Portuguese vs. Brazilian

There’s no denying that my degree is unusual. The combination of languages is a strange one, which usually evokes a surprised or confused reaction. Of the languages offered at Bristol, I couldn’t have chosen two that contrast more. Russian, with its Slavic roots, aspectual verb pairs and approximately 57 different words meaning ‘to go’, has very few similarities with Portuguese, a plethora of subjunctive constructions and complex tenses.

an introduction to prefixed verbs of motion...

It is interesting to note, therefore, that these two languages occasionally sound similar. The ‘sh’ and ‘ch’ sounds, combined with the closed Portuguese accent, can lead it to be mistaken for Russian. Indeed, people have remarked that my spoken Portuguese carries a Russian twang, on the rare occasion that I have a long enough conversation for it to be detected. I can assure you, however, that the perceived similarities are merely superficial. With my focus now, naturally, on Portuguese, I have encountered an unforeseen problem: the Brazilian accent. I say unforeseen, but I suppose I mean underestimated. It turns out that the Portuguese spoken in Brazil is markedly different to the one from Portugal that I have spent two years learning. Allow me to demonstrate.

Portuguese, just like English, had to cross the Atlantic. And, just like English, the accent that grew in American pastures, was noticeably different to its European brother. Although not a perfect comparison, the differences between British and American English comes close to serving as a control in my Portuguese experiment. But where the Americans have altered a few words and the accent, the Brazilians went further, taking words from Indigenous and African tribes, as well as simplifying the grammar over time. As a result, the Portuguese spoken in Brazil is a far cry from the language that arrived in the year 1500 and, indeed, the language spoken in Portugal today.

Herein lies my dilemma. Which language should I learn? Of course, I will aim to learn both, but trying to flick between the two is far easier said than done. The choice might seem obvious: Brazilian. Brazil, which is home to nearly 20 times more Portuguese speakers than Portugal; Brazil, one of the fastest growing economies on the planet, forming part of the BRIC nations; Brazil, a hotbed of cultural diversity. And yet, I find myself leaning towards the European version, though not just in an attempt to please my Portuguese flat mates. To explain why, I shall again need to draw on the English comparison.

As an English man, I find a few of the various Americanisms than have infiltrated our language somewhat irksome. I don’t mean all of them; just the ridiculous ones like calling petrol (a liquid), “gas”, or giving the word ‘herb’ a silent ‘h’. Barbarity. Proud of my country, and of the language it has bestowed on me, I feel a sense of duty to uphold the excellence and diverse vocabulary of my native tongue. Although some Americanisms do actually make a lot of sense, I feel it is only natural for me to insist that British English is the proper way to speak, simply because we invented it.

But language is the essence of communication. And it would be both arrogant and naïve of me to say that there is only one correct way to speak English. The beauty of language is that it is adaptable and diverse. Countries and regions where English is spoken have adjusted and developed the language throughout history and continue to do so. The same can be said with Portuguese.

Brazilians are fairly chatty, and their language mirrors that trait. It is a language that is designed to be enjoyed with a caipirinha on the beach or whilst sitting in one of Rio’s perpetual traffic jams. Simplifications to grammatical rules governing gerunds, articles and the subjunctive have made the spoken language in Brazil more accessible over time, particularly in speech. The main problem this poses for me is that some expressions used contradict the grammar I have been taught.

But the main linguistic quandary in which I find myself is to do with the accent. I blame myself for not listening to more Portuguese since I started learning, but even if I had, I would probably have been listening to a language that would not hugely benefit me when living in Brazil. Pronunciation differs enormously across the pond. The suave Portuguese accent is very unlike the melodious, undulating dialect you hear in Brazil. The prominence of the ‘ch’ is instantly noticeable, while the ‘sh’ is used far less frequently. Emphasis is placed on words that I don’t expect and I regularly fail to catch a word of what my boss is saying. At times it is frustrating, but then, this is the challenge I signed up for and aim to complete it I shall.

