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

Aprenda a língua com música!

Olha que coisa mais linda
Mais cheia de graça
É ela menina
Que vem e que passa
No doce balanço, a caminho do mar

If you are one of those lucky ones able to understand those words (from "Garota de Ipanema" by Tom Jobim), don't bother reading the rest as this post is not meant for you. If, however, you're dying to find out what they mean and using google translator just doesn't do it for you, you've come to the right place. 

Why? Well, having brushed up on my Portuguese which is now more fluent than ever, with fresh colloquialisms and a myriad new expressions picked up straight from the streets, bars, clubs and educated daily conversations in Brazil, I am offering language classes. They're not just your regular (i.e. boring) repetitions of grammar or memorizing lists of words. No, no, no, no. The lessons I am now offering are a skilful combination of the language and... music. 

Senhoras e senhores, what some of you have been dreaming of - learning Portuguese through songs! This may come as a surprise to some, but I am actually a fully trained and experienced language teacher. So, it doesn't have to be the Girl from Ipanema we'll be working on, but any song in (Brazilian) Portuguese you like (I unwillingly accept even Ai se eu te pego, if that tickles your fancy) and soon you will not only be able to understand your the lyrics, but even hold a proper conversation with your Brazilian friends.  No miracles though.    If you don't do your homework, don't expect to suddenly start chatting like a carioca or a paulista (mineiro/baiano/pernambucano, etc.). 

The reason why I am offering this kind of classes (apart from the obvious), is that you learn the language a lot faster with music, as you will unconsciously repeat the melody in your head, which is bound to solidify words and idioms in your memory. This is how I learned Portuguese and I can assure you, it works. 

Interested? Drop a line at: portuguesethroughsongs@gmail.com

Mind you, the lessons are available in London only!

P.S. For any Brazilians out there who read the post anyway, pssst, I also give English classes. 

Because love is not a sin

After a longer pause, I’m back. My absence was due to a virtual whirlpool of events in my family life which has seen one person leave this vale of tears and another one appear, on the same day. It was a time that made me appreciate who I am, where I am and where I am going. And perhaps what life is all about.

Thinking about a lot of things that happen to us during our existence, I realised it’s all about love. Now, mind you, I’m not going to share my very personal love story with you, uh-uh. Let’s keep private stuff private. What I want to tell you is how Brazilians love, or where, to be precise.

Motels. If you think I mean roadside hotels, think again. It’s Brazil we’re talking about. A motel is a place where you never go alone. It’s a love spot. The suggestive names leave you in no doubt; Belle, Black Horse, Free Love Motel, Lamour, Sedutti... The more obvious the name, the more raunchy the atmosphere and decor. More classy places have less explicit names (Magnata, Lumini or Elegance Hotel) but they all have one thing in common: you pay per 4, 6 or 12 hours and are guaranteed maximum privacy. Motels are usually located in less frequented zones, and are guarded off the main road by high walls. You register at the entrance from the safety of your car and then drive straight to the private garage linked with the chosen room. There are no corridors (to avoid bumping into an acquaintance in the least suitable circumstances), no “windows with a view” (except for the most luxurious venues) and you never see the staff. If you make an order, for anything from snacks, to drinks, to food, to lubricants and sex toys, they bring it to you on a silver plate through a rotating window.

In São Paulo, motels are highly visible from the road, with their neon signs blinking seductively at night. They are sometimes so clustered together in one area that for example Rodovia Raposo Tavares, peppered with tiny and bigger motels of all sorts, earned itself a name of a Love Road (Rodovia do Amor).

Source: http://www.guiademoteis.com.br/sao-paulo/zona-oeste/moteis/Motel-Belle

What can you expect inside them? A large bed, of course. After all, that’s what you’re going to need most. And then, depending on the chosen standard and theme (luxurious, super-luxurious, African, Romantic, Erotic, etc.) , you can enjoy a swimming pool, jacuzzi, sauna, a solar roof or even a spider-looking erotic chair and god knows what else.

