I have decided that this particular blog should be standalone. You'll see why.
Topic: Brazilians taking the piss when it comes to renting out apartments because you're a gringo.
This is a message for every Brazilian out there who has a really shitty piece of property and thinks "hey, I won't refurbish it, I'll just rent it out in the state it's in - cockroaches and all - to a gringo who will pay twice the price for it". REALITY CHECK: WE WON'T. Why do Brazilians think that tiny/old substandard apartments that haven't been cleaned, painted, properly furnished or kitted out with half-decent kitchen equipment are ok to let out on a short-term furnished basis to gringos? I mean, they wouldn't accept that level of crapness for themselves, why do they think that we would?
I come from the 1st world, ok? Yeah, I'm willing to spend a bit of money but I also want some "vale a pena" (value for money) and there is such a place called THE INTERNET where I can check what the normal market rate is in the area, dipshit. I might not be fluent in Portuguese but I can bloody well navigate myself around zap.com.br. I can even factor in the condo fee, roughly how much the bills are costing you, and add a bit more for the fact the place is furnished and work out a fair price - with a profit margin and everything!
We went to see a couple of apartments before New Year's. One of them was old, seriously dirty, the little furniture it did have was really old and in bad condition, it was missing a bed (supposed to be a 2-bed flat), didn't have a washing machine or a decent table to eat on (Brazilians always have a decent table to eat on in their homes: we know), and one of the bedrooms didn't have a door on it. No, scratch that, it was missing a wall. We turned that one down.
The other one was in a cheap part of a decent area, building was nice, but the place was fucking tiny. They had clearly taken an ok-ish-sized one bedroom flat and put in an extra wall to make two bedrooms. Again, the flat wasn't particularly clean, furniture was cheap and tatty, there was barely enough room to swing a cat around in the living room, the fridge freezer was about 20 years old and probably hadn't been defrosted in that long either. Plus, they wanted about R$2700 for it all in, which was just a joke.
A Canadian guy in our Portuguese class had booked to go to Rio for NYE but cancelled at the last minute because the idiots that he had reserved (not paid, clever boy) an apartment with decided at the last minute to double the price for the weekend, so he just didn't go. They could have made some money over the period, but because they got greedy (very common here) they lost a paying customer 2 days before NYE. Dumbasses.
Moral of the story: if you have some money, you want to invest in property, are willing to provide a decent level of furnished & all-inclusive accommodation and you're not a greedy motherfucker, you would make an absolute killing over here.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Thursday, 29 December 2011
Chanukah in Sao Paulo
I actually started writing this during Chanukah, but shit happened - as it tends to do - so this post was somewhat delayed. Still worth posting though:
You may/may not know this, but Brazil has the second largest population of Jews in South America. Argentina has the most, with the vast majority of them living in Buenos Aires. Brazil's Jewish population is roughly 100,000 and the city with the largest Jewish community is Sao Paulo, with a population of 45,000. There is a shitload of intermarriage and assimilation so it's really very hard to tell exactly what the population figures are (i.e. there could be a lot more), but I found a page somewhere on t'internet where they were quoting stuff all over the place so I lifted the info off of it.
I can attest to the fact that there are a lot of Jews in Sao Paulo. First of all, I'm one of them (ha), and secondly I've met quite a few without actually looking for them. Those I have met are not religious, much like myself. Sao Paulo's biggest congregation - 'Congregação Israelita Paulista' (something like a Reform synagogue) - has a membership of 2,000 families (that's a lot) and is the largest single congregation in Latin America.
So with all these Jews around, we've been looking for the usual signs of Chanukah. The first one we saw was actually in our nearest large supermarket, Carrefour. This one was up before Chanukah started (Tuesday night, FYI):
Sweet, innit?
Then our host Fernando told us they usually put up a large menorah at the end of Avenida Paulista near Consolacão, so we braved the Christmas crowds on Tuesday evening, past the throngs at Bradesco watching the Disney-like choir/weird-elf-like-people-prancing-around-with-cardboard-triangles performance, squeezed past the Christmas bridge, past a string quartet playing Bach/Brahms (couldn't decide which, could have been either), past a rather good Michael Jackson impersonator, until we got to Consolacão. This is what we saw:
If you've read my blog on Christmas lights in SP, you will be aware that this Chanukah display, in comparison, is pretty pathetic. AND they had all the arms of the menorah lit on the first night - WHICH IS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. You're supposed to light one extra each night until you've got a fully lit menorah. DETAILS ARE IMPORTANT.
Yes, I'm a pedant.
You may/may not know this, but Brazil has the second largest population of Jews in South America. Argentina has the most, with the vast majority of them living in Buenos Aires. Brazil's Jewish population is roughly 100,000 and the city with the largest Jewish community is Sao Paulo, with a population of 45,000. There is a shitload of intermarriage and assimilation so it's really very hard to tell exactly what the population figures are (i.e. there could be a lot more), but I found a page somewhere on t'internet where they were quoting stuff all over the place so I lifted the info off of it.
I can attest to the fact that there are a lot of Jews in Sao Paulo. First of all, I'm one of them (ha), and secondly I've met quite a few without actually looking for them. Those I have met are not religious, much like myself. Sao Paulo's biggest congregation - 'Congregação Israelita Paulista' (something like a Reform synagogue) - has a membership of 2,000 families (that's a lot) and is the largest single congregation in Latin America.
So with all these Jews around, we've been looking for the usual signs of Chanukah. The first one we saw was actually in our nearest large supermarket, Carrefour. This one was up before Chanukah started (Tuesday night, FYI):
Sweet, innit?
Then our host Fernando told us they usually put up a large menorah at the end of Avenida Paulista near Consolacão, so we braved the Christmas crowds on Tuesday evening, past the throngs at Bradesco watching the Disney-like choir/weird-elf-like-people-prancing-around-with-cardboard-triangles performance, squeezed past the Christmas bridge, past a string quartet playing Bach/Brahms (couldn't decide which, could have been either), past a rather good Michael Jackson impersonator, until we got to Consolacão. This is what we saw:
If you've read my blog on Christmas lights in SP, you will be aware that this Chanukah display, in comparison, is pretty pathetic. AND they had all the arms of the menorah lit on the first night - WHICH IS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. You're supposed to light one extra each night until you've got a fully lit menorah. DETAILS ARE IMPORTANT.
Yes, I'm a pedant.
Saturday, 17 December 2011
Things that annoy me #1
I am a generally happy-go-lucky person (in person, haha), but I am also easily annoyed by little things. As much as I have enjoyed living in this city for various reasons, there are several little things in Sao Paulo (maybe some of them are national things, I can't say yet) that annoy me. I have decided I will make this an occasional feature called 'Things that annoy me' when I have at least three things to bitch about.
This is what I've got so far:
1. People walking slowly. EVERYWHERE. OH MY GOD. This is supposed to be the biggest metropolis in South America, every Brazilian in London I spoke to said "oh SP, that place is just work, work, work" so I was expecting a bit of a pace, but hell no. People meander around as if they don't have a care in the world. Rich people, business people, policemen, beggars, random crazy people, shop workers, cafe workers, people with their families. You name it, everyone walks slow. Not only do they walk slow, when there's a narrow pavement (if you're American, just assume that every time I say pavement I mean 'sidewalk' - you're just going to have to learn to translate) they walk in rows of maybe 3-4 people, talking to each other, totally oblivious to everyone and everything around them. Saying "com licensa" does NOT work. You literally have to walk ahead into the road to get around them. Then when you get around one group, there's another one doing exactly the same thing. And another one, and another one, and another one. The problem is compounded when you try to walk down Avenida Paulista at one of the following times: morning rush hour, evening rush hour, lunch time. Then there's the random stopping in the middle of the street. People just stop in the middle of the street: sometimes to look at something, sometimes because they're having a particularly animated argument on their cell phone, sometimes because they forgot which way they're supposed to be going, sometimes because that lanchonete (snack shop) looked too good to pass up and they had to turn around - and they HAD to do it RIGHT in the middle of YOUR path.
