What ever they are paying you it isn't enough

Contraband. January 21, 2012

2012-01-21T11:23:00.000-08:00

I have just had a trip to the States and experienced Government inefficiency at its peak.
We are green card holders and because we are now living outside of the United States, we have to have re-entry permits to allow us to travel backwards and forwards more easily. Technically, we come back often enough that we shouldn’t need them, but just in case, the magic turquoise book makes our passage easier. Even so, I always get asked, “Why am I living outside the States?”, “How long will I be away?”, “When will I be returning?” etc., etc..

My issue recently has been that these re entry permits only last for two years, and hard though it is to believe, we have now been in Brazil for over two years so they have to be renewed. You would think that it is a straight forward process, but then you always have to remember the adage that why make things straightforward when they can be complicated.

The process is twofold. The paperwork has to be submitted, and then at a later date, biometrics have to be taken. Let’s now complicate matters. When the paperwork is submitted, one has to physically be in the United States. I have to be ready to present my boarding pass to show that I actually got onto a flight. Wouldn’t you think that the department of immigration could check what my passport was scanned at a border when I came into the country? Seemingly not. According to the lawyers I have to retain my boarding passes – just in case I need to show them.

So I arrived on Friday morning, and duly sent off the paperwork to the lawyers. It happened to be Martin Luther King Day on Monday so everything was closed, lawyer’s offices and of course all public offices. My lawyers processed everything Tuesday and sent it off overnight. But, just in case it wasn’t received on Wednesday morning, it was suggested that I stay and extra day.

Part two is getting my fingerprints done. I’m not sure why my fingerprints would change in the two years since my last re entry permit was issued but they have to be re done – just in case they have changed. Or maybe it is to prove that I am still the same person – who knows? Trouble is, they can’t give you an appointment date ahead of time. So I have now had to return to Brazil – (without my turquoise book) and await the appointment for my biometrics. I checked when I arrived in immigration as to whether I would have any problem getting back into the States without my re-entry book and the immigration officer looked at me and basically said that I travel often enough, I didn’t even need one!

Oh well, it was a week spent in freezing New Jersey. A chance to see Emma, friends and to catch a cold. And of course to do some shopping. Let’s face it; there can never be enough opportunities to do shopping. But here is the thing. Everything in Sao Paulo is ridiculously expensive, (it is now in the top 10 of most expensive cities in the world to live ahead of London and Paris.) When I say I am coming back to do shopping, it is not for the niceties in life such as clothes, shoes and handbags. Sadly it is for boring things like grocery shopping.

When I got back to Sao Paulo, there was a very officious woman at the customs clearance desk. I swear that she stopped every person traveling by themselves with more than one suitcase. I had three large cases and was sent straight to the inspection area. I had only just congratulated myself for being so speedy getting through immigration and baggage collection when I saw the enormous line for customs check. Marcelo would just have to continue waiting.

Firstly, all bags had to go through the X-ray machine and then I was sent to a table to start opening my cases for closer inspection. I was happy that I really had nothing bad in them, but I think the customs officer looked in disbelief as I started showing him what was there. Shampoo, conditioner, razors, and hay fever tablets. Maybe the talcum powder was not such a good idea. White powder? Not so sensible but it passed.

But, my favourite item to show them was the 12 rolls of Bounty Kitchen Towel. Paper towels being smuggled into Brazil – how sad! But decent paper towels are such a luxury in Brazil. I can live without a new pair of shoes but decent kitchen towel – absolutely not.

I am off out to dinner this evening and my hostess gift will be one of my precious hoard. In the United States they cost about US$ 3 each. In Sao Paulo they are priceless.

Banking. 11 January 2011

2012-01-11T14:57:00.001-08:00

There are times when I shake my head in amazement at the inefficiency of this country. Yesterday was a case in point.
For various boring reasons, we operate mainly on a cash basis. I have an account in the States and use my ATM card to get out cash and pay whatever I need that way. This covers most things, groceries, the cleaner, etc etc. I do have a bank account here, but rarely transfer money by wire transfer, because the fees are really high and the exchange rate is lousy. It is just easier to take extra money out of the hole in the wall machine and go to my local bank and deposit it.
That was until a few weeks ago. Very conveniently, there was a branch of my Bank - Bank Itau – inside the factory where Steve had his office. At one time, there were probably over a thousand workers there, and someone had obviously thought it cost effective to have a bank on site rather than have people trying to take time out of their day to pay bills. I can fully understand why.
For starters there are the banking hours. The banks open at 10 am. Then they close for a lunch hour and then they finish for the day at 4 pm. Even the little branch on site would follow these hours. I remember about 20 years ago in the UK this was the sort of regime, although I can’t ever remember closing for lunch.
Well, just before Christmas, the factory closed and the offices relocated to a new building. Sadly with the demise of the factory, so too went the lovely quiet branch of Bank Itau. Now I am with Joe Public, trying to pay bills with the best and the rest of them.
For starters, Marcelo is never happy with the security, so we are trying several different locations to see which one he feels most comfortable with. There has to be parking, it can’t be near a favela (slum) and preferably not too many people.
Quite often I need to go to a branch of my US bank first and then head over to the Bank Itau. Two bank trips in one day is quite a stress for him but yesterday we went.
Before I could even get into the bank, there was a revolving door with a security guard. She gestured to me and muttered something in Portuguese. I had no idea what she was on about, but the guy behind me, who by this stage I was holding up, emptied his pockets of his keys and cell phone and deposited them in a tray that was conveniently cut into the revolving door. Okay, I got that bit.
Next there were about 8 or 9 people in front of me. I noticed that on the floor were taped yellow lines, a big arrow and “Entrada” – all on the floor. The lines were depicting a queuing system, albeit without the poles and ropes that you get at airports these days. People were dutifully following the lines, snaking around up and down. The yellow lines created 5 rows and I reckon that each row could hold about 8 – 10 people. In total, the lines could accommodate 40 – 50 people waiting in line. I looked in disbelief,
a. That people would wait in such a line and
b. That a bank would let such a queue build up.
Then I noticed a sign on the cashier’s window which basically translated as the following:
We expect on a “normal” day that your wait will not be more than 20 minutes long. On busy days, we expect your wait to be no more than 30 minutes long. There was then a definition of a busy day. The end of the week, the end of the month, the 1st to the 10th of the month. Days either side of a public holiday, days on which the maids are paid and days on which workers are paid. Thinking about it, that probably covers most of the month. I stood in line, and then stood somemore.
Then I noticed something else that is interesting. The Brazilians are very keen on helping the elderly, the disabled, pregnant ladies, nursing mothers and people helping any of the above or carrying a small child. There is always a window for such a group of people and they are always given priority. I’m sure if I looked hard enough I would find a label quoting the applicable law – Brazilians love such things.
The set up in this particular branch, was that the “priority” window was at one side, and alongside the wall in front of it were several chairs, I guess for the “Priorities” to be able to take the weight off their feet whilst they waited in line. There were only two cashiers on duty so as the 8 people in front of me waited, 4 priorities came in and went to their window. That left one person to handle everyone else. No wonder you can expect to wait 20 – 30 minutes.
And here is the other thing. Because it is such a painful and inefficient process, everyone seems to have hoarded up their bills to pay which slows down the process even more. One guy had so many screwed up pieces of paper that the casher made him go to the other side of the bank and photocopy everything so that she could process nice crisp pieces of paper. But of course it was far too much to expect the cashier to deal with another customer whilst we were waiting. Oh no – even the US Postal Service isn’t that inefficient.
So, my next task is to master the Internet banking. I suspect that more frustration lies ahead. Or maybe I ought to speak to the President of my husband’s company and plead a case for a new branch inside the office. After all it is his bills that are not being paid.

Fear of flying Saturday January 7th 2012

2012-01-07T10:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we flew home from Iguassu to Guarulhos – a journey that should have taken one hour and 15 minutes. Instead it took over two hours and was one of the worst flights that I can ever remember taking. Steve was next to me, and when he goes quiet I know that there is something wrong. His I-pod just wasn’t doing it for him, and he sat very very quietly for a very long time.
But more of that later. Since we embarked on this lifestyle, we have flown all manner of planes and airlines. Some were memorable for the wrong reasons, but mainly you just blot out the bad and remember the good. Until that is a flight like yesterday happens and all the dodgy flights that you have ever taken come back to haunt you.
In the Philippines, the national airline was Philippine Airlines or P.A.L., which was commonly known as “Plane Always Late”. It was true as well. I don’t think that we ever flew with them on time. I once made the mistake of trying to get an early morning flight to Hong Kong and watched as the Cathay Pacific flight took off, even though it was scheduled to leave after the P.A. L. one. So much for maximizing our shopping time.
Coming into the old airport in Hong Kong was quite an experience and one I’m glad that I saw out of the windows and not the cockpit. The old airport was literally in the middle of a jungle of skyscrapers. As you came into land, the joke was that you could see what people were having for dinner and watching on TV. The apartments really were that close.
There is a similar set up coming into the local airport here in Sao Paulo. Huge apartment and office blocks seem to be alarmingly close to the flight path, and there are reports that one block in particular had been deemed to be so high that it has been ordered to be demolished. But something must have changed, because 2 new blocks are going up directly behind the offending one that are even higher.
My very first flight with P.A. L. was memorable because at the end of it, all the passengers clapped and cheered as we landed. There had been nothing particularly special to warrant such rapturous applause, but I learned very soon thereafter that clapping a good landing was a very common occurrence.
I have only ever been very seriously concerned for my safety when all of us, plus a family member flew in a tiny 9-seater prop plane over to one of the islands. It was the sort of plane where everything was weighed – I guess so that they could work out how much fuel to load. I remember standing on the scales, Emma in my arms, baby bag, hand bag and hand luggage and topped 200 pounds. It was horrible seeing the scales tip over the 200 mark and even as middle age spread sets in, I am thankfully nowhere near that mark.
But we took off and I distinctly remember thinking that if this plane went down, Stephen’s mother would lose 5 of her family members – morbid I know. There were 2 pilots and the only thing that kept me going was the fact that one of them read his newspaper for the entire length of the flight, putting it aside only for take off and landing.
About 2 months later I learned that one of the flights to that particular island very nearly didn’t make it back to Manila and came into land with one of the props not working. A friend at the time was on that flight.
But back to yesterday. We took off in clear blue skies and 90 + degrees of sunshine. There was a bit of turbulence but we were in a big plane so not too bad. After our designated time, it was obvious that we were circling over Sao Paolo. Every so often there would be a break in the clouds and we could see the South Atlantic Ocean beneath us and then the tell tale signs of skyscrapers. I swear that the pilot couldn’t decide whether
A. he was even going to land or
B. which runway he was going to use or
C. which airport he was planning on landing at.
To say that we changed direction half a dozen times was an underestimation I’m sure. We weaved left and right, banked one way then the other. The nose was pointing up at one point and for one very alarming minute thrust down in a serious dive. We heard the wheels go down and saw the flaps moving backwards and forwards and broke through the clouds to see the ground coming up very fast below us. Surely only a matter of time and we would hit the ground but no, the electrics flickered, lights went off and then on again and we climbed very rapidly and banked hard.
We were kept informed over the tannoy, but of course it was all in Portuguese and those messages are hard to hear at the best of times so in Portuguese there was no chance. Did he say 4 to 5 minutes or 45 minutes? No idea. Around we came again. We weren’t even sure if we were at the original airport, the cloud was thick and it wasn’t until the very last minute that saw that we had in fact landed at Guarulhos. The pilot slammed on the brakes flaps flying everywhere and we finally came to a stop.
Applause broke out all around us. Even Steve joined in.

Back to school. Friday August 26th, 2011

2011-08-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

Back to school in the United States is an annual ritual. The list of supplies needed arrives and off we trot to the stationery store and load up. Each year there is a new back pack and lunch box to be bought. In fact, if l had kept all the lunch boxes over the years, there would be a chronology of life as seen through Disney Princesses, Thomas the Tank Engine, Super heroes and finally the non descript generic type that are indistinguishable from everyone else’s.

Now it is different. University for Charles and boarding school for Emma. These days, we order on line and, as much as possible we have everything sent so that we don’t have to move everything from one continent to the other.

Last Monday evening we left Brazil to start our 2 week trip to the United States. The day before, we had had a fabulous afternoon at the horse racing in Sao Paulo, but sadly the oysters that were consumed in great numbers by the other members of the Merrick family decided to make reappearance and the children started being sick on the flight. There is not a lot that you can do when someone is being sick around you, so I’m afraid I was the heartless mother and left them to it. Even the ginger ale that they drank to try and quell their discomfort had no effect and I pity the poor cleaners that had to go in a face the mess – ugh.

But the good news was, on arriving in Princeton at around 9 am, the hotel let us check in and I was able to leave the children to sleep off their discomfort, whilst I ran around town at the usual doctors, dentists, hairdressers and opticians.

I think New Jersey was trying to tell me that I wasn't welcome, because on our first afternoon as I was sitting in the chair at the opticians, we had an earthquake. Now it has to be said that it was nothing on the scale of the earthquake in Turkey, but enough to shake the building and make the doors swing open, and earthquakes are not an everyday occurrence in New Jersey so it was pretty big news.

The next day, the children felt better and we were able to resume our schedule of shopping and organizing and getting ready for back to school. Did you know that after Christmas, back to school shopping is the biggest boost to the retail economy? I suppose it doesn’t surprise me and I certainly felt as though I has added several percentage points to America’s GDP.

On Thursday we were on the road, heading down to Washington DC. The plan was to check into the hotel, unload everything not belonging to Charles, then take him to University and unload his things. He had arranged with a friend to store a bunch of things at a lock up storage unit in Virginia. To save money they had found one about 25 miles away. Half way there, they came to the conclusion that next year they will find one closer to the university, even if it does mean they have to pay an extra $10 each. This place was miles away. An hour’s drive there and back plus the best part of an hour to load up – we could have done without that. But we managed. We hit Washington DC during the rush hour – another note to self.

The next part of our plan was for Emma and I to go to visit a friend in Virginia, leaving Washington on Friday morning and leaving Virginia on Sunday morning. After that, the plan was to fly out to Nova Scotia for a few days before heading back to New Jersey in time to put Emma into school next weekend. But, looming over us was the little matter of Hurricane Irene coming up from the south and heading for the eastern coast of the US over a period of several days. Heading south to Virginia didn’t seem like a good idea. I thought about going to Virginia as planned on Friday and leaving early on Saturday, but by Friday morning the predictions were pretty dire so I decided to abandon Virginia and leave Friday morning for New Jersey.

I had called of time and made a reservation at a hotel and checked in around 1.30pm. I called the airline and changed my Monday morning flight to Canada to Saturday morning, and, thinking that we had a leisurely afternoon ahead, Emma and I wandered into Princeton, had lunch, a manicure and a spot of shopping before heading back to the hotel around 5.30pm.

I check my emails and to my horror, there was one from the airline to say that my flight was cancelled and I needed to call the airline. I knew that the airport was due to be closed on Saturday afternoon but I thought that we would be okay to leave Saturday morning –no such luck. Of course the world and his wife were trying to get through to the help desk but after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time I managed to speak to a human being. Dilemma explained and the only solution was to try and make a flight leaving in 3 hours and 10 minutes. I looked at Emma. Can we make this? “Yes,” she said.

I had planned that Friday evening would be spent repacking suitcases, organizing ourselves, having a leisurely dinner and an early night. No chance. Packing, clearing the room, depositing one suitcase and checking out – 10 minutes. Route 1 north in the rush hour (normal time 25 minutes) – 45 minutes. New Jersey Turnpike (normal time 20 – 25 minutes) – 14 minutes. Don’t ask what speed I was going. I hope there were no speed cameras. Refueling and returning rental car – 12 minutes. Argument with rental car agent about being charged for 2 days unused rental – not worth dealing with.

Elite check in? Not worth the “Elite” label. Today the check in area was a complete zoo. There were people getting so frustrated it was unbelievable. You would think the world was coming to an end. Flights were being cancelled all over the place and the inadequacy of the staff to be able to handle the overwhelming volume of queries, cancellations, rebookings and irate customers was unbelievable.

