The first Brazilian I remember meeting was a new student in my high school Spanish class named Fernanda, who was sitting near me. We were all working with a sentence, something like,
Espero que mi amiga hable com a nueva chica--I hope my friend will talk to the new girl. My friend Amy kept nudging me to make that practice exercise a reality and reach out to her. Somehow we both broke past our shyness and awkwardness (we were--and still are--the weirdos of the group) and struck up a conversation. Fernanda actually knew a lot of Spanish--I'm not sure if she had studied it, or if she picked it up more quickly because of her Portuguese, but she helped us out a lot. I remember when we were learning about animals, and cow--
vaca--was mentioned, she told us that it was the same word in Portuguese, but considered offensive, similar to "bitch." The three of us would joke around with each other, calling the other a
vaca in Spanish, and giggling.
I only remember hanging out with Fernanda that one semester--she must have changed schools after, but hers was the first face I ever associated with Brazil, a country which had always seemed far away and filled with spiders and jungles--things I wasn't too excited about. Until we really know something, we can only associate it with the few pictures and ideas that have been passed on to us. It's a shame when we hold on to
a single story, though. I'm sure
I asked Fernanda questions about Brazil, but, caught up in the struggle of finding my own identity in the confusing world of high school, I don't think I took too much time to listen. It would be different friendships over the years with international classmates, and
a trip to Italy years later, where I picked up more Italian than I thought I could, that would change my perspective and open up the world to me.
Years later, living in Boston and teaching English to international students, I was playing around with Portuguese, studying it on my own, finding more opportunities to practice it than Italian, or even Spanish. Maybe it's the general friendliness of Brazilian culture, as well as the large Brazilian population in Boston, that helped me break past the barriers of culture and shyness which had limited my practical exploration of other languages.
One cold winter, an incredibly outgoing and fun-loving student named Diogo invited our whole class, and multiple other students, to go to a restaurant for some Brazilian barbecue.
Churrasqueria--or barbecue grill--was a difficult word for me to pronounce, but, after being coached by the Brazilians in my class that day, I finally got it, and I tagged along with the group, excited for my first experience with
rodizio--servers bringing all-you-can-eat cuts of meat directly to your table. We all crowded around a few large tables put together--folks from Taiwan, Turkey, Korea, Japan, Colombia, Russia, Brazil, and likely a few other countries. I was never crazy about meat, often living as a quasi-vegetarian, but I think I was converted at this little place in Somerville. What I loved more, though, was the way Diogo brought so many different people together, making them feel like special guests, everyone telling stories and laughing and forming friendships. Somehow, it was how I had always pictured heaven.
My first visit to Brazil was in 2011, with my friend Natalia, who was
going back to visit family for the first time, several years after
immigrating to the United States. We landed in Brasilia, which was a
blur, and then flew to Vitória, Espirito Santo, where her uncle picked
us up and drove us past tall, rolling hills, far into the countryside to
Quatituba, Minas Gerais. The first thing that struck me as I got my
first glimpse of Brazil was how very green and lush the vegetation was,
and also how very red the soil was, at least where we were. I remember
feeling kind of claustrophobic and "trapped," being so far from the
ocean, way out in the boondocks, surrounded by hill after hill, mountain
after mountain. This feeling still grips me living in São José dos
Campos, in the Paraíba Valley, but it's something I'm learning to deal
with through
art.
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| photo by Natalia Gato |
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| Photo by Natalia Gato |
One of the first things I tasted after we arrived at Natalia's grandparents' house was a coconut, which her grandfather knocked down from the tree in his yard, chopped open with a huge knife, passed around for everyone to drink the water from, and then opened up more for us to get the meat out. To someone like me, from the Northeast United States, this was an exotic experience; to Natalia, it was a nostalgic welcome back to her childhood home.
I was surprised that in Brazil we "suck" oranges, rather than "eat" them. I've also learned words for many different kinds of oranges, and many names of fruit that I have no idea what to call in English. I was impressed by how "green" sugar cane juice tastes, and how fun
jabuticaba is. And coffee here is absolutely amazing, but good tea, hard to find.
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| Sugar Cane - photo by Natalia Gato |
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When I visited São José for the first time, in 2013, with my sister, we learned to always keep the window closed, because cockroaches here can fly--even up to the 11th floor! After moving here in 2014, I learned to catch the bus by signaling for the driver to stop--something I don't remember having to do in the U.S. There, at least in Boston, a person at a bus stop means the bus has to stop. I had also gotten used to saying "no," when cashiers asked me if I wanted to put my CPF on the receipt--a number I didn't yet have in my early days here. Though I spoke decent Portuguese even then, it took me a while to understand the actual words of the question, which was always asked quickly--I only had it in my mind that the first thing the cashier asked me, I should answer with a "não." So you can imagine the look on the cashier's face at the equivalent of a dollar store when, rather than asking about my CPF, he told me the price, about four reais, and, all I said was, "não," before handing over the four bucks.
I don't know how true it is that first impressions are everything. Maybe for a job interview, but not necessarily so for the country you end up moving to, or the person you end up spending your life with. Eventually, these impressions blended in with the larger picture of my life, sometimes forgotten, other times recalled with amusement and fond memories. It can be fun to explore the different intersections and milestones that make up life's journey. What are some of your first impressions of a new place? What surprised you most about another culture? How have you learned to allow multiple stories to broaden your view of the unknown?
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