15: Portugal, a rant.

I'm back in Portugal for good, but as I haven't been going on too many long adventures, I thought I might update you all on a few of the not so positive things that have been going on lately. 

I will start with the lesser of the annoyances: the shorts.  Or that is, the response to the shorts.  Like every American out there, I wear shorts when it is hot out.  This, I thought, was a normal practice.  Apparently this is not the case.  I look at Portuguese people in their jeans on an 80 degree day and I wonder how they can bear to be dressed like that in such weather.  Barely anyone wears shorts here, and because of this I can count on getting looks ranging from confused stares to openly belligerent glares from people in regard to my bare legs.  Old men in particular are not shy about giving me the evil eye when I pass by.  Once one of them growled. 

Now, I know I own some very short shorts (once they were so short that the counselors at Jesus Camp made me change), but after all this attention I figured I would try to limit my shorts wearing to my longer pairs.  While wearing one of these longer pairs, a random old woman actually yelled at me "Onde está o resto de seus calções?!" WHERE ARE THE REST OF YOUR SHORTS? 

An old photo of the shorts in question.

Really, lady?  Really?  Do you make a habit of yelling at young girls in shorts?  Where my legs really that offensive to you that you had to yell at me across the street?  A few blocks later I saw a young Portuguese woman in shorts even shorter than mine walking in the opposite direction.  I almost wanted to warn her about the shorts Nazi she would soon be approaching.

I would say something about the excessive cat calling that my friends and I receive (my theory is that it is not because we look American, but because we do not look Portuguese.  That and my shorts) but after surviving Italy, such behavior is almost cute. 

Almost.
 
But getting hooted at is the least of our problems here.  I can safely say that the majority of said problems are mostly the result of the Portuguese being the most stubborn and drastically self-assured people on the planet.  Of course, I already had a hint of this knowledge with my own family (and especially myself to be completely honest), but these opinions have officially become fact.  The best example of this way of life would be The Termite Fiasco. 

The Termite Fiasco has been an ongoing battle with our landlord.  Since before Spring Break, tiny ant-like bugs with long white wings have been committing mass suicides in our shower and kitchen for no reason whatsoever.  I emailed our landlord, Nuno, before I left for Italy about the problem.  His response?  Buy insecticide.  With the little money that I had, I wasn't about to spend money on insecticide when Raid seemed to kill them well enough, so I continued to clean up the mess each day until I left for Florence.  One week later, we returned from our various adventures to find the same bugs continuing to swarm and die randomly.  We researched the bugs and discovered that they were probably termites, or more specifically, swarmer termites, whose sole purpose in life is to sprout wings, fly somewhere, reproduce, and then die. 

Hello, lovelies.

We again contacted Nuno, who again advised us to buy insecticide despite the fact that insecticide does not kill termites.  We talked to the senhora of the building who told us they were probably ants.  Despite the great amount of time we spent convincing her that we knew the difference between "formigas" (ants) and "térmites" (termites), that ants do not have long white wings, and that ants and termites have a completely different bodily structure, she decided that they still weren't termites because Portuguese homes were not made of wood and therefore Portugal doesn't have a big problem with these particular kind of bugs.  This is, of course, despite the fact that the bugs were appearing out of holes in wooden beams in the kitchen.  She told us to buy insecticide and to wrap our food better, even thought the bugs were nowhere near our perfectly contained food.

Throughout this entire ordeal, our roommates were entirely unhelpful.  Santi was away in Seville and Helder seemed perfectly resigned to live in an infested apartment.  In fact, when we asked him about the bugs he said that they came every year and eventually stopped swarming around June.  Um.  Okay.  It would have been helpful to have some support on the issue, as the landlords had categorized us as stupid whiny American girls who didn't know a thing about bugs or cleaning or "the real world."

We emailed Nuno yet again, who sent over his father, the adorable Senhor Senhorio.  He brought with him insecticide, which he sprayed into the holes.  Of course, within a day or two the bugs were back. 

Angry and frustrated, I was reduced to blackmail.  I attached a photo of the bugs and emailed Nuno that we would refuse to pay rent if he did not call the exterminator.  With the refusal of rent came the decline of stubborn pride.  By the end of that week an exterminator visited our home and told us we clearly had termites.  Sigh.  He is returning on Friday to get rid of the bugs.  We'll have to be out of the apartment for 24 hours, but at least they finally called them and we can finally have a clean apartment.

