Civilized Matters

It has been a while since I have posted a blog, as I’m settling into this experience in Brazil as more of my life and less as a giant adventure. My first months in São Paulo was a blur – paperwork, government protocols, trips to the notary public, scrambling to find an apartment, make friends, squeeze in some exercise and combat hangovers. Oh yeah, and getting acclimated to a new job. All in Portuguese.

During this time, I always had “blog” listed as a little box to be checked off of my To-Do list. After 3.5 months, I only managed to draft a few which never got rounded out enough to be published. Here is a summary of what hit the recycle bin:

• Business meeting etiquette: Seriously, it is apparently perfectly acceptable that the speaker making a profound point lets his/her phone ring a few times (I am pretty sure Brazilian iphones do indeed have a silence feature), and pauses midsentence to answer his/her phone, tell the caller that he/she is in a meeting, and then proceed to talk for 30 more seconds. Depending on the hierarchy of the speaker, the meeting with either patiently wait, or someone will speak up and make their own point, thus derailing the conversation. Of course, the person on the phone stays seated and talks with a normal phone voice. On the upside, coffee is always served during meetings, and this includes the coffee literally being served to you in little espresso cups by the coffee lady. Better yet, if it is a fancy meeting, there will be little baskets of dry snacks served by the coffee lady, like peculiar salty flavored puffy balls or tiny cookies.
• Public Transport: I drafted up this blog, but needed to get an accurate escalator count to make a point so tried for 3 straight days to count how many escalators I took on my commute, and I kept losing count after 12. So this entry dead-ended.
• Dating: This one was getting really juicy, but then I realized that most (yet not all) of my dating partners indeed speak English, and are connected to me on facebook, so publishing this one might not be wise for my future Saturday nights
• Banking technology: While banking technologies are really advance here, this one got too complicated and techie, so I just decided to schedule a Skype session my one friend, Panzarella, who would actually care.

 
Back to the lecture at hand – Civilized Matters. I am really soaking up everything about the culture and behaviors here, and there are a couple norms that have just charmed my pants off.  Today one of these truly made my day and I felt incline to type up now, in hopes that it will encourage you to follow suit.  But before I explain these two notable civilized matters to you, I will first share two of the most uncivilized things I have heard or witnessed here in São Paulo to illustrate the contrast.

Uncivilized Point #1: The first uncivilized thing is the time that I was walking the two blocks from the train to my office with a colleague. A blind colleague got off of the train in front of us (we only knew this because he was wearing a backpack with our companies name on it. Well, that is how we knew he was an employee of our company. We knew he was blind because of the stick). In a very civilized fashion, he was escorted the first block crossing a busy intersection by an employee of the public transport system. The next block was a straight shot to our office. Or so we thought. 

 

We were walking directly behind him,  deep in conversation talking strategy of an upcoming proposal, when suddenly we see a car backing up directly in his path. Onto his foot. Not over his foot. But onto his foot. The tire was basically stuck on top of his foot. Since the car was up on the blind guys foot, the driver needed to accelerate a bit in either direction for enough momentum to roll off of his foot. But he couldn’t accelerate forward or he would hit a wall, and he couldn’t accelerate backwards because the constant stream of people walking behind him didn’t stop. My colleague ran over to the driver, screaming at him as I grabbed hold of the blind guy where I learned a whole new vocabulary of curse words in Portuguese. After a good 10-15  seconds, the stream of people stopped and the driver was able to accelerate backwards and roll off of his foot. The blind guy stopped cursing, said he was ok, walked away and presumably clocked in and got to work.

 

 

Uncivilized Point #2: When I did my Portuguese lessons in Denver, I had a teacher from São Paulo. We spent one entire lesson talking about cars and terms involved with cars. He was adamant I learn the word “atropelado” or “to hit/run over.” Kind of an obscure word to learn when I was still trying to conjugate verb tenses of “to request” and “to lose.” Reluctantly, I wrote the word down and did not realize how useful this word would be until I got here. It seems every day there is an article about someone being hit by a car, or worse, run over. This is the most disturbing one that happened just a couple weeks ago. I will summarize for those of you too lazy to click on the link, and unwilling to use Google Translate. On second thought, I wont even put a link because no one will click on it, and if you are really that darn curious , you are all resourceful enough to just google it yourself.

 

Basically, this young 22 year old playboy was leaving some nightclub at 6am. Most likely he was using the “Lei Seca” app to avoid the checkpoints that try to catch drunk drivers under São Paulos zero tolerance, drunk driving laws. He ran over a bicyclist. The bicyclist was a window washer on his way to work. To make matters worse, when he ran over the bicyclist, the guys arm FELL INTO THE CAR. Yes, fell into the car. What would any civilized 22 year old do in this situation? Leave the scene, drop his friend off at home, ditch the arm into the river, and THEN sober up enough to turn himself in. The bicyclist lived, and the doctors were confident they could reattach his arm, but it was somewhere in the river.

 

Now, onto more civilized matters.

 

Civilized Point #1: The first is queuing in line for elevators at office buildings. If you have ever taken the Metro during Rush Hour here, you would never believe that those businessmen pushing and shoving their way ON to the Metro before anyone even gets OFF were capable of such manners. But once they leave the Metro, they apparently transform from Caveman to Debonair.  At the elevator banks in office buildings in large cities like Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, I have seen this with frequency. The office workers queue in a single file line, one behind the other, and patiently wait their turn to board the elevator. Once an elevator car is free,  they file their way inside until it is full, and then politely wait for the next one. I was flabbergasted the first time I saw this in Rio de Janeiro, and really think that the rest of the world should adopt this custom. 

