Precerpt from In with the East Wind: A Mary Poppins Kind of Life - Brazil: Brasilia
Brasilia
Looking out the airplane window as we descended toward
Brasília, I felt a jolt of disorientation. The city below looked—there was no
other word for it—Soviet. Broad, geometric avenues. Monumental buildings
arranged with almost military precision. A city planned rather than grown. I
murmured something about it to the man seated beside me, a Brazilian returning
home, and he smiled the patient smile of someone who has heard this comparison
before.
He gave me a short history lesson as we dipped lower through
the haze. Brasília, he explained, was the brainchild of President Juscelino
Kubitschek, who wanted to propel Brazil into the future—fifty years of
progress in five, as the slogan went. The architect, Oscar Niemeyer, had
been deeply influenced by European modernism, especially Le Corbusier. And yes,
my seatmate admitted, there was a certain ideological kinship between the
sweeping monumentalism of Brasília and the socialist aesthetics of mid‑century
Eastern Europe. Niemeyer himself had been a committed leftist, even a member of
the Brazilian Communist Party. “So,” my seatmate concluded with a shrug, “you
are not wrong. Brasília is a little Soviet. But with better curves.”
He was right about the curves. Once on the ground, the city
revealed itself as a strange marriage of utopian geometry and sensual
architecture—those swooping white forms that looked as if they had been poured
rather than built. Brasília was a city designed to be admired from above, which
is perhaps why it always felt slightly surreal from within.
Memory fades with time, but two things from that first visit
remain vivid.
Learning Portuguese the only way I know how
The first was language. Brasília was my introduction to
Portuguese, and I arrived with exactly zero preparation. I had intended to
study before leaving the United States, but life, as usual, had other plans. So
I did what I always do: I looked for authentic materials the moment we landed.
At the airport bookstore, I found Inteligência emocional.
Goleman in Portuguese. Perfect. I already knew the concepts, so I could focus
on the language—lexical patterns, tense usage, the way Portuguese handles
description versus application versus suggestion. I am a linguist; textbooks
bore me. I learn from the living language, the same way children do, except
with more metalinguistic commentary.
Spanish helped, of course. Once I understood the systematic
differences, I could take a Spanish root, nudge it toward Portuguese, and
usually be understood. The subjunctive didn’t frighten me; it felt like an old
friend from Spanish and French. I was gathering vocabulary the way some people
gather seashells—picking up what was interesting, turning it over, keeping what
sparkled.
Later, in town, I found a small humorous book on flirting.
Not my usual genre, but linguistically accessible. Naturally, I was teased
mercilessly for reading it. One of the men I worked with even asked if I wanted
to give him pointers. I declined, but the book served its purpose: it taught me
the register of playful Portuguese, which is a dialect all its own.
The escalator incident
The second memory is far less dignified.
At one of the malls, I stepped onto an escalator wearing a
long skirt. Halfway down, the hem caught in the machinery and began to tug
downward—taking the skirt with it. I grabbed the fabric and pulled hard. I am
stronger than I look. I rescued the skirt, but I also pulled up part of the
escalator stair with it. The entire mechanism shuddered to a halt.
Red‑faced, clutching my skirt, I hurried down the now‑frozen
steps, avoiding eye contact with everyone who had witnessed my battle with
modern engineering. It is the kind of incident that imprints itself permanently
in memory, no matter how many decades pass.
Work and the people who shaped it
Brasília was also where I first connected with people from
the Ministry of Education. I had come there to conduct workshops on teaching
methods and individualization of instruction, and I did. I left having committed
to contributing an article to a teaching publication of the Department, and I
did. I think it came out that same year. Professional relationships in Brazil
have a way of becoming personal ones, and soon I found myself welcomed into
homes, conversations, and circles that expanded my understanding of the country
far beyond the official meetings.
The people I grew close to in Brasília didn’t live in
apartments. They lived in houses—comfortable ones, though “comfortable” hardly
captures the feeling. They invited me there sometimes for professional
discussions and sometimes for just chilling out after a week of heavy lifting.
What I remember most about those houses is the air.
The houses seemed designed to invite it in. Balmy evenings drifted through open
doorways and across shaded varandas. These outdoor living spaces were
furnished with bamboo or rattan chairs, low tables, and cushions in soft,
sun-washed colors. Everything felt relaxed, lived-in, and welcoming.
