Dinner tonight

Went to a local confiteria and ordered the Prato Tropical for dinner tonight. It contained:

two ham slices, two cheese slices, a tunafish sandwich with lots of mayo, pineapple, strawberries, papaya, honeydew, tomatoes, lettuce, an orange, and a fried banana

That, plus a side of rice and beans, pretty much summarizes my experience of Brazil so far.

Walk around Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul

I've now been here for a week in the South. I arrived at the end of Semana Farroupilha, the annual celebration of the revolt in 1835 that made this state briefly independent from the then-Brazilian Empire. People walked around in period costumes, or at least those not wearing soccer jerseys - the city divides between Internacional and Grêmio - did. I think even today there are still a few wearing their gaúcho heritage around.

I'll be here one more week, before my flight back to Rio.

As predicted, the accent is closer to what you'd hear in Argentina. I initially sat down and ordered fizzy water, which in the carioca accent is pronounced "com guy-sh." The waiter paused. "Com gas?" Yes, yes, with gas. To date, I've heard the "tu" form of the second-person, and I've been asked "quando tu chegas?" but I've not been called "tchê."

By the end of this trip, I may speak Portuguese in a hodgepodge of regional accents that's still unmistakeably American. For example, I've adopted my água com gás to local tastes, but I still say três with the (carioca) trailing "sh" sound.

Some observations:

1. As in Rio, everyone has been wonderful, helpful, and friendly. I've had a great time at interviews. That being said, I consider this mainly a trial run for the project. The case in Rio Grande do Sul is thoroughly documented, and I have only a limited number of questions.

Some lessons: I need to pack more. I only brought three undershirts, five dress shirts, and three polo shirts on the trip. The plan to wash some of these in the sink has been compromised by the cold and the rain. (My last hotel room was, um, high in mold and cold and low in circulating air and light.) When packing, one has to compromise between the weight and convenience of the luggage and the costs and inconvenience of laundry and, well, wearing not-so-clean clothes.

I need to make calls in advance. I did make some calls for this trip, but left some to be made in Porto Alegre. The lack of reliable internet in the previous hotel room put a crimp in these plans, as all the calls were dropped or fuzzy; using my cell phone instead quickly burned through the fifteen-reais credit. Better to use Skype and the reliable internet connection in Rio de Janeiro. (The price difference is absurd.)

2. It has rained. A lot. The news is currently showing snow and hail in the surrounding hills and in Santa Catarina, the neighboring state to the north. (Frustratingly, the images from São Paulo are of sun and clear skies.)

3. The city reminds me (the Portuguese construction is "makes me remember") of San Francisco. There are hills, narrow streets, tree-lined streets, and plenty of bookstores, small parks, and old architecture. It's very attractive in that regard, but there aren't the same views over the water from the heights that San Francisco has.

I'm also reminded of my querido Buenos Aires, and of Montevideo, which are so near and yet so far. (Read: I'm not allowed to go there.) I'm closer to Bs. As. than I am to Rio de Janeiro, but just barely. I can feel it.

And I can start to see it. The vegetation is not entirely tropical, but is getting closer to temperature Buenos Aires. For example, the riverfront looks just like the estuary at the mouth of the River Plate:





In one of my interviews, I talked for a while about state geography with a former senator, who pointed out that the lagoon depicted here is fresh water for 75% of its area, until you get down to the municipio of (yes) Arroio Grande.

Side note: these photos are taken near the Usina do Gasômetro, an old gas refinery built by the creatively-named State Electric Energy Company (CEEE). In 1996 or so, CEEE was broken up and partially privatized, which is part of the background for my dissertation project. Yesterday on the walk, I happened upon a hip-hop concert at the Usina, sponsored by the city and state governments as part of a day-long campaign against crack cocaine.

At the same time, despite my allusions, the sidewalks, the attitude, the language, and the cuisine are still thoroughly Brazilian. I won't traffic in stereotypes, but I'll note that stores and offices open at 8:30 nor 9:00 AM here (compared to 10:00 AM in Rio) and that people are punctual. That's neither Brazilian nor not-Brazilian. (Like their counterparts in Rio, portoalegrenses almost never walk when on escalators. I can't explain that one yet.)

4. I took a walk around town on Saturday afternoon and took the following photos.

I'm staying only a few blocks from the hilltop depicted here, with its church, monument, and the state legislative assembly.





I spent Tuesday afternoon at the state assembly, trying to schedule an appointment. I succeeded, through no effort of my own, and am returning there this Tuesday.

