Culture Shocks - Rio, 10-15 September

The world may be getting smaller but there are still things that are just plain strange to me.

Catagorised into: Hits - things I want to import to England RIGHT NOW

Misses - things that make me hum ‘Jerusalem’ under my breath and pine for home.

Maybes - jury’s still out…. I would welcome your thoughts…

Hits

- Cachaca is cheaper than sugar

- Public toilets, even on buses are clean, have toilet paper, and smell sweet even at the end of the journey

- Long bus journeys come with lunch breaks at roadside cafes selling REAL food. And they have free drinking water on board

- Everyone in Brazil can dance. Properly. And not just big fish little fish…

- Everyone is so lovely and welcoming of foreigners here. How many English do you see on the bus chatting in a foreign language to someone who looks lost, then helping them to find their connection the other end?

- Every teeny tiny little bar in town has live bands playing at least at the weekends

- All you can eat meat restaurants (Charrascaria Rodizios). Nuff said

- Itty bitty monkies swinging around the trees instead of squirrels

- Pure Acai juice. Better than hairy lemon

- Real bananas. If you’ve been here you’ll know what I mean

- Using your mobile on the underground

- Havaianas for £2

Misses

- Having to spend 20 mins applying sun cream and/or mozzie repellent before you get up and go to bed. And it often makes diddly-squat difference.

- Ham and cheese sandwiches on white bread for breakfast EVERY DAY. Please make it stop

- Going to tourist attractions. The only place you’ll be made to feel like a stoopid tourist and talked back to in English when you're trying to practise your Portuguese.

- Tiny turnstiles on buses I can't fit through. Backpacker. Clue's in the title

- I don't much care if dancing Forro gives you a hardon or not, but to dance so close I can feel it is just plain wrong.

- Not being able to go out at night in Rio alone/with a bag/wearing any jewellery/with a camera

- Wholemeal bread? or Pasta? would it be so hard?

- SOS please send red cross parcel of earl grey, alpro light and a kettle asap. I am GAGGING for a real cup of tea. They just don't UNDERSTAND tea here. One of the few countries in the world not to have some kind of tea culture. boo.

- I am so over having to buy all my water when I drink 3-5 litres a day

- Everything made of milk tastes rancid

- No shops have any change, ever. ATMs please stop giving me R$100 notes

- ATMs closing for the night.

- Everyone wears sandals 1 size too small. Toes over the edge. It's a good look.

Maybes

- The bar-tab-card thing. When you go to a bar, you get a card with your name on. When you buy a drink, this is marked on your card, and at the end of the night you pay the cashier your tab. Pros: You only have to handle money once, drinks service is quicker, you can kinda see how much you've drunk by the number of ticks next to the word 'Caiprinha'. Cons: if you lose your card, the fines I've seen range from paying for one of every drink at the bar, to a flat fee of R$200 (about £70). And you have to make sure you have enough money to pay at the end of the night.

- It always costs half as much for women to get into a club as for men. Yet there are still hordes of wench-less leeches at the edge of the dance floor ready to cuddle up to any stray woman who makes the mistake of catching their eye. Also see 'Forro dancing', above

- Buying your dinner by the kilo. Buffet style load-up-your-plate, then take to the scales and collect your receipt to pay later. Cue lengthy discussions about how to get best nutritional value for your money. Sure, lettuce is light, but it's mostly water, right? Watermelon- don't even go there.

- Room sharing in hostels. The friendships, the snoring, the cameraderie, the waking you up at 2am when they get home. then 3am when the next one gets home. Then 4.... you get the picture. Actually this is swiftly slipping towards 'Miss'

- Brazilian bikinis. The timmy mallet song is not far off. I know I feel totally over-dressed in my tankini but just can't quite bear to bare yet. I can't.

While I'm in the mood for lists, cool things I've been up to in Rio this week:

- Watching sunset from sugar loaf mountain

- sitting on Ipanema beach singing 'the Girl from Ipanema'

- sitting in the bar where 'The girl from Ipanema' was written, also singing 'the Girl from Ipanema'

- Going to a Feijoada party, eating Feijoada completa then singing and dancing along with hundreds of Brazilians to a samba circle strutting their stuff

- hanging on to the side of a tram (don't worry mum - the locals all do it....) up to Santa Teresa

- guided tour through the biggest favela in Rio, Rocinha, that started with a hair-raising ride up to the top of the hill on the back of a scooter-taxi. Cheap thrills.

