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.
************************