Fieldwork for the most part has been lonely. There's a lot of unfilled time, during which I'm reading or getting ahead or playing with a dataset, and not much time socializing. It's very different from tourism: I'm not here to be entertained or visit sites; I'm here to meet professionals and conduct interviews and exchange ideas. Most of my interviewees are middle-aged, with families and lives and interests. (They've also all been, thus far, exclusively male.) At the end of the day, they go home from work, and I go back to the hotel, and plan for the next day. When I hit exhaustion, I find some place to eat dinner, usually by myself. It's travel, but it's work and not play.

(A happy exception to this was a night at a blues club with Chris and Shana, Fulbrighters who are here to live for a while in Porto Alegre.)

As the phrase goes, acontece, so it goes.

Finally, Porto Alegre has its own version of cute public propoganda:



I'll ruin your adoration by noting that the squirrel is the mascot for the Zaffari supermarket chain; the sign notes that maintaining a clean city is in our hands.

Postscript: yes, I don't have any skills at photography.

UPDATE: Signs that you might be nearer Buenos Aires, no. 45: They sell alfajores here. I don't like them, but I had to buy one.



Industria Argentina, natch.

Arrival in Porto Alegre

After five weeks of tropical Rio de Janeiro - which lies roughly at the latitude of Havana - I arrived safely in temperate Porto Alegre - which lies roughly at the latitude of Tijuana San Antonio.

And it is FREEZING here!

On a good note, the cost of living outside of Rio de Janeiro seems to be much lower.

I also bring luck, though whether good or bad depends on your perspective: today, Gremio (of Porto Alegre) thrashed Fluminense (of Rio de Janeiro), 5-1. Fluminense is almost certainly being relegated to the second division next season.

I can recommend webjet. The seat wasn't the most comfortable, but we did get sandwiches and dessert both times on a 1:15 and a 55 minute flight. I don't know if that was ever the case in the US.

Trip to Porto Alegre

I'm heading to Porto Alegre, the state capital of Rio Grande do Sul, tomorrow, for a two-week stay. My hope is to interview about twelve people down there, and I already have five lined up. I'm collecting information on the development of the agency with the acronym in this URL.

Rio Grande do Sul has a culture and cuisine akin to neighboring Argentina and Uruguay: cowboys, meat, pampas, and wine. They also have harder "r" sounds in their speech. Discussion of regional sotaques, or accents, is reliable small talk here. Brazilians understand me when I note that I learned Portuguese from a professor from Lisboa - they "eat" their words - and in Bahia, where the language is even, smooth, and slow. An acquaintance commented yesterday that Brazilians think American English sounds robotic; it doesn't have the same melodic song to it that Portuguese has.

Some unordered thoughts on the last week in Rio:

1. I'm in the market for a good book on Leonel Brizola, and would appreciate suggestions. All state politicians in Rio de Janeiro tend to fall into three camps: those who are brizolistas, those who were brizolistas but split with the old man at some point, and those who made their career out of opposing Brizola. For example, former state governors Anthony Garotinho and Marcelo Alencar fall into the second group, and present governor Sergio Cabral is from the third. From what I've heard and read, Globo hated the man. (The twice-governor of Rio de Janeiro and once-governor of Rio Grande do Sul passed away in 2004.)

2. I attended a very enjoyable house-warming party at Jim's new place in Gloria/Santa Teresa last night. On my brief walk there, I passed by the usual collection of ladies of the night that prowl the streets of Gloria. One spoke to another in a voice that could be described as "deep Kristie Alley." I passed, and chuckled when I thought of the title of Garcia Marquez's last novel, Memory of My Sad Whores. I thought that I might address them as such on my walk back.

On my eventual walk back, instead of passing the harlots, I walked past a twenty-something blond girl comforting a second twenty-something blond girl as the latter threw up on the curb outside a club. I asked if they needed help, which they declined. Of course they were Americans; Brazilians just don't get that drunk.

3. I think all Rio bus drivers have an ongoing bet with their fare-takers: "How fast do you think I can drive this bus?" Similarly, all taxi drivers see pedestrians crossing the street as a signal that they should aim and speed up.

4. I may have to go down to Copacabana and Ipanema more often if I'm going to train for the Travessia Mar Grande-Salvador. Gustavo put the idea in my head; we'll see.

With luck, I'll take some photos in Porto Alegre. Here, every time I thought to take a picture out the window of Christ, it was too cloudy to see him. Forgive me.

Instead, a view of Potrero Hill, taken when we first moved to San Francisco.