 

Civilized Point #2: This second one is the most heartwarming pieces of public transport etiquette I have ever seen in my life. Besides the global, consistent rule of offering your seat to the elderly, pregnant, disabled, etc, those lucky enough to get a seat actually ask if they can hold your bags. It can be quite crowded and sometimes holding onto a plastic bag amidst sweaty bodies is uncomfortable while also gripping the sweaty metal handles. The first few times I witnessed a standing person hand over their bag(s) to a seated person, I assumed they were friends or acquaintances.

 

Then I started paying attention. When the person getting off the train took back their bag, there was only a brief thank you when the bag handed over. And we all know that Brazilians take 5 minutes to say good-bye with lavish departing kisses, so clearly they did not know each other. I was still a bit skeptical though. Why would anyone actually hand over their personal belongings to a stranger on a train? Then today, I was on the train, and it wasn’t very crowded, but crowded enough that not everyone got a seat. I didnt get a seat. A seated woman asked a standing woman next to me if she could hold her small plastic bag. The standing woman gladly handed it over. Then the same seated woman asked me if she could hold my backpack. I was so flattered, but of course I declined the offer. Mainly because I was kind of in shock that she was offering this, and also that  I actually understood her Portuguese. I watched the ritual with interest, feeling inspired to finally have a reason to return to my blog.

 

In closing,  I hope these little acts of kindness encourage you to make a little effort to ease someone’s day, even if it is a miniscule way. However, if you are reading this in NYC, I highly encourage you NOT to try take someone’s bag on the subway.

First Impressions of Sao Paulo

Sao Paulo is a big city. There is no doubting that. Everyone warned me, "Sao Paulo is nothing like Rio." and  "In Brazil, Rio is like LA and Sao Paulo is like NYC."

After landing, I realized that anyone who has said "Sao Paulo is like NYC" has clearly never been to NYC. Or maybe they just havent been to Saigon. Or maybe they were referring to the Bronx. Either way, it is unlike any place I've ever been to. A massive city, population approx 20 million, with skyscrapers as far as the eye can see, and traffic jams even further. According to the BBC, on average, Fridays have traffic jams backed up 112 miles, and sometimes exceed 183 miles. http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0%2C8599%2C1733872%2C00.html

As a good traveling consultant, I had done my research and was expecting the mess of people, buildings and cars.

These following items, however, are my first impressions that were totally unexpected:



1. The finger wave. In American culture this would be offensive, basically holding your finger in someones face and wagging it back and forth, with your lips downturned, to indicate that something isnt true, or isnt going to happen.

2. Friend-of-a-friend. Three days into my Sao Paulo adventure, I realized I now know more people in Sao Paulo than I do Denver, which is the city I have lived in for 6 years, own property and exhausted eligible dating pool on match.com. Everyone knows someone that you would like or has an interesting connection, or can help you in some way. For example, the apartment I am hoping to rent was discovered through my friend Joana’s half-brothers wife’s friend’s (who we ran into on the Requiejao run, see #5 below) friend who knew someone looking to rent out his flat. All of this was accomplished in less than 2 hours due to iphones and the general willingness to help out a friend-of-a-friend.

3. The cheek kiss. Sure, when a Carioca shows up into town, it throws things into disarray with the age-old single cheek vs double cheek conundrum, but I love the intimacy of meeting someone, whether at work, a grocery store, or a club and giving a simple, “Oi, tudo bem” and a cheek peck.

4. Flakiness. For lack of a better word, the behavior I am about to discess can only be described in the least offensive way as flakiness. I have finally found a culture where I fit in. I love that you can double and triple book yourself, and then either show up hours late, or not show up at all, with nary a hard feeling. It is a breath of fresh air that if I have dinner plans, I can claim traffic, or sleep, as a valid excuse for not showing up, or showing up two hours late. I do have some Brazilian friends who value punctuality in social sitautions (one is also consistently EARLY and that disturbs me considerably). I used to love hanging out with my “flaky” friends most when I was living in Rio. I got so comfortable in this culture, that I used to text my friends “in cab - traffic” or “leaving house now, looking for cab” as I would be just getting ready to start my shower. Side note: As I'm typing this, it is Friday morning at 9:25am. I am in the office. I was the first one here at 8:30. Right now, people are beginning to trickle in, but I am basically alone. We were supposed to have a 9am team meeting but no one is here yet. I could get used to this...

5. Requeijao. I have been to Brazil 5 times now and consider going to foreign (well domestic too) grocery stores a hobby, so I’m disappointed in myself that I had not discovered this on my own. This is a highly processed, white cheese which is apparently made from the lowest quality ingredients that arent good enough to be made into milk. Yum. The day I arrived in Sao Paulo, my work lunch got canceled at the last minute (see item #4) so I made plans with my friend Joana’s brother’s wife (see item #2). My new friend Rachel and I met for lunch and since it was a beautiful day on Oscar Freire, and we didn’t have to work, we ordered the whole bottle of wine. As she was jonesing for sobremesa, I kept insisting she could have it, but I’m more of a cheese person myself. Earlier in the conversation, as she was listing items that are had or impossible to get in Brazil, I told her her how I’d probably miss Tostitos Cheese Sauce a lot, She said, “We must go get you some requeijao.” Once she introduced me, I knew I had made two new friends immediately: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Requeij%C3%A3o

The Secret

A bit before I embarked on my Big Trip last year, I finally read The Secret, a book that had been sitting on my bookstand for quite a while. It was given to me by a really positive, inspiring friend named Jimmy "Wangness" Wang. At first, it seems like a bunch of new-age mumbo jumbo, but after you look past this, it has some really interesting content.