The stubbornness astounds me.  Many of the people here like to tell us that we just don't know how things work because we are American.  This is concerning things like businesses opening on time ("Oh they are always late!  You're just impatient because you are American) or the hanging in of paperwork making sense ("Oh you need to go over there and wait in another line and pay to make me photocopies of these pages even though I have a copier right here") or the mail room misplaces your packages ("Its for Alexandra."  "There aren't any packages here for someone named Alexandra."  "That package right there has my name on it."  "Oh.").  Once the senhora's boyfriend, the building's handyman, lectured Tatiana and I for at least half an hour about the cleanliness in our apartment.  The conversation went something like this:


Handyman: You need to clean more.  The bathroom is really dirty.
Us: Okay we will clean it better.
HM: What you should do is this and this and this.
Us: Okay.
HM: Because when you don't it gets dirty.
Us: Right.
HM: So just clean here and here.
Us: Look, we do clean.  The guys in the apartment don't clean at all.  We clean all the time.  You should talk to them.
HM: Right.  But you should all start a cleaning schedule and clean like this and this...
Us: We DO clean all those things.  The boys never clean.  Please speak to them.
HM: Right but you should clean this like this...
Us: Sir, that is the boys' mess. 
HM: Okay I'll talk to them.  But you should clean this in this way...

For half an hour.  This man is also unshaven and basically has dreadlocks.  I'm sure his quarters upstairs are spotless.

I love this place but sometimes I just want to scream "THIS IS WHY YOU NEED BAIL OUTS.  YOUR ECONOMY IS TERRIBLE BECAUSE NO ONE WORKS AND NOTHING IS ORGANIZED."  And we are scoffed at for being impatient, overly organized, and expecting too much. 

There is a reason why there aren't very many Germans studying here.  They would probably all go insane.

Whew.  Sorry about that rant.  Traveling and studying abroad isn't always fun travels to different countries, that's for sure.


Unfortunately school work calls, but I promise you that far happier blog posts are on the way concerning the ongoing Queima das Fitas festivities, my recent trip to Leiria to see my family, and the Quinta das Lágrimas, where the heroine of one of my favorite romances of all time was killed.  This weekend I am going to see my aunt again and hopefully see my family in Tojal so those will definitely be included! 


My optimistic blogging will continue once again!

4: Frustration and (Initial) Failure

02/7/2011

Today was the official beginning of our enrollment at the Universidade de Coimbra.  We met with our adviser Ana Paula Arnaut, who was surprisingly cool.  She told us happily that, “Portuguese people are very politically incorrect.  We laugh at all people: black people, yellow people, brown people, Jewish people, Catholic people.  Everyone.  So don’t be shocked when you hear someone say something.  That’s just how Portugal is.”  Now I know why Brown does not have a program to Portugal. 

After all the paperwork, we again took up residence at McDonalds and stayed there for four hours.  I took a break during that time and walked around the Praça da República, taking pictures and people watching.  Today, a lot of students were wearing their traditional uniforms (I guess in preparation for the beginning of classes), and a few of them were walking around the plaza with their capes.  We saw the uniforms all over the city and found a store that sells them but… unfortunately they are 200 Euros.  I guess we’ll just have to come back for our post-grad so it’s worth the money.

Later, as we were getting some other permits and red tape necessities done, we stopped in a little hole-in-the-wall camera shop because I needed more passport photos. The man reminded me very much of my grandfather in the way he spoke, and I was nervous that I wouldn’t understand him.  I was also confused because there was no place in the store to take passport photos, yet the service was clearly advertised.  But I understood him very well, and he lead me, Amy, and Tatiana to his “studio,” which was located up a back staircase and into what I figured was his actual home.  We took the pictures in this tiny room, where a little Polaroid mirror hung on the wall and a well-used hairbrush was available just in case.  I bought 12, as the second set of 6 only bumped the price from 6 Euros to 8 Euros, and every department in Coimbra seems to need my photo.  The pictures are ridiculous.  I was wearing a white scarf and a leather jacket, and I look like an old-time aviator.  I just need the googles.

