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.   

Our humming bird

 

This hummingbird made a little nest in a small tree just outside our gate and became part of our lives. We checked on her after storms, worried about cats and commented on if she was there or not when we came and went. We learned that she would sit on the eggs for about two weeks and then take care of the babies for about two weeks. We made plans for Carol to send me videos if I was in the US when the babies were born. She isn't going to need to do that though, because we found the little nest torn up and abandoned yesterday morning. I was sad when we saw it. Sad for us, because we were looking forward to seeing the babies, but mostly sad for her because I attributed a mother's grief to the little bird. Then reason kicked in and I realized that the newly-freed hummingbird likely flew off without so much as a thought in her little bird brain and a scrappy cat likely got a tasty breakfast treat.

Unintended consequences

A teacher we adore invited us to his graduation. We no-showed because we are bad at Portuguese and confused our days of the week. Thinking we had nothing to do that night, we went to a "blue moon" event at the lagoa. It was a yoga thing with time set aside for headstands. I used to stand on my head as a kid and figured I still could, so I gave it a try. After my legs went up, I thought of all the pain I've had in my poor wrecked neck for the past 10 months. I can't believe that I put all my weight directly on the weakest part of my body, but I did. On our drive home I described the sensation in my neck as a pulsing hollowness; it was deep and intense but not exactly painful. Carol gave me ibuprofen. We went to bed hoping for the best. When I woke up, the pain was gone. It's been five days and I'm better. Not as good as new but damn sure better than before the headstand. Life, right? We got our days confused and missed our friend's graduation but instead attended a random event where I did an ill-advised headstand and now I can hold my head up right. It's good to make plans and act intentionally, but it is also good to let fate have its way and enjoy some happenstance now and then.

Gendered pronouns

 I had a boss who indiscriminately confused her gender pronouns. Her own husband was often "she" in a story; I heard many females, including myself, referred to as "he" and we had a non-binary colleague who was rarely "they." I was always a little puzzled by this quirk. True, English was her second language but she was super smart and had technically perfect written English. I wondered why she didn't have this dialed. Then it happened to me. I have no control over the pronouns that come out of my mouth. Carol estimates that I call her "ele" about 60% of the time even though she corrects me with "ela" every time without fail. Because all the nouns in Portuguese use genders, my communication is a mess with people places and things misgendered at random. I think about my old boss and I'm sorry if I judged her. The brain can be very specific when it comes to language and I think there is something up there in charge of picking proper pronouns that just spins in circles in some people.

Freakin' phonemes

I once had a professor from Columbia who told us she couldn't hear the difference between the words "shit" and "sheet." She used this as a funny example while teaching us that humans are born with the ability to distinguish between all possible phonemes, or language sounds, but lose the ability to hear phonemes to which we are not exposed. The theory is pretty well supported but I'm not sure I bought her shit/sheet story, or a more recent teacher's bitch/beach story either. Now I am a believer.  There are two "ou" sounds in Brazilian Portuguese, au as in "ouch" and an ão sound that does not exist in English but is described as nasal. Unfortunately, au and ão sound the same to me and I can't replicate the difference between them. This means that when I try to say the word  pão, which means "bread" I actually say the word pao, which means "stick" or "wood"  but is a slang for "dick." It is uncomfortable for everybody and has started making me self-conscious in a country where one of our favorite foods is cheese bread. 

The glass half empty

There was a young girl on the trail who thought Keppy was cool and asked about his breed. I told here he was sem raça definida (unknown breed) and she told me, very seriously, that she was pretty sure he was a border collie mix. She shared some facts about border collies and I smiled because she reminded me of another dog-loving girl I used to know. We saw her later that day and she asked if Keppy could "speak." I joked that he could, but only in English. So far, we had only talked in Portuguese.  The little girl responded in English. "Did you say he speaks English? I speak English." Knock me over with a feather. I asked (in English) how she learned and she shared her story. A girl from England moved into her class and the two turned best friends and taught their languages to each other. I asked how long they had been friends and she said, a few months. I wasn't sure how to feel. Then she said, "I think it's pretty easy to learn English" and I definitely felt a certain way. God bless the little girl and her giftedness and I'm glad she found this friend; but dog also bless me and Carol who study every day and try so effin hard. It goes up and down, but in that instance, the language-learning glass was half empty. 

