Six Reasons to Love Brazilian Beach Life

As I mentioned in my Rock/Stinks: Brazil Edition post, the beaches here are one of my favorite things about this beautiful South American country.  Since we're here doing mission work, we don't actually get to spend that many days at the beach.  Our days begin at 9:00 am with our team devotional time, and we have one-on-one sessions practicing English conversation skills with local people until 8:00 at night.  So when we do have days off, we make the most of them by enjoying some beach time.

The town where we're staying is called Natal, which means Christmas in Portuguese.  It's named this because it was founded by the Portuguese on Decemeber 25, 1599, and it is a popular tourist destination for southern Brazilians during their winter (which is, of course, North American summer).

And while it may seem like a beach in Brazil is not that different from a beach anywhere else, there are some things here that are particularly enjoyable to me.  You will, no doubt, notice that several of these things involve eating.  But I'm not ashamed. I'm also not the type of girl who skips a meal, so beach food suits me just fine.  In fact, about the only thing that can make me tear myself away from whatever book I happen to be reading at the time is the sight of a Brazilian beach food cart being lazily pushed along in the sand in front of my umbrella-shaded lounge chair. And I'm not above being that crazy American lady chasing the crepe cart down the beach, waving her arms madly and shouting in a bizarre combination of English and Portuguese.  You'd chase it, too, if you tasted one.  I promise.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Reason number one is beach cheese.  Yep, you read that right.  Beach cheese.  I don't actually know what they do to this stuff, but whatever it is, it's delicious.  It's like little skewers of yumminess.  The char-grilled cheese gets warm and kind of crusty on the outside, but somehow it doesn't melt.  It reminds me a little of that Greek cheese you can flambe, but it's not quite the same.

Grilled cheese cubes, straight from the grill cart, is a treat!

                                                                                       The char-grilling creates a delicious crust on the cheese.

Skewered, grilled cheese (left) is an even bigger treat when accompanied by grilled garlic bread!

Reason number two to love Brazilian beaches is what we affectionately call Beach Crack.  I think the actual name is Bala do Coco, but it's so addictive that we call it Beach Crack.  Ladies who make it walk along the beach selling little bags of the candies which taste kind of like a non-sticky coconut divinity. Or if you're familiar with Kentucky pulled cream candy, it tastes like that but coconutty.  (I just made that word up.)  You can also buy it in chocolate-coconut flavor, but the plain coconut is the best, IMHO.  You can buy three little baggies on the beach for R$ 10 (which is about $3), so we stock up.  And in case I ever decide to try to make it at home, I got a reader of mine to translate a recipe from Portuguese.  It's included at the bottom of this post.  (Thanks to my friend Sarah Cavalcanti Josua for translating it from Portuguese!)

Bite-sized pieces of bala do coco

A lady selling bala do coco on the beach

Reason number three is the crepe cart. People, Nutella+bananas+fresh crepes made right in front of you on the beach = Heaven.  How is this not a thing in the US?  Because it totally should be.

 

Reason number four is fresh grilled fish right on the beach.  Like, without moving from your lounge chair.  It's so delicious.  (Can you see a theme here?  I guess all I really do on Brazilian beaches is eat.)  On beaches here, you can use lounge chairs and umbrellas for free as long as you order food and drinks from the owner, so we pick a spot to plant ourselves on the beach based on the menu.  My favorite fish to order is called dorado.  I'm told that this translates to mahi-mahi, but it doesn't taste like it to me.  It's much steakier.  (I'm just making up all kinds of words today.)  Anyway, it's a great way to take a break from all that lounging and reading and bala do coco eating.

 

Reason number five is the availability of relatively cheap one-on-one surf lessons.  You can certainly take surf lessons in the US, but a 2-hour private lesson in Hawaii will set you back about $150.  Compare that to about $35 for an hour-long one-on-one lesson here, and you've found yourself a bargain.  Kinley took a lesson when we were here in 2014, and she took two lessons this year.  The instructors don't speak much English, but they're still able to get the basics across.  The lesson starts on the sand to help the student learn how to balance, and then it's time to try out your new skills in the water.  Kinley was able to catch some waves all three times she took lessons, but doing it on her own after the lesson was a different story.  During the lesson, the instructor would paddle her out past the breakers so that she could surf back in.  But when you're on your own and paddling for yourself, you expend so much energy getting yourself out beyond the breakers that you don't have any energy left to surf back in.  It's a service that's worth every penny.  Knox preferred to spend his time boogie boarding both years which was also a cheap way to enjoy the waves.

