Often while traveling, I enjoy noting the differences between the way life functions in the country or city I am visiting compared to back home. Here is a collection of various things I've noticed over the past few months in Brasil.
Drive downtown in any major city in the United States and you are sure to find a parking meter. Even more likely you will find a ticket on your car because you didn't feed enough quarters into the machine. In many third-world countries, although I have yet to drive vehicle, you can park for free just about anywhere you want, no tickets. That does not however mean your wallet will be left undamaged from petty theft to keying, your car is a symbol of wealth and will reap the consequences. In Nicaragua, to help prevent vandalism, little boys often hang around popular areas and offer to "watch" your car for you. Whether or not they actually protect the vehicle, or just watch someone break into it, is up for debate. I like the way Brasil does it. Instead of machines or adolescents, men are payed wages by the city governments to monitor parking areas, assist in parallel, and collect tariffs. Cars are protected, people are employed, and the meter never runs out. Win, win, win.
Credit or debit? I think that question is asked to me more than any other. In restaurants, bars, grocery stores, shopping malls, everywhere accepts a cartão. Not just credit, debit. Punch in your pin number and no signature is necessary. And better yet, the whole transaction is done at your table, right in front of you via wireless card readers. For those geeks out there like me, they can connect directly to the card transaction networks via cellular service.
Although the United States is considered a very "service" minded country, we took a step backwards in one industry decades ago by removing the man at the pump. For as lazy as we can be or for as busy as we make ourselves, it seems odd to me that full-service gasoline stations have gone the way of the dinosaurs. Drive up, pop the fuel latch, request the grade, run the card, drive away without ever leaving the vehicle. Only thing missing is a way to pee without getting out.
Hot vs. Cold. I've always stood by the idea that at least in cold weather, you can put on more clothes, but in hot weather, there is only so many you can remove. Well, at least here it is acceptable for men to take of one additional item, the shirt and walk into just about any establishment without question. None of this no shirt, no shoes, no service crap.
Malls are huge. If not at the beach on a sunny day, cloudy days Cariocas spend shopping. In my few short years I have lived on this planet, I have been to many malls around the world, but Brazilian malls are quiet impressive. On top of that, the food court rocks. Sure you can find McDonald's and related fast-food junk, but more popular is eating or drinking at one of the many nice, upscale restaurants or botecos. And forget about 9pm closing time, I left the mall at midnight one night after downing a few pints of beer (however lost inside the corridors wondering if a Terminator was going to bust out of a wall at any moment).
If you cannot find time in your busy (not really) lifestyle to make it to the mall for your fast-food fix, McDonald's delivers. So does everyone else. Drugs, food, groceries, you name it. Anything a farmácia carries including: prescription drugs (which you do not need a prescription for), tylenol (for that killer hangover you cannot get out of bed for), soap (if stuck in the shower), condoms...you get the idea. Did I mention many are open 24 hours a day? Not having a car, the grocery entragar option was great. While this is finally starting to catch on in the US, it's not just ordering online. Just show up, fill up your cart, pay the bill, drop your address, and an hour (or a few) later you have saved yourself a taxi ride or lugging 50 lbs. of bags up a hill. No time to shop, 99% of restaurants deliver.
Speaking of food, pizza in Brasil beats out any other place in the world, including Italy and most of the United States. You can order just about anything on a pizza if at the right place. Of course delivery is an option, but the best deal is the rodizio. Where we have "buffets", the Brazilians improve with table service. I can stuff myself with unlimited supplies of pizza without ever getting up as the servers bring around pie after pie, including dessert pizzas for less than $10. Now if I can just figure out why someone would ruin it with packets of ketchup and mustard.
Now if you ate too much and are having trouble crossing the street before a car hits you, just pound feverishly on the hood, it is well within your right and proper etiquette. I'm not sure what this is compared to, but I wanted to note this.
That's about all I have for now, I am sure there will be many more of these types of lists in the future...
