There are very few people that I am comfortable with if they are driving. Steve is not such a person, so early on in our marriage we came to an understanding that for the majority of the time I would drive and he would sleep. This is especially true on longer journeys and it suits us both very well. On last summer’s trip back from Maine, I drove the first eight and a half hours – Steve drove the last one and a half. You get the picture.
Fortunately, Marcelo is one of that very rare breed that I feel totally comfortable with. He loves the car, and I mean really loves the car. Whereas most Brazilians are passionate about football, Marcelo’s passion is cars. Every time he pushes a button on the dash board he involuntarily wipes imaginary specks of dust away. He must be one of those very fortunate people that truly love their work. You can see that every time he gets behind the wheel he is thinking to himself that he is about to set out on yet another journey in his beloved car.
I have to set the scene for what I am about to tell you. We have a small Mercedes that we inherited from the previous General Manager. It is totally impractical in Sao Paulo where the roads have potholes every few yards and just in case the potholes weren’t enough, then there are speed humps everywhere else. Now, the Mercedes is armour plated and bullet proof. It is a mini tank on four wheels and the combination of Marcelo and the Mercedes makes me feel totally secure regardless of the practicality. The doors literally weigh a ton so it is necessary as well as more secure for me to wait for Marcelo to jump out and open them for me. But the extra weight means that going over speed humps at anything more than two miles an hour is out of the question as it would soon destroy the underside of the car. So we drive very carefully and purposefully, unless of course there is reason not to.
At every intersection and traffic lights where there is reason to slow down and stop you will find street vendors. They sell literally everything. Yesterday there were two guys selling car chargers for mobile phones and I remember thinking to myself, “who would buy a car charger for a mobile phone from a street vendor”. Clearly there are such people out there otherwise the vendors wouldn’t bother. Sometimes the vendors are just giving free newspapers away, othertimes it is water and snacks. Whenever they approach Marcelo he gives them a casual wave with the back of his hand as if to say, “I’m not interested, don’t bother me.” They walk on to the next car and try their luck somewhere else.
Yesterday, just after Marcelo had dropped me off for an appointment, he was on his way back to the office to pick up Steve when he had to stop at a set of lights. A guy came up to the car and simultaneously, a second guy came up to the passenger window. Only this time they didn’t have anything to sell, there were brandishing guns and telling him to wind down the window.
I can’t begin to imagine what was going through his mind and I am eternally grateful that I wasn’t in the car. But, part of me would love to have been a “fly on the wall” to see him wave the back of his hand at them as if to say “no thank you, I’m not buying”. He obviously had such supreme confidence that even if they had fired (and thank goodness they didn’t) then the bullet proof glass would have protected him, even at point blank range. From what I can gather, the lights turned green, Marcelo floored the accelerator and left them standing.
You have to love Marcelo.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Sunday February 21st 2010
Last night we finally made it to the cinema. This was our third attempt, at the previous two, we had turned up only to find that it was sold out. Most people buy tickets on line but with no local bank account or credit cards that is not going to be possible for us for a while. We wanted to see Invictus so we drove to the cinema at around 1 o’clock to buy tickets for the 9.30 pm showing. We particularly wanted to see it because it was in the “VIP” suite and this intrigued us – what did that involve?
Well, it was sold out, so we decided instead to see “Up in the Air”. Not least so that I could drool over George Clooney. But more of the Cidade Jardim Cinemax and George later.
We love going to the cinema, and it is interesting to compare different attitudes to movies around the world. In the UK, growing up, the movies were a big treat. My mum didn’t drive so it was a bus ride into the “big” city and in those days. There was an intermission with the lady standing at the front selling ice-cream. Another huge treat. Strawberry, I recall was the favourite.
When we went to Manila the cinemas there were very noisy and distracting. No such etiquette as keeping your mobile phone switched off. And here’s something very interesting about Manila. They had a continuous program so you never bothered to find out the start time of the movie, probably because the timetable was never adhered to anyway. You just turned up, went in, watched the end of the movie, sat through the trailers and adverts and then watched the start of it. When you got to the point at which you had come in, you simply left. It didn’t matter that you were disturbing anyone else, everyone did it.
The only people that got really annoyed were those holding video cameras, filming the action in order to make pirate videos. If you bought a really bad pirate video, they didn’t even bother to chop out the bits where other cinema goers were walking in front of the camera, so every now and then, you would see the black shadow of people walking along the bottom.
Then we discovered “Louie’s”. Louie, I believe was the son of a wealthy Filipino family who had sadly died at a young age, I think in a car crash but my memory might be deceiving me. No matter. The family wanted to create a memorial to their son and built a cinema, naming it after him. Whether it is still the same today I don’t know, but it was an oasis of civilization. You had to be a member, and membership entitled you to so many tickets a month. This was pre “booking on line”, so it involved sending the driver to collect tickets, but everyone turned up on time – most of the time, watched the film and left. There was a bar and because we were members and entitled to so many tickets per month, we actually saw a good number of films.
In Turkey, there were two 60 seat cinemas in our apartment complex. This was very sociable and we went there a lot. There was a good restaurant and because we could walk across the road, it made a great night out. Although the two salons were small, they had large reclining chairs – rather like seats in First Class on an airplane. On Friday nights they served (albeit not Pol Roger) sparkling wine. We had never come across anything like it. They even showed pretty good films!
In Sweden we went to the movies a lot, especially once we had our lovely Filipino au pair and could actually go out with each other. We quickly mastered the art of buying tickets on line and you could even pick a seat. Great in theory until they changed the auditorium, at which point it was a free for all, but on the whole the system worked.
In Paris I don’t think that we ever went to the movies for the simple reason that the movies were dubbed. Everywhere else we have lived, there are simply sub-titles, but that is not good enough for the French. It is very bizarre watching a favourite actor but not hearing their own voice. If we could have been bothered, then we could have driven into the centre of Paris where they showed films “VO” Version Original, i.e. in the original language with sub titles, but with still young children it was a bit of a hassle so we didn’t bother.
Cinema in the States was simple and fun. Big screens and lots of them. Popcorn in huge oversized bags and a bucket of ice with a splash of cola costing $ 10 and you are all set. We went very often, and the four of us have even been known to co-ordinate it so that we all would go and watch a different movie , meeting up afterwards.