The glass half full

 

A friend with a lot of experience says that kids are more likely to focus on their language gains and adults are more likely to focus on their language deficits. I've seen this happen with people learning to snowboard. The first day, a kid will fall and cry and need cocoa but to hear them tell it they are pretty good; an adult will fall and cry and need tequila but to hear them tell it they are too old for this shit. Carol and I both feel too old for this shit. But, we have been encouraged to see the glass as half full. It takes kids about 8 years before they start articulating like adults and about 14-16 years before they really start sounding "adult" in content. They get perfect immersion, with mandatory school attendance, and there is a lot of vocabulary that they don't need yet. For instance, "insurance deductible" and "intake manifold." Carol and I have been working on Portuguese for almost six years. Many of those years with very little exposure. We are doing okay. Our glass is half full. We know how to talk about health insurance and car maintenance; we can share ideas; we are not too old for this and we will certainly start sounding "adult" soon.

Nothing but a smile

 

We have three beaches withing walking distance and the closest is clothing-optional. It's a nice hike and a pleasant beach, and we go there often. I was there this week (clothed) reading a book in a protected nook above the beach. An older, larger, couple came up nudely to find a place to picnic out of the wind. I said hi, they said hi and the guy asked if Keppy bites. I said he didn't and they settled in. I kept reading until the lady came over and and asked if it was okay to move their blanket next to mine. I felt like it was kind of close, especially since they were both super naked but said it was fine. So there we were, me and the naked couple, making small talk. First thing I noticed is that I maintained great eye-contact and it helped me listen. The second thing I noticed was that the lady was understanding my Portuguese and we were having a real conversation. I found myself getting more and more excited about the conversation and less and less uncomfortable about their state of undress. We talked for so long that I was a little late getting home. I'm still trying to understand my feelings about nudism  but I know how I feel meeting someone with whom I can communicate. I feel like smiling.

The wheels came off

 

We identified some "must haves" before leaving for Brazil which included at least one job between us.  Carol was going to hold that job, but about two months before our departure we learned the that it wasn't going to work out. I panicked and raced through red flags like a world cup skier straight into a bad job that ended dramatically a while back. Guess what? We are just fine. Being unemployed in Brazil isn't a tragedy. Waiting until everything was perfect would have been a tragedy. Letting the dream die would be a tragedy. The wheels came off but there are paths in places where wheels can't go. We are snowboarders and much prefer sliding to rolling anyway. 

Once, twice, three times quierida

 Querida is a Brazilian term of endearment that translates to something like "dear one." It is super common. We don't use it ourselves, because we don't know the rules but we feel all warm inside when people people use it with us. There is a small market at the bottom of the hill where we are living. I walk down there a lot and usually need help to find what I'm looking for. The first time I couldn't find juice, the second time I couldn't find coffee, the third time the lady called me querida and sent a kid to help me. Same thing at the rotisserie. The third time we stopped there the guy outside called me querida and the guy inside gave Carol a business card and said he could help us find an apartment. In our experience, Brazilians can be pretty quick to warm up. At the first encounter you are a stranger, the second time you are recognized and by the third time you just might be a querida. 

Little civilities

 

We had a low tire so we stopped to get some air. As it was the first time we have needed air, and first time anythings are always hard, we prepared for the new event. We assumed the air would be handled by the person who fills the tank, which is never the motorist in this country, so we brushed up on our tire-filling vocabulary and got ready. As we pulled into the gas station, we noticed an air hose kiosk a little bit away from the pumps. Great. We drove to the kiosk, braced for the language test that the kiosks usually deliver and started digging for change. First thing we noticed was that the air was free. Then we realized that that the instructions consisted of four easy-to-follow pictures with no words at all. To top it off, the metric for tire pressure was the same as what we use in the US and it was digitally displayed on a large screen. There was even a bell that rang when our tire hit 32 psi. What a country!

Trailer Park

 

There are some American things for which there are no Brazilian concepts. The trailer park is one of them. One of our teachers asked us to tell a story about the where we lived growing up. I lived in a trailer park and wanted to tell something that required an understanding of the stereotypical American trailer park.  During the conversation, we learned there is no such thing as "trailer park" in Brazil. They don't have a word for it, they don't have the concept of it and they don't understand the stereotype. The closest we could get to the physical characteristics of a trailer park was a campground, but Brazilian campgrounds are nothing like US trailer parks. The closest we could get to the stereotype was a favela but trailer parks and favelas are not comparable in any way. So, I didn't do a very good job telling my story.  It was exciting, however, to get this example of cultural-linguistic differences because we are fast becoming cultural-linguistic nerds. 

