Thank God Almighty, We're Free At Last

Overlooking Ceará on top of a mountain in Maranguape

Unrelated to the post title (that'll be clear later), Ben and I climbed a mountain in the nearby city of Maranguape with Yury on Saturday.  I wasn't entirely sure whether or not I'd make it to the top, considering I have never hiked a mountain before and definitely felt my heart pounding to the point that if I were obese, I'd have been on the edge of cardiac arrest for a majority of the 2.5 hour ascent, but it was definitely worth the risk.  We took an hour bus ride from near the hotel to the city of Maranguape, marking the first time we'd left the unsafe confines of Fortaleza since we got here a month and a half ago.  I noticed how remote and relatively calm the town felt.  People were friendly and sparse and also for the first time in awhile, I let my guard down and enjoyed walking down the street without having to constantly check over my shoulder for a stranger to swipe at my neck.  It was quiet and peaceful on our treck from the bus stop to the mountain base.  Instead of a big neon arrow reading "enter here," we just started walking up a steeply inclined stone road that kept winding higher up the mountain.  At a point, the road just sort of ended at a house, and a dirt path led off to the side into the depths of the mountain.  After walking exposed to the sun for so long, it was a relief to enjoy the shade of the densely forested mountain, although the novelty was quickly overshadowed by the rough, narrow trails.

I feel like my post about the trip up the mountain should be extremely long winded and have its own bibliography to reflect how long and exhausting 2.5 hours of climbing can feel, coupled with Yury's constant suggestions that we were almost there and his spider-monkey abilities shooting him far ahead on the path.  Instead, I'll just paint this picture: there was a lot of dirt, trees and grass so imagine seeing a lot of brown and green for awhile until the mountain finally opened up right at the peak.  But I will say that the peak was beautiful and, while I may never desire to climb a mountain again, it was absolutely worth the trip that day.  We rested at the top of the mountain for about an hour, where I treated myself to a tangerine of deliciousness.  After feeling reenergized with sugar and water, we cut an hour off our our ascent time on the way down, almost taking the wrong path at one point but quickly finding our way again.  My body was sore and exhausted after the climb, but it was worth the feeling of accomplishment.

Now we can talk about the namesake of this post, Brazilian liberation.  It has become a running "joke" between the three of us that we aren't actually here for an internship, but instead to liberate the people of Brazil and annex them as the 51st U.S. state.  Naturally, we selected July fourth as our official day of liberation, instructing everybody that we work with that nobody had to come into work on the fourth because as new Americans, they would have to accept our national holidays too.  Much to our dismay (including the fact that we showed up at work too), this didn't work.  On the way into work, we passed the security guard at the gate and I exclaimed "Happy Liberation Day!" to which he replied "Bom Dia" (Good Day).  I took this as a willing acceptance of his new patronage.  Following an exhausting day of liberating, we traveled by bus to the best food in Brazilica (the country's new name following its introduction to U.S. statehood).  To make sure we celebrated the fourth correctly, we ate burgers and Matt and Ben picked up fries from Habib's which, like America, is also sadly racist toward people of middle eastern descent.  Following dinner, we went upstairs at our friend's nearby apartment where we filled the little remaining room in our stomachs with cake and watched one of the Lord of the Rings movies to the soundtrack of fireworks in the background.  People tried to tell us that the fireworks were in celebration of the Brazilian Corinthians soccer team winning its first Copa Libertadores (ironically translates to Liberators Cup), but it was pretty obvious that the Brazilians were happily accepting their new statehood.  Now the post title should make sense... if it doesn't, I really can't help you.

All kidding aside, as much as it was difficult to be away from home over the fourth of July, it was comforting that we had the company of each other and our friends, and made a special point of enjoying a lot of the activities we normally do with our families back home.

Until next time,

-David Rood

How the other half lives

As we are living in a Brazilian-five star hotel and walk along a private path to get to the shipyard in the morning, we run the risk of becoming isolated from the true Brazilian culture.  Some of our regular destinations so far expose us to a lot of people, but as a whole what was missing was an understanding of the average Brazilian house, in other words: "how the other half lives."  We had the chance to travel to our friend, Yury's house where we had lunch and later prepared and ate a snack called tapioca, far from the pudding from the U.S. to which we are accustomed.  Here, tapioca is a starch product of a cassava plant which is heated until it makes a sort-of tortilla which is filled with anything from chocolate or the often-used condensed milk, to ham and cheese.  Tapioca is also a typical breakfast food prepared at the hotel alongside omelets in the morning.

This Sunday trip to Yury's house was actually our second, but it definitely stuck with me more than the first since we stayed the whole day and in a way "lived" in his style for the day.  After meeting up with our friend near the hotel and catching a bus for about an hour (for about 70 cents since it is cheaper on Sundays), we jumped off the bus in his stomping grounds.  A short walk down a divided avenue paved with large rocks and dirt and with a central median large enough to host neighborhood parties brought us to his house; a simple structure that touches both neighboring residences.  Unlike the lengthy inspection and approval processes found in the U.S., except for larger commercially-used buildings and high-rise apartments, there is little regulation for homebuilding in Brazil.  People build their houses however they like and can afford.  In this case, there is a brick wall in front tall enough to keep people from scaling it.  As you walk through a metal gate, there is a walled-in area that leads to a solid wood door that appears like something American aristocracy would pay to import.  There are three doors in the house: the front door, a back door that leads to a similarly enclosed backyard, and the bathroom door while the two bedrooms that he shares with his two sisters and mother are exposed.  The front door opens to two small couches angled toward a television with an antena adjusted based on the station, and a kitchen with a modern fridge and humble table and sink area.  Of the the small backyard is covered with an extension of the roof made of red clay tiles that are a visual staple of the southern hemisphere (or Florida).  Under this awning sits a washing machine while clothes are air dried along clotheslines traversing the other half of the yard in an area that Yury sometimes showers outdoors at night (although they also have an indoor shower too).  As I've discussed in my laundry post, this setup for clothes is standard here and I've even noticed some women's delicates hanging out a front upstairs window to dry while we walk down the street in his neighborhood.