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
the "tourist bus"
Only once, in Dublin, Ireland, have I boarded a "tourist bus", but my couch surfing host suggested it as a good way to see most of the city of Salvador since he was busy working. For U$15, Salvador Bus is cheaper than cabs and buses between the spread out metropolis.
I arrived at the mall to catch the bus around 9am while people were already busting down the doors to get in on a Wednesday morning. Barely awake, I trolled the mall for the ticket counter, even though I knew I could buy one on the bus directly. At the same time, I scoured for a coffee joint, with cold drinks. I never found either.
Standing outside waiting, I thought I'd failed on the bus too, but it was just a few minutes late and I boarded as the only passenger. We picked up a few more as we stopped at hotels along the way to our first tourist sight, Farol de Barra. A lighthouse on the tip of the Salvadorean peninsula, it looked cool from the outside. Unfortunately, these bus trips only give you 10 minutes at stops, not enough time to pay the entrance fee and look around. I suggest 25 minute stops, that's about all I ever need to look at anything.
The bus drove around town, talking out of speakers about the town, in both English and Portuguese, but I was too tired to understand either. We stopped at the Praca Municipal for lunch, except my brochure said lunch was at the Mercardo Modelo. After some broken language barriers were overcome, I found out I was to meet the bus after lunch at the market, which was apparently underneath us. Turns out it wasn't exactly underneath, but there was an elevator for 5 centavos dropping us to another level of the city where I found the market and much required food with a nice view.
The rain started just after lunch and at the point I realized it was better to be on a bus, even if it stood out around town like a sore thumb and smelled of gringos. At least I was partially dry. Between the large, overpriced, but good lunch, the rain, and the movements of the bus, I began slipping into sleeps.
The next and last major attraction, the Igreja do Donfirm went like this for 10 quick minutes: bus stops, people clamor out, up the church steps, flash flash flash, scamper up the aisle, flash flash flash, back on the bus. I almost faked a genuflection because no one else did. But the guilt of pulling out my own camera, flash off, disappeared being in the company of heathen tourists. Or maybe the guy selling beer outside the was the sign that anything is allowed.
The last 10 minute stop was for ice cream. It is either the oldest or most famous or best or something sorvette in Salvador so despite not being a big ice cream fan, I indulged with a scoop of graviola and mihlo verde, or green corn. Yes, you read that correctly. I first tried this flavor in Saquerema back in March, delish. It is actually yellow though. Of course there were 30 other odd flavors to choose from (see album soon), all better than Baskin Robins.
I continued to nod off and woke up thinking I missed my stop, but not. Following the crowd outside of the mall to the main bus station across a few overwalks, I waited on the platform while bus after bus pulled in and out, in and out. No sign of "Praia do Flemengo". Then it came, opposite side of the station, I ran through the crowd, dogging like the best, not alone in my pursuit. To day dreams again I went, waking up on occasion and scared I'd missed my stop. I always think I've missed my stop. Finally I asked for assistance, confused where we were, thinking I was going to be backtracking. But again, thankfully wrong.
I arrived at the mall to catch the bus around 9am while people were already busting down the doors to get in on a Wednesday morning. Barely awake, I trolled the mall for the ticket counter, even though I knew I could buy one on the bus directly. At the same time, I scoured for a coffee joint, with cold drinks. I never found either.
Standing outside waiting, I thought I'd failed on the bus too, but it was just a few minutes late and I boarded as the only passenger. We picked up a few more as we stopped at hotels along the way to our first tourist sight, Farol de Barra. A lighthouse on the tip of the Salvadorean peninsula, it looked cool from the outside. Unfortunately, these bus trips only give you 10 minutes at stops, not enough time to pay the entrance fee and look around. I suggest 25 minute stops, that's about all I ever need to look at anything.
The rain started just after lunch and at the point I realized it was better to be on a bus, even if it stood out around town like a sore thumb and smelled of gringos. At least I was partially dry. Between the large, overpriced, but good lunch, the rain, and the movements of the bus, I began slipping into sleeps.
