Understanding Brazil – General Elections

The 2010 elections in Brazil threw up many stories, some of which seemed to pass the foreign news agencies by a little. Dilma Rousseff not quite becoming Brazil’s first female president was the dominant story, while Green Party eco-warrior Marina Silva quietly impressed just about everybody with a dignified campaign and exit. She might make a bigger splash in 2014, especially if she can associate her campaign with a successful Brazil team winning the World Cup on home soil.

Romario and Bebeto can look to reform their 1994 World Cup winning Seleçao strike partnership as Rio de Janeiro Federal Deputy and State Deputy respectively. Neither made rocking baby cradles in celebration as far as anybody knows. Romario was once memorably described as playing football ‘like a lizard slithering across the rocks’. This kind of ability could come in very useful when it comes to a life in Brazilian politics.

The ‘comedy’ angle of the campaign was provided by Tiririca, a kind of unfunny clown who has his own tv shows and has appeared on others. Knowing that being an unfunny clown does not preclude a person from taking part in politics in Brazil, he declared himself for the post of Federal Deputy for Sao Paulo with a winning campaign slogan. ‘What is it that a Federal Deputy does anyway? In truth, I don’t know. But vote for me and I will tell you’. Well over a million people voted for him, comfortably the most votes won by any Federal Deputy in the whole of Brazil, and the second most in Sao Paulo State history. Whether such honesty can find a place in Brasilia remains to be seen, as it appears moves have already been made to keep him out of there. Francisco Everardo Oliveira Silva, to call him by his real name, has unfortunately already had his honesty called into question. Perhaps his declaration that ‘Worse than it is now, it won’t remain’ rubbed a few people up the wrong way. He also declared his ability to read and write as sufficiently high to enter into Brazilian politics, which requires an exam to be passed, when in reality this son of the Ceara coast in the north-east may have the kind of literacy level to be expected from somebody who began working in a Brazilian circus at the age of eight. Perhaps it is true, or perhaps this voting power has frightened those in his way who have turned to the dark arts in order to keep out this true Clown of the People.

Tiririca can always learn to read and write properly of course, although it may be a little too late for him. Such a lack of literacy earlier in life has been no barrier to Marina Silva’s political career as yet. Another issue that appears not to have been a barrier for our hero is that he was once prosecuted for racism, after one of his ‘comedy’ songs compared a black woman’s hair to a brillo pad and said that she smelt worse than a gamba. Children’s entertainment such as this could be the future of Brazil with him pulling the puppet strings in Brasilia.

That Tiririca was not the biggest clown with shady history involved in the Brazilian General Election of 2010 should not be a big surprise to anybody who has ever lived in Brazil, and taken a passing interest in the politics of the country. Or even watched a novela. The election story that should embarrass Brazil more than that of Tiririca is still that of Fernando Collor.

Fernando Collor de Mellor, 32^nd President of the Federal Republic of Brazil from March 1990 to December 1992, puts the achievements of Tiririca and every other Brazilian politician in the shade. After the huge Globo TV Network helped to bring him to power in order to prevent Lula’s first bid being successful, Fernando immediately disappeared on holiday for 6 weeks. His brief period of office was characterised by his right hand man and accountant PC Farias helping to salt away billions of dollars from the federal coffers into their own secret accounts. After being impeached in 1992, he later ran away to Miami and was there when his old friend Farias was murdered in 1996. Once the time to prosecute him had run out, he returned to Brazil, and in 2002 tried once again to become the Governor of Alagoas State. He failed, but in 2006 he was voted in as a Senator instead, after professing support for his erstwhile rival Lula. He failed in his run for Governor in 2010, although he did manage to win almost 400,000 votes, at 30% a reasonable effort in such a small state.

Whether the ongoing amazement that is Collor’s durable political career lasts longer than that of the professional clown remains to be seen, but whatever happens you can be sure that the 2014 election and the preceding World Cup shenanigans will throw up more over-the-top, highly unrealistic stories of greed, power, corruption and lies that will outshine even the most ridiculous novela. Such is the world of Brazilian politics.

Around Brazil – Oktoberfest Parade in Blumenau

Oktoberfest in Blumenau was never top of the list for Brazilian cultural events that I needed to attend. Even with Blondie’s relatives in the area, it didn’t appeal because going to a German festival while in South America just seems wrong. I’ve been to plenty of German beer festivals and always had a fantastic time there, but they had the added advantage of being in Germany, and full of Germans, and full of German beer. I didn’t imagine it could be this way in Brazil, although at least Oktoberfest in Blumenau is actually in Oktober.

Blumenau was founded in 1850 by Hermann Blumenau and his group of German immigrants. They headed up the Itajaí River in Santa Catarina past the floodplains on each side, possibly filled with flowers at that time as they are now filled with paddy fields and cattle. With a name that means Floodplain in Bloom in German, he must have felt immediately at home and decided to stop where the green hills on each side converged and their boat couldn’t travel much up into the mountains. The scenery may have reminded the fresh immigrants of home, with tree-covered hills and fertile land to grow the things that Germans love, such as hops and wheat amongst the native fruits.

They grew families too, with Blumenau having a high percentage of blond people, some who still speak German as a first language at home and have Portuguese tinged with Teutonic accents. With such a strong Germanic influence, perhaps it was no surprise that after the floodplains flooded in 1983 and Blumenau was cut off from the world for a few weeks that the locals turned to the fatherland for inspiration. With most Brazilian beers having been brewed by German immigrants with their pilsner knowledge, the idea was to start an Oktoberfest to cheer up the town. It worked quite well. Just over twenty years later and the town is famous throughout Brazil for its huge festival, the largest in South America.

Much as in Rio, there are also parades preceeding the weekend days of the seventeen day cervejaganza. The idea for us was to watch the parade and laugh at people we knew wearing lederhosen and dirndl. But our blond-haired blue-eyed Brazilian met with something of an accident as he was playing bowls on the night of his birthday a week before. While examining who was closest, the rival team hurled down their final bowl, slammed the jack into the air and straight into his conkers. The pain was so bad that he was carried home in the back of the pick-up. After arriving home, things got even worse for him but I should not go into such private details, suffice to say that he would not be leaving the house for the his club’s desfila. He’d only just bought a brand new pair of lederhosen for the occasion. We were offered their place in the line-up. Wearing the outfit. Now many gringoes can say they’ve taken part in one of Brazil’s largest cultural events wearing a Carnaval costume, but not many can say they’ve taken part in one wearing a German costume. How could we say no – it sounded like there may be some quality comedy involved as well as free beer and free entrance into the arena.