People who don't live in hotels for the summer tend to live much more modestly than the three Americans who gorge themselves on unlimited buffet food each night.  Food isn't wasted here and at least at Yury's house, they try to avoid leftovers.  There is no microwave at the house to heat them up.  While this standard of living may seem like a far cry from the standards from home (and they are), we felt very comfortable there as if visiting family for the day.

Between lunch and our tapioca snack, Ben and I walked around the area with Yury while Matt took a much needed nap on the couch that was half his height in length.  We walked to the community soccer field which was having its sand (not grass) raked at the time by a caretaker.  The completely netted venue supports itself by collecting a small fee from groups who play on it for about 50 cents to a dollar per person per hour.  The field was well maintained, showing the cultural importance of the game.  Our walk continued until we arrived at Yury's Mormon church.  We walked around the immaculately maintained building and even ran into three Americans serving on a two-year missionary in the neighborhood.  We never discussed religion with them, but instead enjoyed the company of a familiar English proficiency while learning what brought all of these people from around the U.S. to the same neighborhood outside Fortaleza.

By the time we returned from the walk to Yury's house, the large lunch had settled enough to eat the tapioca that I talked about earlier.  After a short food coma spent watching music videos on TV for music that we actually recognized from home, we ventured toward that central avenue to watch a group Forró competition like the individual event we had seen a few weeks ago in Dragão do Mar.  The event was an enormous neighborhood gathering which brought in carts and stands selling food and libations while the locals lined up the dance area and adjacent streets to watch late teenagers performing the folk-style dancing for the engaged crowd and three judges.

Following two very long performances, it was time to embark on our journey home which took about 45 minutes by bus.  The first time we went Yury's, he rode the bus the whole way with us to make sure we got back without a problem.  The route was easy even though it included a bus change at the terminal so we insisted that he stay home.  At this point you're probably expecting a bizarre story of how we got lost and wound up face down in a ditch with a Colombian drug cartel because we accidentally traversed the Amazon and crossed the Brazilian border.  Or that while we were converting the bus into a raft to ford the Amazon river on this hypothetical journey, everybody aboard got dysentery and died (a la Oregon Trail).  But alas, we got back to the hotel without a problem.  The only interesting things were finding Matt's Brazilian doppleganger, a little girl who would stop staring at us because we looked different, and a handful of blatantly xenophobic teenagers who were talking about us on the bus.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Is Gheller even a Portuguese name?

This past weekend was also action-packed as our weekends typically are.  We returned to the hotel after work and changed to head out to town with the sole intent of YOLO-ing (You Only Live Once).  First we piled into a taxi and rode to Dragão do Mar, a local area repleat with clubs that were not yet busy at that point in the night.  Saturday marked the Brazilian Valentine's day known here as Dia dos Namorados and one of the local clubs we hadn't yet visited was hosting an event with presale tickets half the cost of day-of admissions.  As the cab drove away, we began walking around the building looking for a place to buy the tickets until we stumbled upon a large steel door with a small eye level rectangular cutout on the side of the building.  We knocked and a guy inquired about our intentions and subsequently unbolted the door and let us into a small makeshift office.  Yes, we paid a shady guy in a shady office real money for what we were assuming were the real tickets for the event (they were).  After all, the tickets looked fancy and colorful so they had to be legit.

Then we headed up two blocks to the main bustling stretch of road that heads toward Beira Mar and walked  on the sidewalk until we came to Gheller Churrascaria, our second intended destination.  A greeter opened the door for us and directed us to a table.  A nice managerial-type (possibly Gheller himself) came up to us, identifying us as gringos (foreigners, but not a derogatory term here) and was very kind and forward with us.  For those not familiar with Brazilian churrascarias, they typically have lavish salad bars and "gaucho" servers who circle the restaurant with skewers of fine meats that they carve at request onto your plate.  Typically in the U.S. this meal service can run up to $50 per person so it was to our delight that we visited what was commented as the "best value" churrascaria in Fortaleza which cost R$19.99 per person or the equivalent of roughly 10 USD.  The meat was quite good, although I know that Matt, the only one of us brave enough, had a unique experience tempting fate with chicken heart, a local delicacy that he followed with a chaser of bottled water. I think the value for this restaurant came from the quality of meat as we felt that some of the lacking natural flavor was covered up with over-salting the meat.  I would love to eat at one of the more expensive churrascarias here for comparison (still significantly cheaper than those in the U.S.) although my health dictates that we should probably wait a few weeks before we venture out to another churrascaria.

Once our stomachs were sufficiently full of meat, we waddled toward Beira Mar to perch ourselves on the rocks at the end of the pier until the hotel shuttle arrived.  While we were there, our English attracted the attention of a 17 year old named Lucas, who was born in Brazil but had been living in Maryland until returning alone the past year.  This struck us as strange considering his mother with whom he lived sent him away and gave him a monthly allowance to live on his own in Fortaleza when he should technically be in high school still, all the while having an open ended return date.  As Lucas and his friends accompanied us as we walked toward the shuttle, the situation became clearer that he lived in a favela as he educated us about the gang culture in Brazil that he is a part of, which varies heavily from that of the States.  Here, it is based on where you live and although some is rooted in drug culture, most of the culture Lucas was telling us about is about protecting your street.  This made more sense how a woman would feel comfortable sending away her teenager to another country as he is protected by the favela's gang.  Unlike gangs in the U.S., it seems that bonds are formed over similar living experiences rather than committing crimes together, giving the concept a bizarre sense of moral rationality.  Needless to say, I would assign a zero probability that we will get involved with Lucas and his friends and get sucked into gang culture this summer.

