To recap day 1: I showered with an electric shower head, ate pig skin (bristles included), and ate pizza with plastic gloves on.
It's true what they say, about the small things making all the difference...
After being on planes and in airports for the last 26 horas (hours), without changing my clothes, the first thing that I needed when I got to Brazil was a good, long shower. Upon getting into the shower, the first thing that I noticed was that there was only one knob to turn for water. It didn't confuse me, as Ana had explained that the houses don't normally have hot water (an odd concept to me in and of itself, but when you consider that it's between 75-85 every day, perhaps hot water isn't generally what they want). Upon turning on the shower, and looking up at the shower head, I immediately noticed that there's a grey plug in a power outlet mere inches away from the shower head. The shower head (as you can see in the pictures) is large and white, with a dial near the top of it and an orange button. The reason why the shower head is so large, is because it functions as an electric water heater. That's right, you heard me, electric shower head. I had been warned, but let me tell you, there's very little than can prepare you for seeing a plug in the shower. The dial has 4 settings, with pictures representing the seasons on it. My first thought is: Does "Summer" make the water hot or cold? Summer is hot, but in the summer you would want the water cold... After pondering this conundrum for a minute or two, I decide that the "Spring" setting is a bit too hot and I'm just going to try "Summer", just to find out. Summer is cold, a little too cold, but it feels good for a few minutes to cool down. After trying these two settings, it's clear that I'm not going to be able to find a temperature I'm comfortable with, so I just go with it, switching between the two settings as necessary.
After my shower, we eat some breakfast. The milk is Parmelat, which I'm not used to drinking, but which I've seen on the shelves of the grocery store, so though it stands out in my mind, it doesn't set off the "bizarre" sensors. The coffee is strong, compared to this, Starbucks' strongest blend seems like watered down Folger's, but with some milk and a generous helping of unbleached sugar, it's very good. The only thing that's really remarkable on the table is a set of white, grainy, vaguely pancake looking things, which Ana has previously described to me as "the real Tapoica". They're made with manioc (pronounced man-joh-kah) flour and, as I'm told before I try them, they can be eaten with small bits of chopped up beef inside. I'm sure I look a bit skeptical at this point, so Ana cuts up some of the beef and places it inside the manioc pancake.
"So I just eat it like this?" I say.
She says "Yeah, just pick it up." Motioning to me as thought she were eating a fajita.
"Ok." I reply. Sure that the skeptical look is deepening, I pick it up and take a bite. The beef is a bit dry, but delicious, and the light flavor and slightly gritty texture of the pancake provides a nice contrast to what I am used to. The pancake stretches a bit, something like a bit of gum, before tearing. My fears about the food have been allayed, at least for now.
Over breakfast, I met Ana's mother and aunt. Her aunt speaks some english, and apparently some french, as Ana has told her that I speak french (which I took in high school and haven't even tried to speak in about 7 years), she turns and addresses me in french, and try as I might, though I understand her french, I can't come up with a proper response in french, so I continue to reply in english with a smile and an idiotic nod. They seem very nice, and immediately put me more at ease about staying here.
At this point, I'm really starting to feel my jet lag, my head hurts and I'm extremely tried. So I fall asleep for... well it feels like about a week. When I awaken, I'm told that it's lunch time and that we're going to be having some feijoada (pronounced fey-jzho-ah-da) that Ana has made. It's a dish that consists of a thick stew of black beans, beef, sausage, and salt pork. It's served with a kind of unbleached rice and some greens. I have read (in my Portugeuse for Dummies book) that it's made with pig knuckles and knees, so I'm already a bit apprehensive. After a few bites it's clear that it's very tasty, if a bit salty. I'm happily munching away at feijoada, until I come across a piece that looks as though it still has the skin on. Looking closer, I can clearly still see a few white, bristley hairs poking out from under a layer of fat and skin. "Am I supposed to eat this?" I ask, trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably.
"Yeah..." Ana pauses, "but you don't have to if you don't want to."
"Oh, it's no problem, I was just wondering." I place it in my mouth and close my eyes, trying to concentrate on not feeling the bristles in my mouth and the fatty piece slides down the back of my throat. It's actually not that bad, and I probably never would have noticed that it was anything other than a piece of fatty pork, if I hadn't noticed the hairs. As long as I can just stop thinking about the hairs...
More sleeping... much more sleeping, then cut to much later, at dinner. We have gone to a pizza place for dinner and we're sitting at a table with her aunt and mother, as well as a couple of her aunt's friends from her college days. I am offered a piece of a kind of flatbread with cheese from a basket, but first, Ana take a plastic glove (thin, clear plastic, not rubber like a doctor's gloves) from a box on the table, which for some reason I hadn't noticed until this point, and hands it to me, explaining that here they eat pizza with gloves. "Here meaning this restaurant, or here meaning all of Brazil?" The thought crosses my mind, but I don't ask, I just put on my glove and take a piece out of the basket. It's a bit odd eating with a glove on, but the food is tasty. The pizza is flat and crispy, and it comes with a number of toppings that you generally wouldn't see on pizza in the states. One of the pizzas that we eat is ham with a mango chutney. It's, again, not a flavor that I'm used to, but it's very good. The beer is light, and very cold, and it tastes a bit like a Corona. I could definitely get used to this...
