Animal farm

 

We have lived in four houses since we started this journey. Each of them has either abutted the Mata Atlantica rain forest or been square in the middle of it. The current place is square in the middle of in. Because we've lived in or near the forest, we've seen a fair number of animals in and around the house. It's super cute that the Brazilians refer to things like cockroaches, centipedes and bigass ants as animals. I think American's tend to use "animal" for furry things, like monkeys or donkeys or dogs. These animals around here, from the venomous snake in the garage to the seven thumb-size spiders hanging over our Christmas patio, are part of our life. We tell our people when they visit that it is a buggy place and we send them back on the plane with tubes of hydrocortisone cream. It is at the very least a buggy place. Our next house is going to be in the middle of a town and I expect we will have fewer animals. I know we will miss the forest terrible, it remains to be seen how much we miss the animals.

Losing our shit

 

In retrospect, we should have left most of our fancy American stuff in the US. It doesn't fit in here. Our fancy fibers get ruined by the wet and the mold and the salt and the sand; we lose random articles in all the moving around; our $300 Goretex jackets are useless when it is 90 degrees out; and we look goofy because you can't buy the same things here as you can in the US. Lately, we have lost some of our lux items by leaving them laying around. We left our high-end dog leash at a restaurant and our Black Diamond treking pole at a campground (pictured) and both were gone faster than you could say "finders keepers." It's one of the rules here. With the exception of The Language Club who collectively returns my Yeti coffee cup every single time, if you leave your stuff laying around, it ain't your stuff no more. Nothing personal, it's just the way it is and it may be one of the reason for all of the fences and walls around here.  

The worst in the world

We kind of have something against Brazilian pizza. It's gotten better since we found the Artesenal pizza place in Lagoa, but we are generally wary. So we surprised ourselves when we opted to buy some cheap frozen pizzas like we used to in the US. Mine was surprisingly good but Carol's, oh my. The sauce was catsup-y, the peperoni was some kind of fatty wurst and the cheese was processed, but it was the crust that made it blog-worthy. The crust was made of pão de queijo. We adore pão de queijo but it does not make a good crust. It makes a rubbery crust, a very rubbery that tastes weird. After one bite it was deemed disgusting but we thought we could rescue it by frying it on the stove. We fried it up and Carol took a bite and almost peed her pants laughing so hard at how bad it was. She made me take a bite and after a I was able to swallow I laughed hard too and agreed that it was the worst pizza in the world. No comment from the pizza (pictured).

Spaced in

We noted in our last post the pragmatic generosity with which Brazilians share their public spaces. Paradoxically, private spaces are tighter than pants after a holiday. If you drive through pretty much any residential neighborhood in Brazil, you will see rows of walls and fences. You will not see cars parked on the streets at night and you will rarely see a front door. This is true in high-crime areas and in low-crime areas, in cities and in towns. We have heard different explanations. There are theories about Portuguese architectural influence and Brazil's agricultural roots. A trusted friend told us that locking something up is simply a sign of ownership, like putting a collar on your dog. Whatever the reason, the walls lend themselves to the street art, which is absolutely fantastic, and, as a happy bonus, the chickens like to sit on them.

Spaced out

In the US, we like to give about three feet distance when talking to strangers and two feet when talking with friends. In Brazil, complete strangers often stand face-to-face and even touch when talking. In the US, we expect a two-way street to have enough room for two vehicles to pass, plus a little room to spare. In Brazil sometimes one vehicle has to back up a little, or tuck into a driveway. Similarly, standing in line in Brazil involves a little bodily contact and if you find yourself in a crowd, like we did during Carnival, you might literally be carried away by the press of bodies.  In general, there is a whole lot more reaching around, squeezing through and inadvertent touching than what we are used to. Often this reaching, squeezing and touching comes without apology or even an "excuse me." Not because Brazilians are rude (they aren't!) but because there is literarily nothing to excuse.  It's just the way it is. In fact, we are the rude ones with our gimme attitudes toward space and stepping back from friendly conversation as if we are afraid of catching a disease. As with everything, we are slowly adapting. We are standing closer weaving through, and blurring our notions of personal and intimate space. I'm sure we will have a lot of fun with that one when we return to the US.