Saturday during the day was much less eventful as I stayed back at the hotel while Ben and Matt headed out to Praia do Futuro and other impromptu excursions that Matt may blog about.  I decided to forgo the adventure because I had to do some law school financial aid applications so "Present David" could borrow lots-o-monay from "Future David."  Plus, I enjoyed sleeping in and spending much of the day catching up on my personal reading.

When Ben and Matt returned, we got ready to head out to the club that we had probably bought tickets for the previous night.  The process of getting ready to go out typically entails taking off any jewelry and emptying the non-essential contents of your wallet.  We arrived by taxi at the club once more, but this time music was pumping from the inside.  We walked through the entrance, were wanded by some seriously big dude wearing mock turtle necks under black suits, and proceeded through turnstiles in exchange for the tickets.  We also each received a bracelet indicating relationship status (mine was the only red one of the group indicating that I was taken... no worries, Chelsea) so I didn't find myself in an uncomfortable situation, especially since Brazilian culture promotes some serious kissing the first time you meet somebody of interest and not kissing is typically a bad sign.  I'm not sure what theme the night was supposed to have but we wound up listening to a DJ in an outdoor venue mixing American music from the '80s and '90s with hits from Vanilla Ice and Michael Jackson (before he turned white).

On Sunday, we took a complemetary hotel shuttle round trip to Praia do Futuro.  The shuttle was run by a company called FAG Tours.  Given the nature of the van and the all-caps of the word "FAG," we were guessing that it's an acronym starting with the word "Fortaleza," but we've been told by several people that Fortaleza is also the San Francisco of Brazil so the situation is open for interpretation.  For Ben and Matt, this day was marked as "National Viagra Day" as the beach mission was to get up on their surfboards, which I am proud to report was a success.

A nice nap followed the return to the hotel until we got ready to take the city bus to the apartment of one of the people Matt works with.  We picked up Habib's for dinner, trying the Brazilian-based and not at all politically correct fast food chain.  The food, some of which is Middle Eastern and the rest of which is a Brazilian interpretation of the likes of McDonald's was pretty good, and definitely satisfied our hunger for a reasonable price.  We ate the food at our friend's apartment and watched "V for Vendetta" with Portuguese subtitles even though she mouthed all of the words in English since it was her favorite movie.  This was actually my first time watching the movie and I really enjoyed it along with picking up some new vocabulary matching the subtitles to the spoken dialogue.  I'm assuming Ben enjoyed the experience too as he passed out in the hammock hanging on the balcony right off the small living room.

We were finally driven home that night at what felt like midnight given how busy we had been that weekend, but was really just ten at night.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Testes de Mar

Nerd alert: this post contains material not suited for people who don't care about engineering

On Wednesday, Ben and I participated in our first inclination test.  For the weak of mind you didn't heed my warning, this is a test in which known weights are shifted prescribed distances across a ship once it's in the water.  At each load condition, the heel of the ship or the incline is measured.  From this a final vertical center of gravity can be calculated, replacing the estimate from the design programs.

"Known weights" on the inclination test.

Typically, these tests are performed with large heavy metal boxes that are shifted on temporary rails across the deck of a ship.  However, INACE uses a relatively unconventional yet similarly effective method.  Ben and I boarded the research vessel around nine in the morning and we were unable to find the large weights that we had learned about in our naval architecture courses.  It was also suspicious that there were so many yard workers aboard the vessel until we were all queued up and stepped on a digital scale to have our weights individually recorded.  From this, our weights were put into a spreadsheet and we were broken into four groups of relatively equal weight... yes, people were going to be the known weights for this test.  At first I wasn't assigned to be in a group, perhaps because my weight was too insignificant or because I was just simply forgotten.  At that point I was given the job of playing the boss's counterweight although given his size... and mine for that matter I wasn't well cut out for the task.  In order to make sure that his movement during the test could be mitigated, I was supposed to mirror his motions on the opposite side of the ship's centerline.  When the boat didn't heel enough with a weight shift in order to satisfy precision requirements, instead of bringing a heavy lead weight onto the ship, they just called to the commercial ship design department where Ben works and had more workers come out to stand for a few hours.  I had my temporary title removed and I was reassigned to stationary weight duty just as Ben had already been for an hour of checking the equilibrium conditions.  We were all wearing laminated papers around our necks with individual letters A through D on them denoting which group each engineer was in.  While I had all of my downtime standing, I crunched some numbers and determined that the test would have cost over $6,000 in labor alone in the U.S. to use people instead of weights if everybody was just an entry-level engineer.  This demonstrates a notable difference in the Brazilian work economy as a still-developing country where wages are low enough that it is still financially beneficial to use large sums of labor than investing in the equipment needed to do the task more efficiently.

Matt choosing to stand to minimize nausea.

In the afternoon all three of us went on our first testes de mar (sea trials) on a waterjet-propelled boat tasked with  connecting offshore oil platforms with land through the carriage of crews and goods, and provisions depending on the size of the vessel.  We had been warned on multiple occasions that vomiting on sea trials was a real possibility, especially during maneuvering tests (which we didn't do that day) as the boat rolls around the rough Atlantic unexpectedly.  In anticipation of this, we chose our lunches wisely and avoided topping ourselves off shortly before heading out.

When ships go out on sea trials, a lot more people tend to be "involved" with a project than you would  think and space onboard almost becomes a tradable commodity as people try to take a two hour break from work to ride around the waters juxtaposing Fortaleza at 25 knots (pretty fast for a boat).  For however connected with this project that we were, and Ben of the three of us had actually done work on it, as part of our education experience we were told to go to which we happily obliged.  After about an hour and a half of mostly straight runs I am proud to say that none of us threw up.  However, Ben and I have been told that we are attending a sea trial on the boat that will be twice as long and should go through some major maneuvering and acceleration tests so we may wind up on for two by lunchtime.  Below is a video from the sea trials to give an idea for the motions on the vessel.

