What's a trip to Brazil without going to Rio, right? This is exactly why my fantastic friends here in Sao Paulo surprised me with a ticket to spend 24 hours in Rio. Words (especially not Portugese words) could help me express my gratitude.
We departed from Sao Paulo on a 7:30 AM flight to Rio. I could barely keep my eyes open as I tried to make my way through a sea of fashionable Paulistas at the airport while trying to figure out where our gate was located. Apparently, signs are totally optional in this airport, but we finally made to the gate, on the bus, and on the plane. Traveling with a Brazilian is great because I don't have to speak pidegon Portunol, but it was kind of scary blindly following her through Rio all weekend. Anyhow, after a quick 45 minute flight, we landed in Rio. Again, making our way through a maze of unmarked hallways, staircases, and check points, we finally exited and found a bus that would drop us off in Copacabana Beach. The ride was interesting because I was able to see the favellas (slums) covered in litter and grafitti, as well as the old concrete buildings that cover the city. Rio is similar to Sao Paulo in that large, concrete high-rise building cover the land, but it has a tropical and more relaxed feel. They say people in Sao Paulo work, and people in Rio work out.
Once we arrived in Copacabana, we walked a few blocks to our "4-star hotel," though I'm not sure exactly who gave it four stars. I reminded myself it was only for a night and held my tongue as I looked at the gray walls and tried to ignore the smell of cigarette smoke that seemed to be saturated in the linens. After freshening up, we decided to take advantage of the sun and walk along the boardwalk at Copacabana. I gawked at the people walking around in bathing suits or speedos with no cover-ups or shoes. Tall tropical trees line the streets in front of very old apartment buildings, and I imagined this might be what Miami looked like in the 40s or 50s, but with less attractive people. Along the boardwalk/catwalk, tan men and women of all ages, shapes and sizes strolled in the sun occasionally stopping at the kiosks for a drink (chopp - draft beer or coconut water) or a bite to eat. In addition to seeing the famous beaches, visiting the Christ and the Pao de Acucar were the other two touristic points I felt I had to see.
We took a cab to the place where you can catch the train to go up the mountain to see the Christ and I was surprised to see literally hundreds of people milling around the station. There were vendors, taxi cab drivers and tour vans shouting their offers to up the mountain, and tourists trying to get in line to buy train tickets. The ominous line was a sign of things to come and "fila" would become the word of the day. I got in line and my friend found out that the first available ticket would be for a train departing 2 hours later! Instead, she negotiated intensely with a tour van driver to give us the same price as the train and take us to both vista points. We packed into a van with 12 other tourists (none of which were American) and headed up the curvy road to the Christ. The drive should have taken at least 20 minutes, but our driver did not brake at ANY curve in the road. The view from the first stop, Helipoint, was spectacular because you could see how all of the neighborhoods in the city were built around the mountains and in the valleys of the land. You could also see the Christ, and the clouds that threatened to cover it. We decided to only take a few pictures of the view, not the wild monkeys, and continue on the journey to the Christ.
Again, at break neck speeds, our van sped up the road until the driver was forced to stop in the fila of cars and vans that were also headed to the top. Despite our protests, the driver decided walking to the next point would be faster. We followed the rest of the tourists up the road and saw another massive fila. I'm not sure why I was surprised. Where did I expect the hundreds of people we saw at the train station in the bottom were going? I got in line, and my friend continued walking to figure out what exactly we would be waiting for. Pretending she was lost and looking for someone, my made a HUGE cut in line, sent for me and explained there was another van we would have to take to get to the Christ. The driver had neglected to tell us there would be another fila and van ride to get to the Christ. The number of people waiting was unbelievable. I heard people remark that it was vacation time and lots of Americanos (which Brazilians pronounce snidely with a long "cuh" sound on the second to last syllable) were visiting. I turned to defend my self and in pigeon portunol replied, "Muito Brasileiro, nao Americano aqui!"
