Money money money!

-Brazilians hate money. Ok, they're probably quite fond of the power of money, but they hate making change. I tried to buy some juice with a R$20 bill (around US$10) at a pharmacy, and was actually turned away because the bill was too big. The juice was probably around R$2. At a huge supermarket, I tried to pay for about R$15 worth of goods (including condensed soy milk!) with a R$50 bill, and the cashier freaked out. I had to wait about 10 minutes for several employees to discuss the issue and collectively come up with the change. This sort of thing happens everywhere one goes. Bonus: ATMs spit out only fifties.

-Tapioca is the street food of choice here, and it's delicious! Fun chemistry lesson: apply heat to tapioca flour and watch it gelatinize! Yep--pancake-like yums consist of straight-up tapioca. Just ask for no butter. 50 cents for 400 calories, or some such. That's what I'm talkin' about.

-When my classmates gush about their luxurious living quarters, my only response is, "I live in a box." My room is quite small and is on the side of the apartment opposite the other (normal-sized) bedrooms. One day, in culture/conversation class, we were discussing house vocabulary, and the instructor explained that all Brazilian homes are designed to accommodate a maid. All the students nodded knowingly as she described the tiny, windowless room off the kitchen, where the overworked and underpaid maid is supposed to live. Surprise--that's my room!

-This weekend, the group went to the tiny beach town of Jericoacoara. We rode a charter bus for about four hours, and then switched to two large pick-up trucks that were modified with benches in the back. The truck ride was insane--there's no way that it would have been legal in the US. The barefoot driver had to navigate narrow, one-way dirt paths that were riddled with gaping, water-filled holes, as well as contend with two-way traffic. I rode in one of the 7 seats in the cab, but heard panicked screams from the back of the truck. Turns out there was a cockroach; the driver had to stop and get it. Some rich Brazilian lady had been screaming at the top of her lungs.

In Jericoacoara, Jenn and I decided to skip the dune buggy ride on Saturday and explore the dunes ourselves. We walked to the top of a huge (from the perspective of someone who hasn't seen many dunes) dune and had fun eating sand and taking in the views. You can see our "Dying in the Desert" photos on Facebook.

That evening, a bunch of us went to the beach to watch people "play" capoeira. After David finished rejecting the woman who tried to sell him marijuana, we joined a circle of onlookers around the capoeiristas. My concentration was interrupted by the creepy guy who appeared next to me, said several times that I'm pretty, and offered to let me stay with him should I decide to remain in the area for longer than one day. Tough choice, but I decided to decline.

On the return trip, we utilized three different vehicles. That time, I ended up in the back of one of the trucks, holding on for dear life. Because the makeshift roads are so narrow, foliage kept reaching into the truck. Some branches brushed up against Jenn and David, leaving them covered with caterpillars (there were quite a few on my purse and on some other bags, but I think that I was mostly spared). David heroically removed almost all of the caterpillars from Jenn's body. After awhile, I picked through her hair and declared her caterpillar-free. Unfortunately, it turns out that, were I a monkey, I'd be a terrible grooming mate, because another critter appeared in Jenn's hair after we left the truck. After spending a couple of hours with a huge centipede at a not-so-paradisal locale, we boarded a large, bus-like vehicle that was like a giant, motorized version of a carousel carriage. All kinds of creepy critters were abundant on that trip; I couldn't wait to get off. I think that the woman in front of me thought I was quite the freak, because I kept smacking at her/lifting up her arm to get her away from the evil bugs. She got lots of "desculpas" from me.

-Brazilians are miniature people! Sure, it's an extraordinarily diverse populace, but the average height here has to be at least three inches shorter than that in the US. That makes me half a foot taller than the average woman here; I feel like a giant freak when I board the bus. I bought a couple of size large tee shirts from a store that didn't have a dressing room, and it turns out that they're nearly skin-tight and a bit too short. There is no extra-large size.

-I feel badass because Brazilians ask me for directions. I feel less badass when I have to inform them that I have no idea where I am, let alone how to get to where they want to go.

I am having a blast!