Thursday was Corpus Christi, a Catholic holiday that nobody here seems to be able to tell us about except that they don't work.  You can try to figure it out for yourself from the Wikipedia article that I hyperlinked.  Therefore we didn't do anything but go to the pool and have a good time talking and enjoying the weather.  Then on Friday we were given another sea trial opportunity, this time aboard a yacht nearing completion.  This too was a preliminary two hour sea trial to check major systems including the autopilot.  Since most of the journey was pretty low key, we spent our time talking and enjoying the comfortable overcast breeze from the top flybridge deck.  This two hour respite was enjoyable then turned downright entertaining from our perspective when it came time to dock.  As we came into the marina, one of the engines had cut out because of a simple wire that came loose that wasn't discovered until later in the saga and was eventually easily popped back into place.  Because of this, the yacht was being pushed by the current toward the rocks that make the marina's harbor only to be rescued by two men in a small dinghy carrying lines from the dock to the boat to restrain it.  Additional lines were then connected together to winch the yacht toward its berth via the neighboring yacht's stern winch.  At several points during this process, we found that some of the people involved willingly immersed themselves in the marina water to carry ropes, particularly this one older man with a moustache whom we have seen in the water on more than one occasion for different reasons this week.  He must really love to swim although I wouldn't trust the water in a harbor for similar reasons that I wouldn't expose my skin to Lake Erie near where I grew up in Cleveland.  The yacht was finally secured even after a rope was paddled from the dock to the boat just to come up a few feet short.  Then between discovering the simple issue with the engine and the winch of a nearby boat, the yacht was quickly drawn to its starting berth and all disembarked to return to work or eat lunch.

This comedy of errors really just exemplifies why you don't test sailor superstition of leaving port on a Friday.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Praia do Futuro

After just a few hours of sleep following Mucuripe the night before, we woke up before 7 so we could eat a little something and then head out to Praia do Futuro (Beach of the Future).  Our Brazilian friend, Yury, met us outside the hotel and we walked across a busy street to wait for the bus.  We figured that at that hour of the day on the weekend there would be plenty of room, but two packed buses flew by the stop before we hiked up a few streets into a small town area where we could catch a different route to the beach.  The four of us wound up boarding a privately run bus rather than a city bus which also passed Praia do Futuro.  However, it was surprising that the less crowded and air conditioned bus cost the same as the city system at $R 2 or the equivalent of about 1 USD each way.

Attempting to surf at Praia do Futuro.

When we arrived at the beach about 20 minutes later, it was pretty empty, not surprising since it was still around 8 AM.  While walking along the boardwalk that is removed from the beach by tons of barracas, or beachside restaurants that offer food, drink, and umbrella-covered table space.  Some of the larger barracas also have musical entertainment at certain times.  The walk showed the barracas loading up on provisions for the day with sacks of crab and a truck wielding nothing but coconuts preparing for some of the most popular choices.

We found a table at one of the barracas and put our stuff down while receiving instructions from Yury to make sure that at least one person is at the table at all times so nothing is stolen.  Yury took the first shift since our simple minds could think of nothing but to sprint toward the water and soak in the salty air.  As we had been told, the water was comfortably warm because the sun beats down on it all day, every day.  We loitered around the ocean for awhile then returned to the table for some fruit that Yury brought and to figure out how to try surfing.

We each got a surfboard for an hour and ventured into the ocean for a self-taught surfing lesson, which turned into more of a floating lesson.  The waves were a bit rough for first-time surfers but it was still a blast paddling out as far as we could and riding the water inland.  We took a short break to gather more energy as surfing is surprisingly exhausting, and then Ben and Matt went for round two while I gave Yury my board to give it a shot.  While they were out, I had some good time to reflect and people watch as well as turn away the ever present beach vendors.  I made sure to wear my sunglasses because at least those vendors automatically didn't bother with me.

When the surfboards were returned, we all sat down at the table and ordered crab, something the beach is known for here because it is so inexpensive.  We got three delicious and healthy-sized crabs delivered to our table with cutting boards and plastic mallets for cracking, all for less than 2 USD per crab given its regular availability in the region.

Following our crab feast and washing the sand and ocean out of our feet and hair respectively, we boarded a much less refined city bus back toward the hotel with a stop at the grocery in mind for laundry soap and beer.  The grocery was relatively uneventful as we found everything we needed.  However, the trip home was the root of an adrenalin rush.  While the four of us were waiting for the bus across the busy street from the grocery around noon, a man nonchalantly walked by us when I felt a hand touch my shoulder.  In that instant my mind figured it was just a friend from work surprising us but then I felt a tugging on my neck as he had grabbed my necklace of Judaic persuasion from behind in an attempt to steal it.  The chain broke against my neck under the force of his pull and he began to sprint away, albeit not very quickly since he was wearing flip flops.  Ben took a few steps in pursuit before we knew what exactly happened.  Fortunately the man hadn't gotten a good hold on the gold chain and it fell into my hands in front of me.  Seconds later the bus arrived and we boarded all shaken up.  We've been told never to wear nice jewelry out and I always leave my watch, bracelet, phone, and wallet save for a few dollars at home but it hadn't crossed my mind to remove something I wear all of the time and tuck into my shirt.  This was a tough lesson to learn but fortunately the only problem is that I need to get my chain repaired when I return to the States and I now have a slightly better understanding of crime in Brazil.  The situation also exemplifies what we've heard about the buses in that they are very safe and you are just very vulnerable while you are waiting.

Laundry drying all over the room.

The weekend was rounded out on Sunday with our first attempt at laundry, the purpose for going to the grocery.  We investigated different sources for laundry here and decided it would cost a lot of money.  From what we can tell, laundromats aren't a part of the culture, possibly because of the lack of a solid middle class.  Many people have washing machines in their house, although the immense heat here means that dryers are hard to come by since people can just as quickly hang clothes up to air dry.  Those who don't have laundry in their houses tend to wash clothes the old-fashioned way with a grate in a bucket of soapy water.  Alternatively, we could use a laundry service, but they either charge by the piece or kilo and both options would have been expensive for our two weeks worth of sweaty clothing.