The hedgies

We were talking with a guy on a beach. He was pretty hard to understand but we were happy to be talking in Portuguese so we hung in there. As we walked toward the trail, he pointed to the sea and said something about "hedgies" I heard rede which is the Portuguese word for hammock, or net, but saw nothing that resembled a rede and it didn't make sense. Carol who understands better than I do heard "heads" and we started looking for the "heads" in the water where he was pointing. Soon we saw them. We got really excited. There in the waves, was a whole row of heads. But of what? The guy was saying something about fish, I guessed turtles, Carol asked about penguins. The guy repeated himself a few times using a lot of words that we didn't understand before he quit trying and walked away.  As he walked off, we realized that he was indeed saying rede and what we were seeing was the edge of a fishing net going out into the sea. It's funny how you hear what you want to hear and see what you want to see. I appreciate the guy for trying and am a little embarrassed that we are, at times, so bad at this.

False friends

English and Portuguese have a lot of words in common. Lots of science words and names of things like hospital and taxi sound close enough for everyone to move forward in a friendly fashion. These are our word friends. There are also false friends. False friends can cause trouble. If someone asks you to put the meat in the frigideira and you put it in the fridge, you were the victim of a false friend because the meat should have gone into a pan. If you say you are excitado about your plans and everyone looks uncomfortable, it was a false friend at fault because excitar only refers to sexual excitement. If you push painfully into a door marked puxa, it was false friends again, puxa means pull in Brasil. Friends are important when learning a language. False friends are also important. 

T shirt says

For a place where only a small percentage of people speak English, we sure see a lot of it on walls and t-shirts. Often the English is kind of off or doesn't quite fit. Sometimes it makes no sense at all. We were talking about this with our teacher and he told us about the father of one of his friends: older, conservative, no English and maybe a little curmudgeonly. Apparently, the guy wears a Too hot to handle t-shirt while he grills and drinks beer on the weekends. The day we talked about too hot to handle dad, Carol and I went out for a walk.  We found ourselves behind a guy wearing an English-language shirt that said Less Monday More Summer.  We agreed with the sentiment but noted that the message was not quite how we would say it in English. The next English-message shirt we saw had just three words in all caps: BURN, LIFE, VIBE. We scratched out heads. It is puzzling how these shirts get printed and we can't help but wonder how it is that people end up wearing them.

Keppy is our wingman

 

We try to get an authentic language experience every day. These experiences usually come at a cost. We talk with clerks, servers, vendors and other people who are willing to exchange some of their Portuguese for some of our money. Free lessons require creativity and often involve the dog. We like to take him to the Cachorrodromo in Campeche. It is the biggest dog park on the island and it's a win-win. He plays with other dogs and we use him as conversation bait. We tend to get comments about his looks, whether or not he bites and his energy. All conversation is good conversation, so we always engage. We do pretty good now that we know what to listen for and have some answers ready. If we can respond to the person's first question or comment, they usually slow down and chat us up a little. Maybe they will give Keppy a pat or kick his ball. If we stare blankly they just move on.

Metrics

The cognitive load is high in this country. New ways of talking and new ways of thinking are complicated by new measures of just about everything. To know how warm it is, we multiply by two and add thirty; to know how much something costs, divide by the exchange rate; to know how heavy, multiply by 2.2; to arrive at 1700 be there at 5; to drive 12 kilometers down the road, pay 5.5 reis for a liter of gasoline. It's heady work, all this calculating, and it gets exhausting but I think we are both getting a little better at accepting the numbers for what they are and skipping the math.  

Advice from a man

We needed to find somewhere cheap to live for the summer and had been looking in some random places. One of these places is Porto do India, an Indian retreat a few miles up the Canto Da Lagoa trail. While we were checking the place out, the owner shared some language-learning advice. He told us to focus on phrases rather than words or rules. He said when he came to Brazil he learned a new phrase every day for the first thirty days and after that he was well on his way. He shared a story about a day when his phrase was não estou nem aí which literally translates to "I'm not even there" and is a strong way to say "I don't care."  He was dating a Brazilian who asked about plans for the evening. His practice was to use his phrase all day, especially when responding to questions so he responded não estou nem aí and it caused an argument that bothers him to this day. Interesting language approach, decent story. I don't think we will stay at the retreat but I did learn something from the guy. If I pick a phrase for the day, it will be something like do fundo do meu coração which means from the bottom of my heart and I will use it all day long to tell Carol how much I love her.

Seeing what we couldn't see

As we get to know this country and culture better we are able to see things that we couldn't see before. Carol used to get kind of fraught about the grocery stores because she could never find what she was looking for. Now she understands how things are categorized so she knows where to look and she knows how things are packaged so she recognizes what she sees. With the notable exception of maple syrup, she can now find whatever we need. Another place where we are able to see things we couldn't see before is on the streets. At first, the "motorcycles" were just one of the many faceless hazards coming out of nowhere and adding to the chaos. Then we started to realize that it isn't chaos and the motoboys have their place. Their place is weaving through the traffic and in-between the lanes of cars. Once we figured that out we started really seeing them. Turns out, they aren't faceless hazards after all, and, as Carol pointed out with some incredulity, some of the motoboys are women.  