Pictures from 2014

         

Pictures from 2016

      

Reason number six is the lack of body self-consciousness or body shaming.  Some Americans may find this plethora of unabashedly-exposed bums and boobs off-putting, but in Brazil, the people I observed on the beach weren't afraid to wear whatever bathing suit they liked.  No matter the size or age of the person, the bikini was teeny.  Just being around people who were so comfortable in their own skin was liberating enough that I even considered buying a bikini for myself.  And let me tell, you, if you're in the market for a new swimsuit, there's no better selection than in Brazil.  These people are serious about swimsuit options.

                   

 Consider this beauty that I saw in Rio.  Where but Brazil would you find an emerald-encrusted swimsuit?  But my favorite swimsuit shop in Brazil is much more affordable, if only slightly more practical.  It's called Agua de Coco, and I'm obsessed.  I didn't buy a bikini, but I did treat myself to a dress and a one-piece swimsuit.  Unfortunately, I can't seem to shake my own American self-consciousness about my 45-year-old tummy and thighs long enough to shell out the cash for a Brazilian two-piece.  

But that's ok.  I'll just keep sitting under an umbrella with a book and a skewer of grilled cheese, enjoying the view while waiting for the next crepe cart to stroll by.  And I'm good with that.

Recipe for Bala do Coco (aka Beach Crack)

200 mL coconut milk

200 mL water

1 kilo sugar  (Yes, really. 2.2 pounds of sugar.)

Use an aluminum pan, and also prepare a marble slab for later.  It should be cold and could be covered with waxed paper.  Combine the ingredients in the pot off the stove.  Mix thoroughly.  Scrape the sides of the pot well.  Put it on the heat and don't mix it.  It will grow and then reduce in size.  When it bubbles, turn down the heat.  It will turn yellow.  Test it with a spoon.  Put a bit in a cup with water, and swirl the cup.  It should string.  Try to break it like glass. If not, it's not ready.  Butter the marble.  Pour the mixture onto the marble.  It should harden.  When it is able to be handled, you need to pull it until it's white.  Then you can cut it into pieces.  It should soften after you cover it in a container.  Good 5 days on the counter, 1 month in the refrigerator, or 1 year in the freezer.

Rocks/Stinks: Brazil Edition

Let me just start by saying that I have a relatively limited perspective on Brazil.  While I've been to Rio for a few days, I've spent most of my time in Brazil in the Northeastern town of Natal.  And Brazilians will tell you that the Northeast part of Brazil is a culture all its own, much like the American South has a completely different feel than, say, Minnesota.

I don't presume to know everything there is to know about even the Northeast of Brazil, much less the whole country, but that doesn't stop me from having strong opinions about what I like and don't like here.  So here's my Rocks/Stinks list for Brazil.

Rocks:  Passionfruit, Lots and Lots of Passionfruit

Oh my goodness.  I love this stuff so much.  And Brazilians share my love of this completely-underappreciated-in-America fruit.  I first ate it fresh in Thailand where the fruits are smaller and darker on the outside.  Here the fruits are bigger, more of a yellow color, and much more tart.  You have to add a lot of sugar to the pulp, but Brazilians use passionfruit (or maracuja in Portuguese - one of the few words I know!) for juices, ice cream, puddings, and lots of other desserts.

Boxed passionfruit jiuce is a staple in our apartment here.

This fabulous coconut cake with tapioca ice cream had a passionfruit pulp garnish.

Kinley learned to make this passionfruit mousse here.

The bottom flavor is passionfruit.

We enjoyed some passionfruit pudding at a buffet last week.     The one passionfruit item I couldn't bring myself to try was                                                                                              passionfruit-flavored soy milk.  Ew.