Inside, the homes were simple but gracious. Tiled floors
that stayed cool underfoot. Ceiling fans turning lazily. A sense of
spaciousness created not by size but by airflow and light. People arranged
their furniture for conversation, not for television. There was always a place
to sit, always a glass of something cold being offered, always someone ready to
talk, laugh, or tell a story.
Those homes taught me as much about Brazil as any workshop
or meeting. They were places where relationships deepened—where colleagues
became friends, and friends became the kind of people who still live in memory
decades later, even if life carried us in different directions
It is interesting what memory chooses to keep after so many
years—this was the 1990s, after all. Embarrassing moments (a flirting manual
and a broken escalator). Professional successes (the article). And, vividly,
people’s homes. But perhaps that is not odd at all. Homes are where
relationships take root, and relationships are what endure, even if they do not
last thirty years in their original form.
Brasília was my doorway into Brazil, and like all doorways,
it opened into a world I could not yet imagine. But I felt the East Wind at my
back, pushing me forward, telling me to pay attention. And I did.
Brasília
Looking out the airplane window as we descended toward
Brasília, I felt a jolt of disorientation. The city below looked—there was no
other word for it—Soviet. Broad, geometric avenues. Monumental buildings
arranged with almost military precision. A city planned rather than grown. I
murmured something about it to the man seated beside me, a Brazilian returning
home, and he smiled the patient smile of someone who has heard this comparison
before.
He gave me a short history lesson as we dipped lower through
the haze. Brasília, he explained, was the brainchild of President Juscelino
Kubitschek, who wanted to propel Brazil into the future—fifty years of
progress in five, as the slogan went. The architect, Oscar Niemeyer, had
been deeply influenced by European modernism, especially Le Corbusier. And yes,
my seatmate admitted, there was a certain ideological kinship between the
sweeping monumentalism of Brasília and the socialist aesthetics of mid‑century
Eastern Europe. Niemeyer himself had been a committed leftist, even a member of
the Brazilian Communist Party. “So,” my seatmate concluded with a shrug, “you
are not wrong. Brasília is a little Soviet. But with better curves.”
He was right about the curves. Once on the ground, the city
revealed itself as a strange marriage of utopian geometry and sensual
architecture—those swooping white forms that looked as if they had been poured
rather than built. Brasília was a city designed to be admired from above, which
is perhaps why it always felt slightly surreal from within.
Memory fades with time, but two things from that first visit
remain vivid.
Learning Portuguese the only way I know how
The first was language. Brasília was my introduction to
Portuguese, and I arrived with exactly zero preparation. I had intended to
study before leaving the United States, but life, as usual, had other plans. So
I did what I always do: I looked for authentic materials the moment we landed.
At the airport bookstore, I found Inteligência emocional.
Goleman in Portuguese. Perfect. I already knew the concepts, so I could focus
on the language—lexical patterns, tense usage, the way Portuguese handles
description versus application versus suggestion. I am a linguist; textbooks
bore me. I learn from the living language, the same way children do, except
with more metalinguistic commentary.
Spanish helped, of course. Once I understood the systematic
differences, I could take a Spanish root, nudge it toward Portuguese, and
usually be understood. The subjunctive didn’t frighten me; it felt like an old
friend from Spanish and French. I was gathering vocabulary the way some people
gather seashells—picking up what was interesting, turning it over, keeping what
sparkled.
Later, in town, I found a small humorous book on flirting.
Not my usual genre, but linguistically accessible. Naturally, I was teased
mercilessly for reading it. One of the men I worked with even asked if I wanted
to give him pointers. I declined, but the book served its purpose: it taught me
the register of playful Portuguese, which is a dialect all its own.
The escalator incident
The second memory is far less dignified.
At one of the malls, I stepped onto an escalator wearing a
long skirt. Halfway down, the hem caught in the machinery and began to tug
downward—taking the skirt with it. I grabbed the fabric and pulled hard. I am
stronger than I look. I rescued the skirt, but I also pulled up part of the
escalator stair with it. The entire mechanism shuddered to a halt.
