Stories Worth Remembering

Disclaimer: The following post exists more for my personal recollection than for the objective education of my readers. 


The 14 Year Old Girls:

Today I ventured alone (of course alone! Being abroad is about learning how to be independent and OK with it) into Flamengo, a part of Rio that is slightly less famous than the glorified Ipanema and Copacabana. Using my incredibly handy Lonely Planet tour book about Rio-thanks to my sister Amy for the perfect Christmas present-I made an itinerary for myself of sights to see in Flamengo. After about an hour of transportation, I emerged from the Metro and knew I was relatively close to my first destination: a futuristic cultural center. I got my book back out of my draw-string bag to pinpoint exactly where I was in relation to the building. After about 20 minutes of walking, I began to feel slightly lost. I get lost just about every day here, but it is a calm sense of confusion; there's always a way home.

As I approached a large intersection, the pedestrian light began to flash. To avoid waiting, I sprinted across the street. Once I was safely walking on the other side, a group of 5 14-16 year old girls approached me from behind. They must have sent their bravest to complete some sort of dare involving me:

"Boa tarde," she said (good afternoon) with a big braces-filled smile.
"That was stupid of me to run across the street wasn't it?" I quickly replied in Portuguese.
"No it wasn't stupid. You're beautiful. Give me a hug." So I did. "Are you Brazilian?"
"Claro que não!" I replied (of course not!), certain that she already sniffed out my accent. "Sou Americano."

She made that half jaw-drop, half smile expression of shock and stopped to sink back into the rest of her pack. I chuckled and continued walking. Behind me, I heard her tell the other girls that I was American. One of the girls gasped and asked if she was serious. Foreigners are not typical in the Flamengo area.

A mere 30 seconds later we were all stopped together at an intersection. I did the obvious thing; I reignited conversation so that they could help me find what I was looking for:

"Do you all live here in Flamengo?"
"Yes."
"So you can help me find something?"
"Sure. What are you looking for?" They all had big, goofy smiles on their faces.
"The futuristic cultural center." I showed them the name of it in my book. "Have you heard of it?" It was obvious from their body language that they had not.
"Sure! Just follow us we will show you."

Over the next 2 or 3 minutes, I continued to walk with them down the same street. The girl that initially hugged me was now practicing her English on me. The further we walked, the more certain I was that they did not know where I wanted to go. I got out my map and pointed out the center to them. "Where are we now?" I asked.

They got a little nervous. "Just follow us and we will show you something better to do!"
"Oh yeah? like what?" I was open to suggestions from some locals, obviously. The girls all looked at each other. When nobody came up with an idea, they just laughed. Finally the pack leader asked a random woman what direction I needed to go (something I would have ultimately done myself). In the end, they were taking me the wrong way. I said goodbye to them and made it to my destination, which was very cool!

A rather anticlimactic story, I admit, but I don't think anything like that has ever happened to me at home. Perhaps my "traveler attitude" is what sparked it. Maybe the mindset with which I have attacked each day here makes me a more approachable person. Last night I spoke with a Norwegian student who has been studying here since the beginning of last semester. He told me that perhaps the most valuable thing he has learned is the importance of bringing his "traveler attitude" back home with him. Maintaining this disposition does not mean one has to spend more money each day or even attend more events. It is much more than that, but it is simultaneously (and paradoxically) much simpler. On an exchange with a defined end date, the natural approach to life is to keep your eyes open and your head held high; I mean this both in a literal sense and as a metaphorical idiom. I make a conscious effort to enjoy every moment and to not miss any opportunities to try something new. If the finitenesss of this experience is what creates such a mindset, why do I not carry that with me everywhere? Everything in life has an ultimatum-even if I do not yet know when it will come. So, what am I saving myself for?



The Old Man:

2 hours flew by and I had accomplished approximately half of my Flamengo itinerary. Due to slow transportation and wait-time, it is typical for me to get through about half of what I plan to do in a given day. This aspect of Brazilian life does not agree with my type-A personality, but it has been good for me to learn how to tame myself and not let adversity upset me.

Tired from walking in the heat all day and needing to kill about 20 more minutes before starting my voyage back home, I took a seat on a park bench. I breathed deeply and enjoyed a few moments of peace amidst the bamboo trees. I opened my bag to drink the remains of the water I brought with me. In my peripheral vision, I saw an old man with a cane approaching very slowly. When I could feel his presence about 10 feet from me, I looked up and made eye contact with him. "Can I sit here with you?" he asked immediately.

"Of course!" I replied with a smile and scooted over to give him more room. My initial thought was to drink the rest of my water to give me a natural reason to get up. Most people, myself included, are quite reluctant to share space for no reason.

About 30 seconds passed and I took my last sip of water. I had calmed down by this point. Instead of thinking of ways to escape the old man, I was now contemplating what to ask him. He went first, which made my job easy: "Are you Carioca?"
"No, I'm American."
"Ah American! What state?"
"St. Louis, Missouri. Have you heard of it?"
"No. I've been to Miami, Orlando and Tampa."
"Cool! Have you lived here in Rio your whole life?"
"Yes. Here in Flamengo my entire life. I'm 88 years old. How old are you?" This number hit me. This man was older than anyone I had ever talked to.
"I am just 20."
"Ah 20. How long are you here in Brazil?"
"I am doing a semester here at PUC. I arrived in the beginning of February, and I have to leave in the middle of the World Cup-at the end of June."
"And do you have family here too?"
"No I am here alone. They are all in the United States."
"Ah how terrible!" He laughed. For whatever reason, it was hilarious and horrible that my family would just dump me in Brazil for 5 months.
"No it's good it is a great experience for me!" There was a short lull in our conversation, and my mind raced to find the best question to ask the oldest man I had ever met. This is what I came up with:
"So, you have lived here your entire life. What do you think has been the biggest change in Brazil, either in the Government or society?"
He thought for a moment, and I waited anxiously, hoping that I would fully understand all of his Portuguese. It hadn't been a problem so far; the man had crystallized intelligence, so he spoke in a very clear and slow manner. "When I was 20 years old," he began, "I worked extremely hard every single day. Today, for most people, it is the opposite."

When you talk to old people, it is usually the topics on their minds that will have the most substance, not answers to your questions. Luckily for me, this old man changed the subject to tell me his thoughts.
"Exactly one year ago today, I broke my back here in this park." He pointed to a place a mere 15 feet from the bench we were sitting on. "That's the only reason I walk with this cane. Look here!" he grabbed my hand and started to un-tuck his shirt from his pants. Leaning forward a bit, he rubbed my hand across his now deformed vertabrae.

"I'm so sorry" was about all I could think of to say. Permanently damaged from whatever happened a year ago, it was as if the old man came back to his injury site to make amends with it. Everything the man had said to me up to this point led me to one conclusion: I needed to leave the bench and carry on. So, I told him I had to return to PUC to go to class (which was entirely true), asked for his name, and left. I shook João's hand firmly, and I couldn't help but feel like I was living a scene as Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye as I walked away. Instead of needing to catch children from falling off the cliff, I needed to catch myself.