A Day in the Life (part 2)

Although I never intended to live what could conceivably be called an "alternate lifestyle", I find myself in exactly such a situation. I am a historian. What does that mean? I like people and their life stories and how those lives interact with bigger things-- governments, nations, laws, etc. Historians, different from sociologists and anthropologists, deal primarily with people who are already dead. (Hence, the history part.) The way in which historians uncover the lives of people already deceased (our methodology) is the use of primary documentation. What is primary documentation? Papers, letters and other things written by the person of interest or people around them, during the time in which they were alive (ex. a photograph of a document I've been using; hard to read? I know!). These are typically collected and housed in an archive. Archives have different jurisdictions-- some are national, state, municipal, etc. This means that books, the internet and all other easily-accessed forms of information are virtually useless to historians hoping to write an original piece of work (except as reference points, footnotes and general guides to what has already been done). A dissertation, aside from being the final test of a potential Ph.D, is also supposed to be their "debut" into academic society, so to speak. Therefore, the research and writing of a dissertation is rigorous and, eventually, supposed to become a person's first professional publication (a book).

For historians like myself (those drawn to foreign countries), this inevitably requires primary document research IN the country of interest. I've lost count on how many times people have asked me why I can't just do the research from the US? Or online? Let me assure you, if that were possible, I would certainly jump at the chance to sleep in my own bed, be around my loving husband and work from home. However, Latin America tends to be a particularly difficult area of specialization in this regard. Despite currently being a stable democracy with a booming economy, Brazil (my area of focus) was once under a military dictatorship and, in the not-so-distant-past, was subject to an economy wildly out of control. The inflation rate in the 80s was in the triple and quadruple digit range. Brazil's historic instability has resulted in spotty interest (due to money) in historic preservation. Unlike the US, Brazil has very little of its history digitized and available remotely (online) to researchers. This means that people like me who have very specific questions that no one else has addressed before in history books MUST go and look at the papers in person to find the answers.

And here I am. Sitting in the kitchen of my tiny, Rio apartment (with no air conditioning) as the temperature soars to a suffocating 92F. I am one of the lucky ones (though the previous sentence doesn't sound like it). I was given money to go to Brazil, stay, live and do research until I have enough original information to write my dissertation-- big props to the US government for making that possible!! So, what the heck am I doing here besides sweating? In my previous post, I laid out an average day in my life here in Rio. But what exactly am I working on? Here's the quick & dirty version of what I hope to be my dissertation(vague enough that no one can "steal" it).

Brazil was the last country in the Western Hemisphere to abolish slavery (1888). Far outstripping others, Brazil imported the largest number of slaves from Africa (around 60%, or roughly 6 million--though these numbers are always in dispute). As a result, it is also a nation in which race (the color of one's skin) has played a complex and debatable role in social status/advancement. My dissertation will examine the way in which slaves and their descendants, once freed, integrated (or didn't) into society. Specifically, I want to look at the education of this group (broadly defining "education"). I'm hoping to prove that, in some ways, society was actually more permissive of slave/former slave advancement through education during the slavery era than after slavery was abolished. Sounds contradictory, right? That's the fun part!

I don't expect everyone to understand what I'm doing and why. I can't understand the thrill of being a stunt person, the pressure of being an ER doctor or the simple joys of being a stay-at-home-mom. That's not who I am but I respect them. It's disappointing when people don't respect my life choices in the same way. Indigant questions like, "How can you leave your husband for so long?" or (worse), "How can you LET her go so far away for so long?" are profoundly disrespectful. Perhaps if I were in the military, people wouldn't find my extended travel/work abroad to be so "strange" and unsettling. My husband and I made this decision together and we felt it was right-- like so many military families do every day. I can't help but feel that it's mainly a "gendered" concern. Meaning-- if my husband were the one who had to live and work abroad people would have less of a problem with it. As an educated, professional woman living in the 21st century who has always been told that she could be "whatever she wanted" and was "equal to a man", I find this extremely sad. Particularly because the harshest critics of my "alternate lifestyle" are primarily other women. I love what I do and yet I'm constantly put on the defensive about what the job entails. Hopefully, this blog-- detailing what it's really all about-- will help clear up some of these misunderstandings. Until next time...

