The Real Honest Truth about Living in Rio

Everyday by the nature of being an expat, I tip-toe the fine line between being honest and being a jerk. For example, how do you express with love and respect, that drivers here are blockheads? How do I hide my sickly smile when I see my kid's three year old classmates wearing lipstick and eyeshadow? How can I stop wishing that the lady in the gym would shut her mouth, stop gossiping with her personal trainer about a friend of a friend's mother who works for this guy and blah, blah, blah, and actually work out? Or that everybody would stop calling every girl they meet, a princess? How can I get enjoyment out of washing my shoes, my kid's bike wheels and my stroller because we've inadvertently ran over some dog shit, yet again? How, I ask? How can I pretend again, and again, that talking about manicures is interesting?

Isn't living in Rio so awesome? Yes. I won't lie, it has some outstanding, super shinny moments. But to get to those outstanding, super shinny things, you have to risk your life in traffic, you have to know where you're going, you have to lock your car doors, you have to put on sun-screen and bug repellent, you have to stand in line, and bring a folder with your marriage certificate, your passport, your driver's license, your birth certificate and a doctor's note.

But isn't the beach awesome? Yes. I won't lie. I love to look at it from my dining room table. Honestly though, the awesomeness of hauling two bags full of beach crap and convincing a whinny three year old that it's fun to dig in the sand under the hot sun and not being able to go in the water because the waves will take him away, wares off. And on weekends, you can stake your spot at 8 am, but soon enough, your view of the water will disappear as a wall of umbrellas and butts close in on you. It's awesome.

What about Brazilians? Aren't they friendly, vibrant people? Yes. They are. On a daily "hey, there" kinda way, everyone is super friendly, courteous and they greet me with a smile.  The thing is Brazilians have jobs, and after work, they sit in their cars for hours and when they finally arrive home to watch the game, I'm asleep. So, sadly, I can't say I've made any Brazilian friends, yet.

Apparently, the first year living abroad is the hardest, blogger Rachel from "Rachel's Rantings in Rio" attests to that and that's what most of my expat friends have told me. And while I'm so grateful for the few expat friends I've made, I don't really feel part of this group either. I'm not a Shell, or Texaco or Schlumberger wife. I don't have that "came from Singapore, going to South Africa next kinda nonchalant being an expat is second nature" attitude, but I do aspire to get some that.

It's hard to know sometimes, what contributes to the trials and tribulations of being an expat and what is just the nature of being a newly turned 40 year old who might be tired of being a stay-at-home mom, but I'm bored. I may have been bored back home on the 33rd consecutive day of winter rain, but I had my own life. I had friends. My boy had friends. My parents were near. And even though I had lived in Vancouver for almost 30 years, the city still gave me lots to enjoy. Blogger Rachel insists that comparing makes expat life the hardest, but I think she's wrong. It's not comparing that wrecks it. It's the loneliness.

I'm not unfamiliar with loneliness abroad. Years ago, I spent three years in Korea teaching English. Among the seemingly never ending comings and goings of my students, I sporadically connected with a few on a slightly deeper level, but the teacher-student relationship couldn't really be completely erased and I never felt I could really say what was on my mind. The only other two expats in my city didn't want to hang with me because I wasn't interested in spreading the word of the Lord or bedding some Korean "chicks". By the second year, I was ready to go home, but when my friend Meg said she wanted to come and join me, I stayed on and Korea was fun again. Thank God for Meg. I really believe that if you have real friend, and this friend knows how to make light of living abroad, you can live anywhere.

So, who wants to be my friend? I swear I'm not always such a downer. I'm dying to have some fun. I will gladly have a few caipirinhas at two in the afternoon and try on a full-body leopard print work-out leotard if that's what it takes to shake things up around here!

Meg and I playing mini-golf