Some observations from the first trip to Torres.
31 October 2009
Bus to Torres. 10ish in the a.m. Bags are packed securely and a weekend beach adventure awaits. What to come? Presently the joy of motion is in my bones and my heart. On the go. Somewhere new. And a break, at that.
The bus is cushy and well-lined. Just out of the city proper we are witness to the poverty that pervades Brazil. Withered horses graze in patchy fields of deep green grass. Indeed, it is the greenery that saves so much of the scenery. Trash and ramshackle housing supplies additional balance in favor of the gloom. But, alas, this is truth. And who suffers the most?
Jenn says: “I have so much compared to some people.” But is there no serenity among the poor? Is there wisdom and contentment in the patched boxes of fragmented boards?
The Trash
I see disadvantage in terms of education, nutrition, water supply and perspective—among others. But I also see some natural beauty that could be enjoyed were it not for the trash that appears locked to the landscape. Layers of plastic, paper, scrap this and scrap that are affixed to cement, grass and dirt. Bits and big bundles slowly release their elasticity and veritably soak into the earth. One gets the impression that it has been here for a while and here is where it shall remain.
Mental image forever burned into memory: goat munching away atop giant mound of rubbish.
It has been a most unusual Halloween.
1 November 2009
We arrived yesterday without incident and managed several successful adventures that rounded out the day quite nicely.
The first was a walk to see the beaches that make up this community. Along the way we stopped for a bite to eat at a place to which we will likely not return. Aside from the mediocrity of the fare, it was less than clean. And when we were finished, a woman came along (she perhaps a bit slow) and asked if she could have the rest of Jenn’s sandwich. Jenn said, “Sure,” and the stranger promptly plopped down into her chair and began munching happily away.
Occasionally she offered a couple words which came garbled through mouthfuls of unidentified meat and veggies. It was a surreal and slightly harrowing sight.
It’s later in the day—just about noon—and so much has been accomplished. A delicious breakfast was supplied by the Pousada Solar Inn. There were cakes, of course, and the oh-so-delicious coffee that Brazilians usually have on hand.
Now the beach is where we have taken up camp. Here amongst the crowd—just to the rear where there is adequate space—we lounge as the others. Umbrellas create an eye-level canopy under which bodies recline or lie supine taking in sun, cool shade, and a light breeze that heals the heart. The water is cool—but not Lake Michigan cool—and it only takes a couple dips to acclimate.
I welcome the taste of salt and immediately recall days spent on Folly Beach and the Isle of Palms, enjoying the same repose and contentment that currently settles in my bones.
Last night sleep came easy and thick. I fought it only as one who knows the battle is lost but welcomes the defeat as it means sweet rest and what-the-hell-were-we-fighting-for-anyway? Such notions at the end of a long full day bring dreams of calm and quietude. From such dreams I wake with wonder and slip back under the covers for more. Ahhhhh, beach life.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
An Infrequent Inspiration...and the Sea at Torres
Rarely do I get the gumption to write a poem, but for some reason the mood struck this morning and I banged out the following:
On Term’s End
Semesters end after paths doth wend,
But onward lo, and up again we’ll climb.
Books and books and reams and reams,
A sea behind, on which our minds did surf.
Across the subjects—ages all,
A diligence applied.
Far and wide all futures signed,
Now rest the pencils, too.
A break, a chance for summer rant,
Rambling hither and yon.
Minds at peace with toil complete—indeed!
We’ll grind again.
'Tis a bit premature as the semester is some days from being finished. But we are in the final stretch here for exams and 23 December approaches rapidly.
Last weekend saw another visit to Torres, a coastal town just a bus ride away. The draw of the salty water runs with the same force as the current that kept me in the shallow. So I must go to the beach where I shall never tire of the great touching of sand and sea.
There is awe and there is ease. Across a great distance one's gaze must stretch, and by this hopes will swell. To see so far, to see a sky of such expanse, to feel the rumble and soak in the foam that force created--this is the wonder. And the inverse: the simplicity. Repetitious arrangements natural and sweet to soothe and heal. To feel in motion while in the deepest repose amid letters to read and those to scribble. Calamity and calm in equal measure chill in the wings awaiting invocation.
Some notes from the Moleskine:
27 November 2009
Bus to Torres, again. Packing was much easier this time, the vision for the coming days being clearer than before. Small bag and guitar case padded with clothing.
The taxi ride to the bus station was the most eventful in recent memory. Our driver clipped another car in the race to destination central depot. Small matter for these chaps--though words were exchanged and glares given. A tidy run in the end costing just under eight reais.
