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.

I'd Actually Rather Get Zika

In the months leading up to our family's departure for Brazil, I can't count how many people expressed their concern about our safety and the fear of our potentially contracting Zika.  And in recent weeks, the world's top professional golfers have dropped out of the Rio Olympics in droves, citing fear of Zika virus as their reason.  Well, let me tell you what.  If I'm going to have to get a mosquito-borne illness while I'm here doing mission work in Brazil, give me Zika over the other options any day.

Since I'm a 44 year old married to a man who's ... *ahem* ... fixed, I'm not the least bit worried about contracting this virus since I'm not going to be getting pregnant any time soon.  The symptoms of Zika are not much worse than the influenza - achy joints, fever, headache - and the recovery time is relatively brief.  So if I get bitten by a mosquito carrying this virus, I'll just suck it up and convalesce.  And since the missionary I'm working with here, Cris Carpenter Gomes, is pregnant with her first baby and managing to not live her life clothed in mosquito netting from head to toe and floating in a cloud of Off!, I think I can deal.

Don't get me wrong. Cris takes reasonable precautions to keep her unborn baby safe.  But she's just not obsessing about it the way that Americans and the American media have been.  (If you're interested in reading about her and her perspective on being a pregnant American in a Zika hotbed, read here.)

My second choice if I have to contract a mosquito-borne illness would be dengue (pronounced /ding'-ee/) fever.  Symptoms of this disease include high fever, joint pain, severe headache, and mild bleeding.  The thing about dengue is that getting it once isn't worse than any other unpleasant illness but getting it a second time can be much more catastrophic.  A missionary friend of ours in Malaysia died of dengue last year, so it's a much bigger deal than Zika.  Incidentally, the same type of mosquito (Aedes aegypti) carries both dengue and Zika.

But still, I'd much rather get dengue once than the third disease these same mosquitoes carry - chikungunya.  Chikungunya (pronounced /shee-koon-goon-yuh/) has longer-lasting symptoms, though they are similar to the symptoms for Zika and dengue.  The difference is that the joint pain can last for months and be debilitating.  One of our readers here had chikungunya three months ago, and she is still walking with a severe limp.  Everyone here knows someone who's gotten it, and they all have horror stories to tell of the long-lasting nature of the symptoms.

That said, I don't spend much time at all worrying about getting sick in a foreign country.  I've been to six continents, and I've taken one or both of my children with me almost every time I've traveled.  We've received excellent  health care in Thailand (when Kinley was 16 months old and somehow cut her cornea) and in Italy (when Knox was 7 months old and had a severe respiratory infection).  I managed to get regular OBGYN checkups in Fiji when I was 8 months pregnant with Knox, and Kinley even went to the orthodontist a couple of times here in Brazil a few years back.  God has been faithful to send health care professionals and even interpreters to meet our needs all over the world.

As a precaution, we have little plug-in pots of mosquito repellent in our bedrooms here, and we brought plenty of bug spray containing at least 25% DEET.  Kelsey is much better about remembering to slather her kids in the spray than Josh and I are, but so far, our kids haven't been eaten alive.

So if you're worrying about our health and praying for us to remain disease-free, we are certainly grateful. Maybe your prayers are the reason we're healthy! And while you're at it, pray for the Brazilians who have contracted these diseases.  They don't have the option of returning to the relatively-disease-free confines of the US at the end of the summer like we do.

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?

Rocks/Stinks: London Edition

I'm a total Anglo-phile.  I love London.  I love the history and the heritage.  I love the accents.  I love the pomp and the Queen and especially the cute little way that Britain can't quite believe that they're not in charge of the whole world anymore.  If I could afford it, I'd spend every summer in London, popping in and out of our little Airbnb flat, riding double decker buses, practicing using words like whilst and fortnight and copse (Go ahead.  Look it up like I had to when someone used it to give me directions), stopping every afternoon for tea, and pretending that I TOTALLY live this way all the time.

