Tradução simultânea.

Mais um texto que, se traduzido, não terá a menor graça! Mais um texto que reforça minha teoria de que aprender um novo idioma e sua cultura não é apenas decorar palavras ou usar o dicionário!

"Brazilians speaking English can be charming but all the same linguistic casualties are bound to occur.

Most English speakers who come to Brazil can't speak Portuguese, so Brazilians who meet them must speak English. Whether that's Anglophone arrogance or simply the way world has evolved, it's fact.

Luckily, English and Portuguese are two very compatible languages. Not because they're similar, but because they're so different. Portuguese sounds beautiful and mysterious to Americans, Brits and the like. And the way most Brazilians speak English is extremely charming. This is probably just linguistic luck - the French speaking English sounds cartoonish, the German harsh, the Chinese confusing.

Quirks add to the charm. For example, many Brazilians unwittingly add -ee or -chee to the end of some English words. My name goes from Seth to Set-chee, pronouced like the number 7 (´sete´ in Portuguese). Internet is internet-chee. New York is Nova York-ee. As for Brad Pitt or Titanic? If you're an English speaker, ask a Brazilian near you to pronounce them as they would in natural conversation. You won't be disappointed.

Yet when an English word in English does actually end in an "ee"sound, Brazilians often skip it. Prime examples are coffee and taxi, which come out sounding like the English words "cough" and "tax". I once heard a Brazilian film director tell an American crowd at a film festival: "I hope you like my move."

Misstranslations can also be fun. That's true in any country, of course, and just to be clear, we English speakers truly appreciate the effort. But sometimes you can't help but laugh. Even at 6:30 am, hungover after five days of carnival, at the restaurant buffet at the Hotel Mercure in Itacorumbi, Florianopolis.

That's where my friend and I, unhappily caffeinating for a long car ride back to São Paulo, spotted a sign by the pitcher of mango juice. It read "Suco de Manga - Sleeve Juice."

Sleeve, of course, does mean "manga." But not the fruit, the part of a shirt you put your arm through. The still-drowsy hotel employees had to wonder what caused our uncontrolable fits of laughter. We weren't laughing at them, of course, or even at whoevermade the sign, but at the mere silliness of what happens when two languages meet for breakfast."

- Seth Kugel é correspondente norte-americano no Brasil para a agência de notícias GlobalPost.com e também colaborador fixo do the New york Times, onde assinou a coluna de turismo Weekend in New York de 2006 a 2008.