Review: 50 Ways to Improve Your Portuguese

50 Ways to Improve your Portuguese – I got this slim little book off of Amazon, and read it before my trip to Brazil in December.

My hope for this book was that it would deepen my knowledge in areas that usually get short shift in normal language courses, and that it would illuminate some of the nuance in the language. Well, it turns out to be mostly a review of things that you should have learned in a first-year course, but perhaps didn’t. Basic things like proper spelling, pronouns, etc. and some intermediate points of confusion (esse/este/aquele, saber vs conhecer). I would have also liked to see more than 1 or 2 examples given for each subpoint, since exposure to the grammar in context is the main way that you learn it.

Since the authors live in London, there is a definite British English bias to the book – for example, they seem to think that visitors to Brazil must really want to know the proper word to use when ordering marmalade (marmalade! in Brazil! – just order some goiabada and be done with it :-), or that they will use tomar inappropriately by analogy with “I take dinner at 6 o’clock.”

While I can’t recommend this book as a top resource, this could be a very good review for learners who have taken some Portuguese in the past. One nice thing is you can read it in just a few days. So if you’ve been away from Portuguese for awhile and need a quick refresher, then this is an excellent little book that will bring you back up to speed.

Coming soon:

Portuguese: A Reference Manual – this 2011 book has been getting absolutely glowing reviews on Amazon, so I just had to get a copy to take a look at. The first thing to say is that it is not a textbook. Like The Green Book, it aspires to be a comprehensive reference grammar for students who want to really master the language. But is it better than The Green Book? I haven’t decided yet. My first impression is that it’s certainly very comprehensive, but the visual layout of the book is a bit daunting – poorly formatted tables and dense lists of bullet points. I’m going to use it as my go-to consultation book for the next few weeks, and we’ll see how it holds up.

Also coming soon:

PortuguesePod101.com – this is one of the better subscription-based language programs that is entirely online. I used it for a few months last year and enjoyed it. I particularly liked the integration of audio lessons, spoken dialogs, texts, word banks, and a memory-schedule flashcard system. There’s also a ton of content – dozens of lessons for skill levels from absolute beginner to quite advanced. So while it’s a bit expensive, you get a lot for your money. I recommend you sign up for their email list because they have sales all the time. I’ll be doing a much more thorough review soon.

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Analepse Tropicália: Caetano Veloso and the Foreign Gaze

Cristo Redentor, braços abertos sobre a Guanabara… – Tom Jobim

If you’ve ever been to Rio, know anything about Rio or have even just seen postcards of Rio, chances are you are familiar with this view. The statue of Cristo Redentor perched atop Corcovado mountain, arms spread wide towards Botafogo and Pão de Açúcar in the middle distance, with the mouth of Guanabara Bay and Niterói in the background.

After I wrote about my first week in Salvador, I thought about how much of that week was like a postcard: a tourist’s first shallow impressions of the city. I thought about how much of it was informed by my previous experience in Brazil, and my experience of living in North American cities. Someone who had grown up in Bahía would have a completely different experience of Salvador.

Someone like, say, Caetano Veloso?

As it happens, this was the perfect week for me to discover Caetano Veloso’s masterpiece of a song, Estrangeiro (1989):

I’m still falling down the rabbit hole of discovering the golden age of Música Popular Brasileira and just being amazed at how sophisticated and wonderful this music is. It feels a bit silly to gush about Caetano Veloso – like, who really wants to hear someone who’s been living in a cave for 50 years go on about this awesome band called the Rolling Stones? – but hey, it’s all still new to me.

When I heard Estrangeiro for the first time, my ears perked up. Stevie Wonder? Claude Levi-Strauss? Man, what is this song about? I went to google the lyrics, then I listened to it maybe 10 more times trying to wrap my head around it. Caetano is a poet and he uses a poet’s language, which means his lyrics are full of words that are completely unfamiliar to me and bizarre grammatical constructions that have an aesthetic as well as semantic effect. He was also a well-read philosophy major, which means that his lyrics are brimming with intertextual references to other artists and thinkers, not unlike his autobiography Tropical Truth. Tropicália itself was replete with intellectual connections across disciplines and across history. In Estrangeiro, the French anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss and his ideas about culture form the nucleus off of which Caetano launches into some very deep explorations of self vs. Other. To start the discussion, here’s a good English translation of the lyrics.

