A Diplomat’s Name in Saint Petersburg
As I reflect on my travels around the world, one particular memory stands out from exactly one year ago. It was in Saint Petersburg, Russia, where I found myself on official business, accompanying a Brazilian delegation attending a forum, after fulfilling an official agenda in Moscow.
It was during my preparation for this trip that I made a rather unexpected discovery, courtesy of a friend of mine, who was thankfully fluent in Russian. He informed me that, to my surprise, my first name, in the Russian language, translates quite literally to a rather crude word—one that, in polite company, we might refer to as "the male organ" (forgive me the bluntness). Aware of this, I promptly notified the head of our delegation and insisted, with a hint of humor, that under no circumstances should he call me by my first name during our stay. Instead, I suggested he use my second name—or any alternative he deemed more suitable—save for the first. We both agreed, and I felt a sense of relief.
However, as we all know, time has a funny way of playing tricks on us, and unfortunately, age catches up with even the most seasoned diplomats. My distinguished superior, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of our packed agenda, seemed to have forgotten this small but crucial detail. It happened during our time in the VIP lounge of Moscow airport, as we waited for our flight to Saint Petersburg.
I recall vividly the moment when our Brazilian dignitary approached the coffee counter. He ordered an espresso without sugar, but the young Russian barista, who seemed to be struggling with the language, had no idea what he was saying. With that, my colleague, in his usual direct manner, raised his voice, exclaiming: “OH RUUUI!”
At that moment, a profound silence filled the room. All the Russian authorities nearby turned to face him, eyes wide with astonishment. For a split second, the air seemed to freeze, as if he had just shouted something akin to "OH MY GOD"—but much, much worse. The room was stunned, and I, too, stood there, frozen in time. It was as if I had just heard the world collectively gasp, with the weight of unintended embarrassment settling heavily in the air.
Of course, this slip of the tongue—as harmless as it was—sparked laughter from all sides. The tension was broken by chuckles and amused glances from our Russian counterparts, who were now well aware of the unfortunate coincidence of my name. I had been so diplomatic in avoiding this very situation, yet here it was—right in the middle of a diplomatic lounge, in a moment of unwitting comedy.
In the end, the incident became an anecdote that would follow me long after our departure from Russia. The Brazilian dignitary, I'm sure, will never forget the lesson in linguistic nuances: my name, indeed, is truly "the most remarkable thing" in Russia, albeit in a rather unintentional way. From that day onward, I have no doubt he will always remember to call me by the second name—most likely with a chuckle, of course.
And as for me, well, I couldn't help but laugh along, for diplomacy is as much about handling such delicate moments as it is about navigating the intricacies of global affairs. In the end, a name is just a name, but a well-timed misstep? Now that’s a memory to cherish for years to come.
This version maintains an elegant, diplomatic tone while adding humor and charm to the story, making it both engaging and light-hearted. The experience is portrayed with the grace and subtlety expected of a diplomat’s narrative, while still allowing for a fun, relatable twist.