American foodie friends, this needs to be our next big food trend.  I've found ONE Mexican grocery store in Indianapolis that sells the frozen pulp, but that's it.  Let's start a movement!

Stinks:  Late-night Cherry Bombs During the Month of June (And the Lack of Enforcement of City Ordinances)

Natal celebrates several saints during the month of June, including Peter and Antonio.  But none gets more attention than John the Baptist.  And, apparently, from the way they choose to celebrate, Saint John the Baptist really likes cherry bombs.  And he likes it best when you set them off at about 11 pm.  Every night.  I've read several posts from Facebook friends recently about how their neighbors are incessantly setting off fireworks in the days leading up to Independence Day, but to them I say, "I'll see your Founding Fathers fest and raise you one Brazilian John the Baptist celebration."  Seriously.  Without windows, closed doors, and insulation in the walls to block out the sound, it sounds as if someone is setting them off on our front porch.  Every night.

Rocks:  Havaianas

I don't think Brazil invented the flip-flop (after all, Havaiana is just Portuguese for Hawaiian so maybe Hawaii invented them), but they have certainly perfected it in the creation of the Havaiana. Lest you think these are just ordinary, Old-Navy-variety flip-flops, let me explain.  These are thicker, spongier, bouncier, and more comfortable than any other flip-flop in the history of ever.  And the choices!  I know you can buy Havaianas at Nordstrom and other places in the US, but the selection here is beyond compare and so are the prices.  A pair that would cost me $30 at Nordy's costs me about $10 here.  And you can find them everywhere.  Even the grocery store.  (Which is one reason we'll probably come home with another suitcase full this year.)

The variety of styles is staggering.

Shopping for Havaianas at the grocery store is oh so convenient!

Josh really likes this mens' line.

Pretty much every mall has its own Havaianas store, aka Flip-flop Heaven.

Stinks: Remembering to Be Vigilant About Security

American friends, we live in a relatively safe place.  In my 44 years of American life, I have never lived in a home with bars on the windows or electric fencing that wasn't for keeping the cattle in the pasture.  But here, everyone has security measures like these and is stunned that we don't have them. When they see pictures of my house, they are surprised at the lack of fencing, and they can't believe we don't have a security system.  One reader even once told me that she thought she would be scared to stay at my house because it didn't look safe enough.  I decided not to tell her that growing up we didn't ever lock our house - even when we went on vacation - or that my dad always left his car unlocked with the keys inside no matter where he was parked. I was afraid she'd think I was completely insane.

Since I am generally not that worried about security even when I'm traveling, it's hard for me to remember that security here is perceived as a serious issue.  I have to remind myself to keep the front doors of the church locked, even when people are coming and going frequently. In order for us to leave the church building, we have to unlock and relock one door lock and three padlocks in addition to setting the alarm.  The church has bars on the windows, a sliding iron gate, razor wire, electric fencing on top of iron fencing with spikes at the top, and shards of rusty metal sticking up out of the tops of the concrete fence to discourage would-be intruders.  We never leave the church on foot without a buddy, and we don't walk around our neighborhood at all after dark.

The razor wire, security sensors, and rusty metal shards
 look more like prison security than a church perimeter.

More than once the missionary has had to sit us all down for a come-to-Jesus because we've forgotten to lock the front door while stepped out of the room to meet with a reader, and we are constantly asked by our readers if we're scared to live here.  But the fact is, I'm not.  I am accustomed to feeling safe, and so I just do.  I've even tried to talk myself into feeling scared, just to give myself a healthy sense of reality, but it doesn't really help.  I'm sure that a huge reason for this is that I haven't yet experienced a reason to be worried.  And I'm sure that a large part of that is the way that the church here doesn't leave safety to chance.  But it's still really hard for me to believe it when my readers get nervous about our kids being outside in broad daylight behind a fence with spikes and electric fencing.