Instead, the three of us decided to try our hand at a version of the old-fashioned method.  Before you judge the pictures, just keep in mind that we made the conscious decision to do our laundry this way, just as they made the same decision two years ago but last year the students chose to pay for laundry.  This is not a reflection of poor living conditions but rather a financial decision.  We plugged the tub and filled it with water and a cap of detergent.  Clothes were unceremoniously piled in and stirred for awhile until everything was hopefully clean.  Then the tub was emptied and clothes were rinsed using the shower head and wrung out by hand before finding a drying place somewhere in the room on a towel or hanging from the window sill.  We opened all of the windows and the breeze was fantastic.  Although it wasn't as good for our clothes as it was for our spirits, the weather was cool and comfortable while we enjoyed the few remaining hours of daylight of an event-filled weekend.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Cachaça

Enjoying the national drink of Brazil.

After our second full week of work at INACE, the three of us were invited to the birthday festivities of the new girl who works in Matt's office.  What we've learned about aniversarios (birthdays) in Brazil is that at least with the people we've been exposed to, that they last the entire weekend.  Even though an invitation to all three nights of festivities was extended, we only participated in the first night so we weren't seen as the ever-present Americans that have to be entertained with simple phrases of broken Portuguese.

To get to the Italian restaurant for the Friday night, we boarded the hotel shuttle to the ever-familiar Beira Mar, and walked up a familiar path into town until we got to the "Circle of Death" which is our name for a traffic circle that exemplifies the danger of driving in Brazil... or walking for that matter. To avoid risking life and limb, we crossed the street far removed from the busy circle and passed through a mall as a bathroom stop.  We asked for some directions to the destination to verify that we were headed in the right direction, and arrived at the restaurant.

While we were at the restaurant, we each tried a caipirinha (keye-peer-een-ya), the Brazilian national cocktail according to Wikipedia (and we all know that if it's on the internet that it must be true).  All sarcasm aside, it actually is the national drink.  The caipirinha uses cachaça, a sugar-cane alcohol, as well as lime, which led to much confusion.  We were asking if the drink was made with lemons or limes, and they informed us it was "limão" which we took to mean lemon.  Then to verify we asked about the color, and they kept insisting that a lemon was green.  Further research explains the misunderstanding which I will paraphrase for those with dial-up (seriously, who still has dial-up?) and don't want to open the link: Essentially the word that sounds like lemon here is actually lime and they do have "lima" here after all.  This problem could have been solved with some handy-dandy internet access and google translate, but alas it was not meant to be.  Oh, and with a hint of South American pride, our friends made it very clear that while Mexican tequila and cachaça may taste similar, it is tequila that tastes like cachaça and not the other way around, as if cachaça was there first.

Throughout the night of celebrating birthdays and amongst us three, a three-month paid vacation in Brazil, we were raising glasses and bottles in cheers.  From the enjoyment stemmed a saying in Brazil that if you don't drink after cheers-ing (word?) that you won't have sex for ten years; not an omen we want hanging over our heads.

As things came to a close, we were invited to continue the festivities at Mucuripe, a club within walking distance of the hotel.  The club was an amalgam of around five clubs with different music.  Over dinner we were told that they would be playing "funk" music that night and as a fan of the funk/soul work of Tower of Power, I was excited until I heard it was some kind of screamo singing-rap.  We wandered from venue to venue trying to get our dance-worth of the higher cover charge, but mostly just danced in a group with our birthday friends or tried to make conversation with people that didn't understand us.  There are only so many ways you can ask a person's name and tell them that you're an engineer from the U.S. working in the shipyard before you just get frustrated that it's as deep as you can go in conversation at this point in the summer.  At the early hours in the morning, Ben and I walked home while Matt stayed behind hoping to stay awake until our 7:30 AM departure for Praia do Futuro... which, after getting dropped off at the hotel at 5:30 didn't happen.

I'll tell you all about the day at the beach and accompanying misfortunate awakening in the next post.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Flugtag

On Sunday, the Marina Park Hotel hosted the Red Bull Flugtag, which can be loosely translated into "people doing stupid things for the chance at money."  Setup for the event began a few weeks before we arrived in the country, including an enormous temporary shelter to house the vehicles and the ramp pictured to the right.  The estimated attendance for the event was over 20,000 people and it was the talk of the city this weekend.

Thousands of people enjoying Flugtag outside the hotel

We awoke to familiar music filling up the air at 8:30 in the morning priming mostly just the working crews and Flugtag "flight" competitors for the day's activities.  However, by the time the event started two hours later, the place had been packed shoulder to shoulder and the overflow seating filled up as shown to the right.

We have a tendency to find the only people where we go that also speak English as the day before Flugtag, we found three yachts worth of men enjoying the company of a certain "Captain."  Somehow fresh fruit kept appearing from a mysterious black backpack and was carried via blender to the pool bar area (to spare confusion, I am considering rum to be part of the fruit section of the food pyramid).  Smoothies aren't my cup of tea (or is that smoothie?) so I didn't partake but my traveling companions can attest to the heavy handed nature of these sailors.  Most of these men were crew members of ongoing projects at INACE, with the captain of one yacht having been in Fortaleza for a while, supervising the construction of his respective owner's vessel.  However, of these new faces,  two were successful Dutch businessmen taking their newly purchased yacht on a year hiatus from work.  To their displeasure but our enjoyment, they have been trapped in Fortaleza for a month as their replacement sail pays tribute to the Brazilian customs agency.  Convenient timing had us invited aboard the 60 foot, twin masted sailing yacht, "Marcia" to watch the Red Bull event in unique company and comfort.

Enjoying canine company aboard "Marcia"

Flugtag lasted for hours, with speakers projecting Portuguese toward the hotel and away from our yacht, adding to the bliss of being aboard.  We watched several of the contraptions crash to the water, but the real memories came from the company and the experience aboard "Marcia."  For the first time in about a week, we enjoyed a very different and fresh meal.  As typical college students, we ate up all of the different culture presented in food form for lunch.  Between uncooked fresh fish and an interpretation of ceviche to the backdrop of people jumping after their planes 40 feet into the water, our palettes were satisfied until dinner.

