No laughing matter

One of the silver linings around Carol's myriad of health concerns are the real-life language and culture lessons. Carol went alone on the most recent school of hard knocks enrichment experience. She returned six hours later, beat up and pissed at the world.  I cuddled her and listened. She told me about waiting 20 minutes to be called to the wrong reception desk and being sent upstairs to start over. She told me about not knowing how to describe the specialized team that usually takes her blood and about the frantic jabbing, squeezing, shaking and stabbing by the amateurs sent to find her itty bitty veins. She described feeling abandoned in the "special problems room" where a disinterested lady succeeded in finding the vein on the first try and then disappeared.  She recounted the near-death sensations she had as a result of the dye that must be different than the dye she doesn't react to in the US. By the time she got to telling me about the scolding for trying to pay for parking at the wrong kiosk we were laughing hard at the stupidity of it all and stayed giggly the rest of the night which was another silver lining.

Gettin' ink done

Tattoos are one of our favorite parts of Brazilian culture. All kind of people have them, including the teachers at our school, folks on billboards, and the occasional newscaster. We love ogling the amazing art and gorgeously tattooed bodies that seem to be everywhere. The idea that Brazilians are heavily tattooed got under our skin to the point that we 'when in Rome-ed' and picked up a few ourselves. Funny thing about confirmation bias is that you see what you expect to see and the truth be damned. We spent almost a year noticing the tattooed people and not noticing the untattooed people and perpetuated our own fake news about Brazilians and their tattoos. I looked the facts up to write about it and discovered that our belief was based on self-fulfilling mind tricks and that, proportionally, way more Americans than Brazilians have tattoos. It's certainly true that people around here show more skin than they do in Utah and and it's probably true that there is less of a stigma about tattoos, but Carol and I were in keeping with our American identities when we decided to ink up. 

I ate the Nutella

 

My lover loves me especially because of my faults. It's a sweetness between us. I love her especially because her delicate body is no match for her indefatigable soul and she loves me because my taurus strength is powerless against binge snacking. For example, in the past three weeks I ate two jars of Nutella. As a result, there wasn't any Nutella left, not even the spare jar, when she got a hankering. "But you love me especially because, right?" I said. "Even though" she responded. Today is, our 10 year and 8 month anniversary so we will endure but I really should be more considerate when it comes to our snacks. 

Water to drink

We aren't sure what the situation is with the tap water here but people generally don't drink it so we don't either. One place we lived had a filter on the tap but mostly we use refillable 20 liter bottles. Sometimes, like now, we live far from the road and getting the water to the house can be a hassle. To address the issue, I brought a backpacking filter back from the US and enjoyed mindlessly pumping our water 10 minutes every day until a plastic piece broke off and ended that. Today, I stopped to get our 20 liter bottle refilled and the lady told me the bottle was too old and she wouldn't take it. That was strange because no one ever looked for a date before but there was nothing I could do so I headed to a self-service place nearby. The machine wouldn't take my 50 cent coins so I went to a store to exchange my change. The guy told me they didn't have enough change to change my change and I was out of options. I got five gallons for now and will drive to town tomorrow to try and fill the 20 liter bottle. I'm also going find out why it is that we don't just drink the tap water. 

Normal for the spider (chaos for the fly)

 

Living in a place similar to a nature preserve has us getting acquainted with the wildlife. Most recently, we've been watching dozens of gigantic spiders sitting in golden webs that started to show up about a month ago. It's a type of spider that can be found from the southeast US all the down to Argentina so it isn't rare, but I've never see anything like it. Enormous females with long striped legs sit patiently in middle of their golden webs. The ladies have bodies four to five times larger and100 times heavier than the skinny brown males who hang around in the webs up and away  a little bit. These spiders live in colonies, sharing web infrastructure to form 3-dimensional nightmares up to six webs deep. We have a a few colonies nearby that we keep an eye on. Today, one of the bigger females seemed to be dead in her web with all eight legs hanging down like pale yellow roots. A male nervously moved around her body while a ghostly white spider, with an evil looking red spot, lurked above them. I went to find Carol to give her the news, trying to imagine what had happened. When we returned, the formerly-dead female was pale and moist but up and moving and the male spider was trying to get her in a family way. The ghostly white spider swung above them in the breeze, the way an exoskeleton does when it is left behind after molting.

