I arrived at Sao Paulo at 9:45am. I was smelly, and tired, and hungry, and suddenly overcome with the feeling you get right before you sky dive for the first time. What had I just committed to? Needless to say I was in a perfect mental space to have just arrived in a foreign country. I shuffled through the airport security and customs and baggage claim like the rest of the smelly, tired, hungry airplane cattle that had gotten of the plane with me, and then entered the place where other people claim other people who have gotten of the plane.
I have had experience with this chute before. It is the place when people hold up signs with names they have not yet connected to faces, or families wait with handmade signs to welcome back their loved ones, the places where teary eyed youtube videos of soldiers returning home from war are made; that was where I was. Normally I like the chute it is a places of real pure excitement it is the first sign that you arrived. You get overwhelmed with the newness or nostalgia However, this was not how I felt, all I really felt was that I had to poop, really really bad. I am a morning pooper, anyone who has lived with me for an extended period of time, especially in the wilderness knows this about me. I poop within minutes of me waking up. Though I would not describe what I did on the plane as sleeping (it was more like blacked out fits inbetween quietly cursing the person in front of me to a slow early grave for reclining the seat so far back that I could have licked their ear, and wanting to remove the leg privileges of the child behind me whose default setting was seat kicking). However, my body was use to pooping about two hours before 9:00 and it was ready to move my bowels. I quickly found a restroom, and after I relieved myself, my mood instantly lightened. I was still smelly, tired and hungry but at least my life had returned to some semblance of rhythm.
I met the roommate Moaci, at the chute for arriving cattle. Moaci doesn't speak a lot of english. when I met him I was hit by the full brunt of just how far from fluent I am. I fumbled through a few phrases and greetings and then we both met up with Andreas who was the program coordinator for my program and was also the person with the car. The car is crucial Sao Paulo is a massive city. The airport I arrived in was on the far north west section of the city, and the house that I would be staying in was in the east section of the city. the car was necessary.
Andreas speaks english very well, which was a welcomed comfort in my less than prime state. We didn't drive directly to the house in the city instead we drove to Andreas's house on the outskirts of the city. His house is located on a large plot of land in what, for all intents and purposes, was a jungle for me. I met his wife and 6 month old daughter, had a long shower, even longer nap, and then ate all the food they served for lunch. I had finally recovered from the grecian tragic myth that was my plane ride, and gained the majority of my faculties back.
I immediately tried to contact the motherland, and the mother. My regular phone did not work in Brazil. I thought I had been smart taking a phone a friend had used when they went to england, thinking that it worked outside the US in england it should work everywhere that is not America. It is the little things like a network error message that can really smack you right in the amerocentrism. I tired the internet but there was no internet at the house. It wasn't even that there was not internet that I could connect to without a password. there was literally no internet at all. at first I thought this was a joke. I thought my computer was broken, that the X ray machines at the airport had fried its tired silly little processor but after the 30th check I realized that I couldn't immediately contact anyone outside of shouting distance, from me. My computer had instantly been turned into an overcomplicated pen and notebook, and I was confronted with my first test. I had to socialize with people in a foreign language in a foreign place. Holy fuck what had I just committed to.
I did my best, there was a lot of feverishly reading social cues, and body language, and voice tone, and fumbling through conjugations and a limited vocabulary, but I did it. I managed to survive my first social setting. A wave of relief crashed over me on the car ride back into the city and back to the house.
We arrived at the house said goodbye to Andreas, and Moaci gave me a quick tour of the house. I say quick because there is no other form of tour for the house, you can literally see every room and spot from the middle of the main entrance way. The house doubles as a gear warehouse so my room is a bed and the walls covered floor to ceiling with gear. I found my room to be comforting. I find ridiculous amounts of neatly organized gear to be comforting. I think this is a sign that I have done far to much adventuring in my life. I unloaded my stuff, and promptly went to sleep.
The next day I started work. The first day and week were filled with many exciting things that I feel require their own separate blog posts. I must write about the city, and the food, and my work, and my house, another time.
I spent the majority of the first week, trying to take it all in. I have no real reference point for what I am doing. almost everything is totally new to me. I left my camera at my house here in Sao Paulo. I was not going to be a tourist, I was not going to distract myself I was going to be totally present in where I was and what I was doing. I finally became comfortable. I was no longer worried about what I was doing. I had arrived. the people I am working with are amazing and inspiring, and kind, and patient. the work I am doing is deeply powerful. I am learning tons about my self and humility and presence, and social cues.
I have learned so much, and most importantly I have learned about the Goiaba. it is the most amazing fruit, each form it takes only improves on perfection, and anyone who has not eaten or tasted fresh goiaba is and forever will be less of a person and your life has only ever been half lived. .
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