The Secret describes the law of attraction as a natural law that determines the complete order of the universe and of our personal lives through the process of "like attracts like." That is, as we think and feel, a corresponding frequency is sent out into the universe that attracts back to us events and circumstances on that same frequency. For example, if you think angry thoughts and feel angry, you will attract back events and circumstances that cause you to feel more anger. Conversely, if you think and feel positively, you will attract back positive events and circumstances. The law claims that desirable outcomes such as health, wealth, and happiness can be attracted simply by changing one’s thoughts and feelings. It says that our thoughts are magnetic and they attract thoughts of similar frequency.Whatever thoughts we dwell upon,we attract similar thoughts in our life.

The Secret highlights gratitude and visualization as the two most powerful processes to help manifest one's desires. It asserts that being grateful both lifts your frequency higher and affirms that you believe you will receive your desire. Visualization is said to help focus the mind to send out the clearest message to the universe. Several techniques are given for the visualization process, as well as examples of people claimed to have used it successfully to manifest their dreams. (Source: Wikipedia)



I tried playing around with this concept, and small things like visualizing a parking spot would appear just as expected. It became a bit uncanny, but became a secret way of living my life. Because I knew if I told anyone about this, they would surely laugh and mock. I guess my friends, naturally, tend to be laughers and mockers. But then again, like does attract like. ;)

During my Big Trip, I was in Bali and stumbled upon a (surely pirated) DVD of The Secret. I ended up watching it again and again everytime I got near a DVD player for the remainder of the trip. Again, it is full of new-age mumbo jumbo, including an opening dream-like sequence that probably puts off most mainstream audiences. But there are some good tidbits, like:

• Whatever we think about and thank about we bring about
• You can have, do or be anything you want

Continuing to live The Secret even after the trip, I knew that if I had a goal in mind, and kept it present in my thoughts, words, actions and continued to live with gratitude, the universe would eventually sort itself out and my goal would be attained.

My goal? Live in Rio. The Secret says that you dont need to worry about the details of HOW you will attain the goal, but just know that the goal will happen.

Sure enough, within 2 months of being back in the US and back at work, the stars aligned and I had discovered a contact with my similar background living and working in Brazil for my company.

He worked his magic and here I am, 8 months later, living in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

But the story isnt over, kids. I'm living and working in Sao Paulo. If it is still what I want, I know that I'll get to Rio eventually. But in the meantime, follow my journey as I live out the first part of my individual manisfestation of The Secret.

Brasil with K

K and I became friends the long way round. She was friends with one of my best friends, and although we had occasionally met at Penn State and in NY, we were never actually friends.

Right before our mutual friends destination wedding in Mexico, we realized a shared love for travel over myspace. We bonded at the wedding and over the course of the next couple years - and countless BBM chats - we started coordinating business trips so that we could get together and talk about travel, exercise and boys (shamelessly my 3 favorite topics).

I always had a hunch, but finally confirmed that K and I both can be incredibly efficient and effective in getting what we want. We organized a complete trip to Rio and Florianopolis in record time - less than a week without the use of BBM!

She arrived in Rio and we settled into the Sheraton Leblon as comfortably as two Platinum spg members can. When the sun would peek out, we’d race to get some sun. She signed up for the free outdoor gym on Ipanema and we did an exercise class in the midst of palm trees and ocean breezes. My Carioca friends embraced her and we enjoyed a few days of Rio nightlife before jetting off to the chic resort town of Florianopolis, otherwise known as Floripa.

We literally had to peel ourselves off of the sun chairs to make our flight but we made it. Upon landing in Floripa, we were greeted with rain. Lots and lots of rain. Nonstop rain.

We checked into the cozy Pousada dos Chas (House of Teas) and asked what there was to do when there was rain. No one could give us any good advice, so we defaulted to our other favorite subjects – exercise and boys.

First up: Exercise. Exploring the town of Jurere, dodging the rain, we stumbled upon a yoga class. Sure, it was conducted entirely in Portuguese so we didn’t understand much, but we did understand enough to get comfortable hanging upside down in makeshift harnesses. It was a great start to our trip. Next up: Boys.

The first night out in Floripa, we were quickly apprehended by two local Brazilian guys. K has been to Brazil before, but always with other guys, so she was protected from advances from the locals. I, however, have faced Brazil as a single lady and knew what to expect.

I warned that within 7 minutes, she’s have a tongue shoved down her throat. Although K is well traveled and no one would dare call her naïve, she didn’t quite believe me. However, she believed me enough to stay sitting on the sofa next to me, so I had a front seat view of her being caught unawares by the move that an ex-pat friend has described as “Momma bird feeding baby bird.” I laughed and laughed about that as Kara dragged me out of the bar.

Apparently all we needed for sunshine was for K to be indoctrinated to the Brazilian courting, because we had glorious sunshine for the rest of the trip. I was so sad to say good bye to K, but glad that she had been part of my Big Trip, and we got to incorporate all of our favorite subjects.

After I said goodbye to K, I boarded a 17 hour bus ride from Florianapolis to Iguazu Falls.