An afternoon of dressing up and giggling followed, with some dance moves learnt from youtube. Hats were to be worn, hair was to be rolled into buns and long white socks were to be bought. I never thought I could look forward to wearing leather shorts and dancing amongst large German men with moustaches, I’m not that kind of guy. But by Saturday afternoon I was already drunk with excitement and laughter, and still 12 hours away from the finish line of the night. This was really going to be a marathon not a sprint.

The reason that Oktoberfest was founded in October, the reason that those floodplains were full of flowers, and the reason that the area is so green is because the mountains behind attract the clouds. In spring it rains regularly and heavily in Blumenau and Saturday was one of those times. The clouds came down the valleys and obscured our view of the town in the afternoon. The phone call came half an hour before we were due to start. Cancelled. My Big Moment blown. I don’t want to hear that ‘Rained on Your Parade’ phrase, thanks.

Around Brazil – Praia do Rosa

The mainland of Santa Catarina has so many fantastic beaches that it would take months to visit them all. If you only have time for one, then Praia do Rosa is as good a choice as any. As well as great surf and great scenery (including the whale watching of course), the town itself has a twinkling charm that can also be found in places such as Arraial d´Ajuda or Jericoacoara. Unlike some of the more residential beaches, Praia do Rosa always seems to have that holiday feeling and doesn´t empty, even in the winter months of south Brazil. You can still find candle-lit restaurants open all year round here.

The bumpy, sandy roads help give Praia do Rosa the air of undeveloped beach town, yet this is also partly because the residents of the town appear to care more about their environment than many other places in Brazil. Construction has largely been limited to two stories, and the hills at the northern end of the beach protect it from the predatory eye of developers. The southern end houses some historic boat houses and also had prehistoric rock carvings (in Brazil terms), which were sadly destroyed some years ago.

Being set on a hill, one of the beauties of Praia do Rosa is that many of the small pousadas come with views of the beach. Falling asleep to the noise of the waves breaking on the shore, one of the most helpful sounds for drifting off, is something that I haven´t had enough of in Brazil. With a visiting mother to impress, and wanting her to leave Santa Catarina with memories of more than the days of rain that we´d had recently, we had to go for a Room With A View. We got just that. With a view of the whole beach at night, I couldn´t wait to wake up next morning for sunrise. The sun reflecting from the blue Atlantic Ocean, with surfers already bouncing in the waves below us is the kind of first sight of the day that I don´t wake up to often enough in Brazil.

With some of the best surf in Brazil on your doorstep, the very best kitesurfing just around the headland at Ibiraquera, the ASP World Championship Tournament event for the professionals just down the road at Imbituba, and the best whale-watching in Brazil also leaving from the port there and taking you to all three beaches, this is the perfect place to base yourself for a few days. Trails take you over the headlands to other quieter, pine-fringed beaches such as Praia Ouvidor and Praia Vermelho. If you can´t walk that far and the sea looks too rough, there are enough lagoas in the dunes behind the beach, and over the hill behind or leading from the dunes at Ibiraquera to keep you entertained.

As you would expect of a surf town, the streets are busy at night with plenty of bars and restaurants to pass the time. Some of the most charming pousadas with the best views in Brazil (we stayed at Vigia das Marés, with Nelson being a complete fountain of information on everything about the area), and plenty of cheap apartments to rent, just about everybody can experience the delights of Praia do Rosa – undoubtedly one of those special places in Brazil.

Around Brazil – Whale-Watching in Santa Catarina

The Whales are Here! Santa Catarina whale-watching season began in July with the arrival of the first three Southern Right Whales of the 2010 season. The Instituta Baleia Franca (IBF) had a little ceremony to open observation season after two adults and one calf were spotted playing around off Praias Ibiraquera and Ribanceira, between Imbituba and Praia do Rosa. Local authorities enjoyed a little jolly for the opening ceremony at Pousada Vida Sol e Mar in Praia do Rosa, which had already been organised. The three whales timed things perfectly and saved the local dignitaries the embarrassment of opening... nothing much.

The whales continue to visit the beaches and bays of Florianopolis and the rest of Santa Catarina through until October or November time. Whale-watching as an activity can be enjoyed at many of the beaches, with a little luck. Favourite beaches on the island for the whales include Moçambique & Barra da Lagoa, Armação, Matadeiro (where they were once herded into the sand for slaughtering - hence the name of the beach) and Pântano do Sul.

From the sands and the headlands of all these beaches, it is possible to see a whale or few going through their morning... their morning what? Nobody really knows why the whales come so close to shore at this time of year. They only seem to be playing, rolling around on top of each other, flapping the water with their flukes (a technical term that only those of us who have broken our whale-watching virginity are allowed to use – ‘fins’ to the rest of you), blowing, diving, breaching (another term) and all kinds of interesting behaviour. One theory has it that they hide their calves from the orcas of the area, but if that was really the case, then why do they only appear close to the shores in the morning? Do orcas only eat breakfast? Do they have an afternoon siesta?

There are more whales up and down the coast of Santa Catarina, with by far the best place to see these huge, beautiful, curious creatures being a boat trip out from Imbituba. This port town lies around 90km south of Floripa, slightly further south than Garopaba and Praia do Rosa. There are more whales per beach than anywhere else in Brazil (don’t check that stat please, I just guessed) and they like to hang around the waters of Rosa, Ibiraquera and Ribanceira in particular. These surf and kite-surf beaches can all be a little wild for putting a boat out, so the best idea is to drive to Imbituba.

The whale-watching voyages are run by IBF and are properly organised trips, with the whole coast being an Area of Environmental Preservation.

