It's OK to be different.

I’m fairly certain that Brazilians are some of the friendliest and most open people I have yet to live among.

Several things about my day today (Sunday) inspired this posting.

1) While standing at the bus stop at 7:30AM, it starts to rain. Two other people are standing at the bus stop: an older man, and a teenage girl in a dress…perhaps on her way to church. As it begins to drizzle, the older man puts up his umbrella—he watches me put up my hood on my rain shell, and glances to the girl, who has long, dark hair…and no umbrella. Without a second thought, he moves towards her and covers her with his umbrella—they engage each other in conversation as if this were the most natural thing in the world until the bus arrives.

2) I arrive at the enormous Sunday handicraft market downtown feeling a little hungover and not so excited about the sea of people I am about to dive into. After passing stall upon stall of similar arrays of jewelry, I finally stop to start making Christmas purchases at one that struck my fancy, tired of stepping on people and sweating, en masse. I’m standing there, deliberating, and this woman comes up to me and says, in Portuguese, “Excuse me, but where are you from?” (Yes, I am still really white and I still have blue eyes. Occasionally I sport sunglasses and this helps a little and people don’t notice as much). I tell her I’m from the states, and she switches to English. “Oh good…because I’m going for an exchange to England in a couple of weeks, and I’m trying to pick out gifts for my host family…..” “All of this jewelry seems so normal and boring to me, but I know that you guys like it…” We both laugh. Having been in a similar position at points in my life, I try to remind her that the point (at least in my mind) is not so much whether they actually like or wear the gift—but more the fact that she comes bearing gifts is an expression of her gratitude to them…it’s symbolic.

She airs some of her apprehension to me about her study grant (something about social elements of governance in Britain) and about living abroad—we effectively block any sales from the unfortunate artisan’s stand as we converse in front of it for probably ten minutes. I’m sure it helped that I was holding about $40 worth of stuff that I was clearly intending on buying when I was finished gabbing. After we made our respective purchases, she left me with a kiss on the cheek and her cell phone number so we can go out and I can learn to dance forro when we are both back in February. Sweet.

3) This evening I’m at the Carrefour, our neighborhood grocery chain. I’m stocking up on bottled water—the idea of waking up thirsty in the middle of the night without bottled water makes me extremely anxious and has made me always keep at least a one-bottle reserve. Because, knowing myself, I am aware that if presented with the choice between drinking tap water in the middle of the night and going thirsty, I would readily gulp down a liter of tap water and all the potential impurities contained therein. So I’ve tried my best to be intentional about keeping bottle water reserves to continue the excellent intestinal health I have thus far enjoyed. Right. I’m buying water; young, attractive Brazilian man passes me in the beer isle and says “what’s up?” in English.

(By this point I’m wondering if it is readily apparent to everyone in the world that I am foreign today. I guess at this point I did have on my Carrharts, a tanktop and a pair of Chacos—not exactly average Brazilian woman grocery store-going attire.)

I wind up in line behind him, and he asks me in good English where I am from. I tell him I’m from the states, and he tells me that he studied and worked in San Francisco (slightly more understandable—he thinks I’m a California hippie!). He asks if I’m from California and welcomes me to Brazil with a grin that makes me blush deeply and makes the cashier giggle. I share an embarrassed laugh with her after he leaves…she asks me where I’m from (she’s been my cashier a few times in the past) and I ask her whether it’s that obvious that I’m not Brazilian. “You do have something different about you…” she says, and laughs. She asks me whether I like living here and whether it is better in Brazil or in the States. “They’re just different….” I say, and smile.

I did get spit on by a man out a bus window today with such excellent (or terrible) aim that I nearly shouted at him. But I suppose I am willing to put up with a lack of inhibition with respect to public urination and spitting for the related lack of inhibition that is manifested in Brazilian curiosity and friendliness.