One for the money (two for the show)

There is a fair amount of informal taxation on foods and goods in Brazil. For example, we regularly get over charged or short changed. We call this the tourist tax. There are also some taxes that even the Brazilians pay, like the mandatory-more tax. The rules of this tax are that if you are buying one you need another and if you've still got money you need one more. We get this one all the time. Carol went in for a bra and walked out with a bra and panties. When she went back to exchange the bra she got a cute pair of unplanned board shorts because that is how it's done. I bought a jar of honey out of a man's backpack and received another jar of honey as change. It's just how it is here and we generally pay the little taxes politely and without complaint. 

Hold your mouth right

My dad used to joke that you have to hold your mouth right to make the fish bite. I was too young for irony and would move my mouth around trying hard to catch a fish. It's kind of the same way here. I do all sorts of goofy things with my mouth trying to make sounds that will be understood. Unlike with fishing, some of it actually works. If I open my mouth more when I say Keppy, they hear me. If I give a little Billy Idol sneer with the "s" in Kristin, I get a better response. I try to purse my lips instead of close them when making an "m" sound at the end of a word. It sounds kooky but Carol explained that nobody wants to see me pressing my lips together and I think she is right. There is a lot to remember when trying to learn a new language and I'm glad I got this little "mouth right" tip from my old man back in the day.  

Giving and getting

"Give" and "get" are challenging for slow learners of Brazilian Portuguese. As I've mentioned before, "get" is a headache. Its a common word in English that doesn't have a certain one-to-one Portuguese equivalent. "Give" gives many headaches. It has a one-to-many equivalent. The word Dar can be inserted any place where "give" is used. To give an example is to dar an example; to give a hand is to dar a hand; and to give birth is to dar a light. Give always means dar but it's not that helpful because dar doesn't always mean give. To dar time is to lack time; to dar a vacation is to take one; and to dar luck is to get lucky.  If you dar good morning to a horse, you've said too much; and to dar certain is to succeed. They are quite the pair, give and get, with a get that can't be got and a give that won't stop giving--but I'm sure we will get the hang of it soon.

Laying around

 

Neither Carol nor I have every been homebodies but our brazilian life is different; here we are caseiras.  We stay in most nights, eating good healthy foods that we cook ourselves. We read in the hammocks. Sometimes I don't even read. I look out at the remnants of the mata atlantica forest that we are lucky to be living in and ponder the ripening bananas and listen for monkey and watch the birds. We study, we talk, we laugh and we cuddle the dog. The life of a homebody in Brazil is a good life for us and I doubt that we would have made space for so much home in our life if we had remained home.

Animal crossing

In the US, if you say someone is an ass you are saying they are a jerk; if you say they are a fox they are cute; and someone who is a chicken is afraid. For Carol and I these associations are well formed after fifty-some years of practice but they don't help us much here. Here, if you call someone a jackass you are saying they dumb but not boorish; someone who is foxy is called a cat; and someone who is a chicken is sexually promiscuous. We have to rearrange our animal metaphors because right now we are like fish out of water. I can't go around calling Carol my little chickadee because she isn't a high heeled clod hopper. And we can't get offended if we get called rats because it just means we have become regulars. We are working on it but moving at snail's pace like a couple of of old dogs trying to learn new tricks.  

A little joke

Carol stepped out of the most recent rainstorm and into a yoga studio. The lady at the desk sighed as a rain puddle formed at Carol's feet and complained that Saint Pedro had failed to close the faucet again. Carol laughed at the joke. I laughed too when I heard it. With some notable exceptions, we didn't even know Brazilians told jokes. You don't get the jokes when you aren't from around here, their irony is dead to us and the satire is wasted. But it gets better. We are laughing more these days and recognizing colorful bits of humor against a here-to-fore grey backdrop of words and skies.

Passive listening

Carol has been doing it for a while but I am just recently able to eavesdrop. Keppy was sitting at the fence watching hikers pass by when I heard someone say, "look how proud, the guardian of the house."  I died a little of happiness because I understood what I heard.  I do okay listening for certain things and can exchange pleasantries in the way that Brazilians do -- "is it all good?" --"good"-- "is everything well?" --"it's well."  But informal comments have typically been met with a vapid grin and nearby conversations have provided nothing more than background noise. Suddenly, my ears are opening and bits of meaning are starting to come in --"we are going to wait until after Sao Paulo" -- "that idea is past it's prime" -- "wow, smells like weed."  I'm hearing without listening and that is a big fat win for this slow language learner.

