not the motorcycle diaries

I think I have figured out the system of exchange at work re my stay at the seminary. I get a room and food, and they get a collective daughter. They all call me ‘menina’ (little girl), and someone has put a sign on my door saying ‘Ana’ (my name in Brazil, due to Ann being un-pronounceable), which I found pretty gorgeous and touching, particularly in view of the somewhat inhospitable size and shape of Sao Paulo. In an attempt to ameliorate my aforementioned crisis of being taken seriously, I said “bom dia meninos (good morning boys)!” at breakfast this morning, which just resulted in more doting chuckles. I don’t have the heart to tell them that I found myself locked out at 10pm on Saturday night (the un-scaleable gates being locked at 9pm every night) and had to wander aimlessly around a hipermercado for a while trying to work out what to do and eventually got a grumpy taxi driver to take me to a gloriously two-star hotel (not to be confused with a motel, which exclusively refers to the previously discussed dens of love with names like Stallion).