Luis and his team of guides run them from their office at the old Imbituba train station. Before the trip, a little education video is shown to the passengers about the work of the IBF and about the whales in general. The boats head out of the port and along the coast to where the whales have been sighted by fishermen that morning. The boats don’t drive too close to the whales as it can be disturbing. With calm seas, the boats can stop though, and the whales come nosing around to see if their visitors are worth impressing. This affords wonderful photo opportunities, and is one of the only places on earth that you can possibly come within touching distance of such a large creature in the wild.

Florianopolis is the usual starting point for tours, with Praia do Rosa certainly being the best place to stay close to Imbituba. Staying overnight there is not necessary to make the boat trip, but if you want to give yourselves the best chance of being nose to nose with a Southern Right Whale, a night in Rosa is a must. This way, if the seas are too rough for the humans to brave, or the whales are playing elsewhere along the Santa Catarina coastline, you can always have another try the next day.

The arrival of Brazil’s largest creatures is not guaranteed, but a memorable encounter with nature certainly is if they are around – especially if you find yourselves being interviewed for one of the Sunday night Brazilian TV Specials, as my own mother did!

Cultural Brazil – The Alambique

Você pensa que cachaça é água

Cachaça não é água não

Cachaça vem do Alambique

E água vem do ribeirão

This Carnaval Classic was my first introduction to Alambique, learning the words of a Brazilian song while dancing behind a Rio trio electrico driving along the Ipanema Beach road one sunny afternoon. I looked on maps and in guide books and couldn’t find this place from where Brazil’s famous firewater originated. It took me a few months, maybe even a year – not of constant searching obviously – before I realised that Alambique was more of a place in the house rather than a place in the world.

I had never visited one though. Having seen the menu of a cachaçaria, I knew that Minas Gerais has hundreds, the mountains of the south have a few, and even places I have visited such as Paraty have plenty. The original alambiques were powered by water running down mountain streams, with the water-wheels turning the grinding wheels to squeeze the caldo de cana from the harvested plants.

I also knew that my Florianopolis had many little alambiques around the coastline and in the hills, but that almost all of them had closed down. I felt a little shame that I had been in Brazil so long without actually visiting one, even though I don’t particularly enjoy drinking pinga pura. It hurts too much. Still, after an afternoon’s struggling through half-closed trails in rural Floripa hills, with Blondie scratched to bits and turning into a sulky 6 year old girl while also blaming me for her choice of footwear, I celebrated like we’d arrived at Eden when I saw the magical sign – Alambique do Zeca. It explained why I just thought I’d seen somebody walking down the trail with a urine sample for the doctor.

One of the only two alambiques left on the island, the other run by his brother, Ze makes what is regarded by those who know as some of the finest cachaça in Brazil. So he told us. He built the barn himself, and I can’t imagine any alambique looking more perfect – wooden wheels; packed-soil floor; stained and stencilled barrels; smoke; copper furnace; and the smell of all those things and more, mingling together to enter your senses, exactly the same earthy odour found in any alambique in the colonial history of the country. Brazil was built on that scent.

The whole cachaça process is simple but labour-intensive and done by Ze’s own fair hand, the planting, harvesting and processing of the sugar cane. He leaves the juice to ferment on its own, before stoking his fires and distilling the proceeds to produce one of the simplest spirits around. The evil liquid is then transferred to barrels of different sizes and colours to sit for a year, two years, five years, however long our cachaça expert prefers.

We arrived in daylight and left in the dark, stumbling down the down the dusty track with the lights of the beach villages twinkling way below. It didn’t seem so long, but we went through the different types - white and yellow; and the different flavours – apple, ginger, banana, honey, plum and one rocket fuel that would only bow down to absinthe. I could barely remember my own name when we hit the trail with still miles to go until we found the road. I remember some of the story though – that in spite of being one of Brazil’s oldest traditions, the alambique is a dying art. The artesans are prevented from burning their fields to regenerate the soil. I can understand if this if for environmental reasons, although it makes me wonder if the big business of Brazil had a hand in such decisions. It would be a shame if such an important part of Brazilian culture was to disappear at the hands of the larger factory operations.

Everyone should visit an alambique if spending enough time in Brazil. Do it soon though – while you still have a rustic old alambique to visit.

Tainha Time in Florianopolis

One surprising fact about Brazil that doesn’t fit with our lazy Latin stereotypes is the amount that people work. Not only does everybody in Brazil do something, from those selling doces on the buses and beaches to Paulista high-rise office workers, but they do it for long hours. At home, being a student means staying in bed smoking maconha all day and not being capable of making your two hours of Art History or Theology lectures a week. In Brazil, even students work full days then study another four hours at night, 5 nights a week.

Nobody works harder throughout the country than the fishermen of the southern coasts during Tainha Time. In the late autumn and winter months of May, June and July, the coastal waters of Santa Catarina are inundated with huge shoals of tainha, a type of mullet. Following tradition that has been maintained since the very first Azorean settlers arrived on the island, the local fishermen take to the open seas in their wooden boats day after day to make hay as the sun shines.

While the boats may have motors, the nets don’t. With no winches, all the catches are landed by hand. The nets are large to allow the young tainha to escape, while the adults are taken in great numbers into the boat. The typical Floripa Fisherman is short and stocky, with a deep tan and arms that make Popeye look like me. While out at sea, it is impossible to appreciate the amount of work that goes into pulling a net with perhaps dozens and dozens of 3-5kg fish.

Boat after boat arrives on the beach or at the dock to unload huge catches. Enormous nets are also spread out from the beaches, and the whole male half of the community, kids and adults, joins in the pull. The sands are soon piled full of hundreds of tainha, glistening and flopping around in the winter sun. One single cast into the waves with a personal net can bring in three or four at once.

As an insight into the traditional lifestyles that still form a big part of Florianopolis life, a trip to see the daily tainha catch arrive is very worthwhile. A helping hand may also result in you being one of the many people walking the streets of Floripa carrying a large fish as thank you for your help.

Clean it, gut it, fill it with fresh coriander and garlic, wrap it in aluminium, then put in the oven or the churrasco for 30 minutes. Leave the foil off for another 10 minutes or so and you can eat your catch.

