In America, people dream of white pickets fences.

In Brazil, people dream of high cement fences embedded with glass and topped with razor wire.

Or, perhaps of barred fences topped with spikes, or a swirl of barbed wire.

My Dad says because they can’t lock all the thieves up, they lock everyone else up instead.

When it came time to choose a house to rent we had a choice between two.  One was in a neighborhood and had a lemon tree.  The other was part of condominium and the back gate opened onto a long courtyard with a pool and basketball/soccer court.

We forewent the lemonade in favor of the condominium and promptly moved in.  The house was slightly reminiscent of a prison.  The front of the house was cement with two small barred windows high in the wall. 

On one side was the gate that led into a roofed garage area.  Bars went up and ended in spikes.  Bars came down and ended in spikes.  Getting locked out of your house could be deadly if you tried to break back in.  On the plus side no one else could break in either.

It was a bit annoying that you couldn’t pull into your driveway without unlocking a padlock and undoing the chain.  After making it past the first gate you still had to contend with the front door, which was also barred.

As you can imagine, hearing someone knocking on our door was a thing of the past.  Instead, people clapped outside the gate to get your attention.

We became quite grateful for our barred house when there was a prison break shortly after we moved in.  Although the info varies, around seventy men escaped from the prison.

For days, the sound of helicopters searching for the escapees left us very glad for our barred door, our gate, our chain, and our padlock.

In Brazil, we quickly learned the prayers for protection were not a mantra to be taken lightly.

Brazilian homes are also empty when you buy them.  As in NOTHING is left in the house.  We were fortunate in that our kitchen still had a sink.  Cupboards and appliances were gone, but we did have a sink.  There were also built in cupboards in the bedrooms, which was highly unusual.  Most Brazilian homes have bureaus.   

Not so fortunately, the cupboards were painted a particularly weird shade of orangey-browny-yucky-yellow.

We shared common walls with the houses on either side.  Our hallway bordered the neighbor’s hallway.  Since there was not insulation and the walls, ceiling and floor were all cement, the house echoed. This was unfortunate since it wasn’t only our echoes we heard.

Our house was haunted.  Often we would hear the clicking of high heels and we would all be sitting still.

Okay, so maybe that is a slight exaggeration.  It just might have been the neighbor’s heels we heard clicking up and down the hallway.

  All in all, though, our fortress was very nice.

And secure.  Quite, quite secure.