While aboard, we made a new friend in the dog that the two Dutch men bought when they picked up the yacht.  The ironic part is that they picked the two up in Portugal, which means that the dog "spoke" Portuguese.  This meant that the only person who could regularly test her tricks was our Brazilian friend who came to see Flugtag at the hotel with us.  We heard about the dog becoming accustomed to traveling aboard and how she has gotten less nervous throughout the months of sea-based travel.  At one point we looked over to see her laying down in one of the built-in cubbies for storing gear below the seats in the helm, through an opening barely large enough to fit her small body.  The water has a way of mellowing people out, and the same must hold true for dogs.

Flugtag is a dangerous activity, and Red Bull requires all of those involved to sign liability waivers.  That was a wise business decision as there were two notable injuries during the competition.  One was a case where a man walked out of the boat but was taken away on a stretcher as a precaution.  Another more serious case was someone whose plane flipped on him and landed on top.  He was later taken to the hospital where he received 70 stitches in his head.  I can't imagine I will ever be crazy enough to take that kind of risk with my life.


Oh, and today Brady earned a new rating.  He shall henceforth be known as "Brady the Underground-Airport-Terminal-Train-Riding, Portuguese-Translating, Ladies'-Man, Flugtag-Piloting, Traveling Wolverbear."

Until next time,

-David Rood

A Hard Day's Night

The day started like any other work day, but little did we know that it would last for 23 hours non-stop.  This is how it went...

Yacht being lowered into the water

We woke up around 6, showered, ate breakfast, and headed to the shipyard for a regular day of work.  After we clocked in, we headed over to the boat lift to watch a yacht being lowered into the water.  By 4 PM the engineering office had emptied out as if it were memorial day weekend here as well.  Ready to go catch the final rays of sunlight for the day at the pool, Ben and I got ready to meet up with Matt and head home before getting sucked into a great conversation with Tatiana who we've nicknamed Dona Boba (silly lady in Portuguese)... jewish goodbye initiated.  Finally we got back to the hotel, swam for a bit in the always warm pool water, and got ready to head out to explore Fortaleza with one of our new Brazilian friends.

After trying Fortaleza's chinese food... it's no TK Wu, Flavio's cousin Felipe and his friend Pedro drove us to Órbita Bar, a club featuring a Beatles cover band that kicked major ass.  After arriving there sometime after 10 (not exactly sure because we left our watches at home to avoid the possibility of theft), we got through the entrance doors, paid the $R 20 cover charge, and bought drinks.  We enjoyed drinks (keeping this vague so I have plausible deniability) and listened to a local group opening for the Beatles.  Of course as we travel, we have a knack for finding the only people in a place who also speak English in three students working as cultural exchanges in local schools before continuing in their careers.  Of these, there was an Irish, Russian, and Italian girl but it was the rapport of the Russian (let's call her Becky for anonymity) with the bar tender that proved exciting.  The bar tenders are simply crazy at this club as they light fires, ring bells, and jump up on the bar to yell at people to "drink up mother fuckers" while wielding a beer bong used for hard liquor instead.  As Becky finished the bong of straight vodka, the bar tender told her she drinks like a girl, to which she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close to yell that she drinks like a Russian.

We've learned from our friends that in Brazilian culture, kissing is not seen as a same sort of commitment as it is in the U.S.  It is very acceptable to make out with somebody that you've just met and I saw plenty of people around the club going to town with each other's mouths.  It may seem strange and I certainly didn't partake because I would very much like to avoid losing my girlfriend, but Brazilians are much more comfortable with being close to people than Americans are.  The way of meeting females by kissing both cheeks in a social setting alone makes you feel instantly more comfortable as you've already violated a personal bubble in the first instance of greeting.  Similarly, men pat each other on the shoulder all of the time for all sorts of reasons, and it's endearing enough that I've been practicing whenever I have the chance.  As a whole, if you can get over the fact that a personal bubble only exists in a theoretical world, the physical closeness of this culture is very enjoyable.

By 3:30 AM we were getting pretty restless and headed out (with sober drivers) to Pedro's family's apartment where we hung out for about another half hour and hydrated for the long ensuing day.  A cab took us back to the hotel and we passed out by 5 AM for some much needed, albeit limited sleep.

Barefoot soccer at the shipyard's field

Ben and I woke up a mere three hours after we went to bed so we could play futibol (soccer in

Portuguese and pronounced foo-che-bol) with a group of engineers that we work with.  A bunch of glasses of water later and we were on our way to the shipyard to play a bit hungover.  We all met up after 8 AM, removed our shoes and kicked the ball around practicing taking shots on goal.

After two hours of shirts vs. skins 5 on 5 soccer later we were exhausted, not to mention the fact that we were still a little dehydrated coming into the game.  What was the remedy?  More cerveja as we watch Brazil dominate Denmark in a great soccer game.  We were taken by some of our coworkers to a small, very local outdoor restaurant/bar around the corner from the shipyard.  One of the guys ordered a chicken soup that seems like a Brazilian twist on a traditional tortilla soup and offered Ben and me a taste.  We had so many tastes, that he wound up ordering a second.  Perhaps it was a taste I will later regret as this wasn't the finest eating establishment, but well worth the potential use of Immodium.

Here the incorrect time zone placement means that they take the concept of "it's 12 o'clock somewhere" very seriously as they started ordering cerveja when we got there at 10:30 AM.  Our coworkers kept ordering pairs of Skol 40's, which was fine and refreshing for awhile but became difficult as you have to drain your filled cup (at least it's a tiny cup) every time Brazil scores.  They just so happened to have made three goals in the first half... so Ben and I left at halftime out of pity on our livers.

The following five hours in the pool area, swimming to cool down then sleeping under shade on a couch was what we needed to recover from a chaotic, sleep deprived 30 hours.

