Magic card / 魔法のカード

 As I wrote in my profile page, we were posted in Tehran, Iran, for 4 years before living in Washington D.C.. In Iran, foreigners did not have the right to open a bank account. In addition, because of economic sanctions imposed on this "rogue state", international money transfer was impossible. So every time we went back to Switzerland, we had to bring cash and change it into Rials in Tehran. When I was running errands in a bazar or a supermarket, I had thick wad of banknotes. The funny thing is when I had to pay a big amount of money, for instance kids' school tuition fee, it was like I was about to pay a ransom: cash in a big bag!
  
Here in the USA, you never have money with you, I mean cash. You always have this magic card called credit card. You use it everywhere: grocery shopping, online shopping, parking fee, and even just for a cup of coffee... Everything (almost) can be bought by this magic card! How convenient is life in the USA!
  
Yesterday, I got a call from my husband. He asked me if I had just tried to spend $1,000 at Macy's. No, I stayed home all day long. Apparently the bank had called and told him: "We identified an unusual transaction pattern on your credit card"...

Our hacked credit card was cancelled immediately. Great, our bank is able to block such a suspicious transaction to prevent an abuse.

 However, I was perplex. Nope, I never go to Macy's. Nope, I never (or it is extremely rare) spend $1,000 a day. But how do they know that? Through my credit card use, they know precisely what I buy, how I live and where I spend money every day! That's how they know that spending $1,000 at Macy's is unusual... Oh, they know my life style. THEY KNOW ME!!

The most frustrating part is, if one day I would like to get something expensive, not a purse that my husband never knows the price, but let's say a surprise gift for him!, My bank will give him a call to tell him that there is an "abnormal pattern of credit card use". 

Suddenly, my magic card seems less magic to me.  

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Hello Kitty

Driving in sleepy Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, my nine-year-old son turned to me today and said, "To me, the words 'black' and 'poor' mean 'friendly'."   I had just finished rolling back up my son's window after leaving the last stoplight.  I had rolled it down to tell the lady in the passenger seat of the car to my right that my daughter loved her Hello Kitties, yelling it over my son's shoulder.

She was a skinny black woman with a long cigarette dangling from her slender hands.  The driver of the car was a very large black man with corn rows, tightly woven braids in his hair that look like corn rows in a cornfield.   We had passed them earlier in their beaten down Oldsmobile Cutlass from the 80s.   The windows looked broken out and the sides and bumpers were all beaten up. He looked rough and intimidating.  She looked like she might be on drugs.   I wouldn't have dreamed of talking to them at the upcoming stoplight.

But then upon looking closer at the interior of their car, I noticed Hello Kitty cats everywhere.  It was like they must've taken an old Hello Kitty pink bed sheet and cut it into pieces-one piece to cover the dashboard, another to cover the interior walls, another to cover the headrests.  They were covered with plastic, probably sealed down with packing tape to protect them from getting dirty.  Even the hood of their trunk had a big Hello Kitty sticker fading from the sun and rain.

The boys started staring.  My daughter started staring.  I started telling them to stop staring.  When we arrived at the stoplight, side by side, I nudged my son again to stop staring.   I noticed then that the woman was looking at us laughing.  My daughter had been caught and was now hiding her head behind her stuffed animal.   And then, so naturally, my window lowered.  "My daughter loves your Hello Kitties".

I'm on vacation at my grandmother's house in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida.  It's on the less touristy side of Florida, what they call the panhandle.  It's more deep south here, just under Alabama.  We drove here from Maryland, cutting through Tennessee and then straight down Alabama.  The further south we drove, the deeper I could breathe, the freerer I felt.   The roads smaller, the small towns run down, old junk gathering around deserted barns.  Porch swings and ladies in nightgowns.  Barefoot shirtless men at gas stations, walking across steaming concrete.

There's a mile long fitness trail at the park across the street from my grandmother's house.  I walked it the other morning, pushing my daughter along in a stroller.  Every single person I passed looked me in the eyes and said good morning.  Every one of them.  At least fifteen.  And when we passed each other the second time around, we looked each other in the eyes again with a friendly nod.  I don't think 15 strangers have said good morning to me in my entire eight months in Bethesda.

Here's what I love most about the deep south.  Here, no matter what you look like, no matter what you've got in your wallet, no matter what you drive or how you act, people will share a moment with you with a kind word and a smile, and even roll their windows down to compliment your Hello Kitties.

Brazilian SEXteriotypes in USA

I believe that the most important thing about traveling or living abroad is to break down stereotypes. To travel is to realize that not every German wears Bavarian clothes and drinks draft beer like water, not all Mexicans wear “sombreros” and mustache, that not all Americans eat only burgers and Texans are not necessarily cowboys. I love to find out that people are often the opposite of their stereotypes.

But what to do when you’re faced with stereotypes of your own country? As a Brazilian, I found out in the United States that several stereotypes relate my country with aesthetics obsession.

Beauty Salons:

They offer everything labeled "Brazil": Brazilian blowout (hair straightening), Brazilian blow dry, Brazilian waxing, Brazilian tan. I don’t understand, because Brazilians have beautiful curly hair, but in the US they sell straightening with our flag. And definitely the most common hair removal in Brazil is the bikini line (bikini waxing) and not the complete removal of hair  (called here as Brazilian waxing). We should thank the movie "Sex and the City" for spreading that misconception about my country.

Bikinis:

Brazilians do not wear thong bikinis as much as people think. Actually the real Brazilian bikini has the shape of a “V”, instead of the “U” shape that we see in the USA. (if you wanna learn more, have a look in this website: http://www.brazilianbikinishop.com/, they differentiate the Brazilian style from the thong style)

Gyms:

Finally, there are even more stereotypes in US gyms: during the aerobic exercises, the teacher encourages her students shouting, "Now, let's do the Brazilian squat". Knowing very well what she is talking about, Americans women struggle to work out the butt, squatting even more, almost touching their butts to the floor.

No, not all Brazilian are what they sell in the US...

I am an example to break down the Brazilian stereotype: I am Caroline, Brazilian, I don’t have a tanned skin, I don’t use thong bikinis, I don’t like carnival, and I speak Portuguese and not Spanish!

Nice to meet you! ;-)

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