President Lula in Florianopolis

Everybody’s favourite cuddly politician, President Lula recently visited Florianopolis and his visit was notable for a number of reasons, principally for the amount of money that the Federal and State Governments spent in relation to the visit.

Lula visited one of the traditional Floripa seafood restaurants, declaring that everybody who visits the Magic Island should try the Sequencia de Camarão dishes. He didn’t recommend the squid, unsurprisingly, perhaps attempting to preserve the species, but the idea for that sequence is just the same. Plate after plate arrives at your table, garlic, steamed and milanesa, until you really can’t look any more prawns (or squid) in the eye. Just as you are thinking about walking off the prawns with a stroll in the sun along the shores of Lagoa da Conceição, the main course arrives. The fish is usually eaten, the batatas fritas and salada too, but the rice usually goes back to the kitchen hardly touched. Once you have eaten one or two of these sequencias, you learn that when the menu says 2 pessoas, there is often enough for five people.

This immense amount of food surprises first time visitors, so if Lula and his entourage ordered the amount of food specified for each of them, there would likely have been an immense amount of waste. When the money comes out of the public funds to pay for this, there probably wouldn’t have been many complaints, and certainly not when compared to the money spent on the rest of the Floripa trip.

Lula was attending the World Trade and Tourism Council conference, one that has been many years in the organizing. As he arrived, he would have seen the huge adverts on the road out of the airport proclaiming Costão do Santinho to have been voted the Best Large Resort in Brazil this year. No mention of who voted for these awards, but if something smells a little fishy, it might not be your main course. The resort is a monstrosity dominating the corner of a beautiful beach on the Atlantic side of the island, with only surrounding dunes preventing the whole beach being developed. The resort’s owners have had a couple of run-ins with the Policia Federal over the years, for such minor crimes as not taking any notice at all of environmental regulations. Nothing ever comes of these cases though.

As well as spending millions of reais just to bring the gravy train to Floripa, there were a few hidden extra expenses, although not so well hidden that they haven’t made headlines in Brasilia. Being Brazil’s Best Large Resort, you would expect the price of hosting and housing so many conference delegates for the week to be very high. The resort had a new auditorium built especially for the conference. The accounts may not show, but the rent for using this auditorium was apparently unbelievably extortionate. Roughly the same price as it cost for the construction of the thing in the first place. Strange.

President Lula’s government agreed the price though, and will pay the bill using Brazilian taxpayers’ money, so surely all is above board. If this seems to the layman that the government is paying for the improvement of facilities at a privately-owned resort, the layman obviously doesn’t know the intricacies of government business. The fact that the owner of the resort is very good friends with the President of the Federation of Culture, who also happens to be the mother of the President of Embratur and friends with the Secretary of Tourism is completely unconnected of course, but if you would like to try to make connections for yourself, there are not too many dots to join.

Suffice to say that the next time Lula visits Florianopolis, whether he is still President of Brazil or not, he will probably not pay the rack rate for his stay in the Presidential Suite at Costão do Santinho.

Deported from Brazil? - continued

In the holding bay at Guarulhos Airport, I made friends with a Brazilian who had just been deported from the US after a seven-year overstay and a few months stay under lock and key. It didn’t bode well. He had no money to catch the bus into the city. I couldn’t help him, Blondie had taken all mine, plus the cards and was running around Sao Paulo airport with a deadline of the morning flight back to Lima. If she didn’t pay, I was out of Brazil and back to Lima with no money and no cards of my own. The Big Boss had been fuming that we’d arrived in Brazil with no money. I couldn’t make him understand the situation, especially with no cards on me. I could have shown him via my Online Banking that I had a fortune in credit, many thousands of reais, just waiting for my card to become usable again. He wasn’t interested. He was a humourless fella, neatly shaved beard, one hand permanently in his pocket, pushing his jacket behind in a completely affected Miami Vice pose. If he fancied himself and his title, I certainly didn’t fancy my chances of getting back into Brazil if he had anything to do with it.

I also had plenty of time to wonder if this had all been a cunning Blondie plan. Now I could finally understand why she had been going out with me. Her patience and planning had paid off with her freedom and the key to my credit fortune. I laughed admiringly at the thought that it might be true. I had to wait in the departure lounge with no news from the world outside, watching English football on the screens for hours on end. Such torture. Meanwhile a frazzled Blondie was spending the last of our cash in an internet cafe, reversing the charges to her friends and family to find somebody with a spare few hundred reais. The internet cafe is another of the frustrations of Brazil not considering foreigners – you need a CPF number to register there. No foreigners can use that internet cafe in Guarulhos Airport.

The drama continued without me as the only person we knew with the means to pay had to finish their supermarket shopping before heading to the local airport Policia Federal while it was still open. It was all skin of the teeth stuff, with faxes crossing Brazil even though payments wouldn’t officially go through for three more days. All I did was try not to fall asleep all day, just in case I missed somebody. Don’t worry, I did suffer a little though, getting on for 18 hours without food by the time my favourite man returned at some point early evening. His lack of a sympathetic expression meant that I didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t say anything either way, but beckoned me downstairs. He seemed to be chewing his chewing gum with more facial muscles than before, so it could have been because he was angry that my fine had been paid. Or was it because he’d found another flight back to Lima... He didn’t let on.

We walked through departures and down to immigration without a word being said, me wondering all the time whether it was to pick up my bag from the holding bay for check-in and tchau, ate mais Brasil! He motioned me towards the same girl that had looked at me quizzically 12 hours before, and she smiled, stamped my passport a few times and I was in. I walked out of the arrivals terminal with a relieved smile, remembering the first time I had arrived in Brazil at the same spot a few years before. I’d come out of the gate and there had been nobody to meet me, the moment when I realised that I had no addresses or phone numbers for my friends in Sao Paulo, and I could have been stuck at the airport waiting for them forever. This time, Blondie was there, she hadn’t run off with my cards. I was even happier to be back in Brazil than the first time I had arrived.

Deported from Brazil?

If I was one of the only happy people in Lima Airport on the start of the journey back to Brazil, with flight vouchers and a day of shopping and hotel spa under our belts to finish our Peru trip, all for free, the Gods of Travel didn’t allow me to be smug for very long.