For the curious, and Portuguese-speaking, I can recommend www.guiademoteis.com.br, a comprehensive guide to motels in Brazil, which aided my research.

A bit about the history. Apparently, motels started to spring up in the 60s when unmarried couples needed somewhere to exchange affection and most hotels wouldn’t let them stay unless they produced a marriage certificate. Obviously, that attitude started to change with time, but these days, due to strained budgets, some young people still live with their parents and thus the motel is the only place they can enjoy the so-much-needed intimacy. Let’s not be so prude, though. The fact that many people are attracted by the brash façades, at times extremely kitsch interiors with fake waterfalls and wild tiger wallpapers, plus a variety of porn channels on TV, is ever so glaring. Also, the season when motels are bursting is... surprise, surprise, the carnival! 

Source: http://www.guiademoteis.com.br/sao-paulo/zona-oeste/moteis/Motel-Belle

Interestingly enough, motels are often recommended in travel guides as a cheap accommodation alternative to the ridiculously expensive hotels, especially in Rio. In fact, it has been suggested that participants of the upcoming UN summit be put up in the city’s numerous motels, as a solution to the apparent bed shortage. (read the article here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-17656123). Hilarious. But then again, who would object to sleeping in a large comfortable bed, relaxing in a sauna and then jumping into the whirlpool while admiring the night sky? I suppose they would prefer to have company, since, as one of the motel’s slogan says, “love is not a sin”. 

Is it the size that matters?

Think about Rio de Janeiro. What is the first image that comes to your mind, even if you've never been there? And I mean image, not your late-night fantasies.

Copacabana and its snaky black and white cobbled pavement?

Sipping cold coconut water on the hot sand?

Golden bodies in Brazilian bikinis?

Carnival parade?

Hopefully some of you did think of Christ the Redeemer with his outstretched arms, overlooking Guanabara Bay. Whether you are religious or not, there’s no point denying that this statue is one of the most commonly recognised landmarks of Brazil (and Rio de Janeiro in particular) and due to its impressive size (between 30 m /98.5 ft and 39m – there is contrasting info) has often been envied.

I was surprised to find out that in my motherland, Poland, a similar construction was raised in 2010 in a tiny winy towny of Świebodzin. I think the intention was to make it even bigger than the one in Rio. Was it to show the magnitude of Polish religiousness or ego, I wonder. So, our Polish Christ the King is 33 metres tall, to mark the age at Jesus’ death, apparently, and together with the mound on which it is built it reaches 52.5 metres. One way or another, it’s taller than the Rio statue. In your face, Rio!

Source: http://www.giganticstatues.com/christ-the-king-statue/

 Ok, perhaps this take is a bit unfortunate, let’s try again...

Source: http://www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?p=67552699

Erm... the view doesn't seem quite right...

But what do I see? Another Jesus? In Cochabamba, Bolivia. No way Jose, only 40 metres, including the pedestal. What a joke. 

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cristo_de_la_Concordia_02.jpg

The priest of Świebodzin must have been sad to learn that it stands competition also from Lima, Peru, where Cristo del Pacífico was kindly left by the president to look after the Peruvian nation. 30 metres. No chance.

Source: http://ayaviri.info/2011/06/presidente-alan-garcia-inaugura-cristo-del-pacifico/

Early this year, news spread that a replica of Cristo Redentor might appear on the skyline of... Wait for it, wait for it! London. Primrose Hill to be precise. With the permission (and financial contribution) of the Brazilian government, the monument would mark the moment London passes the Olympic torch over to Rio. Metaphorically, of course. Primrose Hill may not be Corcovado, but perhaps it’s worth a go.  From a mass of comments under the article in the Guardian on the matter, I picked the following few: 

"how about a 6 inch marquette of Borris the irredeemable instead"

"The Olympics are surely a secular celebration of physical excellence? If you MUST align it to a fictional deity, surely Zeus would be far more appropriate in this instance?"

"Can we have Gisele instead?"

Hilarious.

They’re all forgetting one thing. You may have the tallest Jesus on this planet, but what really counts is the view! 