That link describes this song as being about “the feelings someone can have at first contact with Rio”, which, on the surface at least, is certainly what sets the scene. Rio has a way of overwhelming visitors with its dramatic geography, vibrant streetlife, musical culture, and a certain amount of exotic chaos. It also stuns you with visions of shocking inequality – no where else in Brasil are favelas so visible to tourists, so proximal to luxury. Foreigners are usually given over to hyperbolic descriptions of Rio, either romanticizing the exotic tropicália of the city (those soft Brazilian singers!) or exaggerating the violence and poverty. We might call this the “foreign gaze” – o olhar estrangeiro. (Speaking of which, check out the great documentary Olhar Estrangeiro, which takes an amused and critical look at the way Brazil has been depicted by foreign filmmakers over the years).

The foreign gaze does seem to be a major theme of this song. Are foreigners so blinded by their first impressions of Rio that they cannot see the “real” Rio? It’s worth noting that Caetano himself was a baiano, a stranger to Rio – and for 2 years during his exile, a foreigner living in London. Perhaps, living under the dictatorship, he even felt like a foreigner in his own country.

But beyond the foreign gaze, Estrangeiro seems to have layers of meaning that touch on all kinds of heavy philosophical questions. What is a beautiful thing? Do we love only the surface of beautiful things, unable to see to their true nature? Or do we have to be blind in order to see the beauty that is invisible to the naked eye? What does it mean to observe a culture from the outside (as foreigners, or perhaps as anthropologists)? How do we see and experience difference? It it the Other that is so different from the observer, or is it the observer that is so different form the Other?

And this being Caetano, there’s certainly a political subtext as well. He wrote this song in 1989, just a few years after the fall of the military dictatorship, when the various political parties of the left and right were engaged in a deep struggle to determine the future of the country. Do the old man (holding a rosary in some scenes) and the young girl represent the far Right and the far Left, respectively? The Catholic establishment and the revolutionary groups? – both nearly indistinguishable in their support of fundamentalist ideologies, both led primarily by white men with no interest in including women, negros or índios? Caetano, like most of the tropicalists, was deeply suspicious of both the far left and the far right.

Even with all that has been written about the lyrics to Estrangeiro, the vicarious musicologist in me asks: But what about the music? The quasi-industrial drums and synths that divide the song into into strict bars that can barely contain Caetano’s tumbling, halfway-out-of-time lyrics. The minor key piano riff that repeats, unyielding, like a synthesizer sample, while Caetano’s nearly monotone speak-singing delivery is broken only by rising major key passages.  Then there are the twin voices of the old man and the young girl, speaking in temporal and harmonic unison – yet the girl’s voice is really a man singing in falsetto. And finally, the abrupt ending.

The video presents its own intriguing images, cut together in a disjointed montage that reflects the nonlinear structure of the lyrics. Indians, suggestions of Brazil’s bloody past, and even, if you look carefully, Pão de Açúcar taking a “bullet” to the head. The illustration of Botafogo Bay comes from Hélio Eichbauer’s scenography for Oswald de Andrade’s 1967 play O rei da vela, which influenced many tropicalists. The praia de Botafogo is the stage for the priest and the young girl (who always follows a few steps behind). That endless walk across the beach – the “rolling walkway of white sand and diesel oil” – reminds me of another estrangeiro, Camus’ L’Étranger. In the closing montage, we see a younger Caetano playing the part of the “soft Brazilian singer”. And of course, the final, startling image of the toothless mouth.

I wanted to know what prompted Claude Levi-Strauss to refer to Guanabara Bay as a “toothless mouth”. I found the exact quote in his 1955 book Tristes Tropiques, from a chapter in which he describes his first impressions of the New World, arriving in Rio by boat after a long trip across the Atlantic:

It seems to me that the landscape of Rio is out of proportion to its own dimensions. Pão de Açúcar and Corcovado, all these vaunted places — for the traveler who enters the bay, they resemble the stumps of missing teeth in the four corners of a toothless mouth. Since these protrusions are nearly always bathed in a thick tropical mist, they seem totally unable to fill the horizon, for which in any case they would be inadequate. If you want a decent view, you must look out at the bay from the landward side and look down upon it from high up. From the sea, the optical illusion is the opposite of the one you experience in New York – here, it is nature which has the appearance of an unfinished building site.