Emma and I were very lucky. When a kiosk was free, we were able to log in, check in, print boarding cards and luggage labels very quickly. Getting a member of the ground staff to put said labels on the bags, not so easy. Then they just sat on the scales. I would have moved them myself but a burly porter came up to move some bags from one trolley to the belt and a few dollars changing hands meant that my bags also made it onto the belt.

One quick look at the boarding passes made me realize that we were in the wrong terminal. The gate had been changed and we were 2 terminals away. Okay, time to catch the air train. Terminal C here we come.

As I have mentioned before, I have an artificial hip so airport security is always a nightmare for me. The new full body scanners that are causing so much controversy at the security checks are a bonus for me. No need for the full body pat downs. No such luck today. The machines were being “upgraded” and therefore not in use. Back to the full body pat down.

Emma and I now have this routine down to a science. I stand and wait and she loads everything back into bags. Only this time a present we had bought for our hostess, had caused the alarm bells to go off and she was distracted trying to find out what in her back pack was causing so much interest. Time was ticking – about 15 minutes to be precise.

But we made it to the gate by 8.15. Boarding time 8.20 – phew. We were able to contact our hostess and miraculously she was there to meet us. It was midnight when we landed, 2.30 am by the time we made it to her cottage and about 3 am by the time we flopped into bed.

Having woken up this morning in Washington DC thinking about heading south to Virginia, we found ourselves about a thousand miles further north. Sad not to be in Virginia but happy to be missing Irene.

One child down and one to go.

You know when

2011-06-20T13:51:00.000-07:00

You know when something has become a habit, only when circumstances change that draws attention to what you are doing. For example, this week we drove from Heathrow to the West Country in a car that was so ladened down with luggage that I couldn’t see out of the rear window when looking in the rear view mirror. I can’t tell you how many times I tilted my head to look, only to see the same grey mass of luggage. Every time I looked, I reminded myself that there was no point in doing it, only to do it again a minute or two later. Here is a perfect example. Something that is so automatic, that only when I can’t see what I am expecting to see, do I remind myself that I have done something “out of habit”.

I find it amazing how quickly we pick up habits without realising that they are habits, and slot back into them as soon as the opportunity arises.

I have now been out of Brazil for all of a week. Some things are as automatic as breathing. I amazed myself that after 6 months of not driving, I slid behind the wheel of my rental car at Newark airport and drove to Princeton as if I had driven the day before. It was absolutely automatic – where to go, which lane to drive in, how to get onto the New Jersey Turnpike and, most of all how to drive. The human brain is amazing.

So I arrived at a friend’s house for a shower and change and I was sitting on the loo. Automatically, I was looking for a sign that would tell me whether I should put my loo roll down the loo or in the bin. I couldn’t see a sign so I automatically looked around for a small, covered bin, with a plastic bag to take the said loo roll. It was a split second before I remembered “ahh, I’m not in Brazil”. So down the loo it was flushed. It has taken me the best part of a week not to automatically check for signs or a bin and to realize that in this part of the world, it is okay to flush the loo roll down the loo.

Another example. I was in a public loo, and after washing my hands, reached for the paper towels. I hesitated for a moment before pulling a couple of sheets. The reason for the hesitation? Well, in Brazil there is usually a sign posted to the front of the paper towel dispenser telling you how many sheets of paper is should take to dry your hands. Not that the number bears any resemblance to the actual number needed. I automatically add at least one sheet for good measure. No, it is usually only a general guide. Two is the most common number but I have seen one. At the Jockey Club, the paper towels are so luxurious and thick; one towel could easily be passed between several people if it weren’t unhygienic. But back to my dilemma, how many paper towels to pull. Two to start with and three to be on the safe side.

Not long afterwards, we went to a restaurant. I automatically put my handbag on the chair next to me, until I realized that someone needed the chair to sit on. There is a superstition in Brazil, that you never put your handbag on the floor in case the “money runs away”. (Steve also assures me that in the Men’s room, there are shelves above the urinals for a briefcase so that they don’t have to be put on the floor.) So having picked up my bag, I looked around for a waiter to bring me a chair for my handbag. Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen and the penny dropped again that I was no longer in Brazil. There, a waiter would rush over with a chair, take my bag and either tie it with special handbag ties, or cover it with a serviette. Damn, the floor it will have to be – sorry bag.

After the meal, the bill came. Six of us around the table and only one total. Where was the additional total I needed, with 10 percent tip added and the total number divided by the number of people present so that we each know how much to pay. Mental arithmetic needed – ugh.

I remember when we lived in Sweden I read “10 everyday facts that meant that you have lived here too long”. It is far too long ago now to recall them, but there is one that absolutely sticks in my memory. “You know that you have lived in Sweden too long when you buy candles at the grocery store every week, even when you haven’t put them on your shopping list”. I read this when I first arrived and thought, “no, not me”. Sure enough, by the middle of the first white winter (there are only two seasons in Sweden, the white winter and the green winter) I was buying candles every week.

In the Philippines, the bathroom was called the Comfort Room. I remember coming home to the UK after having lived there only a few months and asking the way to the “Comfort Room” Stares all around - I was clearly mad.

So for everyone that has moved from one place to another I am sure you will be able to relate to something along the lines of the comments above. The good news is that habits can be dropped very quickly once you are removed from a particular situation. On the flip side. I guess they can be picked up again just as quickly.

Now off to the shops – again. Which side of the car to get into and which side of the road to drive on? Hmmmm.

Clean Air

2011-06-12T16:04:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in the airport lounge waiting for a flight to the States – New Jersey to be precise. It has been six and a half months since I have been there, and I know that when I reach Princeton it will be as if I have never been away. I should land at around six in the morning, pick up a rental car and drive to a friend’s house. Then a shower and change of clothes and a lovely morning playing bridge with friends. I am then off to pick up Emma and we have three days of all sorts of appointments planned before heading off to the UK mid week.

But the title of this blog is “Clean Air”. It is winter in Brazil, so that means that there is very little rain. The air quality is pretty dismal at the best of times, and for me personally, the pollution gives me all the symptoms of seasonal allergies. I take anti-histamine every morning and drops in my eyes to help with the itching. When I get in the car with Marcelo, I have to reassure him that it is only allergies, and not the dreaded “gripe”.

I recently read that the air quality in Sao Paulo is so bad that by living here, one’s life expectancy is reduced by anything up to three years. I guess there are ways of measuring such a claim, but I work on the principle that if we are only here for a few years, it probably won’t make much difference.

Sao Paulo is a city of around 10 million people. You can double that number if you include the metropolitan area. It is the 7th largest city in the world by population, but that said, every time there is a census somewhere in the world, those numbers change. There are 6 and a half million cars, or 9 million cars in the metropolitan area. Those numbers increase every day. Sao Paulo is a concrete jungle with construction going on absolutely everywhere. I recently read that the Government is actually holding back construction, because they are waiting for a new hydro-electric power station to come on stream. Until that happens, there is concern that the electricity supply system won’t be able to cope with all the new offices, apartments and shopping centers that are springing up everywhere.

There is a street of Favelas (slums), in one part of the city that I drive past very often. Marcelo pointed to them the other day and told me that each of the occupiers were being offered R$ 100,000 (about US$ 60,000) to move out. Imagine, living on under US$ 10 per day and being offered US$ 60,000 to move – a king’s ransom. But the profit to the developer is many multiples of that sum. A low rise Favela is cleared, an office block or apartment building rises.

More worrying to me than the quality of the air is the information that I also recently read, about the quality of the water. We have a reservoir to the south of the city which I assume is fed from the Pinheiros River that runs through the centre of the city. This river is really a large canal which, I have no doubt, takes all the runoff water that is discharged through the drainage system. Sadly it seems it also takes all the raw sewage from the Favelas.

With a city of 10 million people, the water treatment plants are under enormous strain, so the advice is not to drink the water. We have a filter jug that I use for making tea and coffee, etc, but for cooking I usually just run the tap. Now it seems that I shouldn’t be using straight tap water for cooking but instead, should be using the filtered stuff. I suppose the same rules apply to brushing teeth, and making sure that any water we take to drink during the night is also filtered. I dread to think what the tap water is doing to our insides. We have always made ice using filtered water but now I have to really think about all the other uses of water in our daily lives.

Last Tuesday there was a rain storm. It was unusual in its ferocity and that fact that we are in the middle of the dry and cold season. It has been really cold here, and for the first time I have been wearing winter clothes and layers of them.

But back to the storm. It lasted several hours and the consequence was that many areas of the city lost power. My friend was without power for 20 hours. It was a cold shower for her husband that morning. Marcelo told me that he had arrived at my house at 6 in the morning because he had no power at his house and wanted to use the shower in his bathroom in my basement.

With no power, there are no traffic lights and as Brazilians are bad drivers at the best of times the added complications of rain and no traffic lights is just a recipe for disaster and delays. Steve took about forty minutes to get home – it is a journey that normally takes 10 – 15 minutes.

But, notwithstanding all of the problems, I am still enjoying living in Brazil That said, I am very happy to be travelling to New Jersey to experience clean air in my lungs, water that I don’t have to filter and drivers that know the right side of the road on which to drive.

Reality check 4

2011-05-21T05:26:00.000-07:00

I have a friend in the States, well actually several friends all over the place, who think I was mad to move to this country. Why give up my very gentile, suburban lifestyle in the States for the concrete jungle that is Sao Paulo. Throw in the pollution, language, traffic jams, cultural differences, and security issues, not to mention the separation from the children and I’m sure that my friends thought I was totally off my rocker.

So far, everything has been manageable. I have a really great group of friends, a house that is close enough to the office that means Steve’s commute is very easy and of course I have Marcelo. The children come often enough and I travel often enough to see them, that we are all pleased to see each other when we do meet up. They are both in great places and it fills my heart with happiness when in answer to the question “how are you?” the answer is generally “Fine.” I have found enough bridge, have started flower arranging (how middle aged and middle class can one get?) and am struggling to keep the weight off with all the lunches and dinners that I have.

As I type this, Charles and Steve are both home, dinner is in the oven and a glass of wine is going down very nicely thank you.

But this week there was yet another security incident that brought home the reality and the proximity of the dangers of living here. So far, everything I have heard about has been “somewhere else”. This week however, there was an incident right on my door step. In fact, it was at the other end of my street.

It seems that a gang of armed robbers decided to rob a house, and, having neatly parked their car, waved their guns, including a rifle and entered a house. Two residents inside the house were tied up and, I guess, the robbers set about their task. Fortunately, someone saw what was happening and alerted the police so by the time the robbers were making their get-away, the police were waiting. I’m not sure if they waited until the robbers were in the car before shooting or whether the police shot them as they were exiting the house, but in any event, a fire-fight took place, the window of the car was shot out and one of the robbers took a direct hit.

The other robbers it seems managed to escape. Give me a clue how that happened? According to Marcelo - who it has to be said was beside himself with the details - the police will be able to trace the rest of the gang by the license plate of the car they abandoned.

Now, it turns out that at the point at which this had literally just happened, a friend was driving down the exact road where this incident was taking place. At that time, the robber on the ground was still alive, but according to my friend, he really didn’t have long to live. She is a nurse, and in good British style - or maybe a moment of temporary insanity, was all set to stop and see if she could give any assistance to the man on the ground. Good thing she thought better of it – the man on the ground wasn’t going to live and getting involved with the Sao Paulo police is probably not a good idea. She turned the car around and headed off in the opposite direction pretty quickly.

Yesterday evening, a student at the local university had just started walking back towards his car when he was approached by a robber who wanted, I guess, wallet, watch, credit cards etc... The student, who was walking with another guy, didn’t hand them over and by all accounts started to protest. For his troubles, he was shot in the head, and, not surprisingly, he died. It turns out that there is a general feeling that security at this university is a bit lax to say the least, to the point that the father of the dead student had bought him a bullet proof car.

Just think about that, a student being bought a car by a parent is nothing new, but a bullet proof car – well that is something different. The bullet proofing alone costs around US$ 18000.00. Trust me I know as we have just had a new car which I am happy to say is bullet proof. I guess in the end it didn’t do Felipe any good.

So, more vigilance, more places on the list of where not to go to, and another prayer that we are never in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Whatever they are paying us, it really isn’t enough.

Security nightmare 3

2011-05-05T14:17:00.000-07:00

I had a Portuguese lesson this morning at 9 o’clock, but for various boring reasons I was early. Such are the inconveniences of sharing a car and driver. I had arrived thirty five minutes early and was reading a “Hello” magazine (well maybe looking at the pictures as it was in Portuguese), when she came in, about half an hour early. She is usually about 5 minutes early, but never half an hour.

My initial reaction that she had the time wrong – strange because I always have the lesson at 9.am on Tuesdays, but it turns out that she had to take the bus – hence her early arrival.

I wondered why she took the bus – and then the story emerged.

It turns out that last Friday, during the day, her husband was using her car and was driving along a main road, in front of the local shopping centre about 2 miles from my house. (I regularly go to this shopping centre as it is the closest place for Starbucks Coffee.) He had stopped for the traffic lights when someone tapped on his window asking for “help”.

The next minute, someone had appeared at the passenger window with a gun and with that, they, hopped in the car and instructed the husband to go into the shopping centre. Armed with his credit cards and pin numbers, one of the robbers then proceeded to spend several thousand Reais (R$) whilst my teacher’s husband was held “hostage” in the car.

They then drove to another shopping centre and an ATM machine and basically the robbers spent everything they could up to the limit of all the cards. This is called a “lightening kidnapping” here in Brazil.

The bad news is that my Portuguese teacher and her husband are now several thousand R$ out of pocket and the car was stolen so they now don’t have any transport – hence the bus ride to my lesson. In addition, the insurance companies, it seems, are very wary of claims purporting to be from people who have had their cars stolen in this manner and want to wait at least 30 days to see if it actually turns up, before paying out.

The good news is that my teacher’s husband was shaken but unharmed in the process. They could so easily have just pulled the trigger and she would now be a widow. A friend of ours has a secretary whose close family member was not so lucky. Two gunmen jumped into his car and shot him. The gunmen then rode around with an injured passenger, and instead of letting him go and get treatment, they let him bleed to death.

My teacher was quite understandably upset by the whole event. Which made me think how lucky I am to have not only a bullet proof car but also an armed bodyguard.

This week there have been several visitors to my husband’s office from the United States. For several weeks now, Marcelo has been training a number of other drivers, not only as a relief for him but also for weeks such as this when multiple drivers and cars are needed. The security and logistics making sure that these people have the protection that they need, whilst being at the right place at the right time has, I’m sure, caused a few headaches.

For me, the inconvenience of arriving half an hour early for my Portuguese lesson is absolutely a price worth paying. Remind me not to grumble next time.

Royal Wedding

2011-05-01T15:51:00.001-07:00

There are some things that we Brits do really well. When it comes to pageantry we are surely the world leaders, and so is knowing how to have a party. Put the two together and the result is absolutely amazing.

Several months ago, when the Royal Wedding was announced, a few of us here in Sao Paulo decided to get together to watch it. A friend here has the technology to not only get the BBC but also to be able to record it, so the idea was hatched that we would drink champagne, have fun and critique the event.

Then, more people heard about the idea, and so it began to snowball. The guest list grew and another friend, who as it turns out wasn’t even in Brazil for the great day, had the idea of turning it into a fundraiser for one of our favourite local charities.

The party now began to get some serious traction. The guest list grew and grew. Tables would have to be hired, then crockery, glasses and silverware. What about flowers, banners, flags and bunting? Everyone contributed. Maids, drivers and bodyguards were drafted to help and all of a sudden, it was the hottest ticket in town.

The charity we were supporting is called ACER. (Check out www.acerbrasil.org.br).

In English, it is the Association for Children at Risk, and is run by a fabulous English guy here. The aim of the charity is to help families by promoting dignity, good health and hygiene. They help in the region of 3,000 people and their reach is expanding all the time. In a country where there is little in the way of Government support, this sort of charity is absolutely indispensible.

Twice a year they hold bazaars, and the families can buy very inexpensive household items that have been donated. Some of the basic essentials of life that we take for granted, such as towels and blankets, cooking pots and plates, are for many families, out of reach because of the high cost of living here. Enabling people to buy these items promotes all of the above aims. They enhance their dignity because they are buying items themselves (rather than just receiving charitable hand outs) and thereby have the sense that they are providing for their families. Something simple such as each family member having their own towel promotes the dual aims of health and hygiene. And, for children that often have to sleep in the same bed as their siblings, to have their own personal sheet or blanket is an absolute necessity.