But back to Cidade Jardim. We settled for George Clooney and screen number 2. We had booked actual seats, which was very civilized, so we could turn up at 6.50pm for a film starting at 6.50pm. We love to be right at the back and that usually involves turning up at least half an hour early in the United States. So we had a drink before and went in. Seats at the ready, back row. What a lovely treat; a double seat, optional arm rest, leather, partially reclining with a leg rest and very large – bliss. Mind you at US$ 24 a ticket, we were expecting something special.
Now if only we had known, we would have brought the bottle of wine in with us.
With standards like this in screen number 2, what delights await in the VIP suite? That will be a treat for another day.
Well, it was sold out, so we decided instead to see “Up in the Air”. Not least so that I could drool over George Clooney. But more of the Cidade Jardim Cinemax and George later.
We love going to the cinema, and it is interesting to compare different attitudes to movies around the world. In the UK, growing up, the movies were a big treat. My mum didn’t drive so it was a bus ride into the “big” city and in those days. There was an intermission with the lady standing at the front selling ice-cream. Another huge treat. Strawberry, I recall was the favourite.
When we went to Manila the cinemas there were very noisy and distracting. No such etiquette as keeping your mobile phone switched off. And here’s something very interesting about Manila. They had a continuous program so you never bothered to find out the start time of the movie, probably because the timetable was never adhered to anyway. You just turned up, went in, watched the end of the movie, sat through the trailers and adverts and then watched the start of it. When you got to the point at which you had come in, you simply left. It didn’t matter that you were disturbing anyone else, everyone did it.
The only people that got really annoyed were those holding video cameras, filming the action in order to make pirate videos. If you bought a really bad pirate video, they didn’t even bother to chop out the bits where other cinema goers were walking in front of the camera, so every now and then, you would see the black shadow of people walking along the bottom.
Then we discovered “Louie’s”. Louie, I believe was the son of a wealthy Filipino family who had sadly died at a young age, I think in a car crash but my memory might be deceiving me. No matter. The family wanted to create a memorial to their son and built a cinema, naming it after him. Whether it is still the same today I don’t know, but it was an oasis of civilization. You had to be a member, and membership entitled you to so many tickets a month. This was pre “booking on line”, so it involved sending the driver to collect tickets, but everyone turned up on time – most of the time, watched the film and left. There was a bar and because we were members and entitled to so many tickets per month, we actually saw a good number of films.
In Turkey, there were two 60 seat cinemas in our apartment complex. This was very sociable and we went there a lot. There was a good restaurant and because we could walk across the road, it made a great night out. Although the two salons were small, they had large reclining chairs – rather like seats in First Class on an airplane. On Friday nights they served (albeit not Pol Roger) sparkling wine. We had never come across anything like it. They even showed pretty good films!
In Sweden we went to the movies a lot, especially once we had our lovely Filipino au pair and could actually go out with each other. We quickly mastered the art of buying tickets on line and you could even pick a seat. Great in theory until they changed the auditorium, at which point it was a free for all, but on the whole the system worked.
In Paris I don’t think that we ever went to the movies for the simple reason that the movies were dubbed. Everywhere else we have lived, there are simply sub-titles, but that is not good enough for the French. It is very bizarre watching a favourite actor but not hearing their own voice. If we could have been bothered, then we could have driven into the centre of Paris where they showed films “VO” Version Original, i.e. in the original language with sub titles, but with still young children it was a bit of a hassle so we didn’t bother.
Cinema in the States was simple and fun. Big screens and lots of them. Popcorn in huge oversized bags and a bucket of ice with a splash of cola costing $ 10 and you are all set. We went very often, and the four of us have even been known to co-ordinate it so that we all would go and watch a different movie , meeting up afterwards.
But back to Cidade Jardim. We settled for George Clooney and screen number 2. We had booked actual seats, which was very civilized, so we could turn up at 6.50pm for a film starting at 6.50pm. We love to be right at the back and that usually involves turning up at least half an hour early in the United States. So we had a drink before and went in. Seats at the ready, back row. What a lovely treat; a double seat, optional arm rest, leather, partially reclining with a leg rest and very large – bliss. Mind you at US$ 24 a ticket, we were expecting something special.
Now if only we had known, we would have brought the bottle of wine in with us.
With standards like this in screen number 2, what delights await in the VIP suite? That will be a treat for another day.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday February 18th 2010
Just in case you thought I was having too much fun here in Sao Paulo I just wanted to set the record straight.
We have now been here five and a half weeks. I am taking Portuguese lessons twice a week but Marcelo and I are still communicating in sign language and arm waving. He is so pleased with himself when he learns a new word/verb/phrase etc and has to use it in every conceivable opportunity. Today it was the weather. Yesterday was 30 degrees Celsius – today 21. But today was ”back to work day” after the 5 day carnival weekend and so of course it rained and the temperature dropped. The traffic rose in direct correlation to the drop in temperature and quantity of rain.
Still, no problem. We made it to the supermarket, followed by a second supermarket because the first one was out of anything fresh, followed by the bank, library and Shirlleys. After all of that hard work, one has to have ones nails done. I have yet to have the same girl so every time it is more arm waving and trying to explain that, ”no – I really don’t want my cuticles cut”.
But getting back to the reality check. Steve left at 7 am this morning having got up at 6 am. Besides my Portuguese teacher the only other English I spoke all day was to the dog and funnily enough she didn’t talk back.
We are in our house but the furniture is still in New York. It seems that the Brazilian government hasn’t woken up to the fact that the sooner they give us our visas the sooner we pay Brazilian tax. So they delay the process as long as possible, and the consequence is that the 547 boxes containing pretty much everything we own is still sitting in a warehouse somewhere in New York State. We have been told that our visas have been approved but the issuance takes at least another two to three weeks. The furniture cannot move without it. Once we have the magic visa number can we start the shipping process which in itself takes 6 to 8 weeks.
So here we are - mid February. My expectation is that the furniture will be shipped by the middle of March and should arrive by mid May – fingers crossed. Then we have to rely on customs clearing everything. Maybe by the end of May I might have notification that my stuff has arrived. Getting it is another matter.
We met some people in Turkey who shipped their goods from the Far East. They were told that it had arrived but heard nothing thereafter. When they inquired about the whereabouts of their shipment they were told that it had been impounded by the authorities and if they wanted to see it again, their best course of action was to go to the public auction and bid for it. It seems that in their case, the requisite back handers had not been paid.