2. People cancelling appointments. Always at the last minute. Even when you've confirmed the appointment with them in the morning, just to make sure because you know what Brazilians are like. I've heard them all: "I forgot I have to take my car to the mechanics", "I have to pick up my kid", "Oh, I forgot I already had a meeting at that time - can we reschedule?". Doesn't anyone use Outlook here? They all have bloody iPhones or Blackberrys or super-duper Samsung touchscreen thingies - fucking use them!! If you can't guarantee you are going to make an appointment/meeting - DON'T FUCKING MAKE ONE. And STOP wasting my time - I've got better things to be doing with it than waiting around for you NOT to show up!
3. Bureaucracy. I've only just started touching on this, but they have a really weird way of sorting stuff out here. We both got a 'Bilhete Unico' (a bit like an oystercard) for the transport system. For some bizarre reason the chip in my Bilhete Unico malfunctioned and we had to get it reset. We only discovered this after going to the metro station and telling the lady at the desk that the card wasn't working. She didn't believe us, scanned it, said it was working fine. We said it wasn't working because it couldn't be read on the 3 buses we tried it on yesterday - she said no, it was working fine. We walked away and tried to get the balance reader to read the balance, it didn't work - she said no, it was working fine. Then we told her to add some credit to it - let's see how well it's working, bitch. When she tried that, she said "oh, it's not working" (no shit, Sherlock) and ONLY THEN did she tell us we'd need to get it reset. "Can we get it reset here?" we asked. "No, you have to go to an SP Trans office". "Can't you just replace it?" (not an unreasonable question, they replace oystercards for free in London if they malfunction) "No, you have to get it reset at the SP Trans office". Of course, the SP Trans office was fucking miles away and was of naturally shut when we got there at 4.30pm. HALF FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON. We got it sorted in the end, but you bet your ass I'm being a hell of a lot more careful with my card now.
Another example: to apply for a CPF (tax number - you can't wipe your arse without one here) you have to go to a "Correios" (post office), give them your details and then they give you a "protocolo" which is a receipt with all your details that you then have to take to a "Poupa Tempo" (general government service centre) and they will give you the CPF. Why can't they just frickin' give it to me at the Post Office? Why do I have to travel to one of only TWO Poupa Tempos in SP that actually issue CPFs??? Oh sorry, make that ONE because the one in Praca da Se no longer deals with CPFs as of December 16th!!
This is what I've got so far:
1. People walking slowly. EVERYWHERE. OH MY GOD. This is supposed to be the biggest metropolis in South America, every Brazilian in London I spoke to said "oh SP, that place is just work, work, work" so I was expecting a bit of a pace, but hell no. People meander around as if they don't have a care in the world. Rich people, business people, policemen, beggars, random crazy people, shop workers, cafe workers, people with their families. You name it, everyone walks slow. Not only do they walk slow, when there's a narrow pavement (if you're American, just assume that every time I say pavement I mean 'sidewalk' - you're just going to have to learn to translate) they walk in rows of maybe 3-4 people, talking to each other, totally oblivious to everyone and everything around them. Saying "com licensa" does NOT work. You literally have to walk ahead into the road to get around them. Then when you get around one group, there's another one doing exactly the same thing. And another one, and another one, and another one. The problem is compounded when you try to walk down Avenida Paulista at one of the following times: morning rush hour, evening rush hour, lunch time. Then there's the random stopping in the middle of the street. People just stop in the middle of the street: sometimes to look at something, sometimes because they're having a particularly animated argument on their cell phone, sometimes because they forgot which way they're supposed to be going, sometimes because that lanchonete (snack shop) looked too good to pass up and they had to turn around - and they HAD to do it RIGHT in the middle of YOUR path.
2. People cancelling appointments. Always at the last minute. Even when you've confirmed the appointment with them in the morning, just to make sure because you know what Brazilians are like. I've heard them all: "I forgot I have to take my car to the mechanics", "I have to pick up my kid", "Oh, I forgot I already had a meeting at that time - can we reschedule?". Doesn't anyone use Outlook here? They all have bloody iPhones or Blackberrys or super-duper Samsung touchscreen thingies - fucking use them!! If you can't guarantee you are going to make an appointment/meeting - DON'T FUCKING MAKE ONE. And STOP wasting my time - I've got better things to be doing with it than waiting around for you NOT to show up!
3. Bureaucracy. I've only just started touching on this, but they have a really weird way of sorting stuff out here. We both got a 'Bilhete Unico' (a bit like an oystercard) for the transport system. For some bizarre reason the chip in my Bilhete Unico malfunctioned and we had to get it reset. We only discovered this after going to the metro station and telling the lady at the desk that the card wasn't working. She didn't believe us, scanned it, said it was working fine. We said it wasn't working because it couldn't be read on the 3 buses we tried it on yesterday - she said no, it was working fine. We walked away and tried to get the balance reader to read the balance, it didn't work - she said no, it was working fine. Then we told her to add some credit to it - let's see how well it's working, bitch. When she tried that, she said "oh, it's not working" (no shit, Sherlock) and ONLY THEN did she tell us we'd need to get it reset. "Can we get it reset here?" we asked. "No, you have to go to an SP Trans office". "Can't you just replace it?" (not an unreasonable question, they replace oystercards for free in London if they malfunction) "No, you have to get it reset at the SP Trans office". Of course, the SP Trans office was fucking miles away and was of naturally shut when we got there at 4.30pm. HALF FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON. We got it sorted in the end, but you bet your ass I'm being a hell of a lot more careful with my card now.
Another example: to apply for a CPF (tax number - you can't wipe your arse without one here) you have to go to a "Correios" (post office), give them your details and then they give you a "protocolo" which is a receipt with all your details that you then have to take to a "Poupa Tempo" (general government service centre) and they will give you the CPF. Why can't they just frickin' give it to me at the Post Office? Why do I have to travel to one of only TWO Poupa Tempos in SP that actually issue CPFs??? Oh sorry, make that ONE because the one in Praca da Se no longer deals with CPFs as of December 16th!!
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Christmas lights in Sao Paulo
I was warned long before coming here that this city goes a bit doolally when it comes to christmas decorations, and I have not been disappointed. So far, on Avenida Paulista, I have seen:
The most interesting thing about the Christmas lights on Avenida Paulista are the crowds that come to view them every evening. Most of the photos were taken on Monday evening. There were thousands of people out and about late, around 9-10pm, with their families, taking pictures, walking around slowly and blocking the pavement (sidewalk, for any Americans reading this). There was also a huge queue to get into the Christmas bridge. I have no idea what's in there, but I intend on finding out, child or no child in tow. My mother's small enough....maybe I can take her in...