Emerson

There was a school called Emerson near the house where we lived in Salt Lake. It had a field that served as the neighborhood dog park and we went there a lot. Like sometimes every night a lot. When we got settled in at Matadeiro, we started calling the nearest stretch of beach Emerson and went there most nights to throw frisbees. It was a proper Emerson with other dogs for Keppy to play with and lots of room to run. The Emerson at the Açores house was also a piece of beach near the house. It didn't have many dogs or a doggy vibe, but there was plenty of hard, flat sand and it was great for throwing balls. Our new place is at the top of a dirt road. We tried to make an Emerson out front but it isn't a good Emerson, you can't throw a frisbee very far for fear of losing it over the edge and you can't throw a ball at all cause we are at the top of a hill. The dogs around here don't play. They bark furiously from behind closed gates. The road ends at a trail that goes over a hill to a beach. We tried to make that beach our Emerson but it didn't take. Our current Emerson is the big grassy bank along the lake near our language school. It's a chill place, with hippies and some dogs. The dogs don't play much but they don't bark much either. It's okay for ball and frisbee throwing, pretty good for people watching and we like the vibe. Unfortunately, they started constructing a fence there today, so we may be looking for a new Emerson soon.

Winner winner chicken dinner

Brazil is world-famous for churrasco, or barbeque, and it is a big part of the culture.  As such, Carol and I have been doing this fun thing on Sundays that we call go to the kiosk in the little town and get a rotisserie chicken. It's a pretty good time. Kepner loves it. He sits with rapt attention watching the sausages and pieces of meat as they rotate and roast. I'm pretty attentive too and for the same reasons, some of those pieces of meat are really big. Carol does the talking. Pretty soon a roasted chicken is placed in a box, and then the guy adds a bunch of potatoes from the bottom of the roaster, potatoes that are buttery on the inside and flavored by the drippings. Then he throws in a baggie of farofa to make it a meal. Farofa is cassava flour that has been spiced and fried in bacon grease. It's a subtle but addictive substance added to many broths, beans, stews and meats here. It's a winner, this chicken dinner. It smells fantastic, tastes divine, feeds us for days and is fun for the whole family.  

Hard knocks

We learned our drinking lessons the hard way growing up but by the time we reached middle-age we had it pretty dialed in. Unfortunately, we are having to relearn the hard way again as new-comers in this country. They don't meter the shots here; plus, the cachaça can be a little moonshine-y and the caipirinhas can get rough.  On the day I virtually attended a buddy's wedding I was feeling warm and happy after my first caipirinha so I ordered another. I had eaten very little. The drinks were very big, served in mason jars and filled with a cachaça made by the devil himself. I don't remember that much more about the evening. I wasn't driving, I made it home and I am truly grateful that Carol wasn't there to witness what occurred. Carol knew this and we discussed the red flags and tried to learn from the experience but some things have to be relearned the hard way, again. We were trying to soothe our sad selves last Monday, listening to some music having drinks down by the canal when she ordered a second caipirinha. She was feeling much better after the first one. Talking bem good in Portuguese. Not eating much. We got her home and she is recovered but it was not pretty. I hope we learned this time because, frankly, we are getting too old for this shit.

Time flies

Today marks ten years since I kissed the back of Carol's hand after boozy drinks next to a warm fire on a cold night in Leadville Colorado. We were just kids back then, 43, monolingual and nervous about love. We had no idea what adventures or trials would come. We had no idea of the joy we would find. It's a pretty good chunk of life, ten years. It will change you if you let it and it sure does fly when you are having fun.

The last Pimsleur

One of the most consistent resources that we've used to learn Portuguese has been Pimsleur language courses. We just finished our last lesson and its hard to believe that it's over. The very first Portuguese words I ever heard were through Pimsleur. They sounded unintelligible and scary but things got better over the course of five years. We kept on listening and repeating, off and on. Five courses, one hundred and fifty lessons, half an hour each, almost always more than once, often more than twice.  We kept on, off an on. Lessons in front of the stereo sipping campari. Lessons in the middle of nowhere, CDs skipping across washboard roads. A year or more in between lessons. Lessons everyday. It became part of our culture, singing Gloria from Flashdance and American Man. Checking the time to see how much longer. Learning about foods and places, some of which we have been able to sample and see. It is the end of an era, finishing Pimsleur, and even though it was just a language course, there will be an empty hole sometimes. 

