¿Yo Hablo Español?

Now that we've crossed into Argentina, I'm finally in a position to speak to the locals, rather than yelling in English, gesturing wildly, and nodding a lot. My Spanish isn't fluent, but I took it for about five years back in school and I'm definitely on par with the neighborhood three-year olds.

Up until now, neither Brendan nor I could speak any of the local languages (just to recap: Greek, Turkish, Russian, Mandarin Chinese, Vietnamese, Lao, Khmer, Indonesian, and Portuguese), so we flailed along and got by alright with pleases and thank-yous and plenty of smiling. However, with Brendan's only experience with a foreign language being four years of Catholic school Latin (pointless, sadly), I'm suddenly in the driver's seat when it comes to communicating.

Yesterday, we arrived at our little studio apartment in Buenos Aires without a peso to our name, so we took a walk to locate the nearest ATM. We found it easily, but for some reason couldn't extract more than about 50 pesos, which is less than $20 USD. My international transaction fees are about the same amount. Not cool. And speaking of cool, Brendan started losing his rapidly.

"We have no money! God, this is bad," he moaned.

"Honey, it's fine," I said. "Let's just go inside the bank. We'll talk to someone."

But the security guard at the door wasn't having any of it, and explained to us in Spanish that if our cards weren't working correctly in the machine, a teller wouldn't be able to help us either. As I translated the bad news to Brendan, who actually seemed close to tears (for some reason, he's always a wreck after a day of plane travel. I blame the recycled air), he grew more and more agitated.

"Ask him why we can't go inside and talk to a teller, ask him how he can be so sure nobody will be able to fix our card, ask him why their ATMs only dispense 50 pesos at one time! Ask him if that seems right!"

"Sweetie, I don't know how to say any of that.. come on, work with me here. Keep quiet," I said through clenched teeth.

The security guard took pity on us and walked me through the ATM steps again, just to make sure I hadn't made a mistake along the way. Sure enough, we were denied anything above $20. He blamed our card and suggested we try another bank. I made to leave.

"What is that guy's problem?" B grumbled, looking back over his shoulder at the bank as we crossed the street.

"Honey, he helped us. He suggested another bank. That's where we're going. It's fine," I assured him.

It was at that point that I realized how vulnerable my husband probably feels. In many ways, he's always been in control on this trip: he handles the money, he sets the alarm, etc. When we've gotten into language barrier situations in the past, we've been equally clueless, backed away slowly, and laughed about it later. Now, I think my preschooler Spanish has given me an edge that makes him feel a little helpless. Poor guy.

But between you and me, it's kind of nice to have a dependent.

-Sarah

Samba vs. Beer

We've been in Salvador, Brazil, for the past ten days enjoying Carnaval celebrations, and I've never been so happy for Ash Wednesday to arrive. Don't get me wrong- Carnaval is super exciting and a guaranteed good time, but the Brazilians just don't ever get tired. They party in the morning, they party harder in the afternoon, and then at midnight they put their dancing shoes on. When I get up to pee around 5 a.m., I can hear the rhythm of the drums, still going strong. Torrential rain or shine, the parade will go on. It's amazing and exhausting and I've never seen anything quite like it.

Brendan and I kept up pretty well these last few days, though we could often be found sitting at the bar in the Bahia Cafe, nursing beers and giving our poor, trampled feet an hour's rest. You can only samba for so long, especially when you're making a fool of yourself.

The bar at the Bahia Cafe seemed to be a magnet for other Americans, most of whom were straight off the college cruise ship called "Semester at Sea." Have you heard about this racket? College kids can literally spend a semester studying/fornicating with each other while cruising the seven seas on a luxury liner, rather than on their respective campuses. Brilliant! Why wasn't I aware of this back in '97?

Anyway, the kids were in town for Carnaval and booze and to provide us with a little comic relief at the bar. Here's a word-for-word excerpt from a conversation between a girl from a small, Jesuit school in Massachusetts and a jumpy gay guy from the University of Miami, who had just ordered two shots of tequila:

Girl: "We have to toast to something. Ok, I'm going to quote a line from a song and then you do it too."

