On our way to Manaus we had a layover in Brasilia before leaving for the longer leg of the flight. I sat next to an older Portuguese-Brazilian woman and a young Brazilian-Spanish man, and through much confusion and translation we had an amazing conversation—I spoke in broken Spanish to the man, who in turn translated what I said to the woman. They were both terribly excited to learn about the education system in the US as their education system is vastly different (the university is free for most, and if it isn’t it is pretty darned close to it). After a while when we got comfortable and all the talks about home and family were out of the way, I bluntly asked about their perception of the US and its people in general. The man talked about how he thought Michael Moore was absolutely correct and Bush deserved to rot in hell, whereas the woman was far more eloquent in her wording if not her opinions.
They then turned the question around—what did we learn about Brazil in school? It was hard for me to tell them that we had only learned the bad things about Brazil—the crime rates, the homeless children, and the racism hidden from the world. They were shocked to hear this, they explained, because they didn’t see these things as major problems in Brazil. After that they asked to see my passport and license as they are vastly different from their own (driver’s licenses are given out only after the age of 20, I believe, but most people don’t bother getting them). They both grimaced at the Brazilian visa and said that the country was angry at the US for requiring them to have a visa to enter, and so it was good that we needed one in return. They were shocked, however, that it lasted for five years.
After landing in Manaus, the fifteen of us slept in a cool Volkswagen bus until we rounded on a street where Carnival was being celebrated vibrantly. The noises of Carnival woke each of us up, and we looked out the windows to see men dressed as women, women dressed as prostitutes, and children dressed as animals partying on the streets. A few moments later on a scary looking street, we stopped and got out to enter into our hotel for the night—a place with barbed wire and bars across the doors. Even upon entering our room we realized that it looked like a cross between Hostel and Debbie Does Dallas, scaring the three of us into exploring more. We turned on the TV to find porn playing, opened the bathroom to find possibly the most grungy shower and toilet in existance, and tried to open the duct taped windows only to find that they were shattered in far too many places to move. Despite the 100 degree heat we slept on our towels (as there were ant infestations in each of the beds) and listened to the air conditioner (and I use that term loosely) as it turned on and off to the cadence of the reverlers outside.
No comments:
Post a Comment