From Turkey we tried to ship our car to the United States, there being no market for second hand American cars in Turkey at that time. We had to relinquish all the original documents which of course the American authorities wanted. This was one of the only times that our offer of anything that resembled a “facilitating payment” was not accepted. Probably because no amount of money to the Turkish authorities could produce documents that they physically didn’t have. Having left Turkey in January, I recall that we were able to legally drive our car in the United States about 4 months later.
But again, back to the original comment. We are currently camping in our house with rented furniture. We have literally, three beds, two sofas, a table and six chairs, four plates, dishes, cups, saucers, knives, forks etc. I airfrieghted some of my favourite kitchen essentials, potato peeler, can opener and cork screw etc, but for the main part, we really are camping.
So, the next time you sink into your favourite chair, comfortable bed or soft towels, think of me with none of the above.
We have now been here five and a half weeks. I am taking Portuguese lessons twice a week but Marcelo and I are still communicating in sign language and arm waving. He is so pleased with himself when he learns a new word/verb/phrase etc and has to use it in every conceivable opportunity. Today it was the weather. Yesterday was 30 degrees Celsius – today 21. But today was ”back to work day” after the 5 day carnival weekend and so of course it rained and the temperature dropped. The traffic rose in direct correlation to the drop in temperature and quantity of rain.
Still, no problem. We made it to the supermarket, followed by a second supermarket because the first one was out of anything fresh, followed by the bank, library and Shirlleys. After all of that hard work, one has to have ones nails done. I have yet to have the same girl so every time it is more arm waving and trying to explain that, ”no – I really don’t want my cuticles cut”.
But getting back to the reality check. Steve left at 7 am this morning having got up at 6 am. Besides my Portuguese teacher the only other English I spoke all day was to the dog and funnily enough she didn’t talk back.
We are in our house but the furniture is still in New York. It seems that the Brazilian government hasn’t woken up to the fact that the sooner they give us our visas the sooner we pay Brazilian tax. So they delay the process as long as possible, and the consequence is that the 547 boxes containing pretty much everything we own is still sitting in a warehouse somewhere in New York State. We have been told that our visas have been approved but the issuance takes at least another two to three weeks. The furniture cannot move without it. Once we have the magic visa number can we start the shipping process which in itself takes 6 to 8 weeks.
So here we are - mid February. My expectation is that the furniture will be shipped by the middle of March and should arrive by mid May – fingers crossed. Then we have to rely on customs clearing everything. Maybe by the end of May I might have notification that my stuff has arrived. Getting it is another matter.
We met some people in Turkey who shipped their goods from the Far East. They were told that it had arrived but heard nothing thereafter. When they inquired about the whereabouts of their shipment they were told that it had been impounded by the authorities and if they wanted to see it again, their best course of action was to go to the public auction and bid for it. It seems that in their case, the requisite back handers had not been paid.
From Turkey we tried to ship our car to the United States, there being no market for second hand American cars in Turkey at that time. We had to relinquish all the original documents which of course the American authorities wanted. This was one of the only times that our offer of anything that resembled a “facilitating payment” was not accepted. Probably because no amount of money to the Turkish authorities could produce documents that they physically didn’t have. Having left Turkey in January, I recall that we were able to legally drive our car in the United States about 4 months later.
But again, back to the original comment. We are currently camping in our house with rented furniture. We have literally, three beds, two sofas, a table and six chairs, four plates, dishes, cups, saucers, knives, forks etc. I airfrieghted some of my favourite kitchen essentials, potato peeler, can opener and cork screw etc, but for the main part, we really are camping.
So, the next time you sink into your favourite chair, comfortable bed or soft towels, think of me with none of the above.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sunday February 14th 2010
I can’t remember the last time I came home at dawn. It was probably over 20 years ago when Steve was still in the Royal Navy and we had been to a Naval Ball.
Well, last night was Carnival and so we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to Samba until dawn with about 30,000 other Paulistanos.
The Carnival parade is a competition between the many Samba schools here. Division One consists of 14 teams (7 on each night) and is held on Friday and Saturday night of Carnival weekend. They each spend a year getting ready for their one hour and five minutes of fame. There is a Samba Queen for each team who is usually very easy to spot because she is the one wearing the least amount of clothing and is surrounded by camera crews capturing her every move. There are five themed floats and literally thousands of people dancing in the parade.
The Samba schools of Sao Paulo started in the Favelas (shanty towns) and each team has to attract local support and sponsorship. The prestige of winning is huge and they take it incredibly seriously. There are judges along the parade route and the rules are very strict. Half a point deducted here and there can cost a school the championship. I heard that one year a team had half a point deducted because one participant had the wrong colour shoes and that cost it the title.
The Sambodromo is a specially constructed stadium, used exclusively for the event. I can’t actually think when else it could or would be used. Imagine the finishing straight of a Grand Prix circuit, about half a mile long and with bleachers on either side and huge stadium lighting overhead. The bleachers were made out of concrete and when I saw them I thought – “ugh, I should have brought more to sit on.” But sitting is not part of the event. The minute the first school started their parade the music started and everyone rose up and started dancing in the stands.
It was amazing to say the least.
People were handing out flags to wave for each team but by far the most support was a team called “Gavioes da Fiel” sponsored by one of the local football teams - Corinthians. They clearly have the most money to spend and it was spectacular to say the least. Ronaldo, their star player, was centre stage on their float and probably drew more cheers than their Samba Queen. The team colours of black and white were interspersed with silver and every other conceivable colour, and every costume had at least one football adorning it. It was mind-blowingly spectacular.
It is hard to describe in prose the effect of around five thousand people dressed in the most amazing costumes, riding on the most amazing floats that I have ever seen, dancing and singing. It makes the Disney parade look like amateur dramatics. Each team has their own Samba song and everyone in the team learns the words and belts it out. The words are published in the program so by the time the team has reached the end, most of the crowd were singing along. I have to say that listening to the same song over and over again for 65 minutes could have been a bit boring but it absolutely wasn’t.
The whole thing was good humoured, although there were some pretty wasted people being carried out at the end. The endless flow of beer was clearly having effects on some people but it was all pretty good natured.