- Going to various other gigs and learning about Brazilian music traditions courtesy of our resident expert, Amy from Canada

- Checking out the Villa Lobos museum, the cone-shaped Cathedral (wrong), the Portuguese architecture in Centro and the gold gilding in the Sao Bento Mosteiro

- Learning how the buses work (flag down something that looks like it's going where you want, then CHECK with the driver as the signs are often wrong, pay the conductor, as him to let you know when you get where you're going (in Portuguese) negotiate the turnstile, and pray to whatever god you choose that you can get to a seat before it sets off. Most of the bus drivers seem to be living out their formula 1 fantasies round the one-way multi-lane streets of the city)

- Getting bitten TO DEATH by goodness knows what. OK this isn't cool, but it has been, and continues to be, a feature of my stay. One helpful guy who works in the hostel suggested the red blobs of rashes might be some kind of disease, not bites at all (thanks). Someone else helpfully suggested bed bugs (again thanks). Can't find any evidence, but there are definitely some bites that stay small and round and some that spread into and icky red eczema-y rash around the weeping bite, itch like ca-razy and take much longer to disappear. Yay. James G if you're reading this, I'd welcome any suggestions. Get your House hat on. For now, scratcharama.

Coming up on Debinabox - will I find my fortune at Ouro Preto (trans: black gold)? and how is my 80 litres faring?

One week in

Photos so far!! You can view this even if you’re not on facebook

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=121005&id=522925763&l=ea29dfc040

Part 1 - Ubachuvas. Sunday 6 September - Thursday 10 September

I think I’m having my first real OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING???? Moment. Let’s go to the beach, I said, lets have some quiet time in a small town between the craziness of Sao Paulo and the craziness of Rio. I had forgotten that I had vowed to make it easy for myself in the beginning, stick to the gringo trail. I hadn’t considered that the national holiday this weekend would mean the hostel would be full of young Brazilian party animals (think “spring break - woohoo“) and that being a small town would generally mean less travellers and tourists would come out here. (It is in the guide book though - hardly virgin territory).

The day started fine - I checked out of the SP hostel no problem, braved the rain to the metro station, and waited in line at Tiete bus station for my coach to a little seaside resort called Ubatuba, supposed to be the most beautiful coastline of Sao Paulo state. Though I was a little grumpy that the receptionist in Sao Paulo had said: Ha! Ubatuba? We call it Ubachuvas because it rains all the time! Thanks. (Chuvas means wet). The bus was half an hour late, but I was practising hard my speech for the bus driver that I copied off my new hostel’s website: Por favor, eu kero fica no ponto de omnibus do Mercado Lazaro (please can I get off the bus at Lazaro supermarket). This I duly said, and I received a ‘Sem’ (yes) in reply. Good good, I thought. I must be getting be at this. Fast forward four hours, and the bus is approaching Ubatuba. Ooh I think that looks like Mercardo Lazaro. Oh, we’ve gone past Mercado Lazaro…..and we’re still going…. Bugger. He’d forgotten. No matter, I thought, how big can this town be? The best thing to do now is stay on until the bus station, where it’ll be easier to get a cab back. I hadn’t the guts to take a bus! However the bus kept on going and going for another half an hour! And it looked like we were coming out the other side of the town. By now I was really starting to panic.

Eventually we pulled into the bus station and lo and behold - taxis! It hadn’t even occurred to me to try and find a local bus, because I didn’t know where in the town I was, which way I was pointing, where I was going, nothing. The taxi took me to the hostel, no problem, but it cost me nearly £20 because it was a Sunday. Ouch.

Then at the hostel, the first receptionista spoke no English. He fetched one that did, I checked in, and she took me up to my room (I had the last bed in the hostel), where I met Kari. Faala Ingles? Said Jessica the receptionist. Nao…. Came the reply. Jessica shrugged at me and left. Great. Here I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, miles out of town, for 4 nights with no-one who spoke English. And it was raining. Nothing to do on a beach if it’s raining. Deep breaths. It’s fine….if it’s nice tomorrow I can go and sit on the beach, if not I can sit in the hostel, and if I just spend three days reading and sleeping and learning Portuguese, I’ll only feel better for it and refreshed and ready for Rio.

So I went to the shop to by some water and some noodles for tea, and settled down to writing this blog and feeling a little sorry for myself.

Cue knock at the door. One of the young Brazilian guys was (I think) looking for his friend. He said blablablablabblabla, I said sorry, I don’t speak Portuguese, and he left.

Where was I? oh yes, feeling sorry for myself. I got as far as expressing as much in my facebook status.