Eurocentrism

From the New York Times, the official newspaper of upper-class white people:

Why We Travel: Submit Your Photos

Share your best travel photos from Europe, then tell us the backstory. Where did you go and why? What's happening in your photo? What does it mean to you? We'll publish a selection of the top images this fall.

Why restrict entries to Europe? Who wants to go there? (As a disclaimer, the example photos they publish are not all restricted to Europe.)

On girls' education in the interior

Went to a showing of short films down in Botafogo with Chris tonight.

This film was both beautiful and depressing.


Hopefully, someone out there will soon study the education and human capital outcomes of Bolsa Familia. It's very important that it works.

Oferta e demanda (supply and demand)

Short story:

I went running today, with the aim of reaching Praia Vermelha at the foot of Sugarloaf in the Urca neighborhood. That's about eight or nine miles round-trip.

In addition to my filled water bottle, I carried a one real coin and a 50 cents coin. I hoped that I could stop to get some chilled coconut water, as I had previously returned to the apartment very thirsty after a run to Urca.

At nine this morning, the weather was 24 degrees with 94% humidity. The forecast called for a 20% chance of rain. The news on Friday night had predicted a gloomy weekend, and stated that anyone who wanted to go to the beach should head for the North or Northeast. By the time I reached the end of Botafogo, it was 33 degrees and cloudless. It was hot, and the beaches were full. Weather forecasts here are useless.

Today was also Independence Day, the day that Dom Pedro I refused to return to Lisbon and declared Brazil independent, "from the banks of the Ipiranga...." Save the crowds at the beach and the military cadets marching, the city was closed.

I did reach Praia Vermelha, which looks like this from above.

On the return from Botafogo, south of Flamengo, I stopped to ask for coco water in um copozinho (a little cup). The vendor apologized that the only bottles he had were bem gelado (well-chilled), and I assured him that this was just fine by giving him the American "a-okay" hand gesture. In Brazil, this hand gesture translates to "you a--hole." My mistake.

Then he named the price: 2,50. I declined.

As I walked down Praia do Flamengo, very dehydrated, I kept seeing "Coco 2,00" signs. I questioned my memory that there are multiple R$1,50 stands in Flamengo. I don't think I was wrong; I was just wrong to ignore the laws of supply and demand.

Another piece of the puzzle

I've long known that I work best in the evening. Before I met Bethany, I was convinced that I was most productive between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM. I hope an explanation appears in the New York Times soon as to why some people are more productive at night. (They specialize in medical articles on topics like that - the series What Ails the Upper Class generates many pageviews. It's true - this article is historically the most emailed.)

However, I have no explanation for why my most productive work hours have come on the weekend (particularly Friday and Saturday) while in Brazil.

Tonight, another (big) piece of the puzzle fell into place. It turns out that the World Bank conditioned state fiscal reform loans on the creation of a regulatory system in place to deal with privatization. The original documents are all here. One day I'll explain why this is so important to my dissertation. Non-academic readers might find it dull. Academics might also find it dull.

Unfortunately - depending on your point of view - I'm energized for another five hours of work this Saturday night.

Instead, for my own sake, I should instead go find a bar for the Argentina-Brazil World Cup qualifying match.

Some other brief highlights from the past week:

1. I sent off interview requests, and heard one response. Interviews start next week.

2. I tried to swat and kill a mosquito, and put my palm through the glass window. Shards of glass fell nine stories. No injuries, but the window won't be fixed until Tuesday. (Nothing is open on the weekends. Monday is Independence Day, the day Dom Pedro I declared that he wouldn't go back to Portugal on the orders of his father, and that Brazil would be independent. He declared this in between Sao Paulo and Santos, from the banks of the Ipiranga River. This act is mentioned in the national anthem, and every city has an Avenida Sete de Setembro.)

3. I have a cellular phone and, more importantly, it works. Unless the situation is dire, please don't call it - receiving and sending calls here is terribly expensive.


And to add one thousand words, the view out the living room window on a cloudy day. The day was sufficiently cloudy to block out the view of Jesus, which you can normally see by sticking your head out the window and looking right. This is my normal office view. It looks over the Modern Art Museum and Gloria Marina in the foreground, and the Morro da Urca and Sugarloaf in the background.




UPDATE: Brazil qualify for the 2010 World Cup with a 3-1 win over Argentina. My roommate was cheering for Argentina; as the game came to a close, even the waiters (at Amarelinho, a mildly famous bar in Cinelandia) started razzing him. And boy, do Brazilians dislike Diego Maradona. Do they ever. They also know several ugly epithets in Spanish for him.