And while there are some things that Britain rocks harder than Mick Jagger at a free summer concert in Hyde Park, there are some things that dear Mother England just hasn't quite mastered.  This, my friends, is my Rocks/Stinks list.  London style.

Rocks: Window Boxes

Seriously.  You could sling one of the Queen's beloved Corgis in any direction and hit at least one stunningly beautiful window box.  I mean, these things are EPIC.  Some explode in color as they cascade down off the sill.  Some are simple, relying on symmetry and shades of green and white to create a visual effect.  Whatever the colors and arrangements, they are stop-you-in-your-tracks-and-make-you-not-even-care-that-you-look-like-a-tourist-with-your-camera-out gorgeous.  Or at least that's what they did to me.

 

 

Stinks:  Bathtub Heights

You read that right.  Bathtub heights.  I don't know what it is about flats and hotels in London, but every single one I have encountered has a bathtub that is too high to climb into comfortably.  It's like the tubs are sitting on a platform or something!  And it's not just that the sides are too high.  The floor of the tub isn't flush with the floor of the bathroom; it's higher by several inches.  So you are stepping over the sides but then kind of up.  I don't get it!  

And I imagine that the number of bathroom falls in this city is staggering.  I mean, my legs aren't short; I'm an average height.  But climbing into the tub in London always brings flashbacks of my younger self on the farm, hauling myself over a fence and into a pasture, except without the planks to put your feet on and the soft grassy landing.  Instead it's just me shimmying in my birthday suit over a solid wall of porcelain that would be a more appropriate height for someone in the NBA and then landing on the bathroom equivalent of an ice rink.  

And getting out is just as bad!  There's a huge drop from the tub to the floor as you try to repeat the process in reverse, only this time you're in the buff and dripping wet.  Quite a mental picture, isn't it? 

You can't really tell in this picture how the floor of the tub is a different height than the floor of the  bathroom, so you'll just have to trust me on this one.  The smile on Knox's face clearly indicates that he hasn't yet tried to keep his balance while dripping wet and straddling a porcelain fence.

Rocks:  High Fat Dairy Products

People, let me tell you about the wonders of double cream. This. Stuff. Is. Awesome.  It is spreadable like whipped butter, but it tastes like a delicious, fluffy, rich whipped cream.  

(Momentary aside here: Cool-Whip is not whipped cream.  There is no place for non-dairy whipped topping in my life.  In fact, it shouldn't even be a food.  So if you're trying to think of double cream as some sort of British cousin to Cool-Whip, well, I can't even start to explain to you how un-Cool-Whip-ish double cream is.  In fact, if you think Cool-Whip is food, just skip this part.). 

Double cream is actually 48-60% milk fat as opposed to American heavy whipping cream which is only 36% milk fat.  I know.  It's an obscene amount of fat.  But it's so. Very. Yummy.  And then there's table cream (18%, so not actually a terribly high fat dairy product).  And clotted cream (55%).  There are all these delicious high fat dairy products in London that don't even exist here!  What is up with that?!

Stinks:  The Way the Spellings of Proper Nouns Don't Relate in ANY Way to Their Pronunciations

The Brits have this thing with dropping syllables.  Actually, it's not just syllables.  Sometimes it's entire strings of letters.  Let me show you.  I'm going to give you some names, and I want you to pronounce them.  Like, just go ahead and say them out loud.  Then below, I'll show you how they're really pronounced.  Here we go.  No cheating!

Leicester

Cheltenham

Chiswick

Worcestershire

St. John

Gloucester

Warwick

Cockfosters

And, of course, Thames.

Now, here's how you really pronounce them.

/Les'-ter/

/Chelt'-num/

/Woo'-ster-shur/

/Sin'-jun/

/Gloss'-ter/

/War'-ick/

/Cock'-fost-ers/  Yeah, I know.  This one is pronounced just like it looks.  I just think it's funny.

/Tims/

But, lest we Americans think we're above pronunciation reproach, remember Brett Favre.  Just sayin'.