Lounging dockside after a taste of the cerveja we were joined by the likes of our traveling companions. Anticipation and an urge to be mobile spurred us on and we headed to the plush bus.
To begin we felt as in a cozy den with the shades filtering the light blue. The enclosed and cushy space dampened our words and gave the impression of a slumber party. Smiles all around and a toast to the day, the week, the what-to-come. Then off to separate corners for music, gazing, and idle dozing.
28 November 2009
A dog stretched downward and someone noted its exhalation. And, perhaps, this person reckoned that the dog, unencumbered by questions of whether to breathe in at certain times as opposed to others, was operating in the most natural way.
So I wondered the same as we rambled along a sidewalk in search of the evening meal and paused to pet one of the many friendly flea bags that call this place home.
Following last night's settling into the Pousada, a meal was enjoyed but with unwelcome visitors. A member of our group was on the receiving end of two beetle visits. A not-too-pleasant event at supper-time, or any other, really. In truth, though, the juxtaposition of the crawling beetle and the legs-on cammarrão com casca (scrimps, squims, shrimp) made me look at my appetizer with some hesitation. The phrase "cockroaches of the sea" (though usually pertaining to lobsters) flashed in my mind. I imagined scores of shrimp scurrying about the ocean floor with legs quivering. Seconds later I was snapping off legs, cracking exoskeleton, and further feeding on the little morsels.
Exit Moleskine.
The weekend could be described as "moments between meals." Much revolved around which item on a stick would be consumed next or, indeed, if one more such delight would result in serious gastronomic overload. Crepes filled with bacon, cheese, palmito and other savory delights would be followed by the sweet: chocolate, strawberry and others.
Guitars made a regular appearance in our leisure, as well. On the beach or in the confines of the handicraft-adorned room, strumming and humming and occasional singing brought a welcome departure even further from the responsibilities that felt so very far away.
In this final reflection, it seems that the real draw for the beach is in the quietude. It is in the moments shared, among friends, where no words are required and a collective dinnertime gaze at nighttime waves bespeaks of hours stilled.
On Term’s End
Semesters end after paths doth wend,
But onward lo, and up again we’ll climb.
Books and books and reams and reams,
A sea behind, on which our minds did surf.
Across the subjects—ages all,
A diligence applied.
Far and wide all futures signed,
Now rest the pencils, too.
A break, a chance for summer rant,
Rambling hither and yon.
Minds at peace with toil complete—indeed!
We’ll grind again.
'Tis a bit premature as the semester is some days from being finished. But we are in the final stretch here for exams and 23 December approaches rapidly.
Last weekend saw another visit to Torres, a coastal town just a bus ride away. The draw of the salty water runs with the same force as the current that kept me in the shallow. So I must go to the beach where I shall never tire of the great touching of sand and sea.
There is awe and there is ease. Across a great distance one's gaze must stretch, and by this hopes will swell. To see so far, to see a sky of such expanse, to feel the rumble and soak in the foam that force created--this is the wonder. And the inverse: the simplicity. Repetitious arrangements natural and sweet to soothe and heal. To feel in motion while in the deepest repose amid letters to read and those to scribble. Calamity and calm in equal measure chill in the wings awaiting invocation.
Some notes from the Moleskine:
27 November 2009
Bus to Torres, again. Packing was much easier this time, the vision for the coming days being clearer than before. Small bag and guitar case padded with clothing.
The taxi ride to the bus station was the most eventful in recent memory. Our driver clipped another car in the race to destination central depot. Small matter for these chaps--though words were exchanged and glares given. A tidy run in the end costing just under eight reais.
Lounging dockside after a taste of the cerveja we were joined by the likes of our traveling companions. Anticipation and an urge to be mobile spurred us on and we headed to the plush bus.
To begin we felt as in a cozy den with the shades filtering the light blue. The enclosed and cushy space dampened our words and gave the impression of a slumber party. Smiles all around and a toast to the day, the week, the what-to-come. Then off to separate corners for music, gazing, and idle dozing.
28 November 2009
A dog stretched downward and someone noted its exhalation. And, perhaps, this person reckoned that the dog, unencumbered by questions of whether to breathe in at certain times as opposed to others, was operating in the most natural way.
So I wondered the same as we rambled along a sidewalk in search of the evening meal and paused to pet one of the many friendly flea bags that call this place home.
