My First Visit to Brazil, part 4: Around Vitoria

My First Visit to Brazil, part 4: Claudete and “a semana perfeita” (the perfect week)

The day after the welcome-home party, Junior’s mom, Marlene, called me to come from the patio where I was getting some sun with Junior and trying to shake off the lingering effects of the festivities. Brazilian beer, I realized, might be a bit stronger than the 3.2 we drank back home.

I passed through the kitchen and into the living room at the front of the house.

There stood a girl of maybe 20. Marlene introduced her as Claudete.

Claudete eyed me up and down, and by the set of her mouth, I could tell that she was not overly impressed. I suspected (correctly, as it would turn out), that Marlene had impressed her into service to oversee me while Junior was otherwise occupied.

Claudete, I learned, had studied English for about 4 years, which meant that with the quality of most English-language schools in Brazil, she spoke in a broken, halting fashion. But at least she spoke some, and my Portuguese sure wasn’t getting me far. Besides, I found her cute in a girl-next-door kind of way.

Anyway, I sensed that this was a done deal. Marlene had arranged this, and Claudete had remained on her feet, indicating that we were supposed to go now – though where I had no idea.

Excusing myself only long enough to grab some money – surely 20,000 cruzeiros ought to be gracious plenty – we departed. Claudete asked where I wanted to go, and I suggested the beach. Her face suggested reserved approval.

We walked slowly. As we talked, Claudete had to concentrate to form her sentences and to understand me. I could tell that she was translating everything, which is a lot of work.

Our exchanges were of necessity brief and direct. While she asked about my job, a question I would expect upon meeting someone back home, she asked more about my family. Characteristically Latin.

People have asked me over the years how it is possible to have a friendship or a relationship with someone when you don’t speak each other’s language well. The truth is that, while the lack of a solid shared language certainly presents challenges and opportunities for confusion, it also cuts through wordiness and forces exchanges to be honest, open, and direct. If you don’t have the words for anything but a direct and candid reply, you will reply directly and candidly.

Soon we reached the strand and turned to our left, walking on the broad sidewalk of “pedra portuguesa”, or “Portuguese stone”, which sported waves patterns formed by the hand placement of black and cream stones. The mid-day waves gently caressed the sands to our right.

Claudete, I learned, was actually 23. She was petite, which had led me to underestimate her age. She lived with her mother and sister. She was looking for a job and studied English two nights a week. No, she hadn’t traveled much, but she wanted one day to visit the United States. She was a typical Brazilian girl.

One of the simple pleasures enjoyable throughout much of Brazil is sipping a chilled coconut. We had encountered a vendor with a pushcart laden with coconuts, probably harvested that morning. I asked Claudete if she would like one. She almost smiled and said, “Yes.”

The vendor pulled out a machete and with a practiced hand opened each coconut with three swift and sure cuts, holding the coconut in his left hand and kind of tossing it a third of a turn between each cut. I counted to be sure he still had all 10 digits. (He did.)

He presented Claudete her coconut, then me mine, and then handed us our straws. I pulled out my wad of bills and asked “Quanto é?” He said something, which Claudete translated.

It turned out that the coconuts were 17,000 cruzeiros each, and I had only brought 20,000. Claudete, with a slight shaking of her head and a look to the heavens bemoaning her fate (“I have to babysit this fool AND buy my own coconut?”), fished the difference from her wallet.

I promised to make it up to her.

She sniffed.

But I can be charming by stretches, and playing on her natural curiosity (she was, after all, not just Brazilian, but a woman first of all) managed to coax some smiles and even a couple guarded laughs from her. This was my first real experience flirting with a woman from another culture, and I found it heady. The beach, the waves, and the coconuts certainly added to the effect.

The afternoon passed, and she told me that we should return or Marlene would worry. As we crossed the main road fronting the shore, I asked her if I could see her again that evening. She gave me that most Brazilian of responses, that she would call me.

After dinner that evening, I waited for Claudete to call. I was nervous. Why? I was a grown man? But the experience felt new and exciting.

The phone, I should mention, sat on a small table at the end of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, a la 1957. A chair sat next to the table. The phone was basic black. I half expected June Cleaver to walk in.

Finally, the phone rang. It was Claudete. The conversation was difficult. Her English was stretched enough when we were face to face. Over the phone, without the verbal cues, understanding was that much more difficult. I understood her to say that she would come back and pick me up.

Claudete lived across the bridge in Vitoria. By car it’s a 10 or 15 minute trip.

An hour later, a small sedan pulls up out front. As Claudete did not drive, we were going to be chauffeured by her uncle and chaperoned by 3 cousins and/or friends – I never did quite figure out who everyone was. (You get used to these things in Latin cultures.)

The next couple of minutes were given over to the very serious discussion of seating arrangements.  I doubt that the seating chart at a royal wedding was given more thought. Finally, as if on cue, everyone piled into the car, Claudete directing me where to sit in the back. She squeezed in on my right, and two cousins (or whoever) sat stacked on my immediate left. Two more managed to share the passenger seat next to the uncle. Hopefully this wouldn’t be a long trip, but at least I was squeezed in between pretty girls.

We went to an outdoor flea market. Claudete and I walked ahead, and the entire group followed us about 15 feet back. It was exactly like the scene in The Godfather where Michael Corleone is courting the girl in Sicily and the bodyguards and entourage follow behind.

***

Claudete and I spent most of the next several days together. She decided to show me everything of interest in the area – and there were plenty of things to see. After exploring Vitoria itself, I rented a car so that we could visit some beaches nearby.

I said “I rented” a car. Actually, we used my credit card, but Junior had to co-sign. I still remember the process.

Because inflation was so rampant in those days, there were too many zeros to run the charge through. There weren’t enough spaces on the charge form! So the rental guy divided the charge into two and ran it through as two separate charges. This was my first experience with the Brazilian “jeitinho”, or “little way” of getting things done.

Junior was very nervous. I told him to relax, I would be fine. Of course, I had never driven in Brazil before, so I didn’t know what I was getting into.

As this post is getting long, I will stop here. Next you’ll read about Tres Praias, Guarapari, and how I ended up in a high school cross country foot race. And the end of the perfect week.

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