Essa Vida Beleza: Out On the Road -- Norah Jones

I'm going to try to tackle the "describe the past three weeks" post right here and right now so that it doesn't become the past four or five or six or twelve or sixteen posts. I left Boston on January 3rd in the afternoon, waving a tearful (third or fourth) goodbye to my family and then walking on alone towards security, realizing that I was literally walking, step by step, into the biggest adventure of my life so far. I can tell you, that was a good feeling. With hardly anything planned except the duration and "academic nature" of my trip, I could literally make this into anything I wanted. Anything I wanted, of course, in this beloved Latin America, one of my great passions on this planet. And there's nothing like anticipating a long-awaited trip to Latin America while watching a latina on this large cut out part-cardboard-part-TV figurine giving directions in Spanish for how to go through security (and perhaps even better was the little boy in front of me who watched the whole thing through intently, and then publicly deduced that "clave" is "key" in Spanish. Oh, languages!).

I've never had such a sincerely positive experience going through security as I did with American Airlines. As I was walking through security, a very friendly looking middle-aged security guard, probably having noticed my recently crying eyes, said, "How you doin' today?". I smiled, appreciating the personable guard's attempt to reach out, "Tired, it's been a long day". "Oh, me too," he said. "It's been a long life." We both laughed. For him, maybe, but mine was just getting started! I felt lucky to just be tired from a week's worth of bureaucratic insanity and packing and sleep deprivation due to over-excitement, and not tired from a lifetime of difficulty. Although that's probably not what he meant either, anyway. I just responded, "Well, hopefully you've got at least as much as you've already had ahead of you!" "I hope so, too," he said.

Next thing I knew, I was being pulled over to the security desk because something had been found suspicious in my backpack. I, being incredibly tired and emotionally drained, walked barefoot and disinterested over to the desk to go through my stuff with them. No, they weren't getting the fearful girl who doesn't say a word, nor were they getting the friendly girl who tries to create a feeling of goodwill between herself and the security guard. They got the grumpy, exhausted girl who wanted nothing more than to have her stuff all in one place, at her feet, while she sat in an airplane seat with not a thing in the world left to worry about. So I stood, watching this woman go through my stuff. She pulled out the sweet potato my mom had smooshed into a tupperware and looked at me incredulously. "Sweet potato," I said, smiling vaguely at how disgusting it looked. "Good choice," she said, and continued searching. Finally she found the culprit. My hummus appeared to be over the "liquid" limit. "You've packed yourself a real nice lunch here, don't you?" she commented. "Well, my mom did, but yes." She smiled, "I'm sorry about this hummus, it looks delicioius." "No worries, I'm sure you'll enjoy it," I said, mostly joking. "Unfortunately that's not how it works," she said. "I wish it were!" We laughed. And in the end, she let me have it. Apparently it was close enough to the limit. And, she said, what was I gonna do without my hummus? American Airlines have their priorities straight.

Made my way to the gate, made my way onto the plane, made my way to my seat, and we made our way to Miami, Florida. On the flight I sat next to an older man who had a pretty bad cold (although, I've learned since arriving here in Brazil, when people get colds here they don't try to make their nose-blowing and snot-sneezing subtle. They blow and sneeze and cough to their heart's content. I guess maybe it gets the shtuff out faster? I'm not the biggest fan, though...), and he turned out to be one of many Brazilians who were on that flight. In the last 10 min of the flight we made friends, discussing my adventure and his work and how he was visiting his grandchildren who live in Boston with his son, and how he got sick there because of the weather. We arrived in Miami, said goodbye, and then promptly re-found each other, both lost and seeking our gates. I found the departures list, helped him find his, found mine, and then we parted ways, probably forever. The oddness of traveling. I then waited around, surrounded by Brazilians waiting to fly to Salvador, used some internet, spoke with my family, and all that jazz.

We got on the plane to Salvador, they gave the announcements and we took off. The plane was rather silent, and I looked out the window, full of awe. We were literally leaping off of south-eastern-most tip of America into the great unknown. The city lights slowly disappeared into the past and the vast Gulf of Mexico took their place. That was perhaps the most exciting moment of the trip: Jumping off of the U.S. With each second passed, a record was made: I had never traveled that far south in my life, nor been that close to América do Sul.

On the plane to Salvador I made another Brazilian friend, a woman who lives in Olinda in the state of Pernambuco. I helped her with her earphones to watch Ice Age III in Portuguese, and she helped me by eating the bread they gave me for breakfast that I couldn't eat. And then she wished me the best in my travels and confirmed two or three times that I had someone picking me up at the airport. In the middle of the flight I woke up to look out the window. We flew over an island that I believed to be Puerto Rico. And it hit me again: I've never been so far south, and I was left to have this moment alone, looking out the window of this plane in the dead of the night. I adored it.

Morning came, and so did breakfast and Salvador. I had survived the dreaded over-night flight, and also all the craziness of applying for, getting into, getting the visa for, getting the cell phone for, getting the medical records and vaccinations for, and packing for this trip. And here I was! A few other CIEE people had been on the same flight, it turns out, and we all convened just inside the airport at the gate. We got our luggage, made our way through customs (got my first visa ever stamped!), and met up with CIEE outside. I tried to call my parents but the phone didn't work (I promise, Mom & Dad, I did try!), gave up, exchanged my dollars for reais, and hopped into a van that drove me and a few other CIEE students through a jungle of bamboo and other plants and into the ambiguous city of Salvador (more on that in the preceding post). We drove past beautiful beaches with guys walking around in speedos (HAAAA, best/worst part about Salvador!), and ended up at our hotel.

Arriving in Salvador! (view from the North)

The tip you see in the above photo with N^ , E>, W<

Bamboo forest from the van. And then it hits us. "WHERE ARE WE??"

Well this wasn't our hotel, but here we were in Salvador.

Dat beach...

Can you guess what I did the moment I got to my new room? That's right, PILATES. Sabrina would be proud. (For those of you who don't know, she's the Pilates/Biomechanics instructor at Barnard). Pilates, then bathing suit, then beach. The 90 degree weather was a shock. As was the tan I got after 20 min. with sunscreen on the beach. That night, a band, Samba com Você (Samba With You), was playing at our hotel. A few of us insisted on sitting out on the patio with the music and the other hotel guests for dinner. And it was unbearably good, so I got up as soon as my food was done, samba-ed (apparently I know how to samba, according to the Brazilians... so that was a pretty great thing to get validated! :), danced with this crazy and great old man who had so much spunk I cannot even begin to express, and danced with his son who lacked so much spunk, that I can also not even begin to express. His son may have been the worst dancer I've danced with here. He didn't have rhythm, and kept getting frustrated when I wanted to dance to the music. So, no surprise that later when he asked if I wanted to go swimming in the pool with him to "get to know each other" I said that I didn't want to know him. I could've been more subtle had my Portuguese been better, but it got the point across! Two others from my program, Jaya and Ale, stuck around with me at the patio samba party, while others went out in the city. After the show, we got the information of a kind woman who we'd been dancing with who lives in Minas Gerais and said we could visit her any time we wanted. Also, one of the drummers from the band, Paulo, gave us his number and said he'd save us a table at his samba show on the following Sunday (two days later) in the neighborhood of Pituba. Salvador is connections. Brazil is connections. They're so easy and fun to make.