So, the idea was born that everyone coming to the wedding party would bring a wedding gift of a donation to the bazaar. In the end, we had a room full of pots and pans, sheets and blankets, children’s toys and clothes. It truly was amazing.

Now, a couple of days before the event, the hostess had a phone call to ask whether she would be willing to allow the Brazilian press to come and film us having our party. More great publicity for the charity so of course the answer was “yes”.

As it turned out, the three main TV stations all sent crews and how they didn’t all fall over themselves and more to the point how we didn’t all fall over the wires, lights and cameras is a minor miracle.

They were interviewing everyone that could speak Portuguese - lucky escape there I thought. In fact, I heard that the TV crews were so keen to cover the wedding; they had telephoned the British Consulate to ask for the names of anyone in the British community that could speak really good Portuguese. They were contacting these people and asking them if they could turn up at 5 o’clock in the morning to interview people as the wedding was going out live from London. Everyone I spoke to gave an emphatic “No”. We all compared notes afterwards and at 5 o’clock in the morning we were in pajamas with a cup of tea and a box of hankies at the ready. TV crews were definitely not wanted.

The great day arrived and the house looked beautiful. Bunting was hanging everywhere and the champagne was on ice. Everyone was encouraged to dress as if to go to a wedding, and tiaras, hats and fascinators were the order of the day.

I have to say that it was a truly fabulous event, and against the backdrop of very happy occasion in London, everyone had a good time.

Even without realizing it, the new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have also contributed to this charity. It seems that they received a Wedding gift of a unique piece of jewellery, crafted by a local Brazilian jeweler. In keeping with their wishes that charities benefit from their marriage, this piece has been donated to the ACER charity, and in October, when we hold our main fundraiser for the year, we will auction the brooch and the proceeds will be donated to ACER.

How fitting.

Useless Jobs. Saturday April 23, 2011

2011-04-24T05:43:00.000-07:00

You can tell you live in a low wage economy by the sort of jobs that people are (presumably) paid to do.

Our first experience of low wages was our stint in the Philippines. In fact, having worked in London and having spent most of my salary on nannies, cleaners, ironing ladies and gardeners, when Steve asked “how do you fancy a move to the Philippines?” my first thought was “Filipino maids”.

At one time during our stint there, there were 13 on the payroll. We had four guards in rotation, a driver, a pool boy, a gardener, two live in maids, and then on a periodic basis, a cook, sewing lady, manicurist and a masseuse. They were all very good, very cheap and made our lives very easy.

We encountered a number of jobs that made one wonder, why on earth is someone paid to do that? Of course the answer is that it is so inexpensive to employ someone, it makes sense to do it. So here is a selection of jobs that we came across.

Golf is an ever growing sport in the Philippines, but is the preserve of the wealthy. At the driving range, there are young girls whose job it is to tee up the ball to save you the trouble of having to bend down and do it yourself. Mind you, they don’t have tees. Instead they have a trowel and a little pile of mud and beautifully craft a tee using the trowel and their fingers. Just imaging sitting on the ground, hoping that a golfer hits the ball and not you.

Also on the golf courses, as well as a caddy, you often find young women holding umbrellas to keep the sun off the golfers. The Japanese living in Manila would also have someone carrying a large container of ice – not exactly sure what they did with it, but sometimes you would find yourself putting around a small mound of ice on the green. In fact, you could always tell a group of Japanese golfers – it would look as if small army was invading the green. As Steve always justified, to himself and anyone else that questioned “why would you pay someone to do that?” Well, it gives them employment, a purpose to get out of bed in the morning and maybe they will find a rich husband.

In Turkey, it used to be young boys doing these sorts of jobs – particularly shoe shine boys who would appear on every corner and try and overcharge you for cleaning your shoes. A few well chosen words of Turkish were usually enough.

New Jersey cannot be said to be a low wage economy, but even here, we never had to fill our petrol/gas tanks because the law decrees that in New Jersey at least, there had to be a pump attendant to do it for you at no extra cost. Imagine my horror in driving into a gas station in Washington DC and being charged 50 cents per gallon extra to have someone fill my tank. I couldn’t get back to New Jersey quickly enough.

And so to Sao Paulo, which has to be the leader in employing people to do things that one can easily do oneself. One of my favourites is driving into a car park where you have to push a button to obtain the ticket that opens the barrier. Here, not only do you have someone to push the button for you, but they even do it where the parking is free. There is then another person at the exit ready to take your ticket from you and insert it into the slot to raise the barrier and let you out. One morning I was with some friends and the woman taking the tickets was plucking hairs out of her chin as she waited for drivers to come along and hand her their tickets. Obviously business was slow that day.

In the park where I walk the dog there are public toilets dotted around the place. Regularly, there are ladies stationed inside the toilets handing out toilet paper. Now, I could understand if the paper was:

a. Worth stealing or
b. Needed to be limited because people take too much

But here is the thing - the paper is so disgusting, no one would want to steal it and secondly, the amount they give you if far more that you could even need. So why bother? It- beats me

In Sao Paulo, there is a great attempt to preserve what little bit of green space there is left. It has to be said that there isn’t much but in the centre of the roads, they try to preserve grass verges. They have yet to hear of sit-on mowers, or in fact, mowers of any description for that matter. Instead, they use weed whackers/strimmers which is quite ridiculous when you think of the size of the city. In addition to the guys that are actually doing the weed whacking, there are usually a couple of guys holding a big green screen between where the work is being done and the road – presumably to stop any grass being blown onto the oncoming traffic. So for every weed whacker, there are two more guys to protect the public.

There are a lot of houses and apartments for sale around us. There are realtors offices dotted around the city and outside the houses there are signs to denote which realtor is listing the house. But in addition, most houses for sale that are empty, have a sun shade outside, and every day, someone comes and opens the house and then sits there, all day, waiting for people to come and look at the house. There is one road near us where the same realtor is listing three houses and outside each one is a sun shade and a man sitting there. You think within the space of 100 yards, one person could look after all three, but clearly not.

At the weekend you see kids standing at the street corners with signs hanging from their necks shaped as arrows pointing towards a new development of apartments being sold. It makes me think that is cheaper to employ someone all day, than the cost of putting up a static sign pointing the way. They always look bored to death as they stand in amongst the traffic and swing their arrows.

But the best job I have come across has to be the guy at Burger King. We have a drive through Burger King but whoever developed the site, didn’t have enough room to do a regular drive through. Instead, there is a turn table. They employ someone to wave you onto a turntable and then run into his kiosk and press a switch that turns your car through 90 degrees or so, and then waves you off so that you can buy your burger. I have known people that have no desire to eat a hamburger, but the whole experience of being lined up on a turntable in a car and moved, is worth the price of a burger.

Only in Sao Paulo!

Stress. Friday March 4th, 2011

2011-03-04T14:01:00.000-08:00

Steve was away in the States a couple of weeks ago at a love-in for the senior execs at his company. He came back to tell me about a session they had had on stress. Each delegate was handed a questionnaire and asked to honestly answer “yes” or “no” to a series of questions. These included ---

Do you wake up in the morning feeling tired?
Do you eat dinner but not taste it or care what it is?
Do you go to bed worrying about all the things that you haven’t done?
Do you find that you lack the time to do the things you enjoy?
Do you not have time for your family?
Do you find that you have to drink alcohol to help you sleep?
Do you feel irritable at trivial things?

And so on.

Steve answered yes to precisely zero questions and looked at the other execs around him who clearly had answered yes to most and were worried by the result.

Steve’s life is very uncomplicated. He has two things to worry about. His job – obviously - and his golf handicap. For everything else there is me to take the strain.

We decided long ago in our marriage that when I gave up work, he would be the wage earner and I would take on the task of trying to do everything else.

Moving house? When would I like the packers to come? Tax returns? Where does Steve sign them? Children, vacations, life- the universe- Steve needs it organized for him. Tell him where and when to turn up and he is fine. Ask him to organize anything outside of work and golf and he is lost.

There was an occasion a few years ago when we had to move from France to the United States very rapidly. We news came in in Mid August that we would be leaving in September. Let’s think about that. Two kids to get into private schools for the start of the school year. What’s the expression? The impossible is okay – miracles take a bit longer”. Okay, check that one off. Three days into the packing process, Steve calls from the office. It seems that we can’t leave France without filing out French tax returns. So do I have all the info to hand? Do I what????

Okay unpack a few boxes – check. Several hours of filing tax returns – check. Back to the packing.

See what I mean? For any wife who is clearly the power behind the throne, this blog is dedicated to you.

A couple of weeks ago, Steve announced that we had to file Brazilian Tax returns stating everything that we could lay claim to outside of Brazil. We got to work. Steve sat and entered the data whilst I supplied it. No mention was made of having to provide the paperwork to back this up, just a statement of how much and where.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. We were required to provide paper documentation of what there is and where it is. The email arrived on Friday afternoon and as we were leaving Saturday morning for a weekend away, we ignored it.

We got back on Sunday afternoon and Steve announced that he would “leave it to me to sort out on Monday”. I was out Monday morning and returned Monday afternoon to set about the task of finding the information and providing paperwork. Monday of course being the deadline for the accountants. It seems that the Government had brought forward the deadline by a few months.

I have long since given up having paper statements for such mundane things as bank accounts and investments, but obviously, the Brazilian tax authorities have yet to catch up with the eco- agenda. We were leaving Tuesday morning for a few days in the north of Brazil, but all this information had to be sorted that afternoon.

It took me six and a half hours of internet searches, downloading and printing. To say I was tearing my hair out was a slight understatement.

So when people say to me, “do you work?” my answer is always the same.

“Yes I do work – I just don’t get paid”.

As for my husband’s stress levels – nonexistent.

Hairdressers 2 Friday February 11, 2011

2011-02-18T13:37:00.000-08:00

Whenever I go to the hairdresser, Steve always pays me a back handed compliment of sorts, by failing to notice. He works on the principle that if he hasn’t noticed, then it can’t be all bad. This of course is an absolute load of rubbish because the day I went from blonde to brunette he also failed to notice, but if it makes him feel better, so be it.

Today I had my hair done in Sao Paulo for the first time. Rodriguez was recommended by a friend and so with a certain amount of trepidation, I went along. Thank goodness my previous hairdresser had written down the formula for the colours that she used and when I presented them to Rodriguez, he happily went away to start mixing. In the meantime I was handed the smallest of robes and the girl pointed to a changing cubicle. Was I supposed to get undressed? I thought better of it and wrapped it around me as best I could. It covered very little so just as well I had kept everything on underneath. ( I did later see a man taking his robe into the changing cubicle and came out a minute later baring a very hairy chest – not a pretty sight).

Just before I arrived at the salon, I discovered that I had left my cell phone at home and so dispatched Marcelo to go and get it for me. Now, you have to realize that Marcelo only ever sees me glammed up and ready for the day. The only occasion that he has seen me without make up and dressed was the day he arrived at the house at 5.30 in the morning to pick up the car to go to the airport to collect Steve, only to discover that he didn’t have the car keys and needed the spares. He called on the phone to request the spares, and I couldn’t bear the thought that he would see me looking, well like I had just got out of bed. I almost handed him the keys through the window of the garage but thought better of it and so he (very) briefly saw me. Not sure who was the most embarrassed.

But back to today. By the time Marcelo came back with the cell phone, Rodriguez was well stuck in and there were bits of plastic stuck to my head. Not a pretty sight. Marcelo walked in, dark suit and not sure why he would wear them indoors but dark glasses as well. All that was missing was the ear piece thingy that you see in the movies. I would have given anything for him not to see me like this but a girl has to have her cell phone.

Okay, now here is a question that anyone living outside Brazil would struggle to answer. How many people does it take to do a woman’s hair? Well, it depends. I had two people doing the colour – both at once. I could see they were going to fight over the bit at the top where they were about to collide but seniority prevailed. Then I was whisked over to the basin and invited to lay stretched out while two more people removed the foils. A wash and condition later I was then invited into the massage chair for a quick five minute neck massage. I have to say that after having lain in what has to be the most uncomfortable of washbasins (clearly designed by a man); a five minute massage was just wonderful.

Then it was off to be cut and then two people to blow dry the hair. Rodriguez finished off, clearly wanting to be sure of the R$ 20 tip that he probably knew would be forthcoming from the “foreigner”.

The woman sitting next to me was having her nails and feet manicured so she had an extra two attendants. There were men coming a going, enjoying the same treatment so as far as I was concerned all dignity was lost.

The result, I have to say is not too bad. I actually felt reassured that I have found a hairdresser that did an okay job. Even better, I would go back to him.

But coming back to the original point, Steve paid me the usual compliment by not noticing.

Cockroaches. Thursday 10 February, 2011

2011-02-10T10:48:00.000-08:00

There is a song with the lyrics “I don’t like spiders and snakes,” which, according to Google was recorded in 1974 by Jim Stafford. I remember it well – I was a teenager at the time and because, I really don’t like spiders and snakes.

One of the first questions I ask whenever we go to a new country is “what is the situation regarding spiders and snakes?” So far I have been very lucky. Lots of mosquitoes, geckos and large looking flies, but nothing that resembles a snake or a large spider. Quite honestly it would probably finish me off.

Cockroaches on the other hand are all too common in hot climes. The first time I saw one of any size was when I opened a kitchen cupboard door in Manila and one flew out at me. It was large, about 2 inches (5 cm) in length and pretty revolting. The scream that emitted from me alerted the maids and the guards and it was hastily dispatched with a deft blow from a flip flop. I knew there was a good reason why everyone wears flip-flops. They make the perfect weapon in the battle against bugs. I have even seen them mounted on the end of sticks to give an extra pliable whack.

In the United States there are screens on all the windows and doors to keep the critters out and they are surprisingly successful. We really didn’t have a problem although I suspect in hotter parts of the country there would be. One reason why I have always been nervous about visiting Australia is that it is said that there are more natural creatures that can kill you there than any other place on the planet. Note to self – don’t retire to Australia.

So far in Brazil I have been unaffected. The only snake I have seen was dead in the middle of the road. And as for bugs, well, not too bad. Until, that is, the other day. Steve had gone to bed early not feeling too well so I was creeping in the bathroom trying to keep quiet when an enormous cockroach ran across the floor. Suppressing a scream, I watched it climb down the drain in the floor so I quickly dropped a few heavy magazines on top of the drain and ran to get the bug spray. Maddeningly it didn’t spray – obviously it had run out. In fact it hadn’t but I didn’t realize that the arrows had to be aligned and in the dark subdued light didn’t see what was needed.

The next day I asked Marcelo what I needed to get rid of cockroaches. “High-dge”, came the reply. What is “high-dge?” I asked. “Spray”, came the reply.

Okay, I have no idea what I am looking for but after a further discussion I established that this wonder product can be bought at Wal –Mart.

Off we set and I duly went looking for “High-dge”. I got to the aisle where the bug spray is kept and the penny dropped. “Raid” is what I needed – “high-dge” being the Portuguese pronunciation. Silly me.

Now, it seems that there must be a big cockroach problem in Sao Paulo because I can honestly say there were shelves after shelves stacked floor to above head height offering a huge variety of different sprays. There was “extra strong” “extra reach” “extra effective”. You name it there was a superlative for it.

I mentioned my cockroach to some friends a few days later and it seems that part of the problem is all those magazines I keep neatly stacked by the side if the loo. They have to go, even though they make a really good weight to cover the drains.

So, magazine free I hope that the problem goes away. But, in the same way that I have a dozen pairs of reading glasses in every strategic point of need, I have a dozen cans of Raid, close at hand, - just in case.

Girlfriends. Friday January 22, 2011

2011-01-22T02:27:00.000-08:00

There is a saying “you chose your friends but not your family” – or words to that effect. Living so far away from my family, I am acutely aware of the need for friends and so I suspect are many other people in the same situation as us. Even for the children, now at college and boarding school. They know that their family will always be there for them, but their friends make their daily lives so much the better.