Another quote:

When I first saw Guanabara Bay, I was assaulted by a sense of deception in the face of what I had imagined. It was such a huge thing, with the important places located so distant from each other, that at the time all I could think of was a mouth without teeth. I didn’t see any way to hide this feeling.”

I suspect that Levi-Strauss is not merely speaking in terms of the aesthetics of the landscape. In those familiar postcard pictures of Rio (Ipanema Beach, Pão de Açucar from Corcovado), the natural landscape dominates the skyline of the city. But these classic vistas show only a small part of Zona Sul, and Zona Sul is itself only one sinuous section of a much vaster metropolis that wraps around Guanabara Bay, from Zona Oeste to Niterói. The quaint neighborhoods and dramatic landmarks that tourists think of as “Rio” are clustered into one tiny corner of this huge urban complex.

I recall that from the window of my airplane as it landed in Rio, Cristo Redentor seemed a white speck on a low hill, dwarfed against the vastness of the bay and larger mountains to the north. Perhaps Levi-Strauss was just surprised by the small scale of the hills and mountains in comparison to the enormous circumference of the bay – they do look considerably less impressive when viewed from the middle of Guanabara:

I think Caetano is asking, how can Rio be both ugly and beautiful – the sprawling, industrial metropolis and the exotic, marvelous city? How can one place leave such divergent impressions? The answer seems to be that there is no one “true” objective Rio, that what you see depends entirely on your own identity and preconceptions as an observer. In other words, the exotic other is really you. Levi-Strauss, who participated in the revolution towards a more reflexive approach to ethnography, summed up this view nicely:

In retrospect, I must admit that in Tristes Tropiques there is a certain scientific truth which is perhaps greater than in [my] objective works, because what I did was to reintegrate the observer into the object of his observation. It’s a book written with a lense that’s called a fish-eye, I think…it shows not only what’s in front of the camera but also what is behind the camera.

Tristes Tropiques is interesting as a document of a European outsider’s first impressions  Brazil. It has been noted for its free-form structure, weaving travelogue, ethnography, autobiography, and sweeping philosophical musings together into a non-linear narrative with both literary and scientific pretensions. CLS indulges in numerous asides in which he pauses his travelogue to ruminate on topics as diverse as the temporal dimension of New World vs Old World cities, the sociological basis of power, and colonialism’s effect on the environment. There are echoes of Gide, Conrad, and Proust and other writers. This disjointed structure, combined with rich language replete with detailed descriptions of smells and colors, has been compared to Symbolist poetry. Colorful language, a disjointed structure that weaves together dreamlike imagery with philosophical musings and references to other thinkers — this all seems an apt description of Estrangeiro‘s lyrics.

While researching Estrangeiro, I also found this fascinating academic article (pdf) in Portuguese which looks at the song from the perspective of ethnopoetics and anthropology. According to the authors, the song is a take on the anthropological gaze, which transforms the familiar into the exotic, and vice versa. And here is a blog post that discusses a political interpretation of the song.

There seems to be no end to the possible interpretations of this song – like the Baia de Guanabara, you see in it what you want to see.

Posted in Analepse Tropicália, Brazilian Culture | 4 Comments

Through the looking glass: the deep grammar of everyday Portuguese

Being here in Bahía, working as part of a large team, has made me realize how much of my past language study was really a solitary endeavor, cut off from the living language. At home, I feel starved of exposure to Portuguese. There is Spanish everywhere in LA of course, and about 20 other languages that are widely spoken, yet aside from a handful of Brazilian-owned stores, you never hear Portuguese. Two or three times I have been in a hotel lobby somewhere in the US, and suddenly my ears perk up at the sound of a familiar but unexpected language. Is that–? It’s like spotting a diamond laying in the middle of the street.

(In a strange way, this rarity has developed a kind of nascent Brazilian identity, because whenever I do hear Portuguese my first thought is invariably, Ooh, someone is speaking my language! I have to go talk to them!)

Not having easy access to the language means I’ve had to actively seek out native speakers, radio stations, television programs, videos, conversation groups, all through the Internet, which is often a tiresome process. Because of the effort involved, I don’t get the daily exposure that is so crucial for internalizing the grammar.

But suddenly here I am in Bahía, and I feel like a sponge, just soaking in all the ambient language and sucking up as much as I can. Road signs, billboards, radio chatter, overheard conversations, tv shows – everything is potential Input. Even when I’ve had a difficult
day, from time to time I mentally smack myself and remind myself where I am and how incredibly lucky I am to be here, what with this convergence of my professional and personal interests. Soon I’ll be back at home and it will all be English and Spanish and Russian and Mandarin; there will be no more ocean, no more conversations over moquecas and caipirinhas, no more Portuguese everywhere I look.

