February 5, 2018
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Day 4 – First Surfing Class

After hearing an overwhelming number of horror stories about surfing, I had resigned myself to the simple fact that I would be very bad at surfing.

Well guess what?! I’m not!!

For a beginner.

Luckily the waves were quite controlled and our instructors were quite good. To my sincere shock (with a big soft top surfboard) I stood up for nearly every wave and was able to balance on the board pretty well (nobody is more surprised about this than me).

Later in the day, I go to the beach with a Swedish girl from my hostel, we stand in the waves which drag us into the ocean and then knock us over like bowling pins. We laugh maniacally.

I’ve been reading Patti Smith’s M Train which so poetic and carefully written. It makes me immensely happy to see an artist that I love have this interesting and varied career that spans throughout her life. She writes about travelling (she once almost made it to Brazil with visa pictures and all). She writes about television shows that absorb her, being creative and creating. All things that make me love her more. I love the way she talks about her late husband, it’s sweet but not saccharine. It melts you a little to know that two people cared for each other in such a meaningful way. She writes about him in such a fond and tender way, not wilting because he has passed, but holding him close in everything she creates. She is my hero.

Because I love Emmylou Harris and this song reminds me of Patti and Fred Smith. This is the song of the day:

The Travelling Kind – Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell

I bring you this smug as fuck grin from a brand new surfer. ✌️😎🌞

February 3, 2018
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Day 3 – Journey to Recreio

Since Day 2 of this trip was such a profound experience, I have decided to table it until I have a substantial amount of time to give it justice. Stay tuned, no one.

Day 3

Yesterday (Friday) began on a bus ride to Recreio (a neighbourhood of Rio that is quite far from Rio’s city centre). It is in Recreio that I plan to become the next super cool Gidget at my surf camp hostel.

While on the bus I met a Brazilian surfer who to my relief spoke very good English and also happened to be going to the same neighbourhood as me. He also thought I was 21 which was ever better, because they stopped I.D’ing me at the LCBO this year and it’s kind of been bumming me out.

Later on in the day I got to hang out at his hostel, which turned out to be the more authentic Brazilian version of my hostel. This hostel is owned and run by a family of surfers, complete with Grandma and a bad-ass surfing seven year old girl. Also this dog, whom I love, but seemed pretty indifferent to me:

We walked into the town with the Grandmother and the bad-ass seven-year-old girl (who ran in into an older boy with her bike and then proceeded to yell back at him as he walked away- she is everything I long to be…) In town we ate croquettes at a food stall and the family took turns trying to guess my age (a game I do not care for). The Grandmother also guessed 21 (take that LCBO!) and then without missing a beat, the seven-year-old guessed it correctly (which everyone laughed at because apparently, it’s hilarious being this old). When I confirmed she was right, she celebrated, two fists shooting in the air while the rest of the table gaped at me in disbelief, scanning me for tell-tale signs of old age: wrinkles, dentures, a walker they might have overlooked.

After arriving back at my hostel, I got to do my new favourite thing with my old favourite thing: watching the sunset in Rio while drinking a beer.

The rest of the night was spent drinking beers with people at my hostel. When the song ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ came on, a girl from the Czech Republic confessed that she had thought the lyrics to the chorus were ‘Sweet home Barrack Obama’ which I think is amazing because of how innocent and strange a mistake it is and also because I really miss Barrack Obama.

She then informed me that it was my turn to be interviewed. She held an imaginary microphone to her mouth and asked:

“Why did you come to Brazil?”

I answered.

And then:

“Why did you come to this hostel?”

I answered.

And THEN:

“What is the biggest lie that you tell yourself?”

When I couldn’t answer, she said: “you have seven days to answer this question.”

And then, today at lunch:

“6 DAYS.”

Day 3 Song: Over the Mountain Across the Sea- The Ventures

January 31, 2018
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Brazil- First full day

I set my alarm for 9am yesterday thinking I would spring out of bed ready for adventure. What followed was a two-hour internal barter for more sleep. Several hours after I slunk, sloth-like out of bed, I remembered that I generally only vacation when my metaphorical tank is running on fumes and that the overwhelm of a new city/environment puts me into a deep fairytale-like sleep.

I would call myself Snow White if it wasn’t for this one patch of red on my shoulder. (Sunscreen lesson still probably not learned).

However once I did get going, my excitement could not be deterred. I stepped out with a big silly grin on my face because: heat! adventure! Brazil!

Almost immediately, a man walking toward me decidedly and with full eye contact assumed squatting position. He then licked his hand and used said ‘hand’ to excitedly pat his genitals. This caused great confusion to an onlooker who gazed at me confounded by the silly big grin that remained on my face.

NO, I didn’t find this direct and vulgar sexual advance endearing or even cute. It’s just that I wasn’t going to let any man (or woman) get in the way of my adventure in São Paulo.

I spent most of the day lost, looking for a hidden record shop that I never found but came very close to finding. Finally, after regrouping at a very Americanized coffee shop that also had wifi (and things that said ‘restroom’ and ‘coffee’) I set off for the Tomie Ohtake Institute, a museum named after a Japanese, naturalized Brazilian abstract artist. Definitely one of the better abstract/ contemporary museums I have been to in my life. Here are some pictures I took:

Like, who even am I?

Other São Paulo observations:

Sometimes it’s smells like barbecue, but most often: it smells like pot.

Chips aren’t really a thing here. On one of the rare packages that I found, it suggested that ‘hot dogs’ would be a suitable pairing. I immediately set the package down, feeling judged and indignant.

The subway announcements are prefaced by a lil’ Kenny G-like riff. It’s totally sexy. This happens three times before you get to the station and is followed by one female Portuguese speaker and then by one male speaker who sounds like an indifferent Kevin Spacey: “Exit for line 3” and then in an exasperated voice “Red” like only the most pedestrian of people would navigate the subway system by colour.

My view today:

Today’s music:

Alalala- CSS