By Roger Barlow

Restless. Confused. Uncertain. Unmotivated. Lethargic. That pretty much sums up my state of mind in 1998. I’d just finished an uninspiring degree in Industrial Mathematics at Staffordshire University, my life was going nowhere, slowly, and I had no idea what career to pursue. The one thing I did know was that, regrettably, I had no interest in working in the field I’d just spent four years studying. 

Why I moved to Brazil 

I decided I wanted to go travelling around the world for a year. I yearned for the unusual and mysterious; some off-the-beaten-track adventure where I’d feel like a genuine outsider. The only problem was I had absolutely no money to fund such a trip. 

While venting my frustrations over a pint and a cigarette one evening—back in the days when you could still smoke inside pubs—someone asked me if I’d ever considered teaching English abroad. I hadn’t. That sounded quite interesting. Wouldn’t I need a certificate or some qualifications though? Or at least some formal training? 

My friend assured me that none of the above was necessary. Apparently, being a native English speaker was good enough. This sounded perfect: I’d get to live abroad and might actually make some money for a change. 

I began applying for teaching positions and ended up accepting one in the sleepy town of Bragança Paulista in the São Paulo countryside. I took a deep breath and booked a one-way flight for 23 October 1998. 

Language 'lesions' 

My linguistic preparation consisted of borrowing a Portuguese phrasebook from Stafford Library and reading it for fifteen minutes before nodding off, something I would soon regret. 

On the plane over, I wanted to thank the flight attendant but didn’t know how to. I asked the Brazilian woman next to me how to say thank you. She replied obrigada, which I then proceeded to use for about a month, until someone finally explained that obrigada is what women say; men say obrigado. That explained the amused looks I’d been getting.

I immediately lost my ability to be witty. I spent hours in silence at social gatherings, unable to participate. I wasn't used to being the quiet one. The discomfort strengthened my resolve to learn Portuguese as quickly as possible. 

Temporary or permanent?

I had a couple of quick Portuguese classes with Martin (the school director) and was astonished when he told me the language has two different verbs for ‘to be’. Ser and estar both mean ‘to be’, but one conveys a permanent state and the other a temporary state of being. Being English is permanent, so you have to use ‘ser’, while being hungry is temporary, so ‘estar’ is used. To my surprise, it actually made sense, although, as I pointed out, if Hamlet were Brazilian, he would have to be more specific. 

One night I plucked up the courage to order a beer in a local bar but then encountered a fresh problem: pronunciation. Although I was using the right words, people couldn’t understand me. I asked the waiter for a bottle of Miller in my best Portuguese ‘Quero uma Miller, por favor’. The waiter gave me a blank stare. ‘Quero uma Miller,’ I insisted, slowly and deliberately. Nothing. I started going bright red, which had become my body’s default response in these situations. 

Rolling your Rs

A friend, noticing my struggle, came to my rescue, asking me what I wanted. Listening to her make the order, I realised where I’d gone wrong. I was pronouncing ‘Miller’ the only way I knew (mill-uh), which the Brazilian waiter couldn’t grasp. Letícia said ‘Ele quer uma Mee-lair,’ accentuating the mee part and rolling the ‘r’ at the end. He understood immediately and duly returned with a Mee-lair. 

Then there was the time I tried to buy a pregnant woman in a furniture shop. I meant a bookcase: estante. What came out was: gestante. One consonant separated household furniture from human trafficking. The saleswoman looked confused, so naturally I doubled down, repeating it louder to ensure more people could witness my humiliation: ‘QUERO COMPRAR UMA GESTANTE.’ Given her bemused expression, I changed tactics and explained I needed somewhere to store my books. That’s when we both realised my mistake and burst into laughter.

After a few months things got easier. I could finally order a drink and buy domestic furniture without causing a diplomatic incident. Learning Portuguese gave me more than the ability to communicate. It gave me access to a country, a culture, a family and a life I couldn't have imagined when I arrived in 1998, hungover and armed with fifteen minutes of library-book preparation.

Why I wrote the book 

The whole endeavour started out as a joke. Every time I met a Brazilian for the first time, they would ask me, 'Why did you come to Brazil?'

I had to answer this question hundreds of times, because Brazilians are refreshingly curious about outsiders. After a while, I started joking that I should print out my answers on small cards. I could then reach into my pocket, pull out an answer and present it with an exaggerated, theatrical flourish. The more I thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed.

So, I sat down and began typing out my answer. The problem was that every explanation required another explanation, and before long I’d produced a couple of pages. I then decided to write a short story about the whole thing, just like my Grandad did about his service in World War II. He never tried to publish it—he just wrote it for family and friends. I thought that sounded perfect. 

It was around this time that I found an old diary from 1998 that I’d completely forgotten about. The pages chronicled my first impressions of Brazil. There were all sorts of humorous and surprisingly perceptive observations from my early days. Boosted by this unexpected trove of material, the couple of pages then grew into a couple of chapters. 

I realised I had a wealth of unique observations about Brazil and its culture. The project then began taking on a life of its own. By the end, I was having to actively remove sections and cancel ideas for additional chapters as the book was getting too long, too granular. That was probably a good thing, as a lengthy section about my plug trauma—Brazil has 13 different types—might have been a bit much.

Brazil Isn't for Beginners: An Outsider's Take on Life in Brazil is the title I eventually settled on. It borrows a phrase from the great musician Tom Jobim, who used it to describe his country's complexity. It’s a title that captures something essential: Brazil doesn't play by the usual rules. It can knock you flat or lift you to improbable heights, sometimes on the same day. 

After 27 years, I'm not completely British anymore, but I'm not completely Brazilian either. That informs the book's perspective.

What you will take away

Language runs through the entire book: losing my voice overnight; navigating the peculiarities of Brazilian Portuguese; gender confusion; the spelling reform; translation; teaching; and what it means to build a life in another language.

These chapters are just the beginning, though. The book also explores the country’s delightful cuisine, its national cocktail (the caipirinha), and the remarkable rise of Brazilian craft ale. When I arrived, there was just commercial lager or nothing. Now I can get a draught IPA while filling my car up at the local garage. 

On the subject of cars, there’s a whole chapter on driving, ranging from practical tips on avoiding perils to a Hollywood-style story about the day I shut down Avenida Paulista after causing an accident involving two motorbikes, two cars, a bus, 30 angry motoboys, and the Military Police, despite not even being the driver. 

Music, sport, tourism and politics all get thoroughly dissected. If I may quote Gill Morris’ That Translation Blog: ‘The biggest surprise for me was how engrossed I became in the chapter on politics… It ended up becoming dinner table conversation one evening, which says a lot.’

My main aspirations for the book are for people to come away entertained while bringing the UK and Brazil a little closer together. Two countries I love that don't know nearly enough about each other. If the book achieves that in any way, shape or form, I'll consider that a result. And if it leaves readers with a genuine curiosity about Brazil beyond carnival and football, better still.

Brazil Isn't for Beginners is available now on Amazon and at major online retailers.

Roger Barlow has lived in Bragança Paulista, Brazil since 1998 and has been assisting Brazilian companies with their global communications since 2002.

He served as official translator for the British Chamber of Commerce in São Paulo.

Views expressed on CIOL Voices are those of the writer and may not represent those of the wider membership or CIOL.