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)

Saudade

So I decided to come back. The money ran out and I wouldn’t be able to afford to stay another two months as planned. I’m already in London, thinking how badly I had calculated everything. I have to start looking for a job NOW. I’m angry and disappointed. That’s not how it was supposed to be. What about Brazilian Christmas? What about the carnival? I may never have another chance to see it. And my boyfriend is only coming in March. Is it a good idea to be away from a guy for two months? I’ll wither away with saudade*. I met up with a close friend and told her all my worries. Told her how quickly my dream had come to an end and how sorry I was feeling for myself for letting things turn out this way. She listened patiently and tried to comfort me. I leaned on her shoulder and started to cry. Uncontrollably. I rubbed my eyes and almost doubled with the pain of regret. And then I woke up. Eyes still wet. It was just a bad dream. I’m still in Brazil. And determined to make the most it.

*saudade – one of those words which are very difficult to translate to English; it usually denotes a general feeling of sadness and longing for something (often from the past; friends, family, good times). When referring to people, it simply means that you miss them.