Another knock at the door. Same guy. He introduced himself - his name was Lucas I think (I really am appalling at remembering names). We got chatting through the use of my phrasebook, then he told me to come downstairs to meet his friends.

In the end I had the loveliest evening! There was a whole group of them, between 21 and 27 ish, young professionals (chemists, teachers, engineers) down from Sao Paulo and the nearby cities to spend the weekend at the beach. We drank some beer, danced to some Brazilian pop by the hotel pool, they taught me some Portuguese, they taught me some English, I got chatted up by a Japonese- Brazilian who’s nickname is Kako - kermit the frog. Aww…. He didn’t look like a frog….. But they were so lovely and so generous, and even the ones who didn’t speak much English, would whisper to their friend who did: How do I say: ’how long are you staying here?’ In English???

The next morning, thank goodness, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, I could see the mountains all around. I met my new friends at breakfast and asked what they were doing that day. Going to the beach, they said. You stay with us! Ok then! So I was honoured to spend the day as an honorary Brazilian, drinking beer on Praia Lazaro, 5 mins walk from the hostel, singing and dancing along to Kako playing the guitar, swimming in the sea (I can verify that the Atlantic is not much warmer from the other side), eating crepes on sticks (You may well wonder…. It was gone too quick to take photo to show you. Next time I promise) and generally having a good time…..

That evening everyone had to leave to drive back to their real lives and jobs, and suddenly the hostel was nearly empty.

Turns out that Ubatuba during the week is about as happening as Eastbourne on a wet Tuesday in March.

Hmm - what do I do for the next two days? Kari, my room mate, was staying one more night. Come watch a film, she said..it’s filmed in Ubatuba. ok why not? Sounds like fun. It was called The Tourists.

Top tip - don’t watch this film if you’re about to go backpacking. The long and the short of it is that a group of Americans and Australians get kidnapped after their bus crashes, by an evil man who for some reason wants to harvest their organs while they’re still alive. I think it’s some kind of revenge against transplant tourism. Yay…..

Over an impromptu barbeque late that night (mmm- meat. I needed that after crepe-on-stick was all I ate for lunch) I talked to the hostel’s tour guide about if he would do a trip the next day. As it happened, he had to take a swiss couple to the colonial town of Paraty, and the tour of the movie film sets was on the way. If there’s any way to make the nightmares stop, this may be it.

I think my pictures tell a better story than I could: first stop was the line showing the tropic of Capricorn, somewhere I’ve wanted to go ever since I knew what star signs were. The line is right in the middle of a skate park near the centre of town.

Next - Cahoeira Prumirim, a waterfall where they filmed this movie. It’s more stunning in the sunshine, but it was still very impressive (in the film they jump off the top. No way. Too dangerous). I was the only one daring enough to swim, but I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. It was just amazing - no chlorine, no salty water, not even leeches. And surprisingly warm. I think I’d swim a lot more if I could swim in a pool at the bottom of a waterfall everyday…

There’s a rock shelf behind the cascade where you can sit - it just feels rather like you’re drowning trying to get to it!

Then, two beaches also in the film. Again, not so impressive without sunshine, and looking at the mountains through the cloud….but still very beautiful

Then - this old watermill that used to be worked by slaves, now looked after by this guy called Za Pedro, descendent of said slaves. It was nice, and there was a nice little walk through the Atlantic forest to see the river that feeds the mill, but we were more distracted by the CUTEST little puppy who lives there, and followed us around….

The atlantic forest is amazing. It’s just green, By which I mean there’s pretty much no bare rocks, no bare tree trunks anywhere. Every inch of space is covered by something green. If you stay still long enough, you start growing moss and tendrils wind round your ankles.

Then Paraty! I’m glad I only went for the day and didn’t stay there - it’s full of old Portuguese colonial architecture, some cannons and such, lots of gift shops, and water not clean enough to swim in. A couple of hours wandering around was enough, but I also got in my first meat-rice-beans combo meal (do you really need to put chips with it too?) that arrives on two enormous platters for each person. I wish I’d used my Portuguese for doggie bag (para lavar por favor!)

I can’t quite understand why it’s such a draw for tourists - other than it’s just more set up for it than Ubatuba (by way of offices running tours and organising water sports, gift shops etc)

Driving back after dark, there was an amazing thunderstorm (raio e drovão). Lightning here is no mere white flash, oh no. The sky turns pink, and the lightning discharges as a huge fork (my first lightning fork, I think!). So tired I lay down for a quick nap and didn’t wake up till nearly midnight! Sorry Nil! Nil was going to make me Caipirinhas…..

