Andrew:1 ; Brazil: 0

It is very tough to put into a few words what my life has been like these past few days.

Portuguese, while structurally is similar to Spanish...is nothing like Spanish. It is pretty hot here, although not too humid. Currently it is the "less humid" of the two seasons (the other, of course is the "more humid" season). There are 13 other students on the trip, and they are all interesting people and fun to hang out with. I know it has only been a bit more than a week, but I think it says something that I do not want to kill any of them yet. We spent 6 days on Gustavo's sitio (little farm). We slept in hammocks, had cooks prepare our meals, and went through all the boring and important orientation material and lectures. The sitio was about an hours drive from the airport, and only 45 minutes from the place where we hold classes in Belém.

The trip down to Brazil and the following day was one of the more confusing and interesting of my life. There were several stages to it, each a little more unknown and unfamiliar. The lone flight to Miami, the 5 hour layover there with 13 strangers that I would be spending the next 3 and a half months with, the 6 hour flight to Manaus, the 3 hour flight to Belém (which arrived at 4:30 am local time). We then piled into the two large white VW Buses (which served as our transportation throughout the orientation period). and drove to the sitio. The day (or several days) seemed to flow without any sense of time or space. It was quite odd.

Two days (and one Portugues class) later, we had what they called "Drop Off Day." This involved driving two hours northeast to a peninsula that faces the Atlantic Ocean and dropping each student off on his or her own in an unfamiliar town/place with a specific task. I was dropped on a riverbank and told to take a ferry across the river, and talk to people to find out about the fishing scene in town.

"Shit."


Armed with 5 Real (the currency, translates to about $2 and some change) and my phrasebook, I found my way across the river. Walking down the long dock towards town, I repeated the phrases I remembered from our worksheet of initial interactions
"Oi! licença" (excuse me), and "Vocé pode me ajudar" (can you help me?). Too nervous to initiate conversation with anyone, I took a stroll down the street as nonchalantly as possible, surveying the town. One dirt road, a few people walking, and a few hanging out in front of their houses.
I sat on the steps of a deserted house and gathered the courage to ask a man my questions. When I opened my mouth, something resembling POrtuguese came out. Words slightly shaking, and my toungue and lips fumbling over each other, I talked to a stone faced Brasilian. Sensing his desire to help me as nonexistent, I asked if he had time to help me. Promptly, he answered "Não" and walked away.
Crushed, I sat on the steps once again. Precisely 22 of my allotted 150 minutes had elapsed.
"Shit."
Ready to try again, I seeked outa man and two women carving spoons on their front steps. I gave them my shpiel, and one of the women smiled. To follow the smile, she retreated into the house, at which time the other woman smiled and said something to me in a patronizing tone. She left too. Mr. Spooncarver and I stood in silence. After a nice, long period of no words I slowly and quietly walked away.
After a few more failed interactions, I struck up a conversation (if it can be called that) with a resting fisherman on the dock. When all was said and done, it helped me out.

The next day we went on an excursion to a section of the largest mangrove area in the world. Here Gustavo gave us a short lecture while standing in knee deep mud, which smells of delicious sulfur. The boat guide taught me how to catch crabs, as well. Basically, you locate a hole the size of a baseball, jam your hand into it (usually your arm will go in all the way to the shoulder) and grab the crab before it has time to burrow deeper once it senses your presence. It took many tries (one in which I finally got my fingers on the crab, but in my excitement I pulled to soon and came up with a handful of legs. Dont tell Gustavo.

There are so many other exciting and interesting things that have been going on here... unfortunately it is impossible to both type and convey them all. However, there is one more...ocurrence which was quite interesting indeed I feel fit to share.
Yesterday 6 of my friends and I went to exchange our travelers checks and cash for Real. I brought 200 USD, figuring the exchange rate to be about 3:1. Having to register with the police is going to set me back R190, I figured this would leave me sufficient funds for whatever I needed them for. It turned out that the rate they were going to give us was 1.6:1 for travelers checks, and 1.8:1 for cash. I was going to get much less spending money than I thought. In addition to my checks, I had some cash to exchange for a friend. I went to the window, went through the motions (twice, once for the checks, once for the cash)got my two receipts and sat down to wait for my money to arrive. Investigating the receipts I got, Becca gave me $169 cash and would get R345, whereas I had 200 in checks and would get R320.
Finally, a dumpy Brasilian man waddled out of the door leading to the money pile and headed my way. He plopped the two wads in front of my.
"Obrigado" I said, yet he remained hovering over my shoulder. I chanced another glance at his eyes, hoping an unspoken agreement would be confirmed that he could now leave me alone. He did not.
"Obrigado," I mumbled again. No response. Realizing that he was waiting for me to count my money, I cursed him. How did he know I was too lazy to count, and would just trust them to give me the right amount. So I counted.
My wad first: 50, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300........320....340...400....500....600! My heart and mind raced. Perhaps he had put both mine and Beccas wads together. Then what was the second delicious heap of Real next to my other hand?
Another glance at dumpy McGee to see whether this was some kind of moral or ethical test, and he was staring blankly at the wall, arms folded gently atop his belly. What if the Brasilian government set this up? What if they need to meet a quota of gringo arrests and organized this simple, yet diabolical scheme to nail me and throw me in the slammer with the other "innocent" tourists?
"Calm down, Andrew," my generally nonexistentvoice of reason said. "Count the other wad." And I did.
My careful and hurried addition yielded exactly R345.80, the very same numbers printed on the receipt.
"Yes."
I tidied the two piles of Real that had been mildly scattered by my hands, quivering with suppressed excitement.
"Tudo bem," I acknowledged to my portly watchman. He gave me a slight nod, yet remained standing in his position. His gaze returned to the wall.
"Shit."
After a very momentary silent and internal spaz attack in which I offered the watchman the rubber band that came wrapped around the bills to see if he would go away. I realized he was just chillin'. Havent we all enjoyed that moment in our lives, when we enjoy a moment to ourselves beyond the sight of our bosses.
Big Boy was merely enjoying this moment, and as I realized, I relaxed. Now to play it cool.
We had to wait for the rest of the people to exchange money, which took a while. Finally, after years of small talk and table football we got up to leave. A glance towards the door yielded my final obstacle: a guard at the door letting people out through the anti-theft chamber. I know, it sounds intense...and it is. One quarter of a revolving door, in which the door only opens in one direction ensures that only one person can pass at a time. Waiting for the guard's eyes to light up upon smelling my extra cash, I passed through the door.
Finally, in the safety of the Volkswagen did I: 1. tell my friends what happened, and 2. carefully and with the help of the seven others recount my money and make sure that I had, indeed successfully allowed Brasil to give me a gift of R300.

Andrew