Now that I am back
and fully reintegrated on campus, I’ve had a bit of time to reflect on my
experiences in Porto Alegre. When talking about my summer here on campus,
people usually assume that I was participating in a study abroad program of
some sort in an exotic, sunny Brazilian beach town. It’s fairly difficult
explaining to my peers that, although I was not exactly taking classes with a
Yale summer session in Rio, I learned other kinds of exciting lessons during my winter in the south of Brazil.
Porto Alegre taught
me to always take my camera with me wherever I went. There will always be some
beautiful image to capture at an unexpected moment, be it while riding a bike
to the farmer’s market a few blocks away, while gazing out into the bay from a
dock, while taking off on a plane, or while sitting under a tree. Some of the
most vivid aesthetic experiences I had during my stay in the south of Brazil
did not take place in the art museums or at picturesque beaches, but on the bus
to and from work. Commuting in public transportation might sound like
the least poetic of scenarios, but there were many chilly, foggy-window
mornings when the chaos of buildings in the faraway hills took my breath away.
Porto Alegre also
taught me to choose my words carefully, and relish the moments when I didn’t.
On one level, there was language. I always tried to be mindful of whom I spoke
English with, and in what circumstances. Though I was determined to speak
Portuguese with everyone, I was generally open to making exceptions with João
(when we were by ourselves in the apartment) and with his university friends
(when they wished to practice). However, I quickly learned to be okay with the
moments when João and I would slip into English on the bus, or when I’d
accidentally speak Portuguese with the AIESECers from the local LC who
generally spoke English with me.
On another level, choosing
words could be more complicated, even within languages. When you’ve hung out
with someone only once or twice—perhaps a hazy night out or a relaxing outdoors
lunch—do you call them a “friend” or an “acquaintance”? What about that person you only saw once or
twice during the entire eight weeks, but with whom you shared secrets that you
wouldn’t reveal to an acquaintance in the United States? And what about João’s
amazing extended family? His grandmother had me over for frequent meals, during
which we shared very intimate, personal stories; likewise, his aunt and uncle
always looked out for me, taking me out shopping or on short trips around the
city. Are they my friends? Are they too old to be my friends? I quickly learned
to stop forcing myself to label my relationships, and I came to accept that
often words are not enough to articulate the nature of certain friendships.
Porto Alegre taught
me to speak up in João's modern Brazilian poetry class when I visisted, and
to not drink too much coffee on those sleep-deprived afternoons. The city
taught me more than I cared to know about seasonal winter fruits, and about how to become a boss at pool. It forced me
to learn to shop for groceries on a tight college student budget, and it made
me learn the bus stops along three of the public transit lines by heart. It
showed me the most gorgeous sunsets I had ever seen from the roof of a
building, and it dropped rain, sleet and cold wind on my broken umbrella. Most
importantly, it introduced me to some of the most awesome people I’ve ever had
the pleasure of meeting.
I would say adeus, but I know I’ll be back someday. Até à próxima, Porto Alegre.
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