We went with an organized group but I am seriously thinking that if my Portuguese is any good next year I may take part in the parade. (The only problem will be stopping Steve joining me – he can’t dance and can’t sing, and even worse he won’t admit it). You simply have to apply to one of the teams, buy the costume, learn the song in advance and go to at least one practice to learn the dance steps. It must be a truly phenomenal experience.
So, having set out at 8 o’clock last night, the first parade was at ten thirty and I am sorry to say that we left before the last one at around 6 am. The dawn was creeping over the horizon and I was beginning to ache. That said, the stadium was still about half full so plenty of die-hards to the end.
We arrived home at around 6.30 am, but by far the biggest smile of the night goes to Marcelo when we told him he could take the rest of the day off.
Well, last night was Carnival and so we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to Samba until dawn with about 30,000 other Paulistanos.
The Carnival parade is a competition between the many Samba schools here. Division One consists of 14 teams (7 on each night) and is held on Friday and Saturday night of Carnival weekend. They each spend a year getting ready for their one hour and five minutes of fame. There is a Samba Queen for each team who is usually very easy to spot because she is the one wearing the least amount of clothing and is surrounded by camera crews capturing her every move. There are five themed floats and literally thousands of people dancing in the parade.
The Samba schools of Sao Paulo started in the Favelas (shanty towns) and each team has to attract local support and sponsorship. The prestige of winning is huge and they take it incredibly seriously. There are judges along the parade route and the rules are very strict. Half a point deducted here and there can cost a school the championship. I heard that one year a team had half a point deducted because one participant had the wrong colour shoes and that cost it the title.
The Sambodromo is a specially constructed stadium, used exclusively for the event. I can’t actually think when else it could or would be used. Imagine the finishing straight of a Grand Prix circuit, about half a mile long and with bleachers on either side and huge stadium lighting overhead. The bleachers were made out of concrete and when I saw them I thought – “ugh, I should have brought more to sit on.” But sitting is not part of the event. The minute the first school started their parade the music started and everyone rose up and started dancing in the stands.
It was amazing to say the least.
People were handing out flags to wave for each team but by far the most support was a team called “Gavioes da Fiel” sponsored by one of the local football teams - Corinthians. They clearly have the most money to spend and it was spectacular to say the least. Ronaldo, their star player, was centre stage on their float and probably drew more cheers than their Samba Queen. The team colours of black and white were interspersed with silver and every other conceivable colour, and every costume had at least one football adorning it. It was mind-blowingly spectacular.
It is hard to describe in prose the effect of around five thousand people dressed in the most amazing costumes, riding on the most amazing floats that I have ever seen, dancing and singing. It makes the Disney parade look like amateur dramatics. Each team has their own Samba song and everyone in the team learns the words and belts it out. The words are published in the program so by the time the team has reached the end, most of the crowd were singing along. I have to say that listening to the same song over and over again for 65 minutes could have been a bit boring but it absolutely wasn’t.
The whole thing was good humoured, although there were some pretty wasted people being carried out at the end. The endless flow of beer was clearly having effects on some people but it was all pretty good natured.
We went with an organized group but I am seriously thinking that if my Portuguese is any good next year I may take part in the parade. (The only problem will be stopping Steve joining me – he can’t dance and can’t sing, and even worse he won’t admit it). You simply have to apply to one of the teams, buy the costume, learn the song in advance and go to at least one practice to learn the dance steps. It must be a truly phenomenal experience.
So, having set out at 8 o’clock last night, the first parade was at ten thirty and I am sorry to say that we left before the last one at around 6 am. The dawn was creeping over the horizon and I was beginning to ache. That said, the stadium was still about half full so plenty of die-hards to the end.
We arrived home at around 6.30 am, but by far the biggest smile of the night goes to Marcelo when we told him he could take the rest of the day off.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Thursday February 10th 2010
There is something that keeps me completely sane in any new environment, and that is the presence of other women in completely the same boat. Women have the ability to adapt and cope with almost any situation that their husbands, boyfriends and partners throw at them. I almost feel sorry for men that don’t have anywhere near the same experience. They might think that they do, but the reality is that they don’t.
When I heard I was coming to Sao Paulo, the first thing I did was contact the British Consulate. They are usually a mine of information about local groups that are available and they put me in touch with someone who has been here for ages and is totally brilliant about everything in Sao Paulo. Then I contacted the British school and spoke to someone on the welcoming committee of the PTA. At that stage, we didn’t know whether our daughter would be joining us or whether she would prefer to stay in the USA (her choice). "No problem, when was I coming, how could they help?"
Next call to an ex-Manila chum who, like me is a global ex-pat. Her husband works for one of the international banks that have a presence everywhere in the world. A few emails later and yet another contact to help with information regarding Sao Paulo – where to live, schools, lifestyle and what to expect, etc.
So here are several women that have never met me offering me all sorts of advice and help. When I arrived for my “look see” visit I felt as though I knew the place already.
Fast forward two months and we arrived, living in a hotel and with just a list (albeit short) of contacts.
Now, here is where women come into their own. Everywhere we have lived (with the exception of Stockholm which I always maintain was dull, dark, damp and depressing) there has been some sort of ex-pat Women’s group. These organisations are amazing. They bring together women from everywhere in the world, help them with everything they need to know and welcome “newcomers” as though they are long lost friends.
Within a week I had been to their first lunch, met someone to dog walk with, and was invited for lunch. Lunch was followed by an invitation to watch England at rugby in the 6 nations and our introduction to the St Andrews’s Society of Sao Paulo. In between there was an invitation to dinner from one of the initial contacts whose house just happened to have been flooded. No matter as long as we didn’t mind the damp.
Yesterday was the first of the monthly coffees and it was awash with people, all in the same situation, here away from home, looking for help, contacts and a social life. Put a bunch of women together and the results are amazing. They organize activities, outings, playgroups and in a word are fabulous.
Forget the “old boy network”; it is the “new girl network” that really moves the world.
When I heard I was coming to Sao Paulo, the first thing I did was contact the British Consulate. They are usually a mine of information about local groups that are available and they put me in touch with someone who has been here for ages and is totally brilliant about everything in Sao Paulo. Then I contacted the British school and spoke to someone on the welcoming committee of the PTA. At that stage, we didn’t know whether our daughter would be joining us or whether she would prefer to stay in the USA (her choice). "No problem, when was I coming, how could they help?"