I often think of how far I’ve come in just three years. It does feel as though I am well over the hump, where most of the hard work of studying and memorization has been done, and now I am just integrating, to use a psychiatrist’s word. My vocabulary is large enough that it now seems like a manageable task to fill in the gaps, instead of the overwhelming Herculean effort that it felt like to build up a vocabulary from scratch. If I don’t know a word, I can usually describe it well enough using other words plus gestures plus context. I know all my verb conjugations, even the irregular and weird ones, even in the imperfect and present and future subjunctives. In fact when it comes to all the major points of grammar that you find in your average textbook, I sort of feel like “Been there, done that, not much more to be gained.”

There is still a difference between intellectually knowing the grammar and feeling the grammar, having it right there on the tip of your tongue instead of locked up somewhere in your brain, where it takes too long to access. I have a lot of work yet to do to facilitate that
brain-to-tongue transfer, and the only way to do that is immersion and daily  conversational practice. But it’s coming along.

The really tough part is that, despite all this, I still feel so far from where I want to be. I still experience the frustration of not being able to understand some people, all the more frustrating because this time it really matters that I understand them. And it is  maddeningly inconsistent. With many of my colleagues from São Paulo, especially women, they speak slowly with lots of intonation and cadence, and I understand them beautifully. With others, I can at least get the gist of what they’re saying. But with some people, especially Bahians who speak very fast and clipped, it almost sounds like a different language. I pick up bits of phrases and isolated words, but I can’t put them all together. (At least in this I’m not alone, as some of the paulistas have confided to me that even they have trouble understanding Bahians).

This is a tough stage to be in as a language learner, because there is no clear path forward to overcoming these obstacles. You are out there adrift on the open sea, and though you can no longer see the continent you departed from behind you, neither can you see any trace of land ahead of you. You’re well beyond the scope of most language courses, books, and classes. There are almost no resources out there to guide you. I assume that this is the point where you just go live in Brazil or Portugal or wherever for a year or two, and you eventually become fluent through immersion. But what if you don’t have that option? Is there any other way to reach fluency?

There must be, because there are so many Brazilians who have never lived in an English speaking country, who studied English for just two or three or four years in school, and who speak beautiful fluent English – still with an accent, but otherwise fluent. Then again, are
these two situated really the same? It’s true that English is a difficult language to  pronounce, and there are a lot of idioms and phrasal verbs to learn, but the basic grammar is pretty dirt simple compared to the Romance languages. There are only two verb conjugations, no grammatical genders, hardly any subjunctives, etc. Portuguese, on the other hand, is fairly simple to pronounce. Yes, it is not as phonetic as Spanish or Italian, but once you learn a few rules it mostly falls into place. The grammar, though, is ridiculous, even compared to other Romance languages, and even given the Brazilian tendency to avoid the more complicated constructions.

I’ve noticed – to generalize wildly – that even when Brazilian English speakers have an excellent command of the language, they still speak with a thick accent. I’m in the opposite situation. Not that I’m the best person to judge such things, but I think my pronunciation is pretty good. I get compliments on it all the time (many from people who are surprised / amused that I speak with a carioca accent). But my command of the language and  grammar is far worse and has required a lot of effort to master.

Then there is the fact that, from what I can tell, Brazilians are exposed to English language media all the time. Half the shows on tv here in Salvador are American programs that have been subtitled or (shudder) dubbed. Go to any cinema and you will find American movies.
Turn on the radio and you hear American pop music. Drive down the street and you see billboards with English slogans. Even the language itself is embedded with hundreds of English loan words – shopping, drinque, rock, website, fast food, bar. So maybe it’s easier for Brazilians to become fluent in English without leaving the country.

Back to my original question – where to go from here? One of the few resources I have found that is still invaluable to me at this stage of my learning is a book – and it’s one I have endorsed a dozen times here on Hacking Portuguese – called Modern Brazilian Portuguese
Grammar
(MBPG), by John Whitlam. This is a book that, every time I open it, makes me
realize how deep down the rabbit hole the language goes, far far beyond my basic command of the grammar. It illuminates this whole other grammar through the looking glass, the grammar of how people actually speak in their day to day lives. You could call it ‘deep grammar’ (and yes, this phrase is already used by linguists in an entirely different way, but I like the phrase so I’m stealing it anyway). And it makes me wonder why we teach languages in this backwards way, where first you learn the really formal, “proper” way to say things, then perhaps you learn a more casual way, then eventually through immersion you learn how most native speakers actually say it. Why not just teach the everyday language first?