Health Care

We have gone to the doctor twice in the last two weeks under two different healthcare systems.  Brazil has a 100% assessable public system as well as a private system that takes money and insurance. We went to the latter type first because we googled and that is what popped up. We didn't have insurance so they asked for $70 and said we would be called. After waiting about 15 minutes in a clean and comfortable waiting room, a jeans-wearing MD came to get us and was soon pressing his thumbs hard into Carol's sinuses. He prescribed medicines that he took, pre-boxed, from a cabinet behind him and sent us on our way. After two weeks she wasn't better so we went to a public place. We didn't mean to but we googled and that is what popped up. They didn't mention money and said we would be called. After waiting in a bedraggled and crowed waiting room for a little over an hour, a jeans-wearing MD came to get us and was soon pressing his thumbs hard into Carol's sinuses. He gave us a prescription that we took to the pharmacy. The meds were pre-boxed and cost less than twenty dollars. So, the difference in time was a half hour versus an hour and a half; the difference in cost was $70 versus $18, the difference in comfort was moderate and the difference in care was negligible. It is challenging to consider what kind of care a Brazilian in a similar situation would experience in the US. I would hope the the care would be readily available, fast, quality and damn-near free.  

The opposite of immersion

I'm not sure what the opposite of immersion is but Carol and I have been living it. We have had company for five of the last six weeks and it has been a blast but we have become separated from the Brazilian language and culture. Our immersion reversal happened gradually and then all at once. Slowly we stopped trying to talk to each other in Portuguese, watching Brazilian news and taking classes. To compensate, we started listening to music in English, eating dinner late and discussing American politics. And then all the sudden it seemed crazy that the lady in our phone was speaking in Portuguese and what the hell is wrong with the roads in this country anyway? We got dispersed, we got detached. Somehow, we removed ourselves from the language and the culture. Ironically, this happened while we were showing what we love about Brazil to people who had come for exactly that. We are getting back to in now though. We watched a Brazilian movie last night and have set some learning goals. I'm pretty sure we will get our heads back down underneath it soon enough. 

Lots of luck in the new year

On our first new year's eve in Brazil we woke up in a tent on a remote beach and leisured our way home, by way of three caipirinhas, just in time to add one last nap to last year's tally. Then we read up on Brazilian customs to make sure we did things right. Wear white the internet said, with colored underwear selected to invite your new year's fortune. Eat lentils and pomegranate seeds. Avoid chicken. Make offerings, the internet said. Throw white flowers into the sea, or send vanity products on a homemade boat. Jump seven waves at midnight, making wishes, and then walk backwards to shore. Go to the parties, the internet said, and watch the fireworks. Out we went, wearing white, lentils in our bellies, armed with information and ready to party. We saw groups of other whitely-dressed people and watched the launching of a ship with gifts for Yemanja. We heard music coming from houses and popup tents and from the patios of closed restaurant and bars along the beach. That's right. The restaurants, bars were closed, we weren't invited to any parties and we couldn't even buy a drink. Undaunted, we returned home for lawn chairs and a bottle of Champaign and then back to the sea to hoot and holler, watch fireworks and jump waves for good luck. That's about the time it started to rain. We didn't have our jackets, our chairs were sinking in the wet sand, our dog was miserable and it was still 50 minutes to midnight with no relief in sight. Back home we went, with our muddy chairs, soggy champagne and stinky dog. We watched the fireworks from our window and jumped up and down in our little house, making wishes, wearing underwear selected to bring health and harmony, hoping for the best but unsure of what repercussions our new year's efforts might bring.

Ode to Fortaleza

 The time came to leave our beautiful little house in Fortaleza da Barra and it was hard to say goodbye. We were there for five and a half months and the house became a home. A home where we hosted our friends, and learned Portuguese; a home where we could be ourselves, exploring other realities and each other. It's hard to leave the cool kids balcony, the comfy beds and the good TV,  the banana trees and the bamboos making music in the breeze. It was such a convenient place to live, a short drive to school and Carol's yoga class and the beach. We will miss the quirk, the mid-evil roads, the street art and the canal with all that it takes and brings. We will miss the busloads of people walking home; and Jerri, who sang with Carol on that infamous drunken night at Rancho de Canoa; and the sunsets and the hammock views.  We are empty from missing it but full from having had it and I think that is part of the point and why we are here. 