Following last night's settling into the Pousada, a meal was enjoyed but with unwelcome visitors. A member of our group was on the receiving end of two beetle visits. A not-too-pleasant event at supper-time, or any other, really. In truth, though, the juxtaposition of the crawling beetle and the legs-on cammarrão com casca (scrimps, squims, shrimp) made me look at my appetizer with some hesitation. The phrase "cockroaches of the sea" (though usually pertaining to lobsters) flashed in my mind. I imagined scores of shrimp scurrying about the ocean floor with legs quivering. Seconds later I was snapping off legs, cracking exoskeleton, and further feeding on the little morsels.
Exit Moleskine.
The weekend could be described as "moments between meals." Much revolved around which item on a stick would be consumed next or, indeed, if one more such delight would result in serious gastronomic overload. Crepes filled with bacon, cheese, palmito and other savory delights would be followed by the sweet: chocolate, strawberry and others.
Guitars made a regular appearance in our leisure, as well. On the beach or in the confines of the handicraft-adorned room, strumming and humming and occasional singing brought a welcome departure even further from the responsibilities that felt so very far away.
In this final reflection, it seems that the real draw for the beach is in the quietude. It is in the moments shared, among friends, where no words are required and a collective dinnertime gaze at nighttime waves bespeaks of hours stilled.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Rollercoaster
1st Day of School. I had scribbled this and saved it as a draft. Finally posting it.
Oh, the stress. And oh, the glory. The first day of school was a mind-boggling swirl of new names and faces. The students piled in and out and I began to make some sense of the task ahead. The task? Well, it seems to become more complex as the hours fly past. Quite simply, the situation I'm in is unlike any other I've faced.
Forget that I'm fresh in a new country that I don't understand and I've no handle on the language. Just consider the kids. They are smart. Wicked smart. They've travelled the globe and they speak multiple languages. Everyone speaks at least two, and a couple speak five. Yes: five. They are savvy about politics and international affairs. They have strong opinions and are vocal about them. It's awesome. And I can't stop myself from marveling at their brilliance.
Of course I have been in a very different world. My prior students were oh-so-opposite. They were disadvantaged and struggled to perform at grade-level. They appeared to loathe the labor of school and, in some cases, refused to comply with standard school procedures. I found myself remediating and remediating--trying to find a place from which the instruction could launch. With grade niners I repeatedly explained noun, verb, and adjective.
And now? Now all is upside down...wonderfully so.
Oh, the stress. And oh, the glory. The first day of school was a mind-boggling swirl of new names and faces. The students piled in and out and I began to make some sense of the task ahead. The task? Well, it seems to become more complex as the hours fly past. Quite simply, the situation I'm in is unlike any other I've faced.
Forget that I'm fresh in a new country that I don't understand and I've no handle on the language. Just consider the kids. They are smart. Wicked smart. They've travelled the globe and they speak multiple languages. Everyone speaks at least two, and a couple speak five. Yes: five. They are savvy about politics and international affairs. They have strong opinions and are vocal about them. It's awesome. And I can't stop myself from marveling at their brilliance.
Of course I have been in a very different world. My prior students were oh-so-opposite. They were disadvantaged and struggled to perform at grade-level. They appeared to loathe the labor of school and, in some cases, refused to comply with standard school procedures. I found myself remediating and remediating--trying to find a place from which the instruction could launch. With grade niners I repeatedly explained noun, verb, and adjective.
And now? Now all is upside down...wonderfully so.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
No More Drizzle in Brazizzal
Aaaaahhh, the rain has broken. Today the sky was blue and there was nary a cloud to block the sun. Temperatures are rising and it should be short sleeve weather by the end of the week.
Another day of planning, hanging out with the teacher folk, and figuring it all out. Thinking back on the past three weeks--so much has happened. One of the not-so-fun parts of a new country is the administrative circus that must be endured. Fortunately, the indomitable Alessandra has been there every step of the way to help me and the rest of the new people gather all the necessary documents required of a new resident. Endless cab rides to various offices around Porto Alegre provided many moments of fun, frustration, and ultimate victory over red tape and reluctant government officials.
Indeed, Alessandra has been there from the beginning. It was she and Mario (another jewel from the school) who greeted me and another new teacher at the airport as we stepped off the plane into this new world. They held signs with our names and welcomed us with hugs and smiles. We quickly hopped into a cab and it was off to my new apartment. As luck would have it, I ended up in the Bom Fim neighborhood. Very cool. Very central and easy to get anywhere in the city. Many great shops, eateries, and parks within walking distance. The highlight being an organic fruit and veggie farmers market every Saturday at a nearby park.