Rocks:  Fish and Chips

I don't know how they do it, but the Brits manage to take what could be considered a children's menu item and elevate it to something other-worldly.  I love the crunchy coating enveloping the delicate whitefish.  I love the never-greasy fries (known as chips, of course).  I love the squeeze of lemon and the tartar sauce.  And I even love the mushy peas.  I know, I know.  You've probably never heard of that part, but I assure you it's a thing.  It's basically green peas smushed up with some lemon juice and salt.  Simple and delicious.  And they don't give you a heaping serving.  It's more like a little edible wasabi-sized garnish. 

It may be basic pub fare, but fish and chips is still a yummy choice.

Enjoying fish and chips with one of my former students, Michael, who was in London at the same time.

Stinks:  Washcloths

Hand towels are not reasonable substitutes.  They just aren't.  Trust me.  If you're going to London, bring your own washcloths.  Actually, if you're going pretty much anywhere outside the US, bring your own washcloths.  This seems like such a simple little piece of fabric, but, evidently, it's pretty much an American thing to need a six-inch-square piece of terry cloth to wash your face with.

Rocks:  Roundabouts, And A Whole Country Full of People Who Know How to Drive in Them.

'Nuff said.

Stinks:  Doorknobs on Exterior Doors

I'm actually not even sure why the British have doorknobs on outside doors.  They certainly don't perform the same function that I'm used to here in the US.  I mean, they're these giant knobby-shaped things located in the middle of the door that don't even turn!  They're strictly for pushing and pulling, I guess. What's up with that?  It's like they're put there for looks, just to see how many Americans will try to turn them.  Maybe there's a hidden camera set up near each one so that groups of British people in pubs can have a pint and watch a live feed of some Yankee grabbing a doorknob, trying to turn it first one way and then the other, then letting go and staring at it curiously while glancing up and down the street to see if anyone noticed, then trying it again just in case they didn't quite try hard enough the first time, only to give up and give the door a little frustrated kick before walking away in disgust. I can just see them there in the pub, laughing and shouting, "Look! She's bloody well gonna try to turn it again!"

If you look at the front door to our flat, just above the brass mail slot, you'll see the doorknob.  Trust me when I tell you that it doesn't turn.  And whoever heard of putting a knob in the middle of a door, anyway?

Rocks:  Tea

Well, duh.  Stopping every afternoon for a cup of tea with a little nibble of something sweet is a marvelous habit.  And, unless you're at the Orangerie at Kensington Palace or The Ritz or something, it's really surprisingly unpretentious.  I highly recommend it, no matter on which side of the Atlantic you happen to be. 

Completely, unabashedly pretentious tea at The Ritz.  (Notice that the picture isn't mine...because I've never had tea at The Ritz.)

Somewhat-pretentious tea with Amanda and Elizabeth at the Orangerie at Kensington Palace in 2011.

Completely unpretentious afternoon tea at Kew Gardens, near the home of King George III.

That's it!  And in case you didn't notice, there are more Rocks than Stinks.  And I didn't even mention some of my other things that rock like charity shops, cute little towns, and British brands like Ted Baker and Cath Kidston that probably merit posts all of their own.  But I'll get to that as soon as I finish my tea. 

Some Things Are Just Hard to Talk About in Any Language

After twelve hours of travel, the Boyds and Byerses arrived in Rio de Janiero.  And so did all of our luggage!

Our family's eleventh Let's Start Talking mission project is underway!  We have safely arrived in Natal, Brazil where we will spend the next six weeks offering free English conversation practice using the book of Luke from the Bible as our text.  We arrived Tuesday afternoon in time to do some grocery shopping and unpacking before meeting with our first readers Wednesday afternoon.  

Josh, Kinley, Knox, and I make up half of our eight-person team with Josh's sister, Kelsey, and her family making up the rest.  The four adults will have up to fifteen readers each, and we'll meet with each of them for one-on-one English conversation practice.  Kinley will have seven or eight readers of her, and she'll spend the rest of her time helping with childcare since Knox, Finn, and Landry will need some supervision while the adults are with readers.  

