Link to my photos from Brazil

http://picasaweb.google.com.br/zoesull/Brazil#

Se la

"Se la" is an expression in Portuguese that means "whatever" or "I dunno." It's just one of those things that I have learned to use as an interjection here, although, admittedly, my fluency with this is nowhere near a native Brazilian.

Anyway, this morning I went to the swimming beach near the hostel where I'm staying. For those of you who have been following this blog for a while, it's the same beach where I spent the day with a Frenchwoman when I was here in Salvador in March. It's the same beach where people applaud the sunset.

So, today I was swimming, and I thought I would share with you all some thoughts about the water. It was clean and clear and a greenish-blue color. The water is so clear that as I swam, I could see schools of fish swimming beneath me. The bottom was also clearly visible, with big, black rocks occasionally breaking the taupe-colored sandy floor.

About a week ago, Talia, the American writer, and I came to this beach at dusk because I wanted to swim at that time of day. There were fluffy, steel-gray clouds in the sky that the sunset highlighted with rose and orange. The container ships that dotted the horizon faded gradually into the blackness of the evening as the last rays of light disappeared. But the water below me seemed illuminated. Granted, it was the super-powerful floodlights pointed at the beach that kept the water looking like it was almost daytime, and that allowed me to continue seeing my feet as I floated around. Se la, I thought it was cool that the sky and everything else had become an oily black, and I could still see my feet under water.

A couple of days ago I tried to change my ticket to come back in mid-July, but Northwest told me that they didn't have anything available, even checking up to July 19th. Obviously I'll keep you all posted, but I'm starting to think that at least this segment of my Brazilian adventures is coming to a close. As a result, I've decided to start really acting like a tourist. Hence the beach today. And tomorrow a day trip to a nearby island. And more photos at the local market, which, once again, makes it clear that Salvador is the developing world.

Oh, if any of you have suggestions for temporary work that would let me save some money to come back here, please let me know. While I would consider things in New Orleans and maybe Madison, New York is the most likely landing place for me. Plus, I miss pub quiz. And all you people who make life so good. Love you all.

Americans from Both Ends of the Spectrum

Last Thursday I flew to Salvador. Salvador is Brazil's second largest tourist destination, after Rio. Arriving here, I felt like I was in Africa. That feeling has faded somewhat now, but not much. I certainly feel more like I'm in a developing country here than I did in Rio or in Belo Horizonte. The scene around the hostel where I'm staying is really pretty similar to Nairobi in terms of run-down buildings, tropical weather, and a population that is around 80% Afro-Brazilian. Salvador marks one of the boundary lines between the wealthy and whiter Southeast of Brazil and the much poorer Northeast.

Here at the hostel in Salvador, I've met some really annoying Americans. The fact that they are in their early 20s and totally unaware of other people is what makes them annoying. One woman is an acrobat and just got a job with the local circus. She seems to have no sense that speaking louder to people doesn't make one more accepted or loved. She also ate an entire pineapple that my friends and I bought without asking if it was OK. Being in a hostel does not mean we are living in a commune.

On the other end of the spectrum is another woman, also from the US, Thalia. We went out Sunday night with 3 Brazilian women who are all anthropologists. We had a great time talking about racism in the US and Brazil, the African culture in the State of Bahia, and othe shunning of groundbreaking anthropologits, and other juicy subjects. Sheila is the name of the woman who introduced me and Thalia to her friends. Sheila and I connected through couch surfing. She works with the Public Prosecutor's office as an advocate for minorities. One of the things that she mentioned is a program to train indigenous teachers so that they can teach in their own communities. This is part of a government initiative to make sure that the indigenous people in Brazil have some basic rights and are not completely marginalized. One positive thing I see here, although I admit that my knowledge is superficial, is that some indigenous communities have retained their cultures. Sheila pointed out that here in the Northeast, the indigenous languages have essentially disappeared, but she also said that there are efforts to preserve what is left.

This education initiative is something that I'm hoping to do a story about for FSRN and maybe some other places. In fact, tomorrow I'm going to visit a training session for indigenous teachers. The only downside is that I'll have to spend 12 hours on a bus to get there and back....

Rocinha

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Cantagalo, a favela that lies on a hill between Copacabana and Ipanema. I'd been there before, but this time, in order to get to the Residents' Association office, I got a ride on the back of a moto taxi. There was a squadron of young guys with motorcycles at the bottom of the hill, on the street leading up to the favela, and the mini-van that makes the trip wasn't ready to go yet, so it was an easy choice.
Having seen this, that people ride as passengers on motorcycles for short hops in the favelas, I wasn't surprised when I went to Rocinha today and saw probably 3 or 4 different moto taxi companies waiting near the entrance.
Rocinha is the largest favela in Latin America. The census calculated the population in 2000 at 68,000, but the President of the Residents' Association estimated today that there are around 160,000 people living there now. While the City of Rio estimates that approximately 1,000,000 people live in favelas in the city, the Rocinha Residents' Association President put that number as more realistically around 2,000,000, which is one-third of the city's total population. I was there to talk with him about the compromise that the Association had reached with the State of Rio de Janeiro around building a 3-meter-high, concrete wall to stop the favela from spreading further into the forest bordering Rocinha and other favelas.
As I waited for someone to come get me near the entrance to the favela, I regretted not having my audio recorder. There was music blasting from a stand across the street where the latest hip hop and other tunes were available. Moto taxis cut this with their buzzing, up and down the street, with and without passengers.
And I noticed the electrical towers just on the other side of the row of shops in front of me. And when I settled a bit more into waiting, I also noticed the skein of electrical cables hanging practically in front of my face and criscrossing the street all the way into the favela.
At one point, a guy drove by on a motorcycle with a big smile on his face (no helmet, of course. No one wears helmets.), waving to someone on my side of the street. He also had some sort of machine gun slung across his chest. What surprised me was not so much seeing this, as I know that the drug traffickers in the favelas are armed, but the fact that I was totally unfazed. Maybe it's because he himself was relaxed and jovial. I dunno. But I did find it striking how we really can get accustomed to pretty much anything.
For the past few weeks, I've been debating whether to stay here in Rio or head back to Belo Horizonte. For the moment, I'm going to stay here. My plan is to try and live more in the moment and just enjoy whatever the hell I'm doing. It is also to make choices to do more of those things that seem like fun.