So, what is my decision? Which accent shall I attempt to master? Well, the answer is actually both. I remain firmly sitting on the fence. Brazilian Portuguese should be my answer, given that I am likely to spend more time here than in Portugal, the next 4 months included. However, if truth be told, I prefer the Portuguese accent. Perhaps its resemblance to Russian appeals to my soul; perhaps I feel I should honour the inventors of this language; or maybe I just understand it more easily. Whatever the reasoning behind this impulsive decision, one thing is for sure: my head says Brazilian and my heart says Portuguese.

Living on the Sledge: Snow Rules

Snow has fallen, all around me. Aside from giving everything a picturesque, Christmas feel, the settling snow means one thing: going anywhere is difficult. Walking, a skill that I first succeeded in performing aged 11 months, and subsequently mastered at the age of two, has become exceptionally cumbersome. Thus, words such as slip, slide, topple and tumble have frequented my lexicon of late. Isabella and I have developed a scoring system to enjoy the snow, cold, slush and of course, ice. For if you can’t laugh at your own trivial misfortunes, then life in this world will be extremely tough. Over time, players will amass an accumulative points tally. The beauty of the system is that there are two ways to play: either you cautiously tread everywhere, aiming for a low total; or you live more dangerously, with a carefree "let's see what happens" attitude. Therefore, winners can come from either end of this double-sided spectrum. And now: living with snow rules.

• Stepping in a puddle- 5 points.
• Getting sprayed by a car- 20 points.

Puddles are devious little creatures that silently hide on pavements and attempt to drown your feet. It can be hard to tell what is ice and what is water, so you must always have your wits about you and you will find yourself staring at the ground an awful lot. The rush of freezing cold water submerging your toes is a particularly unpleasant sensation, but there may be worse to come, with more points on offer (see frostbite). However, getting sprayed by a car is a rookie mistake. We have been here long enough to know that if you stand too close to the road, you are simply asking for trouble. As a result, a drenching caused entirely by a combination of a lapse in concentration and your own remarkable stupidity yields a larger amount of points.

• Stacking it- 10 points.

I am fortunate enough to have avoided falling over so far (touch wood), but it is only a matter of time. Whatever journey you make, whether it be long or short, you will at some point be under serious threat from the ice. I have adopted a shuffling approach as well as keeping my knees shoulder-width apart, to maintain a strong, solid base. Unfortunately, even this may not be enough. Of course, the severity of the fall may change the amount of points awarded. Players will be rewarded for making flamboyant attempts to not hit the deck, and punished for falling whilst attempting a deliberate slide.

• Hit by falling snow- 35 points.
• Struck by a falling icicle- 50 points.

All over the city, there are signs warning pedestrians about snow falling from rooftops. We have already experienced several near misses. Points may be awarded for exceptionally close calls, or perhaps for expert avoidance, as well as quite literally taking it on the chin. Falling icicles are no laughing matter. 100 people per year are killed by these demons. We are hoping this won’t happen of course, but icicles do offer the most points. (http://www.oddee.com/item_98002.aspx)

• Being asked if you’re cold- 5 points.
• Receiving strange looks and comments- 10 points.

Wonderfully hospitable and caring that Russian people are, they are obliged to frequently ask whether you are cold or not. So stubbornly polite are us Brits, we will always answer this question with a stoical ‘no’, even though we are invariably freezing. The strange looks you might receive will be to do with your choice of clothing. Centuries of experience mean that the Russians know all the best ways to deal with the cold, and we don’t. Our ways to combat the temperature will certainly make us stick out like a sore thumb.

• Frostbite- 45 points.

Speaking of sore thumbs, let’s move onto frostbite. This is another big scorer and another one that I hope I won’t come across. If I do lose a finger, at least I can live safely in the knowledge that I’ve added 45 big ones to my total.

• A collision with a person, car, bus or tram- 10, 20, 30 and 40 points respectively.