Woke up Wednesday morning. Mozzie bite count: 15. Fifteen!!!! I don’t think I really took our short trek through the Atlantic forest seriously enough. One whole day to amuse myself…. The only map I could get at the hostel only showed the local beaches, so I took to google maps for some idea of how to get to them . It looked like there was a road up this little mountain pensinsula where I thought I could get a good view. When I got there, it wasn’t clear which track was this proper road. I took a guess, and ended up on this coastal path to some little coves round the peninsula. Very cute, very quiet. I ended up on Praia Flamenguinho, gave myself a Portuguese lesson, took some photos and headed home, where I saw this great sign by the path (see photos….) and my first hummingbird! Just casually sipping at some flowers down by the marina. Sorry no photo - they don’t really hang around. After a bodged lunch of instant noodles and instant meat and vegetable sauce at the hostel (did the lady who worked there really have to stare over my shoulder going ‘interesante…….’ all the time?) and some research, and uploading these photos, I heard there was another beach nearby I had to see - praia Sununga (crying beach) It has this cave that’s constantly dripping) I took photos - they’ll be in the next batch! That evening, a few more people had turned up, so we went and bought a bottle of cachaca and some sugar (the sugar was more expensive than the alcohol) and mixed up some Caprinhas, ordered pizza (not sure about the Brazilian excuse for pizza. Stick to the meat, guys) and headed to a little bar where some of the guys who worked in the hostel were singing round a guitar and drinking beer.

They started a few English songs and I went ‘yeah I know this one: There is, a house, in New Orleans, they caaaall the riiising sun, erm, la laaahh, la laaah, la laaah laaah……’ etc. Turns out I know very few songs all the way through. Not even the Jason Moraz thingy that’s really big here. I can just about manage the chorus, then only laahhh my way through the rest.

The Brazilians thought this was very funny. You know Nirvana? Yeah, it goes ‘laa laah la laaah laaa……’

Around 3am we left them to it - I had to be up at 7 to pack and catch my bus to Rio….rer…..

Part 2 - language

A few top tips for successfully communicating with Brazilians.

Don’t say ‘cool’ - cool means arsehole

Don’t make the international diving sign for OK - this also means arsehole….

But if someone says ‘Oi!’ to you….that just means hi….. Brazilians take note, don’t say that in England….

You can put ‘inho’ on the end of any word as a diminuative.

But

You can also put ‘ão’ on the end of a word to make it BIG. Praião = Biiiiig beach. Prainho = little beach

Etc. Have got a lot of mileage out of that. Lapeetoppinho! sanduichão!

Quiz of the week - there’s a postcard in it for the first person to correctly translate ‘fliperama’. Previous travellers to Brazil need not apply.

Next instalment: Rio. Buildings growing out of the hills competing with the trees and, is that a mars bar in your pocket? I discover Forró and how the Brazilians dance....

Não Faala Portugues!!

All the guide books recommend you learn some Portuguese/Spanish as applicable before venturing out to South America.

Yeah yeah yeah - I’ll get by on a phrase book in Brazil, then do a Spanish course when I get to Argentina.

When they say not many people speak English, they mean No-one speaks a word…..

In a way this is good - how annoying is it on your weekend away in Paris when you deliver your painstakingly-rehearsed line to the waiter only to be replied to in perfect English with only the addition of a condescending sneer to acknowledge that they understood your initial attempt.

So I’m learning Portuguese - VERY FAST. And every time I successfully buy a bus ticket, order my lunch, or navigate my way to the next sight having asked directions, it is a major achievement. That said, all the effort put into these day-to-day tasks means not much else gets done, but that’s ok…no hurry!

And if I’m being honest, I’ve often found my way somewhere in spite of the given directions, not because of them. Not always because they’re plain wrong, but more likely because the answer you get to your carefully prepared speech is an incomprehensible garble to my untrained ears. Can’t you hear I’m foreign and struggling? Please slow down and enunciate just a little bit…

Until I open my mouth, I’m also enjoying the relative anonymity, in amongst such a diverse community of shapes and colours and ethnic backgrounds. And they’re not the slightest bit geared up to tourists - no gauntlet of traders to ignore every time you step outside the door (I give you good price…) which makes being a tourist in some countries (I’m looking at you, Egypt) so exhausting.