The last 10 minute stop was for ice cream. It is either the oldest or most famous or best or something sorvette in Salvador so despite not being a big ice cream fan, I indulged with a scoop of graviola and mihlo verde, or green corn. Yes, you read that correctly. I first tried this flavor in Saquerema back in March, delish. It is actually yellow though. Of course there were 30 other odd flavors to choose from (see album soon), all better than Baskin Robins.
I continued to nod off and woke up thinking I missed my stop, but not. Following the crowd outside of the mall to the main bus station across a few overwalks, I waited on the platform while bus after bus pulled in and out, in and out. No sign of "Praia do Flemengo". Then it came, opposite side of the station, I ran through the crowd, dogging like the best, not alone in my pursuit. To day dreams again I went, waking up on occasion and scared I'd missed my stop. I always think I've missed my stop. Finally I asked for assistance, confused where we were, thinking I was going to be backtracking. But again, thankfully wrong.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
the first couch
I arrived in Salvador to meet up with my first couch surfing experience on Tuesday evening. Walking out of the airport baggage terminal, Victor was already waiting, 30 minutes early and recognized me immediately. Car parked on the curve 5 steps away, I tossed my bags and we went off to grab some grub. Salvador is a seaside city full of seafood dishes so he ordered up some boiled oysters and shrimp pastries to compliment the beer. A good start to my first couch surfing experience if you ask me.
A good, interesting, half un-American conversation later, we headed to his apartment literally 1-block from the beach, palm trees and all. Both having to wake up early, it was quick to bed. Or not. I struggled. And struggled. At first it was the mosquitoes, I'd forgotten I had return to a summer, humid, bug filled environment and came very unprepared so I put as many clothes back on as possible without dying from heat exhaustion and tried again. No real luck. Combined with being in a new place and having my sleep schedule used to 4am, I think I finally wondered into dreamland by the time Victor woke up that morning, scoring myself all of 2 hours of sleep.
It's 7:30am, today is going to be a long day...
A good, interesting, half un-American conversation later, we headed to his apartment literally 1-block from the beach, palm trees and all. Both having to wake up early, it was quick to bed. Or not. I struggled. And struggled. At first it was the mosquitoes, I'd forgotten I had return to a summer, humid, bug filled environment and came very unprepared so I put as many clothes back on as possible without dying from heat exhaustion and tried again. No real luck. Combined with being in a new place and having my sleep schedule used to 4am, I think I finally wondered into dreamland by the time Victor woke up that morning, scoring myself all of 2 hours of sleep.
It's 7:30am, today is going to be a long day...
Sunday, June 21, 2009
2 weeks and counting
The day go by. It's hard to believe 3 months ago I was moving into this house I will now be leaving in 2 weeks time. Seems like just yesterday, but Carnaval seems like forever ago. I guess that's what happens when you spend the majority of your days working and sleeping and saving.
I imagine the next less than 14 days will disappear even quicker. While I am sad to be leaving an amazing city and good friends, I am also quite stoked to get back on the road. Itching for the experiences, I will be heading out alone, but sure to hook up with travelers along the gringo trail up into northeastern Brazil.
Following my excursion into a very different side of this great country, I will head back into the Amazon (via boat again, ug!) and up into Venezuela with a stop at Victoria Falls hopefully. Quickly crossing the country, I plan to arrive back in Bogota, Colombia where I will be meeting up with David at the beginning of August. More on that later.
In the meantime, I have many many stories to write, and I'm hoping to shoot some video footage of Rio de Janeiro before my departure. Already visited a few musuems/galleries last week and plan on a few more next. Other than that, I am just counting down the days...
P.S. As I have had a few days of spare time with little work left to do, I've updated the site in various places. Mostly behind the scenes, but you will notice a few improvements on the outside (except for Maps which I actually broke). Plus, there is an updated schedule on the Join Us page and a few additional contributors on the Support page. Thanks again to all for your prayers, wishes of luck, and support!