A Day in the Life (part 1)

While, understandably, most people in my life have absolutely no idea what it is that I do, they do seem to maintain a respectful curiosity. I thought I would feed that curiosity a bit by describing a typical day here in Rio (pt.1) and then go into a bit more detail about what it is that I’m doing here (pt. 2). Get ready, ‘cause it’s a wild and super glamorous life I’m leading down here....(snort laugh)...

First, I get up anywhere between 7 and 8am. Ok, maybe more toward 7:30. Fine...8:15am is when I actually leave the bed. Brush my teeth, take a cold shower, get dressed, do my makeup and head out for breakfast. By the way, the cold shower might sound unpleasant but, trust me, when it’s already in the 80s by 9am, it feels great. I pick the least offensive and most comfortable shoes I can find to wear. The difficulty comes in choosing what to wear. The temperature of my day fluctuates anywhere from 95F to about 72F. Shorts? T-shirt? Light cardigan? It’s always a gamble. And then looking fashionable....forget about it.

Breakfast is always at a little café down the street called A Casa de Pão (The House of Bread). I order just about the same thing every day because it’s so damn tasty. A misto quente (a hot ham and cheese sandwich on a little French loaf), a cafezinho com leite (a little expresso with milk and sugar) and caju (cashew fruit) juice. Sometimes, if I’m feelin’ crazy, I’ll change out the caju juice for mango, orange or honeydew melon. Fifteen minutes later, I’m on my way.

After about 7-8 blocks, I’m at the subway. I pay my ida and volta (go/return) fares and elbow my way (literally) onto one of the super-packed, blissfully air-conditioned cars. I ride the metro for about 6 stops and then get off in the historic center of the city and head towards the Arquivo Nacional (National Archive) located across the street from a huge park. Once inside, the temperature drops into the low 70s for document preservation purposes. A nice archivist at the front desk named Rosanne greets me, I get a little “Researcher” name tag and head into “the pit”.

Ok, so it’s not even unofficially called “the pit” but, if you’ve ever been here, it’s a strangely appropriate nickname. The “pit” is a dark section of cage-like cubicles at which I spend almost 8 hours a day. Each cubicle has a little halogen lamp, an average-sized desktop, a wheely chair, a universal laptop outlet and that’s about it. It’s all very modern—burgundy and silver with exposed brick walls—but also rather cold. At the end of the room are metal shelves filled with packets of browned and yellowed paper, wrapped in white, waxy, acid-free paper and tied with twine. A very chatty archivist with gray hair and a rather rotund figure asks your name and directs you to your stack. The archive requires about 4 days, after you’ve already looked up the documents you want and submitted the paperwork, before you can touch anything. Even then, you have to wear latex gloves and, in some cases, a mask. After gleefully collecting your packet (one at a time), you can take it back to your workspace and begin working.

Wow! Insane, right? But wait, that’s not all!

As most of you know, my native language is English. Guess what language all my documents are in? Not English. Despite being fluent in Portuguese, trudging through hundreds and hundreds (no lie) of papers in a language that isn’t your own is exhausting. Add to it the fact that mine are almost all from the nineteen century (before typewriters). My comprehension of a document, not matter how important, is dependent on the handwriting of some notary from over a century ago. Most are fairly decent but some are downright atrocious. If the mold and bugs haven’t gotten to something already, I can generally understand about 90% of what’s written—on a very good day. Multiply that by 9 months and, technically, I need to have enough usable material to write a book (a dissertation is about the same length). Pressure? Yup. How’s that for living on the edge?

After about 6-8 hours of that (with a lunch break), I gather my things and head home. Stepping outside, I hit a wall of late afternoon heat (generally 90-95 this time of year) and walk towards the subway. Since most archives close around 5:30-6pm, I hit rush hour traffic every day. The metro is EXTREMELY full at the end of the work day. Usually, I wait for a train or two before one comes that isn’t already full to capacity. I squeeze my little self in and force my way out when I arrive at the Largo do Machado stop again. When I get home, the first thing I do is take another shower. Just that short amount of walking and heat exposure leaves me soaked with sweat. A quick rinse and a change of clothes makes it all better. Dinner is usually at an ao kilo (buffet style) restaurant called Gambinos at the nearby plaza.