Guy: "Ok."

Girl: "Mine is "Keep it real, Slim.""

Guy: "Um.... um.... hmmm... ok, all I can think of is "Don't go chasing waterfalls."

Girl: "That's fine....no, that's good."

They down their tequila shots, talk about how they're starting to feel the alcohol, pay up and go off in search of the action.

Ah, to be in college again. Did we really talk like that?

After they leave, Brendan and I chuckle about eavesdropping being better than fiction, and try our hand at our own poignant song lines. He chooses something obvious from "Stairway to Heaven" and I choose something even more obvious from "Subterranean Homesick Blues." We both agree we'll get better with practice. It's kind of a fun game.

-Sarah

Kiss me you Fool

We went on a marching tour of the city last night. It's what you do here during Carnaval. You pay lots of money, they give you a t-shirt and then you follow a huge truck carrying a live band through the pouring rain for five hours. Good times.

Sarah and I got soaked, danced awkwardly along with everybody else and lost about thirty percent of our hearing. Sarah also was kissed by about a half dozen guys. I would lose her in the crowd and a few seconds later a guy would be pushing himself on her. He wouldn't be overly aggressive, he would just kind of smile and go in for a quick make-out session. At this point, I would calmly walk up, and tap him on the shoulder.

"Hi."

"Oh. Sorry. I am sorry."

Every guy I caught trying to kiss my wife couldn't have been nicer. They were all very sorry about the misunderstanding. And they really were. There was a nice spirit of non-violence about the whole night. Single guys and single (or at least appearing to be) girls just making out on the street. It had a very eighth-grade party in someone's basement kind of quality. Harmless fun. Of course, no Brazilian girl tried to make out with me, but that's probably for the best.

-Brendan

How Sarah Got Her Groove Back

After India, being in Brazil is like embracing hedonism. As I woman, I no longer have to worry about the stares I will attract by exposing my knees, or being looked down upon for drinking a beer in public. Instead, I can walk down the street in a string bikini and nobody will even notice. All the other girls are doing it too, even if a few of them probably shouldn't be showing off quite so many goods. It's freaking hot outside and the locals are simply dressing accordingly. Amen.

We spent our first week in Rio de Janeiro's trendy Ipanema beach, in a little studio apartment complete with its own kitchen. My first grocery run was like dying and going to heaven. I walked up and down the aisles, lusting after various brands of mustard, freshly baked bread, cereal, and provolone cheese. Five different brands of coffee beans. Sour cream. Chocolate chips. Haagen Daaz!!! I hadn't pushed a metal cart through a large, clean, air-conditioned supermarket in months and had forgotten how wonderful this type of self-sufficiency felt. That evening I made spaghetti with puttanesca sauce and parmesan and Brendan and I giggled with glee as we devoured our college-era comfort food.

When dinner was over, he looked at me and said, "You know what? I really missed your cooking."

I blinked back tears of joy and went back for seconds on ice cream.

-Sarah

Be Mine?

This morning Brendan woke up as I was fumbling around to find my apricot scrub for the shower. Bleary-eyed and croaky-voiced, he wished me a happy Valentine's Day.

What? Today is Valentine's Day? No, that's not right. But then I checked Brendan's watch, which confirmed that it was indeed February 14th.

I had completely forgotten about it. This has never, ever happened before.

Normally, I'm not a huge Valentine's Day celebrator, but I know that guys feel obligated to do something nice for their sweethearts on this occasion. Over the years, I've just become accustomed to reaping the rewards. Even though I agree that Valentine's Day is unnecessary, and fake, and puts pressure on people, and is nothing but a marketing tool etc. etc., I'd still be a little disappointed if I didn't at least get a $2 card with a hand-drawn heart inside. Hell, draw a heart on a stick-it note from work and slap it on the bathroom mirror if you don't want to spend the $2. Just do something.

