First Person Limited Point of View

After ordering my first café com leite in Brazil in 2019, I felt a bit cheated. I drank from an espresso-sized cup, half of it filled with milk. At the Airbnb where I stayed, cups weren’t any bigger. I’d have to break from my morning writing to go pour more coffee. At night, I faced a similar issue. Instead of a pint glass, my beer came in a bottle resembling a 40 oz., encased in something like a plastic thermos. The server smiled while pouring the first beer into a plastic glass the size of a Dixie-cup. A few sips. Time to pour again.

What’s with the cups? I finally asked M, who holds dual citizenship between her native Brazil and the U.S.

She didn’t have a ready answer, attributing my question to homesickness. I couldn’t argue. Since that first trip, I’ve traveled to Brazil four times on tourist visas, and I’m now approaching a year of calendar time. I arrived here again in June but returned briefly to New York for my niece’s wedding in July. At an upstate diner one morning, I explained to my family the differences between breakfast in America and Brazil, before taking a sip of my now-cold coffee. The server was nowhere to be found for a warmup. The night before, I forced down the last warm gulps of lager in a pint glass that I’d been holding a half hour. I missed the small cups—they keep the warm warm. And the cold cold.

I still question how qualified I am to write about Brazil. Yet on this latest visit, as I prepare to apply for a Digital Nomad visa, it’s comforting to know I’ve warmed to some of the customs.

Before 2019, I knew little about Brazil: The Amazon (most Brazilians have never seen it); “City of God” (a movie I liked before learning how unfairly its filmmakers paid the actors from poor communities); Pelé and Ronaldo (not all Brazilians care much about soccer). During the 1998 World Cup, I’d walked by a crowd cheering and dancing in yellow and green shirts on 46th Street’s Little Brazil near my office in Manhattan. I soaked in their fun.

When we traveled here this June, it was four years after M and I first met in Vermont. Days before our flight to Rio, she taught me a new phrase.

“Não sou turista,” she said.

I might not be a tourist exactly, but I only say this to M followed by a chuckle.

I’m still trying to figure out what I am in a country filled with so many races, ethnicities, cultures, topographies, climates, lifestyles, etc. I hope reflecting on Brazil and articulating my thoughts in writing will help deepen my learning. Meanwhile, I’d like to start sharing a little of what I learn along the way. Many more pours and sips ahead.