Over the past couple of months, I've set aside this blog in exchange for a non-stop schedule, early bedtimes and an overall crazy life. I kept telling myself that one of these Sundays (my only day off, mind you) I would update you with glorious stories and beautiful pictures. But Sundays would pass in the blink of an eye and laziness would take hold of me. I never meant to neglect this little slice of my story, but that's essentially what I've done to it. Neglect it. So, here we are again.
Fresh start. Updates.
Now, where were we?
Ah yes, my documents, being legal, my job, etc. Since the last update I have 100% officially become a Brazilian citizen! I have the same ID card that my mother had when she was my age and that little detail makes it feel so much more important. I'm for real, I'm legal. I can now walk around without any "international" identification (ie. passport, NC driver's license, etc) and just blend in.
After fighting with the system for over 2 months, a small laminated piece of paper was all I had to show for it. But I'll be damned if I didn't feel on top of the world when I held it for the first time. For all the time it took for me to get to the right office at the right time, it took seconds for them to make it. I was busy cleaning off ink from my recent fingerprinting session with what was probably my 10th baby wipe when I received it. I turned around and the quintessential government worker named Margarette handed me my ID. She was all smiles now because that meant I would soon be out of her hair and leaving. I couldn't blame her though, after I raised hell around 5 minutes earlier about my appointment potentially being pushed back, she was probably ecstatic that the "crazy American girl" was almost out of the door. Dear Margarette handed me my simple, green identification card and while my mood did a complete 180, my heart threatened to burst out of my chest from sheer joy.
There it was. Solid, undeniable proof of what I had claimed my entire life.
Saying goodbye is probably one of my least favorite things and that day at the airport, I’m sure it was for my Dad as well. However, I can always count on him to make things short and sweet. After he says all the right things to an anxiety-ridden daughter about to be away for a long time, I make my way through security. With minimum groping, may I add! Though, putting your shoes and belt back on in public still makes me feel as if I’m redressing in front of an audience. No thanks, TSA.
I enjoyed my last American meal in the Charlotte airport, courtesy of some random Carolina barbecue place and it was amazing. After this I made my way to my gate and nothing substantial happened, which I definitely cannot say about the rest of my trip.
I have an aisle seat on my flight to JFK and the man sitting beside me looks like Diego Luna’s twin. Yes, please. A+.
As I sit there for the very quick flight, I start to think my luck is changing. Upon arrival at JFK, however, I’m forced to think again.
It takes me about 45 minutes to find the right “AirTram” or whatever the hell it’s called and still have to find someplace to exchange my American doll-hairs (dollars duh). I then realize that I still need to go to the TAM Airlines counter to find out my gate. This 3-hour layover is shrinking and fast.
I’m greeted with a massive horde of Brazilians with 4 times the normal amount of baggage. The ratio is like, 4 colossal suitcases to one Brazilian. It’s INSANE. There are people with huge flat screen TV’s in line. WHAT IS GOING ON?
I still have to wait in this line, even though I only have to find out my gate number and have no bags to check. Not like I asked anyone though, because people who work at JFK look like the next person who bothers them is going to end up a murder victim.
I wait about 30 minutes in line and find out the flight I’m on to Brazil is overbooked and I have a middle seat. Cue sad trombone music.
That’s not even the worst of it. I’m in the middle of the plane, too. I’m double middle. For 9 hours. DEAR GOD.
The aisle seat next to me was occupied by an old Spanish man who was either in a deep sleep the entire time (making it very difficult for me to get up and walk around) or fighting a losing battle with his touch screen TV in front of him. Seriously, it was like watching a cat try to get a goldfish in a bowl. He was batting at it like it had offended him.
