Costume Party

In addition to being one of Latin America’s best business schools, Kim’s school is also famous for its parties. On Friday night we went to Giovanna. (The parties have names, apparently.) It was a costume party, so we thought long and hard about what to wear. And by that I mean we still didn’t know what we were going to be on the morning of the party.

Finally, Kim decided we’d go as 1950s greasers—mainly because we already had everything necessary to complete the outfits, with the exception of hair gel. So Kim made a quick trip to the store and then dumped half a bottle of green goo into my hair. Before I knew it, I had an extremely cool pompadour.

Hepcats

The party didn’t start until midnight, so around 9:00 we went out to eat with Kim’s classmates Monica and Daniel. After stuffing ourselves with spaghetti and downing three Cokes each, we were ready for Giovanna.

Kim, Daniel, and Monica

The venue was really cool: it was an old power plant with three huge smokestacks. The dance floor was on the ground level, and it was pretty packed. The basement had chairs and couches, so it was a little more laid back.

Dance floor

The party was fun, but my only complaint was the costumes. Most people rented theirs from a costume store, for crying out loud. We saw five sailors, for example (I have a feeling that was the cheapest one). I guess I was expecting something more like Halloween in Madison, where everyone has a wacky homemade costume.

Apparently these people don’t realize how late it is.

Anyway, we stayed until the caffeine wore off, which was around 3:30. Needless to say, we didn’t do much on Saturday.

Food Update

Just in case you needed proof that the Internet is faster than international shipping…

Today I received a care package from my mom and step-dad. They sent it last week, several days before I made the last post on this blog—you know, the one where I said I had more than enough peanut butter. Anyway, I opened up the package, and it contained homemade chocolate-chip cookies for Kim (a little dry after eight days of transit, but nothing 30 seconds in the microwave couldn’t fix) and a two-pound jar of peanut butter for me!

So even though I now have more peanut butter than I can possibly use in the next four months, it’s nice to know that so many people are thinking of me and willing to send stuff that reminds me of home.

By the way, you know another thing I really miss about the U.S.? Hundred-dollar bills.

Food, etc.

São Paulo has the largest Japanese population anywhere in the world (other than Japan, that is). In particular, the Liberdade neighborhood is the center of Japanese culture, and every weekend there’s a market in the square. So this past weekend, we stopped by to check it out and treat ourselves to some Japanese food.

Liberdade

Last week was “Restaurant Week” in São Paulo. Basically, that means all the fancy restaurants in town offer specials where you can get a three-course meal for R$39 (18 bucks). That’s a pretty good deal, so we took advantage of it three times. At the first place I had a salad, lobster, and ice cream; Kim had salad, filet mignon, and cake. At the second place, I got risotto and Kim had lasagna. At a third place, they informed us that they weren’t taking part in Restaurant Week anymore—which was a shame, because no fewer than 14 of us showed up expecting to get a cheap dinner. But their steaks turned out to be R$40, so we figured it would be a wash. Someone ordered wine for the table, though, and the waiters just kept refilling our glasses. By the time dinner was over we were all feeling pretty jovial, and we didn’t even care that our wine ended up costing twice as much as our steak!

Speaking of food… the peanut butter just keeps rolling in! A couple weeks ago my good friend Chris surprised me with a care package, which included two bottles of sunscreen, a few canvas bags, and EIGHT POUNDS of peanut butter. Then, a week later, we received a care package from Kim’s mom—and it included a two-pound jar of peanut butter! So, just in case anyone was thinking of sending me peanut butter, I think I’m good for a while. I was making a sandwich the other day, and my roommate Helena was laughing at the enormous jar.

Family portrait

Oh, I think I forgot to mention this on the blog: we got two new roommates on the first of the month. Both of them are Brazilian, and their names are Helena and Renata (however, due to the crazy Portuguese pronunciation, it sounds like Elena and Henata). So now we have a full house. Actually, if we’re using poker analogies, I guess it would be four queens and a king.

Kim had her first volleyball game last weekend. Technically, I suppose it was her second game. She had one a couple weeks ago, but the other team didn’t bother to show up—so Kim’s team won by forfeit. But this time they had an opponent, so they played an actual game. I forgot the camera, unfortunately, but just imagine a medieval dungeon and you’ll get an idea of what the gym looked like. Anyway, Kim’s team won the match, 2 games to 0.