I imagine the next less than 14 days will disappear even quicker. While I am sad to be leaving an amazing city and good friends, I am also quite stoked to get back on the road. Itching for the experiences, I will be heading out alone, but sure to hook up with travelers along the gringo trail up into northeastern Brazil.
Following my excursion into a very different side of this great country, I will head back into the Amazon (via boat again, ug!) and up into Venezuela with a stop at Victoria Falls hopefully. Quickly crossing the country, I plan to arrive back in Bogota, Colombia where I will be meeting up with David at the beginning of August. More on that later.
In the meantime, I have many many stories to write, and I'm hoping to shoot some video footage of Rio de Janeiro before my departure. Already visited a few musuems/galleries last week and plan on a few more next. Other than that, I am just counting down the days...
P.S. As I have had a few days of spare time with little work left to do, I've updated the site in various places. Mostly behind the scenes, but you will notice a few improvements on the outside (except for Maps which I actually broke). Plus, there is an updated schedule on the Join Us page and a few additional contributors on the Support page. Thanks again to all for your prayers, wishes of luck, and support!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
My Carnaval, Not Everyones
The closest thing I can think of to relate what Carnaval (in Portuguese, everywhere else, Carnival) here in Rio de Janeiro was for me like is to go back to my small town semi-roots: "street dance". If you are unfamiliar with the term, "block party" might be more adequate, but I cannot imagine many of these go on these days with all the laws regarding underage drinking, liability litigation, etc.
These two ideas come to mind in attempting and failing to describe Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro: "street dance" and "block party". Essentially they are the same thing, but for people from different places. If you are from the middle of nowhere Nebraska, the former term rings true to your roots. If you are from the big city, perhaps the later is more to your liking. But this holiday really is not just one, not just the other. It's both. It's bigger. It's bigger than bigger. It is people from both walks of life, from country to city, from slums to mansions, together, in harmony, at the largest party on Earth.
Now what entails a good party? For the 11 million inhabitants of this city along with the 2+ million estimated tourists, it can mean so many different things. But I selected to be apart of where "the people" go. And they go to the street. Called a "bloco", some 100+ variations exist starting weeks before the official celebrations and even a few, including the largest, ending weeks after.
A few ingredients go into making a bloco. The already mentioned 1,000's of people are important. Next a party must have music. In the majority of cases this consists of a two story bus, specifically designed for Carnaval, to carry a multi-piece band, singers, etc. on its roof along with camera crews, reporters, and VIPs. Because buses move (that's right, this party moves down the streets, like a parade, but you are in it), surrounding it by 5 feet on 3 sides is a rope held taut by requiredly huge Cariocas (imagine the burns keeping out the 10s and 20s of people pushing on it simultaneously every 10 feet). Another 50 feet of caution taped area in front of the bus, a marching band huddles to perform an incredibly drumtastic array of original beats and compositions commissioned solely and specifically for this bloco, interspersed with traditional chants from around the country.
With great music, there is dancing. Another key part. While I have always considered myself the tall white guy who sticks out like a sore thumb at the disco club, who always requires copious amounts of alcohol to even get out onto the dance floor, and then continues his downward spiral for the night by actually believing he can move, I was not this person at the bloco. Not that any of the above did not happen on a few occasions, I found the following to be true of dancing during Carnaval. I'm not the biggest or goofiest looking person dancing. I'm not self-impossed to finish 10 drinks before starting. I'm not require to have any skill whatsoever. What a relief it was to realize these facts and be able to partake in one of the many things Brazilians love: dancing!
Of course, just because it was not necessary, does not mean liquids were not flowing from all corners of the streets, into mouths, and out of urinary organs back onto the corners.