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| FIESP building |
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| Probably a bank |
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| I want to say HSBC...? |
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| HUGE Christmas bridge over Av Paulista - apparently there's going to be a massive show. This is the first time, speaking as a Jew, that I've actually been *excited* about xmas. |
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| Slightly spooky and quite beautiful LED display in Parque Trianon-MASP - this park is usually closed at night due to cruising. |
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| Christmas tree in Parque Trianon-MASP |
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| Itau Bank, which is in competition with the Jungle-themed bank. I think the jungle bank won, in my opinion. |
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| Crowds outside Itau Bank |
General Update
Chihuahua update: he now has fleas. We had to dose him with frontline and then bleach and spray anti-flea spray everywhere. Apparently it's something to do with him feeling unwell. I don't give a flying f*** what it's about, I don't want to be bitten to pieces any more. Although, it's worse for my mother because she has some kind of allergic reaction to flea bites - she gets a massive swelling about 5-10 centimetres wide. Ouch.
Portuguese: my spoken portuguese is bollocks due to me speaking english most of the time. I have a lot of shit to do: find work, sort out visas, other legal crap with our (english speaking) lawyer, make plans...we're really busy and taking the time to "umm" and "errr" through an awful Portuguese conversation is not top of my list of priorities. I know it's important, I will get around to enforcing some portuguese conversation for a minimum of one hour a day at some point, but at the moment I'm limited to speaking it in shops, cafes/restaurants (which I don't go to very often), and screaming "COM LICENSA!!!" (roughly translated: "EXCUSE ME!!!") when trying to get past all the meandering Brazilians on Avenida Paulista. On the plus side, my verbal comprehension is very good; i.e, I can understand everything you say but I will talk back to you like a 3-year-old.
Personal life: don't even go there.
Portuguese: my spoken portuguese is bollocks due to me speaking english most of the time. I have a lot of shit to do: find work, sort out visas, other legal crap with our (english speaking) lawyer, make plans...we're really busy and taking the time to "umm" and "errr" through an awful Portuguese conversation is not top of my list of priorities. I know it's important, I will get around to enforcing some portuguese conversation for a minimum of one hour a day at some point, but at the moment I'm limited to speaking it in shops, cafes/restaurants (which I don't go to very often), and screaming "COM LICENSA!!!" (roughly translated: "EXCUSE ME!!!") when trying to get past all the meandering Brazilians on Avenida Paulista. On the plus side, my verbal comprehension is very good; i.e, I can understand everything you say but I will talk back to you like a 3-year-old.
Personal life: don't even go there.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Cachorro Fofinho
What I, or should I say we (just to be fair), have been dealing with mostly this week is the dog. On Sunday he managed to get his paws caught in the escalator on the metro and had a rather nasty and bloody accident. It looked a lot worse than it was.
We had to rush him to local veterinary hospital (!) for emergency treatment. By the way, taxi drivers are assholes. They wouldn't take us the impossibly-far-to-drive 6 blocks to the vets because we had a dog, despite the fact they could see very clearly that he was bleeding and he's TINY.
The vet hospital was better equipped and staffed than most human hospitals I have had the pleasure to see the inside of. Most of the staff didn't speak English, so we had to communicate in very basic Portuguese (I'm beginning to graduate to full sentences, but still reverting to a pigeon version of the language when I'm in a hurry), using various hand signals and eventually Google Translate.
They had to clean up his wounds and he yelped, squealed and barked his way through the whole thing - even after they administered a sedative. He's a chihuahua, they're "agitado" (jumpy/fussy) in general.
Then he vomited everything we fed him for about 2 days - including his antibiotics - so since Tuesday he has had to go to the vets twice a day for antibiotic shots. He hates going there and saves all his pee for whoever is unlucky enough to be administering the shots. He's eating special [expensive] mush for his dicky tummy and he's still refusing to drink water, so we mix it into the mush to make sure he doesn't get dehydrated.
Other than that, he's happily hobbling along on his messed up paws (no broken bones, just a couple of nails came off - hence the blood) that are healing quite well, and is enduring his neck cone. Bless.
We had to rush him to local veterinary hospital (!) for emergency treatment. By the way, taxi drivers are assholes. They wouldn't take us the impossibly-far-to-drive 6 blocks to the vets because we had a dog, despite the fact they could see very clearly that he was bleeding and he's TINY.
The vet hospital was better equipped and staffed than most human hospitals I have had the pleasure to see the inside of. Most of the staff didn't speak English, so we had to communicate in very basic Portuguese (I'm beginning to graduate to full sentences, but still reverting to a pigeon version of the language when I'm in a hurry), using various hand signals and eventually Google Translate.
They had to clean up his wounds and he yelped, squealed and barked his way through the whole thing - even after they administered a sedative. He's a chihuahua, they're "agitado" (jumpy/fussy) in general.
Then he vomited everything we fed him for about 2 days - including his antibiotics - so since Tuesday he has had to go to the vets twice a day for antibiotic shots. He hates going there and saves all his pee for whoever is unlucky enough to be administering the shots. He's eating special [expensive] mush for his dicky tummy and he's still refusing to drink water, so we mix it into the mush to make sure he doesn't get dehydrated.
Other than that, he's happily hobbling along on his messed up paws (no broken bones, just a couple of nails came off - hence the blood) that are healing quite well, and is enduring his neck cone. Bless.
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| "When this thing comes off, I will have my revenge..." |
Sunday, 4 December 2011
My mediocre birthday and some Brazilian sentimentality
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 27. It was a pretty 'meh' birthday as far as birthdays go. I hadn't had the best week so I didn't really feel like celebrating. I'm not going to go into it, I don't want this blog to be too much of a downer. I'm well past my emo days, thank fuck.
Anyway, yesterday morning I dragged my arse out of bed at 8.30am on a Saturday, showered and got dressed because I promised my mother (why the hell did I do that?) that I would attend synagogue at 10am. So, not only was my birthday going to be mediocre, I wouldn't even get a lie-in.
I got to the synagogue and got a very polite third degree treatment from the two security guards dressed entirely in black: black suits, black shirts, black ties. Oswald Mosley would have been proud. The second one asked me in perfect english for my passport, of which I carry a photocopy with me everywhere because I'm not idiotic enough to carry around an original. People want to see your passport for the stupidest reasons in this country - like in order to get into a synagogue, for instance. He went behind the big metal electronic sliding door for 5-10 minutes doing god knows what before he decided to let me in.
I had skipped breakfast and my morning coffee, so as I took my place next to my mother in the third row from the front all I could think was "I hope the time passes quickly so I can stuff my face at kiddush".
Then something unexpected happened. There were two simchas (celebrations) happening at the synagogue: a barmitzvah and the naming of a baby girl.
First, the family of the baby came up to the bimah (large table at the front of the synagogue) and they announced her hebrew name and her portuguese name, Catarina, to the congregation. The Rabbi asked the father to explain the reason for her being named Catarina. The father stepped forward to microphone, said something unintelligible to my ears (everyone was speaking in portuguese) for about 10 seconds then his voice broke and he started crying. His wife and two teenage daughters that were standing behind him also started crying. He was speaking in fits and starts and mentioned something about his "avó" (grandmother). I looked around the room and could see other people crying. I looked at my mother and she was crying. I realised I was crying too.