I’ll give an example. When I first learned how to make a request in Portuguese, like ordering at a restaurant, I learned to use the conditional tense, like this:

Eu gostaria de pedir a feijoada, por favor. (I’d like to order the feijoada, please)

Or perhaps,

Você poderia me trazer mais um copo? (Would you bring me one more glass?)

Much later, I learned that the conditional tense sounds very formal in most situations, and it’s more common to use the imperfect instead, and that you could also leave out the subject você and the indirect object me:

Podia trazer mais um copo? (Could you bring one more glass?)

or even just

Trazia mais um copo?

Now, there’s nothing wrong with using any of these phrases. But when I listen to how my Brazilian colleagues actually order at a restaurant, here is what they say 90% of the time:

Cê traz mais um copo? (literally, You bring one more glass?)

Whaaat? They use the regular old present indicative tense? And they phrase it as if it were a statement…rather than a request? Doesn’t that sound bossy or rude? Well, I guess not, because even John Whitlam points out in MBPG that this is an extremely common way of making informal, spontaneous requests. Você me dá um guardanapo? This is how so much of everyday Portuguese is – short, to the point, free of any awkward grammatical encumbrances. This economy is one of the things I love most about the Brazilian language.

Of course, it’s good to teach people – especially new visitors to a country – how to say things as politely and graciously as possible. And a good dose of deference and politeness goes a long way when you are in the awkward stage of learning a new language and miscommunication is bound to occur. But I have found that, even in a business context, the vast majority of my conversations in Portuguese are extremely casual. I can’t even  remember the last time I used A senhora or O senhor. Yet this is how Pimsleur – to take one example – teaches you to speak from the get-go. And very few courses at all will teach you that você often gets shortened to just , or deixa eu ver becomes chô ver, or onde está becomes cadê. There is this whole other dimension of the language that no one ever explicitly teaches you. So you end up learning the language in reverse, asymptotically approaching the colloquial dialect as you go along.

Here’s another example of deep grammar from MBPG. I had long been confused by when you use the imperfect vs the preterit with certain verbs like querer and saber. I never knew which form to use when I wanted to say something like “I always wanted to visit Salvador” or “I never knew that.”

Browsing through MBPG one day, I discovered that Mr. Whitlam had anticipated this difficulty – of course – and provided a tidy explanation that not only answers the question but illuminates a subtle layer of meaning that might have gone unnoticed.

Take querer for example. If you are talking about something that you used to want, and that want was later fulfilled, then you use the preterit:

Como criança, eu sempre quis visitar Salvador. (As a child, I always wanted to visit Salvador [and now here I am!])

It’s like your state of wanting has an upper bound in time – at some point, you got what you wanted and the want ended. The tense that you use for events that are complete and bounded in time is the preterit, so logically, eu quis is the right choice.

Now, say the want is still unfulfilled. Or maybe it was fulfilled, but say you are focusing on a period of time in the past when it wasn’t yet. Then you use the imperfect:

Como criança, eu queria visitar Salvador. (As a child, I wanted to visit Salvador [but I hadn’t yet/but I never did])

[In the comments, Yanna points out that Eu sempre queria sounds strange, while Eu sempre quis sounds fine. Apparently you can only use sempre with the preterit tense.]

Brilliant. Working every day in a fantastic binational team on a very complex project, I have found myself turning often to MBPG’s Practical Communications Guide for guidance. For example, I had noticed that when I needed to ask someone to do something, I was always using the same phrases – “Podia fazer isso?” or “Dá para fazer aquilo?” So I finally decided to take a look at the chapter on Making Requests, where Whitlam gives a whole range of different options, a few of which were new to me. I learned a very nice way of saying “Would you mind doing such and such?”, which I now use all the time:

Você se importa de destrancar o portão? (Would you mind unlocking the gate?)