And for the first time this year, Knox will get to have readers!  When Kinley was nine years old, we went to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, on a Let's Start Talking mission project.  She had her first readers that year, and since Knox is now nine, he gets to begin sharing Jesus with others this year.

In Malasia in 2010, Kinley met with her very first readers.

Knox met with his first reader, Lucia, yesterday.

I'm so proud of Knox and Kinley for wanting to share Jesus's love with others, and I'm grateful to the very patient Malaysians and Brazilians who have been willing to let my children practice on them.  Studying English with an American can be intimidating, and it takes extra humility to be willing to learn from a nine-year-old!

I;m excited to start sharing my faith as well, and yesterday I met with three readers.  One of them had been my reader in 2014 while the other two were men I hadn't met before.  As Let's Start Talking workers, we come to each mission site ready to have deep conversations with people we've never met before.  We know that our new friends will only share their true feelings and thoughts with us if we're willing to be open and honest as well.  We are prepared to talk about specific ways that we have seen Christ at work in our lives, but we're also ready to acknowledge personal doubts and struggles.  I've prepared to myself to talk about difficult times in my life like my parents' divorce, my miscarriage, and my daddy's death to illustrate the ways God had cared for me even then.  I've even prepared myself to have to talk about the incredibly uncomfortable topic of American politics and the 2016 election.  But I still wan't prepared for the conversations I had with two of my readers yesterday.

My first session of the day was with a returning reader who had already completed the Luke book and is now studying in the book of John.  We read a lesson together which tells about the woman that was caught in the act of adultery and dragged before Jesus.  Her accusers reminded Jesus that the law said this woman was to be stoned to death for her sins, and then they asked Jesus what should be done.  They were intentionally trying to trick him, but Jesus was wiser than they expected.  He famously replied, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."  Since no one on the planet is sinless, all of the accusers left.  Jesus showed mercy to the woman and forgave her sins.

At the end of the lesson, I asked my reader to rethink this story with a present-day setting.  I asked him who would be dragged before Jesus today if the story were re-imagined.  I don't know what I expected him to say - a lying politician?  A greedy billionaire?  An unscrupulous policeman?  But I certainly didn't expect him to say the mass murderer responsible for the recent shooting at an Orlando nightclub.

Wow.  As you can imagine, I was a little stunned.  The horror in Orlando occurred just before we left the US.  I was in complete it's-time-to-pack-for-six-weeks-and-prepare-our-house-to-be-unoccupied-for-the-summer mode, and so I hadn't watched the news a single time in more than a week.  Beyond reading a few posts on Facebook, I knew precious few details.  I only knew the basics of the terrible crime, but that was enough to know that the shooter was not the person I'd imagine receiving forgiveness from Jesus without even asking for it.  So it took me a moment to process what my reader was implying.  My reader was suggesting that our precious Savior would show mercy to this monster.  Whoa.  That gave me food for thought.

And that wasn't the only time yesterday that I was asked about Orlando.  As soon as I sat down with my second reader of the day, even before the typical pleasantries, he said, "First let me ask you this.  I think many Christians and churches in the US don't like gay people.  How do you feel about what happened in Orlando?"

I sat there knowing that I needed to respond quickly but not sure how to express my true feelings in the basic English that my new friend was sure to understand.  My feelings are so complex!  They're a mix of disbelief and helplessness and grief and shock and confusion and discouragement and paralysis and worry and embarrassment and so many other feelings that to try to reduce them to the basic English that my reader could understand seemed impossible!  So, after a brief pause, I simply said, "Sad.  Really, really sad."

I don't know what he expected me to say, but evidently, I had passed his test.  We continued with our session and even found common ground in our love of Madonna.  (He squealed with delight at all of my pictures from her concert in January!  Who says the Material Girl can't be a pathway to the love and mercy of Jesus??!!)

All of my training, years of experience with Let's Start Talking, and preparedness didn't prepare me for talking about Orlando.  Thankfully, God gave me the words to say to respond to my readers in a way that seemed reasonable, if simplistic, to them.  

And, I guess I should just be happy that at least they didn't ask me about the election.