Not appropriate for children

 

I read a children's book recently that was written by a renowned Brazilian author. I was surprised that the book described a dog being killed by other dogs. It felt graphic and sad and I asked my teacher about the violence and wondered what it meant about violence in the culture. Then I reread "Call of the Wild." A book that captivated my imagination when it was assigned reading in my forth grade. A grand tale that inspired my interest in wild places and nurtured my own wildness. Well surprise, surprise, that book I loved as a child was filled with dogs being viciously killed and violently abused. It is telling that I was so quick to connect a dead dog in a Brazilian book to violence in the culture but forgot all about the dead dogs (and people) in a beloved book from my country. It's one more reminder not to judge, just to learn with humility and to grow.

Calling for help

 

It's probably best if we stay out of the help giving/getting business until we better grasp on things.  At one point I saw a man struggling in some rocks at the edge of a beach. I wanted to be a hero and help but am glad I didn't because it was a person with a physical disability just trying to enjoy his day. Then we were tempted to help when we saw a seal caught in some fishing nets. I was in the act of sending a message to summons help we realized that the seal was not caught in the nets but was stealing fish out of them. A call for help may have ended with angry fishermen and a dead seal. Similarly, a person calling for help can't really count on us either. We had been here about six months when our teacher used the word "socorro" in class. We looked confused. Sooth? I guessed. Some kind of juice? Carol offered. He said it again with emphasis, arms flailing, kind of yelling "Socorro!" --Cheers! We said together, clinking imaginary cups. Nope, Socorro! is the call for help and it is a good thing nobody has needed us to provide any.

Everything old is new again

 

One of the greatest things about this adventure is the constant sense of newness. Even the old stuff has been reincarnated into a Brazilian version of what we used to know. I first noticed it with reading. I loved books as a young person but somewhere during grad school I lost the love. I would read on planes or if I had to but I stopped reading for fun. Now, I'm reading books in Portuguese and they transport me to new places and inspire fresh thoughts and, just like when I was a kid, I want to read them all. Similarly with sports. I love snowboarding. Back in the day, I never wanted to miss a minute but 30 years in, some of the stoke has faded and I often take long lunches or arrive late or leave early. Here, I'm learning to ride a different kind of board and the stoke is back, I fight for every minute in the water and even if the riding is crap, it still leaves me wanting more. The learning curves are sharp and being a perpetual neophyte is humbling but feeling brand new in everything is priceless.

Carnival coming

 

We read a book where the animal characters were excited for Carnival. As they scrambled to get ready they could hear it coming, panquititapam, panquitititapam. It was a cute book but we weren't sold. We went to Carnival in Rio once. The parade was surreal and the whole thing was a scene that was absolutely worth experiencing. Still, we were thinking we might escape to the mountains and skip Carnival this year. Turns out we didn't get any plans made so it looks like we going to stay. It's exciting. It's still a week away but the island is staring to swell with activity. The beaches and restaurants are packed. In the evenings, people dressed in white send their flowery gifts out to the sea and the singing and drumming lasts into the night. Sambas are heard in the bars and and faces are starting to glitter in that streets. From our little house we can hear it coming, panquititipam panquititipam. Carnival is on it's way.

Cozy spaces

We've lived in four different places since we moved to this island and they've all come with unique advantages and disadvantages. Two of the places, including our current abode, have been pretty small. The current place is 350 square foot-ish with a couch, and a table and a bed. Only one of us fits in the kitchen at a time and we have to figure out who will wear the headphones when we have meetings --but it's our home, it has what we need and I kind of love it. It reminds me of backpacking. Our in-home activities include looking out the window and cuddling with the dog. We talk more and have fewer distraction. It's cozy. Roomier houses are probably preferable in countless ways but there is something to be said for an unembellished life and in having only the essentials we come to appreciate what is essential. 