On the other side, I had the pleasure to be seated next to two American boys who thought it was a good idea to drink 14 mini bottles of liquor the entire flight. They got so drunk that they no longer could control the volume of their voices. This flight was scheduled to land at 6:30am BRAZIL time, making it 3:30am in my poor little brain. They were hooting and hollering the entire time, only stopping when someone was complaining about them. I even dared to say something to the two sloshed douche bags, but was met with an alcohol breath, loud whisper of "Are we seriouslyyyyy bothering youuuuu?" Gross. Never mind.
At this point, I just hoped that they would pass out and never wake up again.
And they did! Pass out, I mean. The alcohol finally did it's job and robbed them of their consciousness as they both passed out with their hoods up. They had pulled the strings so tight that the only proof that there were humans under there were the tips of their noses poking out.
I got about 1 or 2 hours of interrupted sleep before we reached Sao Paulo. Great. The next hour and a half was spent waiting on my bags to roll past me on the conveyor belt of despair that was the baggage claim of this airport. HOW does it take that long. HOWWW?
I then had to go through customs and re-check my bags all before getting to my connecting flight. I have never sweat that much inside a building before. I probably looked like a crazy person running through the concourse pushing a rickety cart with luggage stacked almost as high as my head. But, the point is, I made it by the skin on my teeth. It appears, once again, this seemingly long layover time was not enough.
Other than the man nodding in and out of sleep next to me (occasionally hitting his head on my shoulder), this flight was quite alright. I arrive in Belo Horizonte a shadow of the girl that left Charlotte-Douglas airport the day before. Gone are my dreams of arriving fresh as a flower and dressed to the nines. I had changed out of my cute top and blazer into a t-shirt and my once curled hair was now sitting on the top of my head in a messy bun. This first impression is going to be an impression, alright.
I feel gross, completely exhausted, and am in desperate need of a shower. But, I made it. I'm in Brazil. Bring on the culture shock and once in a lifetime experiences! Based off of my horrifying traveling experiences in getting here, I can't help but feel that was just the universe getting all the bad luck out of the way (at least I pray it was).
Well, here we are. My suitcase is packed and weighs as much as two kindergartners, I’m getting the nervous sweats, and I am on my way to the airport in a few minutes.
Mere hours before my departure and I’m feeling a multitude of things. Of the numerous ups and downs and weird feelings, I’m mostly anxious. Anxious about the tin can in the sky I’ll be inhabiting for half a day, anxious about getting there, and, most of all, anxious about settling in.
However, this anxiety is soothed by the strong indication of adventure. I can’t help but fill my head with scenarios of what could happen. To be honest, yes, most of them have me clenching a machete and wearing a khaki safari jacket as I hack away at vegetation in search of a lost treasure BUT some of them are more grounded.
I think about the things I’ll learn and how exciting it will be to experience the things and people my mother has told me about in first person. I’ll get to live in her home state and see what she saw at my age. I’ll visit her hometown for Easter and visit my aunt who, though I talk to weekly, I haven’t seen in 15 years. I’ll finally get to visit the church where my grandmother went every Sunday and where her ashes now rest. These are the important things.
And yet, I believe they are just the tip of the iceberg. I have a feeling that by traveling 1400 miles, I will gain some massive perspective on my life in North Carolina. And for that, I am thankful.
I am SO ready for this. My head and heart will never agree on when exactly is the right time for me to leap, so it might as well be now.
Hello all. As some of you know, I will be setting off on an adventure in South America in about 16 days. I have created a sister blog that I will be updating with ridiculously awesome pictures and stories of my time abroad. Please feel free to follow my journey on www.americangirlabroad.tumblr.com
If you have ever found yourself wondering, “Hmm…I wonder where I could go on this ball of dirt we call a planet to experience hell to it’s fullest degree”, search no further than the Brazilian Consulate in Atlanta, GA.
They, my dear friends, have the monopoly on “hell on Earth”.
Let’s start at the beginning and with the fact that the weather that day was dismal at best. Horrible, nasty, dreary rain and gray skies all day. What a great setting for the 4 hour road trip ahead of me.