Ok, I'd probably also be disappointed if all I got was a scribbled heart on a stick-it note from work. I have limits, you know. But you see what I'm saying. It's not the amount of flowers, it's the fact that there ARE flowers (or in my case, See's Nuts and Chews work twice as well) and now I feel pretty and special and loved.

Except that this year I'm in Brazil, and Carnaval is starting tomorrow, and I doubt very much that tonight's mood is going to be dominated by starry-eyed couples holding hands over candlelit dinners. And I wouldn't have even remembered what day it was unless my husband had reminded me.

We'll pick it back up next year.

-Sarah

Valentine's Day

My wife may or may not be getting flowers today. Same goes for a nice dinner. It's not that I don't want to be a nice caring husband, it's just that I don't know where to find any flower shops or romantic restaurants. Or card stores. I don't know if Brazil even does Valentine's Day. Carnaval starts tomorrow, so you'd think they have bigger things to worry about, like having enough thongs and gigantic feather head dresses.

This may be the first Valentine's Day (except for the ones when I was single) that I don't drop at least three hundred dollars. Is it wrong to be happy about that? I love my wife. But I also love getting out from under the pressure of the greeting card industry. To the women reading this, is this taboo? Should I not be talking about this? I think most men feel the same way about being pressured, but they put on a happy face and try to make their women happy.

I will too. Except this year, I get a small break.

-Brendan

Carnaval Concerns

We're going to be in the eye of a loud drunk hurricane in a matter of days. Carnaval in Brazil. I can't wait. We're headed up to Salvador on the northeast coast for what's supposed to be a more "authentic" celebration. More authentic then the one they have in Rio anyway. I'm not sure if it's going to matter much as I plan to experience Carnaval in a rum filled stupor.

I'm not so sure about Sarah though. To be honest, I'm a little concerned about how she's going to handle it. Sure, she likes a good time, and maybe I'm just worrying too much, but it could be a long ten days.

I just have a bad premonition of lying in bed and hearing her ask if I can go tell the Carnaval people to keep it down. She needs her sleep, but I'm not sure we're going to be getting a whole lot of it.

I worry about a lot of things. Men grabbing her in crowds, her inability to samba. That sort of thing.

I met a Brazilian guy last week who told me I would have THE BEST TIME!!!! at Carnaval.

"You walk down the street man, and the chicks are just all over you."

"Yea, I'm married."

"Oh. Well if you're with a girl they leave you alone."

What girls are all over me? Was he talking about hookers? Add that to the list of things Sarah probably won't agree with.

-Brendan

So Long, Asia

This is our last day in India. It's a incredibly weird feeling. We've only been here for nine weeks, but it feels like nine months. Maybe even nine years. India will do that to you. I feel old and beat down. I'm puffy, itchy, exhausted, and my colon may never be the same again. But I've survived.

We're flying out of Mumbai tomorrow so tonight we're at the City Palace Hotel in an incredibly overpriced room the size of a cheap stateroom on a cruise ship. Seriously. Have you ever been in one of those staterooms? Identical. We don't have a window either. But I digress.

Brendan wanted to spend a little more on a room with cable TV so that he could wake up at 4:30 a.m. and watch the Superbowl live. His Chicago Bears made it to the finals for the first time since 1986 and even though we're in Mumbai, he really wanted to at least try to be a good fan.

I don't know why we even bother.

According to a cryptic notice posted in the elevator at our hotel, there are a bunch of international channels that don't work in Mumbai anymore. That's code for our hotel not paying their cable bill. Nice work, City Palace. And sure enough, Brendan's sports channel just happens to be one of the casualties. It's the Golden Globes all over again.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry," I say.

But there's no point trying to get another hotel room. It took all afternoon to get the cruise ship stateroom we're in now. Everything's full. We'd be crazy not to stay here. We know this. We settle in.

Instead of the Superbowl, Brendan spends the morning watching Filmy, a channel dedicated to music videos from Bollywood movies. We actually know about half of the songs and even some of the dance moves by now. It's amazing what you absorb from Indian pop culture without even trying (Brendan thinks both Big B and his son are overrated and that Aishwarya could do a lot better).