After that was over, the Barmitzvah boy came to the bimah and his father joined him. His father read a brief speech, held his shit together, gave his son a long and emotional hug, then went back to his seat. Next was the Barmitzvah boy's little brother - he couldn't have been more than 9 years old. He was already sobbing before he got to the Bimah. I couldn't really understand what he said either (something about whenever he has a question or a problem, his brother is always there for him), but I was bawling my eyes out along with everyone else regardless. By the time the mother came up to the Bimah, I was all cried out, she talked for a long time and my mind wandered. But it was all very emotional and everyone was in tears.
This is the polar opposite of what goes on at a British synagogue. Yes, the whole family will be there but they'll be bitching behind each others backs, looking around the room at who dressed well and who looks a mess, making sarcastic jokes during the speeches, hiding their boredom ineffectively, and generally clock-watching. Every eye in the house will be dry. Jewish family rituals are generally seen as a chore. There will be the odd member of the family saying "isn't it a lovely simcha?" but everyone finds them annoying anyway, so their opinion is generally disregarded. OK, it's not always that bad but there's a lot of that going on.
After the service, there were two kiddushim going on in two separate halls. The entire congregation was invited to both. The baby one was nice but more like a normal kiddush. The Barmitzvah one was a real party. There was a lot of very good & very expensive food on a beautiful long buffet table, with real cutlery and plates, a flower display, another table for dessert, chocolates and sweets, 15 round tables exquisitely laid out, catering staff with headsets roaming around handing out champagne and soft drinks, clearing empty plates, there were 2 DJs, a sound system, and a dancing area. Usually in England this kind of thing would be reserved for family and friends; it would be by invite only. But no, this was a party for the entire congregation. People of all ages joined in with the usual dancing you get at any Barmitzvah or Jewish wedding. It was lovely.
A gang of eastern european octogenarians took me round to both parties and kept plying me with straight vodka shots (they don't have standard shot measures here, FYI - it's whatever size you want it to be) until I had to leave at 2pm, on slightly unsteady feet.
I'm definitely starting to feel at home here.
Anyway, yesterday morning I dragged my arse out of bed at 8.30am on a Saturday, showered and got dressed because I promised my mother (why the hell did I do that?) that I would attend synagogue at 10am. So, not only was my birthday going to be mediocre, I wouldn't even get a lie-in.
I got to the synagogue and got a very polite third degree treatment from the two security guards dressed entirely in black: black suits, black shirts, black ties. Oswald Mosley would have been proud. The second one asked me in perfect english for my passport, of which I carry a photocopy with me everywhere because I'm not idiotic enough to carry around an original. People want to see your passport for the stupidest reasons in this country - like in order to get into a synagogue, for instance. He went behind the big metal electronic sliding door for 5-10 minutes doing god knows what before he decided to let me in.
I had skipped breakfast and my morning coffee, so as I took my place next to my mother in the third row from the front all I could think was "I hope the time passes quickly so I can stuff my face at kiddush".
Then something unexpected happened. There were two simchas (celebrations) happening at the synagogue: a barmitzvah and the naming of a baby girl.
First, the family of the baby came up to the bimah (large table at the front of the synagogue) and they announced her hebrew name and her portuguese name, Catarina, to the congregation. The Rabbi asked the father to explain the reason for her being named Catarina. The father stepped forward to microphone, said something unintelligible to my ears (everyone was speaking in portuguese) for about 10 seconds then his voice broke and he started crying. His wife and two teenage daughters that were standing behind him also started crying. He was speaking in fits and starts and mentioned something about his "avó" (grandmother). I looked around the room and could see other people crying. I looked at my mother and she was crying. I realised I was crying too.
After that was over, the Barmitzvah boy came to the bimah and his father joined him. His father read a brief speech, held his shit together, gave his son a long and emotional hug, then went back to his seat. Next was the Barmitzvah boy's little brother - he couldn't have been more than 9 years old. He was already sobbing before he got to the Bimah. I couldn't really understand what he said either (something about whenever he has a question or a problem, his brother is always there for him), but I was bawling my eyes out along with everyone else regardless. By the time the mother came up to the Bimah, I was all cried out, she talked for a long time and my mind wandered. But it was all very emotional and everyone was in tears.
This is the polar opposite of what goes on at a British synagogue. Yes, the whole family will be there but they'll be bitching behind each others backs, looking around the room at who dressed well and who looks a mess, making sarcastic jokes during the speeches, hiding their boredom ineffectively, and generally clock-watching. Every eye in the house will be dry. Jewish family rituals are generally seen as a chore. There will be the odd member of the family saying "isn't it a lovely simcha?" but everyone finds them annoying anyway, so their opinion is generally disregarded. OK, it's not always that bad but there's a lot of that going on.
After the service, there were two kiddushim going on in two separate halls. The entire congregation was invited to both. The baby one was nice but more like a normal kiddush. The Barmitzvah one was a real party. There was a lot of very good & very expensive food on a beautiful long buffet table, with real cutlery and plates, a flower display, another table for dessert, chocolates and sweets, 15 round tables exquisitely laid out, catering staff with headsets roaming around handing out champagne and soft drinks, clearing empty plates, there were 2 DJs, a sound system, and a dancing area. Usually in England this kind of thing would be reserved for family and friends; it would be by invite only. But no, this was a party for the entire congregation. People of all ages joined in with the usual dancing you get at any Barmitzvah or Jewish wedding. It was lovely.
A gang of eastern european octogenarians took me round to both parties and kept plying me with straight vodka shots (they don't have standard shot measures here, FYI - it's whatever size you want it to be) until I had to leave at 2pm, on slightly unsteady feet.
I'm definitely starting to feel at home here.
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Fome Zero
A few days ago in class we learned about a government program called 'Fome Zero' ('Zero Hunger') that was introduced by ex-president Lula in 2003.
I had been given a brief introduction to the scheme by a well-heeled Paulistana last Friday, but the way she put it was slightly different to what I read later. She said something along the lines of "the government started paying them to stop migrating and stay where they were, because there were lots of people coming from the North-East, crime & poverty were increasing and Sao Paulo was getting too full. So they started paying them and it's getting less now." Um, OK. Thanks for that explanation... [backing away slowly from what would be a Daily Mail reader where I come from]
Then we read a text on it in school and it was more like "there was starvation, poverty and high infant mortality going on in several parts of Brazil - particularly the North-East - and the government pledged to do something about it". Sounds a little different, huh?
As with anything political, the reasons for undertaking it were probably a bit of both.
The centrepiece of the Fome Zero program is the Bolsa Familia (Family Allowance), which is the largest conditional cash transfer system in the world. It contributed to a 27.7% decrease in poverty in Brazil during ex-President Lula's first term (2001-2006). 27.7%. The condition of receiving the Bolsa Familia is that the family's children attend school.
I've heard and read about funds badly administered, that they don't always get to the people that need them the most, or that it's just throwing money at the problem and not actually fixing it - and maybe on some level they are all true. However, a decrease in poverty like that is not to be sniffed at - it is a major achievement.
Brazil has a long way to go on a lot of fronts, but they are making progress slowly - and the will to change is there.
I had been given a brief introduction to the scheme by a well-heeled Paulistana last Friday, but the way she put it was slightly different to what I read later. She said something along the lines of "the government started paying them to stop migrating and stay where they were, because there were lots of people coming from the North-East, crime & poverty were increasing and Sao Paulo was getting too full. So they started paying them and it's getting less now." Um, OK. Thanks for that explanation... [backing away slowly from what would be a Daily Mail reader where I come from]
Then we read a text on it in school and it was more like "there was starvation, poverty and high infant mortality going on in several parts of Brazil - particularly the North-East - and the government pledged to do something about it". Sounds a little different, huh?