Tonight we attempted to make dinner.  We bought a pan from this tiny little home goods store, then made a list and bought groceries at Pingo Doce, our local supermercado.  It took quite a long time to get the pan, the utensils, the food, and so by the time we finally got back to our dorm it was about 8:30 PM and we just could not figure out the gas stove.  We had almost given up and settled for just our salad and bread rolls with cheese when Amy’s roommate, who is an young Iranian woman studying for her masters in Mathematics, helped us get the stove going.  Our buddy Nasif also stopped by, but didn’t stay long.  Honestly, we probably didn’t need the distraction.  In the end, we had delicious chicken, rice and beans, and spinach salad.  It was a pretty late dinner, but definitely worth it.  We had a lot left over, so we definitely have at least lunch for tomorrow all set.  Saving money is nice.

02/9/2011

The last two days have been really rough.  Yesterday, Tuesday, I basically spent the entire day in a state of language frustration.  Almost immediately after I woke up, my cousin Joana texted me concerning her arriving in Coimbra to visit friends.  The previous times we had spoken, I had understood her pretty well.  That morning, however, she must have been using some sort of text speak or using colloquial phrases because I had to look up most of the messages in my dictionary.  I found out that she would be arriving around 3:30 PM.  I spent the day running errands around the city, and ended up having to pay quite a lot for my dormitory.  My bank account is seriously hurting right now.  So, broke and frustrated, I sat once again in McDonalds to check my email and wait for my cousin.  She showed up around 4 PM, and we ended up speaking to one another for an hour in broken Portuguese.  I felt so completely inadequate speaking to her.  I certainly wouldn’t blame it on her: I was frustrated and I cannot listen to the Portuguese language at all, and my limited ability plus the noise of McDonalds and the natural speed of Portuguese speakers made me feel like a completely idiot. She was so helpful and patient with me and was so friendly and nice, but when we finally left McDonalds, I was so upset and frustrated with myself that I was glad to be going back to the dorms.  I hope that, should I see her again at the end of the semester, I will be able to have a proper conversation in proper Portuguese.

Afterward the frustration continued as we started to study for our placement exam.  I felt like I knew nothing and kept beating myself up.  When we finally decided to go to bed that night, sleep was impossible: the room next door must have had five people in it laughing and screaming in Chinese all night.  I tried knocking on the wall a few times, but they would only be quiet for a minute or so and then the volume would escalate.  I finally fell asleep around 2 AM and woke up around 8 AM for our 9:30 language placement exam.  Apparently the Chinese students had been up really early that morning too, banging around in the kitchen and speaking right outside our dorm room.  When did they go to bed and how early did they get up?  Another day of frustration had begun.

A escada monumental.  Good.

We ended up taking the bus that morning, climbed up the escada monumental and getting to the Faculdade de Letras about half an hour early, studied outside, and then took the written portion of the exam.  After the exam, we went in search of the a bar inside the building to get breakfast and… lo!  There we other American undergraduate students there!   Three students from West Point were sitting a table away, and finally one of them came over to ask if we were American as well.  There is one guy, Dan, and two girls, Barbara and Ashley, who were very friendly and fun.  We exchanged numbers and hung around the bar until it was 11 AM and we had to go back for our spoken portion.  I was getting more and more nervous, and when Tatiana and I went in to speak to the instructors, we had already been waiting for half an hour.  Tatiana did fine, but my speaking and comprehension was horrible.  I was so nervous and they were so aggressive that I could actually feel my skill dipping back into freshman year POBS0100.  At the end, they were very straight-forward and told me that Tatiana was better than I was and that I should be in the Elementary Level.

I took the schedule of classes, walked out, and immediately began to cry in front of Amy, Tatiana, and our new friends from a MILITARY ACADEMY.  I felt so embarrassed but couldn’t stop, and they all tried to comfort me.  But the truth was: they were all in Intermediate, and I was the only American in Elementary.  I tried speaking to the women who tested me about moving up, but they not only laughed at my struggling with the language and request but also said that I would have to attend the first week as an Elementary student and then, after the first week, get my professors' approval to move up.  We went in search of Ana Paula, our advisor, and she recommended the same thing, plus attending the Intermediate classes at the same time and seeing how I did.  She then added up my hours and credits and the total was less than was necessary for both Brown and UWM and… I cried in front of my adviser as well.  I was so extremely frustrated and, again, completely embarrassed.  Nothing was going as planned, I had failed to get into Intermediate after five semesters of Portuguese, and my classes weren’t enough to transfer as an entire semester.  I just hope that I will be able to move up into Intermediate, where the classes include enough credits and hours.  This means that this weekend, I’m going to have to work really hard on my speaking and listening abilities. 

No more speaking in English.  I will do all I can to be in Intermediate classes by this time next week.  Wish me luck!  I’m going to really need it.