During my life, I feel very blessed to have found great friends in many different locations around the world. They know who they are and l love every one of them. Sometimes you don’t hear or speak to them for months at a time, but you know that when you do, it will be as if you had spoken only yesterday. I love Face Book, because all of a sudden, I am reconnecting with long lost friends that have drifted in and out of my life at various times. Friends of friends are now surfacing – old school friends and in a very modern way, life is become more enriched because of it. You remember why you were friends in the first place and can almost pick up where you left of years ago.

Sure there is the curiosity of wondering “ how much weight has been gained, wrinkles developed or how grey is the hair?” But I genuinely love hearing how everyone is doing, how the kids are doing and what direction their life is taking. It beats the “round robin” Christmas letters any time.

So this blog is dedicated to everyone that I call a friend.

In Sao Paulo, I have been lucky enough to find several really good friends. They are the friends that I will keep in contact with for the rest of my life. They know who they are. I met two of them on the same day, about two weeks after I arrived. The other two I met a couple of weeks later.

Have you ever had a moment in your life when you look at someone and think “I could chum up with you?” It is an amazing feeling and if you are if by chance you meet a new friend at the time when they are looking for friendship as well, then there is a double blessing.

So five of us came together. We are all pretty much in the same boat. Children have fled the nest, husbands are busy with stressful careers and family is at least 5,000 miles away. We need each other, we laugh, cry and support each other and when one of us is having a tough time we are there for each other. My waistline is struggling to cope with all the lunches, coffees and dinners we have together. If a husband is travelling we arrange girls’ nights, go to the movies, walk dogs and rarely a day goes by without some sort of communication between some or all of us. Even when we are away, email and Face Book keep us going.

This morning the last of our group arrived back from the States after spending Christmas with family. She left her elderly parents, sister and only son to travel by herself for about 24 hours to get back to her husband in Sao Paulo. We knew it was going to be a tough trip for her, so one of the group had the mad cap idea that we go to the airport, banners held aloft to welcome her back. We had to enlist the help of her husband who was sworn to secrecy. We seriously would have killed him if he had given the game away.

Yesterday was spent plotting the final details, buying school supplies and sitting down like third graders with glitter glue, coloured paper and magic markers making a “Welcome Home” banner.

You have to remember that traffic in Sao Paulo is just awful and a trip to the airport is to be avoided like the plague. No body does the trip unless the absolutely have to. It is about 20 miles outside the city (not that distance is really relevant) and it can take anything from 26 minutes (the record held by Charles and Marcelo during a Brazil World cup football game when the roads were not surprisingly empty) to easily over four hours.

So we left this morning with plenty of time. Two cars in convoy. One for the girls and one for the luggage on the return trip. Of course we were early, but coffee and laughs kept us going. We stood by the barrier, signs at the ready. Quite what everyone thought of us I have no idea. Marcelo now has concrete proof that his boss’s wife is seriously mad.

And so she came out, luggage piled high and clearly very weary after such a long trip. But who wouldn’t laugh at two middle aged women brandishing banners of a very fetching pink and blue, covered in glitter glue with your name on. We laughed until we nearly cried. We had the effect that we had hoped for and she loved it.

We piled into the car and didn’t stop laughing until we got back into Sao Paulo where we met the other two members of the gang of five and whisked her off to lunch. Who needs a shower and sleep when you can substitute it for laughs?

Girls I love you all!

Security nightmare - part 2. Wednesday January 18, 2011

2011-01-19T18:24:00.000-08:00

There is a post script to yesterday’s blog.

Today I happened to be back in the neighbourhood, where the robbery took place. Marcelo decided that he was going to take me on a guided tour of the area where everything had occurred. Rather macabre I thought, but he obviously wanted to show me.

The street is very built up, houses, apartment blocks and a school. Next to the apartment building is something called a “buffet infantile”. This is something that I have never come across anywhere else in the world. It is a party room for children that you hire for your child’s birthday. They provide food - a buffet what else? - and a space in which to play. Magicians and entertainers can be brought in or maybe even provided. They are in short, a perfect answer to the inevitable dilemma of children’s parties. All the mess is contained, kids have a great time and all the mum has to do is pay – sounds perfect to me.

But imagine the scene yesterday. Helicopters, police and a “heavy” squad, chasing thieves in the vicinity of a school and party place. The school, thankfully is closed for the holidays – it being summer here. My guess is that there were teachers around because the buildings were open but thankfully no children. I have no idea whether the buffet was in use - I am guessing no because it was only 10.30 in the morning. From Marcelo’s account the thieves split up, some taking the route through the school and others through the buffet.

Two were captured almost immediately. The others escaped, although for how long who knows. The fact that the robbers, undoubtedly armed, raced into the school elevates the seriousness of the crime in my book. My guess is that with two captured, the police will very soon learn the identity of the others and hopefully take them off the streets.

The outcome could have been so much worse if the school and the buffet had been full of children. It really doesn’t bear thinking about.

Security nightmare. Tuesday January 17, 2011

2011-01-18T14:33:00.001-08:00

There was an incident near us today that brought home to me just what a nightmare the security is in Sao Paulo. I was driving to a friend’s house when we saw a helicopter hovering, very close and very low. It just hovered there for what seemed like ages. Next, a police car crossed in front of us, clearly in a hurry to get to the road below the helicopter.

Marcelo was very interested and turned on the radio to one of the local channels. As we proceeded further down the street, I looked towards the area that was clearly causing so much interest to see the end of it completely awash with flashing lights, sirens and police.

We turned along another street only to see the “heavy” police coming along beside us. You can tell them a mile off – a big SUV car, different uniforms and if we could have seen them, heavy weight armour. Clearly, something serious was happening.

All sorts of things were going through my mind. We have recently had the incidents in Rio, where the police have taken out several of the drug barons that control the Favelas. This clean up, over several days, had involved huge numbers of police, special squads and helicopters. Several people were killed but it had the desired effect of getting the drug lords out of the area – until, that is, a new wave come along to replace them.

As I reached my friend’s apartment on the 18th floor, we had a great view of what was going on. So did everyone else as the balconies were full of people. One guy had his video camera out – go figure.

We later found out that what had happened was that a gang of thieves had entered an apartment building with the intent to rob as many apartments as possible. This is actually quite common. They break in, hold people hostage and then go apartment to apartment, breaking-in and stealing whatever they can. They can tell by the location and quality of the building how rich the pickings will be.

Even though the apartments have “security”, it is often an inside job, with the security guards giving the thieves the knowledge they need.

We live in what they call a closed condominium. There are nine houses surrounded by a high concrete fence. On top of that fence is an electric fence. To get into the basement garage, you have to be let in by the security guards who have bullet-proofed guard house at the front facing the road. If you are on foot, they open a gate into a secure area and once in, the gate behind closes before the gate in front opens.

We have heard all sorts of stories about break-ins recently. In our neighbourhood, the latest incident was that thieves targeted a particular car, got into the back and held the driver at gunpoint so as to be let into the garage area of the condominium. Once in the garage, they were then able to go house to house, breaking in and stealing whatever they could carry.

So I never take security for granted and know that there are people whose job it is to keep us safe. When we moved into this house we had a safe room created with a steel door. The idea is that if anything happens, we have time to get to the safe room and sound the alarm. We have cameras literally everywhere, covering every entrance and the outside spaces, (no sunbathing topless in our back garden). However, given all this we are about to have bars on some of the windows and bullet proof glass in the front and have just had the front door strengthened with five steel bolts.

It all may sound completely over the top, but I have to say that it makes me feel a lot safer at night and especially when I am here on my own.

Marcelo of course has made it his business to find out everything about everyone in the condominium. Not only the people living there, but also the maids and drivers that work for the other families. We have a team of guards at the front gate who together with the maintenance men look after the nine houses. Even when we hired our maid, Marcelo went to see where she lived to make sure that she was living in a respectable area. It is not unknown for maids that come from the Favelas to be “persuaded” to give information about their employers.

So today’s event turned out to be an apartment burglary.

From Marcelo I gather the following:-

The good news is that the police were on the scene very rapidly and not many apartments were burgled.
The bad news is that the thieves got away.

I guess in tomorrow’s papers we will find out more details, if we can get the translation right.

Amy Winehouse. January 16, 2011

2011-01-16T04:59:00.000-08:00

There is not much in the way of music that Steve and I actually agree on. He is into some bizarre form of alternative music that blends punk, heavy rock, “normal” alterative and maybe a bit of ska (?), whilst I am into music where I can hear the lyrics and that doesn’t blast my ears every time it comes on.

But yesterday we went to the “Summer Soul Festival” here in Sao Paulo, six performers with the headline act of Any Winehouse. She is one of the few singers that we both actually sit and listen to. Pity Marcelo when we have the I-pod on in the car. His tastes run to rock, and judging by the sideburns and pointy shoes, Elvis in particular.

Tickets for the concert came in two tiers. R$ 100 (about US$ 60) for regular admission and R$ 500 (about US$300) for “premium”. We chose the latter. For my R$ 500 plus R$ 100 booking fee I was lead to believe that I would have a seat and be under cover. If you have heard about the flooding in Brazil lately, you will know that we are in the middle of the rainy season, so thinking that we were going to be under cover was actually quite important. Well, wrong on both counts. No seating and no cover.

The tickets said that the gates opened at 3 pm and the concert would start at 6 pm. Basically “first come first served”. If you could be bothered to get there at 3 o’clock then
a. You could park
b. You could get right at the front
c. You would be on your feet for a total of about 9 ½ hours

We were advised not to get there before 8 pm which was just about what we achieved. We missed two/three of the warm up acts (not sure if two performers came on together) but arrived just in time to see the first of the main acts – Mayer Hawthorne. A Buddy Holly look alike and actually quite good.

Janelle Monae was the second big act. She gave a weird stage show that left us both wondering “what the heck was that all about”? But at least she can sing. It looked like scenes from “Eyes wide shut” heavy black capes and masks which must have been extraordinarily hot under the lights and the Sao Paulo heat. There was much writhing on the floor which we couldn’t see because we were standing right in front below the stage, and at the end she drenched herself in water – presumably to cool down which seems a pretty stupid thing to do given the amount of electrical current that must have been surging all over the stage.

So by around 10.15 she was done and the stage was set for the final act – Amy Winehouse. It took about 30 minutes to get the set ready, and a further hour to get Amy ready……whatever that involves.

By this time the audience were getting pretty restless. Although you couldn’t take alcohol into the area, it was pretty much available once inside. Between the audience and the stage there was a barrier patrolled by security guards. There were a couple of scuffles that broke out and within a very short space of time they were over the barriers and in with the crowd. The crowd then chanted and pointed to the guilty party or parties and summary justice was swift with the accused removed from the scene. We didn’t know whether they were removed altogether or just out of that space, but they were gone.

Being an open area, everyone was smoking and personal space was at a premium. Having stood so long in one place though, everyone was aware of the people around them, and when people tried to crash the space to make it closer to the front, the long standers basically closed ranks and stopped them getting through. Summary justice in action again. We had stood for hours to be twenty feet from the stage and no-one was going to get in front of us.

Amy Winehouse was actually pretty good. She is tiny and was dwarfed by the band around her. Her speaking voice is pure London, but her singing voice is quite amazing. Not sure if she was really drunk or just acting the part but there was a certain amount of swaying which looked completely uncoordinated. She had a mug of something that she was drinking from – not sure if it was vodka or chamomile tea or maybe both. She sang all her big hits and a lot besides and the audience were pretty receptive, even when she forgot the lyrics, which she did on several occasions.

After the concert began the nightmare of getting out. Thank god for Marcelo. Fifteen minutes after we left, we saw him and sank into the back of the car, feet aching and very grateful not to be stood upright. Five hours of standing at my age is too much, I am the first to admit.

That said, am I glad I went? Absolutely.

Would I go again to a concert like that? Absolutely not.

International Travel, Wednesday January 5, 2011

2011-01-10T10:55:00.000-08:00

There is nothing glamorous about international travel, or any travel for that matter. Gone are the days of anticipation and excitement about a trip. Now it is a means to an end with a destination in sight.

Don’t get me wrong, I love it when I get there, but the whole process of packing, booking, organizing, sorting and planning every last detail leaves me absolutely cold. I need a secretary. That person of course is me. When the children are with us, and even when they are travelling without me, it is up to me to book the flights and organize end to end transport. In the case of Emma, her flight to the US generally arrives before school opens and so she needs to be taken somewhere and then we need to organize the final leg of the trip.

Charles can be left a bit more to his own devices, but having managed to temporarily mislay passport, green card and boarding pass in the airport last year, my heart is on my mouth every time he flies.

So tonight Steve and I are off to the UK for a friend’s birthday party. It is a total extravagance and a belated Christmas present to each other. Why would we swap 30 Degrees Celsius (86 degrees farenheit) in Sao Paulo for 7 degrees (45 degrees farenheit) in London, unless they were really good friends. It is also a chance to see family, and there are never enough excuses for that.

So we were driving to the airport when I realized that I had not only forgotten my American Express credit card, but also my driver’s license. Now, I do have a check list, but clearly this failed me. The credit card s necessary because it has automatic insurance for the rental car, and the driver’s license is well obvious.

Here is where the problem occurred. I have a UK wallet – pink; a US wallet – red; and a Brazilian wallet – black. The idea is that everything needed for every country is in the correct place and all I have to do is pick up the correct colour and all is well. In theory at least but I was let down by the fact that I have managed to end up with everything in the wrong place. I always seem to need things, take them out of the appropriate place and then fail to put them back.

“Marcelo, para casa por favor”. Steve took charge at this point and decided that we didn’t have time to go back. He had his Amex card, US driving license as well as Brazilian (yes – Avis do accept both) and he announced that he will do all the driving. Result – apart from the fact that I hate being driven by him – which may be the subject of another blog. Clearly I have been in Brazil too long and have no expectation of driving.

So the international airport is heaving with people. It is holiday season here in Brazil and the world and his wife are travelling. Check in is fine – we both have enough frequent flyer miles to avoid the big queues, but getting through security and immigration, no such privileges.

Now I have an artificial hip, so going through airport security is a nightmare. Zimmer have very kindly given me a card with my name and the type of device that I have printed on it, but none of the security officials take any notice of it.

Going through security in the United States is a serious hassle. There have been a lot of reports in the press lately about the full body scanners and the full body pat down. I would happily go through the full body scanner if I could avoid the full body pat down. I am told they are coming to Newark but so far no joy. So the system is that you set of the alarm, collect your belongings from the belt but don’t touch them. Then in full view of everyone you have to stand on a mat and get the full body massage. Intrusive – absolutely. Gone are the days when they would wave a wand in your direction. Now it is back front and centre. Up and down. Groin, breasts – you name it. If there is a place they can pat you down, trust me they will.

I loved when we lived in Israel. There they racially profile you with no apologies. Forty something with 2 small children got much less attention than a single male travelling alone. Politically incorrect? Absolutely, but it works.

So I love Brazil. I went through the metal detector and sure enough, bells and whistles. Turn around and try again – same result. Take off watch – try again – same result. Take off boots – try again. No alarm. Huh????

Steve and I suspect that the guy in charge of the metal detector had turned down the sensitivity.

Racial profiling Brazilian style – you have to love it

Parque Ibirapuera. Sunday January 2, 2011

2011-01-02T07:58:00.000-08:00

My favourite place in the whole of Sao Paulo is Parque Ibirapuera. I try and walk the dog there several times a week. There are so many paths, roads and green areas, that I reckon it is possible to do a different route every day for a month without having to repeat the same circuit.

If you “Google map” the park and then look at the satellite view, you can see the lake, the green spaces and the Oscar Niemeyer buildings that are dotted around. These comprise exhibition spaces; an auditorium, museums and a huge covered area that stretches almost from one side of the park to the other. This covered area is great for skate boarding, cycling, concerts and above all, somewhere to go when it rains. I have no idea how many people could get underneath the cover but if someone said to me it would hold 100,000 I wouldn’t be surprised. It is quite simply a huge space.

I also love the park because it is a health and safety nightmare. If this park were located in America or even the UK these days, I can honestly say that it would have to be closed down. For example, there are many areas where tree roots have broken up the sidewalks and the road. Instead of trying to fix them, some of them are highlighted with white paint and hey, the kids love to ride their bikes over them simulating some sort of obstacle course.

