Street Art and "Sickness"

My third week of Brazilian classes started slowly. Getting out of bed Monday morning looked (and felt) like

do I have to get up?

I got my act together, though, and crawled out from under my blankets, guzzled down a few cups of coffee, and dozed on the bus on the way to what would be a fascinating (and super unique) day of learning. The day began with an hour-long lecture on graffiti and street art in Sao Paulo... However, my professor found a way to talk for an entire 45 minutes without mentioning the words "street art" or "graffiti" even once.

It is, though. It is.

LUCKILY, Sally, Izzy, and Austin gave a fascinating twenty-minute talk on the subject, so I actually learned quite a bit about the street art movement in the city.

Me cheering for Sally in class

The brief review that the student group presented laid the groundwork for a fascinating panel of four graffiti artists and taggers from Sao Paulo. They described their backgrounds, which were mostly impoverished and frustrating, and spoke about how tagging and graffiti allowed them to express their identity and existence in a city that strives to ignore them. TBH I'm never really one for breaking the rules--I would rather carry a gum wrapper for 20 minutes than throw it on the ground, and I call the bank when they accidentally deposit someone's check in my account--but the position of these artists fascinated me, and I yearned to learn more about their drive, passion, and goals.

Luckily, because I'm a student on IHP, I had the chance.

Following lunch, my class split into small groups, each with a different street artist leader, and ventured into Sao Paulo. Our destination, Sao Mateus, is a district in Sao Paulo that is about ~an hour and a half from the city center. We stepped off the bus around 3:15 PM, crowded under umbrellas in attempts to avoid the rain. Though the sky was a stormy gray, and the streets were muffled with a damp pallor, the walls of the city shone with a bright vibrancy. We could already see the work of the group of our leader, Fernando.

one of the first pieces completed by Fernando's group, OPNI

So bright and beautiful; a collaboration with a Canadian artist

An artwork completed by three different women--each one contributed one of the figures!

one of my personal favorites--a woman inspired and strengthened by her ancestors. her arm tattoo reads "luta," or "fight," as in, fight for your rights

Though the neighborhood was impoverished, and though some of the paint was beginning to peel, the area felt alive. Fernando explained the excitement and pride evoked by this art in the inhabitants. Trash littered some of the streets, and buildings were a little bit shabby, but the art was beautiful and it made the residents happy. Some of the images also conveyed messages. This one for example--

Reads, "return our childhood." Another work, which showed the Corinthians soccer stadium (in which I actually watched a game) and several Brazilians engaged in illicit and dangerous activities, protested the monetary investment in the World Cup and the Olympics while the people of the country were starving and suffering. 

I tend to express myself through writing (hence my numerous love letters to boys who *shockingly* tend not to return the sentiment), but I have always expected and admired artists' abilities to convey a message through images and without words. Hence, the street art and graffiti of Sao Mateus enthralled and inspired me.

Fernando also expressed how much the people loved to get their houses painting. Whenever they see members of his group, OPNI, walking through the streets holding spray cans and paint, they run out of their homes, excitedly requesting images on their empty buildings. Unfortuantely, Fernando said, they simply didn't have the time to acquiesce to these demands--though someday, they hope to cover every blank wall in Sao Mateus with color.

Sao Mateus, in progress

Fernando then led us to Sao Mateus em Movimento, an organization dedicated to the empowerment and education of neighborhood children. To be completely honest, I almost cried listening to Fernando's description of this center that is so integral to the well-being and future of the youth in this area. "These kids," he explained, "walk around with their arms crossed, and their eyes blank." They do not have goals, or faith in their own futures. Sao Mateus em Movimento aims to inspire children by teaching skills, by providing a space to do homework and read, and by giving them options. 

This, this, this. This, I truly and honestly believe, is the solution to so many problems, and here are members of a community, acting without the help of an ambivalent government and instead on their own initiative, working to give children better lives tahn they would otherwise have. It inspired me, and meeting the center's workers sparked a drive in me to participate in a center like this one back home. I honestly believe that places like Sao Mateus em Movimento have the potential to change so many lives. I was obviously v. impassioned.

That passion didn't fade even a little bit during the thirty-minute bus ride or hour-long subway ride, with two transfers, back home. The half-mile walk in the pouring rain may have damped it slightly, though.

A delicious, hot dinner was waiting for me at home, though, as were a pair of super cute sandals from my host family!!!!

they even have a Brazilian flag on the strap!!!