Sao Paulo Is Not So Bad

This past weekend I was in Sao Paulo. Sao Paulo has about 16 million people. My friend Ana used to live there, and the first time that I came to Brazil, I stayed with her in her apartment in Sampa, the Brazilian nickname for Sao Paulo. This time, I stayed with Natalia, who, like me, is also a reporter for Free Speech Radio News. Natalia has great energy and is very upbeat, and it was really a pleasure to stay with her.
My perspective on Sao Paulo has been that it's not a place where I care to spend any time. This visit made a dent in that. My purpose for being there was to do some interviews with people about Lula's plan to build 1,000,000 homes and with other folks about the elections coming up in Lebanon on June 7th. There is a pretty substantial Arab community in Brazil. About 8% of the population has Arab origins, so the election in Lebanon is relevant. Unfortunately, so far I haven't found anybody interested in paying me to get this story together. But still, it's one of the things that took me to SP.
On Saturday night, Natalia, her boyfriend Alé, and I went to the Virada Cultural: 24 hours of music and performances on 16 different stages around the city. There were 800 shows altogether during the 24-hour period. On Sunday afternoon, we saw a man dancing with a tractor. That was pretty impressive.
Saturday night, my favorite piece was a series of metal sculptures with clay pots of fire, appropriately positioned throughout the Jardim da Luz, the Garden of Light. There's a tiny picture here: http://viradacultural.org/programacao/centro
Tuesday morning I got on a bus, again, and came back to Rio. So that's where I am now, finishing up the story about Lula's housing plan. Yesterday was my birthday, and I went out with some folks from the hostel for a low-key evening of pizza and the Brazilian version of pool, sinuca.

Swine Flu

This morning, almost at the crack of dawn, I was sitting in a little bar in a working class neighborhood in Sao Paulo. My bus got in from Belo Horizonte before the sun came up, and I didn't want to knock on my host and colleague's door before 8am. (That seems basic, right?) Anyway, so as I knocked back one café con leite after another, the news was on. A reporter from Mexico talked about the fact that public services will be suspended between May 1st (a major holiday for working people) and May 5th (the anniversary of the Battle of Puebla). So, while the hospitals will be open, there will be no public transportation to get there. The President of Mexico was on TV telling people that the safest place for them to be was at home. Safe, that is, in terms of avoiding swine flu.
Frankly, in my opinion, there may indeed be a threat of a nasty flu, but when I see governments impeding people's free movement, particularly on a holiday commemorating workers' rights, I can't help but think that there is some manipulation going on here. "Be afraid. Be very afraid". That is what we have been told in the US since 9/11. Generally, we should be afraid of terrorists, even when there aren't any. Now we should be afraid of the possibility of contagion, too. So, please, reduce your interaction with other people. Make yourself as isolated as possible. That is what will keep you safe. They say. Too bad you can't really fight the power single-handedly.

Ah, a momento of crisis

So, I've been in the lovely, mountain city of Belo Horizonte for about 10 days. My friend Ana Maria and her son Thomaz picked me up at the bus station and whisked me off to hear a friend's brother singing and playing guitar in a local café. For whatever reason, I basically liked the city from the start.
Belo Horizonte is in the mountains. It is the capital of the state of Minas Gerais. Ouro Preto, one of Brazil's historic cities, is about an hour and a half from here. Ouro Preto was the gold rush capital of Brazil back in the day. Walking around in both places is sort of like trying to navigate a roller coaster because there are so many hills and they are soooo steep.
Radio Favela is located here. It's a community radio station in a favela that has a fabulous view of Belo Horizonte because it clings to the side of one of the mountains. (I mentioned those climbs, right?)
Given the title of this entry, I should probably explain. Yesterday I cried. I had gotten out of bed knowing that I was planning on heading to Sao Paulo to do some interviews for some radio pieces that I am working on, and I really just didn't feel like doing it. Really, the issue was that I was leaving without having anyplace to come back to, and, frankly, after almost 3 months on the road, I've had enough of that. I want to have some friends who I can see for a while and develop relationships with. Even renewing my tourist visa for another 3 months made me feel like my time here is limited, and pushed me to do something about that.
Most likely, after I take this trip to collect interviews for my stories, I'll come back to Belo Horizonte. Hopefully, Radio Favela will let me volunteer with them, and I can get a room somewhere and start to have a somewhat more normal life.