I never claimed to be a sensible shopper

I never claimed to be a sensible shopper. So far, my most riduculous purchases have been a bulky turtleneck sweater dress in Rome and a floor length, chiffon and lace dress in Rio. (The dress is so fancy, it reminds me of the prom dress that I loved so much I wore to 2 different Proms. In fact, this dress is so nice that I am making my friend Adriana hang it in her closet - I dont trust the hostel or Juju and her gangstas.) 

Neither dress purchase was needed, or very practical when you recall that I am traveling with only a backpack. But I do think I should have been looking for some more versatile clothing...

I dont have many clothes. I've never been a trendy dresser, but my lack of style right now is laughable. And my friend Joana did laugh. 



Joana works in fashion here in Rio and while I've never claimed to my stylish, I tried to get creative with my outfit this night. I was wearing the one shirt I have that is not a tshirt or fleece, and did not want to carry my frumpy black travel purse. So, I grabbed a small brown "clutch" from my limited wardrobe (which can fit on less than 10 hangers, see previous blog entry...)


Joana and I were out getting sushi in Leblon, and we get out of the cab and Joana looks at my clutch and groans, "I have that same overnight kit bag from Air France. We need to get you shopping in my closet." 



I didnt take her seriously until last weekend. 



A cute brazilian guy on my volleyball group mentioned he was going to a wedding in Buzios that weekend. He also was insistent on exchanging contact info but kept on forgetting his phone. So I took his email on Friday morning and figured there was no hurry to email him, as he was going to Buzios for his friends wedding.


I should clarify that I didn't see any hurry to email him until I met Adriana for lunch. Adriana is this otherwise very sweet Brazilian girl I have been friends with since June. 



But she eggs me onto doing ridiculous things - like buying that over the top lace and chiffom gown. I mentioned this cute volleyball guy I met and she suddenly got it into her head that I must get myself invited to the wedding in Buzios, so that I could wear this ridiculous dress she made me purchase.
 

Well, by late Friday afternoon the cute volleyball player quickly accepted the offer (of, you know, me inviting myself to the wedding so I could wear the dress). To my relief, he later told me he had wanted to invite me to the wedding but didnt want to seem too aggressive. (note: he is both cute and high maintenance, so there will be no photos posted of the cute volleyball player as my wedding date).

Now that I was going to the wedding, I started racing all over town to pick up the dress from Adriana, and then I realized that my extremely limited wardrobe of fleeces and running shorts are not appropriate for a wedding weekend in Buzios. 


So I went finally shopping in Joana's closet(s). I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (for the poor girl on a high end shopping spree, not for feeling like a prostitute, jackasses).

One hour later, I left Joana's with party dresses, casual dresses, brunch dresses, handbags, accessories, and even an overnight bag (so that I didnt need to turn up in Buzzes carrying my clothes in my huge backback or plastic grocery store bags.

Once appropriately outfitted, the trip was great. A beautiful wedding on the beach, exploring Buzios with a charming host, and a house that felt like The Real World:Buzios.

The house:
aluguetemporada.com.br/imovel/p515264958

Settling into Rio

I knew it was going to be a good day when a bird pooped on me.

I always thought it was an old wives tale to make people feel better after a bird poops on them, but now I know that it's true. I was on the hunt for an apartment in Ipanema.

Being a beggar who is a chooser, I wanted something within walking distance to both my portuguese and volleyball lessons that wasnt in a favela. I already had a nice offer to rent a room with my very generous and thoughtful friend Mariana in a newly renovated apartment with views of Christ the Redeemer and the Lagoa.

But it was located in the Botanical Gardens part of the Zona Sul region of Rio. And that would mean having to get a bike and I was traumatized from riding bikes when i flipped over the handlebars, puked up my breakfast and Bill Moeller came out and offered me a bandaid. When my mom drove me home, I remember laying on my family room couch, staribg at my bloody arms desperately hoping that I didnt have AIDS (I had just watched the Ryan White Story - you remember, with Angela from Who's The Boss? - and while it served it's purpose of scaring me, it didnt really do a good job of explaining how AIDS was contracted to a 6th grade suburban audience.) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098237/
 

Point being, I was terrified of having to rely on a bike as means if transportation, even though the apartment is amazing and it would be fun to live with Mariana. I had lots of leads, but the bird poop confirmed that this one would work out.

I arrived at Jussara's place, praying that it wasnt a setup to steal my organs (I found the listing on www.easycuarto.com). Juju was nice, and speaks little english. She is 38, works at a bakery a few days a week and designs clothes too. The place has sewing machines and mannequins everywhere!

The place is a bit dated, but serves the purpose for a month, has an excellent location and the price is right. After much deliberation with my English friends from the hostel, Jade, Louisa and Alice, I decided to do it!  I said good bye to the folks at the hostel- creepy Fabricio forced me into an extended hug, and gave me a t-shirt which is apparently some sort of ritual when he says good-bye to girls he has creeped out (see June 2011 blog entry for backstory).

I moved in the next day. Ahhhh. A big, bright room all to myself! A kitchen where I dont have to worry about anyone knicking my food! A shower where I dont need to wear flip-flops! And a bedroom where I can sit around in my underwear and get a whole night of sleep without drunk 19 year olds raising hell at 3am! I was so estatic to unpack. Then I realized I dont really have much to unpack. An entire wall is lined with built in wardrobes. I set to hanging up all my clothes. My excitement got the better of me, because soon I was hanging up t-shirts and tank tops, and even my dirty laundry!

I have 2 nightstands, a desk, a full length mirror, and even a hamper! There is a tv, washing machine, even wifi. Although it did alarm me a touch when I realized the wifi passcode translates to "I love gangstas."  Life here in Rio isnt bad, well as long as  Juju and her gangsta boyfriends dont steal my organs in the middle of the night.