Rocks:  Fresh Juices From Fruits You've Probably Never Heard Of

Acerola.  Caja.  Cajuina.  These are all names of fruits grown in Brazil, and I can be relatively sure you've never heard of them since these fruits don't even have an English name.  And, boy, do Brazilians love their fresh juices.  They drink more fresh juices and juices from frozen pulp than any other culture I've ever experienced.   For Americans. juices are primarily breakfast drinks or Happy Meal additions, but Brazilians - adults and kids alike - drink them with every meal.  Of the three I mentioned, acerola is my fave followed by caja.  I'm not a fan of cajuina which is made from the fruit that a cashew nut comes from.  (Bet you didn't know that cashew nuts grew out of the bottom of a fruit either, did you?)

Josh's reader, Ulisses, brought us fresh acerola.

We washed the fruit before removing the seeds - a difficult process since every piece of fruit has three seeds.

Marisa helped us turn the pulp into juice.

Copious amounts of sugar make for delicious acerola juice!

Stinks:  The Frustration of the People About the Government

All of the Brazilians I talk to are fed up with the government.  They are frustrated with the spending on the Olympics, they are angry at their impeached President and her supporters, and they are dismayed at the current financial crisis here.  While America certainly isn't exempt from citizens disgruntled by governmental decision-making, the people here seem to feel more helpless.  They frequently express their frustration that corruption is everywhere, in every level of government, and I really feel for them.  In my country, I still cling to the ideal that every citizen has a voice.  Here, most people have let go of that vision.  And that makes me sad.

Rocks:  Hammocks

This country loves hammocks, and they have just about convinced me that we need to adopt this part of Brazilian culture in the US.  Whereas hammocks are a summertime/beach/lake kind of thing for Americans, they are a way of life for Brazilians.  I mean, the hooks to hold them up are built into the interior walls of pretty much every room in a standard Brazilian home!

Hooks like this one are in everywhere in Brazilian homes so that hammocks can be easily hung.

Landry naps in a hammock at a restaurant.

                                          Finn and Knox like to hang out in the hammock in our apartment.

Stinks:  12 Hour Days

This one really stinks, but, to be fair, it's not just Brazil that has this problem.  Any equatorial country is going to have basically 12 hour days and 12 hours nights all year long.  The sun pretty much rises at 5 am and sets at 5 pm every single day.  The problem with this is that I usually travel to equatorial places in the summer.  And, at home in Indiana in the summertime, I would usually get a good 15 hours of daylight each day during the summer.  The kids would play outside well past 9:00 pm, and Josh and I would sit on the porch enjoying the evening twilight.  But here, once the suns sets (well before 6:00 pm), all I want to do is go to bed.  The darkness makes me tired, much as it does during the winter in Indiana.  And somehow on top of that I feel like I'm being robbed of my summer hours. *sigh*

Rocks:  The Beaches

While we're doing mission work, we get three off days for every nine work days.  We work hard on those nine days, so we really enjoy the beaches here on our off days.  These beaches actually rock so hard that they're going to get their very own post later, but I'll give you a few preview pictures.   Below are pictures of Kinley and Knox at Love Beach and Josh and Kinley at Elbow Beach.

Stinks:  Flimsy Paper Products

I don't what the deal is with companies who make paper products here, but they are universally inadequate.  Napkins are completely non-absorbent, paper towels fall apart at the first drop of liquid, disposable cups hold about three sips and collapse if you grip them with more than two fingers, and tissues don't even hold up to dabbing at watery eyes, not to mention full-on, kid-with-allergies snot. If you look back at the picture of the cup of acerola above, you'll notice that I doubled up on the cups before I poured it.  This helps a bit, but there's nothing you can do to fix a country full of napkins that are only good for wrapping around ice cream cones.

Rocks:  The Southern Cross

Again, this one isn't just a Brazil thing; it's a Southern Hemisphere thing.  But it's super cool to get to see this constellation in the night sky here.  The Southern Cross is only visible south of the equator, and Australia and New Zealand both think it's awe-inspiring enough that they put it on their flags.  Josh is completely obsessed with it and looks for it pretty much every night from our little balcony.  I'm not that enamored of it, but I do like to see stars that I can't see when I'm in the US.  If you'd like to learn more about constellations that you can't see from the Northern Hemisphere, click here.