Next call to an ex-Manila chum who, like me is a global ex-pat. Her husband works for one of the international banks that have a presence everywhere in the world. A few emails later and yet another contact to help with information regarding Sao Paulo – where to live, schools, lifestyle and what to expect, etc.
So here are several women that have never met me offering me all sorts of advice and help. When I arrived for my “look see” visit I felt as though I knew the place already.
Fast forward two months and we arrived, living in a hotel and with just a list (albeit short) of contacts.
Now, here is where women come into their own. Everywhere we have lived (with the exception of Stockholm which I always maintain was dull, dark, damp and depressing) there has been some sort of ex-pat Women’s group. These organisations are amazing. They bring together women from everywhere in the world, help them with everything they need to know and welcome “newcomers” as though they are long lost friends.
Within a week I had been to their first lunch, met someone to dog walk with, and was invited for lunch. Lunch was followed by an invitation to watch England at rugby in the 6 nations and our introduction to the St Andrews’s Society of Sao Paulo. In between there was an invitation to dinner from one of the initial contacts whose house just happened to have been flooded. No matter as long as we didn’t mind the damp.
Yesterday was the first of the monthly coffees and it was awash with people, all in the same situation, here away from home, looking for help, contacts and a social life. Put a bunch of women together and the results are amazing. They organize activities, outings, playgroups and in a word are fabulous.
Forget the “old boy network”; it is the “new girl network” that really moves the world.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Tuesday February 9th 2010
On Sunday we moved into the house – gas leak and all. On Monday morning I had to wait another 6 hours for the gas man to come. He took one sniff and although I didn’t understand a word he was saying, the inference was quite simple – “you have a gas leak”. Tell me something I didn’t know.
Five minutes and a new valve later it was fixed. Thank goodness it was that simple and didn’t involve digging up the other half of the garden.
So with that sorted I could safely leave the house to do a first “big shop”. I love discovering a new supermarket and have been looking forward to having the opportunity to wander around, aisle after aisle, discovering the culinary delights of a new place. Sao Paulo is no exception. So far I have meandered around a few specialist shops but not the sort of shopping where the cart gets loaded and you spend a fortune buying things you wonder how you ever did without. Well, when you can’t speak or read the language it is a whole other dimension. Things that you take for granted you just can’t find and things you think you will never find are very easy.
Steve is gluten intolerant so we wondered how easy or difficult that would be in Sao Paulo. I can only assume that some high ranking government official is also gluten intolerant because everything consumable has a label as to whether it “contem gluten” or “nao contem gluten.” Very useful. Even alcohol has to say whether or not gluten is an ingredient. This might strike you as odd but beer is a no-no, whereas distilled alcohol is fine.
Then of course there are some things that are very distinctive by their brand imaging. I remember when we were living in Israel and I struggled to go around a supermarket. I was even heard exclaiming “does anyone here speak English?” The trouble with somewhere like Israel is that the alphabet is not one that I am used to. In most other countries, a dictionary and a bit of logic can tell you whether something in the chill counter is butter or margarine but when the alphabet is unfamiliar, no end of dictionaries will help. This is where brand imaging comes into its own. I remember at the time offering a silent prayer of thanks to whoever it was that put Tony the Tiger on a box of Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. It has never failed yet.
Five minutes and a new valve later it was fixed. Thank goodness it was that simple and didn’t involve digging up the other half of the garden.
So with that sorted I could safely leave the house to do a first “big shop”. I love discovering a new supermarket and have been looking forward to having the opportunity to wander around, aisle after aisle, discovering the culinary delights of a new place. Sao Paulo is no exception. So far I have meandered around a few specialist shops but not the sort of shopping where the cart gets loaded and you spend a fortune buying things you wonder how you ever did without. Well, when you can’t speak or read the language it is a whole other dimension. Things that you take for granted you just can’t find and things you think you will never find are very easy.
Steve is gluten intolerant so we wondered how easy or difficult that would be in Sao Paulo. I can only assume that some high ranking government official is also gluten intolerant because everything consumable has a label as to whether it “contem gluten” or “nao contem gluten.” Very useful. Even alcohol has to say whether or not gluten is an ingredient. This might strike you as odd but beer is a no-no, whereas distilled alcohol is fine.
Then of course there are some things that are very distinctive by their brand imaging. I remember when we were living in Israel and I struggled to go around a supermarket. I was even heard exclaiming “does anyone here speak English?” The trouble with somewhere like Israel is that the alphabet is not one that I am used to. In most other countries, a dictionary and a bit of logic can tell you whether something in the chill counter is butter or margarine but when the alphabet is unfamiliar, no end of dictionaries will help. This is where brand imaging comes into its own. I remember at the time offering a silent prayer of thanks to whoever it was that put Tony the Tiger on a box of Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. It has never failed yet.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Monday February 8th 2010
Saturday evening was the “St Andrew’s Society of Sao Paulo”, celebration of Robert Burns, commonly known around the world as “Burns night”.
Robert, “Rabbie” Burns is Scotland’s foremost poet and favourite son and each year the Scots celebrate his life and works with Burns night. That said, it seems to me that the further away you are from Scotland the more you celebrate. We have celebrated this tradition in the Far East, Middle East, Europe and now South America, but so far never in Scotland. The evening consists of eating haggis, drinking whisky, listening to undecipherable poetry, dancing Scottish reels and listening to bagpipes playing.
In Sao Paulo, the St Andrew’s society is a pretty large and long standing organization. It is made up of Scots and honorary Scots, and, from what I can gather, it has the sole aim of coming together to have a party.
It even has its own tartan. This in itself is no mean feat. The tartan was designed and then had to be registered so that it didn’t infringe any other tartan. Then it had to be specially woven and only then could the plaid be sent to the kilt maker to be cut and made into kilts and ties. I have to say that it is a very attractive plaid and now that I have seen it, I know that anyone wearing it is a member of the St Andrew’s society of Sao Paulo. A plaid is as important a definition of belonging as anything. Imagine being in a war and wondering who the opposition is. Well, they normally have some distinguishing uniform and for the Scots, it is their plaid.