I can’t say that it was a big surprise to be honest. An outstanding fine from a previous overstay that I thought I’d paid in Buenos Aires was not the problem - being unable to pay it in any way when arriving in Guarulhos early on a Saturday morning certainly was. Brazil has many ways when it does not consider things from the estrangeiro angle. I didn’t really deserve much favour, but there might be people in the same situation who do and they’ll be stuck too.

If you have any fine to pay on your return to Brazil for overstaying a visa, my first advice is to use another entry point. Certain other borders around the edge of Brazil are a little more lax, with late night arrivals met by a one-man immigration team typed into a system with one finger on an archaic computer that doesn’t look like it will be connected to any kind of network. Guarulhos Airport in Sao Paulo is not so accommodating, and one of the only places where you are certain to get stopped, all details being electronically processed and listed.

So having been stopped, what can you do? The first frustration is that you can’t pay the fine by card, which I was happy to do. Most people re-entering Brazil with a fine to pay are unlikely to have many reais on their person. The immigration team were quite friendly, certainly not what you would find at Heathrow or any of the big US airports, and accompanied us around the airport, even removing their pig-proof gasmasks. No joy though. The second frustration is that you cannot buy local currency at the cambio houses with foreign cards. Both of these could easily come with a credit card surcharge on top, problem solved, taxi caught outside, sat in the house an hour later. My problem was that the shopping spree in Lima had been paid for with cash, and the withdrawals only arrived in my account the following day. I couldn’t take any more cash out that whole day. You can’t use foreign currency either, so anybody arriving alone and without the necessary Brazilian money would not have any way of paying without being able to enter the arrivals terminal.

With no friends in Sao Paulo having easy access to the cash I needed help from further away. Something like this sounds like a job for Western Union, or any other money transfer company. For some reason they don’t seem to like having offices in the airport. The nearest one was in the area, but you try convincing a taxi driver to take you 2 miles down a highway where walking is impossible when he could be taking people right across the city instead. They refuse, point blank. After all the morning’s fun, Blondie would never be able to walk there in time before it closed at midday. I was totally stuck. It began to look like I was going to have to live in The Terminal, at least until the Monday. I laughed to myself as we returned, thinking that living in the airport for a couple of days would make a good little travel story for me, and I had no problem with that. Accompanied by my laptop and with English football on the departure lounge televisions, this would not be a big hardship.

Things took a turn for the worse when Blondie left to try and organise the money, and I had to return to the holding bay. The Big Boss had arrived and was shouting at the staff for letting me out and for not sending me back to Lima immediately. He wanted me out as soon as possible, and my nerves started to jangle as all of a sudden my time in Brazil looked like it was coming to an end...

Swine Flu in South America?

A little insight into the Latin American psyche was possible recently during the almost non-existent Swine Flu epidemic. I don’t know if ‘stoic’ is a word that exists in Portuguese, or Spanish for that matter, but I would guess not.* There was much comedy to be found in the airports of South America during the first stages of the worldwide ‘crisis’. Returning to Brazil from Lima on the eve of a public holiday across the continent meant being in a busy international airport late at night, with queues snaking around the pillars, seats overbooked, flights missed, voices raised, staff hassled, arms waving and a general air of Latin irritation. Factor in the impending doom and disaster from those Mexican Pigs and a few staff in masks and the atmosphere was slightly hysterical and highly enjoyable.

My favourite people in the airport were two Brazilian ladies of meia-idade, both with masks tightly clamped to their faces, and shouting at each other across queues, as they were heading to different destinations. One was scared to return to her Lima hotel because of the crisis, the other scared to fly away. Their panic became more infectious than the disease ever could be as they spread rumours of four LAN Airlines staff having been taken ill on the flight in from Buenos Aires. Masks of all kinds were appearing in the check-in area, tied in all manner of ribbons, bows, and general attempts to appear like the poodles probably waiting at home.

The three hour check-in was in reality a three hour queue, with nothing much moving. It was never dull though, as along with our ladies we had one of the Brazilian Copa Libertadores teams, the Peruvian Davis Cup team and a female volleyball team all in the same line and all battling to stay together with all their equipment. Another queue was full of irate Argentineans who had no seats left on their flight. Nobody wanted to stay at risk in the airport.

We began to have some fun with them, talking loudly in Portuguese about our new friend, a lovely Mexican girl that we’d met in Cusco and seen again in Lima Airport a couple of days before. We hoped aloud that she’d made it back to her family’s pig farm safely. She’d been trying to return home after a tour of Peru as the flights began to get cancelled. Hardly the Last Flight out of Saigon, but a late connection almost made her miss what turned out to be the last flight to Mexico City. Probably for the best, because although we would have welcomed her to Brazil with open arms, I’m not sure she would have survived the lynching from our masked friends.

So when it finally came to check-in, the flight was only 45 minutes away. No problem though, because it was full. Or almost. The fraught girl offered us an extra night in Lima, accommodation and meals paid plus a decent amount of vouchers for our next trip. Staying in Lima? When Pig Flu might be flying all around us? Are you crazy? We were the only two happy people out of thousands in Lima Airport that night. We had to go through exactly the same process 24 hours later, with no improvement in the mood. Sadly the flight wasn’t full and they made us leave.

* - I know, really, those lessons haven’t been for nothing.

The Best Club in Brazil…?

I can boldly state, without fear of being completely wrong, that the best clubs in Brazil, perhaps even in South America, are in Santa Catarina.

There is no other place that has so many clubs ticking so many of the boxes that the best clubs need to have ticked. It begins with the music of course. To have the best music, you need to have the best DJ’s. The best DJ’s in the world come to South America for huge events such as Skolbeats in Sao Paulo, Reveillon in Rio, Carnval in Salvador and Creamfields in Buenos Aires. Names such as Fat Boy Slim, Sander Kleinenberg, Darren Emerson and Deep Dish have all made the journey down this way recently. There is little point in travelling thousands of miles just for one gig, so they generally squeeze in a bit of a warm-up a night or two before. More often than not, they visit clubs such as Warung, on Praia Brava above Balneário Camboriú, and El Divino, P12 and now Pacha close to or on Jurerê Internacional on Florianópolis.

