During this summer’s Flow School, Flowstar Colin Ford facilitated a blog-writing workshop, encouraging even our non-writers to show off their talents. Over the next few weeks, we’ll be publishing the homework assignments from that session. This is the sixth of the series.
When I was in Brazil, armed with reasonable Spanish and a few words of Portuguese, I was reminded of the beauty of challenging myself.
I had started taking Spanish lessons about a year before I was in Brazil, because I had always wanted to learn the language but hadn’t actually done anything about it and I knew it would be a great new challenge for myself – one with which I am still grappling.
Before I’d started Spanish lessons, I had decided to visit Brazil and I’d figured that this would be a great first foray into South America – visit one of the countries on my bucket list, while also spending some time with a dear friend who lives in Brazil.
It was still in the early stages of my trip to Brazil, buzzing from an incredible time in São Paulo with my friend and her family, when I was in Rio and trying to find my way to the statue of Christ the Redeemer – an excursion that reminded me of something I had slowly begun to forget.
I had thrust myself into this incredible and vibrant country, and I could hardly speak a word of the vernacular. I had fooled myself (with the help of guide books) into thinking that because Brazil is surrounded by Spanish-speaking countries, people would understand my broken Spanish and I would understand them.
I could not have been more wrong.
I was this lone South African girl, filled with the amazing spirit of Brazil, in a foreign country trying to catch a cab to one of the world’s most popular monuments, but I could not find the words or hand gestures to communicate where I wanted to go with the cab driver. My view of the world and his view of the world, clearly, could not have been more different.
After a few exasperated broken Spanish words from me, and my repeating “Cristo el Redentor” more times than I remember, he kicked me out of his cab with a few terse words and a few more graphic hand gestures. I had to find a way to get to this statue. I couldn’t visit Rio and miss visiting this monument.
So I walked to a row of cabs and tried again to explain where I wanted to go. It was the third or fourth driver who understood where I wanted to go and so, with his help, I made it to the statue.
It was beyond amazing, looking at the world from this whole new perspective. I was just in awe of the magnitude of the statue and the incredible view, and I was so proud of myself for finally making it to Brazil – a country I had dreamed of visiting for many years, and one to which I will surely return. It was at the top of Corcovado mountain, at the statue, that I really felt I was in Rio.
After mentally checking Brazil on my bucket list and fighting my way through throngs of people who, like me, had wanted to experience the sheer magnificence of visiting one of the world’s most famous tourist attractions, I had to make my way back to the bottom of the mountain. And I decided it would be better to walk.
I figured it would be an easy and straight route down and so began my trip. I got so very lost in areas whose names I can barely pronounce or remember now. I had placed myself on a very challenging path: I could not ask anyone how to get to where I wanted to go, because I wouldn’t understand the directions they would give, and I could not turn back the way I had come because I couldn’t remember my exact route – I had just been walking on instinct.
So, while I was reflecting and getting lost in thought while walking, I literally got lost in Rio.
It’s amazing that somehow, while navigating my way through streets I did not know and passing people who didn’t even know I existed until the moment we looked at each other, I felt at ease.
I relished the challenge of finding my way home to a place I had only known for a day or two: I had challenged myself (though it was not intentional) to open my eyes, and really be and experience. If I had any hope of getting back, I had to concentrate on where I was, concentrate on what I was doing.
And it could not have come at a better time, because I was at a time in my life when I felt like I was just existing and not really living, which is not me at all.
That experience, of having to create a path for myself in a place that was not familiar to me, reminded me that though I may be surrounded by limits, many of which I think I impose on myself, I can absolutely find a path back home. Even if that sense of home is in a place I have only just discovered.