So the way I am using this book currently is by browsing through a few chapters each week, just whatever interests me, and writing down any new or useful expressions that I think I might actually use. I review the expressions every couple days, just to keep them fresh in my memory, and during the day I look for opportunities to use them. As long as I take the time to write them down, review them periodically, and then actually use them, I’m finding that they stay in my long-term memory. (The very act of writing something down, by hand, is a proven way to help yourself remember it).

I think there is still a lot I could learn by just methodically going through this book and doing all the exercises in the companion workbook. And in the meantime, I need to find a way to use the language more often when I’m at home, to have more conversations and more immersion.

Posted in Grammar, Learning Pedagogy | 5 Comments

Te ligo!

Um cafezinho da máquina de cafezinho

While I’m in Salvador, I’d like to do a few posts on the language that I’m hearing and the things that I’m picking up on during my second trip to Brasil. And one thing that I’ve been hearing everywhere is people using the present tense for things they’re actually going to do in the near future. Like this:

Te ligo amanhã. (I’ll call you tomorrow; lit. I call you tomorrow)

My colleague dropped his pen the other day; as I reached down to get it for him he said:

Deixa que eu pego! (Leave it, I’ll get it!)

(Deixa que…, by the way, is a neat way to say “Don’t worry/Don’t bother, because…” that I learned recently. Reminds me of other deixar expressions like Pode deixar – “Relax/Don’t worry”, Deixa pra lá – “Never mind/don’t bother”)

Statements like these are what John Whitlam calls “spontaneous statements about this future”. And the rule of thumb is: If you are just about to do something, use the present tense.

Before I give the next example, I have to offer some background. One of my favorite things about Brazil is that coffee is normally served in cute 4-oz cups with little spoons, rather than in obscene venti-sized swimming pools. Even the name is cute – um cafezinho – and it’s exactly the amount of coffee that I like to drink in one sitting.

Well, since arriving in Salvador I have noticed that some offices have these…machines…in the break room. They are sort of like Keurigs – or at least the lumbering, watercooler-sized ancestor of the Keurig – that serve you the perfect cafezinho, customized to your liking. You press a button to select your beverage of choice, setting in motion a whole rube-goldberg-like chain of events that begins with a tiny plastic cup dropping into place, a precise dosage of sugar falling into the cup, followed by coffee, milk, and (if desired) a bit of milk foam. The final, perfect touch is the precious little plastic stirrer that drops into the cup moments before you slide open the door to retrieve the finished product. The whole process takes about 15 seconds, while you stand there thinking Vem pra mim, meu cafezinho. Apressa-se, meu cafezinho.

The café? Strong. Bitter. The leite? Not leite exactly, but somehow richer and creamier.

In short, everything about this machine is perfect and wonderful and delicious, completely unlike the crude “cappucino”-squirting machines in American cafeterias, or the bland conformity of the Keurig with its wasteful overpriced cartridges. I don’t know the real name for these machines, but I’ve started calling them “máquinas de cafezinho” and they are my new favorite thing about Brazil.

But back to my language observation. The first time I tried to use one of these máquinas de cafezinho, I was very confused, because there is a whole complicated menu of buttons that you push to select the drink you want, with special options for extra sugar, no sugar, milk, no milk, etc. As I stood in front of the machine, trying to figure it all out, my colleague said:

Te mostro como funciona. (I’ll show you how it works)

My mind wandered away from cafezinhos just long enough to think, Huh, again with the present tense.

If it had been me, I probably would have said something like Vou mostrar pra você como funciona. My normal inclination is to use vou in all of these situations, because in English you usually say “I will” do such and such. I’ll call you tonight. I’ll be right back. I’ll answer it! But as usual, Brazilians prefer economy of words. As this colloquial usage has begun to soak into my brain, I’m finding all kinds of excuses to try it out. It feels simpler and more natural, now that I have an ear for it. When the waiter at the hotel restaurant asked me if I wanted to put my meal on my room account, I simply said

Não, pago com cartão. (No, I’ll pay with my credit card)

And when I needed to leave a meeting for a few minutes, I said

Volto em breve. (I’ll be back in a moment)

You could also say Já vou for that one. Now that I understand this facet of the language, I suddenly realize why so many Portuguese/Spanish speakers say things like “I show you” or “I call you later” in English.

And actually, English speakers do something similar when we say things like:

We arrive at 9:30 tomorrow (Instead of “We will arrive”)

Now that I think about it, we use the present progressive for things in the future all the time:

I’m flying to Brazil in January. (Instead of “I will fly”)

We’re having the meeting as soon as they confirm the schedule.

