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