It's true what they say, about the small things making all the difference...
After being on planes and in airports for the last 26 horas (hours), without changing my clothes, the first thing that I needed when I got to Brazil was a good, long shower. Upon getting into the shower, the first thing that I noticed was that there was only one knob to turn for water. It didn't confuse me, as Ana had explained that the houses don't normally have hot water (an odd concept to me in and of itself, but when you consider that it's between 75-85 every day, perhaps hot water isn't generally what they want). Upon turning on the shower, and looking up at the shower head, I immediately noticed that there's a grey plug in a power outlet mere inches away from the shower head. The shower head (as you can see in the pictures) is large and white, with a dial near the top of it and an orange button. The reason why the shower head is so large, is because it functions as an electric water heater. That's right, you heard me, electric shower head. I had been warned, but let me tell you, there's very little than can prepare you for seeing a plug in the shower. The dial has 4 settings, with pictures representing the seasons on it. My first thought is: Does "Summer" make the water hot or cold? Summer is hot, but in the summer you would want the water cold... After pondering this conundrum for a minute or two, I decide that the "Spring" setting is a bit too hot and I'm just going to try "Summer", just to find out. Summer is cold, a little too cold, but it feels good for a few minutes to cool down. After trying these two settings, it's clear that I'm not going to be able to find a temperature I'm comfortable with, so I just go with it, switching between the two settings as necessary.
After my shower, we eat some breakfast. The milk is Parmelat, which I'm not used to drinking, but which I've seen on the shelves of the grocery store, so though it stands out in my mind, it doesn't set off the "bizarre" sensors. The coffee is strong, compared to this, Starbucks' strongest blend seems like watered down Folger's, but with some milk and a generous helping of unbleached sugar, it's very good. The only thing that's really remarkable on the table is a set of white, grainy, vaguely pancake looking things, which Ana has previously described to me as "the real Tapoica". They're made with manioc (pronounced man-joh-kah) flour and, as I'm told before I try them, they can be eaten with small bits of chopped up beef inside. I'm sure I look a bit skeptical at this point, so Ana cuts up some of the beef and places it inside the manioc pancake.
"So I just eat it like this?" I say.
She says "Yeah, just pick it up." Motioning to me as thought she were eating a fajita.
"Ok." I reply. Sure that the skeptical look is deepening, I pick it up and take a bite. The beef is a bit dry, but delicious, and the light flavor and slightly gritty texture of the pancake provides a nice contrast to what I am used to. The pancake stretches a bit, something like a bit of gum, before tearing. My fears about the food have been allayed, at least for now.
Over breakfast, I met Ana's mother and aunt. Her aunt speaks some english, and apparently some french, as Ana has told her that I speak french (which I took in high school and haven't even tried to speak in about 7 years), she turns and addresses me in french, and try as I might, though I understand her french, I can't come up with a proper response in french, so I continue to reply in english with a smile and an idiotic nod. They seem very nice, and immediately put me more at ease about staying here.
At this point, I'm really starting to feel my jet lag, my head hurts and I'm extremely tried. So I fall asleep for... well it feels like about a week. When I awaken, I'm told that it's lunch time and that we're going to be having some feijoada (pronounced fey-jzho-ah-da) that Ana has made. It's a dish that consists of a thick stew of black beans, beef, sausage, and salt pork. It's served with a kind of unbleached rice and some greens. I have read (in my Portugeuse for Dummies book) that it's made with pig knuckles and knees, so I'm already a bit apprehensive. After a few bites it's clear that it's very tasty, if a bit salty. I'm happily munching away at feijoada, until I come across a piece that looks as though it still has the skin on. Looking closer, I can clearly still see a few white, bristley hairs poking out from under a layer of fat and skin. "Am I supposed to eat this?" I ask, trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably.
"Yeah..." Ana pauses, "but you don't have to if you don't want to."
"Oh, it's no problem, I was just wondering." I place it in my mouth and close my eyes, trying to concentrate on not feeling the bristles in my mouth and the fatty piece slides down the back of my throat. It's actually not that bad, and I probably never would have noticed that it was anything other than a piece of fatty pork, if I hadn't noticed the hairs. As long as I can just stop thinking about the hairs...
More sleeping... much more sleeping, then cut to much later, at dinner. We have gone to a pizza place for dinner and we're sitting at a table with her aunt and mother, as well as a couple of her aunt's friends from her college days. I am offered a piece of a kind of flatbread with cheese from a basket, but first, Ana take a plastic glove (thin, clear plastic, not rubber like a doctor's gloves) from a box on the table, which for some reason I hadn't noticed until this point, and hands it to me, explaining that here they eat pizza with gloves. "Here meaning this restaurant, or here meaning all of Brazil?" The thought crosses my mind, but I don't ask, I just put on my glove and take a piece out of the basket. It's a bit odd eating with a glove on, but the food is tasty. The pizza is flat and crispy, and it comes with a number of toppings that you generally wouldn't see on pizza in the states. One of the pizzas that we eat is ham with a mango chutney. It's, again, not a flavor that I'm used to, but it's very good. The beer is light, and very cold, and it tastes a bit like a Corona. I could definitely get used to this...
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