I love them a ton, and I love that my host family gifted them to me!

Though I got to sleep pretty early last night, I woke up this morning exhausted. I decided to throw in the towel and plead ill to take the day off.

Though I had huge plans for my afternoon--including Soul Cycle, a jog, and a trip to the library--I instead basically just laid in bed and read my book.

Classic me.

I did, however, go to the neighborhood farmer's market with my host sister and her gorgeous daughter! I had so much fun marvelling at the fruit stands selling exotic and unfamiliar produce, including the "caqui," which a kind seller let me taste. 

(To remember the name of this fruit, I had to google "fruit that looks like a tomato" then translate "persimmon" into Portuguese.)

I also ate two unbelievable "pastels," which, as I may have described before, as fried dough pockets of meat and cheese. I also drank this unbelievable concoction of sugar cane juice, pineapple, and lime. After trying these out-of-this-world treats, I was like--

I literally forgot food could taste this delicious.

I also had the chance to hold and play with Maria Luisa, my six-month-old host niece, and I only wished I had a baby for like, five minutes.

Then I think about the crying and how much I love sleep and how impatient/selfish I am, not to mention my perpetual singlehood, and I'm like,

However, I showered my love on Maria Luisa and even gave her a little souvenir from back home--

I spent a good part of the afternoon chatting with my host mom (Maria) and host sis (Liza) about food, dating, and bad words in English. It was such a relaxing and fun and wonderful day, and I'm oh-so happy I was "sick."

Now I just have to muster the motivation to return to class tomorrow... ugh. For now, though, I'll start a new book, watch Netflix, and gain ten more pounds during a delicious dinner. My spring break self is begging me to put down the fork and pick up a dumbbell, but I'll deal with my jiggly consequences in a week once I really start panicking about my bikini.

Ciao, amigas (it is, after all, International Women's Day),

Aubrey

Cultural Weekend and a Sobering Monday

Gosh, have I truly only been here in Brazil for a week? It feels like forever in the best possible way. I've enjoyed numerous encounters with the culture of this city; I've savored the food and the people; I've learned about the history, the art, and the problems of the city; and I've come to appreciate the beautiful, compassionate, lively, whole-heartedly wonderful spirit of Paulistas.

Saturday night, Samantha and I met five other friends for a soccer game!! Attend a soccer game in Brazil... What an experience to check off the bucket list. We cheered for the Corinthians, a Sao Paulo-based team, as they played against someone else (don't remember their name) with the colors red and green. In a hilarious and slightly frightening intro to the craziness that is Brazilian futbol, an armed and armoured cop (of which there were plenty at the game) warned Sally that she could not sit on the Corinthians side. This was because her dress was almost sort of dark forest green and would potentially get her beat up--even though she was literally wearing a Corinthians flag as a cape. Upon showing the cop her flag, he very hesitantly gave her the go-ahead.

what did we get ourselves into

Despite the slightly nerve-wracking beginning to our futbol experience, it was literally one of theeee most fun games to which I've ever been!!!

Vai Corinthians!!!

potentially spent more time looking at the camera than at the field

I couldn't really figure out which team I was supposed to cheer for, so at every moment of potential scoring, I had to constantly inquire,

because I REALLY didn't want to get beaten up.

Our team ended up winning two minutes into overtime 1-0, which was SO cool. Our ride on the metro home was impressively smooth, easy, and efficient. I fell in love with another part of Brazil on that fantastic subway. That's how dorky/nerdy my affection for this country is.

me to Brazil

Sam and I woke up super late on Sunday, relaxed and content. Sally met up with us to walk to a cool museum called the Museum of Image and Sound. It was about thirty minutes away, and we walked through a beautiful neighborhood on a beautiful day. It was lovely.

me frolicking down the street

The museum ended up having limited opportunities for non-Portuguese speakers, but Sam and I did well enough with our rudimentary Spanish to understand some of the exhibits' descriptions. We wandered into a random outdoor market next door to admire some stunning craftsmanship, including turquoise jewelry, azul vases, and wildly revolting seats made of actual fur and hooves (eep). We then decided to walk about a half hour more to a really sick street art location, but by this point I thought I was dying of hunger, so my hangry walk was more like--

A heaping cone of gelato cheered me right up, though. 

