Quero um… dinner reservation?

July 22, 2009

It’s only fair that I share my Brazilian blunders.

Bolstered by the compliment paid to us by the Fabio on the beach last Friday, I was flying high on the idea that I am getting very good at speaking Portuguese.  As Scott and I discussed what to do for dinner Friday night, we settled on Mr. Lam, a Chinese restaurant here that supposedly stole a chef from New York’s Mr. Chow.  As I was looking at their website, I thought, oh, I’ll just call and make a reservation, it looks sort of fancy and might be necessary.  “Really?” Scott said, “You’re going to call them and make a reservation? Do you know what you’re going to say? ”  Um, yeah. Of course.

So I picked up my phone and dialed, totally confident.  When I heard the “Alo?” on the other end of the line I said, “Quero um… uh… dinner reservation?”  I promptly got off my high horse.  I didn’t even have time to recover and ask for a reservation correctly in Portuguese, as the maitre’d said in perfect English, “Of course.  What time would you like to come?”

In other Portuguese mishaps, I stepped in dog shit this morning.  It was disgusting, and early, and some how wound up between my flip flop (now dubbed poop flop) and my left foot.  It still makes me shudder, even though all parties involved have been appropriately bleached.  If Brazilians are going to have their cochorros (dogs), they need to enforce some pooper scooper laws.

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