Low-brow life

 

We are perched on the precipice of exchanging our American tourists existence for more of a working class Brazilian existence. I think we are good with it.  You can only be on vacation for so long. The change started to solidify this week when we decided to splurge at the gas station. Instead of just filling the tank, we went inside to treat ourselves to something nice. We each chose a soft drink and a baked good from the case. A coxinha for me and pão de queijo for Carol. We took our treats to one of the little tables outside.  I shared shared a sip of my soda which was a type we had not tried, we watched the traffic, smiled at a nearby baby, and talked about our plans. Eating gas station food on the street seems very different than eating seafood on the beach, but sitting in front of that gas station, it hit the same. It gave us a taste of the culture and time to enjoy our surroundings and each other and we didn't have to cook or do the dishes. I think we will do just fine with this new chapter.

Calma

 

The Brazilians let us know when our attempts to communicate fail. Being told that "it's better" that we speak in English is something Carol and I have both experienced. Being told to "calm down" has been used only on me. I get it from my mother's side, where the women tend to be tightly wound. I remember trying to teach my grandma the sign language alphabet and worrying that she would dislocate something with her herking and jerking. My mom gets a bit frenetic too. Carol and I sometimes reenact her fraught attempts at the word cachaça, "Cashasha! Cassaca! Cacasha!" because it cracks us up every time. So, I imagine I can seem pretty het up when I'm having a hard time communicating. When this happens, people advise me to "calma." The gardener at the Açores house told me to calma, and some of our teachers, and a cashier at a buffet. Last weekend, a pharmacy tech "calma"ed me as I tried to explain that Carol is allergic to a common cold medicine ingredient. I feel like I could have gotten the message across, given time and a patient listener, but she gave me the calma and returned with someone who could speak English.  It was not a language win. 

Don't let the bed bugs bite

 

Our first night at Matedeiro, we killed the first of four Brazilian wandering spiders that we saw in that house. At the time we didn't know about the Guinness world record for most dangerous spider, or that the genus literally translates to "murderess" or that the venom causes hours-long erections. We didn't know any of the fun facts, we just knew that the spider on the bathroom wall was six inches in diameter and very creepy. Although neither of us like killing, we eventually called an exterminator. Then we got to the the lovely Açores. Our perfect beach house was crawling with cockroaches, an insect for which Carol has a particularly low tolerance. We washed dishes after every meal, including the dog bowl, wiped up spills immediately, and became obsessive about sweeping the floors and taking out the trash, all to no avail. We became killing machines and were considering our options when winter came and they just kind of went away. Our new house seemed free of creeping things at first. Then Carol got what we thought was a spider-bite on her wrist.  A couple of days latter, she had half a dozen bites including one perfect little stigmata in the center of her palm. I thought maybe she had stuck her hands into something noxious, she wondered about spiders, we joked about her piety.  Soon she had 21 of the bites, on her wrists, up her arm and on her neck. We consulted the internet and learned that we have bed bugs. An exterminator is coming.

The Doctor's Office

 

I needed to see the doctor and used google to picked one with a good review-by-star index. I didn't want to call the office because I still struggle to be understood, so I sent a text message through WhatsApp. I quickly engaged with a helpful receptionist who used a lot of energetic emojis and scheduled an appointment for the following Monday. I said that I had insurance but was told that it's mostly hospitals that take insurance, I would need to pay at the time of my appointment. It was 80 bucks. When I got to the office it was like I had stepped into a spa. The receptionist greeted me by name, inquired about my drive, and would I like an expresso or some cookies. I waited in a comfortable chair in a polished lobby and noted two enormous glass vases, very pretty, filled to their brims with used syringes and empty vials (pictured). My appointment started exactly on time. The doctor was delightful, she held my hand, looked me in the eye, wrote out a treatment plan, laughed at my jokes and hugged me when I left. The whole experience was both very similar to and very different from health care experiences I have had in the US. The similarities, I think, are western medicine; the differences, I think, are culture.

Penguins in unlikely places

 Penguin video

I've always had a thing for penguins but I guess I didn't know much about them. I thought they lived in the Antarctic. I  associated them with ice and snow. Imagine my surprise when we were walking down a sunny beach in Brazil and noticed an oddly shaped sea duck and then realized that it was an honest to god Penguin. We watched the little guy for a half an hour or more, swimming, surfing, fishing, and (in this video) coming out of the water so we could really get a good look. And then, hurrying back into the water because Keppy wanted to get a good look too. Since then, we have seen several more, because now that we know what to look for. Apparently it is penguin season here in the south and you really never know what you are going to see around here.

