A Brazilian Dream... in London

London life indeed did suck me in (hope you enjoyed the silence). But if you think I’ve given up on my Brazilian Dream, think again. I am living it, every day, here under the grey sky, where the weather is cold and the beer is warm.

My BF finally came to the UK, 3 months after my return (!), and he is here is to stay. In the UK I mean, and hopefully by my side. And no, we didn’t have to marry.  He would have it stamped on his forehead that he is now Portuguese as well, if he could. That’s why it took so bloody long! So, I now speak Portuguese more than my mother tongue* (I even dream in Portuguese, for those of you who’ve asked me about it) or even English, and my exploration of Brazilian music has gained new heights. We rehearse regularly (did I ever say he’s a flippin’ good guitarist?), that is, if we manage to find time in our crazy, mutually exclusive timetables.

I continue to sing with Paraíso Samba School, doing gigs at least once a month**; not that it’s terribly creative – those enredos really are repetitive, mas uma coisa é*** – it’s good fun! I may come home nearly deaf, having stood next to the bateria during the show, hardly being able to hear my own thoughts, let alone my voice, but there seems to be a direct link between the intensity of rhythmic drumming and the level of endorphins in my brain. That’s why I do it. Oh, and also so that I can say I belong... Hey, you will surely agree that passing all these delirious crowds at the Notting Hill Carnival, waving at them while trying not to drop the mic, and basically giving it all, is not something you do every day. OK, I do it every year (this was my 3^rd time) and I am still not bored.

Photo by bellaphon

Can it get more Brazilian than parading in the carnival? Yes it can. Taking part in the Olympics closing ceremony beats it. Damn hard. And frankly, that deserves a separate post. Promise! A little teaser beneath, but what I want to say is – you will now be hearing news from Brazilian London. One thing though; I will be absolutely subjective, partial, biased and frank. If something deserves my praise, it will get it, if it’s below any standards, I won’t think twice about tearing it to pieces. You’ve been warned.

*Polish

**usually at Guanabara, the next one is this Saturday! http://www.paraisosamba.co.uk/events/

***one of my BF’s favourite phrases, which simply means “one thing for sure”

That Paulistan feeling

I’ve been back from Brazil for over two months now and the memories of my 4-month-long trip really seem like a dream... It looks like London life has sucked me in and is determined to keep its clutch on me with the cold, wet and jobless reality. My BF still in São Paulo (according to the latest news, he should be coming back to London in three weeks’ time, yay!), I have to resort to browsing through my facebook photo albums to remind myself that it all really happened. And my saudade is not just about him, it is, strangely enough, about the city, too. Just the other night I had a dream that I was going to perform as a singer with a group right there, in São Paulo. I woke up disappointed it wasn’t true. But then again, who knows; maybe someday!

Is it indeed that strange that I should miss Sampa, as it’s colloquially called? A city with lines of cars longer than from here to the moon, more rain in a week than London had this April (and trust me, it was a lot) and thousands of skyscrapers in an apparent fight for the last bits of sunshine, like thirsty plants in this urban jungle. I remember when, on my first, four-day-long, visit to this city, I asked my host: “So what is the landmark? Where is that place that everybody instantly recognises as pertaining to São Paulo, where people meet, the heart?” He seemed puzzled. What, no Paulistan Big Ben? I silently wondered. No Eiffel Tower? Not to mention Cristo Redentor. Let’s not even go there (there is a fierce competition between SP and Rio de Janeiro that I will talk about a bit later). I just couldn’t believe there isn’t anything characteristic that would help me create a mental image of São Paulo by means of just one token. “Avenida Paulista is quite famous” my friend didn’t give up. Right, a big street that runs through the whole city like a pulsating vein, never stopping pumping more traffic in and out of its borders. That didn’t even come close to meeting my expectations of this specific something.

I discovered what it is during my second trip which was ten times longer. It’s just not where I was looking for it. You know, with such Rio it’s easy; the overwhelming statue welcomes you from the top of the hill with its arms wide open (and says goodbye in much the same candid manner), the extreme heat hits you in the face right after you get off the plane, and walking along the ridiculously and undeservingly famous Copabana beach is bound to leave you with sunburn you won’t quickly forget. With SP, things are rather intangible. Relatively far from the sea, much colder and flat as an ironing board, it doesn’t have much to offer. At the first glance. But it’s enough to start walking the streets to notice. Or to feel, I should say. And four days are not enough to discover what I’m talking about. You need to come, take a bus, visit the MASP, gorge a coxinha*, get lost, lose your flip-flop when running in the sudden downpour, have a cold Brahma in a corner bar or dig into a feijoada after a roda de choro on a Saturday afternoon, get stuck in a traffic jam with a full bladder, leave for a party at 1AM and be sure you’ll still get there before the show starts, have another beer, chat with a taxi driver, watch at least one episode of Ratinho**, have a shot of cachaça to recover from the shock, see your friends play a gig with more swing than all your dance and music teachers put together, visit Museu da Lingua Portuguesa, sink your teeth into an indecently ripe mango and let the juices run down your chin, have one more beer, find out what guioza, hashi and shoyu mean, see live samba somewhere in Vila Madalena, eat in a kilo bar, forget what time of the year it is... and then we’ll talk. For the time being, enjoy this HD video (not mine) with views of the city and please, please, ignore the extremely naive music.