The next van ride was shorter and the driver took the curves even faster, but we finally made it to the Christ. It was extremely windy and we could barely make our way through the swarms of people. We took a few photos and almost fell over tourists sprawled on the ground while trying to take a complete shot of a family with the enormous Christ in the background. The clouds were coming in, but we could still enjoy the spectacular views of Ipanema, Copacabana, downtown and the Atlantic ocean. We waited in another fila to take another van down to the bottom of the hill and saw the crowds still lined up to come to the Christ. The whole adventure took three hours and I never would have been able to do it without my Brazilian friend. Our timing could not have been better because as we looked back up at the Christ from the van, the clouds had covered his head.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Eating my way through Sao Paulo
I wish I could continue writing short stories about all of my experiences here, but I haven't made the time. I simply can't keep up with all of the things I'm learning on a day to day basis. Instead, I've decided to post a few notes on the most important discoveries I've made over the past few days, most of which are food related.
I've discovered a wonderful way to communicate - Pigeon Portunol. It's a funny combination of Portuguese and Espanol that makes me feel less like an idiot and impresses the Brazilians with my excellent pronunciation. My comprehension of Portuguese has improved enough for me to understand a sophisticated conversation about the need to invenst in tourism and infrastructure to bring more people to a very quaint town about an hour outside of Sao Paulo called Paranpiacaba. With a population of only 400, the town is very depressed, but has a great history as an old English railroad town, complete with it's own miniature Big Ben. I wanted to see the whole town, but I plans changed. I ended up only being able to see a great concert from backstage (I'm a VIP!) of a lovely Brazilian singer, Luiza Possi. It was awesome.
I stopped planning my days here by what I want to see. Days have been organized around what I'm going to eat. The food here is AMAZING. I've completely forgotten about counting points and am all about trying all the food. It hasn't been a problem that I'm not a fan of meat, because you can find any kind of food here you want. The sushi is some of the best I've had, the coffee is strong and smooth, exotic fruits and juices are abundant, as are snacks with every kind of savory bread/meat/cheese combinations you can imagine. It's probably a good thing that I didn't really take to the pon de queijo (cheese bread) because they might have to roll me off the plane. I had the best time at the Mercado Municipal (Central Market) tasting all the exotic fruits like pitaja, acabaxi, mango, and tropical coconuts. You can find restaurants with any cuisine you want open at any hour in Sao Paulo. On Sunday night, we had traditional Brazilian pizza, which rivals the best of Italy, at 10pm and the restaurant was packed. I haven't really sampled the deserts here, many of which feature goiaba (guava), but the Brigadeiro, a traditional chocolate ball, made with sweet condensed milk, was heaven.
I've enjoyed a few Carpirihnas, which can be made with different fruits and spirits, the tradiational being lime with Cachaca (also known as Pinga, an alcohol made from fermented sugar cane). Also popular here is chopp - cold beer on tap, Brahma is served in all bars. While waiting to go up to the top of the Bovespa skyscraper building (modeled after the empire state building) a friend and the waiters explained how Brazilians drink chopp like water and how pinga can make you black out if you're not careful! No worries, I've been careful. I discovered the kiwi capirihnas made with sake instead of pinga are smoother and safer.
I've got 24 hours left and so much more that I want to know about Brazil. But I suppose I have to leave a few things left to discover on the next trip.
I've discovered a wonderful way to communicate - Pigeon Portunol. It's a funny combination of Portuguese and Espanol that makes me feel less like an idiot and impresses the Brazilians with my excellent pronunciation. My comprehension of Portuguese has improved enough for me to understand a sophisticated conversation about the need to invenst in tourism and infrastructure to bring more people to a very quaint town about an hour outside of Sao Paulo called Paranpiacaba. With a population of only 400, the town is very depressed, but has a great history as an old English railroad town, complete with it's own miniature Big Ben. I wanted to see the whole town, but I plans changed. I ended up only being able to see a great concert from backstage (I'm a VIP!) of a lovely Brazilian singer, Luiza Possi. It was awesome.
