The one without an ending

After three glorious months in Brazil, it’s back the crush of four literature courses, a philosophy course, two (hopefully) internships, and a job.

As I recount my stories of Brazil, I find it difficult to say, a week or two ago so-and-so happened.  The location is too separated, my life too different.  I haven’t processed I am only a week away from having sushi at the Colinas temakaria, searching out bunnies at the “Spider” park, and buying 80 reais worth of pesto to compensate for the pesto-less state of South Carolina.

For the first time after being abroad, I’m having to readjust to the US.  In France, the culture is too similar.  For the most part, Paris is New York, slightly smellier and with better pastry.  Paris offers a language I am comfortable with, customs that suit me, and the quiet anonymity of the city.

Sao Paulo is none of this.  No, it is, in a way.  You get lost among the people, but for me, it is not in the same manner.  My freedom is inhibited there.  Wandering is discouraged for safety’s sake and dining alone is an impossibility, as the menus present a challenge.  Being there during the World Cup was even more imposing.  I never experienced the supposed preparation for visitors I had anticipated.  I grant, a few restaurants boasted “foot to the letter” translations of offered items, but, as a whole, the World Cup meant loud, drunk, young Brazilians crowding the streets, setting off firecrackers, and relentlessly blowing on noisemakers, until the wee hours of morning.

The street, bereft of the oh-so-silent football spectators.

I had little interaction in Sao Paulo.  As I wasn’t taking courses, I spent my time at home, cleaning up after the inept maid.  Occasionally I went shopping, but the Dia was only a block away, and I never came to a point where I recognized the cashiers, as I later would in São José dos Campos.

The people I did meet, the friends and classmates of Pepe, were an incredibly traveled group, many preparing to spend years of their time abroad, studying in countries where they didn’t speak the language.  “Oh, I’ll learn when I’m there” was the most common response to my incredulity at their unworried attitude. 

I’ll learn when I’m there.  It does make sense, looking back.  In three months, without being in constant contact with Portuguese, I was able to go from barely understanding pleasantries, to following stories and dialogues about current affairs.  If this was possible for me, who conversed with everyone in English, how much more would one learn while sitting in classes and conducting affairs in another language.

************************