I have to say that the whole evening was fabulous. Steve and I haven’t been to a “Scottish” evening for about 9 years so it was lovely to be surrounded by such tradition and enthusiasm. It helped that England had beaten Wales in the 6 nations' rugby earlier in the day so we were already in good spirits.
The Society has its own (bagpipe) pipe band in which there are several Brazilian players. It is the first time in my life that I have heard Scottish music with a distinctly “Samba” rhythm. Not unattractive and definitely different but then again we are in Brazil so I suppose only to be expected.
We haven’t danced Scottish dances for a similar amount of time and with a hip replacement 4 months ago I was a bit reluctant to dive straight into the Scottish reels. But it is absolutely like riding a bike. After the first dance we were raring to go and were Dashing the White Sergeant, doing Eight-Some reels and Stripping the Willow with the best of them.
Great fun was had by almost all. Bring on Carneval next weekend.
Robert, “Rabbie” Burns is Scotland’s foremost poet and favourite son and each year the Scots celebrate his life and works with Burns night. That said, it seems to me that the further away you are from Scotland the more you celebrate. We have celebrated this tradition in the Far East, Middle East, Europe and now South America, but so far never in Scotland. The evening consists of eating haggis, drinking whisky, listening to undecipherable poetry, dancing Scottish reels and listening to bagpipes playing.
In Sao Paulo, the St Andrew’s society is a pretty large and long standing organization. It is made up of Scots and honorary Scots, and, from what I can gather, it has the sole aim of coming together to have a party.
It even has its own tartan. This in itself is no mean feat. The tartan was designed and then had to be registered so that it didn’t infringe any other tartan. Then it had to be specially woven and only then could the plaid be sent to the kilt maker to be cut and made into kilts and ties. I have to say that it is a very attractive plaid and now that I have seen it, I know that anyone wearing it is a member of the St Andrew’s society of Sao Paulo. A plaid is as important a definition of belonging as anything. Imagine being in a war and wondering who the opposition is. Well, they normally have some distinguishing uniform and for the Scots, it is their plaid.
I have to say that the whole evening was fabulous. Steve and I haven’t been to a “Scottish” evening for about 9 years so it was lovely to be surrounded by such tradition and enthusiasm. It helped that England had beaten Wales in the 6 nations' rugby earlier in the day so we were already in good spirits.
The Society has its own (bagpipe) pipe band in which there are several Brazilian players. It is the first time in my life that I have heard Scottish music with a distinctly “Samba” rhythm. Not unattractive and definitely different but then again we are in Brazil so I suppose only to be expected.
We haven’t danced Scottish dances for a similar amount of time and with a hip replacement 4 months ago I was a bit reluctant to dive straight into the Scottish reels. But it is absolutely like riding a bike. After the first dance we were raring to go and were Dashing the White Sergeant, doing Eight-Some reels and Stripping the Willow with the best of them.
Great fun was had by almost all. Bring on Carneval next weekend.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Thursday Februry 4 , 2010
So the past couple of days have been interesting. I got to the house yesterday and there was the most almighty smell of gas – ugh. I called Marcelo (who is now my Mr. Fix-it as well as my driver). He rushed to switch off the gas at the mains and called the emergency gas service. The response was typically Brazilian – no problem –we will get to you eventually. No problem if the house blows up in the meantime.
Later on they came, checked a few things, reconnected the gas and left. Not sure that the problem was solved, so if we move in and don’t wake up one morning – chances are it is the gas leak.
Today I played house. I had the furniture delivered that we are renting. Two sofas, three beds, two tables , six chairs, an ironing board, washing machine and a few pots, pans and bits of crockery. It took me all of 5 minutes to put the crockery, silverware and pots and pans away. It took two guys 3 hours to bring the rest into the house. Brazilian time you see.
In the meantime I had an electrician around to fix a plug to the dishwasher and a water heater to the washing machine. The electrician quoted me R$ 90 – about US$ 50. Marcelo was trying to gesticulate to me that it was FAR too much money. Hey $ 50 for what turned out to be 4 hours work sounded fine to me. Seems that I still have “foreigner” tattooed across my forehead though and as far as Marcelo was concerned, I was being totally ripped off. How often have I encountered that before?
So by early afternoon I was ready to do my first load of laundry. It turns out that the washing machine is totally prehistoric. Thank goodness it is a rental and I have a nice shiny Bosch coming from the USA. Trouble is, in the middle of the washing cycle, the mother of all thunderstorms happened which resulted in a power blackout. I had been warned about power outages but Marcelo assured me that it would be over in 5 minutes.
It also turns out that when it rains, the laundry room floods, as does the lanai. No gutters in Brazil it seems. Mind you, with the quantity of water I can’t imagine gutters coping. The garden was flooded and the pool overflowing – no matter.
An hour later I gave up and went back to the hotel. Trouble was, the power outage was fairly wide spread so after an hour of no traffic lights, the part of the city that we were travelling through was in total chaos. There were trees down and police trying to direct the traffic. Now as everyone knows, if you let a policeman take charge of an intersection, total chaos will ensue. Believe me it did.
But here again is something I love about the Brazilians. People were cutting each other up, intersections were blocked, motor cyclists were their usual annoying selves, weaving in and out and causing their own chaos, and as for pedestrians – well they are a law unto themselves. But everyone was immensely good humoured. Not a single sign of road rage, which, were it in any other country of the world I am sure there could be.
Bless you Marcelo for knowing every short cut in the book and getting me back to the hotel. Only a few more days to go and the commute will be a lot easier.
Later on they came, checked a few things, reconnected the gas and left. Not sure that the problem was solved, so if we move in and don’t wake up one morning – chances are it is the gas leak.
Today I played house. I had the furniture delivered that we are renting. Two sofas, three beds, two tables , six chairs, an ironing board, washing machine and a few pots, pans and bits of crockery. It took me all of 5 minutes to put the crockery, silverware and pots and pans away. It took two guys 3 hours to bring the rest into the house. Brazilian time you see.
In the meantime I had an electrician around to fix a plug to the dishwasher and a water heater to the washing machine. The electrician quoted me R$ 90 – about US$ 50. Marcelo was trying to gesticulate to me that it was FAR too much money. Hey $ 50 for what turned out to be 4 hours work sounded fine to me. Seems that I still have “foreigner” tattooed across my forehead though and as far as Marcelo was concerned, I was being totally ripped off. How often have I encountered that before?