The hospitality was evident from the beginning. My apartment has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and is fully furnished with all the basic necessities: bedding, towels, tv, furniture, kitchenware, etc. They even went out of their way to stock the fridge and pantry with some basic food items. Unreal. It's not swanky, but it's everything a body needs. I was beaming and in awe of this new life that had been laid out before me.
From there it only got better. It seems that everyone who is here really wants to be here. And the bosses at the school are just as concerned that we fall in love with Brazil as they are that we teach our little arses off. There is no doubt that we must perform as teaching professionals, but there is an understanding that we are here for the treasures that can only be found if you're willing to leave everything you know behind and settle yourself somewhere that is completely foreign and previously unimaginable.
So we went as a group on a walking tour of the city. We took a bus tour. We were taken out for one of the most memorable meals of my life: we went for churrasco. This truly has to be experienced to be believed. Basically, you sit down at a table and a team of men swoop upon you offering the freshest cuts of myriad meats on big steel spikes. All delicious and all in large supply. Each diner is given a card. Green on one side and red on the other. When you need a break, simply flip the card to red. I wasn't quick enough on the draw and was soon overcome with meat meat meat. Oh, there is a salad bar. And it's great. But the main attraction is the cuts.
We also toured the public market downtown and had a tutorial on how to make and enjoy chimarrao, an herbal tea like yerba mate that is quintessentially Guacho. Then it was on to a sampling of cachaca, a sugar cane liquor that is the tasty ingredient in caipirinha. A full and unforgettable day.
Another day of planning, hanging out with the teacher folk, and figuring it all out. Thinking back on the past three weeks--so much has happened. One of the not-so-fun parts of a new country is the administrative circus that must be endured. Fortunately, the indomitable Alessandra has been there every step of the way to help me and the rest of the new people gather all the necessary documents required of a new resident. Endless cab rides to various offices around Porto Alegre provided many moments of fun, frustration, and ultimate victory over red tape and reluctant government officials.
Indeed, Alessandra has been there from the beginning. It was she and Mario (another jewel from the school) who greeted me and another new teacher at the airport as we stepped off the plane into this new world. They held signs with our names and welcomed us with hugs and smiles. We quickly hopped into a cab and it was off to my new apartment. As luck would have it, I ended up in the Bom Fim neighborhood. Very cool. Very central and easy to get anywhere in the city. Many great shops, eateries, and parks within walking distance. The highlight being an organic fruit and veggie farmers market every Saturday at a nearby park.
The hospitality was evident from the beginning. My apartment has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and is fully furnished with all the basic necessities: bedding, towels, tv, furniture, kitchenware, etc. They even went out of their way to stock the fridge and pantry with some basic food items. Unreal. It's not swanky, but it's everything a body needs. I was beaming and in awe of this new life that had been laid out before me.
From there it only got better. It seems that everyone who is here really wants to be here. And the bosses at the school are just as concerned that we fall in love with Brazil as they are that we teach our little arses off. There is no doubt that we must perform as teaching professionals, but there is an understanding that we are here for the treasures that can only be found if you're willing to leave everything you know behind and settle yourself somewhere that is completely foreign and previously unimaginable.
So we went as a group on a walking tour of the city. We took a bus tour. We were taken out for one of the most memorable meals of my life: we went for churrasco. This truly has to be experienced to be believed. Basically, you sit down at a table and a team of men swoop upon you offering the freshest cuts of myriad meats on big steel spikes. All delicious and all in large supply. Each diner is given a card. Green on one side and red on the other. When you need a break, simply flip the card to red. I wasn't quick enough on the draw and was soon overcome with meat meat meat. Oh, there is a salad bar. And it's great. But the main attraction is the cuts.
We also toured the public market downtown and had a tutorial on how to make and enjoy chimarrao, an herbal tea like yerba mate that is quintessentially Guacho. Then it was on to a sampling of cachaca, a sugar cane liquor that is the tasty ingredient in caipirinha. A full and unforgettable day.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Drizzle
Sunday afternoon. The day thus far has been spent huddled in blankets in the confines of my bedroom, finishing a Steinbeck novel while the morning slipped well into the afternoon. A persistent rain has squelched what little motivation may have resided in my bones. Indeed, the rain has been here for a couple days and it shows no sign of stopping.
Looking out my window I can see the collection of buildings that comprise this corner of Porto Alegre. The ceiling of sky hangs low. Mist, fog, moisture. A curtain of rain blocks my passage into the outside world.
There is no food in the house, save for some bananas and some kind of corn-chip-snack that has already been consumed. So eventually I must break out, lest the hunger turn my thoughts sour on this perfectly melancholy day.