We strolled through this cemetery with graves dating back to birth-dates of 1885, which fascinated me. Cemeteries really intrigue me, and something about examining the names and years on graves saddens me (because death) and gives hope to me (because there is power and compassion in sparing a few moments to recognize another's life, even if he or she has died long ago). 

From the cemetery, in which we had to deftly avoid embracing couples, we arrived at Beco do Batman, an incredible alleyway full of graffiti.

black and white

color!!!

my favorite piece of artwork in the alley

Sally, Sam, and I really enjoyed gazing at the gorgeous works and taking tons of pictures.

(It's getting late, and I'm getting excited, so I'm gonna speed this up)

From the alley, Sally and I took a taxi to Angelica's Grill, an all-you-can-eat churrascaria, which is like a barbecue place. Have you ever seen Bridesmaids?

 

This scene takes place at a churrascaria. LUCKILY, our night did not end in--

But we did stuff ourselves with tons of incredible meats and salads and cheese. Our excitement every time that a new meat arrived at our table--

literally

Cracked up our servers, and they legit began to mock us every time they passed our table. They'd say "oh my god!!!" and "yay!!!!" in super exaggerated American accents in a really high, girly voice.

It was too funny to be angry; plus, we were, like, really really excited.

Sally returned to my house and we booked the sickest spring break EVER. Five days at one of the best beach locations in the world/one of the Wonders of the World, then two and a half days at one of the Natural Wonders of the World, all for under $500. I mean like yeah, sounds good to me.

It legit took two hours to book this sh*t though, because the airline website was a fiasco.

However, after numerous attempts of trying to convince a computer system that I am not in fact Brazilian and that yes I do have a valid zipcode and a few moments of--

I  booked tickets for myself, Sally, and Jenn. WAHOO.

This morning was Monday morning, which, even in South America, is

BUT the prospect of Neighborhood Day definitely brightened the idea of Monday. I ended up being sorted into a group with tons of my favorite people and we visited the neighborhood of Bom Retiro, a site in Sao Paulo known for its immigration, culture, and its identity as a cracolandia--or literally, a "land of crack."

Yes, crack. Like, crack cocaine.

We were treated to the delightful views of people literally smoking crack cocaine in broad daylight, only feet away from armed police officers. I have never before in my life been in a place or situation like that. It was shocking and a little scary and really uncomfortable. But, it's important to see these things, to get a glimpse of what daily life can look like for some people, to understand the disastrous problems and addictions rotting out society. Perhaps the most alarming sight was the high school literally around the corner from the drug-trafficking site. It actually sickened me to hear from our guide that "the first two times" trying crack cocaine in school bathrooms are free--they hook young children and ruin their lives. Well, assist in ruining their lives--I'm not going to disregard personal agency in this case. But still. Breathtaking in a bad way.

Towards evening, as we prepared to head back home, a few group members decided they wanted to speak to some policemen in cracolandia about the cops' inactivity and hands-off approach. Our guide heavily warned against it, saying she thought it was an extremely terrible idea for us to return to the area.

My thought process: hmmm... a native warning us against chatting with potentially corrupt policemen in an area riddled with drug addicts at dark in a country in which I do not speak the language nor understand cultural norms nor have internet.

Their thought process: it'll be fine!!!!

So, as the majority of the group made plans to venture back into crack land, I pulled a--

and took a subway back home. They returned safely but I remain happy with my safe, boring, vanilla decision.

Tonight at dinner, I downed a few cups of coffee, anticipating a long night of reading class assignments and writing this blog. I sat in bed, multi-tasking (aka watching Fuller House and Eat, Pray, Love, surfing Buzzfeed, chatting with Sam, and writing a thing or two down in my notebook), and, for the first time on this program, I felt so... college. Hyped on coffee after 9 PM, discussing current events and our days with a roommate, finishing classwork, unwinding to some Netflix... It felt familiar, It felt comfortable. It felt like home. And, after months of feeling alien and lonely and overwhelmed and upset, "home" (even if it's about twenty degrees warmer with slightly more chance of contracting a deadly mosquito-born disease) feels nice. It feels good.

I am honestly happier than I've been in the past two months--the weather, the excitement of the city, my deepening friendships, my ability to contact my family, my anticipation for the dozens of fun activities coming up.... They are all invigorating and refreshing and rejuvenating me. I feel like a new and improved Aubs. God, I am so happy.