So by early afternoon I was ready to do my first load of laundry. It turns out that the washing machine is totally prehistoric. Thank goodness it is a rental and I have a nice shiny Bosch coming from the USA. Trouble is, in the middle of the washing cycle, the mother of all thunderstorms happened which resulted in a power blackout. I had been warned about power outages but Marcelo assured me that it would be over in 5 minutes.
It also turns out that when it rains, the laundry room floods, as does the lanai. No gutters in Brazil it seems. Mind you, with the quantity of water I can’t imagine gutters coping. The garden was flooded and the pool overflowing – no matter.
An hour later I gave up and went back to the hotel. Trouble was, the power outage was fairly wide spread so after an hour of no traffic lights, the part of the city that we were travelling through was in total chaos. There were trees down and police trying to direct the traffic. Now as everyone knows, if you let a policeman take charge of an intersection, total chaos will ensue. Believe me it did.
But here again is something I love about the Brazilians. People were cutting each other up, intersections were blocked, motor cyclists were their usual annoying selves, weaving in and out and causing their own chaos, and as for pedestrians – well they are a law unto themselves. But everyone was immensely good humoured. Not a single sign of road rage, which, were it in any other country of the world I am sure there could be.
Bless you Marcelo for knowing every short cut in the book and getting me back to the hotel. Only a few more days to go and the commute will be a lot easier.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Wednesday February 3 2010
I am a great believer that whenever you go somewhere new, you have to try the local food. That is not difficult here in Sao Paulo because I recently discovered that there are over 12000, yes 12000 restaurants to choose from, and if I want pizza, 750 of them are made every minute.
So on my first night here I tried something called “heart of palm” salad. When it arrived there was the usual lettuce, a bit of shrimp and other salad type stuff. But the “heart of palm” turned out to be a perfectly round, white disc of what looked like some sort of root vegetable. It had the texture of artichoke hearts and when I bit into it, it was fleshy and utterly delicious.
It took me several days to discover what “heart of palm” was. There was me thinking that it was some type of root vegetable, not thinking for a minute that it is actually the heart of the trunk of the palm tree! Needless to say I was horrified at the thought that this amazing taste was brought about by cutting down trees. So for a few days I resisted the temptation to eat this magical dish (or the very aptly named “millionaires’ salad” if you check it out on Wikipedia.)
But salvation was at hand. I also discovered that if you buy a particular type of palm heart, then it is farmed in a sustainable way. Phew……
Now visiting our house, I discovered that all of the trees in the garden have little brass tags with numbers on them. My numbers are 53 to 61. When I made enquiries about this, I discovered that my trees have been logged by some central organization, and if, in the future, one dies or is cut down, I have to replace it.
This got me thinking. I have tried to find out how much of the Brazilian rain forest is cut down every day, but it is very difficult. There is a World Bank project to encourage other nations to support the rain forest and not cut it down, but then I discover that palm trees are being cut down for their root system and “hearts of palm”.
And from what I can gather, I can’t even cut down a branch of a palm tree in my garden without getting the Governor of Sao Paulo’s permission.
Something here just isn’t right.
So on my first night here I tried something called “heart of palm” salad. When it arrived there was the usual lettuce, a bit of shrimp and other salad type stuff. But the “heart of palm” turned out to be a perfectly round, white disc of what looked like some sort of root vegetable. It had the texture of artichoke hearts and when I bit into it, it was fleshy and utterly delicious.
It took me several days to discover what “heart of palm” was. There was me thinking that it was some type of root vegetable, not thinking for a minute that it is actually the heart of the trunk of the palm tree! Needless to say I was horrified at the thought that this amazing taste was brought about by cutting down trees. So for a few days I resisted the temptation to eat this magical dish (or the very aptly named “millionaires’ salad” if you check it out on Wikipedia.)
But salvation was at hand. I also discovered that if you buy a particular type of palm heart, then it is farmed in a sustainable way. Phew……
Now visiting our house, I discovered that all of the trees in the garden have little brass tags with numbers on them. My numbers are 53 to 61. When I made enquiries about this, I discovered that my trees have been logged by some central organization, and if, in the future, one dies or is cut down, I have to replace it.
This got me thinking. I have tried to find out how much of the Brazilian rain forest is cut down every day, but it is very difficult. There is a World Bank project to encourage other nations to support the rain forest and not cut it down, but then I discover that palm trees are being cut down for their root system and “hearts of palm”.
And from what I can gather, I can’t even cut down a branch of a palm tree in my garden without getting the Governor of Sao Paulo’s permission.
Something here just isn’t right.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Tuesday February 2nd 2010
Today I had to cancel my Portuguese lesson so that I could be at the house at 8 am, just in case the phone/internet providers turned up – which of course they didn’t. They were supposed to come between 8 and 11 but it is now 2.30 and I think they have just shown up. Reels of cable have appeared in the hallway and Marcelo is getting very excited.
This morning has been interesting. Two guys turned up to unblock the sink, only to discover that the drain isn’t connected to anything. They have spent the best part of the past 5 hours digging up the back garden trying to track down where the pipe stops. It appears to stop underground about 4 feet short of the master drain which isn’t very helpful. They have now disappeared to visit a plumbing supply shop. Let’s hope they return before dark but I as you can probably guess, I am not holding my breath.
My relocation agent has been hovering around seeing what is going on. When she saw the situation with the drain she recalled a situation that she had encountered with another ex-pat family moving into a new house. It seems that this family had chosen a house where the original team of builders had been fired for incompetence. To exact their revenge, the builders had blocked the sewage pipes with builder’s rubble and as a result, after a few families had moved in, the pipes backed up and you can imagine the rest. Hard to prove anything but the family moved out and suffered considerable inconvenience. Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen to us.
It also turns out that the plumbing for my microscopic dishwasher is in the wrong place. This means that tomorrow, someone – assuming they turn up - will have to take out the floor of a cupboard to connect the drainage hose. I wonder whether anyone thought to check whether that drainage pipe is connected to the master drain? Probably not.
But, one by one I am ticking things off my snagging list. Trouble is I am adding other problems as fast as I remove the initial ones. Still, things are coming together and with any luck I will be able to move in, in a few days time.
Now, I wonder what my phone number is going to be?