I stopped planning my days here by what I want to see. Days have been organized around what I'm going to eat. The food here is AMAZING. I've completely forgotten about counting points and am all about trying all the food. It hasn't been a problem that I'm not a fan of meat, because you can find any kind of food here you want. The sushi is some of the best I've had, the coffee is strong and smooth, exotic fruits and juices are abundant, as are snacks with every kind of savory bread/meat/cheese combinations you can imagine. It's probably a good thing that I didn't really take to the pon de queijo (cheese bread) because they might have to roll me off the plane. I had the best time at the Mercado Municipal (Central Market) tasting all the exotic fruits like pitaja, acabaxi, mango, and tropical coconuts. You can find restaurants with any cuisine you want open at any hour in Sao Paulo. On Sunday night, we had traditional Brazilian pizza, which rivals the best of Italy, at 10pm and the restaurant was packed. I haven't really sampled the deserts here, many of which feature goiaba (guava), but the Brigadeiro, a traditional chocolate ball, made with sweet condensed milk, was heaven.
I've enjoyed a few Carpirihnas, which can be made with different fruits and spirits, the tradiational being lime with Cachaca (also known as Pinga, an alcohol made from fermented sugar cane). Also popular here is chopp - cold beer on tap, Brahma is served in all bars. While waiting to go up to the top of the Bovespa skyscraper building (modeled after the empire state building) a friend and the waiters explained how Brazilians drink chopp like water and how pinga can make you black out if you're not careful! No worries, I've been careful. I discovered the kiwi capirihnas made with sake instead of pinga are smoother and safer.
I've got 24 hours left and so much more that I want to know about Brazil. But I suppose I have to leave a few things left to discover on the next trip.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Being Here - Fish out of Water
A friend invited me to go shopping with her on my first day here. Her cousin came along too, and she introduced me to her in Portuguese. I understood the basic introduction that I was teacher visiting from Los Angeles and that I am fluent in Spanish. She turned to me and suggested that Spanish would really help me communicate in Portuguese. Hah! I've been in Sao Paulo for more than 24 hours now and the language barrier has been paralyzing. Sometimes, if I concentrate really, really hard, I can make out a few words that sound similar to Spanish. But usually, it's all a blur of zjsh, ois, jshs and aoooooooows. The phonics of Portuguese are like nothing I've ever heard before. The aooows sometimes resemble a cat's meow, the zjsh sometimes sound like the cars whizzing by, the beginings and endings of words are chopped off or bleed into the next word, and vowels hang on for what seems like forever. It's a puzzle of foreign sounds that my ears can't untangle.
The easiest thing about Portuguese has been reading it. This way, I can focus on the words and I don't have to worry about the pronunciation of constants, vowels, and crazy combinations of vowel dipthongs or consonant blends. I was able to read and comprehend a lot of the posted information at the Afro-Brasilian History Museum in Ibirapuera Park (the largest park in the city). I was also able to understand an entire article about Leticia Castro in the portguese translation of the Elle Magazine I picked up at an excellent coffee shop called Suplicy Cafe. But conversing and interacting with Paulistas (as city dwellers are called) has been a challenge to say the least.
I suppose it starts with my lack of confidence. I go into the conversation knowing that even if the Paulista can understand what I am asking or looking for, I will definitely NOT understand their reply. For example, I decided to venture into the grocery store because I love all stores that sell food and I was craving an apple. Knowing that I had to have the produce weighed and then had to pay for the apples (2 interactions) set me into a fit of indecision about which apples to buy, how many, and whether to get the pre-packaged apples or select my own. I must have paced the crowded produce section (about the size of a Trader Joe's produce section) for 15 minutes! Luckily, I did not have to use words at the weigh station. I proceeded to walk down every aisle taking in all the varities of bread, canned food, cereal, coffee, meats, and cheeses before I realized I would eventually have to say something at the check out. I knew the checker would ask me something -- paper or plastic, credit or cash, if I was having a good day -- that would force me to smile, stare blankly and nod.
When I made it to the register, as I predicted, the checker said something to me. I leaned forward as if I didn't hear her, but I just didn't understand. Maybe if she repeated it, I could use my trusty Spanish to pick out a few key words. Nada. Although I didn't really mean to, I found my self staring at her, smiling, nodding and willing my brain to quickly translate the mish mash of zsshjjasolbleuscao? into English. I finally gave up and used one of the few sentences I know in Portuguese, "Eu no fallo Portugues. So Americana." Smiling, she took my American Express card and charged me for my apples. Sighing and hanging my head with defeat, I left the super market feeling lost in a place I usually feel so at home in -- a food store!