I left Charlotte at 6:00. That’s AM, people. I literally cannot remember the last time I had to be out of the house and on the road at 6 in the morning. It couldn’t have been a positive experience.
Though I have lived in Charlotte, off and on, for the better part of two decades, I never seem to factor in that every road/highway/interstate/mountain trail will have some sort of construction happening. No matter the hour!
So, North Carolina gave me nothing but delays and then I hit South Carolina, gross. I laughed out loud to myself that as I read the sign welcoming me into the “bottom” Carolina, I simultaneously hit a gargantuan pothole. “OH SOUTH CAROLINA”, I chuckled.
I’m running against the clock at this point as my appointment (and I use that term loosely) with the consulate is at 10:30 and my GPS has me arriving at about 10:25.
I finally get to Alliance Plaza and my car squeals into the parking lot at about 10:20. Success!
However, from the time I parked my car to when I emerged from the parking deck the rain had turned into some sort of tsunami. I book it to the entrance and arrive sopping wet. Super professional. I’m sure they HAVE to let me into their country if I look like I actually live in a USA favela.
I make it to the 8th floor and am greeted by a waiting room that looks like a movie still of the prison yard from Shawshank Redemption. Except trade out the white men for tan women who look like they’ve just consumed a basket of lemons.
I had all my paperwork. I had checked around 10 times that I had every single piece of paperwork to avoid any hassle. I checked the hours, types of visas and payments (or so I had thought).
My name is finally called and I’m helped (again, using that term loosely) by a woman who can’t seem to open her eyes completely or divert them from her computer screen.
She asked me if I had everything with me, I said yes.
She asked me if I had a money order and I immediately start sweating. “Uhh, no.” I answered, “I believe it said cash or money order?”
“WRONG” She replied. She shoved a piece of paper into my hand that appeared to be a map. “Go to the post office and get a money order in the correct amount.”
“What would the correct amount be?” I asked, confused and still anxiety-sweating
“Look it up online.” She finishes and calls the next name.
Turning on my heel, I make a beeline for the elevator all the while muttering a slew of expletives to myself.
I exit the building and it’s still raining pretty hard, so I once again run to the parking deck to find my car.
I’d like to say that I went to the post office, got the money order, came back and everything was fine. BUT I CAN’T.
I ended up having to go back to the post office TWICE because the website gave me the wrong dollar amount. TWICE. I drove back and forth from the consulate to the post office TWICE. I had to pay for parking at the Brazilian Consulate THREE TIMES. At the end of the day, my parking total was $20.00. TWENTY DOLLARRRSSSS.
By the time I got into my appointment, it was already 11:30. If they had turned me away, you probably would have seen an incident on the news. Luckily, they let me in.
But, eventually the tides changed. After my ridiculous struggles all morning I finally had everything together and paid for. My visa was ready at 3PM and (paperwork-wise) I am now 100% ready for Brazil.
So, I hope to never, ever, EVER have to deal with the Brazilian Consulate again. But I understand, as with every government agency, there are hoops to jump through.
I’m just glad I got through the entire ordeal without overhearing someone taking crap about me in Portuguese to my face and thinking I wouldn’t understand it since I look like a regular, American girl. Oh, it’s the little things.
So, here it is. I have 16 days left in this city before I fly off to South America for a proper adventure.
I will spend most of my time left packing. But I will also spend it enjoying the company of my friends and family.
Onto my mission statement and overall purpose!
This blog is meant to be a glorious record of all the things I will accomplish, discover, and uncover about Brazil and myself. I will make a promise to try my hardest to keep it updated, break up lengthy text posts with captivating pictures (even if it’s just my face), and to be 100% honest about my trip (the good, bad, and ugly).
So there, a glimpse of what is to come. I will jump into the unknown, feet first. This is one thing I will try to remind myself of daily while I’m down there: the only limits in this adventure are the ones I set myself.