Day to Day Life in Rio

I've said this time and time again to anyone that will listen - but Rio is a marvelous city.

In the spirit of "the third's time's a charm," I headed back to Rio to see if this is the kind of lifestyle that would appeal to me, as a resident and not a tourist. See if I can learn the language and see if I'd be able to build a support network nearly as half as good as my amazingly generous family and friends.

For the past week, I've fallen into a bit of routine that is more "life of leisure" rather than full on living. But it's closer than being a tourist sightseeing and partying all the time.

My routine is to wake up early for exercise. Sometimes, if I am feeling ambitous, I will try to make a 7:30 yoga class at Rio Academy, which everyone calls the Free Gym. It's an outdoor gym on Ipanema Beach that is like a temporary Muscle Beach in Venice. It's free, because there are corporate sponsors, and it's a fun way to work out and learn some portuguese (1,2,3...)

I don't go to Rio Academy as much as I do volleyball lessons with Pele. I had met him late into my trip last time (see previous blog about Rio).
I prefer to go to the 8am on Ipanema Beach. There are all levels in his classes and the format is to do drills for about 45 minutes and then play a game at the end. It's a fun way to get a good workout and also learn some skills too.


Another thing that I recently tried is slacklining. Slacklining is not, contrary to Doug Preston's popular belief, ziplining for lazy people. Rather it's something that derived from
It looks really easy when you watch stuff like these jokers... Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXIaMj3tYn8&feature=youtube_gdata_player


It's a piece of we. I cant explain why it's fun for me, but seeing teeny tiny improvements is so motivating. The folks on the beach are pretty welcoming too.

Once the fun and games are over, I head to my portuguese lessons. I knew I wanted to learn or improve a language on this trip, and was deciding between german, spanish or portuguese. German made the best sense because I majored in it in college, and Michaellyn was welcoming, but private tuturing was just too expensive. So it was a toss-up between spanish and portuguese. Again, I have a stronger base in spanish, but I ultimately chose portuguese mainly because of Rio.

I researched a bit online but didnt solidify anything until I got here. Luckily the best school with the best prices is a ten minute walk from my hostel. It's called Casa Do Caminho and the proceeds go to a local orphanage I was able to walk in and start private classes the next day. My teacher right now is Marcos. He is super "legal" and teaches me slang so I wont sound like such a toolbag if people ever do actually understand me.

Then if I dont have a blind "friend" date with a friend of a friend who lives in Rio, I come back to the hostel and sit around with 2 of my roommates in the girls dorm who are also on a bit of a routine. We drink chilled white wine, play with our blackberries or iphones and complain about how loud all of the younger backpackers are. As I'm typing this, another girl that's been here for a few days came in, booted up and made a "granny" comment too.

Oh well, it's 10pm, lights out for us grannies...

Atlanta with Kannan

Kannan Ramakrishnan and I are unlikely friends. 

But friends we are. 

We worked together at the now defunct BearingPoint as PeopleSoft consultants. Kannan is technical and I am functional. So we had to work together on the designs of software systems often. After working together very passively in Stamford, CT, I knew he was the go-to man for most questions. But we werent yet friends. 

But after 2 stints working as a very small team in Minneapolis in an oversize broom closet, we finally became friends. 

As coworkers, we were very confrontational with each other. Hashing through designs, oftentimes our colleague would have to shut the broom closet door because we'd be shouting at each other so loudly and aggressively in front of a whiteboard.  

After um, very heated discussions, we'd have no problem looking at each other and speaking in civilized manner, "Do you want to myburger or taco john's for lunch?"

We really bonded over our compatible work styles, and new teammates were amazed that we actually liked and respected each other after witnessing us interact in these design sessions. 

But that's just how we roll. 

I got to know Kannan's wife Usha and brilliant son Rohith also. They always extended a very sincere invite to visit them in Atlanta but there never was a good time. Until now. 

Trying to get to Rio de Janeiro for my next adventure, I used Grasso Charm and somehow managed a business class flight from Belgrade with a 26 hour stopover in Atlanta for an obscenely low amount of points. I knew the agent had to transfer me to the manual ticketing departmnt bc my itinerary was breaking every soft warning an hard stop in their software system (clearly NOT designed by me and Kannan).  

I arrived in Atlanta and was warmly welcomed to the home of Usha, Kannan and Rohith. Warm welcome is an understatement - I have never ever in my whole life felt so welcomed into someone's home before. Not to not be grateful to anyone that has ever invited me to their house, but these guys really turned on the southern hospitality. Although since they are from the south of India, maybe it is really southern Indian hospitality. 

We had a great time catching up on work gossip and really just hanging out. Usha and I went to a pilates class, and then gossiped about Kannan. Apparently she had never really heard the stories about the workstyle of me and Kannan (until I read her the draft of this blog posting) but she really got a kick out of it.

One of the highlights was taking Rohith to Chick-Fil-A (although for some reason he associated visits with me to Mexican food and expected Mexican.). As most people know, I am on this boycott of American fast food chains during my big trip. I love fast food, but hate the idea of America destroying other cultures, so I made this "noble" promise to myself that I wouldnt support it during my trip. However, I found a loop hole in my promise - I was in the US, and Chick-Fil is actually from Georgia, so technically I was getting local culture and indulging in yummy greasy fast food too. 