Recently a tree fell down, but rather than cut it up and haul away the pieces, they made a sculpture out of what was left. For about a month, several people cut, sawed, smoothed and worked away at the fallen trunk and made the most amazing play space with a hollowed out trunk to crawl through, smooth areas to sit on and a rope net to climb all over. Can you imagine the reaction Health and Safety police? Heaven forbid that someone might get a splinter.

On a busy day, which is normally most weekends, there are literally thousands of people there. And here is what I love the most. People walk dogs, roller blade, cycle, walk, run, jog, and picnic and hang out, all in the same space. There is just the most amazing sense of tolerance between everyone. There is a cycle path that the cyclists tend to stick to but often don’t. Similarly, there are always people walking in the bit that is there for the cyclists. The jogging trail often has walkers and they don’t all go the same way. There are numerous basketball courts and five side football fields, none of which have fences round. The result is that often a ball will come hurtling out of nowhere, but no matter, just throw it back in and let people carry on. I love that a basketball court can be used by two different groups at the same time - one at either end. You would think they would join forces and play a real game, but that isn’t the point. Everyone can do pretty much what they like, where and when they like and everyone gets on together.

There is a huge lake but no fence around it and not even a sign warning of the dangers of falling in. The only sign says “please don’t feed the fish because our food is not suitable for them”. There are feral cats, but I have never once seen them chase any of the ducks, geese or black and white swans, so even the wildlife seem to live in harmony.

Here’s another thing that I love about the place. About every 50 yards or so there are bins and people really use them. They clean up after their dogs and so the park cleaners have a lot of their work done for them. Sure there is always litter, but generally it is a really clean space. There are always loads of people sweeping up the fallen leaves and that, it has to be said, is a never ending task given the amount of trees and foliage that is there.

There are several cafes, and about every hundred yards or so, there are vendors with carts selling everything from iced coconut juice, ice creams and every manner of bagged snack you can think of. At the weekends when there are lots of families, there are vendors selling every type of ball, windmill and kite. Photographers wander around trying to take your photo and very occasionally, I see an old man busking with his accordion. What is really good though is that there is absolutely no pressure to stop and buy – no aggravated selling of anything. It is just there if you want it.

Today it was raining when Marcelo came to pick me up. Tessie, it has to be said, doesn’t the rain, but she doesn’t let it stop her if she hears the magic word “walkies”. We got to the park and Marcelo asked if I wanted to be dropped at the covered area so I could spend an hour walking under cover without getting wet. But today I was prepared for the rain, a Barbour raincoat, hat and Hunter Wellies.

I have to say it was absolutely magical. If I passed 5 people I would have been surprised. The cafes were open but there were no vendors to be seen and even the park police stayed indoors. I felt as though we had the whole park to ourselves. We walked in the middle of the road, in the cycle lane and in the joggers’ area. It literally poured with rain – heavy tropical rain – the sort that soaks you in an instant, but we really didn’t mind.

There was absolutely no one around and I loved it even more than usual.

Marcelo must have thought that we were mad.

Christmas Dinner.Sunday December 26, 2010

2010-12-26T12:58:00.000-08:00

There are not many things I miss from my life in the United States. The obvious ones being the children (some of the time), good friends, my garden etc. I’m sure that not many people would come up with missing an oven, but yesterday, cooking Christmas dinner I really missed mine.

Let me explain. It is not any ordinary oven. It is a 60 inch, cast iron Aga in claret red. Part of it stays hot all the time, giving not only constant heat and instant cooking, but warmth and comfort. It makes the kitchen THE place to be on a cold winter’s day and I miss it very much.

I was 14 years old when I saw my first Aga. I was babysitting for a couple in the next village and they had a red Aga in their kitchen. I fell in love with it and decided that one day, I would have exactly the same. I came close to having one when we were living in Surrey, just before the whacky lifestyle of traveling around the world kicked in. Just as well we didn’t spend the money then, because we were only in that house for a few more months before we headed off to the Far East. That house was rented and then sold when we moved to the United States in 2000.

Fast forward a further four and a bit years. After eighteen months in the States, two months in Israel, eighteen months in Stockholm and a further eighteen months in Paris we were back in the United States. The first house was sold and a second one bought. Only this time with the promise that I could re-do the kitchen and finally have my Aga. Whenever you say to someone (who knows about them) that you have an Aga there are two questions. What sort do you have and what colour is it? Mine is a two oven, gas, claret red. In addition, I have something called a “companion”. It is a standard stove, exactly the same colour as the Aga and made to look like an Aga but it isn’t. It is a regular stove that you turn on and off. Great for New Jersey summers that are so hot it makes nonsense to keep the Aga running pumping out heat that only competes with the air conditioning.

In total I have a hot oven ( 420 degrees F) a cool oven (at about 220 degrees F), a regular oven, a convection oven, a plate that can boil water in what seems like an instant, a cooler plate that is great for simmering, a 4 burner gas hob, and a grill (broiler to the Americans) I am in cooking heaven.

Cooking is a delight, never a chore and for a housewife that spends a lot of time feeding a family of four, that is such a bonus. Dinner parties, no problem – the capacity for producing food with an Aga is limitless and for everyone that has one, there is no other way to cook. For everyone else – bad luck.
Even professional cooks have them for their personal use. Jamie Oliver – white. Martha Stewart – baby blue.

So I miss my Aga. Never more so than yesterday. Here in Sao Paulo I have a pathetic oven that is so small that most of my pans don’t fit. There is one shelf and with heating elements at the top and bottom it means that you can’t put anything on the floor of the oven or near the top for fear of it burning. It often does when I forget.

Trying to cook two turkeys – I figured that one large one wouldn’t fit – roast potatoes, bacon rolls, sausage stuffing, bread stuffing, four different vegetables, gravy and steam a Christmas pudding whilst at the same time trying to keep everything hot and warm plates and serving dishes was going to be quite a challenge.

Steve, bless him had a great idea. Why not use the Barbeque? Fortunately, in the land of red meat and open fire barbequing, we had brought with us our American size, gas barbeque; complete with five burners, side burner and enough capacity to cook at least 50 hamburgers in one go. Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?

With an hour to go before serving time, the turkey was almost cooked and finished off in the barbeque, along with the sausage stuffing, plates for warming and a couple of serving dishes. That left room in the main oven to cook roast potatoes, bacon rolls and bread stuffing. The gas burners had vegetables, gravy and the Christmas pudding – phew. A first – Christmas dinner courtesy of the barbeque – who would have thought?

So no, I am not missing New Jersey too much. Especially, now that I have tackled and succeeded in cooking Christmas dinner,

It also helps that yesterday was about 84 degrees and the sun was shining. Contrast that with the UK that is in the midst of one of the coldest Decembers on record and New Jersey that is expecting 20 inches of snow tonight.

I’ll stick with Sao Paulo for the time being – Aga notwithstanding.

Cell Phones. December 16, 2010

2010-12-17T13:45:00.000-08:00

It’s a while since I have written a blog, which is a good indicator that life is beginning to be back to “normal” – albeit in the Brazilian sense. My life has settled into a pattern of predictability that no longer startles, amuses or catches me unawares. Maybe I am getting used to the eccentricities of living here and now take them for granted. Sitting endlessly in the back of the car, stuck in traffic is the norm. Not being understood when I open my mouth to speak is happening less and less often so the Portuguese teacher must be doing something right, and with a new circle of really good friends, there is plenty to do and occupy my time.

Yesterday, though, the reality of living here reared its ugly head again. I needed a new cell phone.

Ever since I arrived, I have been using the “emergency” cell phone from the office. Before I could get one of my own, I needed to jump through all sorts of visa hoops, most of which have now been sorted, so with obstacles out of the way, there is no reason not to get one.

My search started with the inevitable, “Marcelo, I need a cell phone.” He has never yet let me down and so he dropped me off at the local shopping mall and I went merrily on my way, only to be dazzled by a mass of posters offering amongst other things, the daily special / bonus plan / free cell phone/ pay as you go, etc. etc.

Plano B. “Marcelo I need you to come with me to the stores”. So I returned, Marcelo in tow to help me. Before long we had worked out which of the phone companies to chose. It actually wasn’t that difficult. When your driver, husband and husband’s secretary are with the same company, and as they make up about 80 per cent of my calls, it would be plain madness to use anyone else, given the free air time, Vivo to Vivo.

Now, in the States, you go to the phone shop, decide on a plan and they tell you which phones the plan come with for free, unless you want to upgrade etc, etc... Here it is almost the opposite. Pick a phone. Okay where to start? I have to admit that I am a bit of a techno pigmy and as far as I am concerned, all I do is phone and text. Emma might grab it once in a while to take a photo and I guess if I were in a car accident a camera would be useful but really not that necessary.

I hadn’t even opened my mouth when three phones appeared. Marcelo clearly knows my capabilities and had given them a brief that:-
a, it has to be simple
b, it has to have a big keypad and
c. no, we don’t need masses of technology.

( Steve, it has to be said has an i-phone 4g which is great for everything except making phone calls)

So, cell phone chosen. R$ 169.00 (US$ 100.00) credit card - sorted.

I am being allowed to keep the phone number of the cell phone that I have been using up until now, which is good, because it is a pain to have to change the number and to have to tell everyone.

You would think it was a matter of changing over the chip and all would be well. Wrong. Having paid for the phone, Marcelo then had to ring some sort of help desk to get the number and all the contact details changed over. He was on the phone for about 20 minutes, gabbling away in Portuguese, hardly any of which I understood. What the heck was going on? It seems that in order to transfer everything, the shop can’t do it and it is all done remotely.

Okay, new phone, existing number and details transferred.

So what about a payment plan? Again a huge array of plans, minutes, texts, internet –the lot. No, I want none of it; all I need is pre pay as you go. Given our track record with the length of time we stay anywhere, I do not want to be tied to a plan with penalty clauses.

“Marcelo, please ask them to put R$ 100 (about US$ 60) in the phone.” Not possible was the reply. “What?”
“No,” he said, “we have to go to the supermarket to recharge the phone”

My response was unprintable.

So off we head to the supermarket. The express check outs don’t do it so having stood in line there, thinking I only had one item it would be okay but no, I was redirected to another line to wait some more.

I held up the phone and said “re-charge” (only in Portuguese). Okay what is my plan? “Vivo”.
What is my DDD number? “My what?” How the heck do I know? Where is Marcelo when I need him? The answer is sitting in the car looking after the dog.
“Marcelo what is a DDD number?”
“11” he replied – ah – the penny dropped our area code.

Back to the check out.

Vivo, 11 and the phone number. How much to put on? I could put as little as R$ 3.50 (about US$ 2.00) or as much as R$ 100. Who would recharge their phone with R$ 3.50? Beats me. So R$ 60 later I have a working phone, with minutes, with contact details and a menu in English. What more can a girl ask for?

How about a voice mail box?

That requires a manual. Okay off to the computer to download the manual in English.

Beats me but I have read and re- read the manual 3 times now and there is no instruction to set up a voice mail box. The instructions are on the phone – in Portuguese.

This is a job for Solange, Steve’s assistant, but I have had enough of cell phones for today so that can be tomorrow’s task.

Driving Licenses

2010-10-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Steve and I went to get our Brazilian Driver’s licenses. It was a surreal affair and had to be seen to be believed.

It started, not as one might expect at a driving test center as in the UK, or at the equivalent of the Department of Motor Vehicles as in the United States. Instead, we went to a dingy fourth floor doctor’s office. In my time of traveling around to different countries I always wonder why these places have to be quite so awful. The worst by far was the doctor’s office in New Jersey where we had to have medicals done to obtain our green cards. That was so disgusting that one didn’t want to even sit on the chairs. Time and time again, we encounter grim offices that serve as the place to go to obtain one form of documentation or another - ugh.

But back to the Driving Test. Well at least we went in person. Telling the story after the event, a friend told us that she had a Brazilian license that just “came in the post”. She hadn’t attended anything. Obviously, we hadn’t paid enough money.

We had been told that the process would take between a half hour and an hour. We took with us a lawyer from the same law firm that had helped us with our original visas. Remembering the time in March when we waited 8 hours to get our fingerprints taken, my expectations as to the amount of time this was going to take was not high to say the least.

But actually, it was reasonably efficient. We went in together, sat next to each other in what appeared to be an examination room and awaited instructions.

I had been told that taking a driving test in Brazil involves no actual driving or knowledge of any road based rules. Rather it involves taking lots of brain tests. Quite what the correlation is between brain teasers and driving I have no idea, but our limited amount of Portuguese was no handicap.

The first test consisted of a picture or series of pictures that needed to be completed. So for instance, the first one was a picture of a horse without a tail. There were then 6 further pictures each bearing a letter with the idea that you pick the picture that completed the horse. One could have picked an ear, a second head, a leg, a tail, a hoof or a muzzle. Funnily enough, we both picked the tail.

And so this is how the driving test worked. Forty brain teasers each getting progressively harder. I made it to 36, Steve to 39. Only afterwards did we discover that we only needed to hit 50%.

The second test was a sheet full of arrows pointing left, right, up and down. Some were filled in, some blank and some with dots. The idea was to shade in pencil over the arrows pointing right that were filled in, arrows pointing left that were left unfilled and arrows pointing down with a dot in them. After five minutes of that, you were really left with spots before the eyes.

The last of these tests comprised of 6 simple geometric shapes that had to be copied in boxes alongside the originals. There was a circle with a line through, a rectangle with a diagonal line, a star, a square with the corner missing, some funny shape comprising all of the above and a sixth that I have forgotten - it was obviously not that memorable.

So we passed that bit. Now I thought, on to the medical. We were after all at the doctors.

The “medical” comprised having our blood pressure taken and answering a series of questions, such as “do you smoke?”, “drink excessively?”, “take illegal drugs?” – the sort of thing that you would be mad to answer “yes” to.

Finally there was the eye exam. Now I wear contact lenses so I had no problem. Steve on the other hand wears glasses and without them really can’t see that well. Funny thing – needing glasses to see, but he had to remove his glasses for the test so not surprisingly didn’t do very well. No problem said the doctor; just remember to wear your glasses when you drive!

So 30 minutes, R$ 118 each later I think we have passed. The licenses will come in the post in about a week. Once we have them, Marcelo will be able to break the speed limit, jump red traffic lights and break the embargo that operates whereby our car cannot go into the center of the city at certain times on Thursday. All because now that we have our licenses, we can be the “designated” drivers for collecting penalty points.

I have no intention of driving here, not least because all the other road users have been through the same test that we did and it doesn’t inspire me with much confidence as to actual driving ability.

I’ll leave the driving to Marcelo and happily take his points, not that I think I will ever need to.

Elections

2010-10-05T09:57:00.001-07:00

Last Sunday we had elections here in Brazil. It has to be said, it was a complicated affair.

Marcelo was trying to explain to me the intricacies of the system, which, with my limited Portuguese was not the easiest of tasks, but I think I got the gist of it. I came away believing that one needed a degree in Brazilian politics to understand it fully, but here, I hope, is a brief synopsis.

This was a general election, comprising votes for the President, Upper House and Lower House of Federal Government. There were races for the State Governors, plus the State Legislature and the Federal District. Marcelo was also trying to explain that he also voted for “Prefects” but I have no idea where they fit into the mix.

Running for President were Dilma (known by her first name and running for Lula’s party), Serra, (known by his surname running for the main opposition) and Marina (the Green party candidate).

Dilma was widely expected to win the required 50% of the vote needed for an outright win, but in the end fell short with 46.9% of the vote. This will now trigger a runoff election in a month’s time between her and Serra who won 32.6%. Marina drops out.

Quite why, with the Brazilians’ love of technology they simply didn’t have a “second preference” vote beats me and that would have eliminated the need for the runoff. So a re-do in 4 weeks.

The Upper House has a total of 81 Federal Senators, comprising 3 for each of the 26 States plus 3 for the Federal District of Brasilia, the capital. Of these, 54 were up for election and win by a simple majority.

The Lower House has 513 Deputies, all of whom were up for election, and are elected by proportional representation.

Add into the mix the State Governors, State Legislatures and the mysterious “prefects” makes for a very complicated ballot paper.

Now here’s where it gets interesting. As well as being identified by name and party, each candidate has a number. So for example, Serra was number 45, but then again so was the candidate of Serra’s party who was running for Governor of Sao Paulo. Maybe this is the number given to all candidates running for Governor in each State if they belong to Serra’s party. The Senator from the same party was number 451. The State Deputy was 45545 but then the Federal Deputy for Serra’s party was number 2588 – go figure.