I suppose I could just begin any interaction by saying I don't speak Portuguese or alternatively I could just speak in English, Spanish, or some mixture of both, hoping that the Paulista might understand and respond in a language that I understand. But there is something embarrassing to me about travelling somewhere and expecting others to speak your native language. This is not the typical American attitude, I know. But I am vehemently opposed to being labeled as, "an annoying American toursit who expects everyone to speak English."
I am surprised at how intimidated I am by the language barrier. A normally confident and take-charge-kind-of-girl, I've become timid and indecisive. Even if I know what I want, I will feel inadequate nodding my head, fake smiling, and worrying that what I get may not be what I had intended. This fish out of water feeling is certainly not something I had anticipated I would experience on my visit to a large, Latin American city, guided by friends of the family. But it's a good learning experience. I was told once, that to truely learn something, one has to connect the new material to something that already exists in your brain or memory. While I was walking down the street, crunching my apple, I reflected on the experience and realized, maybe what I'm learning is that I'm not as self-assured and bold as I thought I was. It also donned on me that the checker was asking for a Paulista phone number or a club card number to register the purchase. I wanted to run back and tell her, "No, no tem numero Paulista!"
The easiest thing about Portuguese has been reading it. This way, I can focus on the words and I don't have to worry about the pronunciation of constants, vowels, and crazy combinations of vowel dipthongs or consonant blends. I was able to read and comprehend a lot of the posted information at the Afro-Brasilian History Museum in Ibirapuera Park (the largest park in the city). I was also able to understand an entire article about Leticia Castro in the portguese translation of the Elle Magazine I picked up at an excellent coffee shop called Suplicy Cafe. But conversing and interacting with Paulistas (as city dwellers are called) has been a challenge to say the least.
I suppose it starts with my lack of confidence. I go into the conversation knowing that even if the Paulista can understand what I am asking or looking for, I will definitely NOT understand their reply. For example, I decided to venture into the grocery store because I love all stores that sell food and I was craving an apple. Knowing that I had to have the produce weighed and then had to pay for the apples (2 interactions) set me into a fit of indecision about which apples to buy, how many, and whether to get the pre-packaged apples or select my own. I must have paced the crowded produce section (about the size of a Trader Joe's produce section) for 15 minutes! Luckily, I did not have to use words at the weigh station. I proceeded to walk down every aisle taking in all the varities of bread, canned food, cereal, coffee, meats, and cheeses before I realized I would eventually have to say something at the check out. I knew the checker would ask me something -- paper or plastic, credit or cash, if I was having a good day -- that would force me to smile, stare blankly and nod.
When I made it to the register, as I predicted, the checker said something to me. I leaned forward as if I didn't hear her, but I just didn't understand. Maybe if she repeated it, I could use my trusty Spanish to pick out a few key words. Nada. Although I didn't really mean to, I found my self staring at her, smiling, nodding and willing my brain to quickly translate the mish mash of zsshjjasolbleuscao? into English. I finally gave up and used one of the few sentences I know in Portuguese, "Eu no fallo Portugues. So Americana." Smiling, she took my American Express card and charged me for my apples. Sighing and hanging my head with defeat, I left the super market feeling lost in a place I usually feel so at home in -- a food store!
I suppose I could just begin any interaction by saying I don't speak Portuguese or alternatively I could just speak in English, Spanish, or some mixture of both, hoping that the Paulista might understand and respond in a language that I understand. But there is something embarrassing to me about travelling somewhere and expecting others to speak your native language. This is not the typical American attitude, I know. But I am vehemently opposed to being labeled as, "an annoying American toursit who expects everyone to speak English."