As with anything political, the reasons for undertaking it were probably a bit of both.
The centrepiece of the Fome Zero program is the Bolsa Familia (Family Allowance), which is the largest conditional cash transfer system in the world. It contributed to a 27.7% decrease in poverty in Brazil during ex-President Lula's first term (2001-2006). 27.7%. The condition of receiving the Bolsa Familia is that the family's children attend school.
I've heard and read about funds badly administered, that they don't always get to the people that need them the most, or that it's just throwing money at the problem and not actually fixing it - and maybe on some level they are all true. However, a decrease in poverty like that is not to be sniffed at - it is a major achievement.
Brazil has a long way to go on a lot of fronts, but they are making progress slowly - and the will to change is there.
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Learning Portuguese the way everyone else learns English
This week we got a new Portuguese teacher, which I was quite happy about (normal teacher rotation). Our original teacher Adonis spoke excellent English. He studied English Literature at University, spent time in the States, etc. It was useful at the beginning when he was explaining grammar and stuff to us, but towards the end it was a bit annoying because he liked to talk (a lot) and he would often go off into an explanation or story about something to do with Brazil in English which was very interesting but not particularly useful for our oral Portuguese comprehension skills.
This week, our new teacher was Clarissa. She speaks next to no English. This was a little challenging at first, but it's helping me understand spoken Portuguese a hell of a lot better. It's still difficult if she's teaching a new grammar rule or a new piece of vocabulary, because some things can't be explained easily - but then again, that's what dictionaries are for.
The other two English students in the class (my mother and another lady from Cambridge) are having more difficulty keeping up than the rest of us. My mother complained that it was a big jump from someone who speaks excellent English to someone who speaks none.
However, as the rest of the students (all non-native English speakers) in the class pointed out, this is the way they learned English. They didn't even have the first two weeks of someone speaking in their language to ease them in - they were straight in at the deep end. This is how English is taught to foreigners when they come to English-speaking countries. Basically, "we can't be bothered to speak your language, and if you want to learn ours, you're gonna have to do it the hard way".
Sounds harsh, but this approach works. All the non-native English speakers in the school who have learnt English in an English-speaking country speak/read/write it quite well, because they had to. They had to for economic reasons, they had to because their English teacher wouldn't cut them a break, and now they're learning another language.
I'm personally inclined not to complain. And besides, the tough approach is doing me the world of good.
This week, our new teacher was Clarissa. She speaks next to no English. This was a little challenging at first, but it's helping me understand spoken Portuguese a hell of a lot better. It's still difficult if she's teaching a new grammar rule or a new piece of vocabulary, because some things can't be explained easily - but then again, that's what dictionaries are for.
The other two English students in the class (my mother and another lady from Cambridge) are having more difficulty keeping up than the rest of us. My mother complained that it was a big jump from someone who speaks excellent English to someone who speaks none.
However, as the rest of the students (all non-native English speakers) in the class pointed out, this is the way they learned English. They didn't even have the first two weeks of someone speaking in their language to ease them in - they were straight in at the deep end. This is how English is taught to foreigners when they come to English-speaking countries. Basically, "we can't be bothered to speak your language, and if you want to learn ours, you're gonna have to do it the hard way".
Sounds harsh, but this approach works. All the non-native English speakers in the school who have learnt English in an English-speaking country speak/read/write it quite well, because they had to. They had to for economic reasons, they had to because their English teacher wouldn't cut them a break, and now they're learning another language.
I'm personally inclined not to complain. And besides, the tough approach is doing me the world of good.
Monday, 21 November 2011
Nightlife #1
This is probably the first of quite a few posts on my experience of nightlife here. I like going out. In London I was more specifically interested in EDM (electronic dance music) and gay clubs (which mostly play either pop or house music - my preference being the latter). However, I am interested in most genres of music. London just has a particularly good dance scene.
On Saturday night I went out for a birthday get-together thingy for our host Fernando's boyfriend. We went to a place in Jardim Paulista called 'DJ Club Bar'. As a native English speaker from England, I found the name of the bar highly misleading. The words 'DJ' and 'Club' usually denote some form of danceable music of which there was none. Well, not what I was expecting anyway.
The ground floor (there were three floors in total) consisted of a few seats and some retro arcade games: Virtua Street Fighter, another game like VSF, and two proper old-fashioned pinball machines. Fernando is a massive gamer, so we played video games while we were waiting for the club room downstairs to open up. Upstairs was a slightly quieter bar, but nothing particularly interesting.
We went downstairs into the club room about 1am when it opened. The music was British and American indie/rock. Most of the songs were instantly recognisable to me and I spent the whole night singing the lyrics to practically every track played. I heard: Metallica, Guns 'N' Roses, The Cure, The Smiths, Morrissey, Talking Heads, Simple Minds, Kings Of Leon, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Florence + The Machine, amongst many others. After a very strong caipirinha, I got over the initial weirdness of dancing to late-80's indie and got 'on down' as Fernando kept saying. The dance floor was rammed. The atmosphere was great. Everyone knew the lyrics to all the songs despite the fact that most of them had great difficulty in stringing together a sentence in English.
I ended up getting pretty drunk (bebedo - I'm not going to forget that word quickly) after forcing myself to finish a second caipirinha and I had to escape to the ground floor pinball room to get some air before I passed out. The whole group came to find me about 5 minutes later which I felt very guilty about. After it was clear I was having issues standing up straight, we went home, played Just Dance 3 on the wii for about half an hour before I retreated to my bed about 5am to pass out. Everyone else carried on without me in the living room.
Maybe next time I'll stick to one caipirinha and a beer (gnat's piss), if I feel like having a second drink.
On Saturday night I went out for a birthday get-together thingy for our host Fernando's boyfriend. We went to a place in Jardim Paulista called 'DJ Club Bar'. As a native English speaker from England, I found the name of the bar highly misleading. The words 'DJ' and 'Club' usually denote some form of danceable music of which there was none. Well, not what I was expecting anyway.
The ground floor (there were three floors in total) consisted of a few seats and some retro arcade games: Virtua Street Fighter, another game like VSF, and two proper old-fashioned pinball machines. Fernando is a massive gamer, so we played video games while we were waiting for the club room downstairs to open up. Upstairs was a slightly quieter bar, but nothing particularly interesting.
We went downstairs into the club room about 1am when it opened. The music was British and American indie/rock. Most of the songs were instantly recognisable to me and I spent the whole night singing the lyrics to practically every track played. I heard: Metallica, Guns 'N' Roses, The Cure, The Smiths, Morrissey, Talking Heads, Simple Minds, Kings Of Leon, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Florence + The Machine, amongst many others. After a very strong caipirinha, I got over the initial weirdness of dancing to late-80's indie and got 'on down' as Fernando kept saying. The dance floor was rammed. The atmosphere was great. Everyone knew the lyrics to all the songs despite the fact that most of them had great difficulty in stringing together a sentence in English.
I ended up getting pretty drunk (bebedo - I'm not going to forget that word quickly) after forcing myself to finish a second caipirinha and I had to escape to the ground floor pinball room to get some air before I passed out. The whole group came to find me about 5 minutes later which I felt very guilty about. After it was clear I was having issues standing up straight, we went home, played Just Dance 3 on the wii for about half an hour before I retreated to my bed about 5am to pass out. Everyone else carried on without me in the living room.