Apologies are due for lack of pictures - as well as not wanting to have my camera out all the time walking round a city on my own (picture a big arrow with flashing lights pointing towards my head that says TOURIST!!! ROB ME!!!!!!) Sao Paulo is….not very photogenic…. Yesterday I went on a walk round the historic buildings in the centre of town, and was appalled to see all the old churches covered in graffiti, beautifully landscaped parks obscured by equal quantities of rubbish and sleeping homeless people (??!) and the one graffiti, rubbish and hobo-less view I got (of the Teatro Municipal and the statue of leaping horses in front), the Theatre was covered in scaffolding and building works. I’ll le them off that, but I wasn’t going to risk my belongings to take a snap of that… If the sun ever comes out again I’ll take some of the beach when I get there. Promise. For now, you’ll have to make do with a google image search. Things I’ve seen: Ibirapuera Park, Museu Arte de Sao Paulo, Teatro Municipal, Catedral Metropolitana (where I managed to arrive in time for a celebratory mass on the anniversary of the Cathedral’s opening. Impressive, huge cathedral, but the dullest setting of the mass I’ve ever heard. One of the monks spoke English, and chatting to him afterwards I complemented him on the beautiful building. He replied: it’s no Westminster Abbey…)

I think I’ve passed the São Paulo test - so my reward is getting the bus to the coast for a few days on the beach at Ubatuba (Oooba-Toooba, honestly) before braving the next craziness of Rio, to give my shoulders a rest from lugging around a day bag and poor blistered feet some down time from all the getting lost in this vast signpost-light city (after all, they have to carry the shoulders AND the bag). I’m just annoyed that rain is forcast… it seems that Brazil isn’t immune from the curse of the bank holiday weekend.

Ciao ciao for now!!

New gringo on the block

The sun is hot, the temperature is a pleasant mid-20’s in the shade, all kinds of tropical birds are providing the tree-top soundscape (doing their best, but failing only just to drown out the enormous motorway that slices down edge of the park). The trees themselves are lshedding their leaves, and the sickly sweet scent of spring blossoms waft in and out of ones consciousness.

This, dear reader, is winter in Sao Paolo, specifically Ibirapuera Parque, where I have retired after my long journey here to laze away the jetlag in the shade and tap away at my keyboard as the inspiration takes me.

I think I could cope with winters like this.

Novel things I’ve enjoyed so far:

1) that the bing-bong in the airport is no a chime bar or electronic bleep, but a steel pan. Bring on carnival

2) that in the supermarkets, the melons are laid out on racks I can only compare to coconut shies, and

3) the business man sitting on a deck chair near me, barking orders down his mobile, and with briefcase open beside him, but wearing only speedos.

4) it’s raining leaves. I don’t mean the leaves are falling - I’m actually being attacked!

Things that are reassuringly familiar

1) the morning commuters - I really had to barge my way onto that third metro train that came along. Enough with the queue jumping. (thanks are due to the lady who squidged my rucksack in so that the doors would close)

2) the traffic - except I think it could be even worse than London. My bus left the airport at 6.40am and it was already jammed up by then. Ahhh sweet smog

3) swine flu. Just because I’ve sneezed does not mean you have to give me a dirty look.or tighten your face mask.

4) finishing this blog in the hostel in the evening, it’s now raining….

As some of you may have already received in a text this morning, I was a little smug that despite the above, I did manage to negotiate my way from the airport to the hostel on public transport using only Portuguese and emphatic gesturing.

It was amazing flying into SP while it was still dark - I thought I’d be disappointed if the sun hadn’t yet risen, but it was this amazing network of different coloured dots of light that stretched to the horizon in all directions. And from the viewpoint of a plane, that’s pretty far. I can only liken it to the view of the borg ship from the starship enterprise - just vast vast vastness.

The hostel took some finding (not appreciated with heavy bags and very sweaty from travelling) (having a sign on the door bigger than A5 might have helped) Anyway, once there, it was great - English speaking recepcionista, towel and clean sheet handed to me, room was all ready for me to go in to, even at 8.30am, and, hallelujah, a hot shower in the room. What I hadn’t prepared for was being walked in a room that was almost pitch black, with the other residents still asleep (or trying to be) trying to work out which bunk was free, then working out all I needed for a shower, finding the door to said shower, and closing and locking it before I could turn the light on in there. I was doing so well until the last step, then I mis-jiggled the door knob, and the whole bid old heavy door went CLUNK. **sorry!** I’ll have to apologise later. After this I decided against negotiating the lockers, so all that is precious had to come out with me again. And a good deal of other crap as well as I couldn't sort out my bag. I thought it was only 10 mins walk to the park. I was wrong. Very wrong. Half an hour later…..ah well, it’s worth it. Very peaceful…. Until you get accosted by postcard sellers. Run!!