Language barrio

Finally, here I am. Hello.

It's great to be in Brazil after all the last-minute rushing about and drunkenness (thanks to all who made my 12th Jan send-off so 'spesh' :-) ), but I also have to say that just writing this is a huge relief after a week of floundering efforts at Portuguese.

My friend here, Aline, has been fantastic; ever since she picked me up from the airport (gritty-eyed and sweaty after 36 hours awake, but still conscious enough to mentally unfurl myself and stretch out in the 35-degree heat) she's taken over all matters administrative, thank god.

Her family have taken me under their wing, so I've spent about half the last week at their flat, which is the kind of Piccadilly Circus of sisters, partners, friends, neighbours and children that reminds me endlessly of chez Bustamante circa 1992.

They're like a cheerful but diligent Portuguese police force - my occasional respite of speaking Spanish to Aline is met by indignant reproach and, on one occasion, her mother wonderingly asking her if she could *really* understand what I was saying. Spanish gets you nul points here, sadly.

The first days and weeks of a new language are like a new job; you feel you'll never get to grips with it all. One of the things I love about Portuguese is the musical rise-and-fall intonation, which is deceptively easy to fall into. This is probably the reason why my best attempts at abandoning Spanish and striking out in this strange language are invariably, and dishearteningly, met with shouts of, "Ei! Misska! Fala [speak] PORTUGUES!".

I haven't yet worked out how to say, "Sorry. I thought I was."