Your Portuguese is better than my English

 

We engage in a friendly struggle with most of the English-speaking Brazilians we meet. The struggle is that we want to use our Portuguese and they want to use their English.  Usually whoever can speak best wins. As might be expected, we have had a lot of conversations in English but that is beginning to change. We have a neighbor who was clearly excited to practice his English the first time he met us. Carol chatted with him again this morning and he agreed that her Portuguese was the better than his English and they carried on in Portuguese. It hasn't happened to me yet but I'm proud of Carol and her perfect pronunciation and well-tuned ear. It was just the first of many future conversations in Portuguese with English-speaker and I'm sure that I too will start having these kinds of conversations soon. 

We killed a snake

 Neither one of us wanted to do it. We first saw the snake, or one like it, in the garage. We showed the picture around and learned that it was a jararaca, and venomous. Then last night there it was coiled up on the stairs, inches from where Carol was standing. We shewed it away and did our research; 52% of snakebites in this country are attributed to the jararaca and they can be deadly. It was back this morning, curled up on the porch like a kitten. We shewed it away more forcefully, let the landlord know and did some more research: likely venomous, don't approach. It returned to the porch again and was shewed it again. The third time it returned to the porch, we didn't shew it. I dropped a rock on it and now it is dead. We aren't sure we did the right thing. We probably didn't. We like animals and it was a beautiful creature but we have a dog and he is a beautiful creature too and we are responsible for him. I wish moving to Brazil came with a handbook that provided some guidance for times like these. 

Just for fun

 

We chatted with a young German guy who's been going to our school. When we came to the part about why he wanted to learn Brazilian Portuguese, he had the greatest answer. He said it sounded fun. He thought it would be fun to learn and fun to speak. He already had German and French and Spanish and English, so why not get a little entertainment out of the next one, Right? He explained this to us in slow and careful Portuguese, which, after a semester in college and a week and a half at our school, he was mastering. In times of linguistic trouble, I want to channel this boy and to remind myself that this is fun. It totally is. We get to say words like paralelepípedo and yell "sextou!" on Fridays and we get to meet fun people. When you get right down to it, you'd have to hate fun not to learn Brazilian Portuguese. 

How to phone

 

When we moved here, figuring out the cellphone/data thing was challenging.  We ended up getting a Google Fi plan and I got a (very cheap) Google Fi phone. With Google Fi our phone service was cheaper but essentially unchanged plus we could use data from wherever we happened to be in the world. After about two months, I got an email informing me that if I wasn't back in the US in 30 days the fees would change and my data would be cut off. So, that was a bummer. The solution was a SIM card, which sounds like a no-brainer but in Brazil you need an identity number with the federal government to get one. Plus, you have to be really good at filling out forms. So, they cut off my data and eventually I figured out the SIM card. It works great, for about $10 a month I get all the data I need but I have to use a Brazilian phone number. Carol spent a little more for her phone and hers is eSIM compatible, so she got to keep her US number. So, if anyone is looking for advice, go with the Google Fi, just make sure your phone is set up for an eSIM and know that you will have to buy a (cheap) data plan when your international access expires.

gringos in floripa

Carol got hooked up with with an online "gringos" group and planned a beach weekend away. I complained that I wasn't super stoked to hang out with a bunch of Americans but I went anyway because that's what you do.  Turns out I was wrong of course. The gringos weren't a bunch of Americans, the common thread was that they were people who spoke English. First we picked up a French Canadian most recently from Cambodia. Then we met up with Two Brazilians, two Germans  and a partridge in a pair tree. Kidding. And a person from Lebanon and a person from Norway, plus there was me and Carol and someone else from the US. The multi-cultural event featured two days of pouring rain (pictured) so we got to spend a lot of time together and it was great because shooting the shit with diverse people isn't something we've done a lot of. It should be though because people from other countries are super interesting and have amazing stories and just talking is a way to learn and gain perspective and challenge prejudice.

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.