Brazilian dogs

 Hotdog stands here are a thing. I've kind of avoided them because the hamburgers are so ba-nu-nus but tonight was the night. I was walking home with my bachelorette dinner of Corona and cookies in a bag on my arm when I noticed the local hotdog shack was open. A rarity. I stepped to the plate and ordered one. The lady clarified, "only one?" -- I concurred and without further questions she started working on my order. Her back was to me so I couldn't see what was happening but it took more time that one would expect. When I got home, I opened the container and there was my prize: my first Brazilian hotdog. On further inspection, the sausage was in there. It was on top of a mysterious red sauce and under some corn and peas, which were covered with pico de gallo topped with a layer of mayonnaise smothered with shredded carrots and potato chip crumbles and all wrapped in a rapidly sogging bun. If it sounds horrendous, it was, but at least now I know. Bon appetite!

Kind of like Trader Joe's

 

My teacher wanted to take me on a field trip to a local market. I admit, I wasn't too keen on the exercised because I have been shopping in this country for months now and thought I knew what there was to know. Wrong again. My teacher approached a customer and asked the difference between two types of papayas. The customer explained and shared how to make a good shake out of one of the papaya types. My teacher then asked a lady what some green leafy was. She was happy to tell us and threw in a recipe for frying it up with garlic and a little onion. Charming. The people at the markets are kind of like like Trader Joes' cashiers with their helpful tips, recipe ideas and overall enthusiasm about produce. This I did not know.

Second thoughts on the nude beach

We went to the nude beach again. It was a glorious day with hot sun, cool water and lots of beautiful people doing their thing, some of them nudely. We made a shelter from the sun. There were a few men, as there always are, strutting their stuff and trying to make a few bucks the hard way so to speak. It didn't bother us. I regret saying before that it felt predatory. Clearly, I'm still trying to sort out my feelings about the activities that we observe over there.  Today, I'm glad there is a place where people can be exactly who they are.

Visitor

 

We have a friend staying with us. It's been fun and has me thinking about a couple of things. First, our friend is a Chicana from Utah. People here relate to her much more as being Mexican than they do as being American and they are very very psyched to speak to her in Portuguese. A language she has been  seriously studying for about four days.  The other thing I noticed was that today she had to translate some Portuguese for me on the beach. It's hard to be the slowest Portuguese learner on the team but I am very excited that I will have some help with the language while Carol is in the US next week. I'm sure I will get it soon.

Talking with our hands

While we were fact-gathering before moving here we learned that we shouldn't use the OK sign because it is like raising the middle finger. As it turns out, we see the OK sign used to signify "okay" from time to time and it doesn't ruffle any feathers. Brazilians are more likely give a thumbs up, though. It is kind of their go-to gesture. When driving thumbs up means "go ahead" and also "thanks," on the beach it means "it's all good" and as a response to a question it means "yes." This has been easy for us to get used to because thumbs up exists in the US. The tougher gestures are the ones that we don't have, like the "get it!" snap. It's a few quick flicks of the wrist that causes he index finger to snap against the middle finger. Neither of us can reliably make the sound yet, but we are working on it because it is very cool. They also have the "tanto faz" which is is a back and forth slap of the hand that means "either way" and the wiping the brow down to a snap which kind of means "whew" and the closed-to-open "twinkle twinkle little star" gesture that they use to mean "full" or "many." There is actually a whole pile of new gestures for us to learn but they are fun and a lot easier than spoken words because when making hand gestures, one doesn't have to pronounce any vowel sounds.

The best in the world

 Brazilian Portuguese is filled with hyperbole and and we love it. Sometime they use very very very very to express a lot. Other times they add pra caramba, which is also fun to say. There are endings available to exaggerate most words. For example, if something is really expensive one could say it is expensive-íssima, if there are a tons of people, one might refer to the people-ada and a really good game is a game-ão. Further, people are always dying of something here. They may die of laughing, of wanting a beer or of needing to pee. And from the pizza down the street to the traffic during summer, many many things are often the best, or the worst, in the world. So, in Portuguese, we are very very very lucky that later today the best cook in the world will make us lunch pra caramba and we will die of happiness to spend the afternoon with our friendãos.