I am surprised at how intimidated I am by the language barrier. A normally confident and take-charge-kind-of-girl, I've become timid and indecisive. Even if I know what I want, I will feel inadequate nodding my head, fake smiling, and worrying that what I get may not be what I had intended. This fish out of water feeling is certainly not something I had anticipated I would experience on my visit to a large, Latin American city, guided by friends of the family. But it's a good learning experience. I was told once, that to truely learn something, one has to connect the new material to something that already exists in your brain or memory. While I was walking down the street, crunching my apple, I reflected on the experience and realized, maybe what I'm learning is that I'm not as self-assured and bold as I thought I was. It also donned on me that the checker was asking for a Paulista phone number or a club card number to register the purchase. I wanted to run back and tell her, "No, no tem numero Paulista!"
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Getting there...Ms. Arriola now blogging from Brazil
I was nervous about a 12 hour plane ride to Sao Paulo, Brazil because it's the longest flight I've ever taken. I don't usually have a problem sleeping on planes, I'm not claustrophobic, and I'm not much of a conversationalist if I don't have to be, so I figured it couldn't be that bad. I had my book, my noise reduction headphones, a fully loaded Ipod, an aisle seat and a fancy neck pillow. I was set. Of course you, never know who is going to be seated next you on a plane, so there's always a little element of surprise when you are boarding. It's important to note that planes aren't like buses, where people get on and off, or shuffle around, so you're never stuck next a weirdo (if'your luck is like mine) for too long. With a plane, your seatmates are with you the entire way.
As I took my seat on the plane, I noticed to my right was a Korean couple arguing loudly about something. To my left, I saw a nice looking, young girl talking on her phone. No one in the middle seat -- Praise Jesus. When she finished her phone conversation, the girl to my left said something to me in Portuguese. Here's when my Portuguese CDs came in handy, and I said to her "Eu no fallo Portugues." I don't speak Portugese. At this point, she decided to start chatting with me in English. Smiling and nodding, I made small talk with her about being from Los Angeles, working as a teacher, and taking a short vacation to Brazil before school starts. I thought this would be enough to satisfy her, but I was wrong. Despite looking down at my book and headphones in my lap several times, the girl did not seem to notice my body language was saying, "Please stop talking to me, I want to read my book." She must have been reading, "You are smiling and nodding, I should keep talking." Lost in translation? Our conversation turned into more of a monologue as I learned all about how her family raised her Mormon and she always knew she wanted to live the U.S., her life in Utah, her travels in the US as some sort of medical sales rep, and her short MODELING CAREER in New York, and her millionare boyfriend that insists she learns how to scuba dive in Aruba. So, to review, on my flight to Sao Paulo, I sat next to a talkative, snow-boarding, soon to be millionare wife, former Brazilian model turned medical sales rep from Utah.
Luckily I ate before I got on the plane, so I didn't have to touch the pasta smothered in cream sauce and cheese, the limp salad, or cold roll. After the meal, and the conversation (which isn't quite the right word because I think that implies two people alternating speaking and listening) about why Cadillacs and Audis are the best cars, how doctors don't make good boyfriends, and the sugar chemical that the millionaire boyfriend puts into gum to help fight cavities, the in-flight movie started. I thought the movie might signal an end to the coversation, but instead the girl decided to talk about why she didn't like the movie, Seventeen Again, and how she thought all young stars like Zach Ephron were overrated. At this point, I was able to break in to the speech to agree politely, because I don't think too highly of Zach Ephron either, and excuse myself to the bathroom.
I paced the back of the plane for at least 10 min. walking just close enough up to my row to see if she was asleep. I saw her take the Tylenol PM and knew I would be able to sit in peace soon. After listening to the flight attendants chatter about how many Duty Free items they sold, I ventured back to my row. To my delight, I found my friend trying to sleep with blankets covering her body and an eye mask covering her face. Relieved, I put my headphones, opened my book and started to read.
12 hours later, I landed in Sao Paulo. Turned in my H1N1 flu paperwork, had my passport stamped and was greeted by Ana Paula. A wonderful friend of my aunt and uncle's who is graciously hosting me in Sao Paulo. More adventures are to come, I'm sure.