He moves out next week.

Which makes it confusing, because you absolutely cannot use the present progressive in Portuguese in the same way. You could never say

Estou viajando pro Brasil em janeiro.

The present progressive is only for things that are happening right at this moment. Instead you use the regular old present:

Eu vou pro Brasil em janeiro.

(This brings up another point, which is that you can never use the ir+infinitive future tense with ir itself as the infinitive. So you can never say Eu vou ir para a Canadá no próximo ano. Eu vou para a Canadá works just fine.)

In his book Modern Portuguese Grammar, John Whitlam brings up another point about expressing future actions.

He points out that the present simple is often used to describe when scheduled events are going to occur:

Os jogos olimpíados começam em junho. (The Olympic Games begin in June)

A avião decola à meia-noite. (The plane takes off at midnight)

Ele sai às nove da manhã (He leaves at nine in the morning)

It’s also used for statements about the future that arise spontaneously, like those I mentioned at the beginning:

Deixa, te ajudo (Leave it, I’ll help you)

Whereas the ir + infinitive form is more often used for intentional, premeditated actions (things that someone has been planning in advance):

Chegado o verão, a gente vai procurar uma casa maior. (Once summer comes, we’re going to look for a bigger house)

Eu vou dar pra ela todo o dinheiro. (I’m going to give her all the money)

I’m guessing that many English speakers overuse the ir form because of the prevalence of “going to” in English, even for things we are “going to do” right now. One of my goals is to use it only when necessary and start using the simple present more often in everyday conversation…I’m hoping this will help me sound a little more natural and Brazilian!

Posted in Grammar, Lessons | 4 Comments

Salvador and the geography of the Brazilian city

After weeks of anticipation, I’m finally in Salvador! E aqui é tudo beleza. This is my first trip to Brazil on business, and I’m finding that working in a bilingual, binational team is incredibly exciting, but it does come with its own frustrations as we adjust to the pace and ways of doing things in Brazil (the project unfolds in slow motion, as everything takes at least twice as long).

My colleagues and I are staying at a beautiful resort hotel right on the beach, near the Itapuã neighborhood. The sea is green-blue and warm, though the waves are strong. As the lifeguard told me, O mar aqui é meio bravo. Down the road is Vinícius de Morães’ old house, which has been converted into a hotel. We’ve been eating moqueca every other night, and the nights in between we’re eating picanha.

But, this being my first time in Bahía, I truly realize now how northern Brazil might as well be a different country from southern Brazil. The city of Lauro de Freitas, where we are staying, is basically one giant favela with a commercialized highway running through the middle.

All around is the familiar Brazilian urban fabric, a barely constrained chaos draped over a gorgeous landscape of white sand dunes and scrubby hills. Favela houses of cinder block mix with upscale furniture stores and ugly high rise condos. Teenage boys ride their bikes against the flow of traffic, at night, on a highway where trucks scream by at 90 km/h, while entire families wait for breaks in the traffic to dash across three lanes. Sometimes it seems like everything, *everything*, is made of concrete here – even the fence posts. Concrete walls are everywhere, plastered with the names of petista candidates. It’s all very chaotic, but also mesmerizing.

We took a trip into the historic center of the city, which is almost surreal. The way Salvador interacts with its environment reminds me a lot of Rio; you could almost say that the two are close cousins. A fine place to start is the lower part of the city near the waterfront. From here, your eyes are immediately drawn to the towering cliff of rock on which the cidade alta is built, a vertical rise made even more dramatic by the tall buildings packed together right along its edge. To top it all off, there is the Elevador Lacerda, a strikingly beautiful Art Deco column bridging the vertical space between the two cities, like nothing I have ever seen. I had looked at pictures of the elevador, but they did not prepare me for staring up at the real thing – or for the vista at the top. The other attraction in the cidade baixa is the old Mercado Modelo, a bustling two-story craft market. This view from the mercado, looking up at the elevador, is the image of Salvador that I will most remember. It’s just so Brazilian – the chaotic mix of old and new, all of it dingy yet full of pulsing life, all built atop breathtaking natural beauty. Brazilian cities are truly like no other.

You pay 15 centavos (!) to ride the elevator to the top, and when the doors open, suddenly you are perched high above the dingy buildings of the cidade baixa, and there is the blue green bay spread out before you. Walk down the street a short way, and now you are in the Pelourinho, the colonial tourist district that is a bit like Casco Viejo in Panama City, only in much better repair. As you wander the steep cobblestone streets, you walk past multicolored rowhouses, ornate 17th and 18th century churches, and lots and lots of street vendors.