After breakfast, Brendan goes off to the internet cafe while I catch up on some z's, (which is futile since our room is right next to the elevator which inexplicably plays a ringtone version of "Jingle Bells" every time the doors open, which is about 50 times an hour). Some time later, he walks into our hotel room dejectedly and informs me that the Bears lost.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry," I say.

"It's ok, I'm almost glad I didn't get to watch it now. What's on Filmy?"

Goodbye, India. It's been real.

-Sarah

The Book

Lonely Planet books are like Starbucks. Walking down any big street in any developed city, you're bound to see a few dozen. The world is full of young couples (just like us) walking around lugging backpacks and clutching a Lonely Planet.

We wanted to be different, so we bought a bunch of Rough Guides books instead of the ubiquitous Lonely Planets. Not that it matters. You'll find listings for the same hotels and restaurants in both. Sarah, though, is guidebook crazy. It's the word of God to her (sorry God). She's always studying it, and then playing tour guide as we walk the streets.

"Did you know topless sun tanning is offensive to the locals?"

"The prawns are excellent here. It also has delicious pies and cakes."

"In the red light district, women hang out in cages because they were forced into it by their families."

She even goes so far as to pick up spare Lonely Planets and then compare them to her Rough Guides. She'll spend hours doing this, looking for subtle differences in restaurant reviews. She's weird like that.

I don't take much stock in the book. I think a lot of the information is made up. I mean if I was writing for one of these guide books, I might be tempted to just write something like, "the prawns are excellent here" without ever having to actually go try the prawns. Who's going to know the difference?

Sarah's all about the information though. I like it when she tells me, "people say this beach is too touristy," or, "I've heard people talking about this bus ride. They say it's really bumpy." But that's just the book talking. I'm pretty sure no one is saying these things. It's all coming from the book. Even if she actually did hear someone say these things, I think it's only because THEY read it in the book. You can't escape the Lonely Planet shadow, or in our case, Rough Guides. But like I said, it's all the same.

-Brendan

Sickie Sarah

Before we got to India, everybody told us that we'd get sick here.

"You'll get sick," they'd say.

"Oh well, we're still going," we'd reply.

A few weeks into our trip, Brendan did get sick. I wrote about it here. It wasn't pretty. But he survived. Another few weeks later, he got sick again. Not deathly ill or anything, just... well, violently sick. I blamed it on his refusal to use hand sanitizer (he hates the smell), but the truth is, we were pretty much eating and drinking the same things. How did I keep escaping the poison? Did I have some kind of highly evolved immune system? WAS I SUPERGIRL???
Sadly, no. I had a good run, though. Two months in India without a single cramp ain't bad, my friends. But all good things must come to an end.

The night Brendan and I arrived at a small, idyllic beach in southern Goa, my stomach started seizing. At first it was manageable. "Wow," I thought. "This is weird. Oh my. Ouch."

Within the hour, I was doubled over on the bed in our beach hut, whimpering like a baby. Every time a wave of cramps would hit me, I'd cry out in pain and try to Lamaze my way through it. "If this is what labor pains feel like, I'm never having children," I promised to the wall. "I'm sorry I ate that samosa at the bus stand," I pleaded to the ceiling fan.

In a bizarre stroke of fate, our beach hut was a two-story affair. Bathroom downstairs, bedroom upstairs. I used those stairs about 45 times that night.

The next day, Brendan checked in regularly with updates on the outside world.

"In the light of day, this beach is paradise!" He'd say to me, beaming. "You're going to love it!"

"Oooo, the sun's setting. Wow! I bet it'll be even better tomorrow when you get out of bed!"

"Mmmm, that prawn biryani down the street was amazing! I'll take you there when you're feeling better. More tepid water, honey?"

He was a very sunny nurse, I'll give him that.

The next morning, I was able to eat a banana and make little trips away from the bathroom. By day four, the mystery cramps had faded and I was able to don a swimsuit and behave like a normal beach bunny. The crisis had ended. As my "Staying Healthy in Asia, Africa, and Latin America" reference book assures me, it could have been a lot worse.

-Sarah