The end of the term as we know it....

So - this rather entertaining obsession that society has with the fact that at some point today it will be over has made me think.

What we all love to to is romanticise and daydream and wish our lives away. We love the idea that, seeing as the apocalypse is imminent, we get to be just a touch more romantic, or at least a touch more likely to do the things that we have always hoped we would be able to do.

I remember my first trip to Brazil  in 1998 -  and although the days of hyper-inflation were over, the days of the money in your pocket being worth something different from one day to the next were not. Taxi drivers raced around the city literally trading cigarettes as word of their inflation spread from one district to the next. Guys stood on corner bars on Friday nights, drinking what ever their wages would buy. Being broke on Saturday morning was preferable to waking up with a pocketful of cash that was worth next to nothing!

And so this is it - my last work day in 2012 (along with half the city, it seems) - best start making it count. Personally I'm going to save a little bit for tomorrow and the day after, especially seeing as there's an outside chance that the prophets of doom might be talking out of their arses.

I'm here for the gig.....

Peace and love everybody - why not just do one little amazing, lovely thing for someone? Pretend its your last chance...

Just How Festive Can You Be When It's So Bloody Hot?

Pretty festive, it turns out. The porteiros of Copacabana certainly know how to illuminate the streets. Our lad now has an exponentially increased risk of electric shock, thanks to a never ending daisy chain of fairy lights that tangles itself around every tree and trails though every puddle from here to eternity. Maybe they just want small children to light up too?

We've got joy, we've got fun, we've got Santa in the sun....

Just like everywhere else, the supermarkets and shopping malls declared Christmas months ago, but now it most definitely is the season, it seems that writing post-dated cheques to complete your shopping list is an option in all but the swankiest of places. Christmas on tick... reminds me of an Alan Bleasdale sitcom, only slightly warmer and less grey.

Santa (Papai Noel) is everywhere and the young and old seem to enjoy sitting on his knee and whispering their wildest desires into his shell-like. Only difference is that over here, he never seems to have a grotto - moreover, he camps out at the bottom of an escalator somewhere and any old Tom, Dick or Raphael can stand around and take a picture. Ho ho ho.

Oh, and the cabs have declared that tariff 2 is the new tariff 1. So before you embarrass yourself like I did, don't have a go at your driver - it might be a bit steep, but its legit. Just don't feel you need to chuck any more of your worldly wealth into the tips box he's tied to his headrests. Cheeky bastard.

The guys at our juice bar sing a song when you offer them a seasonal tip. I wonder if you went overboard and chucked them R$50 whether or not they would be able to improvise a full on nativity musical, with assorted sarnies and fruit as props. Just a thought.

As for the big day itself, what better way to spend Christmas than beering it up on the beach to those little known artists Gilberto Gil and Stevie Wonder! - For crying out loud - these people know how to have a knees up. Personally, I'll be doing slightly more familiar things back in blighty, but if I weren't, I'd be drinking disco piss in Copacabana for sure.

Merry Christmas! - What does it mean to you?

Rhythms Of The City....

So, a brit bloco is over in rio - and good grief, they know how its done.

Before we made our move to Brazil, I spent years nurturing a fascination with samba and bossa nova - and being a teacher, I loved the way that a truck full of drums could weave magic over performers and listeners alike.

I never got good at it though - and these days, the sensible musician in me is more inclined to keep my hands in my pockets rather than risk the humiliation of hitting something when it clearly should be left well alone.

Rhythms of the City (ROTC) however, took it to another level ages ago - and their brutal rock'n'roll batucada offensive is sure to turn heads - these guys are welcome to hang with Rio's finest (Monobloco, Sgt Pimenta, etc etc).

I saw them (and not all of them either) tear it up with a hall full of primary school kids. They performed to the kids with just the same energy that they would to Lapa's roudiest punters - Shitot.

In another flash of cultural inspiration we nipped to 'nos do morro' last tuesday to watch their musical - 'Bandeira de Retalhos' - a story about an attempt to demolish a section of Vidigal Favela in 1977.

Powerful stuff - especially as the theatre itself is in the heart of Vidigal, looking out onto the very spot that survived the attempted eviction and demolition. Amazing acting and musicianship, in a venue that is a truly special place, representing a really exciting and fresh company - even though they've been around for years.

There ya go - coupla cultural reasons to get of yer arse.

Are we there yet?

We're going home for Christmas - and the thought of all that decent beer is becoming all-consuming. Our little one is about to meet some of the family for the first time, and our not so little one is about to freeze his bollocks off.

Me and the boys. 3 Brass monkeys.

Festivities in Rio are going rather nicely too, however. We sang carols yesterday (or rather we chased our whirling dirvish as he ran laps around the church while a distant choir reminded me of a time when wassailing involved beer and yawping, rather than plea-bargaining and horrible threats)

Fa la la la laaaa, la la la la

The tree looks nice too. Ahhh. Almost worth the hour or so it adds to your journey every time you go anywhere near it.

Over at Jardim de Allah, there's something of an extravaganza going on. We went in the rain, but our little fellah didn't care. He too great joy in the various nativity interpretations on display - particularly the one that was all penguins and seal - 'Look mummy, its a really big foca, look at the baby foca, oooh a mummy foca' - it was worth getting soaked, honest.

Move on please, no Foca to see here.

And now we have 4 more work days, a bit of shopping, a beer or two - and then we're off. Anyone need anything?

So, How have we all been? What we did in a week in MG.

So it seems I'm back in the mood to continue with my contribution to the internet. Lets face it - if I don't it simply might not get done.

