2 September

A multitude of bus lines. That, I think, was the first thing I consciously noticed, and I have seen at least one new company each day I have been here, while Verdemar remains my favorite. In that same stretch of days I have seen far more Fiats than I could have possibly hoped for...and we all know how many that is already. The Taxicoometas ride from the airport lead past a number of freeway bicyclists, sans helmets, and many more genuine slums, though nothing bad enough that it would fit in on the outskirts of Lagos. If Utopia had an airport, I'm sure even the neighborhood around that would be unpleasant. It might not even have so many nice overpasses.
Hotel Tropical da Bahia was lavish to the edge of guilt inducement. My roommate for the one night was also from UCSB, though he had not shown up at any of the orientations on campus. Our room became a nexus for almost everyone in the program, and I was much assured by how many of them had studied no Portuguese whatsoever.
My Brazilian mother, Hilda Pimental da Fonseca, lives on Avenida de Sete Setembro in Vitoria, about a minute or half-a-minute walk from ACBEU, and across from the sea. In fact, there is a shimmering rectangle of A Baia de Todos Os Santos directly out my window, framed by the two opposite edificios. (One of them O Edifício Koch - some Brazilian admired a certain mayor of New York?) These residential towers are the dominant form of architecture on this street, although there is also the Museu de Arte and the Museu de Geologia. (So yes, it's true, Brazil is just one big party.) Fortunately, in this land of apartment towers, my family lives on the first floor. One flight of stairs and a good perch for amateur anthropology and shouting "Oi! Americano! Onde vai?" to any colleagues who may pass. Minha mae brasileira is cheery, takes the fact that my year of Portuguese often does not assist me in having any idea what she is talking about in good humour, and repeatedly tells me that all the food she is giving me, augmented by her home-made fruit juices, will make me strong. An early topic of conversation was, of course, how much shorter my hair is, followed by how long it still is. Andres, her son-to-become dentist, has noted that Brazilians rarely have long hair or orange shoes. My skin tone, it seems, gives me the look of someone from Sao Paulo, in fact, a specific Paulisto who is a friend of his. My Guatemalan messenger bag, however, tips me over into 'tourist.' Oh well. Another sibling dropped by around dinner, although she lives elsewhere with a husband and son. Monday is a day of the Portuguese placement exam (another friend of Andres' who came by for dinner complimented me on knowing the names of some forró artists and said I spoke fairly good Portuguese - but he may have been being polite.) and a city tour ending at what is purported to be one of the top churrascos in Brazil. This means that is also has excellent sushi. Small world, etc. Also, the beach really IS that crowded, at least on a Sunday, and there is a company that sells both Cartoon-Network affiliated children's sodas and beer under the same brand name (Mini Schin and Nova Schina.) They both have the smooth taste of refreshing honesty.

So, in summary: Brazilians give the thumbs-up with an amazing frequency, and trying to think in a foreign language weirds up one's writing style.

The surprise?
It doesn't feel oppressively hot this close to the equator.