Perhaps they come here because the atmosphere on the way to and inside these places is more relaxed than Rio, less shady than Salvador. Perhaps the people who make the journey from Curitiba, Porto Alegre and even Sao Paulo provide a more cosmopolitan crowd than clubs in Buenos Aires with porteños all seeming to hide their insecurities behind sunglasses while dancing in the same ´treading grapes´ style.

Being sited out of the cities, the clubs have scenery of beaches, mountains and lagoons that those of Sao Paulo can never hope to match. There is nothing like being able to see the sea while dancing in a club.

My favourite club in Brazil, South America, perhaps even the world, doesn´t have this vista do mar though. Much like the best clubs in Ibiza are up in the hills away from the strip (and away from the drunken British holidaymakers!), Brazil´s Best Club is tucked away down the backroads on the rural side of the motorway from the mini-Rio of Balneário Camboriú. It makes a strange contrast to park outside a wooden cow shed, with the attendant smells of four legged beasts, while parking alongside some 4x4 beast that may have never been so close to mud before. The church-going villagers of interior Santa Catarina must wonder.

As with the best clubs in Santa Catarina, Ibiza and the world at large, it is an open-air venue, one tented roof to keep off the rain. As well as the music, the atmosphere and the setting, you also need beauty on the inside. I will put this place alongside anywhere you care to name in any place in the world. There are more stunning girls (and boys) than any club I have ever visited. The VIP Area earned the nickname Silicon Valley, but unlike in clubs built for being seen, this is a true dance club. Girls may be wearing floaty feminine summer dresses and high heels, but this does not stop them trucking on through the madrugada.

2008 finished in real style as we took our visiting friends there to see Paul van Dyk on 30^th December, warming up for his Rio Reveillon gig on Barra de Tijuca. You can be as astounded as our gringoes were as the sun comes up over the surrounding mountains with thousands of beautiful people from all over South Brazil still partying hard around the lakes and stairs of the club, as well as filling the space under the tent. As the dark of night and the grey of dawn turn to blue daylight, you will also begin to appreciate how well-named is my Green Valley.

The Great Brazilian Animal-Off (Land)

After the resounding success of The Great Brazilian Fruit-Off (thanks Dimmi), finally comes The Great Brazilian Animal-Off – solely judged on which Brazilian animal of the land I would prefer to be.

Gambá 8%

Small possum-like creatures that live in my roof. Keeps me awake most nights. I don´t want to kill them though.

Capivara 12%

Capybaras are not so rare that seeing the World´s Largest Rodent (after Mickey) is a particular treat.

Marmosets and Tamarins 15%

These beautiful little monkeys will be much higher, especially if I visit the Rio reserve that is increasing the numbers of the rare Golden Lion version. For now though, my only memory of them is seeing a photo of one being smuggled overseas crammed into a thermos. His little face looking upwards depressed me.

Howler Monkey 23% (for sound only)

The amazing noise they make at dawn should come from a monkey the size of King Kong. Stay well clear of them though. You don´t want to know what they do if you get too close.

Maned Wolf 27%

Loses marks for not looking as cool as the Grey Wolf and for never having been spotted.

Puma 41%

I can´t rid myself of the association with Argentina and their national rugby team. Sorry. They do exist in the Pantanal though.

Deer 45%

I wouldn´t particularly want to be a Brazilian deer.

Onça 50%

Top marks for being the most beautiful animal in South America. No marks for being too intelligent to come near me in the wild. I haven´t even seen one in a zoo in Brazil! The Itaipu staff claimed he was hiding in a blind spot in the rocks. Que mentira. The closest I came was stroking a jaguar pelt that a crazy, friendly hippy and his lovely friendly wife were selling in Barreirinhas. It felt as wonderful as it probably once looked.

Coati 52% (for the views)

These little raccoony creatures have a cute gait and they will always remind me of Iguaçu Falls. Good to be able to get so close to wild animals in such a place.

Capuchin Monkey 58%

Named because of their love of a cappuccino first thing in the morning. Ok, not true, but very nearly for etymology students. Another cute little monkey with the hair of a monk. Good comedy rating.

Tamandua 64%

Such a unique creature with her flared trousers, tail like a flag and face like an ice-cream cone, but eating one thing for the rest of your life? I couldn´t be an anteater.

Jaguaritica e Jaguarundi 71%

Smaller cats such as the ocelot are beautifully patterned and very handsome. Perhaps a bit more of a Tasmanian devil-type personality would help though. Again, only known to me through the pelts.

Jiboia 73%

I travelled all around Brazil without seeing a boa constrictor in the forests and the jungles, and then finally, literally, bumped into one in a Florianópolis supermarket. Unexpected.

Macaco Prêto 74%

Cute isn´t the first choice amongst adjectives that I´d like to be called, but the spider monkey being the cutest monkey on the planet wouldn´t be the worst thing.

Tatu 77%

I´ve seen a few armadillos waddling around, and cute they are in their own way. In some remote Amazon village, I saw the shell of one that was big enough to bath all your children in.

Sucuri 83%

Yeah, sure. Who wouldn´t want to be an Anaconda? I also like the fact that one of the rivers in Bonito that tourists happily float down is named after these beasts. Foreign tourists would run a mile if they knew it was called Anaconda River. Uncle Mad also had a story about finding an 8m monster in the Amazon, giving his terrified Colombian friend the tail and saying ´Hold this – I´m going to find the other end´.

Paca & Cutia 88%

One Amazon dawn I left my hammock and walked away from our camp. I sat on a log and enjoyed the Sound of Sunrise. The bird chorus was overshadowed by a rustling in the trees. I was worried but couldn´t miss the chance of seeing something special. A little agouti appeared snuffling out of the jungle and went right past without even noticing me. I enjoyed the moment. It was only my moment.

Bicho Preguiço 92%

The sloth is one of nature´s finest gifts. Lack of predators made him lazier than a stoned koala. Talk about an easy meal. Easy fun too, as you can tickle, stroke and examine those long claws very closely in complete safety. Tap him on the shoulder and he only turns around 10 minutes later. Enviable lifestyle.