Victory celebration

Kim’s teammate Louisa invited us out to celebrate the victory. It was the first time we’ve been out with just Brazilians; every other time we’ve gone out has been with other exchange students, so we always speak English. But most of the Brazilians weren’t super-comfortable with English, so we actually got to use some Portuguese. It didn’t last long, though. Their mediocre English was still far better than our awful Portuguese.

Beautiful Island

Summer is drawing to a close, and we figured we should hit a few more beaches before temperatures plunge to the low 70s. So this weekend we went to Ilhabela. Literally translated, the name means “beautiful island.” I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description.

Ilhabela

Besides Kim and me, our group included seven other people from Kim’s school. Despite the heat (95 and humid), the nine of us crammed ourselves into a single mini-van on the taxi ride to our hotel. The driver was quite talkative. He was speaking in Portuguese, so I couldn’t understand every word he said, but I’m pretty sure he was telling us about some of the best beaches on the island. He also said our hotel was nice, since it included a restaurant, a pool, and a sauna. Using my rudimentary Portuguese skills, I said, “We don’t need a sauna—this car is enough!” The driver laughed, but I’m not sure if was because of my awful joke or my awful accent.

Crowded cab

On Saturday, we took a boat to the north side of the island to visit a beach that isn’t accessible by car. The boat was pretty big—I think it had a capacity of about 100—but for some reason the nine of us were the only passengers. It was great having the whole boat to ourselves. We had plenty of room to relax and soak up the sun. Unfortunately, the sun disappeared a few minutes after we left the dock, and the rest of the day was overcast.

Our boat was the one on the left.

When we arrived at the beach, we all jumped off the side of the boat and swam to shore. The water was ridiculously warm, so we spent most of our time snorkeling rather than relaxing on the beach.

We had the boat all to ourselves!

On Sunday, we went to the south side of the island to check out a beach called Praia do Curral. It was a little crowded, since it was right along the island’s main road, but it was beautiful.

Praia do Curral

Epilogue:
We had to switch buses on our way back to São Paulo, so we ate at a little diner during our layover. I had a hamburger and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I’m happy to report that the OJ was delicious. Even the fly I found in my glass couldn’t diminish my enjoyment. It wasn’t until we got back on the bus that I realized I forgot to ask the waitress a very important question: What kind of oranges did they use?!

Trouble in Paradise

This blog has been rather light and fluffy up to this point, but I think it’s time to address a serious topic. Brazil has a problem—a crisis, really—that has been kept in the dark for too long. I believe it’s my duty to blow the lid off this scandal.

The orange juice here is completely unacceptable.

For a country blessed with such an abundance of oranges (check the origin of your OJ sometime; chances are it’s either Florida or Brazil), you’d think the juice here would be first-rate. But in fact, it tastes like orange-flavored water. And to rub salt in the wound, it costs six dollars a gallon.

Scoff if you will, but this situation has had serious ramifications. A lack of good OJ prompted me to explore other juice options. Orange-peach, orange-mango, orange-acerola (whatever that is)—all of these bastardizations fell woefully short of the mark. So I made a tough decision. If I couldn’t have good orange juice, I wouldn’t drink any orange juice at all. Then, inevitably, I came down with a nasty cold. I haven’t had a cold in years—and I’m pretty sure it’s because I made a habit of ingesting 300% of my recommended daily allowance of vitamin C.

All juiced up

Our roommate’s mom bought her a juicer a couple weeks ago. So Kim came to my rescue and made me a glass of freshly squeezed OJ. It’s kind of a pain to use the juicer, since it requires a lot of cleanup, but I got my jolt of vitamin C and recovered from my cold in no time. But when I regained my sense of taste, I noticed something odd: even the freshly squeezed orange juice didn’t taste quite right. Actually, it might have something to do with the oranges we used. You see, when we go to the grocery store, we have three options. We can buy oranges that are orange (as you might expect), but we can also buy oranges that are green and oranges that are yellow. The orange oranges are decent, but they’re not sour enough. The green oranges are kind of bitter. The yellow oranges are somewhere in between.

So now the hard work begins. We shall not rest until we concoct the perfect mixture of orange, green, and yellow oranges.