Traveling is the closest we come to time travel. One minute I’m at Carr´s Aurora picking up some bagels and milk, and the next minute (ok, two days later) I’m being jostled around an open air market on a sweltering morning trying to remember the Portuguese word for carrot. One minute I’m luxuriating in a hot shower, daydreaming about Brazil, and the next I’m in Brazil keeping a wary eye on the cockroach in the corner of the shower, and bracing myself for a blast of cold water. The changes seem so dramatic that it seems I have entered an entirely different era.

After 36 hours of travel, truly a blink of an eye considering how far I’d come, I arrived exausted in a town of 20,000 about 250 kilometers from the coast of Brazil, called Capim Grosso. I’m here to volunteer for a local association that is revolutionizing education and child care (among other things) in this small town. I worked here three months earlier and loved it so much that I decided to return.

I live with a small group of volunteers, all in their 20´s from the US and all over the world. We teach English, Spanish or art within the association, work in an under-funded government daycare, operate an internet center, and complete other community projects.

Most of us come from western countries or at least big modern cities in non-western countries, and we are all in for some serious culture shock. Along with adjusting to small-town life, you also deal with a new language, new food, new climate, and most importantly, a new culture. It is incredibly overwhelming for an Alaskan (or anyone) to arrive sweating to a tiled house, offered a miniature cup of equal parts coffee and sugar, with questions rapidly firing at you and over you in an unfamiliar language. Each person has trouble adjusting to a different part of Brazilian culture, but everyone who comes here learns a lesson in patience. Time seems to operate differently here than in more developed places. Nothing happens on time and everything takes longer to do.

Count on an hour to cook the beans and rice for lunch, one hour to keep the house clean enough to meet the high Brazilian standard of cleanliness, and three frustrating trips to the locksmith to get a copy of a key.

When I arrived here I had an English class to teach that started at 7 pm. At 7 pm sharp I took a deep breath and walked confidently into the classroom. It was empty. The first students trickled in at 7:05, and by 7:30 there were enough present to begin to teach. Similarly, if someone agrees to meet you at noon, expect them to arrive anywhere from five minutes to 45 minutes late. You can imagine how frustrating this could be for a bunch of “idealistic youthes” trying to get things done. How is anything accomplished in this country, I asked myself. Yes, I seem to have time traveled to a place where time itself is slower, or perhaps more accurately, less pressing.

The culture shock of being in a place where the people seem to have a complete disregard for time is, well, shocking. At first I paced, was frustrated and felt as if I was wasting my time. Then one day after a particularly frustrating moment, I laid back in the hammock, stared up at the mangos ripening ever so slowly in the tree above me, and relaxed. Tasks are completed, and progress made, just at a slower pace than I´m accustomed to. I’m learning now to sink into the slow rhythm of the day, and even to relish this way of life that is less dependent on the tick of a clock.

Maybe I didn’t necessarily travel back in time, but the changes are so dramatic that sometimes I feel as if I did. Luckily, I love time travel.