I. Saudade
When a friend across the table said “saudade,” a little light of recognition blinked in my brain. I remembered that Portuguese word – I’d read it before, in a past fellow’s blog, from the floor of my room in Ann Arbor. Shortly after that, it had settled into some dormant sector of my brain, maybe knowingly awaiting this almost-prophetic future moment.
As the pregnant Brazilian couple unpacked “saudade” for our eclectic lunch group – a Brazilian holiday-er, the American honeymooners, some fresh international arrivals, and yours truly – I listened knowingly, happily.
“Saudade” is a special Portuguese word, and we don’t have an equivalent in English. It’s a mixture of sadness for missing and happiness to have experienced something; “the love that remains”. Although it’s in the camp of melancholic longing, it’s not quite what we’d call nostalgia, which is reserved for things of the past, because saudade is temporally unlimited – you can feel saudade for something that hasn’t happened yet, in a dreamy, wistful way too.
A standard example: a Brazilian, feeling saudade for Brazil, while being somewhere other than Brazil – and especially if lacking a known return date.
As Thanksgiving approached, I dramatically anticipated feeling full-on saudade for my home. My family would be getting together in typical fashion for the coziest time of the year, and I’d bet anyone it’s the best modern tradition we have: loved ones + sentimental reflections + gravy + food comas + gratitude… I told my international friends about it like a proud Kindergartner at show-and-tell, controversial historical roots and all.
On Thanksgiving, my family came together for a day that had just as much drool-worthy food, affection, and chasing of giggle-drunk little cousins as always. I phoned in briefly, and love was sent in both directions.
The weird thing: I wasn’t the bundle of saudade that I expected to be. I was happy, because they were so happy. Thanksgiving was still Thanksgiving, and home is still home. There’s a special comfort in seeing that from afar.
II. In the here-and-now
After spending the past couple months in mega-cities like Mumbai, São Paulo, and Rio de Janeiro, I’ve been savoring a much different kind of living in Barra da Lagoa.
At this pre-seasonal-tourism moment, Barra da Lagoa is a sleepy fishing village. Nestled into a corner of the Brazilian island-city of Florianópolis, it occupies one end of an Atlantic-facing, sand-crusted coast that extends north for 12 seemingly untouched kilometers.
This sandy strip has become one of my favorite places, especially to run. The sand packs smoothly at low tide. I go barefoot, and after a couple kilometers it’s just the waves and I. In stark contrast to the more-chaotic coast of Mumbai, this beach is devoid of urbanity, devoid of people, and nearly devoid of plastic. Broken sand dollars, small jellyfish, and shells are the main things that wash ashore; down the street, there’s a turtle sanctuary.
Barra (“ba-ha”) is the kind of small town that gets excited for the release of a rehabilitated turtle into the sea. A sizable crowd gathered around a roped-off patch of sand, where the sanctuary staff paraded the turtle for a mix of excited tourists and locals. People were eagerly snapping photos, and one woman from the sanctuary was making a fundraising pitch in a stream of nonstop Portuguese. The turtle was finally permitted to crawl from it’s crate, and after 5 minutes of determined scooting, he swam off. Naturally, everyone cheered.
Barra has proved to be the perfect unintended destination for improving both my Portuguese and Spanish. The majority of my friends are Brazilian or Argentinian, and we play a lot of soccer (futebol) – from juggling on the sand (altinho), to a backyard game (futmesa) that could best be described as volleyball + ping pong + soccer, to some pick up games at a local turf pitch.
Naturally, my Portuguese vocabulary is stronger in certain areas than others. But the overlap with Spanish has proved helpful in overall comprehension and pronunciation, a few challenging new Portuguese sounds being the main exception (it’s a more nasal language). It’s been a huge relief and a refreshing thrill to be somewhere where I can express myself in a relevant language more fully; I think it’s also helped me so quickly connect with a family of friends here and with strangers in little daily interactions:
Barra has the kind of community where people greet you with a nod and “bom dia” on the street. The cashier at the mercado knows to wait for me to dig out my reusable bag. I reflexively say “saúde” to the grandpa who walked by sneezing, and he smiles back with an “obrigado“. The kind-eyed owner of the local lunch buffet knows I always ask for the Mole suco with my meal. The grandmotherly woman at the farmácia patiently works with me and my broken Portunhol (a slang mix of Spanish & Portuguese) to determine the right thing for my resfriado. My local friends have have pulled me into the social world of surfista regulars; post-surf meals and all.
Maybe it sounds small-world to read, but I’ve been craving this kind of humanness, and a bit of regularity too.
journal time the canal at Barra preparing calamari “lula” 13.1 miles for Mari & Gaston’s 13th anniversary surf surf surf
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CB