Thankful beyond words,
Aubrey

The West Bank

I write this blog today with a bewildered, heavy heart. I am full of confusion and full of conflict after a full day in the West Bank, the Palestinian territory on the eastern edge of Israel. I visited Ramallah, Jericho, and Bethlehem, and learned an unbelievable amount about the Palestinian side of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and about Christianity.

I woke up this morning at 4:20 AM to catch the 5 AM bus to the main bus station to catch the 6 AM bus to Jerusalem, because we all know my luck with Israeli public transportation. I managed the buses just fine--actually pretty wonderfully--but of course my luck on the tram took a turn for the worse. I didn't validate my ticket, which is cause for a fine--but the officer guy took pity on me and cut me some slack.

Three fellow interns and I jumped on a bus at 8:15 AM to drive about 10 minutes east from Jerusalem to the West Bank. Our guide immediately welcomed us to "terrorist country." I didn't know whether he was referring to Israel or the West Bank, but either way, right off the bat, I was like:

But I decided to enjoy the ride.

One thing I love about Jerusalem's geography and topography--it requires so little imagination to picture what the landscape looked like 2,000 years ago. Short, gnarled olive trees sprout in the rich, sunset-colored earth and every once in a while, a goat or two will peek out from behind the stumpy trunks of trees. I mean, I practically expect the shepherds who heard the angels' proclamations to walk up to our bus with bemused looks on their faces.

That was my satisfied impression of the countryside... Until I blinked and was transported to a different world. Where shanties were homes. Where trash lined the street. Where women peeked out of burkas with only a slit for their eyes. We had entered the West Bank.

One thing I noticed as I traversed the West Bank.. There are SO. MANY. TIRES. Like legit rubber car tires are just strewn across the land. You can even see two in the above picture. It's crazy. I don't even know the explanation for that. I also saw a splatter of crusty red on a telephone pole that looked suspiciously lethal and posters of Arab-looking men holding rifles in front of famous landmarks (like the Dome of the Rock) hung all over the capital of the West Bank, Ramallah.

It's totally fine, ha ha ha, so normal!!!

Ramallah reminded me of Nazareth in that it's an Arab and Arabic-heavy city that retains some Israeli order. It was an interesting city, and we walked for about 20 minutes through the main streets.

A view of the valley

The city center

The market

We arrived at Arafat's tomb; Arafat was the leader of the Palestinian Liberation Organization and the Palestinian Authority (basically the nationalist ruling parties of Palestine) until his mysterious death/possible murder in 2004.

The tomb

My friend took a picture of me standing in between the two soldiers as I threw up some gang signs, but it's on her phone, so just stay on the lookout for that. The soldier on the right was pretty cute actually, and I considered giving his butt a lil' squeeze for a funny photo op, but then I realized he was holding a gun and he probs wouldn't find it as funny as sleep-deprived Aubrey does.

Still, could have been funny.

Anyways. We made our way to Jericho, which is apparently the oldest city in the world... Somebody needs to check those facts. Jericho is a) where Joshua and his constituents marched around the walls of Jericho and blew trumpets until the walls tumbled down and b) where Jesus fasted for 40 days and nights and was tempted by the devil.

We took cute cable cars up the mountain--

With our great guide whose name is literally "Thursday" and who told me that his nephew is an eligible bachelor and engineer in Kuwait--

And we were treated to a fab view of the West Bank.

We then toured the Greek Orthodox monastery that honors Jesus's temptation.

There it is in the rocks!

Gorgeous

The rock upon which Jesus sat and fasted/was tempted

The story of Jesus' resistance to the Devil's temptation is one of my favorite New Testament stories for two reasons.

First of all, I think it's such an admirable example that He set for us. He was weakened by hunger and thirst and probs just missed heaven a ton but remained faithful to God and to the standards He held for himself. That's beautiful, right?

Second--Jesus is honestly just like the biggest baller ever, okay? Like picture this. You know when you just really, really hate someone so you disagree with everything they say? Like they could say, "wow isn't oxygen really great?" and you'd be like--

I mean, idk, I kind of just prefer to hold my breath, but like if that's what you wanna do, it's your choice, whatever.

You guys--THAT WAS LITERALLY JESUS. He had STARVED himself for FORTY EFFING DAYS and the Devil is like "yo dude why don't you just make yourself some bread?" And Jesus was like,

Eh, whatever, I'm not really that hungry, I don't feel like it, thanks though

Like, oh my God. He was the best. 