Belgrade, Serbia

I never really imagined ending up in Serbia as part of this trip. To be honest, I never even really knew much about Serbia until I started spending time in the former yugoslavia republics. And when I learned more, esecially from the perspective of Slovenians, Croats and Bosnians, I definitely didnt look upon Serbian and Serbs fondly. Serbia has a very aggressive stereotype in mind, like a land of bullies, even though younger Slovenians, Croats and Bosnians dont seem to hold a grudge against Serbs. Still I held a grudge and thinking of being in Serbia surrounded by mean Serbs kind of freaked me out. 

On the near empty train from Sarajevo, I noticed the landscape get more and more desolate. As day turned into night, I noticed small fires in the fields to renew the soil. The smell of fire, the chill in the air. It made me feel strong to be all alone in this rickety old train, heading to Serbia with such a sullen landscape. In fact,I was writing in my journal how strange it was, yet how independent I felt. Mid-sentence, I look up to see a group of mean looking men, some in military costumes walk by, sort of leer at me, and continue on laughing. 

I was freaked out, and immediately closed my journal and knocked on the compartment door of the only other tourists on the train. For the rest of the journey, I felt safe with three Australian boys.

Based on the train experience, and my earlier prejudices, I was pretty nervous about my time in Belgrade.

As always, having low expectations is the bestway to have a memorable trip.

I settled into my quiet hostel (strange because Belgrade is claimed to be the "party capital of Europe"). Sure Ghadaffi had just been killed, but still, I was expecting to be greeted with a party atmosphere.

The next day, I went on a free walking tour in which I learned two valuable lessons:

• First, Belgrade has a lot of history that they are willing to share, but not the history anyone is interested in. We are interested in the whole breaking up of Yugoslavia and Kosovo mess, which unfortunately no tour or tour book really acknowledges. 

• Second, don't correctly answer the tour guides question of "What is the name of the national drink of Serbia?" unless you are ready to drink a big serving of Rokia a 9am tour. Rokia is an often homemade liquor, normally made from plum. Also, it is considered an insult to the family if it is homemade and you dont drink it. Thus, I spent the rest of the tour slightly drunk. And, for the record, I got the pronounciation of Rakia very wrong but I was the closest, thus peer pressured to drink at 9am.

I went out a couple nights with the boring people from the boring hostel, eagerly looking for the crazy wild nightlife, but only found some NYC-like bars and a latin music place. On Saturday night, I was hell bent on seeing some of this Belgrade nightlife. My future wasnt looking very good - even the boring backpackers had left and I was sleeping alone in my dorm. Then my party angels arrived. 

At 11:30, my two new Australian party angels and I dressed up in short skirts and high heels, did some shots of Rakia and headed out. We arrived at 11:45 to Plastik and the club hadnt even opened yet. 

Always cool, we were the first to enter the club. But within 45 minutes, the place was filled with really drunk and obnoxious people. The music was good, and we quickly made buddies with some Croatian and Serbian volleyball players who were in town for some tournament. Most notable were Ivan (Croat) and Nenad (Serb) who are friends and coworkers. I enjoyed talking to Nenad, and danced and danced with Ivan until at least 4am. Not only did I meet two new friends, but I also finally got to experience some of this acclaimed nightlife.

The Croatian volleyball guys had a game at 11am the next day, and even though Ivan promised to give me directions to the game, I knew that he would NOT make the game, let alone email me directions. 

I did end up sightseeing the next day with Nenad. First stop, Tito's mausoleum. Nenad also shared with me a lot of history, as well as his personal take on all of the recent history. Tito was a very interesting guy - quite a charmer on the international circuit, and (my opinion) people loved him because there wasnt much other choice. When he died in 1980, the funeral processions were unprecedented. In retrospect, a lot of people believe it was a brainwashing, but it was still interesting to visit his mausoleum.

During this time, Ivan did call. Surprisingly, he made the 11am volleyball game. The whole team was pretty much in the same shape they were in when we left them at 4am, and Ivan hysterically informed me that he almost threw up on the floor during the game. 

After Nenad and I stopped laughing, we drove up to Mt Avala, a very picturesque mountain overlooking Belgrade and saw the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. 

We also rode up a TV tower that has been destroyed (and rebuilt) two times. It is the symbol of Belgrade, and I have a snowglobe to prove it!

All in all, Belgrade is a very cool city. The Serbs I interacted with seemed educated, cosmopolitan, and definitely not mean at all. Unless you count the souvenir Nenad gave me, which is a 1,000,000,000 dinar bill from the good ole days of inflation. Serbia still uses the dinar, but this bill is just a tease and has no monetary value. Those mean Serbs!

Postscript - not only was Nenad not a mean guy, neither was Nikolai Telsa. Highly interactive museum in Belgrade that would have been cool if I spoke Serbian. On second thought, I dont think I would have understood it in English either.

Sarajevo, Part II

In past posts, I have attempted to describe the history and current dynamics in the former Yugoslavic republics. Now that I have ventured further into Bosnia and Herzegovina and learned more about Sarajevo's history, I'll shell shock you with more recent history.

Sarajevo is just a fascinating city. From the start of WWI, to the Serbian "aggression" of 1992-1995, this city just has been very turbulent. But it is filled with the warmest people I have ever met. They can be tough, as I had heard stories and did actually witness once, but their sincerity is overwhelming. You can be at a restaurant, and your neighbor will enter your conversation because they overheard something they can help with. Or they will walk you to your destination. In most big cities, women can be bitches to other women. But here, they have this sincerity that was totally unexpected, after the bipolar hospitality in Croatia.