Filling out forms

All the paperwork that we need to do to live here may eventually pay off, but right now it is driving us to drink. Every step requires notarizations and certifications and copies and PDFs. Then there are the actual forms with complications like phone numbers not having the right number of digits and dates being reversed. Bartender please. It is a complex maze of broken links, uninterpretable question, long lines, and form sent to apparently nowhere. Probably the very worst of it is the good old catch-22. Those classic little conundrums like needing a permit in order to get the address that you need in order to get the permit. Make mine a double! 

The dog não fala

 

To get Keppy to Brazil, we had him certified as a service animal which was expensive but effective. If you say sit - he sits, if you say off - he offs and if Carol's feet get cold he warms them with his belly. We taught him a lot in the year before we left, but we didn't teach him Portuguese. In retrospect, we should have. When someone says xo xo he doesn't go and when they say fora he doesn't get. This has caused some problems for us and it hasn't been great for him either. Little kids want to throw his frisbree but they can't make him drop it and because of the accent, he doesn't recognize his own name. No one can get him to sente-se, abaixe-se, or venha at all and people think he isn't very bright. None of this is helping him make friends or us find dogsitters. So, we are currently taking our dog with us to The Language Club and working to make a bilingual vira-lata out of him. 

Jesus Christ Superstar

Carol and I buy a fair amount of handmade jewelry and homemade goodies when we are out of the beach or the streets. We like to engage with the local vendors and to contribute to the culture, and we appreciate the art. This perspective began to develop the hard way. The first time we were in Rio, our Airbnb host warned us against flashing our cash. We took the warning to Copacabana beach where I tied, but failed, to take a picture of a Jesus Christ Superstar sand sculpture. I had barely put my phone away when someone started yelling at me in Portuguese. I stuttered and stammered and he switched to English. "You speak, English" he said, and he was right. "You took a picture, you have to pay" he explained, pissed. I said I didn't have any money. "You have money" he said, and was right again.  I had bunch of $100s in my purse (equal to a bunch of US 20s) but didn't want to pull out the wad. "My wife is pregnant" he said.  "I need money" he said, "and you took a picture of my art." I didn't know what to do. I hadn't actually taken the picture, but I felt like that was beside the point, Carol didn't have any cash and I wasn't going to pull out my roll. "I'm really sorry" I said and we walked away. He yelled after me, very clearly and in perfect English, "Fuck you!"  Carol and I talked during dinner and agreed, we did have money and it was his art. Later, we found the guy near his sculpture. I handed him a twenty and all was forgiven. He called me friend and insisted that I take another picture and offered to pose in it. It wasn't a very good picture but it was a very good lesson. 

Getting it

The Brazilians that I talk with about such things, have a hard time with the English word "set."  I have to take their word for it.  I don't remember learning English, but "set" doesn't seem particularly hard to me. I know that as a learner of Portuguese, the hardest English word for me to get is "get."  It is a common word in my internal narrative but it doesn't exist in Portuguese. You don't get married or dressed, you marry or dress.  You don't get lost or drunk, you are lost or drunk; If you get a gift you gain it; if you get a job you arrange; a number you obtain; groceries you buy; and a shot you receive. No one will get you a manager in Brazil, but they may call one; you aren't going to get a ride, but you may catch one; and you won't get a second chance, but you may have one. Want to get something done? Try making it done instead, there is no get in Portuguese. No one gets happy, or sad, or lonely or mad - but they may become these things. You can't get to there from here, but you can go there; you can't get out, but you can leave; and you will never get it, but you will struggle mightily, every day, to understand.

Manners

I talked to one of our teachers recently and asked if Brazilians think we are gross because we eat with our hands. The English word "gross" sounds like the Portuguese word "grosseiro" which means "unmannered" so he understood what I was asking. He assured me that it wasn't counted against us that we eat with our hands. Brazilians don't tend to do it, but it's cool that other people do.  He then suggested that it is the directness with which we speak that is considered grosseiro. He asked what I thought of the sentence, "Do you want to stop by later?" I thought it sounded good and this proved his point. Asking if someone wants something puts them in the awkward position of saying they don't want the thing, which is rude, or in the awkward position of saying that they do want something, which is a little too direct. Complicated, right? He suggested using, "could it be that..." instead. Now that we understand, we are going to work on asking our questions in a less grosseiro way.

Aho!