Maybe next time I'll stick to one caipirinha and a beer (gnat's piss), if I feel like having a second drink.
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Iguatemi Sao Paulo
We came across the Iguatemi SP mall completely by chance yesterday after an unsuccessful attempt at getting into Hebraica (come on, who carries their passport with them at all times anyway...).
The nearest metro station definitely isn't within a comfortable walking distance. This is deliberate: the mall was constructed before the metro system was (1966 & 1972, respectively). Something to do with 'keeping away undesirables', or more to the point: poor people. Brazil has a lot of those.
The very first thing I noticed about Iguatemi SP, was that there was a valet service for customers to drop off their cars. A valet service. Secondly, I immediately felt under-dressed the second I stepped foot in there. No one was wearing trainers, converse or anything of the type. There weren't many people wearing jeans either.
It was relatively empty when we walked in, just a few well-dressed people milling around with very well-behaved children. As we ambled along the white marble corridors past the overpriced shops I thought "this is a nice mall". Then I saw the Christmas display.
Just to give you and idea of scale: those figurines are people-sized. And the train is pretty much to scale. Yeah, I know. And that ain't all. It carried on up the stairs, along the wall:
It was the largest and most overwhelming Christmas display I've seen anywhere - and I've been around. It filled the entire central hall from ceiling to floor - there were six animatronic reindeer attached to a sleigh suspended from the ceiling.
We decided to see if there was a food hall so we could get a coffee. The signs were all written in both Portuguese and English, so it didn't take us long to find it. This is what we found:
Ok, now I've been to some really nice malls... I had a couple of holidays in Palm Beach with my ex-step-dad's millionaire parents, went to a millionaire's golf club, visited some seriously impressive 'rich people only' malls and I have NEVER in ALL MY LIFE seen a food court as opulent as this one. It really took your breath away. On top of which, each restaurant/cafe had an equally beautiful but completely individual design of it's own - even the McDonald's. It was just as well there was a McDonald's because we were totally out-priced by everything else on offer.
This is one of the cafes - notice the chandelier. Again, this picture doesn't really do the place justice:
The opulence carried on in the bathrooms. The floors, walls, and sinks were made of red and white marble - the floor was like a chess board. The fixtures and fittings - including the hand drier - were made of solid, highly polished brass. There was a member of staff in a maid's uniform standing by the basins ready to assist at all times.
My mother was on cloud nine the whole time we were there, she didn't want to leave - that place is basically her idea of heaven. I, however, felt... well, a little uncomfortable. I always feel a little uncomfortable in places where there are a lot of rich people. It's not that I have a problem with rich people: I have known plenty and some of them have been lovely and some of them have been total assholes - the same as the rest of us. Politically I'd probably be slightly left-of-centre, so I don't hate rich people or 'the establishment' per se, but I do think certain things rich people do/buy/have are a bit over the top.
Iguatemi was over the top. It was a bit much. In fact, it was bordering on insensitive. The only black people I saw in the mall were staff - and by 'black' I am also including what we in the UK would term 'mixed race'. I come from a city where it's not unheard of to see black/mixed race people actually buying stuff in expensive stores in expensive areas with their own money. I didn't see a single one - not even at lunch time when the mall packed out.
The prices were shocking. Prices for a lot of things in Brazil are higher than we're used to in the US/Europe because they have to import a lot of 'luxury' items in. However, I saw a pair of Prada sunglasses for R$1800 - that, translated into GBP is approximately £700. I saw the same pair of Prada sunglasses in Selfridges recently and they cost HALF of that... and Selfridges ain't cheap. You get my drift.
Considering just down the road there were a bunch of homeless living in squalor in cardboard boxes during a torrential downpour, and a little bit further down there were thousands upon thousands living in makeshift shanty towns, it was downright outrageous.
Our host Fernando told me about another mall in Sao Paulo, a bit further out, that is only accessible by car - you can't walk into it like you can at Iguatemi. Parking your car at this mall in order to shop there isn't free, either: it costs around R$80 (£32). As you can imagine, this mall is frequented mostly by the super-rich. In Brazil, you don't ever see these people. They live in large mansions with high security, they only travel by car, they don't go out in public, they have their own private clubs, they go to each other's houses. They are nowhere to be seen. They are entirely separated from the rest of Brazilian society. This is the reason I felt so at odds in Iguatemi: it was merely a small indication of the vast gap between the rich and the poor in Brazil. The rich here are REALLY rich and the poor here are REALLY poor, and that just doesn't sit well with me.
On the plus side, I can confirm that I have a fully functioning conscience.
The nearest metro station definitely isn't within a comfortable walking distance. This is deliberate: the mall was constructed before the metro system was (1966 & 1972, respectively). Something to do with 'keeping away undesirables', or more to the point: poor people. Brazil has a lot of those.
The very first thing I noticed about Iguatemi SP, was that there was a valet service for customers to drop off their cars. A valet service. Secondly, I immediately felt under-dressed the second I stepped foot in there. No one was wearing trainers, converse or anything of the type. There weren't many people wearing jeans either.
It was relatively empty when we walked in, just a few well-dressed people milling around with very well-behaved children. As we ambled along the white marble corridors past the overpriced shops I thought "this is a nice mall". Then I saw the Christmas display.
Just to give you and idea of scale: those figurines are people-sized. And the train is pretty much to scale. Yeah, I know. And that ain't all. It carried on up the stairs, along the wall:
It was the largest and most overwhelming Christmas display I've seen anywhere - and I've been around. It filled the entire central hall from ceiling to floor - there were six animatronic reindeer attached to a sleigh suspended from the ceiling.
We decided to see if there was a food hall so we could get a coffee. The signs were all written in both Portuguese and English, so it didn't take us long to find it. This is what we found:
Ok, now I've been to some really nice malls... I had a couple of holidays in Palm Beach with my ex-step-dad's millionaire parents, went to a millionaire's golf club, visited some seriously impressive 'rich people only' malls and I have NEVER in ALL MY LIFE seen a food court as opulent as this one. It really took your breath away. On top of which, each restaurant/cafe had an equally beautiful but completely individual design of it's own - even the McDonald's. It was just as well there was a McDonald's because we were totally out-priced by everything else on offer.
This is one of the cafes - notice the chandelier. Again, this picture doesn't really do the place justice:
The opulence carried on in the bathrooms. The floors, walls, and sinks were made of red and white marble - the floor was like a chess board. The fixtures and fittings - including the hand drier - were made of solid, highly polished brass. There was a member of staff in a maid's uniform standing by the basins ready to assist at all times.
 |
| Check out the solid brass hand dryer on the wall on the right. |
My mother was on cloud nine the whole time we were there, she didn't want to leave - that place is basically her idea of heaven. I, however, felt... well, a little uncomfortable. I always feel a little uncomfortable in places where there are a lot of rich people. It's not that I have a problem with rich people: I have known plenty and some of them have been lovely and some of them have been total assholes - the same as the rest of us. Politically I'd probably be slightly left-of-centre, so I don't hate rich people or 'the establishment' per se, but I do think certain things rich people do/buy/have are a bit over the top.
Iguatemi was over the top. It was a bit much. In fact, it was bordering on insensitive. The only black people I saw in the mall were staff - and by 'black' I am also including what we in the UK would term 'mixed race'. I come from a city where it's not unheard of to see black/mixed race people actually buying stuff in expensive stores in expensive areas with their own money. I didn't see a single one - not even at lunch time when the mall packed out.