For today marks the end of the honeymoon period. At least that is what the literature says. When arriving in a new country one tends to feel a magnificent rush as all the new sights, sounds, and smells seep in. There is no helping the awe as literally everything is new. Eventually this gives way and subsides as the reality sets in. With all the new scenery comes new responsibility, new language, and new routines to be carved out.
This is only my third time abroad. And only my second time to live abroad for an extended period. But past experience has given me a reference point for this waning sense of wonderment.
To be sure, Brazil has been most all that I had hoped it would be thus far. That is to say the city is bold and rolling with hills and contrasting architecture. The food is meaty, plentiful, and savory. The people are active, engaging, and imbued with a satisfaction that life is all that it should be. And music seems to be available any time one cares to hear it.
Of course, this is what I see through new eyes. I've been here less than three weeks and much remains a mystery.
After scouring the city for anything open--it is Fathers Day (and Sunday)--I find that little is open. Eventually Jenn and I stroll in to Bar do Beto and happily settle into our regular seats. We've progressed beyond the hot sandwich selection and enjoy a hearty helping of meat and veggies. When one eats only one meal in a day...it pays to make it count. We stuff ourselves with food, drink, and conversation. What are we doing here? Why Porto Alegre? Why don't we know the language better than beyond "Thank you" and "I don't speak Portuguese?"
There are certainly lessons to be learned between people who clearly enjoy each other but clearly can't communicate better than say...infants? Maybe that's an exaggeration. But when one relies on body language and hand signals to express affection and approval...where are you, really? You are back in a time of basic and fundamental communication. You are doomed to keep all of your complex thoughts to yourself and simply grin. And laugh. And enjoy. Because where are your complex thoughts getting you, anyway? Onto the psychiatrist's couch? Into a web of self-involved importance? Bah. You are just another cell working your way through the muck. If you're lucky, you may bump into like-minded cells who don't mind it when you must refer to your pocket dictionary to say, "That was delicious." If you're really lucky, that cell will simply nod, and take pleasure in your effort and humility, and be grinning before you can even utter the words.
Looking out my window I can see the collection of buildings that comprise this corner of Porto Alegre. The ceiling of sky hangs low. Mist, fog, moisture. A curtain of rain blocks my passage into the outside world.
There is no food in the house, save for some bananas and some kind of corn-chip-snack that has already been consumed. So eventually I must break out, lest the hunger turn my thoughts sour on this perfectly melancholy day.
For today marks the end of the honeymoon period. At least that is what the literature says. When arriving in a new country one tends to feel a magnificent rush as all the new sights, sounds, and smells seep in. There is no helping the awe as literally everything is new. Eventually this gives way and subsides as the reality sets in. With all the new scenery comes new responsibility, new language, and new routines to be carved out.
This is only my third time abroad. And only my second time to live abroad for an extended period. But past experience has given me a reference point for this waning sense of wonderment.
To be sure, Brazil has been most all that I had hoped it would be thus far. That is to say the city is bold and rolling with hills and contrasting architecture. The food is meaty, plentiful, and savory. The people are active, engaging, and imbued with a satisfaction that life is all that it should be. And music seems to be available any time one cares to hear it.
Of course, this is what I see through new eyes. I've been here less than three weeks and much remains a mystery.
After scouring the city for anything open--it is Fathers Day (and Sunday)--I find that little is open. Eventually Jenn and I stroll in to Bar do Beto and happily settle into our regular seats. We've progressed beyond the hot sandwich selection and enjoy a hearty helping of meat and veggies. When one eats only one meal in a day...it pays to make it count. We stuff ourselves with food, drink, and conversation. What are we doing here? Why Porto Alegre? Why don't we know the language better than beyond "Thank you" and "I don't speak Portuguese?"
There are certainly lessons to be learned between people who clearly enjoy each other but clearly can't communicate better than say...infants? Maybe that's an exaggeration. But when one relies on body language and hand signals to express affection and approval...where are you, really? You are back in a time of basic and fundamental communication. You are doomed to keep all of your complex thoughts to yourself and simply grin. And laugh. And enjoy. Because where are your complex thoughts getting you, anyway? Onto the psychiatrist's couch? Into a web of self-involved importance? Bah. You are just another cell working your way through the muck. If you're lucky, you may bump into like-minded cells who don't mind it when you must refer to your pocket dictionary to say, "That was delicious." If you're really lucky, that cell will simply nod, and take pleasure in your effort and humility, and be grinning before you can even utter the words.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)