I went to a sweat lodge ceremony called a Temazcal. It was hot, and very cramped. I was a little underwhelmed during the ceremony but felt absolutely reborn the next day. During the ceremony they used the word, "Aho" a lot. When a hot rock was passed into the tent, the sweaters would yell "Aho!" when someone would share or sing, "Aho!" when the shaman poured water to create more steam or sprinkled incense to make the rocks sparkle, "Aho! Aho! Aho!" I didn't Aho! myself because I didn't know the word or what it meant. After the ceremony, I asked around. One person said it was something like "amen" but without the connotation of prayer. Someone else said that it had a meaning in between "hello" and "thank you" - a grateful welcoming. I like it.  I will raise my "Aho!" and voice my welcome for what comes at the next one. Kind of a shamanic version of "Thank you sir, may I have another!" Also, Carol has returned to me, "Aho!"

Ode to Açores

The time has almost come to leave this amazing place, Açores and our little house next to the sea. As with Matedeiro, we didn't like it at first and couldn't wait for it to be over and now we hate to leave. We have loved this house. The big windows where we watched the sun and the moon rise and saw dolphins swimming and monkeys climbing. It will feel empty to leave the constant sound of the sea and lose this intimacy with the tide and the waves. We will miss walking to the little town across the bay, with the salty fishermen mending their nets and dogs napping in the shade of wet boats. We did not have enough time to uncover all of the secrets in the rocks here, the art, the coral, the sacred things. We didn't lie in the hammocks enough, or take enough walks by moonlight, or swim enough in the sea. There wasn't enough time to take it all in and there never could be. Maybe the thing I will cherish most about Açores will be the comfort that this house, and this beach, and this ocean brough me while Carol was away. I'm sad that she missed out on a month here. I'm glad she is coming back tomorrow and that she will get to spend one last night in this little blue and white house, on the corner, by the sea.

The second shortest day

 

Today marked the beginning of winter and the shortest day of the year. It's a little bit of a rip off to have the shortest day again so soon, but I saw a glorious sunrise when I woke up at 7 this morning and the colors were great when I walked the dog at 4:30 this afternoon (pictured).  Also, I'm only a day in, but I'm digging the winter so far. Pineapples were a buck a piece at our local fruit mart; The waves are getting huge and the ocean sounds fantastic; I saw my first toucan in the wild; and I got invited to go on a hike. Apparently the hiking is good this time of year because the mosquitos and snakes are controlled and the temps are just right. My most recent winter in Salt Lake was really grand, with the record breaking snow and all, but I'm looking to whatever this second winter has to offer.

Altered minds

 

We've only been here a few months, but I've already been invited to a handful of consciousness expanding events. I don't know if it is part of the broader Brazilian culture, or more specific to this island, but I have witnessed the fruits of nature being used to feed more than just the body. The most tame of the substances is probably cacao, which will give you a lot of energy; the strongest is probably ayahuasca, which may give you a new life. I went to a gathering this weekend that was somewhere in the middle. We used a locally grown fungus and found comfortable places to go where the medicine took us. I went into the trees and watched each one move in it's own way and within each tree I saw each leaf move in its own way, and the movement was ordered and chaotic and timeless and fleeting. Then I went to the ocean and saw the water form into waves, each immutable, with its own shape and power and grace and when the waves broke they were gone and the water went back into the sea. I hope to remember the things I learned and I hope they planted a seed in me, that will grow into a person who is a little less judge-y and a little more free. 

Stormin' mormons

It is sad to have Carol 6000 miles away, but the deep sense of darkness that I have been experiencing was actually my first tropical storm. I didn't even know. Thing got real dark, the power was spotty and everything just kind of felt heavy. I missed Carol. I barely went outside and Keppy was cool with it. We cuddled in and missed Carol. The lady that owns the house checked in a couple of times. I assured her that Carol would be back soon and that I was fine. Then the sun came out and I went out to the beach and saw that things were significantly changed. I turned on the news and learned that Santa Catarina, the state that I am in, was digging out from flooding caused by a cyclone. Who knew? According to the internet, everybody knew. The news has been full of it and folks on twitter were concerned. It's a good lesson for me to connect during the work week. I should at least check the news every day. On the bright side, Carol's visa seems to be going through as planned and I won't need to spend many more cyclones oblivious and alone. 

Aint no sunshine

 

Like the old song says, ain't no sunshine when she's gone - it's not warm when she's away - ain't no sunshine when she is gone - only darkness everyday. It's so true. My sweet Carol has been in the US for 16 days and it's like the lights went out, winter is approaching and nights are dark and really long. Not metaphorically, but actually -- that's what is happening. Plus it's been raining hard for four days and even the dog doesn't want to go outside. I think it might be cozy, if I had my Little One but as it is, ain't no sunshine and ain't no fun. 