The Jury Is Still Out:  Mandatory Voting

So here's one where I can't decide what I think.  Does it rock or stink that every single citizen in this country is required by law to cast a vote in an election?  I'm not sure.  On one hand, this eliminates the marginalization of those who typically wouldn't vote because of socio-economic status or racial inequality.  But on the other hand, even those who know nothing about the candidates other than their names are forced to cast an uneducated vote.  And on top of that, bribing people for their votes is a real and rampant part of the process.  Of course, low voter turnout is never an issue here, and even local elections result in every citizen's voice being heard, whether they really have anything to say or not.

Is this a good thing or a terrible thing?  Is it better to have a choice whether or not to participate in the election of our governing individuals or to be sure that everyone has a say in choosing them?  I just can't decide.  But, ultimately, I guess I don't really have to.  I can just appreciate that there are different ways to do things than the ways that my country does them.  And, really, that's one of the best things that travel teaches you, isn't it?

They Do Things Differently Here #4: Laundry

I don't do laundry.  Let me just put that out there up front.  Until Josh left for London in mid-May, I hadn't done a load of laundry in years.  

My husband accuses me of what he calls strategic incompetence.  Can you believe that?  The very idea that I would knowingly and willfully machine wash the hand-wash-only items or forget to treat a stain or (God forbid) wash my hi-tech-fabric LuluLemon workout pants with cotton socks thus causing said LuluLemon pants to pill just so that my dear husband would grow tired of my laundry laziness and insist on doing it himself is insulting.  (As insulting as it is effective.)

That said, I do have to deal with the difficulty of doing laundry in foreign countries.  Not, I admit, the actual doing of it.  But more the waiting for it to get done by Josh.  Don't judge. 

This may shock you, but most of the rest of the world does not use clothes dryers.  They may have washing machines, and in some cases they may even own a dryer.  But in my experience, dryers are far too energy inefficient and, therefore, too expensive to actually use.  And I'm not just talking about developing countries like Thailand, Brazil, Zambia, or Malaysia.  I'm talking about countries like Italy, the UK, and Japan.  The rest of the world hangs their laundry to dry, whether outside on a clothesline, on a balcony, or in the living room on a drying rack.

Now before you post a bevy of comments about how you lived in wherever and had a perfectly effective dryer, thank you very much, let me say that this is my experience and the experiences of others I've talked to.  I'm sure there are exceptions.  For example, missionaries to Thailand, Loren and Penny Hollingsworth did have a clothes dryer - which Penny received as a gift after 26 years of living in Thailand and raising five children without one.  Additionally, some American Department of Defense teachers in Okinawa who let us live in their off-base apartment one summer had a dryer that had been shipped in from the US.  And we did have a tiny little all-in-one machine in London that took three hours to wash and dry one pair of jeans and eight socks.

         Knox gives you some perspective on the size of our washer/dryer combo thingy.

                                 Don't be fooled by the Super Quick button.

But generally, in my experience, only Americans use a dryer for laundry on a regular basis.

And Brazil is no exception.  We did have a very nice full-sized washer in our kitchen, but everything had to be hung to dry on the balcony of our third floor apartment at the church.  Now remember, I don't do laundry, but my husband and father-in-law are champion launderers.  This happened to be a really good thing since the clothes line was hung so high on the porch that I couldn't reach it without standing on a chair perilously close to the balcony railing as you can see below!

Let me just say that it takes a very special father-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship to be comfortable letting your husband's dad hang up, take down, and fold your dirty skivvies.  Thus, the lengths to which I'll go to avoid laundry.  Especially when traveling.  So take a moment this week to appreciate your clothes dryer!  (And I'll take a moment to appreciate my husband and father-in-law.)

How to Keep Americans From Overeating at Buffets

My dad loved a buffet.  There is a restaurant called The Oak near my hometown which serves a Sunday lunch buffet that my dad loved to frequent.  And while he loved to make fun of the people he saw gorging themselves at Golden Corral, you could often find him in line there, too.

But Brazil has figured out how to offer a buffet that discourages patrons from gluttonous indulgence. You have to pay by weight.  It's similar to the salad bars at Whole Foods, but the entire restaurant is based on this concept.

We recently went to one of these places in Natal, Brazil, called Mangai - pronounced Mon-guy.