Go in easy

 

Carol realized about two and a half crepiocas in that she should have stopped at two. Our teacher told us about crepiocas and said he eats them almost every day. We were excited to try. Tapioca starch mixed with eggs, cooked like pancakes, and filled with veggies and cheese. What could go wrong? Judging from the groans coming from the other room, plenty. I did a quick google search and although arsenic is sometimes found in tapioca, I'm pretty sure Carol will be fine. Tapioca can be hard to digest and we aren't used to it. Just another reminder to go in slowly on the new foods and drinks. Like with the jabuticabas. The Brazilians might like them and they certainly look inviting, but the strange fruit with the strange name that grows directly from the bark of a strange tree just might cause a gastric explosion if eaten by a gringo first thing in the morning. We need to learn to test the waters before jumping in. 

Language from culture

Carol and I read a children's book about a group of Brazilian characters doing Brazilian things. It was a well-written book, whimsical with a good plot and great character development. I found an English-language version of the book online and it was about a third as long as the Brazilian version. I ordered it to find out why. The English version retained the things an English speaking kid would understand like the forsaken rabbit, the luxury dog and the bear that escaped from the zoo. But those things that only a Brazilian kid would understand, the vira lata, the instruments of samba and the carnival blocos, were gone like they never were. It was as if the soul was missing from the book. To me, this illustrates the separation of language from culture. Language can be translated but even with professional translators and resources, culture cannot. Although we are working on it, we still translate this Brazilian life with our English minds and, as such, we miss out on a lot of the content and most of the soul. 

feed the clock at 6 o dog

 Its hard to be taken seriously. Even if the pronunciation were perfect and grammar flowed like honey, our words are fundamentally flawed and we are humbled by those who hear us in spite of what we say.

Ugly Americans at Bar Do John

 

There is a little bar within walking distance of our house called Bar Do John. We went there recently to celebrate Carol getting a Brazilian bank account. A brave street dog joined us on our walk, running in traffic and engaging every other stray along the way. As we neared the bar, a very large, very old golden retriever lying in front of the bar stood up. The brave street dog steered clear and we figured the dog was trouble. There was some postering and growling between the big dog and Keppy and he followed us inside. Carol and the dog were roughly the same size but she valiantly defended Keppy, pushing and pulling that big old dog, inch by inch, toward the door. The stress of it had her speaking in English. The barman watched. After the dog had been banished, the barman told us in English that the dog was "the owner" and we laughed nervously. Later, we noticed the bar's logo had a golden retriever on it as did another sign in the bar. The dog came back in and things seemed fine. We asked the barman what the dog's name was and he said "John, for John Lennon." Things quickly came into focus. Carol had forcibly removed John of Bar Do John from his own damn bar. In English. We laughed at our audacity and the barman laughed too as we realized what we had done. We bought a burger for John and gave him some pets on our way out. We like the bar and hope that John will welcome us back.

And back again

I spent almost three weeks in the US waiting for my visa. It was a pretty good time but I was worried that my Portuguese would take a hit. When Carol went for her visa in June she was linguistically sluggish when she returned. Fortunately, we have a friend named Martha who suggested that sometimes the brain needs a reset and that the break might do me good. The seed was planted and thus the prophecy was fulfilled. I was able to handle some challenges at the São Paulo airport with no problems and then the first night back, Carol and I casually chatted with some dope smokers at an overlook near our house sem problemas também. I understood, they understood and it was all good. It has been so good, in fact, that I'm thinking maybe I should take breaks more often and also, that Martha really knows her shit. 

Estressada

Carol needed to go to a not-so-nearby city for a migraine treatment the day before I left for the US. We were both worried about our stupid car but it actually got us there in time for Carol to read some laminated neurologic pamphlets before the doctor called her name. It was on our way back home that things got hot. We were making our way through traffic when the car began to shake and grind and smoke started to rise from the hood. We managed to get it to the side of the road and then the real-life language test commenced. I failed the test when a dispatcher refused to continue our conversation. Carol passed when she made things right with the dispatcher and secured us a ride home. Soon we were in the tow-truck driver's brother's car for six smelly hours of aggressive driving back to Floripa. We were grateful but it was a lot. It would have been a lot in the US, but the language barrier complicates everything, plus we had the dog and the driving is nuts and we don't really understanding how things work or any of the rules. Fortunately, the main rule is that things work out and they did. Regardless, we are going to fly Carol to the not-so-nearby city for her next treatment.