I mean like maybe I'm going to hell for blasphemy, but one thing I've learned since I've been in Israel is that nothing here is perfect. We romanticize the cities and the stories and the people to the point that upon arrival, they're unrecognizable. Being in Jerusalem and praying at the Western Wall and walking the Via de la Rosa are beautiful experiences--but they aren't perfect by any means. And I feel like in the past, I've read the Bible so drily and treated the people in it like idolized angels when they were really f*cked up humans like all of us. Seriously, though--Jesus went to a freaking wedding with no open bar and was like "yo this is whack" and TURNED WATER INTO WINE. WHAT A HOMIE. Or when He's walking through a town and tries to take some figs from a tree but they're not ripe yet, so He literally goes, "eff this tree," and makes it barren forever because it was probs like March and the tree just wasn't blossoming yet. Or when he's taking a nap on a boat, and everybody is freaking out about a measly little storm and they wake him up, and he literally comes up to the deck and is like "you guys need to chill the eff out" and just stops the storm and is like "God, guys, I'm literally Jesus, did you think we were gonna drown? Let me effin' nap."

Like I said. I'm probs going to hell. But also... Maybe not. We as humans appreciate love and humor and enjoyment so much; I think that the God who created us values the same things. So I like to think of Jesus as the best friend I'm ever gonna have. And if he's gonna be a good friend, he's gotta laugh like at least at one or two of my "that's what she said" jokes. Okay, kidding on that last part. But I bet he would have laughed.

Anyways. 

I'm really rambling here. I've been awake for like 20 hours. Bear with me, friends.

We then went to Bethlehem for lunch and for a tour of the Church of Nativity, which is built on top of the cave in which Jesus was born.

The Doorway of Humility--so small you have to BOW to get in!

Stunning Greek Orthodox shrine

Jesus's birth site plus Aubs

We then walked about two seconds over to the Catholic church honoring the same humanity-saving event.

After our quick tour, our guide actually sang the Lord's Prayer to us in Aramaic, which is the combined language of Ancient Hebrew and Arabic that Jesus really would have spoken. It was beautiful.

Then, we continued with a walk through the Old City of Bethlehem--

Which was lovely.

Then, the day took a turn for complicated.

We reached a refugee settlement and were told we were about to walk through. At which point a man with a hose proceeded to spray all of us tourists with water.

Our guide insisted the man was just trying to cool us off, and I was like--

Oh yeahhhh, I'm sure

But my indignant mood shattered pretty quickly, morphing into disgust and pity.

The streets were filthy. The buildings were falling apart with no paint, just graffiti slandering Israel and Judaism covering the walls.

A call to boycott Israeli goods, because 16% of the profit goes towards "the murder of Gazan children"

The settlement

I was uncomfortable. I was hopeless. I was upset. And it only got worse as we walked out of the settlement towards the gigantic border wall between Israel and Palestine.

Graffiti once again took over my attention. Some of the sayings blasted Israel. Others begged for release from the prison of Palestine.

Short autobiographies of West Bank children and young adults lined the wall as well--including the story of a Palestinian boy who gave up his seat on the bus for an elderly Israeli women when none of the Israelis on the bus would stand up.

Vaguely relevant, for some reason

I have not suddenly changed allegiances. I have not changed my mind about the right of Israel to exist. I have not succumbed to blatant propaganda or whitewashing of sins.

However.

Today depressed me, because I finally understood the ramifications of the lack of a two-state solution. I saw firsthand the poverty and despair in Palestine. And I was forced to confront my own ignorant hubris and dismantle it as I wracked my brain for an acceptable way to please everyone... and found none. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to fix it. And I don't know how.

I left the West Bank sobered and saddened. I was quiet for the next few hours as we made our way back to the main Jerusalem bus station. And I felt hopeless until I saw this.

I know it doesn't look like much in the picture. But it was a beautiful sunset tonight. And even though I'd traipsed through millenia-old sites dedicated to my religion, this might have been the closest I've felt to God in a little while in the way I am used to. It was going to be okay. The sun was going to set, and it will rise tomorrow; the leaders of today might fail in their quest to solve the conflict, but the leaders of tomorrow--hopefully myself included--will dedicate their time and energy and lives to its conclusion. I am in a screwed up, sometimes depressing, but unbelievably Holy place. I am so lucky.

And to reward you for making it through such a rollercoaster of a post, here's one of the writings on the wall that made me chuckle.

Signing off with a lot less hubris but a little bit of hope,

Aubs