When you enter the restaurant, an employee greets you at the door and hands each person in your group a blue card.  You find a table and sit down.  Then another employee comes over to take your drink orders.

(Actually, it wasn't quite that fast.  We had to wait for ten minutes for someone to come over and acknowledge us after we'd sat down.  I'm not sure why it took so long, but here's what I imagine must have happened.  The employee assigned to our table overhears our group speaking English while we are deciding where to sit.  This guy doesn't have enough confidence in his English skills to serve us, so he runs to the back to tell his colleagues about the gringos who just waltzed in the front door.  A brief argument about whose turn it is to deal with non-Portuguese speakers ensues, followed by drawing straws since even the guy with the best English doesn't want to try to decode our American attempts at ordering in Portuguese .  Once the lots are cast, the poor guy who drew the short straw shyly approaches us.  Well, at least that's what I imagine happened in the ten minutes it took for someone to come over to us.  But I digress.)

As we order our drinks, the short-straw-drawing server enters them into a hand-held device and then uses the device to swipe a white card.  He keeps my blue card and hands me the white one with our drink charges loaded on it.  (Knox is holding that one in the picture above.)

Then it's off to the buffet.  Everyone takes their card (blue for everyone but me) with them, grabs a plate, and starts looking at the options. Of course, since it's Brazil, the options are far different from Golden Corral. There tends to be far more seafood than on American buffets, and there are side dish options that we don't have as well.  Starches such as manioc and cassava sit beside the ubiquitous rice and beans.

Another difference here is that you find yourself being much more choosy since you know you have to pay for it all by the kilogram.  Rather than taking a full piece of Chicken in Mystery Sauce, you use the serving spoon to cut off just a small piece.  You think, "Do I really need French fries?" or "Do I really want to pay for the weight of cantaloupe (no) or fresh Brazilian pineapple (always, always yes)?"  Or, in the case of the picture below of "Goat Guts, Liver, and Blood," you decide to just pass altogether.  I'm so glad there were English descriptions below the Portuguese ones!

Once you've made your selections, you take your plate over to the guy beside the scales.  They have an empty plate just like the ones used at the beginning of the buffet.  They weight the empty plate (largely, I think, to show you that you're not being cheated), and then calibrate the scale based on that measurement.  Then they weigh your plate with the food on it.  Once the computer has calculated the charge, you hand over your card to be swiped.

This is not the payment step; the card simply records and holds the amount that you owe so that you can swipe it again later for seconds or dessert.

This guy clearly thinks I'm a nut case for taking pictures of the process.  You can see that my plate full of food was nearly half a kilo.

After your group has finished eating and no one wants to go back for more, you collect the cards from the group and go to the cashier in a separate room.  The cashier swipes all of the cards and totals up the charges.  When you have paid, each person in your group is given yet another card.  This one is to prove that you paid.  As you exit the restaurant, you give your new card to the doorman so that he knows you've visited the cashier and aren't trying to skip out without forking over your Reals (Brazilian currency, pronounced hay-eyes).

While the concept of paying for food by weight certainly helped me to be more mindful of what I took, this still isn't the type of place we could afford to eat often on our mission budget.  It did make for a nice treat a few times during our project, though, and our readers must feel the same way since we almost always saw someone we knew having lunch there.  

But what would it be like to start one of these places in the US?  Can you imagine the fit your average American buffet customer would throw about paying by weight?  I'm not talking about Whole Foods type people.  I mean Golden Corral people.  The ones whose kids put their fingers in the chocolate fountain.  They would not be fans, I think.

But for those of you who need a little economic incentive to tame your inner buffet beast, this may be the way to go!

They Do Things Differently Here #3: Accommodations for the Blind

Okay, I'm all about helping out people who are disabled.  I don't begrudge the handicapped parking spots - even at Wal-Mart where you have to park a mile from that jug of milk you need - and I'm proud to have a friend who helps kids who need alternative methods of communication.

So when I saw that Brazil had installed nifty little bumpy tile things on sidewalks and on the floors of public places like airports to help the blind, I was impressed!  Here was a country that was moving beyond the Americans with Disabilities Act to really help people gain independence!