As I took my seat on the plane, I noticed to my right was a Korean couple arguing loudly about something. To my left, I saw a nice looking, young girl talking on her phone. No one in the middle seat -- Praise Jesus. When she finished her phone conversation, the girl to my left said something to me in Portuguese. Here's when my Portuguese CDs came in handy, and I said to her "Eu no fallo Portugues." I don't speak Portugese. At this point, she decided to start chatting with me in English. Smiling and nodding, I made small talk with her about being from Los Angeles, working as a teacher, and taking a short vacation to Brazil before school starts. I thought this would be enough to satisfy her, but I was wrong. Despite looking down at my book and headphones in my lap several times, the girl did not seem to notice my body language was saying, "Please stop talking to me, I want to read my book." She must have been reading, "You are smiling and nodding, I should keep talking." Lost in translation? Our conversation turned into more of a monologue as I learned all about how her family raised her Mormon and she always knew she wanted to live the U.S., her life in Utah, her travels in the US as some sort of medical sales rep, and her short MODELING CAREER in New York, and her millionare boyfriend that insists she learns how to scuba dive in Aruba. So, to review, on my flight to Sao Paulo, I sat next to a talkative, snow-boarding, soon to be millionare wife, former Brazilian model turned medical sales rep from Utah.
Luckily I ate before I got on the plane, so I didn't have to touch the pasta smothered in cream sauce and cheese, the limp salad, or cold roll. After the meal, and the conversation (which isn't quite the right word because I think that implies two people alternating speaking and listening) about why Cadillacs and Audis are the best cars, how doctors don't make good boyfriends, and the sugar chemical that the millionaire boyfriend puts into gum to help fight cavities, the in-flight movie started. I thought the movie might signal an end to the coversation, but instead the girl decided to talk about why she didn't like the movie, Seventeen Again, and how she thought all young stars like Zach Ephron were overrated. At this point, I was able to break in to the speech to agree politely, because I don't think too highly of Zach Ephron either, and excuse myself to the bathroom.
I paced the back of the plane for at least 10 min. walking just close enough up to my row to see if she was asleep. I saw her take the Tylenol PM and knew I would be able to sit in peace soon. After listening to the flight attendants chatter about how many Duty Free items they sold, I ventured back to my row. To my delight, I found my friend trying to sleep with blankets covering her body and an eye mask covering her face. Relieved, I put my headphones, opened my book and started to read.
12 hours later, I landed in Sao Paulo. Turned in my H1N1 flu paperwork, had my passport stamped and was greeted by Ana Paula. A wonderful friend of my aunt and uncle's who is graciously hosting me in Sao Paulo. More adventures are to come, I'm sure.
Monday, July 6, 2009
You can get it at the 99, Miss
My students sang praises of "The 99" all year. "Miss, how much did you pay for this? 'Cuz you can get it at the 99."
I had frequented The 99 Cent Store for cheap prizes for my students, but never considered buying things for myself there. Despite penny-pinching in other areas (e.g. bringing my own popcorn to the movie theater), I never saw myself as a real 99 Cent Store customer. Maybe it was the off brands, maybe it was the kind of people you see at the 99, maybe it's the fact that they never have more than two people working check stands and there are always long lines of smelly people. Regardless, the place just wasn't my kind of store.
This all changed Sunday morning. I was at a Weight Watchers meeting, expecting to be bored and annoyed by these people who choose to share their lame ideas on how to eat healthy and bemoan the fact that they can no longer eat a bag of Lay's potato chips and expect to lose weight (seriously!?). The meeting leader was telling us that being on a budget should not limit you from eating delicious fresh fruits and vegetables. She went on to explain that she shops at the 99 cent store for her produce! Shocked and appalled, I couldn't believe my ears. This woman, an educated, health conscious lawyer, did not seem like the type to shop at the 99. She seemed more like a Whole Foods or a Gelson's kind of lady. But, she went on and on about all the fabulous finds at the 99 and I left the meeting set out to prove her wrong.
