The GE research center in Rio is pretty close to the international airport, so I was expecting to be staying in a character-free airport hotel. But I figured I'd ask my hosts what they'd recommend nearby anyway, and the response that came back was excellent: there's nothing near here. Stay in Copacabana or Ipanema and take a cab.
For those of you not up on Rio's geography, those are the city's most famous beaches. Both of them seemed pretty convenient to the main road north, so I aimed for Ipanema, since my brain associates it with a far superior song. But looking for deals, I found a better one in Copacabana.
Which is how I came to be staying a block across from the beach, falling asleep each night to the sound of crashing waves. The hotel also has a rooftop terrace with a bar and Wi-Fi, along with a sweeping view of the beaches, sugarloaf, and, from the right angle, Cristo Redentor. Staying in a major tourist area has one big advantage—everybody at the hotel and nearby restaurant speaks English. The second you step into a cab, however, that's no longer true. Everyone is happy to try to help and gives you a big thumbs-up when they can. But not everyone can.
I had been hoping that my rudimentary knowledge of Spanish might help me out. but I knew one thing before I got here: despite their extensive shared history and extreme physical proximity, Portuguese and Spanish have surprisingly distinctive spellings. Two things I found out once I got here: the two languages also sound very distinctive, and if you just start speaking to someone in Spanish, they'll assume you're an idiot who has no idea that Brazil uses a different language from the rest of South America.
Thus, I quickly learned to preface my feeble attempts at conversation with "nao falo Potugues," before offering English or Español. Despite Brazil's proximity to many Spanish speaking countries, I never had any luck with Spanish. But that didn't mean Spanish was useless. If the offer of English didn't work out, the other party and I would both start speaking in a simplified, present tense version of the two languages, searching for words where neither had diverged too far from their Latin roots. It usually got things done.
When I was done at GE and ventured out into the city a bit more, this sort of semi-sportuguese combined with a fair bit of gesturing became essential. For example, the city’s botanic gardens sounded phenomenal, and it was really easy to find them on a map. But they occupied a lot of space, and the map stubbornly refused to point out where the actual entries to the gardens were. This again forced me to inflict my lack of language skills on a poor guy standing behind a drugstore counter.
After leading off with an apology for my inability to speak his language, a few carefully chosen words in Spanish, and some clarifying gestures, I was off. When it was clear I had understood, he cracked a huge smile and gave me a thumbs-up—a gesture he shared with the many locals I encountered who seemed genuinely pleased to be able to help out.
Even if I weren’t staying right on the beach, I would have liked Rio a lot.
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