Some bumps are round dots.  These seem to indicate that the person should stop or at least prepare for some sort of change.  They often appear at curbs, information counters, and at escalators. But some bumps are more like dashes or elongated ovals.  These seem to indicate a walkway, path, or direction. What a great idea, right?

Bumpy lines leading up to the information desk at he Natal, Brazil airport

But further investigation revealed that, while the idea is a good one, in most cases, the execution us just plain mean.

First, I noticed that on some sidewalks, the bumps just end abruptly and randomly.  What happens to those poor vision-impaired citizens who were following these bumps?  Do they stand frozen, wondering where the sidewalk has gone?  Do they feel around tentatively with their feet, hoping the dots will reappear a few steps away?

Kinley, Lanita, and Josh walk between the bumps on the sidewalk.

And sometimes, the bumps give conflicting messages. 

Is the vision-impaired person supposed to walk or stop?  Or maybe you walk on the left side but stop on the right side?  Or maybe the sidewalk-installer-guys were trying to be cute?  Who knows?

Then, in the airport in Rio, I noticed these color-coded bumpy indicators.

  

You may not be able to see this in the image above, but the red dots are in front of a fire extinguisher and the blue dots are in front of a bank of pay phones.  I mean, seriously?  The people using these bumps are blind! How are someone's feet going to feel the difference between the red FIRE EXTINGUISHER bumps and the blue PAY PHONE bumps??!!

  

I can just imagine the scene.  A fire breaks out at gate 12.  Someone yells, "Fire!" (Or the Portuguese equivalent, of course.). Then, do the airport planners really think that the BLIND guy is gonna be the one to say, "Don't worry!  I'll get the fire extinguisher!  I can follow the little dots!"?  Do they really expect him to follow the little oval bumps to the RED round bumps indicating the fire extinguisher and not to the BLUE round bumps indicating the pay phones which are located right next to the red ones??!!  What are the chances that they guy would pick up the fire extinguisher and not the phone?  

Or perhaps that's the point.  Maybe the airport planners decided that in either case, the blind guy could save the day.  Either his little feet will guide him to the fire extinguisher (after which he'd follow the little bumps back to gate 12 and heroically aim said fire extinguisher in the exact location of the fire) or he'd accidentally pick up the phone, realize his mistake, and dial the appropriate authorities to report the incident.  Either way, it's a win, I guess.

And then, at Iguazu Falls National Park in Argentina, I saw what was possibly the meanest blind accommodation ever.  The park had helpfully mounted maps of the park onto tables at the visitors' center. They were 3D, and each one was quite large - perhaps 3 feet by 5 feet.  Each map had a map key, explanations of points of interest, and labels written in English, Spanish, and Braille.  There was only one problem.  The maps were mounted - wait for it - under glass!  Yes.  That's what I said.  The little Braille bumps were completely inaccessible to the fingers of the blind visitors because they were covered in protective glass.

Here you can see the Braille map key and part of the 3D map.  You can also see the reflection of the protective glass that prevents the blind from actually using the map.  Note the hand resting on the glass, a good 3 inches above the Braille.

Detail of the Braille labels, still under glass

Again, I can picture the scene.  A blind visitor comes to the Argentinian side of Iguazu Falls.  She heads over to the visitors' center (with much difficulty, since Argentina hasn't yet installed those awesome little bumpy sidewalk tile thingys), and finds a glass-topped table.  Somehow, she senses that this large, smooth rectangle must be a Braille relief map of the park!  Lucky for her, she has remembered to bring along a friend who is happy to act as a sort of Braille dot-reader/translator in just such a time as this!

"Let's see now, " the translator begins helpfully, "It looks like we've got two vertical dots followed by six sort of stair-stepped dots followed by kind of a backwards L of dots followed by what looks like a Lego creation my 7-year-old made of dots followed by some dots that look like the constellation of Taurus the Bull.  I think that means 'You are here.'" 

It's mean.  Just mean.  And, of course, I acknowledge that America still has a lot of room for growth when it comes to providing equal access for those with special needs, but hopefully, our city planners aren't quite so *ahem* blind to those needs.