Where to begin? Well, we went to Minas Gerais - I can definitely recommend that. One week with the family eating, drinking etc. Our whistle stop tour was as follows:

• Hired car - drove to Bela Horizonte (bloody miles)
 

• Stopped at Estalagem do mirante in Brumadinho for three nights for great food, marvellous hospitality, really bloody dangererous steps for kids and a view to gloat about for years to come. In fact, repeatedly risking the lives of your young ones is most definitely worth it.



The View



And The Pool

 

• Visited Inhotim. - Without doubt the most impressive collection of Art installations and Botanical Gardens I have ever seen. Go there before you die. (the website says it all). It needs at least two days of your life, but with a 3 year old and a baby, and delightfully blistering heat, you might be tempted to axe the second day. We were. In fact we did. What a bunch of plebs.

Our lad's favourite. Beetles in the grass.

• Went to Ouro Preto. Did all the stuff you do there, including trying to drink all of their artisanal beer. Not sure about the taste of any of it to be honest, but it turned pushing the buggy on the bastard cobbles into a total pisstake. Think Paraty but with slopes in every direction.



Pint Of Backer's please - oh how I miss the Horse and Groom...



• Went to Tiradentes. Did the train ride, and the horse and cart. Both supplied much joy to all, not least are uncontrollably excited 3 year old madman. Drank fancy Cachaça and finally began to understand what all the fuss was about.
• Drove back to Rio.

If you have a week to kill there are a whole load of worse things you could do......

Or you could just stay at home and get stuck into one of these..... That stuff on the beach might never be the same...

 

  



See You There! (erm... maybe)

We all love to catch up with our mates. Like most people, I miss the mates I've made along the way and don't see anymore. I especially hate it when couples I know go their separate ways and it becomes really awkward to socialise with one or other of them.

I also am guilty of being terrible at all things concerning my diary. I've tried everything from Gadgets to Journals to the Fridge Door to Google Big Brother to the Filofax to good old traditional pocketbook. It makes no difference how trendy organising myself seems to be, I'm bollocks at it.

Still, it turns out that here in the Cidade Maravihosa I might just have a modicum of licence when it comes to matters of the agenda. It seems that diary inaccuracies are not so uncommon in Carioca society either.

Before I go ahead and insult the Brazilians that might read my offerings, please allow me to point out that many of these tendencies have indeed been brought to my attention by Cariocas that (aside from being mates) should know better than to savagely betray their fellow countrymen with almost brit-like distain.

Anyway... here we go with a few appointment related Rio inspired observations:

1.  If you make an appointment to see a doctor, don't assume it will happen at anything resembling the time you arranged, no matter how much you have to pay.
2. If you're late for your doctor's appointment, its fair to assume you've missed it and the receptionist has the right to grunt and groan and bollock you.
3. I you agree to meet someone 'at some point in the future' then this agreement is worth shag all.
4. The next time you should chance to meet the person from (3) it is perfectly acceptable to, once again, 'meet at some point in the future'
5. It is acceptable to invite up to 50 additional people to someone else's party, unless it is in their house, when a more modest 40 additional people is considered polite.
6. It is fine to hug, kiss and generally be over excited about meeting someone for the second time, even if you have no idea who they are. Artistry lies in finding out their name without them noticing.
7. It is ok to agree to do up to 8 things on the same evening and then do none of them.
8. 'one for the road' - or a 'Saideira' means that to continue drinking for several hours is likely.

I'm sure I missed a couple, but I'm sure you get the idea.

I love it here. 

Oi, Pão! (or how to mind your Carioca p's and q's)

Now i'm sure I'll attract some linguistic advice here, but one of my latest revelations on my roller-coaster Carioca assimilation programme has been the the way people here get each other's attention and address each other.

Like all civilised nations, its a good idea to say excuse me (com licença) before you barge past someone - this occurs more often than you would think. Particularly when you absolutely need to get to the door of the bus or the metro so that you don't end up missing out on an essential after work beer. 

Now, when you inevitably walk straight into someone, once again, like anywhere, 'pardon me' or 'sorry' (desculpe)  is just the ticket. And exactly like 'excuse me' you're going to need it several times a day - especially because walking pace here is only just bordering on momentum, and if you need to complete a hundred yard dash in less than 20 minutes, then I'm afraid you are going to smash into a poor ambling pedestrian at some point or other. I suppose this simpler alternative is just to join the ambling masses. Problem is, the gringo blood still coursing through my veins means that I am inclined to forget - just as the more unscrupulous locals might be inclined to rip me off or mug me.

Here comes the thing I currently find amusing. Its the way that people address each other. In a literal sense. It seems fine to just say what or who people are, or what they are doing. It even seems ok to shout whatever might be on offer just to get the attention of the person who might be offering it.

Cultural querkiness  like this leaves a Gringo like me in a slight predicament. I'm quite happy shouting 'motorista' at the bus driver so that he makes my stop, but simply shouting 'Oi pão!' (oi, bread)  at the guy selling bread in the pub makes me feel slightly like I'm being a wanker. 

For the moment, I'll stick to what I know - I'll call my son 'filho' and I'll call the barman 'Patrão' (because I feel that i'd like it I were called the boss sometimes) - and while I'm sticking to what I know I'll have a couple of beers and see if I can make a list of these wonderful terms of endearment. And if i'm feeling a little braver I might try a couple.  I did try calling my wife 'Mulher' the other day, and I have to say she wasn't sure it was a good idea. More research needed, that's for sure.