I couldn’t understand why on earth there would be numbers as well as names but then someone said something to me that made me think, “of course”. In Brazil it is compulsory for everyone to vote but there are swathes of the country where illiteracy is rife. I guess people have cottoned onto the fact that numbers are easier to identify than names might be.

We don’t have Brazilian TV so haven’t been bombarded with endless political commercials, but what we have seen is masses of posters, banners, flags and bill boards advertising the names and numbers of the various candidates. I did wonder what it would be like after the election with all the detritus of the campaign, but as we were driving home late Sunday evening, I was struck by how quickly everything had been cleared away, and (for Sao Paulo) the streets were relatively clean. Civic pride after all.

But as with most developing countries we have experienced, there is a lot to learn about the democratic process. I was talking to a lady only today, and she had asked her maid who she had voted for. The reply came, “Dilma for President, Alckmin for State Governor.” When asked why she hadn’t voted for any of the other positions, the reply was, “My priest wrote the names of the people to vote for and he left the names of the other positions blank so I didn’t vote for anyone else.”

I guess as least she participated in the democratic process. I love the idea that you can tick the box for “None of the above”.

Chickens and Charities Saturday September 18, 2010

2010-09-18T13:47:00.001-07:00

One of the things that I have found most rewarding about having this whacky lifestyle is getting involved in local charities. There is always some good cause or another to support and over the years I have been on the committees of many fundraising groups.

Around the world, there are different levels of need and as you would expect, the poorer the country the more basic the need. In the Philippines, like most other third world countries, there is very little in the way of social support paid for by the government. In many ways, this has fostered a spirit of greater community understanding because if there is no help from family and community, sufferers are left to their own devices and will simply “go under”. Seeing communities come together in the face of adversity is a lesson to us all.

Conversely, in very developed countries, the state takes on all rolls of support to the point where families almost have the choice as to whether or not to abdicate responsibility for supporting family and community. Now that the developed world is facing burgeoning government debt, a lot of these services are being cut, so people are wondering how on earth they are going to cope with having to take on more responsibility for themselves. With an aging population, growing demand for health and personal care one wonders how much we are going to have to rebalance the support of the state with greater personal and community involvement.

I have seen firsthand the struggles of helpless people in developing countries, and by contrast, the wealth of the benefactors in the United States, pouring money into the arts. Where would the Guggenheim or the Metropolitan museum be with its benefactors? There is a place for both, of that I am in no doubt, but where physically handicapped patients have been chained to beds to stop them falling out, because there is no money for secure cots, it is truly an eye opener and I know where I would rather direct my efforts.

Here in Brazil, there is no shortage of need. There are a lot of very good local charities and no shortage of willing volunteers. Volunteering can take the form of hands on involvement day to day, or to organize and support fund raising activities. There is a place for everyone to apply their talents.

On Saturday I am going to the St Andrew's Ball where we all get to dance Scottish dances, listen to bagpipes and generally have a good time. The following weekend, the British Consul is offering to open his home and, with his wife, hold an evening of Jazz in order to raise money for a children’s charity. It is a great way for us to give back to the communities in which we live, whilst at the same time getting together with friends and dragging our husbands out for a pleasant evening - albeit in the name of charity.

One charity that caught my eye to support is a very simple idea of providing chickens for a local community in the north east of Brazil. 100 chickens plus feed will provide food for the community and once up and running will be self sustaining. What a great idea, based on the premise that if you give a man a meal, he is fed for a day, but teach him to fish and he will never be hungry again.

Each chicken is US$ 7.50 - a very small amount to us westerners but a huge sum for people living on less than US$ 2.00 per day.

I look around Sao Paulo and see the Favelas very close to my neighbourhood. Where I live, there is an oasis of calm, houses hidden by high fences, security cameras and guards. What must the people in the Favelas think when they see the opulence of our lifestyles in comparison to theirs.

I have no idea, but I give thanks and remind my children often that we are so lucky not to be in that position. The things we take totally for granted, primary needs such as shelter, health, hot water and comfort are beyond the greatest expectations for millions of people living beside us.

So I am happy to get involved, give back and do my bit. One chicken at a time.

Bad Hair Day. Thursday September 16, 2010

2010-09-16T14:30:00.000-07:00

It is said that a woman’s crowning glory is her hair and all those of us that have suffered a really bad haircut, can empathise. I know because I have suffered my fair share.

One of the hardest challenges of moving so frequently, is finding new doctors, dentists, OBGYN’s etc., but by far the hardest challenge is to find a good hairdresser.

In my experience, word of mouth and recommendations are the best way to go. Okay, if you have a recommendation and you turn out not to like the particular service, it is usually easy to change or vote with your feet and just not go back. But go to a hairdresser and get a lousy cut and you are having a bad hair day for the next 5 or so weeks.

When we lived in Manila, I was very soon recommended a German guy by the name of Manfred. Manfred, I swear, used to put down his scissors to go and take a quick snort of some substance mid cut. But, he knew how to cut hair and that was all he did. No colouring, perms or blow drying for Manfred. He cut hair and boy was he good. And it didn’t matter what you said to him, he had his own ideas about what style was best for you and so he cut that style. Usually he was right. I used to hate going but I loved the result.

In Istanbul and France I found English girls - again word of mouth – that had “portable” hairdressing salons so that was easy – sort of.

I make no apology for the fact that I colour my hair. After all, I am far too young in this day and age to be grey which is certainly what I would be if nature were allowed to take its course. When I was in Paris I went to several salons before I found the English speaking “home service”. My experience there was that there is only bleach. Forget tinting, it is good old peroxide for blonds. With trepidation I let them start, but they were so slow that after a few foils, they were taking out and rinsing the first ones before continuing with the next. Salvation was in the form of the English girl that brought her products from “back home”

In the States, I was recommended a European girl and from the get-go, she had been fabulous. So much so, that in the eight months that I have been here, I have been back to her four times. As a consequence, I have not yet had to find a hairdresser here. But that fateful day is fast approaching. I am due to go back to the States in November and I have an appointment already scheduled but after that - helpppppppp. As a blond, there are not many salons used to dealing with streaked blond hair and with one exception, almost all the blonds I have seen here look like tigers with hideous stripes.

I have had a few recommendations here and sooner or later I am going to have to bite the proverbial bullet and just try them out. But this week I was having my nails done at the local hairdressing salon and watched with disbelief as the main colourist did a client’s hair. She had long, dark hair and wanted blond streaks put though. He piled her hair onto the top of her head and proceeded to take a huge chunk and back comb it to within 2 inches of her scalp. The hair that was left, he then proceeded to paint with dye, working the colour into the hair a bit like a plasterer would mix plaster and water – ugh. Each foil took about 3 or 4 minutes. Now. Given that my fabulous hairdresser in New Jersey could foil my entire head in around 30 minutes, I am in dread that not only is the result going to be awful, the process is going to take forever.

It also has to be said that my dog, a Fox Terrier is also having the same problem. Fox Terriers are not like most dogs, they too have hair that grows and has to be cut as opposed to most other dogs that have fur that sheds.

Tessie, in the States had a fabulous groomer who loved her almost as much as I do and whenever Tessie went for a haircut, would come out looking fabulous amongst canines.

So the first time I took her to the local dog parlour here, they did a great job. Fantastic, I thought, one less thing to worry about.

Since then they have cut her as if she is a Schnauzer, complete with shaggy underbelly and funny beard. The time after that I took a photo of a Fox Terrier and they managed to cut off her eyebrows so she looked more like a sheep than a dog, and this week they did a sort of okay job but when I got her home, I had to put her onto the kitchen counter top and gave her some finishing touches to make her look like a real Fox Terrier.

Seems it is not only the human world that has a “bad hair day”.

Twenty Beds. Wednesday September 8th, 2010

2010-09-08T15:30:00.000-07:00

I am currently sitting in the Continental airline’s lounge at Newark with a glass of champagne by my side and promising myself that before I board the plane I will have posted this blog.

I left Brazil on July 27th, more than 6 weeks ago, and I haven’t been home since. Whoever claimed that the jet set life is glamorous is an outright liar, unless of course you have the luxury of private jets, chauffer driven cars (come back Marcelo all is forgiven) and someone to pack and unpack. Well, Marcelo doesn’t count because I left him in Brazil so I have been chief organizer, packer, loader/unloader and driver.

The title of this blog is “twenty beds” and anyone that has done this type of travelling can empathise with me when I say that in the past 6 weeks; this is the number of times I have changed locations to sleep. Imagine packing and unpacking that many times to say nothing of loading and unloading the rental cars – of which I had 5.

Okay, I need to explain. We were always planning to go to the UK this summer for a family wedding, but the weekend after the family wedding, there was another wedding in Belgium and, as we were so close, it seemed madness not to go. I also planned a 50th birthday party for Steve for 80 of our closest family and friends at a place that I had never heard of, let alone visited.

Even the first leg of the journey, ( Sao Paulo to Newark) meant that I could spend 10 hours in the Princeton area and managed to fill the time with trips to the hairdressers, doctors, Motor Vehicle to get a new driving license, Barnes and Noble to pick up summer reading, have passport photographs taken for the children’s new passports, visited the bank to sort out a credit card for my college bound son and finally a trip to a friend’s house to drop 3 bags that we need State side but not in the UK. I was exhausted before I took the next leg of the trip from the USA to the UK.

As soon as I landed, I picked up a rental car and headed to see an old friend who was only in town that day. It would have been easier to give into the jet lag and not bother, but here is the nub of expat living. It has to be the one that goes away to make the effort to stay in touch with everyone “back home”. No one ever knows when we are going to be around, so unless we are the ones to make the effort, it is all too easy to fall into the “out of sight, out of mind” mentality.

So although it has been an exhausting trip, getting our son into University, our daughter back to boarding school, visiting 2 colleges for our daughter, 10 days in Maine, trips to Boston on the way there and back, 2 trips to Washington DC and a few days in Princeton I feel a huge sense of achievement for having planned and expedited the whole thing with only very minor glitches.

I managed a game of bridge, the first for several months, more coffees, afternoon teas; lunches and dinners than are good for my waistline but I actually enjoyed every minute of it. We attended a gallery opening in Philadelphia, managed to melt the plastic on my credit card with all the shoppping and survived with only two suitcases of clothes. Thank you to everyone that helped plan all of the above – I loved seeing all of you and am only sorry that I didn’t get to see everyone.

That said, by the end of last week my 15 year old daughter and I were constantly saying “I can’t wait for next Wednesday”. Even Steve admitted to me that “he is ready for me to come home”. I think 4 weeks of fending for himself is more than enough.

Tomorrow I will hit the ground running to pick up my life in Brazil. There is a committee meeting of the charity I am helping out with, but I think I will be too late for that. But Steve has arranged Bridge for Thursday evening; we have a reception for Friday evening and dinner on Saturday with friends. Oh and a concert on Sunday afternoon. I will walk the dog, tackle the laundry and hit the supermarket.

I have to say, for all the exhaustion I plead, I wouldn’t change a minute of it.

Women are from Venus. Tuesday July 20, 2010

2010-07-20T16:51:00.001-07:00

There is a reason why God decided that women will be the sex to bear children. It is so simple. We women have a pain threshold that no man could ever match. I think I read somewhere that if it were up to men to bring children into the world; the human race would die out within a few generations. Today was a case in point.

Both of our children have to have their wisdom teeth removed. Charles at 18 is about the right age and Emma at 15, is totally ahead of the game – but then she always has been.

Now that we are here in Brazil, I wanted to be the “nursing” mum, so rather than them have it done in the United States, I thought it would be best all round if it were done here and I could look after them post operatively and do the “mummy” thing.

A new friend here had raved about her dentist and so a few phone calls later, we had a recommendation for an oral surgeon. Not sure that our dentist in the United States was totally comfortable with the idea of us doing this but as long as the teeth were removed…. “Whatever”.

So a couple of weeks ago we went for our pre op consultation. This in itself was an experience. Given that my Portuguese is still pretty basic and her English ran to about 10 words we actually communicated pretty well. Thank goodness that words like “anesthetic,” “allergies” and “analgesic” translate so easily.

So the appointments were set for this morning. I checked with Marcelo, “how long to get from the house to the dentist?” He advised about an hour allowing for traffic. I then added on 15 minutes but forgot that he had already added on 15 minutes so we were 30 minutes early.

The dentist was quite clearly relived to see that in all the communication, we had arrived on the right day at the right time. I also showed her the medications she had prescribed and she was also relieved to see that the medications to be taken “one hour before surgery” had been ingested.

But back to the original point.

When asked “who is going first?” Emma put up her hand. No doubt she was game. She went in and when gestured by the surgeon to sit behind her in the operating surgery, I gracefully declined. My own blood I can cope with, someone else’s I am not too good.

Fifty minutes later, she emerged. Actually the nurse emerged first with a thumbs up –all was fine. Emma came out with her newly extracted teeth in a tiny plastic yellow handbag, clutching an ice pack to her face. She proclaimed that it "wasn’t as bad as she thought," and sat down to read the book she had brought with her

Phew – I thought.

So in went Charles. I heard the howls of pain and after a few minutes couldn’t bear it and so went into the surgery to see the surgeon with only the anesthetic in hand. Seems that the pre anesthetic wasn’t doing its stuff and Charles was in pain from the needle. I took a deep breath and went back outside. Every ten minutes that passed without a howl from Charles was a bonus. It got to a point where I would gladly have traded places with him to relieve him of the pain and discomfort.

So we made it home. Painkillers every four hours. Charles is counting the minutes until the next one. He is lying on the sofa, milking the pain for all it is worth. Emma’s recall is that it wasn’t too bad. Charles wants us to know every gory detail. Both have swollen mouths, discomfort and the thought that in a few month’s time they will be doing this all over again.

Charles is terrified at the thought.

Emma’s mantra is “suck it up”.

I rest my case. Women really are from Venus. Men really are from Mars

Go Karts Sunday July 11, 2010

2010-07-11T16:39:00.000-07:00

I slept very fitfully last night and when I did sleep, I had nightmares. Shivers go down my spine when I think about the events of yesterday, which I hasten to add were all of my own making and nothing to do with the security of living here.

On Friday it was Charles’s 18th birthday and for a treat, we suggested that we take him Go–Karting. We had done this in the States and Steve recalled doing something similar in the UK. In the States, Charles did it when he was about 14 or 15 years of age, so I didn’t give it a second thought about allowing Emma to participate in her brother’s fun day out.

So it was booked and we headed off. It has always been our intention that I would back out at the last minute and Marcelo would be able to take my place. He was I think quite genuinely surprised and pleased to be included.

I started having misgivings about Emma when I saw just how fast these Karts were going and how easy it was to lose control and spin off the track. The track was very long and had several quite long straights and even more hairpin bends than Silverstone. When we arrived, we watched a race that had only 6 participants so I thought at the very least, Emma could bimble around the track keep out of everyone’s way.

They went off and got kitted out in overalls, helmets, balaclavas and gloves. Emma was in a very fetching pink with the word “Dolly” written on the back. It wasn’t a joke, but rather the name of a local juice being advertised, but I guess they didn’t realize the significance of the translation because all the men’s suits had the same logo on them.

There were the usual waivers to be signed but as they were in Portuguese we had no idea what they were saying, although I could hazard a guess. They went off for briefing , again in Portuguese and it suddenly dawned on me that I was about to let my 15 year old hurtle round a track with a machine that it is claimed could reach 85 kilometers (53 miles) per hour, wearing nothing but a canvas suit and helmet for protection.

I should have called a halt there and then, especially when I saw that instead of 6 drivers there were 21 for their race. I also saw that

a. Emma was the only girl present
b. She was clearly one of the youngest
c. At least 12 of the other drivers were kitted out in professional looking leather overalls with their own helmets, gloves and special shoes. This was something they did regularly and with serious intent.

I quickly came to the conclusion that this wasn’t going to be a nice gentle trip in a go-kart. This race was going to be Formula 1 with testosterone.

The idea was that there would be two or three warm up laps, during which time each driver would post a lap time to determine who got pole position on the grid.