Onça Preta 99%

The coolest animal with the coolest name on the planet. I fell in love with them after seeing one in a zoo as a kid. The yellow eyes, the sleek fur and the hidden patterns. Loses marks for not being a true species, rather a genetic melanin mutation present in all spotted cats. Oh, what a mutation to have.

Anta 100%

The tapir is the winner. This humble little beast is related to the horse and rhino, but has a nose which makes him look like he´s training to be an elephant. One match-winning fact clinches his victory in my mind. The male anta has proportionately the largest ´fifth leg´ of any mammal. No animal in Brazil or anywhere else can beat that.

Understanding Brazil – Giving Directions

If you’ve come across this missive by accident after hitting the interweb in search of those directions that your friend emailed, because you can’t find the way to his house, his explanations made no sense and the reference points he gave you to look out for never appeared, there’s a good chance that you are in Brazil. Maybe this should be in the ‘Ask a Brazilian’ section: Why are Brazilians so singularly useless at giving directions to another place? Or perhaps a new Gringoes topic – ‘Ask a Gringo’. Has anybody ever arrived at a Brazilian house after receiving directions from the dono or dona?

The problem with Brazilians giving directions isn’t that they give you the wrong information, it is that they fill your head with so much worthless information that it is impossible to ever find your way to a shop, house, bar, market, club or even hospital. It isn’t just my lack of Portuguese that causes the problems, as Blondie tends to ask the way when we’re both lost together. She comes back as baffled as I do about where we supposed to go next. She is Brazilian though and proved it well when a Peruvian friend arrived the other week. He came all the way from Lima via Rio without any problems at all, finding the right bus at the station, changing later, getting off at exactly the right stop until he ended up right outside our place. Here he was stuck though. Early Saturday morning, we were in bed, he had to call his brother in Peru from the orelhão (enough of a task in itself in Brazil), who then emailed us to tell us our guest had arrived. Blondie hadn’t given him the address. Just a small detail.

When asking directions to a bar in the street, nobody ever says ‘Não tenho idea’. They spend half an hour telling you about where they think the bar might be, usually involving trees that have no relevance to their tale. ‘You’re going to see a tree. Well it isn’t that tree. Go past that.’ More details about how Tio once had a vasectomy on that street, and something about a giant cow follow from what you understand, before they finally tell you to walk 8 blocks then ask somebody else. All directions in Brazil finish with you needing to ask somebody else. That somebody else usually sends you back the way you came and you gradually find yourself getting closer to your target in ever-decreasing circles, like a drowning spider about to go down the plughole. The giant cow remains a mystery.

To be fair though, I did once get perfect directions in Brazil. We were invited to a party in Trancoso, but out in the bush not by the beach as you’d expect. The house owner came to town repeatedly to pick anyone up who wanted to go. The drive was as dark as anywhere could be, with an hour of driving up and down muddy tracks on the rolling hillsides, bouncing through ditches and streams until we reached the house in the middle of just about nowhere. Not being a likely place to find a taxi passing an hour after dawn, we asked how to get back to town. The directions given by the dona da casa were incredible. Turn right; down the hill; through the wooden gate; over the plateau; through the monkey forest; alongside the river; turn right at the flower shop and there you are! Only an hour’s walk somehow. A magic path. Or perhaps it is always that easy when the references are so perfect. We’d arrived at the house and headed to the serving hatch with two fingers held up ready. ‘Dois cervejas por favor’.

‘Where are you from, lads?’ came the answer in a lovely soft Lancashire accent. She was English.

Driving in Brazil

For visitors to Brazil, there is one essential piece of advice that you need – Don’t. But if you’re going to be staying for some time, you may not be able to avoid it forever. There are a few obvious points of which you should be aware – nobody stops at red lights in the dark of the city night, they just slow; signs help for the first turn-off but then generally leave you to fend for yourself; those five lanes each side highways, with cars crossing like ribbons on a maypole; motorbike and scooter riders all seem to have a deathwish, which is regularly granted; helped by the potholes big enough to bath in after rain; and the fact that almost everybody in Brazil who drives and drinks, drinks and drives. The recent police clampdown on drink driving has made the news but will take a long time to change cultural habits, especially until late-night public transport improves.

Glossing over all these minor quibbles, I’d prefer to pick up on the not-so-obvious traits. As with job titles, cars in Brazil are a very important status symbol for those who need material goods to boost their own self-worth. Which is everyone. Might is therefore right in Brazil and the big important people drive big important cars, and it is up to those lesser mortals to stay out of their way. This can be seen outside the gates of the underground car parks of every city block in the country. The two lights flash, the siren wails, the gate rises, and out of the darkness bounds a blackened 4x4 which bounces across the pavement, oblivious to the old dears and pregnant women with prams hurriedly moving out of its path. The signs tell you all you need to know – ‘Cuidado Veiculo’ not ‘Cuidado Pedestres’. There are no signs on the way out of the garage.

Once those cars hit the open road, this aggressive driving style lends itself very well to accidents, which is lucky as Brazilians love to see the aftermath of a good accident. Driving along the notorious BR101, at various strategic points where speed cameras might be useful, the accident blackspots instead have a television van waiting for the call. You can’t call them ‘Ambulance Chasers’ as they usually arrive long before the emergency services, filming the wreckage for live news programmes and interviewing shaking, blood-covered victims awaiting treatment. Death doesn’t make a difference to the coverage, except for the dearth of interviews. I saw some dramatic footage of a motorbike that had crashed in a tunnel, starting with huge smears of blood that led eventually to the bike and a still warm, possibly twitching corpse, lying in a huge pool of sangue. Just to confirm for any watching loved ones, the reporter also held up the photo id of the deceased, and that of his passenger friend, whose body was wrapped around the fence a metre above the road surface. Wonderful afternoon viewing.