Until next time,

-David Rood

We No Skol Americano

I could tell you all you want to know about the shipyard, but in this post I thought it would be interesting to discuss some of the Brazilian culture that we're observing and drinking.  Let me start off by clarifying that the drinking age here is 18, so age challenged Michigan students considering this internship in future should consider this when choosing summer employment.  Nonetheless, we're all 21 so it doesn't make a difference.

Now comes out the inner Ashley's guru.  Fortaleza, and perhaps Brazil as a whole is not known for its great drinking water, so we were encouraged to just drink bottled water here.  It's not that they don't have clean sources, but that the piping isn't up to our usual standards.  With access to so much freshwater around the two peninsulas, Michigan is perfectly situated to be one of the country's best brewing states as good beer depends wholeheartedly on good water.  Since Ceara, the state where Fortaleza is, has mediocre water, there are no microbreweries and most of the beer comes from the southern regions of the country.  Every beer that we have had so far is some rendition of a super light pilsner, almost like drinking carbonated water that packs a punch after a few.  In a way it's actually quite refreshing as I have no inclination to sit down to a room temperature Irish stout if "room temperature" means the mid-80's.

Naturally, we have tasked ourselves with the important job of trying all of the beers they sell here and not in the U.S. (of which there aren't many).  One of them is just Budweiser bottled here and given a new local name, and other popular choices are Stella Artois and Heineken to give a frame of reference, but we are trying all of the other ones we don't recognize.  So far the favorite is Skol, the namesake of this article.  To take the name one step further, I included a fun loosely connected video.

The best place to try all of the beers in at Beira Mar, our regular work night destination.  On Thursday, we took the hotel shuttle there and perched at a table along the boardwalk to drink and people watch.  Matt was recently recovering from being sick out of both ends so it was up to Ben and me to take on Brazil's cerveja (beer in Portuguese).  

While we were keenly observed female Brazilian bodies, we also were constantly approached by street vendors trying to sell us a myriad of paintings and caricatures.  The caricature artist was very intent on our business and proceeded to make his business case by pointing out how we had great features for drawing, like Matt's big nose in particular.  We have learned that it is very difficult to avoid the attention of these vendors that walk about with their wares as well as setup camp in a big outdoor market area across from where the shuttle drops off.  It is important to just completely ignore the vendors and what they are selling because they will try to follow you and haggle even if you don't respond so long as you show a hint of interest.  I have developed a process for looking at stuff in passing as if I'm trying to look somewhere else just so they don't leach onto us.  From Foakley sunglasses, to Folex watches, and fauxball jerseys, there isn't something you can't buy cheap and fake from these vendors.

In the end of the night, it was an enjoyable evening, coupled with the entertainment of an older lady falling asleep next to her presumed daughter at the table behind us.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Dia um

Today was the first full day that I spent in Fortaleza following a night of a minor exhaustion-induced hallucination.  After passing out last night for about 45 minutes, I woke up around 9:30 PM asking Ben and Matt the whereabouts of the "fourth person of our group."  Perhaps I was asking about Brady but my guess is that it was a figment of my tired imagination.  I took a quick shower to remove the layers of sweat that the humid 85 degrees adheses to your body and slept for nine hours of pure uninterrupted dormance.

Wheelhouse of Far Far Away

This morning we woke up, had a nice breakfast at the hotel, got picked up by Flavio and drove around the shipyard.  He showed us the different ships in the yard which is a good size, though substantially smaller than HHI so there is a different production process.  Most of the work for each project is done at the respective build site rather than rolling out grand blocks from a centralized panel assembly shop.  This means that all of the work is centered around the ship and the steel cutting shops are quite small.

Between office visits with all of Flavio's family (his grandparents own the shipyard), we had the chance to go aboard the Brazilian Navy cutter, "Macaé" as well as an explorer yacht, "Far Far Away" about two months away from delivery.  During these tours, my height advantage finally came into effect as I could clear all of the doorways without ducking (yay genetics!).

From a non-technical standpoint, today was a great day for exploring Fortaleza.  This driving tour gave a fascinating perspective of the wealth disparity that exists in Brazil, as Matt talked about in one of his early blog posts.  In the U.S. there are typically clear indications of "good areas" and "bad areas."  From Cleveland and later Detroit (via Ann Arbor), I understand the issues with a downtown lifestyle.  I have traveled off the beaten path in Chicago and seen sketchier neighborhoods.  Fortaleza differs in that there is no "beaten path" per se.  The areas were impoverished people live are called favelas and I gather are somewhat akin to ghettos.  They appear directly across the street from some of the most expensive high rise real estate in Fortaleza and only magnifies the economic climate here.

Something that will take some adjusting is the sun's personal agenda.  Since Fortaleza is very far east and I believe that it should be one more time zone removed from EST, the sun sets around 5:30 every day.  It's not that the days get shorter because of the winter since we are so close to the equator, but that it is just that far east and there is no daylight savings time change permanently applied.  We figured we would need to rush to the pool after work to hang onto the last hint of a sunset, but since it is lit up and stays warm all the time from the intense sun during the day (the water would be charred if it were meat) it is a nice place to go for a swim even at night as long as a towel awaits your return so you don't have to cope with a breezy air dry.  My brain says that sundown = dinner time, but not only is that far from the truth, but Brazilians also tend to eat very odd times.  Dinner at the hotel is served starting at 7:00 PM (1.5 hours after the sun sets) and continues until midnight.  This means that working through lunch to get out of work early is rewarded with an evening of hunger.

Following our 7:20 dinner (we may eat early due to our American dining tendencies), we took the hotel's shuttle to the Beira Mar area where we walked along the beachside path.  I also earned my first Brazilian beer bottle cap although we decided to sit for this one even though Brazil has no open container laws so there is no problem walking along the beach with a beer in hand.  The one thing that stood out about the area is how many people were out running.  Presumably since the intense sun, which I swear is actively searing my retinas every time I go outside during the day, comes up so early it makes sense for the people to wait until after work when the sun is already set to go outside and run in a much cooler but still well streetlight lit environment to get their exercise on.