*a kind of pastry filled with shredded chicken (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coxinha)

**Programa do Ratinho, a Jerry-Springer-type TV show for the dumb masses

Reality bites

Why didn’t anyone warn me that coming back after nearly four months in Brazil is so... bad? The first day in London was a nightmare. I was tired, confused (language, driving on the left, bland food), irritated, I felt cold and spaced out, and to top it all, I argued with my flatmates. I miss the heat, I miss the samba, the cold beer, the delicate raw tuna melting in my mouth at the Japanese restaurant, the properly salty dishes (have the English given up on salt altoghether?!), I miss requeijão*, and, of course, I miss my boyfriend. Yes, saudade, jet lag, holidays coming to an end, mixed with a heavy dose of reality which I’m going to have to face from now on is a hard one to swallow. Obviously, there are things I’m NOT going to miss; the absurd traffic, the expensive and unreliable transport, the littered streets in the less glamorous areas of São Paulo, but, all in all, positive memories prevail.

So, para matar a saudade**, I’m going to indulge in re-living the best moments of my trip. And what’s better than trying great food? I remember I never mentioned the famous feijoada (from feijão – beans). The origin of the dish goes back to slavery times; hard-working slaves needed a substantial, nutritious meal to endure their daily grind. African cuisine included a bean stew, which on Brazilian ground acquired some meat ingredients. I suppose meat is an understatement. In truth, the masters relished the best parts of pork and whatever was left of the pig they gave to the slaves. Thus, the original feijoada had ears, tails and noses floating around among the beans. It would have been considered the meal of the poor, but today it can be found in the fanciest restaurants all over Brazil. Being a heavy dish, it is usually served only twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, although you’ll easily find places where feijoada is available non-stop. In cheaper venues, everything comes in one pot; the bean stew, chunks of pork meat, pork ribs, sausage, carne seca (dry beef) or corned beef, bacon and the chef’s other secrets. More luxurious ones will usually have a feijoada special, meaning that you pay a certain amount (the most expensive I’ve eaten was R$50, which is slightly less than £20) and you eat as much as you want choosing the ingredients. There is a pot with the beans (in a nicely flavoured brine), followed by pots bursting with all the sumptuous meats separately! To complete the dish, you also will have to help yourself to the following:

-        -  rice (obviously!)

-        -  couve (collard greens)

-         - farofa (lightly roasted coarse cassava flour, often with bits of bacon in it)

-         - torresmo (deep-friend pork rinds)

-         - hot pepper sauce (to spice things up!)

-         - a salad of finely chopped tomatoes and onion

-         - a slice of orange (to refresh)

and if available:

-         - deep-fried cassava

-         - deep-fried banana

Feijoada definitely tickles my buds, so I tried it on a few occasions, but the best one was when my boyfriend took me to Armazém Paulista. We could eat à vontade (as much as you want), but after the starters and the first round, I was full! You’re supposed to wash it down with cachaça, caipirinha or beer, and wash it down we did, with all three, I believe, which allowed me to eat a little bit more of the divine dish. After that though, you could roll me out like a ball... It was our lunch and I didn’t touch food until the next morning!

* requeijão is a type of cream cheese, sold in plastic cups, with a mild but very characteristic taste

** an expression meaning to get rid of the longing (literally to kill the longing)

Samba time!

Finally! After weeks of waiting, I got to see live samba. It had been rather difficult when I was staying outside the city, but now that I’m in the centre most music bars are a stone’s throw away. On Wednesday night we headed for Vila Madalena, a rather posh area where every corner bustles with activity, like lifting glasses of beer to the sounds of guitar, cavaco, pandeiro and/or some other noisy instrument. At a place called Pau Brasil, there was roda de samba. It’s a very old Brazilian tradition of playing this particular genre, which involves musicians sitting in a circle (roda) or sometimes round a table and taking turns to play/sing until dawn. Depending on the venue, this can take the form of a friendly gathering or is more like a show, with artists keeping their distance from the beer-sipping crowd. By the way, I have been told (warned?) that samba and cerveja (beer) always go together, so unless you’re pregnant or under-age, there is no excuse. Not like I was looking for one, but just so that you know. Great sambistas are invariably great drinkers too.

What I loved about that night at Pau Brasil, is that it felt like one big party, with musicians so close to you that you risked getting elbowed in the stomach. And if you got too excited dancing and singing like everybody (!) else in the club, that beer bottle that you’ve just accidentally knocked down ended up at their feet.

Unfortunately, it was too dark there to film properly but at least you can get an idea about the music. It’s Aldo Bueno performing "Mas Quem Disse Que Eu Te Esqueço". More videos coming soon.