Ahhh.....Brazilian food. I could write a whole blog just on my undying love of this very special Latin American cuisine. It’s not spicy like Mexican food (only in a few regions), like most people think. It’s generally a lot like American Soul Food. Collard greens, black beans, rice, sun-dried beef, sausage, seafood stews, lots of fresh fruit and vegetables, and, of course, lots of hot, crispy, French bread. Brazilians also drink a lot of coffee. Very strong, very black and usually with a ton of sugar. The best way to round out a good meal. Oh, and the desserts....brigadeiro, bolo de aipim, cocada, quindim, passion fruit mousse, etc. It’s a beautiful thing. Thank goodness I walk so much, I’d come home over 200 pounds if not.

The evenings are the toughest part. Chatting with the hubby, family and friends fills the void but the 3-4 hour time difference (I’m between the US and Europe) makes it complicated to orchestrate. I’ve been reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo but only half-heartedly. We don’t have a TV at home yet so, I’ve been in withdrawal a bit. It’s amazing how long the nights are without television! I dare anyone out there to try it for a week. You just don’t know what to do with yourself and you don’t have the energy to invent anything.

That’s all for now. Stay tuned for Part 2. Until then....

Foot Fetish

One thing I always look forward to while in Brazil is walking. My grandfather was a big believer in the benefits of walking for health and, since coming back here, I agree. I didn't realize how ridiculously out of shape I was until I tried to walk about 2 miles in my "comfy" sandals. Not only did I huff and puff and sweat the whole way but my feet looked like ground beef by the time I got home. Which made me wonder: with all the walking that Brazilians do, HOW are they so obsessed with uncomfortable shoes?

As most women will tell you, what you wear on your feet is extremely important. We make sacrifices of comfort every day for the sake of that sexy pointy-toe pump, that cute

strappy sandal or that modern ballet flat; after about fifty steps, each of those makes our feet cry out in pain. Luckily, we are a car-loving culture. We drive EVERYWHERE. To the corner store, to the kid's bus stop down the street and even to the mailbox. We hardly ever walk. So, wearing those awesome (yet excruciating) shoes isn't such a big deal.

Brazilian women, on the other hand, don't seem to have gotten the podiatry memo. I have never seen so many women in adorably horrifying shoe contraptions. I've seen women running to catch a city bus in broad

daylight (and in otherwise casual attire) with sparkly stilettos on. They wear heels everywhere: to the mall, to work, to the grocery store, to the post office...everywhere. Clearly, these women are masocistic. Or perhaps they simply can't feel their feet anymore. Either way, I can't keep up. Literally. I've tried to wear Brazilian shoes and walk the way Brazilian women do for as long as they do. And then I can't walk for two days after that. Yet another way in which I am so clearly a gringa (foreigner). It's truly a genetic miracle that these women are standing, walking at such a quick pace and still swinging their hips like pros without bursting into tears.

Perhaps the most mystifying aspect of the Brazilian female's shoe fetish a

re the surfaces they walk on. Rio is a big city with miles and miles of concrete, asphalt and the emblematic black and white cobblestone streets. However, street repairs are infrequent, uneven and, in many places, completely non-existent. Here comes the double-bonus challenge to all you lily-footed American girls, try walking on THIS in stilettos. I guarantee you'd die from a broken neck in 2 blocks...

This raises the obvious question-- WHY are Brazilian women so into shoes? Especially when Brazilian men seem truly not to care. At first glance, one would assume it's simply a love of shoes. There are shoe stores on almost every major street and the price of women's shoes is atrocious. It could only be love, right? Wrong. Brazilian women are exceedingly concerned with their appearance and shoes just happen to be one insanely illogically aspect of an over-arching (excuse the pun) beauty fanaticism.

