Back Row] Luciano, Tuca, Maneco, Laís, Nate

We caught a bus back to Aracaju and stood the entire trip because it was completely full. When we arrived at the bus station people slowly started to file out, Maneco and Gafo first. I was waiting in line inside the bus when both of them came running to the door and jumped inside looking scared. People were yelling, and I didn't know what was happening. After a minute of tension people filed back out and I followed. When I found everyone I asked Laís what had happened by the bus that people were so scared. She informed me two guys had started arguing and when that happens people run because, "You never know what kinds of guns they have." Of course nothing happened, but the realization was less nerve-wracking than interesting. Everything here is normal for them, and for me completely new.

Switching Rooms and Eating Food

Today was defined by truly amazing food. Well, every day seems to be. Maneco's aunt, Rosi (pronounced HO-zee) has made macaxeira, cuscuz, eggs, and so many other amazing meals for me in the last few days. Everyone has been so sweet to the man that can barely communicate beyond simple words and hand gestures.

Tonight, however, I went with Maneco, Gafo, and Laís to eat acarajé. Gafo is visiting from Porto Alegre in the far south of Brazil, but both of the others raved about this Northeastern typical food. First we stopped at a small shop on a corner not far away and ate coxinha. I can honestly say I'm in love with them. You can follow the link yourself, but to best describe it they are balls of shredded chicken about the size of a golf ball mixed with a mild melted cheese, then breaded in the best dough in the world and fried. I think I could have eaten 50 of them. And at 50 centavos ($0.30) each they're the best deal I could imagine. We tried coxinha with chicken and with shrimp. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

After our quick meal at Big Bola, we drove to a street vendor selling acarajé. I watched as the man took a fried bun and put inside things I didn't recognize. I know there was a bean paste, shrimp in sauce, and a chopped vegetable mixture like pico de gallo. We drove to Maneco's and ate there. I recognized a pepper sauce and the shrimp taste. So good. The vendor even gave us an extra one for free, which we gave to his aunt, Rosi.

Terrace -- My room is the first from the left.

I've also switched apartments. I'm still in the same building, but on the main floor. The room was bigger with easier access and the same price each month, so I figured it would fit my friends' visits a little easier. I'll post a photo at the bottom here, and my room in the first door you see. Numero 5. I have closet space, a bed in the main room, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a stove (no oven), and small refrigerator.

First Days in Aracaju, SE

This morning Laís and her friends Maneco and Gafo came to my apartment to visit. Maneco was kind enough to ask one of the housekeeping women the password for my internet, so I am now able to connect wirelessly to the internet. Sounds like a difficult life, huh? Laís brought some food from home to share with me with turned out to be amazing.

Very early Monday morning I arrived in Aracaju around 12:30am to a handful of beautiful people awaiting my arrival. The flight was surprisingly amazing. I've never been treated so well on any US airline. My two hour flight provided of a hot cheese sandwich, Coca-Cola, coffee, and a toffee to satisfy my sweet tooth. When our plane landed, I noticed some faces pressed against the second story window as I walked ecstaticly across the tarmac. When I looked up, I saw the same faces jumping up and down, about as excited as me. I'm sure it wasn't difficult to spot the huge gringo among the crowd. 

Laís and her sister, Ligia, were the first people I spotted. It felt amazing to see all of the faces exactly as I had for so long through Skype. More friends, Divaldo (Divas) and Karlinha, were there waiting as well. Only Laís and Ligia speak enough English to talk casually, but Karlinha has surprisingly better English than I do Portuguese. And I have to be careful what I say around her because she understands it all.

We took a quick drive through the night on the main street parallel to the beach. Everything felt completely alien. The living conditions are by no means bad, but maintenance is something the US spends a great deal on and many other places don't make the main priority. Whether it's budget, standards, or satisfaction with the usual, I don't know. I've thought about the street cleaners we have drive down our streets to brush away sand and gravel and thought how silly most of my friends would find such machines.

About 10 blocks from the beach we arrived at the apartment Laís had helped me rent with a little help from Western Union and her amazing Portuguese. Initially, I was surprised at the small size but with more thought I knew I could survive just fine in a small space. I'll post some photos at the bottom of this entry. Also, click HERE to check out a satellite view of my apartment. My building is directly under the words "Av. Oceânica" in this image. Go ahead and zoom out to see a larger view of the city and my location.

They had also bought a few groceries and snacks for the cupboards, including a two liter bottle of Guaraná, a very popular Brazilian soda. I'd had it only once before when I lived in Florida a few years ago. Even better, they had stopped at a street vendor and bought macaxeira with carne de sol (cassava root and "meat of the sun", a type of heavily salted beef). I ate and drank while we chatted about my trip, but they all left relatively quickly when they saw my sleepy eyes.

(Photo credit: http://condcoroadomeio.com/fotos.html, accessed Sept. 9, 2010)

Kitchen

Bathroom