Imagine going to a 4th of July celebration. Every family brings a nice, huge styrofoam cooler to pack enough food and beer for 25 guests. Remove food, replace with, more beer. Put cooler on shopping cart (remember: moving). Stash extra 12 packs underneath. Now imagine the families only 2 feet apart. Limitless, endless, infinite. All good words to also describe the flow into the mouths of young and old. Next imagine that $1 = 1 beer or $2 = 3 beers. No piggy is killed. Finally, imagine a party without port-a-potties, which are not quite as portable as their name might imply (remember: moving). So back onto the street corners the flow eventually returns and in parts of the city hosting multiple blocos over multiple weeks, the smell of piss permeates the air until the next big rain. (Don't imagine that, it's not pretty, but it is the Carioca way I was told and who doesn't want to fit in?)
In review, we have 1) people, 2) music, 3) dancing, 4) booze and lastly: 5) giant dudes in pink tutus. More specifically, costumes. Bloco parties each have their own theme and sometimes this includes dressing up. One of the most popular and hilarious is the "cross dressing" themed event. I was quite literally traumatized by many, but the saying around here basically says you can and should do anything, and no one, not anyone can hold against you because, well, "It's Carnaval."
End story. Want more? There can be more, but this is what I did for 2 weeks. Rio de Janeiro offers so many additional forms of entertainment from big costume parades in the Sambadromo to private anything-you-want-to-imagine parties to special club events. These events however are not what the people, the Cariocas, born and raised here do. They party and dance and drink in the streets. And its Marvelous!
These two ideas come to mind in attempting and failing to describe Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro: "street dance" and "block party". Essentially they are the same thing, but for people from different places. If you are from the middle of nowhere Nebraska, the former term rings true to your roots. If you are from the big city, perhaps the later is more to your liking. But this holiday really is not just one, not just the other. It's both. It's bigger. It's bigger than bigger. It is people from both walks of life, from country to city, from slums to mansions, together, in harmony, at the largest party on Earth.
Now what entails a good party? For the 11 million inhabitants of this city along with the 2+ million estimated tourists, it can mean so many different things. But I selected to be apart of where "the people" go. And they go to the street. Called a "bloco", some 100+ variations exist starting weeks before the official celebrations and even a few, including the largest, ending weeks after.
A few ingredients go into making a bloco. The already mentioned 1,000's of people are important. Next a party must have music. In the majority of cases this consists of a two story bus, specifically designed for Carnaval, to carry a multi-piece band, singers, etc. on its roof along with camera crews, reporters, and VIPs. Because buses move (that's right, this party moves down the streets, like a parade, but you are in it), surrounding it by 5 feet on 3 sides is a rope held taut by requiredly huge Cariocas (imagine the burns keeping out the 10s and 20s of people pushing on it simultaneously every 10 feet). Another 50 feet of caution taped area in front of the bus, a marching band huddles to perform an incredibly drumtastic array of original beats and compositions commissioned solely and specifically for this bloco, interspersed with traditional chants from around the country.
With great music, there is dancing. Another key part. While I have always considered myself the tall white guy who sticks out like a sore thumb at the disco club, who always requires copious amounts of alcohol to even get out onto the dance floor, and then continues his downward spiral for the night by actually believing he can move, I was not this person at the bloco. Not that any of the above did not happen on a few occasions, I found the following to be true of dancing during Carnaval. I'm not the biggest or goofiest looking person dancing. I'm not self-impossed to finish 10 drinks before starting. I'm not require to have any skill whatsoever. What a relief it was to realize these facts and be able to partake in one of the many things Brazilians love: dancing!
Of course, just because it was not necessary, does not mean liquids were not flowing from all corners of the streets, into mouths, and out of urinary organs back onto the corners.
Imagine going to a 4th of July celebration. Every family brings a nice, huge styrofoam cooler to pack enough food and beer for 25 guests. Remove food, replace with, more beer. Put cooler on shopping cart (remember: moving). Stash extra 12 packs underneath. Now imagine the families only 2 feet apart. Limitless, endless, infinite. All good words to also describe the flow into the mouths of young and old. Next imagine that $1 = 1 beer or $2 = 3 beers. No piggy is killed. Finally, imagine a party without port-a-potties, which are not quite as portable as their name might imply (remember: moving). So back onto the street corners the flow eventually returns and in parts of the city hosting multiple blocos over multiple weeks, the smell of piss permeates the air until the next big rain. (Don't imagine that, it's not pretty, but it is the Carioca way I was told and who doesn't want to fit in?)