Source:http://www.lovethesepics.com/2011/04/christ-the-redeemer-statue-1-of-7-new-wonders-of-the-world-45-inspiring-pics/

The truth about the Internet

I have a confession to make. I have been checking the blog statistics. Religiously. Well, for one, it doesn’t hurt to know who’s reading your blog and where most of the traffic source comes from. Understandably, my audience is mainly from the UK, Poland and Brazil, as I’ve got friends and family in all three of them. Thanks to a fellow blogger link, I’ve gained relative popularity in the US, which now tops the list. Two, by finding out which post are most read I get valuable insight. Or so I thought.

Obviously you can stumble across my blog just by typing in google (or some other browser) key words which I happened to include.  Hence, I wasn’t surprised that suddenly people read me in, say, Germany, Russia, India or Canada. Normal. After all, the blog is entirely searchable. But then suddenly Kuwait, Ghana, Saudi Arabia. Wow, I’m getting popular around the world, I thought naively. And don’t get me wrong, I’d be more than happy to know that residents of those and other countries have an interest in Brazil and my Brazilian adventures. You’re welcome, guys!

But somehow I failed to notice, until last night, that I can actually check by which  searchwords my blog is usually found. So here we go: “carnival 2012 boobs”, ”breasts samba”, ”sexy carnaval 2012”… True, I did write about boobs at the sambadrome (and that post is the most popular indeed), but how come typing in “miss bumbum” redirects to The Brazilian Dream??

It dawned on me. Most Internet users are interested in Brazil not as a country, but as a land of big bums and boobs, hot bodies, Brazilian bikini and ass-shaking. How sad. I think I need to drown my sorrows in a caipirinha. And in a few days’ time I’ll check if this post got the most visits. C’mon, it’s bound to. 

Heaven and... earth

One of the other good memories from Brazil, and specifically from São Paulo, is a music show my BF took me to in December 2011. I'm not a particularly big fan of instrumental music, but having seen this one, and been exposed to tons of Yamandu Costa and Raphael Rabello (because of my guitarist BF), I might be considered a convert in this respect. 

The star of the night, though quite a modest one, was Swami Junior, a guitarist, bassist, arranger, composer and producer. Apparently, he is now one of the most sought after Brazilian musicians! On December 12, when he performed at SESC Consolação, his band was formed of the following members: Swami Jr. (7-string guitar), Alexandre Ribeiro (clarinet), Douglas Alonso (percussion), with Chico Pinheiro (guitar) and Marco Pereira (guitar) as guest musicians.

When they started playing, I felt like in a dream, being transported somewhere to cloud 9 with the wonderful arrangements. I’ve got this particular, physical reaction when I experience something truly magic that tickles my musical taste; I get goose bumps. So that night, it must have looked as if I was cold, but I was simply wrapped by the veal of exquisitely delicate, yet precisely placed sounds. At times though, I was brutally brought down to earth by a neighbour from hell.

This guy in his late 50s, sat next to me, stretched his legs onto a seat in front of him as if he was about to watch a football match and… would not stop tossing and turning, visibly still uncomfortable. I tried not to pay attention to him so as not to lose touch with the heavenly music. Suddenly, the man got up, walked along the back wall (looking for the exit?), a bunch of keys ringing unmercifully by his side. I winced once or twice, but was determined to enjoy the show. He came back to his seat. And started teeth-kissing. Not in a disapproving way, rather as a means to remove hell knows what from his gurgling throat. At times like these I wish I had a gun. He was obviously enjoying himself though as he would shout an out-of-place “Bravo!” each time a track finished. The last straw was when his mobile phone rang (of course!), luckily for him - in a pause between songs, at which sign he left the hall. Luckily for him.

I was able to enjoy the rest of the concert, undistracted and, frankly, I had never heard a better quality sound at any show in Europe. I must admit, and will probably reiterate in the future, that São Paulo’s music scene is truly impressive. And so are its music venues. 

So here, a fragment of this exact show, in a neighbour-from-hell-free version, especially for you. (filmed by sesctv) Sound by Rafael Valim. 

Stay tuned! 

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)