I pulled up to the 99 on La Brea after the meeting thinking, seriously WW lady, you can't find decent food here! And, as I have often become accustomed to , I was wrong. I walked into the store, observing the guy with 2 shopping carts full of bags listening to some sort of dilapidated boom box next to the door, and thought no way was I going to stay for more than 2 minutes in this place. As I walked pass the two checkstands, I was greeted by a glorious array of fresh produce. Canteloupe, honeydew, asaparagus, lemons, zuchinni, onions, potatoes, strawberries, blueberries, baby carrots...everything I would normally buy at Trader Joe's or Albertsons. The packaging and distributors were the same as the regular store - Dole, Grimmway, Sunbeam. The food was neither rotten nor mistreated. Puzzled, I looked around, grabbed a basket and started filling it. I made sure no one looked at me funny as I loaded up my basket with all of fantastic fresh food. Unless you count the vato with the gold tooth checking me out, no one seemed to care. Sadly, not a single customer seemed as excited was about this as I did.
I waited in the long line to pay, because as usual, there were only two people working. No one smelled that badly, and there were some interesting characters to watch while I passed the time. I made it out of the 99 and spent about $20 bucks, half of my normal grocery bill.
So I'm thinking, doing my regular grocery shopping at the 99 may not lead me down the right path to establishing some sort of normal life here. I mean, I certainly don't think I'll be running into potential dates at the 99. Plus, deep down, I heart Trader Joe's because of their music, friendly staff, and the possibility that Mr. Right and I might be reaching for the same container of Greek yogurt. I guess it's just good to know that the 99 will always be an option.
I had frequented The 99 Cent Store for cheap prizes for my students, but never considered buying things for myself there. Despite penny-pinching in other areas (e.g. bringing my own popcorn to the movie theater), I never saw myself as a real 99 Cent Store customer. Maybe it was the off brands, maybe it was the kind of people you see at the 99, maybe it's the fact that they never have more than two people working check stands and there are always long lines of smelly people. Regardless, the place just wasn't my kind of store.
This all changed Sunday morning. I was at a Weight Watchers meeting, expecting to be bored and annoyed by these people who choose to share their lame ideas on how to eat healthy and bemoan the fact that they can no longer eat a bag of Lay's potato chips and expect to lose weight (seriously!?). The meeting leader was telling us that being on a budget should not limit you from eating delicious fresh fruits and vegetables. She went on to explain that she shops at the 99 cent store for her produce! Shocked and appalled, I couldn't believe my ears. This woman, an educated, health conscious lawyer, did not seem like the type to shop at the 99. She seemed more like a Whole Foods or a Gelson's kind of lady. But, she went on and on about all the fabulous finds at the 99 and I left the meeting set out to prove her wrong.
I pulled up to the 99 on La Brea after the meeting thinking, seriously WW lady, you can't find decent food here! And, as I have often become accustomed to , I was wrong. I walked into the store, observing the guy with 2 shopping carts full of bags listening to some sort of dilapidated boom box next to the door, and thought no way was I going to stay for more than 2 minutes in this place. As I walked pass the two checkstands, I was greeted by a glorious array of fresh produce. Canteloupe, honeydew, asaparagus, lemons, zuchinni, onions, potatoes, strawberries, blueberries, baby carrots...everything I would normally buy at Trader Joe's or Albertsons. The packaging and distributors were the same as the regular store - Dole, Grimmway, Sunbeam. The food was neither rotten nor mistreated. Puzzled, I looked around, grabbed a basket and started filling it. I made sure no one looked at me funny as I loaded up my basket with all of fantastic fresh food. Unless you count the vato with the gold tooth checking me out, no one seemed to care. Sadly, not a single customer seemed as excited was about this as I did.
I waited in the long line to pay, because as usual, there were only two people working. No one smelled that badly, and there were some interesting characters to watch while I passed the time. I made it out of the 99 and spent about $20 bucks, half of my normal grocery bill.
So I'm thinking, doing my regular grocery shopping at the 99 may not lead me down the right path to establishing some sort of normal life here. I mean, I certainly don't think I'll be running into potential dates at the 99. Plus, deep down, I heart Trader Joe's because of their music, friendly staff, and the possibility that Mr. Right and I might be reaching for the same container of Greek yogurt. I guess it's just good to know that the 99 will always be an option.
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