The prices were shocking. Prices for a lot of things in Brazil are higher than we're used to in the US/Europe because they have to import a lot of 'luxury' items in. However, I saw a pair of Prada sunglasses for R$1800 - that, translated into GBP is approximately £700. I saw the same pair of Prada sunglasses in Selfridges recently and they cost HALF of that... and Selfridges ain't cheap. You get my drift.
Considering just down the road there were a bunch of homeless living in squalor in cardboard boxes during a torrential downpour, and a little bit further down there were thousands upon thousands living in makeshift shanty towns, it was downright outrageous.
Our host Fernando told me about another mall in Sao Paulo, a bit further out, that is only accessible by car - you can't walk into it like you can at Iguatemi. Parking your car at this mall in order to shop there isn't free, either: it costs around R$80 (£32). As you can imagine, this mall is frequented mostly by the super-rich. In Brazil, you don't ever see these people. They live in large mansions with high security, they only travel by car, they don't go out in public, they have their own private clubs, they go to each other's houses. They are nowhere to be seen. They are entirely separated from the rest of Brazilian society. This is the reason I felt so at odds in Iguatemi: it was merely a small indication of the vast gap between the rich and the poor in Brazil. The rich here are REALLY rich and the poor here are REALLY poor, and that just doesn't sit well with me.
On the plus side, I can confirm that I have a fully functioning conscience.
Monday, 14 November 2011
The obese FINALLY get the recognition they deserve...
I was on the bus earlier. I saw this on the window and I had to take a picture:
I laughed. A lot. People were staring at me. My mother was staring at me. I found it very funny.
And before you start getting on your high horse: technically I'm obese.
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| Translation: "Reserved seating for the obese (YES, THE OBESE), pregnant women, women carrying babies/children, the elderly and the disabled." |
I laughed. A lot. People were staring at me. My mother was staring at me. I found it very funny.
And before you start getting on your high horse: technically I'm obese.
Sunday, 13 November 2011
The difference between English and Brazilian customer service
This is what happened in a pharmacy in London a couple of years ago when I was waiting in a queue:
A young Spanish-speaking woman was trying to buy something but didn't know the word for it in English and she was trying to work out the name by saying it slowly to the cashier, then using quite clear hand signals for body moisturiser. The cashier rolled her eyes, looked sarcastically at someone behind the spanish-speaking girl as if there was some private joke going on, didn't even attempt to understand or help the girl and said "Look, there's a queue, I have no idea what you're after - maybe get a dictionary or something, yeah?"
The cashier then motioned as if to go to the next customer, when I piped up: "Hold on a second, she's clearly after body moisturiser - see?" and I mirrored the spanish-speaking girl's hand movements.
"Well, why didn't she say?" the staff member replied in an insolent tone.
"Because she doesn't know the word in English, obviously - do you know the word for moisturiser in Spanish?" I replied, staring her right in the eye. Someone in the queue coughed. I turned around to look at them and they immediately looked in another direction.
"Well, if they're going to come here they should make an effort, innit...."
"...so I assume you brushed right up on your Spanish when you went on holiday to Tenerife or wherever it was you went last summer?" Someone in the queue giggled.
The spanish-speaking girl got her body moisturiser in the end, but the cashier gave me plenty of evils.
Similar situation in a Brazilian drogaria last week, involving a lady in my Portuguese class:
Again, the non-Portuguese speaker is at the front of a reasonable-sized queue.
"Bom dia, um...Eu gosto...uhhh....cream, for cuts?" (makes cutting movement on her arm)
"Eu nao entende...voce poderia repetir?" The cashier is genuinely interested in hearing what the English-speaking customer has to say, doesn't cut them off, waits patiently and makes a hand movement to repeat.
"Ummm....cream? antiseptic cream?" (more flailing hand movements)
The staff member looks puzzled for a couple of seconds, then brightens up.
"Creme anti-septico?"
"Ummm....possibly..." (N.B. the pronounciation of Portuguese is far more confusing to an English-speaker learning Portuguese than actually reading the words - just because you understand the words when read doesn't mean you'd be able to if they said it)
"Sim, temos." Staff member comes out from behind the cash desk, gets someone to replace them, personally takes English-speaking customer to where the antiseptic creams are, helps them pick one out, then escorts them back to the beginning of the queue to complete the purchase. No one in the queue is annoyed.
I think I've made my point clear.
A young Spanish-speaking woman was trying to buy something but didn't know the word for it in English and she was trying to work out the name by saying it slowly to the cashier, then using quite clear hand signals for body moisturiser. The cashier rolled her eyes, looked sarcastically at someone behind the spanish-speaking girl as if there was some private joke going on, didn't even attempt to understand or help the girl and said "Look, there's a queue, I have no idea what you're after - maybe get a dictionary or something, yeah?"
The cashier then motioned as if to go to the next customer, when I piped up: "Hold on a second, she's clearly after body moisturiser - see?" and I mirrored the spanish-speaking girl's hand movements.
"Well, why didn't she say?" the staff member replied in an insolent tone.
"Because she doesn't know the word in English, obviously - do you know the word for moisturiser in Spanish?" I replied, staring her right in the eye. Someone in the queue coughed. I turned around to look at them and they immediately looked in another direction.
"Well, if they're going to come here they should make an effort, innit...."
"...so I assume you brushed right up on your Spanish when you went on holiday to Tenerife or wherever it was you went last summer?" Someone in the queue giggled.
The spanish-speaking girl got her body moisturiser in the end, but the cashier gave me plenty of evils.
Similar situation in a Brazilian drogaria last week, involving a lady in my Portuguese class:
Again, the non-Portuguese speaker is at the front of a reasonable-sized queue.
"Bom dia, um...Eu gosto...uhhh....cream, for cuts?" (makes cutting movement on her arm)
"Eu nao entende...voce poderia repetir?" The cashier is genuinely interested in hearing what the English-speaking customer has to say, doesn't cut them off, waits patiently and makes a hand movement to repeat.
"Ummm....cream? antiseptic cream?" (more flailing hand movements)
The staff member looks puzzled for a couple of seconds, then brightens up.
"Creme anti-septico?"
"Ummm....possibly..." (N.B. the pronounciation of Portuguese is far more confusing to an English-speaker learning Portuguese than actually reading the words - just because you understand the words when read doesn't mean you'd be able to if they said it)
"Sim, temos." Staff member comes out from behind the cash desk, gets someone to replace them, personally takes English-speaking customer to where the antiseptic creams are, helps them pick one out, then escorts them back to the beginning of the queue to complete the purchase. No one in the queue is annoyed.
I think I've made my point clear.
Thursday, 10 November 2011
Portuguese so far
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| Our Portuguese school - 'Fast Forward' |
Ok, yeah, the grammar can be a bit finicky - I'm not used to conjugating verbs etc, but it's not horrific. After a few times you get it - I can conjugate 'to go' off the top of my head right now:
Eu vou
Ele/Ela/Voce vai
Nos vamos
Eles/Elas/Voces vao
Once you know the order of conjugation you just go through the list in your head - there's only four conjugations, even for irregular verbs (so far, anyway - maybe I'll have to eat my words later).
But listen, people: I studied German in secondary school, OK? GERMAN. There are 16 different ways of saying 'the' in German. I'm not kidding. So thus far, for me, Portuguese is a breeze.