Gringas

 

I heard us referred to as "gringas" recently (the feminine form of gringos). It was the first time and it went like this. I stayed with the dog while Carol and Amanda got lunch and ordered drinks, then they sat with the dog while I went in to get my lunch. While I was in line, I heard a guy ask (in Portuguese) who the Heinekens were for. The lady at the counter said that the beers were for "the gingas" and that we were sitting outside. It was weird to overhear us casually referred to as such. It is also kind of why we are here. We want to understand our privilege differently and to spend a little time with the shoe on the other foot. Metaphorically.

The school is the community

                                     

We came to Brazil to learn Portuguese and we picked our school years before we came. We picked it because of a connection with one of the professor. He was patient and kind and so engaging in our online classes that we couldn't wait to enroll full time and become friends in person. As luck would have it he is married to the school's director and she is equally amazing and we are humbled at their friendship. So of course they have a cool school filled with cool people who have cool stories and we are lucky to be associated. Our friend visited from the United States recently and said she was stoked that we had found community here. I don't think we really appreciated it as such until she did. These are our peeps!  They know what is happening with us, worry about us during the storms, would notice if we weren't there and are gracious and kind in many ways. Our school is our community and one would think someone who has studied community learning for so many years would have embraced that fact before now.  

Thoughts on the nude beach

 

We have a clothing-optional beach nearby and we go there a lot with the dog. It's a pretty good beach with beautiful headlands, a make-shift bar, surfers and sometimes families. Most of the nudists are guys and most of them are alone. Occasionally there are couples. I've been trying to collect my thoughts about it all.  I like the idea of clothes-optional spaces, at least in theory. In reality, it depends. On the weekends when there are a lot of people on the beach, the nude ones kind of blend in and it feels okay, just everybody doing their thing. On the weekdays and when it's stormy, there are fewer people on the beach and it doesn't feel that innocent. There is a lot of parading, posturing, hooking-up, and unwarranted invasions of space. The men can be pretty creepy. Yes, I'm chilling on a nude beach, no I don't want you standing in front of me staring with your junk hanging out.  It doesn't feel innocent or natural, it feels predatory.

Can you #! @*&% believe it?

Of all the things we are slow to understand about Brazilian language and culture, swearing is one of them. It's not like home were a swear is a swear is a swear and no matter the context most people wouldn't drop f-bombs in front of children. Here, the context matters. As far as we can tell, their f-word, foda, is vulgar when it refers to the sex act and profane when used as a negative enhancer but is fine when used as a positive enhancer.  For example, someone might cause offense by referring to a situation as fucked up but to say the music is fucking great would be just fine. For the record, we are not trying to drop effers until we really get these rules dialed, cause we very much want to be fucking respectful all the fucking time.

We are polyglots

Our teacher soothed us today with the idea that we already speak many languages. We sometimes talk to each other in hoots and half-grunts. I might talk to colleagues using languages of measurement or analysis and Carol says things I don't understand when she works. I swear a lot with some friends; Carol coos a lot at babies. We just naturally use different words and sounds and speak in different ways when we are in different contexts. Certainly with all this practice and nature ability, we will start speaking Brazilian Portuguese just fine any moment now...

My wife gets around

We tried pizza in Rio a few times and have aggressively avoided Brazilian pizza since. Someone recently challenged our pizza biases and off we went to try a new pizza place in Lagoa. The place was chique, as they say, and the pizza was fantastic. Halfway through our third slice, one of the servers approached the table and asked Carol if she was Carol. Shut the front door! The person had gone to a yoga class with Carol and recognized her. They chatted a little and I puffed up a lot. My little lover, she gets around!

The teaching plants

For thousands of years, people have used teaching plants to gain perspective and learn old things. The ancestors in the Americas used these plants for healing, expanding their knowledge and energy beyond the their bodies and brains. Today, our governments tell us which plants we can and can't use and what we can and can't know. In most of the United States it is illegal to use teaching plants at all. Here in Brazil they are available to any who might come. It's quite refreshing that on a Saturday afternoon on this island, anyone with $30 dollars and an open mind is welcomed into a safe space to be guided into new understanding by the mother of all the teaching plants, a local shaman and her helpers. Aho!

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.   

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.