In review, we have 1) people, 2) music, 3) dancing, 4) booze and lastly: 5) giant dudes in pink tutus. More specifically, costumes. Bloco parties each have their own theme and sometimes this includes dressing up. One of the most popular and hilarious is the "cross dressing" themed event. I was quite literally traumatized by many, but the saying around here basically says you can and should do anything, and no one, not anyone can hold against you because, well, "It's Carnaval."
End story. Want more? There can be more, but this is what I did for 2 weeks. Rio de Janeiro offers so many additional forms of entertainment from big costume parades in the Sambadromo to private anything-you-want-to-imagine parties to special club events. These events however are not what the people, the Cariocas, born and raised here do. They party and dance and drink in the streets. And its Marvelous!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
road construction ahead
Being on the road is quite simply, amazing. It provokes a different way of thinking for a new kind of life. Good and bad, not all is always well, but life is always swell. At 6 months into this journey, I have experienced so much in so little time. From people, new friends and old friends. To places, rich in heart and poor in pocket. To cultures, changing sides and staying past. There really is no where to start or way how to write an epic summary trip launch-to-date blog, but I figured I owed to it readers out there to give an update, a look into the future. (For the past, see the archives.) In short, I'm taking a sabbatical from my sabbatical and will get back "on the road" in a few short months, continuing this journey down roads unknown, but until then I will be living the life of carioca in Rio de Janeiro. Since I've already summarized what I want to say next, here are excerpts reprinted from my personal blog:
"I've been on the road for exactly 6 months now. October 1 until April 1st. Crazy. What to think about that? Europeans I've met along the road travel upwards of 12 months before returning, but as far as Americans, it's rare. Since our culture likes to set anniversaries for things, I figured something would happen at this point in time. I assumed it might be some sort of realization, maybe a random change in itinerary, perhaps a friend joining, or an epiphany of small magnitude. I did not however imagine being solo. Ironic it is our trip, this road we were on, has taken a twist of unknown proportions today."Perhaps that does not answer so many questions still lingering out there, so feel free to ask. Again, thank you to all who have and will continue to support this adventure and remember, the offer is still out for anyone to join, for any period of time, anywhere in the world! Wish luck, say prayers, or give karma. Obrigado...
...
So what's next, then? I'm placing the backpack back in the closet and temporarily settling in to a new, short life here in Rio de Janeiro while I [work] to continue onward. During my anti-sabbatical, I will be hoping to further document life here in "The Marvelous City".
...
At large [the itinerary] has not changed. [I will return] to Colombia, perhaps via Venezuela and follow up with Ecuador, Peru, Chile and Bolivia [before] eventually landing in Argentina. I'll search for that boat to cross the Atlantic to South America in time for the World Cup 2010 [then] crossing African and cutting into Asia. [This] goal to see the world I am sincerely committed to and hope to finish successfully with the continued support of friends and family."
--excerpts from blog titled "Transitions and Ambitions", April 1, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
service without a smile
If you have ever traveled outside the United States, you always miss this one thing we Americans pride ourselves upon: Service. Until a few weeks ago when we arrived in Brasil, this thing called service has been more or less non-existent. Even with a fake smile, nothing really compares to the culture of service we have created in the U.S. Here in Rio de Janeiro we have however been re-introduced to quality in the restaurant, both in food and help. But before I write that story, here's one from a few months ago while traveling in Panama.
If I ever need to be reminded I'm in Central America, I just walk into a restaurant. Hospitality, by and large, for the most part, generally and specifically speaking, considering all others, fucking sucks. Blows balls. Esta mierda. Ever been to Europe, maybe specifically London and wondered what you got for 10%? Whatever it was, it was a hell of a lot more than here.
