Ebook rtf mathematics Feynman, Richard Surely You’…

they
could understand him; I don't know. Then the next guy gets up, and gives 
his
talk in English! 
When it was my turn, I got up and said, "I'm sorry; I hadn't realized that the official language of the Brazilian Academy of Sciences was English, 
and therefore I did not prepare my talk in English. So please excuse me, but I'm going to have to give it in Portuguese." 
So I read the thing, and everybody was very pleased with it. 
The next guy to get up said, "Following the example of my colleague from the United States, I also will give my talk in Portuguese." So, for all I 
know, I changed the tradition of what language is used in the Brazilian Academy of Sciences. 
Some years later, I met a man from Brazil who quoted to me the exact sentences I had used at the beginning of my talk to the Academy. So 
apparently it made quite an impression on them. 
But the language was always difficult for me, and I kept working on it all the time, reading the newspaper, and so on. I kept on giving my 
lectures in Portuguese--what I call "Feynman's Portuguese," which I knew couldn't be the same as real Portuguese, because I could understand what I 
was saying, while I couldn't understand what the people in the street were saying. 
Because I liked it so much that first time in Brazil, I went again a year later, this time for ten months. This time I lectured at the University of Rio, 
which was supposed to pay me, but they never did, so the center kept giving me the money I was supposed to get from the university. 
I finally ended up staying in a hotel right on the beach at Copacabana, called the Miramar. For a while I had a room on the thirteenth floor, where 
I could look out the window at the ocean and watch the girls on the beach. 
It turned out that this hotel was the one that the airline pilots and the stewardesses from Pan American Airlines stayed at when they would "lay 
over"--a term that always bothered me a little bit. Their rooms were always on the fourth floor, and late at night there would often be a certain 
amount of sheepish sneaking up and down in the elevator. 
One time I went away for a few weeks on a trip, and when I came back the manager told me he had to book my room to somebody else, since it 
was the last available empty room, and that he had moved my stuff to a new room. 
It was a room right over the kitchen, that people usually didn't stay in very long. The manager must have figured that I was the only guy who 
could see the advantages of that room sufficiently clearly that I would tolerate the smells and not complain. I didn't complain: It was on the fourth 
floor, near the stewardesses. It saved a lot of problems. 
The people from the airlines were somewhat bored with their lives, strangely enough, and at night they would often go to bars to drink. I liked 
them all, and in order to be sociable, I would go with them to the bar to have a few drinks, several nights a week. 
One day, about 3:30 in the afternoon, I was walking along the sidewalk opposite the beach at Copacabana past a bar. I suddenly got this 
treMENdous, strong feeling: "That's 
just
what I want; that'll fit just right. I'd just love to have a drink right now!" 
I started to walk into the bar, and I suddenly thought to myself, "Wait a minute! It's the middle of the afternoon. There's nobody here, There's no 
social reason to drink. Why do you have such a terribly strong feeling that you 
have
to have a drink?"--and I got scared. 

---

I never drank ever again, since then. I suppose I really wasn't in any danger, because I found it very easy to stop. But that strong feeling that I 
didn't understand frightened me. You see, I get such fun out of 
thinking
that I don't want to destroy this most pleasant machine that makes life such a 
big kick. It's the same reason that, later on, I was reluctant to try experiments with LSD in spite of my curiosity about hallucinations. 
Near the end of that year in Brazil I took one of the air hostesses--a very lovely girl with braids--to the museum. As we went through the 
Egyptian section, I found myself telling her things like, "The wings on the sarcophagus mean suchand-such, and in these vases they used to put the 
entrails, and around the corner there oughta be a so -and-so . . ." and I thought to myself, "You know where you learned all that stuff? From Mary 
Lou"--and I got lonely for her. 
I met Mary Lou at Cornell and later, when I came to Pasadena, I found that she had come to Westwood, nearby. I liked her for a while, but we 
used to argue a bit; finally we decided it was hopeless, and we separated. But after a year of taking out these air hostesses and not really getting 
anywhere, I was frustrated. So when I was telling this girl all these things, I thought Mary Lou really was quite wonderful, and we shouldn't have had 
all those arguments. 
I wrote a letter to her and proposed. Somebody who's wise could have told me that was dangerous: When you're away and you've got nothing but 
paper, and you're feeling lonely, you remember all the good things and you can't remember the reasons you had the arguments. And it didn't work out. 
The arguments started again right away, and the marriage lasted for only two years. 
There was a man at the U.S. Embassy who knew I liked samba music. I think I told him that when I had been in Brazil the first time, I had heard 
a samba band practicing in the street, and I wanted to learn more about Brazilian music. 
He said a small group, called a