I recently enjoyed a journey being driven by a Brazilian surfer. In holiday weekend traffic on the BR101 and in torrential rain, he was driving so close to the car in front that he couldn’t see its brake lights. Any sudden stops in the queue in front brought a slamming on of brakes and a few expletives about the abilities of the driver in front. After two hours of this he started to fall asleep at the wheel. I didn’t want to wake him as his driving had improved. Driving like this isn’t unusual. Brazilians are terrible drivers who all seem to know that every other Brazilian is a terrible driver, except themselves. You may counter this with a Senna, a Massa and a Piquet or two, but I would argue that the careless, aggressive driving style coupled with fantastic natural ability would likely lead to the best Brazilian drivers being amongst the very best in the world. The rest, though, leave me wondering if the Driving Test of Brazil consists of a question – ‘Que é isso?´ If you answer ´Carro´, you pass.

So this is what you have to contend with if you want to drive in Brazil. Don´t worry too much though, because worst comes to the worst and you have a tragic accident on a Brazilian motorway, at least you´ll be famous for 15 minutes in Brazil.

Understanding Brazil – Catching Flu’

I watched a staggering television interview with President Lula the other night which left me worrying, in layman’s terms, about Brazil’s strong economy. With the credit crunch in the USA still squeezing the housing market and much more, Brazil’s Finance Minister smugly announced to a press conference the other week that Brazil wasn’t likely to catch a cold from the pneumonia-laden sneezes of other countries far away. He doesn’t seem to realise how fast sneezes come out. With Brazilians being made redundant from manufacturing companies due to lack of exports, including one home-security company that sold alarms to US households, I think Brazil already has the sniffles but hasn’t yet noticed. With the Dollar dropping so drastically against the Real in the last year or so, Brazil’s exports have become more expensive, with China picking up the slack as it has been doing with other countries for the last decade. Even traditional Brazilian industries such as the shoe manufacturers are losing out in this globalisation. If the strongest economy in the world is struggling and they import only the cheapest goods, Brazil loses its exports to the country that will soon be the strongest economy, and has less money coming in from abroad. Very simple layman’s economics, no?

Apparently not, if you listen to the President of Brazil. The interviewer asked him about Brazil’s strong economy and whether that was down to his government. Lula claimed a lot of the credit for his party and also for the fiscal policies of previous presidents. The next inevitable question was about his preparations for a downturn if Brazil catches a cold from the fallout of the US crisis. Policitians are a strange breed and always like to be seen as in control. For this reason, during interviews and questioning, most will be primed on the likely questions and the possible answers that they can give to reassure the watching public that they are prepared for every eventuality, even if it is a blatant lie. Lula seemed taken by surprise and not a little angry with this question. He replied that they had no plans in place for this because it wasn’t going to happen. The next question was about his Plan B in case it did. I’m not sure he understood fully or just doesn’t have a grasp of contingency measures, as he said that he didn’t work with plans so if he had no Plan A, how can he have a Plan B? The expression on the face of the interviewer told me that she’d expected to be told about a back-up plan, and for his audience not to worry, even if he didn’t reveal any details.

Reassured?

I’m sure that at the very least we can take this as an honest reply and that the President’s government is hoping that by staying clear of the United States and sticking their heads in the sand ostrich-style, the country can avoid the circulating flu. Easy. With such detailed forward planning and with R200M to fall back on in the government’s coffers, you can rest easy in the knowledge that Brazil will continue to grow until it is proud to have the kind of stable first-world economy of which it has always dreamed. For this, we can all be grateful to President Lula.

Pass the tissues somebody please, I feel all emotional. Or maybe it’s just a sneeze or two coming on.

Understanding Brazil – Farra do Boi

Crawling along the roads of Santa Catarina at Easter time, there were a couple of roadside signs that caught my attention. The first one said ‘Atençao – Comunidade Indigena´. Now your guess is as good as mine why Brazilian motorists might need a sign warning them of native people in the area. Perhaps old tribal hunting routes are still used that cross the BR101, or it has taken centuries for these groups to adapt to the ways of the Europeans and their metal horses. Absolute rubbish, I know, but I really can´t think of a good reason.

The second sign very prevalent at this time of year says ´Farra do Boi nao é tradiçao. É crime.´ I asked what Farra do Boi involved and the answer took me a little by surprise. Knowing a little about Brazil´s two main Boi-based folkloric festivals, Bumba Meu Boi and Boi Bumbá, I couldn´t understand why another of those might be a crime.

Bumba Meu Boi takes place in Sao Luis, capital of Maranhao, as well as throughout the North East. The parades are re-enactments of a story that involved a man killing the best bull because his pregnant wife had a vontade to eat the tongue. This was a crime and the man responsible was in big trouble until the bull was resuscitated by magic and he was pardoned. Lucky him and so far so good.

Boi Bumbá is the craziest festival in Brazil bar none, more so than Carnaval in Rio. I´ve only seen it on the film of someone who provides the costume material but that was enough to leave me with a feeling that this is one party I need to see. The setting is the island of Parintins, a few hours downstream from Manaus. With a similar idea to Carnaval, two sides of the island, the reds and the blues, compete with costumes and dances to tell the story of the kidnap, death and resurrection of the ox. I haven´t enough room here to describe the craziness of 40,000 people sitting in a purpose-built stadium that is only used once a year to watch enormous dancing bulls on an isolated island sitting in the middle of the Amazon River. You really need to see it with your own eyes and so do I.

These festivals may be competitive but are generally a fun celebration for everybody, which even the losers can enjoy.

Farra do Boi on the other hand is something that you probably don´t want to see. It takes place around Easter time in various villages around the south. The poor boi is confined and starved, sometimes with food and water left tantalisingly within reach. After a few days, the celebration begins with the bull chased from his pen and basically beaten up by the villagers. There isn´t any point dressing it up. This isn´t the running of the bulls at Pamplona, or even bullfighting. No matter your opinions on those, at least you can sometimes enjoy watching the bull do some damage.

Farra do Boi appears to have the same pain but with none of the artistic merit, and is plain old-fashioned cruelty from the stories I heard. After a little run around, the frightened boi gets tired quickly, which is when the fun starts. A group of people walk alongside the weakened beast, kicking and punching it, beating it with sticks and whatever else comes to hand. It seems to be mostly a male past-time so I guess some proving of masculinity is the basic reasoning behind it.

Or perhaps it does relate to Easter in ways too tangential for me to understand. When the children ask why their daddies spent their day tortured a fairly dumb, totally defenceless animal, the men reply ´That´s the story of Jesus´