So I'd just eaten not too many hours ago, but it was dinner time and my stomach was habitually growling. Cheap sounded good, but raining I passed on the street vendor sandwich guy for cover and ended up in the Chinese restaurant in Bocas del Torro. Walking in, I saw down and the menu was quick to be delivered. I needed no time to consider, if its just Chinese, I most always go with a fried rice. Typically slow, the masera (server), returns for the order. Drinks always come late. Never quickly. Sometimes with food, something after. Fortunately fried rice takes about 2 minutes to cook up so my simple order of water came with.
I eat quickly. I know this. There were a few other tables who received food before, but close to my time, so I timed off their completion. Not that hungry, I figured I'd take half home, remember I'm eating Chinese, its take-out friendly. Fifteen minutes post consumption, I'm still waiting for a return visit. Good thing I wasn't thirsty for a second drink. The ladies pretending to work sat up front talking. I gave "the glance", nothing. Twenty minutes, one comes out and cleans off ta table that left. Glance, no vocal, no arm waving. Its not "accepted" here. Another table is cleaned off. Twnety five minutes. Now I'm just starring into space, but directly at one of the ladies. I actually here her call something across the restaurant like, "What da ya want?" in a uneducated, we are lazy bs and why are you here, tone of voice. I just want a box. I've figured out by now you get up to pay the check. I'm not however going to get up, plate in hand, go to the counter and ask for it. If I was in the States, it was one of those times you just walk out 45 minutes later without paying, but the only way not past the cs was off the dock into the ocean.
I half started to respond, shape a box with my hands, and said screw it not wanting to yell across the restaurant now completely empty. It was only $2 worth of food. I walked out, dropping $5 on the counter, not even waiting for my change. I had no where to be, no one to see, but I'd have rather stood in the rain eating a sandwich. Street vendors are super nice, super hospitable, super cooks. Sounds backwards? Welcome to Central America.
If I ever need to be reminded I'm in Central America, I just walk into a restaurant. Hospitality, by and large, for the most part, generally and specifically speaking, considering all others, fucking sucks. Blows balls. Esta mierda. Ever been to Europe, maybe specifically London and wondered what you got for 10%? Whatever it was, it was a hell of a lot more than here.
So I'd just eaten not too many hours ago, but it was dinner time and my stomach was habitually growling. Cheap sounded good, but raining I passed on the street vendor sandwich guy for cover and ended up in the Chinese restaurant in Bocas del Torro. Walking in, I saw down and the menu was quick to be delivered. I needed no time to consider, if its just Chinese, I most always go with a fried rice. Typically slow, the masera (server), returns for the order. Drinks always come late. Never quickly. Sometimes with food, something after. Fortunately fried rice takes about 2 minutes to cook up so my simple order of water came with.
I eat quickly. I know this. There were a few other tables who received food before, but close to my time, so I timed off their completion. Not that hungry, I figured I'd take half home, remember I'm eating Chinese, its take-out friendly. Fifteen minutes post consumption, I'm still waiting for a return visit. Good thing I wasn't thirsty for a second drink. The ladies pretending to work sat up front talking. I gave "the glance", nothing. Twenty minutes, one comes out and cleans off ta table that left. Glance, no vocal, no arm waving. Its not "accepted" here. Another table is cleaned off. Twnety five minutes. Now I'm just starring into space, but directly at one of the ladies. I actually here her call something across the restaurant like, "What da ya want?" in a uneducated, we are lazy bs and why are you here, tone of voice. I just want a box. I've figured out by now you get up to pay the check. I'm not however going to get up, plate in hand, go to the counter and ask for it. If I was in the States, it was one of those times you just walk out 45 minutes later without paying, but the only way not past the cs was off the dock into the ocean.
I half started to respond, shape a box with my hands, and said screw it not wanting to yell across the restaurant now completely empty. It was only $2 worth of food. I walked out, dropping $5 on the counter, not even waiting for my change. I had no where to be, no one to see, but I'd have rather stood in the rain eating a sandwich. Street vendors are super nice, super hospitable, super cooks. Sounds backwards? Welcome to Central America.
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