Happy Holidãos

Today was Monday. At the beginning of class, the teacher asked how my weekend was and then he corrected himself and asked how my "holiday" was. Interestingly, when he said the word for holiday he added an "ão" sound to the end of the word. He said feriadão instead of feriado.  Adding ão was an indication of a bigger, better holiday. I asked what was up and he explained that when a holiday falls on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday it is just a regular holiday, a feriado, you get your day off and you are grateful. But, when a holiday falls on a Tuesday or Thursday, then it can provide a bridge to the weekend. Brazilians often get the intervening day off, making it a four-day weekend - a feriadão. This happened last week with the Corpus Christi holiday on Thursday. I missed it completely because I'm not Brazilian and I didn't even know. I'm making up for it though. Our 4th of July holiday is coming up on a Tuesday. I'm going to make like a Brazilian, take the Monday off, and have myself a happy holidão. 

We eat with our hands

Someone mentioned to us that Brazilians largely don't eat with their hands. Since hearing this, Carol and I have observed watermelon and pizza eaten with forks and knives and french-fries eaten with toothpicks. Sometimes our cultural observations are wrong so we checked with our friends Herbert and Martha. They confirmed that while there is variation, Brazilians generally don't like to touch their food. I had the opportunity to observe the full spectrum of finger-food-eating today. Four friends had finished a hike and were grabbing a snack at a nearby bar. They ordered two pastries and cut them into four pieces. One lady cut her piece into smaller pieces which she ate with a fork - civilized. Two ladies used the not-quite-paper napkins from the table to hold theirs - and now I know what the not-quite-paper napkins are for. The forth lady was a little loud, chatting with me, drinking beer, and feeding pastries to the dogs. That lady tore pieces of the pastry off and ate them with her greasy fingers - American style. It does seem a little primitive, seeing it from the outside, and a good reminder to be a little more cultured with our finger foods moving forward.

Be like Bernie

We went out to dinner the other night with a mixed group of Brazilians and American ex-pats. An ex-pat named Nathaniel told a story about his buddy, Bernie. Nathaniel and Bernie met in Brazil learning Portuguese a few years back. Nathaniel was a serious student, building his vocabulary and focused on grammar. Bernie wasn't as focused but really liked to party. The two went out one night and while Nathaniel struggled to understand and be understood, Bernie was meeting people and having a gay old time. The difference, Nathaniel thinks, was that Bernie capitalized on the tone and cadence of the language. He elongated his vowels, exaggerated his syllables, and sang out the few words that he knew with gusto. The Brazilians appreciated his effort and matched his tone and enthusiasm. They communicated fine. I'm pretty sure Nathaniel shared this story because he watched me struggle with the language that night. It was a good reminder to relax a little and have fun some fun, get out of my linguistic shell and communicate in a different way. Be like Bernie.

The bank

 

When it comes to speaking in Portuguese, Carol does a lot of our talking, so I was pretty nervous about going to the bank by myself. I needed to go to a particular bank, pay a fee and get a receipt. Once I got to the bank I saw an open area with a bunch of ATMS on the left and a separate room with tellers on the right. I entered a revolving door to go into the room but a quarter turn in, the revolving door locked and lights started flashing. An armed guard opened the door and walked me back through to the other side, saying something about my purse. A nice guy on the other side asked what I was there for. I told him I needed to pay a fee and get a receipt. He understood, gave me a slip of paper and explained that I couldn't take anything metal through the door. So, I passed my purse through a hole and the man held onto my little knife because it is illegal to bring a knife into a bank in Brazil.  I made it through to a teller and learned that my paperwork had expired. I would need to go back to the airport, get my paperwork updated  and return to the bank, which I did, but it wasn't without challenge. Maybe I will share those challenges another day. It's always a process.

Rules of the road

The driving here has taken a little getting used to. Our Brazilian friends recommend thinking of the rules of the road as "suggestions." Seems right. The exception is the "monitored electronically" signs, if you speed past one of those, lights will flash  and a ticket will come via email (true story). Everything else though -- stop signs, speed limits, center lines, flashing lights -- merely suggestions. It works out. In fact, the only real rule of the road is that you have to work it out. If you need to do 30 in a 50, no one honks, they slow down or go around (no need to wait for a passing lane). If you need to accommodate a cow or a bicycle with multiple passengers, two lanes can become three. To make a left in traffic, you just push in. They expect it and will give you a thumbs up and then you will give them a thumbs up. It's super civil. But if you hesitate, then you are a menace and they start to honk. Carol is a great Brazilian driver, I still get honked at. But, Carol was the one to "discover" the electronic monitoring signs and she is currently in the US, being a menace and getting honked at.