I've often compared Rio to New York City and that is in many ways a fair comparison-- real estate prices are heavily inflated, population density is high and wages/costs are some of the highest in the country. However, Rio is more easily compared to Los Angeles in terms of beauty. It remains one of the top cities in the world for plastic surgery and other general expenditures on belleza (Portuguese for "beauty"). [Here are some stats to prove it: Beauty in Brazil.] Hair products, hair salons, nail salons and body waxing (most famously the "Brazilian bikini wax") are just a few of the requirements of Brazilian femininity. I've only been here a few days and my nails were so bad that a random woman at a restaurant literally suggested a good place to get a manicure! While getting the manicure, my manicurist repeatedly scolded me for letting my cuticles become such a "big mess" and joked how badly "in need" I was. There's definitely a tangible pressure here to be beautiful.

As I trudge home tonight with my shabby sneakers, baggy shorts and shaggy-short hair, I'm sure I'll see a few women sporting stylish ponytails and cute mini-backpacks while stepping out of a gym wearing...you guessed it...heels. Until next time...

Back in the (Sweaty) Saddle Again

Being back in Rio de Janeiro is kinda like visiting an old friend. Granted, it's an old friend that smells a little, sweats a lot, has dirty fingernails and generally talks too loud. Despite all that, I just know we'll be friends for life. There's something about this place that calls to wanderlust in most people, I think. That's probably why it's one of the top destinations in the world for expats.

This is my fourth time in Brazil, my third time in Rio and it will be my longest stay ever (9 months). I decided to begin this blog as a way of passing the time. I'm also admittedly filling the homesick void and giving those back home a sense of what it's like to really LIVE in a foreign country. Brazil can certainly be conceived of as an exotic, tropical location of beautiful people, hard to pronounce fruits and perfect beaches. It is also, however, a country like any other-- full of history, struggling with inconsistencies and rife with problems.

When asked about it, I like to say that Brazil is a country that's easy to like but very hard to love. Mostly, this blog will be about my love/hate relationship with this complex and exciting place. I'll incorporate a little human interest, a little history and a little travel narrative-- just to keep everyone from getting too bored.

I've dubbed this new blog, "The Year of Two Summers". While at the height of winter in my hometown , Rio is currently entering the apex of summer. I will be traveling back and forth periodically and will, therefore, experience two summers in 2011. You could also say that, technically, the temperatures here in summer and in fall are almost indistiguishable. Basically, all heat and humidity ALL the time. So, this entry will be devoted to sweat; yes, sweat.

For a native Northerner like myself, dealing with the heat is and will be a particularly difficult hurdle. Daily temperatures in the 90s with a UV index of +10 and humidity reaching roughly 50-60% (if not higher), combined with sparse amounts of air conditioning equal a virtual hell for Yankees. Most Brazilians snub air conditioning at home-- claiming to not even feel the heat. I find this completely unbelievable and rather twisted.

As a result, profuse amounts of sweat are a daily reality. Surprisingly, the vast majority of Brazilians smell rather nice (due to a booming industry of body sprays, strong deodorants/anti-perspirants and shampoos). Unfortunately, traveling by bus during the afternoon hours inevitably leads to stinky encounters of the first kind. I've had sweaty armpits in my face, sweaty bums on my back and sweaty hands on my hands. It's a struggle to surpress my scream and run away reflex in these moments-- I HATE feeling sweaty. However, everyone else seems not to be bothered in the slightest.

Bodily contact, despite the moistness of the general population, is not diminished at all in the summer. Brazilians are extremely comfortable with their bodies, which is an enviable trait. In the same vein, they are shockingly comfortable with MY body as well; which takes some getting used to. Hugs, kisses, PDAs and widespread touchy-feeliness reign supreme here. If you aren't prepared to (at some point), be bear-hugged by a rather hairy man with prominent pit stains, you are in the wrong country, my friend!

As a result, Brazilians are what can be considered (even by Americans) as excessive bathers. Most people here take 2-3 short showers a day. Many consider this fondness for water to be an indigenous legacy. Supposedly, when the Portuguese arrived in Rio, they noted the extreme bathing habits of native cariocas (residents of Rio de Janeiro) and found them to be quite "primitive". This was in contrast, of course, to European beliefs that bathing was dangerous and could potentially cause death; so, most Portuguese sailors bathed annually-- yes, ANNUALLY. I'm going to go be a good little indian and take a bath now before I completely melt! Until next time...