Collisions with people are fairly likely, as safe places to walk become fewer and therefore more crowded. Modes of transport are slightly different. You have to remember that the snow covers the road and road signs, so zebra crossings may as well not exist anymore. The traffic can be a bit crazy and takes some getting used. I am still not used to looking out for trams, so I imagine that this will be my downfall. Below is a picture of what my face might look like if pressed up against the window of a tram. It is actually a picture of me singing The Beatles last week in a band of Russian scientists: yet another classic aspect of my Siberian life…

"Sasha and the Scientists"

Walking in St Petersburg

I spent the first week of my Russian expedition wandering around the sunlit streets of St Petersburg with my glamorous travelling companion, Miss Isabella Craft. Fortunately, St Petersburg is an excellent city for wandering. The architecture is top notch and around every corner you’ll find another stunning cathedral or landmark site. Those of you who are, like myself, at times a little stingy, will also be delighted to hear that many places have free student entry. So even if you’re not that keen on 18^th century Russian sculpture, you can tick off the obligatory ‘museum box’ on the itinerary for a “cultural” city break, without spending a penny.

I had been to St Petersburg twice before, but had not managed to see Catherine the Great’s Summer Palace. It is 25km south of the city in a little town called Pushkin, as many things are in Russia, and really was spectacular. The sheer size of it alone was absurdly bombastic, but the design, colour scheme and surrounding park made the trip sufficiently worthwhile.

The last time I was in St Petersburg, I stayed in the amusingly named ‘Crazy Duck Hostel’. My friend, James, and I were treated to a Russian night of drinking. Essentially, we were plied with an unnecessary amount of vodka, followed by another bottle of ‘Ivan’s Finest’ from a late-night street seller. My memory of that night is fortunately hazy, but I do recall chatting a lot of nonsense and crawling to bed in the early hours of daylight. This time, we were far more sensible, perhaps the result of a woman’s touch, who knows! A highlight was eating out at a Spanish restaurant, with tapas and flamenco dancers for our entertainment. This time round I was also treated to clean bed sheets and an old woman playing the banjo, both of which have naturally contributed to an enjoyable stay.

Other evenings were spent on and around Nevskiy Prospekt. We met our friend John, a fellow Russian student from Bristol, who invited us for dinner at his outdated, Soviet apartment. He lives with two blokes, one of whom, a Swedish wrestler, gently coerced me to eat some of his favourite pickled herring. I won’t lie to you that I found it rather repulsive, but naturally, I had to bend the truth at the time to suit the Swede’s needs and his imposing physique. To read about John’s adventures, visit http://jamuzzle.wordpress.com/. You’ll see pictures of his bath, which sticks through the wall and into the hallway. Enough incentive I would have thought.

Of course, the main objective with this whole year abroad is to become as good at Russian and Portuguese as possible. Both Izzi and I had clearly been out of practice over the Summer, but I don’t think either of us were prepared for just how rusty we were going to be. At passport control, a far more serious place than its British equivalent, I spluttered several times rather than dignify the stern, official woman with a response to her question:

“Why have you come to Russia?”

Perhaps, I could be forgiven if I had never learnt the word ‘study’ in five years of learning Russian, but given that it was written on the piece of paper I was clutching, I think it must be simply classed as a horrendous failure. More amusing was Izzi misunderstanding the instructions at the check-in desk. As her bag was a little too heavy, the man asked her to put my bag alongside hers. Izzi, however, climbed onto the scales herself amid gasps and laughter from onlookers (mainly me). The man behind the counter was similarly flabbergasted and to quote Izzi: “it was very embarrassing for everyone involved.” Fortunately, I was not involved, and loved it.

Since those early days, our language has certainly improved, but there is still a long way to go. First impressions of Tomsk are good, my £32 a month accommodation seems to be holding up and we’ve begun to settle in. I shall update in a few days with tales of this fine city and, presumably, my ventures into Russia’s gastronomic sphere.