Emma, bless her, managed to hit a pole in the pit lane, stall her engine and made it out of the pits by going over several concrete ramps rather than driving on the tarmac.

I was horrified when I saw the speed at which these men raced their karts. In front of me there was the end of the longest straight, followed by a very wide sweeping bend. I wasn’t at all concerned about Steve, Charles or Marcelo, I could only think about Emma and how absolutely stupid I was to even think that she could do it. She made it round this first bend, and the second but on the third, she flew straight up a bank and ended up hitting a tree. The boys and Marcelo came and went round twice more before I next saw Emma. She rounded the bend in front of me, but didn’t make it and hurtled off the track into (actually through) the tyre wall.

I screamed, and then I screamed again…….and then some more for good measure.

Fortunately, the marshals were stopping everyone to line them up for the start of the race proper. These remember were just the warm up laps. I couldn’t get onto the track because of the barriers but I leant over and I screamed at Steve to get her out, I screamed at Marcelo to tell the marshals to get her out and I screamed at every marshal I could see to get her out. My next plan was to jump the barrier and drag her out myself. Fortunately it wasn’t necessary.

Emma was fine, pride a bit dented but none the worse for wear. It turned out that her brakes were pretty suspect and in the two laps that she did manage, as well as the post, the tree and the tyre wall, she was also hit by another driver and, at a different bend, ended up spinning. Steve also saw her sitting majestically in her kart in a location which no one has ever been before.

She was glad that she had tried, but her biggest disappointment of the day was that there was no photographic evidence of the crash to post on Face Book. Teenagers have weird priorities these days. I was terrified for her, but she thought it was cool.

Driving Thursday July 8, 2010

2010-07-08T04:30:00.001-07:00

Life in Sao Paulo is gaining some semblance of normality. We have routines, favourite shops, restaurants and entertainment and I have even started getting involved with local charities and organizations. Days have some sort of structure that leads one to believe that life is “normal” albeit in a foreign land.

But, there are some things that will always mean that we are “foreigners” here. Not least, because the minute anyone sees me let alone hears me mangling the Portuguese language, it is obvious that I am not Brazilian.

A lot of ex-pats here drive themselves. I take my hat off to them because I have absolutely no intention of getting a local driving license and attempting to do the same. This is said by someone who drove in the Philippines, in Istanbul and could give a Parisian a run for their money around the Arc De Triomphe. No, there is something about Sao Paulo traffic , road works and pot holes that leads me to believe it is best left to the professionals and those courageous or is it mad enough to drive themselves.

So, what I am about to tell you here is anecdotal, stories from people that I have met that have gone through the process themselves.

It seems that there are three ways to obtain a drivers license. The first is to actually go through the process, take the test and do it the hard way. The second is to pay someone to take the test for you and the third is just to pay for it.

It is, or so I am told, a common insult to shout out the window of a car to another driver “I see you paid someone to get your license”. The inference being that their driving is so bad that they couldn’t possibly have passed a test on their own account.

I also heard from a friend who’s eldest son is about to go through the process here, that for an “extra” fee, the written part of the test could be taken by someone else. My friend, who actually wants his son to learn to drive, was pretty appalled. It turns out that the government has introduced a system whereby before taking any part of the written test, you have to have your fingerprints taken and scanned into the machine. It seems that the cheats have devised a way of making gelatin fingerprints so that the machine can be duped into thinking that the legitimate person is taking the test.

But the best story I have heard so far involves getting points on one’s license. As in most countries, various offences carry a points system and too many points can disqualify a license. An admirable system you might think to get the bad drivers off the road. Well, someone I was talking to told me that when she arrived in Sao Paulo, she decided to take a defensive driving course to give her more confidence about driving here. She started talking to the other participants, one of whom was an elderly gentleman, who it turned out, had over 1000 points on his license and was attending the course as part of the system to rehabilitate bad drivers. It turns out that the son of this elderly man had a trucking business and every time any one of the drivers received anything in the way of points, they designated this elderly man as the recipient and so the points were added to the old man’s license. It turns out that this guy doesn’t even drive any more; he just keeps his license to collect points and keep them off the licenses of the truck drivers.

This, it seems, is absolutely legal! Another friend who has 4 children living in the UK has made them all take the Brazilian driving test and get local licenses for the same reason. Her children don’t live here, and chances are that they never will. But their licenses are very handy when either of the parents gets caught speeding and issued with a ticket.

But even some professional drivers have their limits. Next week, I am taking the children to Rio de Janeiro for the weekend and rather than fly up, I thought it would be good to take the coast road, which by all accounts is a beautiful, albeit long drive. We have been thinking about what to do when we get there, whether to send Marcelo back with the car and hire a local driver, or whether to keep Marcelo with us for the weekend.

The decision was rather made for us when Marcelo announced that he really didn’t want to drive in Rio. Sao Paulo, it seems is one thing, Rio is something completely different and even Marcelo has his limits.

Man nesting. Sunday June 20, 2010

2010-06-20T05:51:00.000-07:00

Our furniture arrived six weeks ago tomorrow. Six weeks is psychologically important to me because it is the length of time I give myself in any move to have the house straightened. This includes hanging curtains, pictures and getting rid of all the packing boxes. My mantra is that if it isn’t done within this six week period, then it won’t get done at all. Boxes left unpacked will never be unpacked until they reappear in the next location.

The key reason for this is that we never know how long we are going to be in any given location. In 23 years of marriage, we have moved house 13 times. The shortest was Israel ( 2 months ) the longest the United States, ( 4 years in the same house).

So this week I have had two men in the house most days, hanging pictures and curtain poles. They are the men that work in the development and by day, they keep the communal areas meticulously clean, do all the gardens and take care of the swimming pools. At the end of the day, they freelance, so in my case it is hanging about 150 pictures and changing light bulbs (there is probably a whole blog on light bulbs to come in case you were wondering what the big deal is on changing light bulbs).

Now it is the weekend and rather than have the two handymen come back, Steve wants to finish off. As he sees it, having him contribute in some manner is an essential part of the home making process – over a few drinks the other night we decided it must be “man nesting”.

Man nesting very categorically involves power tools, testosterone and the oldest pair of jeans in the wardrobe. In Steve’s case it also means announcing to the family that this weekend is when he will be Mr. D.I.Y. and in honor of the event he isn’t going to shave. More manliness.

He used to be in the Royal Navy and an everlasting trait is that everything has to have a place. In particular, the bathroom. Towel rails have to be hung in just the right place and he wasn’t prepared to leave that very important task to the gardeners. So as I type this, my side of the bathroom is littered with rawl plugs, spirit levels and all manner of power tools as the original hooks and towel rails get taken down and replaced with more appropriate hardware in more appropriate places.

Steve doesn’t do much in the way of D.I.Y. but when he does, it is methodically planned and generally very well executed. He really does have the “measure twice/cut once” mentality – I guess from having got it wrong in the past. He is also a great believer that if you are going to do anything, then having the right equipment is absolutely essential. More power tools and another trip to hardware store are in order.

Trying to translate “spackle” (poly-filler for the Brits) was interesting but we found it in the end.

But as it is when men barbeque, they have to have an assistant to hand them everything the minute it is needed. That assistant of course is me. Actually Steve isn’t too bad and the big plus is that he does actually clear up after himself. Probably because he doesn’t trust me to put said power tools away in the right place.

So by this afternoon we should be finished. At this stage I would usually have the housewarming party all planned as well, but a lot of people are away in July and August to avoid the “freezing” Sao Paulo winter (the locals are complaining of the cold but it is mid winter’s day tomorrow and the temperature is 28 degrees Celsius/82 degrees Fahrenheit) so we are now looking at having a party in September. The advantage of that is that we will have met more people to invite, and maybe it will be cool enough to actually use the fireplace – something we must do since I managed to find some very nice firewood and even pre-cut kindling (which Steve was a bit disappointed by since he now has no excuse to get his axe out).

Today is Father’s Day in the United States. I think a day of testosterone fueled man nesting is the perfect way to spend it. Oh, and watching Brazil play the Ivory Coast in the World Cup. The only thing missing is a Vuvuzela.

Reality check 3. Monday June 14, 2010

2010-06-14T17:44:00.001-07:00

On Friday of last week, Charles had an experience that again reminds us of the reality of life in Brazil and why we have Marcelo to look after us.

Emma and I had just arrived back from the United States, and, with a mountain of laundry ahead of me after 2 weeks of being away, plus the general chaos of returning home, there was no way I was going anywhere that day. Of course Tessie the Fox Terrier didn’t understand that I wasn’t going to be walking her and with Emma feigning exhaustion it was left to Charles to take her to the park.

We have a choice of three parks, depending upon the amount of time we have to walk her. We have the nearest park, “Severo Gomes” which is the smallest and we can be there and back in about an hour. Parque de Povo is bigger and further away and takes about an hour and a half, but our favourite is Parque Ibirapuera which is great if we have a couple of hours to spare.

The park of choice last Friday was Severo Gomes. It is the one that I have blogged about before where, on any given morning there are keep fit classes, Tai Chi instruction and all manner of people stretching and contorting their bodies into odd shapes.

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when Charles and Marcelo arrived. Unbeknown to Charles, Marcelo had been watching a couple of motorcyclists in the rear view mirror. He was concerned that they had been following the car for a while.

Now, it has to be said that Marcelo is always concerned when he sees motorcyclists either in obvious pairs or two people on the same bike. Opportunistic robbers it seems, always hunt in packs. One is there to distract, whilst the other does the actual robbery, or one is driving and the other grabs whatever they can.

On this occasion, there were two bikes tailing the car. When they arrived at the park, Marcelo made Charles wait in the car for several minutes whilst he watched what they were up to. It seems that they too had stopped, presumably waiting to see who or what would get out of the car.

Eventually, Charles was let out of the car and Marcelo followed him into the park. At this point, Marcelo was obviously feeling very uncomfortable with the situation and un-holstered his gun. I have never seen him do this before, he normally just casually opens his jacket so that everyone can see that he is carrying a weapon, but something that day must have given him greater cause for concern and he decided that just showing that he was carrying wasn’t enough.

He then called Charles back and started talking to him. Quite what was said is not known. Not least because Charles has no Portuguese and Marcelo no English. But it was enough for the two motorcyclists to see that Charles was most definitely there with Marcelo and I gather that at that point, they turned their bikes around and headed off.

Marcelo 2, robbers 0.

Charles was then able to head off on his walk around the park. Marcelo got back in the car and started “curb crawling” on the road that surrounds the park, following Charles at about 3 miles an hour.

Later that evening, Steve had a call from head office in the United States. Marcelo must have filed a report, presumably because he un-holstered his gun and only then did we realize the significance of what had happened. Charles, although aware that the gun had come out, did not appreciate the potential seriousness of the incident and I am sure in his teenage way, thought it was “cool”.

Time to find a different park methinks.

Graduation.Saturday June 5,2010

2010-06-05T15:33:00.000-07:00

Today I blubbed. And then I blubbed a bit more. It was our son’s graduation from The Pennington School, his prep school in New Jersey that he has been to since we came back to the United States in 2004.

This, in itself is quite a feat. In all our travels around the world we have never managed to stay in one place more than 18 months, (with the exception of the Philippines where we stayed a little over 2 years). The shortest stay was in Israel where Steve was based for 6 months and the children and I were there for the summer holidays.

You may wonder then how we managed to stay in the United States for 5 years before we left for Brazil. The answer is simple. Steve had three different positions each a little over a year and a half. Added to that, when an overseas job came up, he didn’t push for his name to be put forward as the timing would have been horrible for the children’s education.

And so it has been that Charles has been at The Pennington School since we came back in 2004. We were very lucky that he was accepted because we only knew that we were leaving France in the middle of August, which didn’t give us a huge amount of time to get schools sorted. We came for a flying visit in the third week of August to try and sort out a school for him. This is where a big company like BMS can really help. We were given the help of an agent who, from what I can gather has the most amazing connections with the admissions directors of the local private schools and within the space of 24 hours had arranged interviews with four of them.

We stepped off the plane that August of 2004 and made Charles sit his SSAT exams the following day. Then there was a round of interviews over the course of the next two days and miraculously, Charles was accepted at Pennington. Now it has to be said, that Pennington was always top of the list and it has turned out to be the most perfect place for him. Thank you to everyone involved in the admissions process and to the family that had turned down a place, making it possible for Charles to attend.

Six years, and tens of thousands of dollars later Charles graduated Magna Cum Laude. To us Brits, this whole graduation thing is rather strange as we have nothing like it in the UK. Graduation there normally consists of a final end of year assembly, with the obvious parting words from the head master.

In the United States it is a major event. On Friday night there was a Senior/Parent dinner, followed by dancing. There were various mini performances by the students and the school band played. It was a great time to catch up with the other parents that have shared this journey with us. The comments were all along the lines “how did it go so fast?”, and “where is your son/daughter going to college?” We laughed and generally had a good time.

And so to today. The weather was hot and the seats had been set up under the trees. There was a lovely breeze and the Class of 2010 came in, in gowns and mortar boards behind their teachers, trustees and faculty members, serenaded by an Irish pipe band. There were numerous speeches, songs by the “Senior Chorus” and then came the Salutatory Address and the Valedictory Address. All of which was moving and heartfelt. There were prizes given for all manner of things. I was thrilled when Charles won the “Pennington School Award to the Senior Excelling in History.” Even better, the prize was “The Lion and the Unicorn – Gladstone versus Disraeli – how perfect.

Then came the actual Graduation part. Every student was called up individually to receive his or her diploma. With a hundred or so students it was quite a sight. There is also a quaint tradition that where a student has a close relative that has graduated from Pennington or faculty member as a parent, then their diploma is given by that person and not the head of school. There was much hugging and I have to say that the outpouring of goodwill and happiness today was quite a sight to see.

My British “stiff upper lip” was nowhere in sight. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

Fingerprints - Brazilian style. Wednesday May 26, 2010

2010-05-27T03:23:00.000-07:00

Today was a day to forget. We had an appointment to sort out the second half of our visas. This involved having our fingerprints taken and getting our “RNE” number. This entitles us to get our permanent visas for Brazil, open bank accounts, start to pay taxes and as far as Steve is concerned, the most important of all, joining the golf club.

To give you some back ground. Normally, after getting the first part of the visa, (the CPF) , (which we did in March, in New York, ) you arrive back and present yourself to the Federal Police about a week later to get the RNE part.

(Steve says I have not quite got the technicalities right - but why spoil a good story with the facts?)

Well, it turns out that staff at the Federal police had been selling RNE numbers for a not inconsiderable fee and having been found out, were sacked. The ones that hadn’t been involved in this racket then came out on strike to support the ones that had. The result is that having got our first part in March, we had an appointment to get the second part at the end of June. Trouble is, you can’t leave the country without getting the second, and as I am off to the States tomorrow, and Steve on Saturday, we needed to get the RNE sorted.

So this morning, we made an emergency appointment to get fingerprinted etc etc.

The day actually started well. The discussion with Marcelo went something along the lines, “Marcelo, how long to get to the Federal police?” The reply, “About 2 hours”. “Solange,” ( Steve’s secretary.) “How long to get to the Federal police?” “About 45 miniutes”. We compromised, allowed about an hour and a bit, and we arrived at 8.30, half an hour early for our appointment.

The trouble started when Sergio, (relief and trainee driver) parked in front of the café opposite the Federal police building, blocking the entrance to a car park. A bit daft to say the least and the cashier of the car park started gesticulating and shouting, leaving no doubt as to his meaning. Marcelo & Sergio disappeared with the car whilst we headed to the café to wait. The next time I saw them, Marcelo was wearing his bullet proof vest – not a good start.

We apologized to the garage owner, who also happened to own the café where we were having breakfast and waited for the lawyer.

BMS had paid a lawyer to basically expedite the process. As it turns out, they need not have bothered. The lawyer arrived, we checked in and deposited our papers and were told that the process basically entailed signing a document ( 20 minutes to a one hour wait) followed by fingerprints with a further 1 – 3 hour wait. ( Average time 2 hours). So we waited, and waited and waited.

The lawyer announced that after 2 and a half hours, she was off to other meetings but would leave her side kick to look after us and to do any translating. The side kick had started working for the lawyer on Monday so had about as much idea of the process as we did.