The main problem I'm having is forcing myself to use Portuguese in real life situations. Although I understand the grammar and I've gained a fair amount of vocabulary in my lessons, my brain freezes up when I actually need to use the language. It's getting better, I'm talking in bits, but I've yet to vocalise an entire sentence without a bit of help outside of the classroom. Considering I've only done 4 days of 4-hour classes, I think I'm doing alright.
At least I'm not as bad as my Mum: we were walking down Avenida Paulista yesterday evening with the dog, my Mum asked me "how do you say 'I don't speak Portuguese' again?" "You say 'Eu nao fala Portugues'," I replied. "Ok, got it," she said. About 30 seconds later, while waiting for the lights to change at a crossing, someone asked her in Portuguese for what sounded like directions and she immediately responded "Je ne parlais Francais". We both burst into a fit of giggles.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
Communication blocks, gays and supermarkets!
OK, so I NEED to learn Portuguese. FAST. There’s only so many hand signals I can think of for “yes, he’s a very cute dog” (people keep stopping us on the street whenever we take my mum’s Chihuahua out for a walk). Here is a picture of said dog – named ‘Squirt’ – to illustrate:
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| Squirt the chihuahua* |
The weather is pretty warm here, but it dips right down at night by about 15C. Being on the 7th floor makes it even colder.
The supermarkets here are quite impressive – very little processed food. They never got mad cow disease here because they wouldn’t be daft enough to feed their animals anything other than what they naturally eat. Vegetables and fruit are plentiful and varied – some things I’ve never seen before and I don’t even know if there are actual English names for them. Garlics and onions usually have an entire section to themselves – they’re usually surrounded by huge piles of dead skins, presumably because people don’t want to pay for the bits they aren’t going to use. You wouldn’t get away with that shit in Sainsbury’s.
Things are not dirt cheap here, so if you think you’re going to come on holiday and spend hardly any money, think on. Prices are very slightly less or on a par with London as far as most things are concerned. Food shopping is slightly cheaper, but electronics cost a bomb. I’m waiting for someone to fly over from London so I can ask them to bring me a bloody flatscreen. Screw paying R$1249 (£500) for a not particularly impressive 32” LCD. I’m more than happy to pay whatever tax the customs want to slap on, and the £70 additional baggage fee – it’s STILL cheaper than buying it here.
There’s something to be said for having a lesbian haircut here – I don’t look like a soft touch (even when I’m carrying the Chihuahua) & every gay guy who speaks English is falling all over themselves to tell me what to do, where to go, where “our people” hang out. We went to have a look at the Portuguese school the other day to check it out – mostly so we know where the hell we’re going – and one of the teachers there recommended an area in Rio for us to look for flats. “I think it’ll be good for you,” he said, nodding, “the beach there is very nice. It’s OUR beach.” I swear he was doing jazz hands as he said that.
I’m starting to understand what pretty much every Brazilian I know has said to me about Sao Paulo: “yes there’s a lot to do there, but I wouldn’t want to live there”. The place is dirty, busy, dangerous, overcrowded, and doesn’t even make up for it in beauty the way Rio does. Or so I’ve heard.
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| P.S. These are great, you should try one. |
*Squirt is the official company mascot of the website BeARichBusinessBitch.com - check it out!
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Observations on spending 5 hours in Guarulhos Airport
The first recognisable sight on landing in Sao Paulo are the hundreds upon hundreds of favela houses, piled one on top of the other like some kind of higgldey-piggldey lego set or those brick-like temporary office structures on large building sites, metal roofs rusting and staining the bright walls underneath a reddish brown. They go on and on, rolling over hillsides & squeezed against motorways, stopping only at the very edge of the airport grounds. I would imagine when a plane flies over those houses they’re more concerned with making sure their home is structurally sound enough not to fall down – the very least of their problems would be noise pollution. Kinda puts the whole extra runway at Heathrow thing into perspective, really.
The airport doesn’t look like it’s been updated since the early 80’s – lots of dark tiling, metal walls, square shapes. Your path to the baggage pickup is punctuated by open gates, passengers crossing your path on their way to board their flights. There’s no separate way for arriving passengers, everyone’s lumped in together. The baggage carousel system is basic, old and really disorganised, with a handful of young men jumping around desperately trying to keep up with the onslaught. I can’t find my carousel, it’s not labelled so I walk up to the TAM baggage claim desk to speak to someone who might have an idea what’s going on.
“hola, fala Ingles?”
“No, Spanish?”
“Only English, I’m afraid.”
“Ok, only small…”
“Which one is for the TAM flight from London?”
“Uhhh…tres ou quatro…”
“Ah, obrigada!”
“hola, fala Ingles?”
“No, Spanish?”
“Only English, I’m afraid.”
“Ok, only small…”
“Which one is for the TAM flight from London?”
“Uhhh…tres ou quatro…”
“Ah, obrigada!”
I make my way to the front of the crowd and wait. A few middle-aged women start squawking loudly at a very stressed out 20-something who’s handling the London carousel alone with just a walkie-talkie for company, and a fat lot of good it’s doing him.
Someone has taken what appears to be a driveable lawnmower onto the plane as luggage rather than ship it. I've seen Brazilians pack surfboards and mountain bikes before but this just takes the biscuit.
Someone has taken what appears to be a driveable lawnmower onto the plane as luggage rather than ship it. I've seen Brazilians pack surfboards and mountain bikes before but this just takes the biscuit.
Eventually my bags turn up, I head through the ‘Nothing to Declare’ door, past an unimpressed lady collecting declaration tickets, and out into arrivals. More grey tiles, metal columns, and a solitary central café looking rather unappetising. I need to get to Terminal 2 and I have no idea where it is. I head to the Information Desk steeling myself for another painful verbal exchange.
“hola, fala Ingles?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Oh good! Could you tell me how to get to Terminal 2, I’m meeting my mother there.”
“Just go out of these doors, turn right and follow the sidewalk around. It’s about a 5 minute walk.” All said in a crystal clear Portuguese-American accent.
“hola, fala Ingles?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Oh good! Could you tell me how to get to Terminal 2, I’m meeting my mother there.”
“Just go out of these doors, turn right and follow the sidewalk around. It’s about a 5 minute walk.” All said in a crystal clear Portuguese-American accent.
Outside it’s sunny, a comfortable temperature with a cool breeze. I see a car park, concrete everywhere, buses, people smoking and…PALM TREES. I immediately perk up.
Terminal 2 looks a lot like Terminal 1. I buy myself a small coffee and sit down, but not before another awkward conversation with the girl behind the till trying to work out how much I need to pay. I can’t understand what she’s saying so she quickly writes on a post-it note ‘3,50’. “Oh, ok” I say and count out the change. She smiles politely as she hands me my coffee. I look at it. Jesus, when they say ‘small’ here they really mean it – it’s the size of an espresso and I asked for a ‘café con leite’. But I sit down and drink it, and it’s enough to keep my very awake for the next three hours. F*** me, they know how to make a coffee. I think I’m going to like it here.
Two people come up to me separately and hand me Brazilian schmatters (cheap stickers & a couple of key rings) with a R$2.00 price tag attached, walk off, come back one minute later and take them back again, smiling graciously despite the fact I’m clearly uninterested. I smile back. Properly. I find it a pleasantly unobtrusive way of trying to push their crap on me.
Basically I get the impression English isn’t spoken particularly well by the majority of people here, but they’re really, REALLY nice & helpful about trying to work out a way to communicate with you. And they smile! France this ain’t.
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