Fireworks on the Fourth of July.....in Brazil

Yesterday was the 238th anniversary of the birth of my country.  It was also the 12th time in our 18 years of marriage that Josh and I celebrated the Fourth of July outside of the United States.  

During my childhood, American Independence Day meant red-and-white-striped fireworks tents set up around my little Tennessee town offering a tempting array of booms, cracks, and sparkles.  It meant day-long picnics with my dad's side of the family, held for many years at a local state park and later at our family's mountain cabin.  It meant that for one glorious summer day, my dad would be with us all day instead of working from dawn until dusk at H&D Feed Mill, the feed and farm supply business he owned with his father and another partner.  

The first time Josh and I missed July 4th in the US was 1996.  We were in Okinawa, Japan, for our first Let's Start Talking mission project together.  We celebrated with our team after a long day of English classes by hauling boiled hot dogs, Asian potato chips, and tiny Japanese cans of Coca-Cola up a ladder for a picnic on the roof of the church.  From there we had a great view of the fireworks at the US Air Force base a few miles away.  That Fourth of July remains one of the most memorable of our marriage.

In the years that followed, we celebrated again in Japan and then in Thailand, Fiji, Malaysia, England, Brazil, and Italy.  Sometimes, I admit, the holiday slipped by us virtually unnoticed since, of course, in other countries it's just another day in July.  If we are working at a mission site, we don't take the day off.  Perhaps we'll say at some point during our work day, "Oh yeah!  It's the Fourth of July!" but that's about the extent of it.

It was Knox, however, who illustrated to me this year just how rarely we have had the traditional American celebration of our nation's birth.  Two days ago, on July 3, one of my Brazilian readers said to me, "Tomorrow is American Independence Day, right?  Happy Fourth of July!"  Knox was standing there and looked at me, puzzled.  

"What's the Fourth of July?" he asked.  He is seven.  We have only been in the US for The Fourth twice during his lifetime. One of those times, he was 10 months old; the other time he was 2.  I think I remember placing a sparkler in his chubby toddler hand while we celebrated in our front yard, but I doubt he remembers it.

This year we were Patriots in Pipa, a tiny beach village in northeastern Brazil. Except I wasn't wearing red, white, and blue.  I was decked out in yellow and green - the colors of the Brazilian National Futbol Team.  

        

             I'm wearing my Brazilian jersey just before the game.  Behind me, fans watch the pre-game commentary in a bar.

Yesterday Brazil played Colombia in the quarterfinals of the World Cup.  The game was played in Fortaleza, Brazil, just 300 miles north of where we were staying on our off day.  Brazil's government has declared a national holiday for every day that Brazil plays in the World Cup, so game days are one huge party here.  We wanted to get in on the fun!

One of the most exciting moments was when the Brazilian National Anthem was played before the game.  We were walking down the street, when all around us the people began singing.  Talk about patriotism!  Here is a link to the video we took of the scene.

After the anthem, we made our way to a fabulous Italian restaurant where we requested a table with a view of the TV.  The strangers around us became friends as we cheered and hooted for Brazil, even though our family's understanding of soccer is all but nil.  After each Brazilian goal and at the end of the game, Cherry Bombs and bottle rockets exploded in the streets.  Here is a short video we took after the game was over.  

So once again this year, Knox had a non-traditional American Independence Day.  But at least this year he heard some fireworks!

My Traveling Shoes Are High Heels

                                 

                                Me, dressed for travel to South America, in my preferred

                                                 travel attire of maxi dress and heels

I watched her as she walked down the wide concourse with determined confidence.  Her perfectly highlighted blonde hair was pulled into an immaculate French twist.  Her white linen pants and jacket showed no signs of wrinkling, and her purse dangled from her arm as if it had been commanded to swing just so as she stepped.  Her makeup was flawless but understated, her jewelry simple and refined.  Her high heeled shoes clicked in rhythm as she strode past me to her gate and the plane that waited to whisk her to places unknown.  It was clear that she traveled frequently, and she posessed an elegance that has since become my ideal, the I-know-exactly-where-I'm-headed-and-I'm-dressing-like-Grace-Kelly-to-get-there attitude to which I aspire.

As she walked by me, I'm sure I gawked open-mouthed.  I was wearing the staple outfit of my early 20s, leggings and an oversized button-up shirt with Keds.  In comparison to the stanger in white linen, I looked exactly like the backwoods Tennessee girl I was.  I was 21 and sitting in the Nashville airport, about to embark on a month-long journey with my mom and sister to Zambia, Africa.  I had traveled overseas before, but I had never given a thought to the image I projected through the clothes I chose to wear when traveling abroad.

But SHE changed all of that in an instant.

Flash forward 21 years, and here I am, still placing that stranger in white on a pedestal as the ultimate in traveling chic.  And while my traveling shoes may be high heels as hers were, even I don't have the confidence to fly in white linen!

You may think that a girl who's starting a travel blog ought to be very practical when it comes to her travel wardrobe.   She ought to pack lots of black (for easy mixing and matching and for hiding stains) and wear sensible shoes (for running through airports and treading European cobblestone).  

But I'm not that kind of girl.  SHE changed that.  Granted, I leave my Manolo Blahniks at home in favor of Aerosole heels, but I still try to channel that stranger when I fly.  

My trusty Areosoles and the travel journal that my sister, Gennifer, gave me (from Anthropologie!)

And my vanity and Grace-Kelly-aspirations are not the only reasons that I have upgraded my travel outfit from leggings to long, flowy skirts. I actually have real, practical reasons as well.

First, I find that airport and airline personnel tend to treat people dressed sharply differently than they treat people who are dressed down.  If my flight is delayed or canceled or if I'm trying to score an upgrade to first class or if I really, really need the whole can of Coke instead of just the one serving that everyone else is being given during drink service, then I want to look like the kind of traveler who should be given special privileges.  

And second, once I'm ensconced in my seat on the plane, I can take off my shoes and put my feet in my seat with my skirt pulled over them like a huge blanket!  Decidedly NOT ladylike (and certainly not the way SHE would have traveled), but comfy!

So I invite you to join me on my journeys.  Through this blog I hope to share with you my views on travel and the world.  I hope to show you new places and perspectives.  I hope to give you some tips that you may be able to use when you travel.  And I hope to introduce you to the magical sometimes frustrating aspects of seeing the world.  All while working really hard not to break my ankles in those heels.