Red‑faced, clutching my skirt, I hurried down the now‑frozen
steps, avoiding eye contact with everyone who had witnessed my battle with
modern engineering. It is the kind of incident that imprints itself permanently
in memory, no matter how many decades pass.
Work and the people who shaped it
Brasília was also where I first connected with people from
the Ministry of Education. I had come there to conduct workshops on teaching
methods and individualization of instruction, and I did. I left having committed
to contributing an article to a teaching publication of the Department, and I
did. I think it came out that same year. Professional relationships in Brazil
have a way of becoming personal ones, and soon I found myself welcomed into
homes, conversations, and circles that expanded my understanding of the country
far beyond the official meetings.
The people I grew close to in Brasília didn’t live in
apartments. They lived in houses—comfortable ones, though “comfortable” hardly
captures the feeling. They invited me there sometimes for professional
discussions and sometimes for just chilling out after a week of heavy lifting.
What I remember most about those houses is the air.
The houses seemed designed to invite it in. Balmy evenings drifted through open
doorways and across shaded varandas. These outdoor living spaces were
furnished with bamboo or rattan chairs, low tables, and cushions in soft,
sun-washed colors. Everything felt relaxed, lived-in, and welcoming.
Inside, the homes were simple but gracious. Tiled floors
that stayed cool underfoot. Ceiling fans turning lazily. A sense of
spaciousness created not by size but by airflow and light. People arranged
their furniture for conversation, not for television. There was always a place
to sit, always a glass of something cold being offered, always someone ready to
talk, laugh, or tell a story.
Those homes taught me as much about Brazil as any workshop
or meeting. They were places where relationships deepened—where colleagues
became friends, and friends became the kind of people who still live in memory
decades later, even if life carried us in different directions
It is interesting what memory chooses to keep after so many
years—this was the 1990s, after all. Embarrassing moments (a flirting manual
and a broken escalator). Professional successes (the article). And, vividly,
people’s homes. But perhaps that is not odd at all. Homes are where
relationships take root, and relationships are what endure, even if they do not
last thirty years in their original form.
Brasília was my doorway into Brazil, and like all doorways,
it opened into a world I could not yet imagine. But I felt the East Wind at my
back, pushing me forward, telling me to pay attention. And I did.
Volume 1: ABC Lands
by Dr. Betty Lou Leaver
For more posts about and from this book, click HERE.
For more posts by and about Betty Lou Leaver, click HERE.
has gained mass recognition for releasing highly acclaimed books of varying genres
that are distributed internationally. Check us out on Wikitia.
To purchase copies of any MSI Press book at 25% discount,
use code FF25 at MSI Press webstore.
Want to read an MSI Press book and not have to pay for it?
(1) Ask your local library to purchase and shelve it.
(2) Ask us for a review copy; we love to have our books reviewed.
VISIT OUR WEBSITE TO LEARN MORE ABOUT ALL OUR AUTHORS AND TITLES.
Sign up for the MSI Press LLC monthly newsletter: get inside information before others see it and access to additional book content(recent releases, sales/discounts, awards, reviews, Amazon top 100 list, links to precerpts/excerpts, author advice, and more)Check out recent issues.
Turned away by other publishers because you are a first-time author and/or do not have a strong platform yet? If you have a strong manuscript, San Juan Books, our hybrid publishing division, may be able to help. Ask us. Check out more information at www.msipress.com.
Planning on self-publishing and don't know where to start? Our author au pair services will mentor you through the process. See what we can do for your at www.msipress.com.
Interested in receiving a free copy of this or any MSI Press LLC book in exchange for reviewing a current or forthcoming MSI Press LLC book? Contact editor@msipress.com.
Want an author-signed copy of this book? Purchase the book at 25% discount (use coupon code FF25) and concurrently send a written request to orders@msipress.com.Julia Aziz, signing her book, Lessons of Labor, at an event at Book People in Austin, Texas.
Want to communicate with one of our authors? You can! Find their contact information on our Authors' Pages.Steven Greenebaum, author of award-winning books, An Afternoon's Discussion and One Family: Indivisible, talking to a reader at Barnes & Noble in Gilroy, California.MSI Press is ranked among the top publishers in California.
Check out our rankings -- and more -- HERE.
Comments
Post a Comment