Flavio also told us that the purpose of ice in a urinal is that it keeps smells at bay because stinky things are typically intensified due to heat and they are more visually appealing than typical urinal cakes.  As a negative result, you can clearly see where the man before you has done his business in a very well defined hole in the ice chips.  On a final note, it has been pretty difficult to score well on the melt-the-ice game since we have sweat so much due to the heat so we will have to super-hydrate on a cool, breezy overcast day to set a high score (much like Whose Line, there is no real point system).

Until next time,

-David Rood

Bem-vindo ao Fortaleza

Landing alongside another plane in Brrasilia

We landed a little after noon in the Fortaleza airport which was a major step up from the Brasilia airport.  The final approach revealed an interesting perspective as the majority of Fortaleza was flooded with red clay roof tiles.  It was reminiscent of flying into Miami but felt more authentic.  Most of the city is comprised of small two-story buildings in the same South American style architecture, but there is a drastic change in buildings as you get closer to the ocean as most people there live in high rise buildings.  The drive from the airport to the final destination at the Marina Park Hotel revealed a struggling side to Fortaleza and that the fifth-largest city in Brazil is very much like Chicago in that it has some nice areas, but if you go off the beaten path, even as you travel from the airport to the city center, you realize that not all is paradise in a city that has no winter.

We arrived at the hotel and checked in with ease and surprised Matt during a nap.  Out of hunger, we quickly headed down for Ben's and my first full authentic Brazilian meal in the hotel.  The shrimp risotto was fantastic, but it was the assortment of desserts including flan that set the meal apart.  After two plates of entrees and another taste of all of the desserts, we were ready to ignore anything anybody ever told us about waiting a half hour between eating and swimming.  We rushed back up to the room, donned our swimsuits (that I am still wearing) and noodled it up in the naturally sun-heated pools.

We also noticed that the urinals in the hotel tend to be filled with ice for some reason.  Maybe it is some kind of urban legend for reducing spray, but it is a strange concept no matter which way you cut it.  Of course, this has led to a game for the next 13 weeks: how much water can you drink during the day to try to melt all of the ice in one session (if you've ever tried to turn one of the blue urinal cakes green, you know exactly what I'm on about).  I would post a picture of this scenario, but this blog would no longer be suitable for a public audience.

Tomorrow is day one of work so I'll be sure to follow up with notes about the shipyard.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Step 2,3: ATL ==> BSB ==> FOR

So today, Brady the Traveling Wolverbear leveled up to "Brady the Underground-Airport-Terminal-Train-Riding, Portuguese-Translating, Ladies'-Man, Traveling Wolverbear."  After landing in Atlanta, Ben and I did a quick terminal change using the airport's well-known underground interterminal train and got something to eat near our gate.  This was the last time for 13 weeks that my phone was on roaming... iPhone in airplane mode activated.

Ben riding on the train in ATL

The flight from Atlanta to Brasilia started in a memorable way.  The man sitting in the seat directly behind me had misplaced his passport and boarding pass somewhere between the plane door and his seat in row 23.  The FAA couldn't clear the plane to depart knowing that he didn't have the documentation he needed to return home.  This began an onslaught of bizarre sights to see while still parked on the gate.  After he put up a verbal struggle against the Delta representatives and had the entire area repeatedly check the surroundings for the missing docs, the pilot was publicly scorning the disturbance over the intercom and informing the rest of the passengers that the flight would be further delayed since the airline is also required to remove the passenger's luggage.  Although this was inconvenient, this served as Ben's and my introduction to the Brasilian concept of travel time, a southern hemisphere adaptation of "Michigan Time."  Ben's seat neighbor, Ivan made a point that in all of his Brasilian travels, he has never seen a flight take off on time, but to the fault of the passengers' timeliness and not airline passivism.  This trend was even more obvious as we boarded in Brasilia for our final leg to Fortaleza with plenty of time to fill up a relatively empty flight yet we still departed the gate at least 20 minutes late.

As for Brady the Traveling Wolverbear's Ladies' Man status, we may have to travel together more often because I enjoyed all of the attention.  As I boarded different flights throughout the journey, the Brazilian flight attendants said things in a tone in which I'm assuming they thought he was adorable and of course made me look manly (I couldn't understand what exactly they were saying, but I think this is a safe direction to go).  A lady sitting next to us in the Brasilia terminal was also enamored with Brady and asked about him... also using broken English.

Until next time,

-David Rood

Step 1: CMH ==> ATL

Welcome back to my international travels journal 2.0.  For those of you unfamiliar with my trip to South Korea two years ago, check out shameless plug #1.

This trip follows three University of Michigan students: Ben Sward, Matt DiTullio, and myself as we journey through airports to spend 13 weeks of our summer (their winter) working at INACE in Fortaleza, Brazil.  Before you take pity on us for leaving a midwest summer for the dead of a summer hemisphere winter, do keep in mind that the average temperature in Fortaleza right now is the mid 80's... not too shabby.  As one more piece of logistics before we get onto the usual sarcastic posts with hints at humorous racism rooted in cultural ignorance, I also want to include shameless plug #2 for Matt's blog.

Brady the Traveling Wolverbear

Although I introduced Matt and Ben, I think it's now appropriate to introduce my final traveling companion: Brady the Traveling Wolverbear pictured to the right.  As we travel he will accumulate formal business titles and more areas of expertise.  If you can't figure out why we named him Brady, here's shameless plug #3.

Right now Ben just strolled up to me in the Columbus airport wielding book bag and skateboard in traditional Benjarvian fashion.

I acknowledge that this isn't really witty or funny yet so we'll work on that as more interesting things happen.  I'll try to get back on when we're in ATL to blog about Step 2: ATL ==> BSB.

Until next time,

-David Rood