This morning has been interesting. Two guys turned up to unblock the sink, only to discover that the drain isn’t connected to anything. They have spent the best part of the past 5 hours digging up the back garden trying to track down where the pipe stops. It appears to stop underground about 4 feet short of the master drain which isn’t very helpful. They have now disappeared to visit a plumbing supply shop. Let’s hope they return before dark but I as you can probably guess, I am not holding my breath.
My relocation agent has been hovering around seeing what is going on. When she saw the situation with the drain she recalled a situation that she had encountered with another ex-pat family moving into a new house. It seems that this family had chosen a house where the original team of builders had been fired for incompetence. To exact their revenge, the builders had blocked the sewage pipes with builder’s rubble and as a result, after a few families had moved in, the pipes backed up and you can imagine the rest. Hard to prove anything but the family moved out and suffered considerable inconvenience. Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen to us.
It also turns out that the plumbing for my microscopic dishwasher is in the wrong place. This means that tomorrow, someone – assuming they turn up - will have to take out the floor of a cupboard to connect the drainage hose. I wonder whether anyone thought to check whether that drainage pipe is connected to the master drain? Probably not.
But, one by one I am ticking things off my snagging list. Trouble is I am adding other problems as fast as I remove the initial ones. Still, things are coming together and with any luck I will be able to move in, in a few days time.
Now, I wonder what my phone number is going to be?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Monday February 1st 2010
Today I found something that is cheaper than in the United States. I had a manicure and pedicure. The place was pointed out to me last week which was just as well as I would never have found it otherwise. It was simply an iron gate – locked, but not sure why - with a sign outside advertising the name “Shirlleys”.
Once inside I was given a number tag, a bit like the sort of thing you get when queuing at the deli counter in a supermarket. The man at the desk took my name, or rather had several attempts at spelling my name into the computer. That may be because I have yet to master the pronunciation of the letters of the alphabet but we got there eventually.
I waved to Marcelo and told him to come back in an hour – or at least I think I did. I have no idea of what Marcelo thinks of doing “girly” errands but he will just have to get used to it. The previous GM was here by himself and so Marcelo’s day consisted of taking said GM to the office, waiting around for most of the day and driving him home again in the evening. I am sure there were days when there were trips out of the office but I am pretty sure they wouldn’t have included a trip to Shirlleys.
Once inside, I was greeted by my manicurist and led through what can only be described as a rabbit warren. Given that all you can see from the road is an iron gate, the back of this salon went on forever. They had facilities for everything, hair, makeup, waxing and of course nails and feet. There was even a stair case at the back and a couple of women disappeared up them but I have no idea what for. My Portuguese is certainly not good enough to ask
So back to the manicure. Having lived in several countries it is interesting to observe different ways of doing things. In Manila, Nilda, bless her, the nail lady came to the house, and for as little as $ 5 if my memory serves me correctly, you could have both manicure and pedicure. She would tell me her life story – wayward son and lazy husband and made me once again realize that I have indeed won the lottery of life.
In the United States it is all the fashion to have acrylic nails, not that I ever did. My own are perfectly adequate thank you. But the length that some of these girls used to have their nails made me wonder how they ever did anything. I would have thought them quite a handicap but I guess they adapt.
In Sao Paulo I have decided that there is an obsession with cutting cuticles. They spend hours doing it but not mine. I hate having my cuticles cut and so when I waved at my manicurist along the lines “don’t cut the cuticles” she looked at me a bit blankly. I tried again and on the third attempt she went to fetch someone who in halting English could understand that “no – I really don’t want my cuticles cut”.
The next bizarre thing is that they apply the polish all over not only the nail but the cuticles as well. Now, given how long they ( normally) spend cutting these cuticles to within an inch of their life without drawing blood, it seems absolute madness to me to then cover them in bright red polish. Finally , and by far the longest part of the whole process is to then clean around them with more nail polish remover.
I have to say the whole thing was a bit of an education but they look good now and for just over $ 22 including tip, not bad entertainment value.
Once inside I was given a number tag, a bit like the sort of thing you get when queuing at the deli counter in a supermarket. The man at the desk took my name, or rather had several attempts at spelling my name into the computer. That may be because I have yet to master the pronunciation of the letters of the alphabet but we got there eventually.
I waved to Marcelo and told him to come back in an hour – or at least I think I did. I have no idea of what Marcelo thinks of doing “girly” errands but he will just have to get used to it. The previous GM was here by himself and so Marcelo’s day consisted of taking said GM to the office, waiting around for most of the day and driving him home again in the evening. I am sure there were days when there were trips out of the office but I am pretty sure they wouldn’t have included a trip to Shirlleys.
Once inside, I was greeted by my manicurist and led through what can only be described as a rabbit warren. Given that all you can see from the road is an iron gate, the back of this salon went on forever. They had facilities for everything, hair, makeup, waxing and of course nails and feet. There was even a stair case at the back and a couple of women disappeared up them but I have no idea what for. My Portuguese is certainly not good enough to ask
So back to the manicure. Having lived in several countries it is interesting to observe different ways of doing things. In Manila, Nilda, bless her, the nail lady came to the house, and for as little as $ 5 if my memory serves me correctly, you could have both manicure and pedicure. She would tell me her life story – wayward son and lazy husband and made me once again realize that I have indeed won the lottery of life.
In the United States it is all the fashion to have acrylic nails, not that I ever did. My own are perfectly adequate thank you. But the length that some of these girls used to have their nails made me wonder how they ever did anything. I would have thought them quite a handicap but I guess they adapt.
In Sao Paulo I have decided that there is an obsession with cutting cuticles. They spend hours doing it but not mine. I hate having my cuticles cut and so when I waved at my manicurist along the lines “don’t cut the cuticles” she looked at me a bit blankly. I tried again and on the third attempt she went to fetch someone who in halting English could understand that “no – I really don’t want my cuticles cut”.
The next bizarre thing is that they apply the polish all over not only the nail but the cuticles as well. Now, given how long they ( normally) spend cutting these cuticles to within an inch of their life without drawing blood, it seems absolute madness to me to then cover them in bright red polish. Finally , and by far the longest part of the whole process is to then clean around them with more nail polish remover.
I have to say the whole thing was a bit of an education but they look good now and for just over $ 22 including tip, not bad entertainment value.
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