So the situations in 1992-1995. First, Bosnia calls it an "aggression" by Serbia. Serbia calls it "civil war" and everyone else on the outside just called it "war." There was ethnic cleansing, genocide and the culmination was Serb forces (including some, but not all, Bosnian Serbs fully surrounding the capital city of Sarajevo. It was a city under siege from Apr 5, 1992 — Feb 29, 1996. /that is something like over 1400 days (I am on holiday...too lazy to do the math.) The longest siege in world history. Because the Serbs were mainly on hills, they were able to hold the city pretty much on lock down and attack from above whenever they felt like it. This definitely wasnt a civilized war - Serb forces attacked civilians, children, schools, markets, even the maternity hospital. Over 11,000 people were killed, 1400 of whom were children, and over 15,000 children wounded.

Sarajevo was left without water, electricity, fuel, food, weapons. Then the tunnel was dug.

It really all began with elections to break away from Yugoslavia (following Slovenia and Croatia) and the first two real victims of this "aggression" were shot from Serb snipes while protesting in Sarajevo. Thus because the siege.

The remnants of the mortar (excuse me, I dont really know the right words for war weapons and stuff) that hit the ground have been filled in with red paint or rubber all around the city and are known as Sarajevo Roses. Look at this one, just feet from the Catholic church.

There is so much fascinating history in Sarajevo, too much to type out and expect my blog readers to pay attention to on a Monday at work, when everyone is in costume and eating snack sized Snickers. So I will leave you with this funny sign I saw outside of a Mosque, that apparently is not drag-queen friendly. NO TRANNIES IN THE MOSQUE!

Sarajevo, part I

After a sleepy goodbye to my sister, I boarded a long 9 hour bus ride from Zagreb to Sarajevo. I added Sarajevo onto the itinerary for no real reason other than a strong feeling. And perhaps seeing the bridge where Archduke Franz Ferdinand was shot, thus beginning WWI. Quick recap, in case you dont remember your 6th grade history lesson on this: On June 28, 1914, a group of Serbian nationalists were planning on assassinating Austro-Hungarian Archduke Franz Ferdinand while on a motorcade through Sarajevo. But their bomb missed his car and instead injured a bunch of people on the parade route. Franz Ferdinand quickly finished up his meeting at City Hall and insisted on being taken to see "his people" at the hospital. But before days of cell phones and GPS, his driver thought that he was still being taken to lunch. So his route was a bit confused, and just so happened that Gavrilo Princip was eating a sandwich on the corner when the car stopped and reversed to get back on course. Quickly, he pulled out his revolvers with 3 bullets - one for Sofie, one for Franz Ferdinand, and one for himself. He succeeded with the first two bullets but jammed on the third. So he was tried and ended up dying in jail shortly thereafter.

Approaching Sarajevo, you see tons of homes and buildings still damaged during the Bosnia-Serbia conflict. I mean houses with roofs gone, buildings bombed out, and home after home just full of bullet holes. Other than the remnants of the war, Sarajevo strikes me as a very alive. It has a soul and history that rivals even Berlin. At a fraction of the cost. I immediately met so many friendly Bosnians and expats whose warmness made me feel welcome, even in the brisk fall weather. The only thing missing was a winter coat. Alas, I quckly got offers to help me coat shop too.

I was surprised by the friendliness of the hostel workers - they gave me tangerines, great recommendations on a nearby gym with exercise classes, and overall easygoing pesonalities. After the hot and cold attitudes of Croatians, where sometimes you were afraid to ask them questions, the smiles and sincerity of Bosnians go a long way. For gods sake, the currency exchange man even offered to help find me a job after I told him how impressed I was by Sarajevo!

I went out to grab a bit to eat, and soon learned that Bosnia isnt as touristy as Croatia (read: the menus are in Bosnian and only Bosnian). Luckily I got by enough with English and German to determine that the only food most places served was Ćevapčići, which are these weird little meat fingers that look like sausages. It was cold out and I was losing hope. I walked into a place that appeared to have pizza (although am so sick of pizza but my odd fear of meats makes pizza the only option most places). No pizza. But the super nice Bosnian guy spoke good English and walked me to a cozy local place and ordered me some yummy chicken stew-ish dish. When the meal came, my neighbors ordered me water and soon became my first friends in Sarajevo and we made plans to meet up the next day for coat shopping and dinner.

I hustled back to the hostel and sat down to see if Fabian had written and found myself in a long conversation with Christian, an intelligent young Colombian from Cali with perfect english. Another Latin man. Shocker. But then again, maybe I should just start referring to my quirky, unspecified personality traits as Latin Magnetism instead of Grasso Charm.

Anyhow, I had just eaten, but agreed to go out to get a drink with Christian. It was going to be an early night, because Christian has a 7am train the next day, and I had vowed a self-imposed detox after way too much drinking in Croatia with Fabian and my sister. Christian was sick of the weird meat fingers too, so we went to a Mexican place called Hacienda just to grab a snack and found ourselves knee deep in absinthe. After a while, it was a full on club full of fashionable young Bosnians (no, we werent hallucinating from the absinthe).

On the way back to the hostel, we stopped at the unfortunately named Cheers Bar for one final drink and immediately got absorbed into a group of locals lead by Selma and Verdad (sp?). We were carted off to various crowded bars and clubs until we finally arrived at the kind of club I like. The one you need to either know someone or sweet-talk your way into. Luckily we had both on our side. We got pulled inside Sloga and Christian and I just kept looking at each other as the live Bosnian music blared and all of these beautiful young Bosnians were singing along, dancing like no tomorrow. Well, when we looked at our watches we realized it WAS tomorrow and after 3am so we decided to be responsible adults and call it a night.