 It is impossible to be in the center of Salvador and not imagine how it looked when the first Portuguese ships arrived on a brisk Bahian breeze nearly 500 years ago. The Pelourinho is the very epicenter of slavery in Brazil. All around you are reminders of Brazil’s brutal history – the square where 3 million enslaved Africans first set foot on land after a grueling sea journey, the baroque churches where crooked priests and bishops conducted their clandestine business, and where Brazil’s upper crust paid to have their family’s bones interred, the sanctuaries gilded with half a ton of Mineiro gold and Potosí silver (all mined by slaves), the hollow wooden statues of the saints into which was secretly placed many more tons of gold, for safe shipment across the sea to the king of Portugal. Like Gustavo Freyre smuggling his crystal meth in buckets of chicken batter marked with UV fluorescent stars, only some of the saints contained gold. You would know them by the misplaced details: the wrong number of beads on a rosary, an extra knot on a sash.

You feel that there are a lot of ghosts in Salvador, with a lot of stories to tell.

It is also not an easy place to be a tourist. All kinds of people approach you – children patting their bellies in mock hunger; women from the church of Senhor do Bomfim wanting to give you a blessing, who absolutely will not leave you alone until you give them a few coins; aggressive street merchants. It was a good opportunity for me to remember how to tell people, with varying degrees of forcefulness, to buzz off (perhaps a post on this is in order). After wandering around the Pelourinho for a bit, we must have inadvertently crossed the invisible line separating the area patrolled by the tourist police from the rest of the city, because no sooner had we turned down the street than a man blocked our path. “Perigoso!” he shouted, motioning for us to turn back. Although I usually take such warnings with a grain of salt, there was an urgency in his voice that told me we should follow his advice. We turned around and headed back to the elevador.

The other parts of Salvador are equally strange and beautiful. Brazilian cities have their own unmistakeable geography, and Salvador is no exception. Once you get away from the beach, it’s largely a city of hills. This makes transportation difficult, as the main thoroughfares are restricted to the winding valleys between the hills; the traffic is usually terrible. As you drive into the central, more middle class part of the city, you find yourself driving down wide highways running through cramped valleys, threading between steep hills topped with towering hi-rise edifícios.

The geography of Brazil’s large cities is the clearest reflection of the stark social stratification. If you’re poor, you live in the huge favelas that ring the suburbs. If you’re middle class, you live in an apartment high above the ground, closer to the city center. Only the upper middle class and the wealthy live in communities resembling those in North America, with large houses and yards and driveways, and even those communities tend to be gated, with high walls and armed guards.

What we’ve been seeing over the last 10-15 years in Brazil is a huge segment of people moving from the favelas into the lowest strata of the middle-class — perhaps being able to afford a small apartment, or drive a car instead of riding the bus. These new middle class families would still be called “poor” in the U.S., but in Brazil it is a marked step forward. Yet it’s obvious, traveling around Salvador, that the north of Brazil still has a lot of catching up to do. Here in Bahía, it seems like they’re still 20 years behind the southern states – and the favelas are not emptying out any time soon.

Salvador, in particular, suffers from a lack of urban planning — to say nothing of the short-sightedness of the dictatorship that filled Brazil’s cities with densely packed soviet-style high-rises . The high-rises tend to be built on hills alongside wide highways, sealed off from the fabric of the city and nearly inacessible by foot. But in other parts of Salvador, the apparent lack of zoning laws creates a dynamic urban fabric – a new urbanists’ dream of mixed-use neighborhoods bustling with pedestrians.

Even amidst all the chaos, or maybe because of the chaos, there is definitely something intoxicating about Salvador, and I’m looking forward to getting to know the city better in the remaining time I have here. And eating more moquecas.

(By the way, I was surprised to find that Lonely Planet does not offer a standalone guide to Salvador or Bahia. And I found the Salvador information in their guide to all of Brazil to be thin. So I looked around and found a Bradt guide called Bahia: The heart of Brazil’s northeast which I’m happy to say has lots of detailed information on Salvador, as well as the beach towns up and down Bahia’s coast. And you can tell that the English author is a true Brazilophile by the amount of cultural and historical information he has packed in :-)

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