I am really excited about the energy in Sarajevo, so plan on staying here for a little bit with all of my new Bosnian friends. Well, as long as I can find a coat...

Euro rewind

A lot of the next portion of my trip was planned on the fly, and it involved going back to places I had already visited. But the reason for these trips wasnt necessarily to explore new places, but rather spend time with friends and family. Here is the Cliff Notes summary:

• Visited MLL again in Zurich, and had some good days where I was able to communicate fully in German without reverting to English.


• Scratched Oktoberfest off of my bucketlist. MLL has great connections and managed to get a table reserved at the Lowenbrau tent, so I donned a dirndl and grabbed my beer to dance on the tables and sing German songs.

 

• Fabian, a guy I met in Slovenia earlier and struggled to keep in touch with in Africa (for no other reason than terrible Wifi) was just finishing up the Adidas Sickline extreme white water world championships in Austria and met me in Munich where we had a more sober Day 2 of Oktoberfest which was really an excuse to wear my dirndl again and ride the scariest rides I have ever seen.

• Fabian and I then went to the 13th centure, 5 star Hotel Danieli right on the Grand Canal in Venice, which was like a fairy tale. I used my starwood points, and we got an upgraded room that overlooked the Grand Canal. We ended up just staring out the window, sipping wine for most of our stay. 
 

 

• Then we drove to Bovec, Slovenia where I ran into 4 people that rememembered me from earlier in the summer. Most notably was running into Rolli at the Doner Kebab shop (and yes of course the Doner man remembered me). So Rolli is a good story, but requires you to pay attention to the back story. 

• One of my best friends in the US, Kimberly Burdorf, had been to Slovenia a few years ago and had an unfortunate accident canyoning where she broke her leg or something similarily drastic. It was odd because Kimberly is probably the fittest person I know. So she was out of commission for awhile. At the time, I didnt know the difference between Slovakia, Slovenia, or Slavenia. But when I went to Slovenia, I asked her if Slovenia was, in fact, the land she had been to. She sent me a long detailed email with a recap of where she went with herprivate guide for the 2 week long trip. I admittedly didnt read it that closely. 
• Fast forward a few weeks, when Kimberly is in Arusha, Tanzania with me. I skype with Fabian for a bit and she gets to meet him over skype quickly. Later that night, at dinner, I mention that it would be funny if she had met Fabian during her time in Slovenia but she responded that she had only one guide the entire time, and she thinks his name was Rolli. I gasp, because that was the name of MY guide when I was in Slovenia. I immediately skype Fabian (I am clearly up for the Miss Manners title, skyping at the dinner table and all). I explain to Fabian that Rolli was her guide, and he gets a bit excited too. When I mention that she broke her leg, Fabian gasps. He remembered Kimberly!! So here we are, at some African lodge with sketchy internet, video skyping with Fabian in Slovenia, watching him pick up his cell phone to Rolli. We hear him on speakerphone telling Rolli that me and Kimberly are together right now, and he guided both of us, and we only discovered it really because of Fabian. CRAZY SMALL world. 
• So when I went back to Bovec a couple months later, naturally Rolli was the first person I ran into.

• Then Fabian and I drove to Omiš (about 25k outside of Split, pronounced Amish) where he was teaching some kayaking courses. Omiš is a spectacular town, where the Cetina river flows into the ocean. It has huge limestone walls a short distance back from the water, allowing for a tiny old town with narrow alleys. It is a breathtaking and (thankfully) underrated town on the backpacker circuit.
• A couple days later my sister Liz arrived into Split to be part of my adventure. While Fabian worked, my sister and I made day trips to Split and a bit of kayaking and hiking around Omiš . We hiked up to this old Pirate fort at the top of a very steep mountain. It only took 40 minutes to climb, but was so impressive from the ground and the views at the top were spectacular (and windy!)

• In Omiš one afternoon, we went aboard Fabian's friend Luca's boat for some fishing. We had 4 fishing lines in the water hoping for a big tuna catch. The only thing we caught was Luca himself who got a ginormous fishhook stuck in his hand (useful advice if this ever happens to you: cut the hook in order to push the hook through your skin then order a tequila shot, half as anestetic for your hand and the othet half for your liver.) Luca is this really tough Croat who didnt even cry or act like it was a big deal. And I definitely want to plug Luca´s restaurant, Bisto Babilo in Omiš http://www.gastronaut.hr/restoran.asp?id=4446. If you ever find yourself in Split or Makarska Riviera, I highly recommend a drive out to his restuarant. It is right on the water, and the Chicken Babilo was probably the best meal I have had on this whole entire trip. Possibly even the best meal I have had this year. 

• Liz and I did a two night trip to Dubrovnik, where we packed while intoxicated so forgot a lot of necessities, like towels, flip flops for showers, toothpaste. BUT we did bring the hairdryer! In the beautiful town of Dubrovnik, we putzed around the old walled city, including walking around the walls. 
• Liz and I visiting the island of Korcula, claimed to be Marco Polo's birthplace. We had a lazy day enjoying the sunshine.

• My sister and I visiting the vibrant city of Zagreb, including unintentionally completing a trifecta of Irish Pubs in Croatia. We had a very hard time finding the hotel, but learned that Zagreb is full of very helpful, yet highly uninformed Croatians. We had a laid back but very lovely time in Zagreb. It was a nice bonding experience and a great way to end our trip together!)