Well. It turns out that today was a bit of an unusual day. There were very few people on duty and the place was absolutely heaving. About a year ago the Brazilian government gave an amnesty to Bolivian illegal immigrants to become legal, so the place was literally full of Bolivians. Wives and children in tow. Then on Wednesdays in particular it is “Mormon” day and the local Mormon Temple bring literally bus loads of what can only be described as pilgrims who are on temporary visas to get their fingerprints done.

By 3 pm (and we were still waiting to sign the first piece of paper (20 minute wait)) the fat lady sang. Or to be more presice,the fat lady screamed. It turns out that this woman had been in the queue since 12 o’ clock to deposit her papers. At around 12.15 a sign went up to say that the counter clerk would be back by 1 pm. In fact the sign didn’t get taken down until 2.15 , by which time the line was almost out of the building. Then, at 3 pm, the shutter went down and no more people were to be checked in that day. It turns out that the fat lady, was 8 months pregnant and was the next in line when the shutter went down. Having been standing for 3 hours, only to be told that she was not going to be processed, she totally lost it. And I mean “lost it”. Joan Sutherland would have been given a run for her money. The entire place heard what she was saying. Even the two of us who are still struggling to understand Portuguese knew exactly what was going on. More police arrived and bullet proof vests were definitely the order of the day.

So by 4.30 we still hadn’t signed the pieces of paper that we should have signed 20 minutes after our arrival. The lawyer by now had returned from her meetings or shopping trips and was in serious danger of losing face.

Steve, having started the day in a pretty calm manner, and having cancelled all his meetings was beginning to become concerned. After all, the golf club membership was on the line here. I was still okay but worried that the dog had been sitting cross legged for 9 hours.

Steve finally called his secretary who in turn called the head of security.

Here is where “ it’s not what you know but who you know” takes precedence. It turns out that the head of BMS security knows several people in the Federal Police. I have no idea who he called or what favours he called in. All I know is that within about 5 minutes we were having our finger prints taken. We bypassed the stage about signing various documents and because it was so sudden, we were totally taken aback and all I saw were two UK passports being waved in the air and the names “Su-ee Mer-hickee” and “Shtee-hee Mer-hickee” being called. We clambered over everyone to get to the front of the line.

Thank you Solange and Pinheiro.

Odd Socks . Wednesday May 19, 2010

2010-05-19T15:58:00.001-07:00

I remember years ago that my mother became very excited because she had a new vacuum cleaner. I distinctly remember at the time thinking “how sad”. The fact that it was a vacuum cleaner that caused her so much pleasure, made me believe that her life was devoid of real enjoyment. Well Mum, now you can have the last laugh because I am now officially “sad” and by my own admission.

Last Friday my new washing machine was plumbed in (thank you Marcelo – what would I do without you) and today my tumble dryer was hooked up. I was so happy. Up until now I have done without a tumble dryer so everything that has been washed has had to be line dried. This was fine when the outdoor temperature was high, and humidity notwithstanding, drying was not a problem.

Now that the weather has turned much colder and it is still pretty damp, getting things dry had been proving to be rather more difficult. Add into the equation, the fact that the laundry room still floods every time it rains and last week I discovered that the base of the cabinets have become completely rotten from all the water, and the smell of mould in there is so bad that I can’t leave anything in there without it acquiring a pretty disgusting whiff. That has meant line drying everything on racks in the kitchen. Just as well there are only two of us. Much more laundry and you wouldn’t be able to turn around without bumping into a rack.

So today, I dried my first load in the dryer. It is huge, American and swallowed a load of laundry in no time at all – bliss.

I have had a washing machine for all the time that we have been in the house, - it was rented of course and I was very happy to see the back of it. It was Brazilian; and had 4 settings – soak, wash and rinse and spin. There was nothing as sophisticated as hot/warm/cold water or fast/medium/slow spin. And as for delicates or hand wash – forget it. However the worse thing about it was the fact that it made the most awful noise. It was a top loader with an agitating arm sticking up from the bottom. Every time this arm moved it made a sort of high pitched EEEEEEE sort of noise. It was so annoying but having spoken to several other people, it seems, this is perfectly normal. So, having an American front loader with programmable choices of wash is absolute bliss. Again I say, how sad.

But here is the crux of this blog. What is it about tumble dryers that produce odd socks? So far, since being here I have washed pairs of socks. They go through the EEEEEE machine and come out the other side, get dried and paired up and then put back in the correct sock drawer.

When we were living in the US, I had an entire drawer devoted to odd socks. You can guarantee that the day I decided that the sock had been there long enough and it was never going to see its partner and threw it out, so its pair appeared – maddening.

Emma used to have a really annoying habit of coming down in the morning with no socks. When I told her to go and get some, she could never be bothered to go back upstairs and so would raid the odd sock drawer. Several days later those odd socks would make it through the wash ( well sometimes) and I would get very excited because I knew that there were odd ones waiting in the drawer to be paired up. How annoying to discover that it was Emma’s game of taking socks from the drawer. Little madam.

When we left to come to Brazil I threw the lot away. There must have been at least 15 maybe 20 socks that were never going to see their mate again. I was determined that starting afresh; I was never again going to have a drawer dedicated to odd socks.

Well, today as I have said, I did my first load of drying in my new dryer and guess what? There were 6 odd socks. Go figure.

Lost in Translation - 2. May 17 2010

2010-05-17T17:05:00.001-07:00

I had my first trip to Rio de Janeiro this past weekend. I have to say that it was pretty amazing and although we were only there for 48 hours, it will definitely be on our list of places to revisit.

Steve, as usual was working, but was able to have some R & R on Saturday evening and on Sunday morning – bliss.

On Saturday evening, a colleague of Steve’s had recommended that we to go to a restaurant called Platforma, where, after dinner they have a show to give one the “flavor of Rio” This basically comprised young, lithe and very scantily clad women in Carnival dress performing all sorts of Samba routines with equally lithe and often not so young men. It was fun and entertaining but for anyone that has seen the real thing, a poor second.

But that is not the reason for the blog. I could tell you about Copacabana beach, Ipanema and sipping cocktails at the Copacabana Palace hotel, but what really caught my attention was the menu at the Platforma restaurant. Steve and I were perusing the menu trying to decide what to eat, and I swear that what you are about to read is 100 % true.

I have no idea who did the translating of the menu but the following is faithfully reproduced from the menu.

Take your pick from

Barbeque Sausage with heifer unit
Rice with bacon, sausage and jerked
Little steak with sauce vine
Pasta Mas
Scliced filet with petit pour with sauve vine
Pallete of Lamb
Special cut of meat prime
Ramp
Ribow cow
Salmon with rice and sunsire
Rice with galic potato
Fried potato with onion, garlicano han
Codfish style hulk.

Well, we fell about laughing to the point that people were beginning to stare at us. Now I know that my Portuguese is still pretty bad but I think that even I could have done a better attempt at translating the menu than whoever did it.

Suffice it to say, we didn’t try the Heifer unit.

Hot water. Thursday May 13, 2010

2010-05-16T16:08:00.000-07:00

If anyone ever says to me, “do you want the good news or the bad news first?” I always say “the good news”. Somehow, hearing good news first dilutes the bad, but if you get the bad news first, it drags down the good. This always works for me anyway.

So, first the good news. The furniture arrived last Monday and I am now in the tedious position of trying to find homes for all the things that we brought with us.

For everyone who has ever moved, there is the wonderment of discovering all those things that you own, and the bewilderment of thinking “why did I ever pack that”. Amongst the latter, a much chewed sock toy that the dog obviously hasn’t seen since she was a puppy seven years ago, nail varnish that is so old the top is permanently glued to the bottle, and my pet favourite, rubbish bins that actually contain rubbish. You would think that experienced packers would use a few brain cells and remove the rubbish before packing the bin, or at the very least ask whether I would like my rubbish wrapped, stored for two months and then shipped several thousand miles from the northern to the southern hemisphere. No such luck. Brain cells not engaged.

The other bit of good news is that with 8 or 9 guys unpacking (they never stood still long enough for me to count them) everything was unloaded, unwrapped, unboxed, unpacked and unceremoniously dumped onto every conceivable surface within 2 days. I have to say that this is pretty good going for two 40 foot containers. Furniture was assembled, beds made and all I have to do now is organize everything into some semblance of order.

Now for the bad news. For over a week now, (Thursday 6th May) we have had no hot water in the house. Steve announced this having discovered that the shower was cold when he stepped into it. We were moving out of the house anyway the following day, as the rental furniture was being removed and I knew that it would be at least Tuesday before we had sufficient organization of beds and bedding to enable us to move back in. Well that didn’t happened.

We have an odd hot water system here. We have solar panels on the roof that heat the water to a certain temperature and then what I assume is some sort of emersion heater to top up the temperature. So far, in the two months of living here it appears to have worked very well, until last week.

The guy to fix it was supposed to show up on Monday, but he was a “no show”. Similarly Tuesday, Wednesday and now at 5.00pm on Thursday I am not hopeful that he is going to show up today. The poor dog hasn’t been walked all week and although it is not a problem for me as I was planning on spending most of my days in the house anyway, I have to say it is now completely irritating. Steve is incandescent with anger and is threatening to withhold the rent until it is fixed.

Steve’s secretary has been calling the company every half hour to check that he is coming but after the 3 o’clock call the company have not been able to get in touch with the technician so who knows whether he is going to come. My money is on another no – show. Emails are being exchanged with the owner’s lawyers and in the meantime I am still sorting through my worldly goods, trying to find homes for everything.

But on a brighter note, the house warming party is being penciled in for June 19th by which time, pictures will be hung, the silver will be cleaned and I will have lost all those pounds that I have gained since being here. Assuming of course that we have hot water.

Home alone. Wednesday May 5 2010

2010-05-05T12:54:00.000-07:00

I love being an empty nester – sorry kids. Much as I love my children the fact that we deserted them to embark on this latest adventure made the whole separation thing a lot easier.

I know of friends that are dreading the day their last child flies the nest and they are faced with each other’s company for the first time in a long time.

We were fortunate in that I didn’t happen to us. Emma headed off to boarding school in September and Charles checked in for the last 6 months of high school as a boarder, just as we packed our bags and headed south to Brazil in January.

Children coming here are a bonus but not the norm. I am a great believer in “the association of ideas”. By that I mean that one assumes that something happens because something else is happening or it is the time to do something. Living in Princeton involved children, school runs, playing lots of bridge and Mediterra on Friday night. Oh it’s Mediterra so it must be Friday. Oh we are in the UK so it must be July. More worryingly, oh I am cooking supper so there must be a glass of red wine on the go. You get the picture. We humans live our lives by routine and, in the main, that is very comforting.

Then all of a sudden that changes and life takes on a different tack. I have to interject here that the children are both in fabulous places. Charles is about to finish high school and is set to go to Washington DC in the summer. Who wouldn’t want to study politics and economics in the hub of the political universe? Emma is at her whacky boarding school and loves every minute. “Why can’t I spend the summer here” to quote her. So they are both in great places so I don’t feel too bad.

But then so are we. Hey, let’s go out to dinner/away for the weekend/come with me on a business trip. So far it has been fabulous.

Until that is this past few days. Steve went away on Sunday and it was not the sort of trip I could go with him. He left on Sunday afternoon - ugh - to go to the north of Brazil to rally his sales team ahead of a new drug launch. He was staying in a very nice resort hotel but I wasn’t with him. Instead I was in an empty house (still no furniture – 4 months and very much counting) with only the dog for company and funnily enough she wasn’t really interested. Hmmmm? – what is a girl to do? Marcelo was off duty so although the car was in the garage there was no way I was ever going to drive it. So I downloaded a movie to watch, cooked a TV dinner (never again) and went to bed around 9.30. I locked myself into the “safe” room upstairs and the only thing on TV were views of the security cameras dotted around the house. Funnily enough it is not the same as Desperate Housewives. With the burglar alarm and the dog for company it was a long night.

The caipirinha helped me to sleep but I was seriously bored. I take my hat off to all those single people everywhere that do this on a regular basis. I hated the whole “single” process.

Come back Steve – all is forgiven

Husbands. Friday April 23, 2010

2010-04-23T19:33:00.000-07:00

We have now been without furniture for three and a half months. It arrived in Brazil three weeks ago and has been stuck in customs ever since. I had an email today from the shippers advising me that it should be released on May 5th, a Wednesday, so my thinking is that it will be delivered the following day on May 6th. We are currently renting the bare essentials so before we can take delivery of our containers, the rental furniture has to be moved out of the house, and then because I will have nothing in the house, I will have to check into a hotel.

I checked in my diary to see what is going on around that time and, surprise, surprise, Steve is out of town basically all week, so I get to do the packing up of the rental stuff and then the unloading and unpacking by myself – again.

Throughout our married life, Steve had developed a knack of being missing in action every time there are domestic things to be done. I suppose you can actually go back as far as when we first got engaged (Christmas 1986). He was in the Royal Navy at the time and having announced that we were going to get married on July 4th ( to coincide with leave) he then went away to sea, arriving home in time , well just in time for the for the wedding. His contribution to the proceedings was to be measured for a new uniform and I am relieved to say to then turn up on the actual day.

This has been a recurring theme in our married life. He has always managed to wangle a business trip or in those earlier days a sea going patrol, so as to avoid packing and unpacking houses. In nearly 23 years of married life we have moved 13 times, (actually if you add in the number of times we have moved from house to temporary accommodation of hotels and long stay apartments the number 13 actually rises to 25).

I would think that on at least two thirds of those occasions, he has managed to avoid either the packing, the unpacking and in some instances both. Of course his reaction to this predicament is to flatter me by saying that I am perfectly capable of doing it and that he would only get in the way. Absolutely true, but totally beside the point.

There is another example of him being missing when needed and that was when the children were very young and I was flying 17 hours from Manila to London and back again with them. I can honestly say that he never once flew with us until one or both of them were able to work the remote control for the in-flight entertainment, thereby basically looking after themselves. I remember once sitting in an airplane on the taxi way at Heathrow saying to the children “wave to daddy”, as the plane in front of us took off and went westbound as we took off and went eastbound.

On another occasion we went skiing in Whistler and Steve had to leave a day earlier than myself and the children so that he could attend some business meeting or another. Guess who got to clean the rental apartment, return all the ski equipment and then get the three of us to Vancouver and back to the United States.

I could go on as there are numerous other examples of my husband being missing in action. But I think you get the picture.

So, I wonder how much he has bribed the customs officials in Santos to delay clearance of our two 40 foot containers this time. Whatever it is, he owes me big time. Something large and sparkly methinks.

Reality Check 2

2010-04-19T17:01:00.000-07:00

We have just come back from a weekend in the south of Brazil at a place called Florianopolis (aka Floripa). It is about 1 hour’s flying time from Sao Paulo and boasts a great climate and beaches.

Sadly for him, Steve was working for the majority of the time. His company was having an educational weekend for Leukemia doctors and three specialists had been flown in from Canada and the United States to give presentations, do Q & A sessions and share their expertise.

We arrived at the small provincial airport and were met by our driver for the weekend and his side kick. It was a case of the Little and Large show. The driver had to be over 6 feet 6 inches tall and looked as though he should have been playing NBA basketball or for a West Indian cricket team as their fast bowler. The side kick had to be at least a foot shorter and I wondered who would be protecting whom in the event of an “incident”.

We got into the car and it has to be said it was not my lovely Mercedes. I hope that the only thing wrong with it was that the exhaust was hanging off, as every time we went over a pothole or speed hump, there was the most awful noise of metal and tarmac making contact. Our driver was oblivious to the noise so we looked at each other and thought that if he isn’t too worried then neither should we be.

The driver actually spoke some English and one of the first things he told us was that on Sunday, the day of our return, there was a local football derby and in order to avoid the traffic, we had to leave the hotel at 12.30. Upon enquiring as to the time of the football match, we were told that it was 4 pm. Given that the journey time from hotel to airport is around 35 minutes, that implied that the traffic would have to be building up really early ahead of the game to cause us any inconvenience.
My suspicious mind made me think that probably he intended to go to the match, so I casually asked him if he supported one of the teams and of course it did. It turned out that the side kick supported the other so that was the topic of conversation for the remainder of the journey.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Steve spoke to the organizers of the event and it seemed as though the presence of a football game was well and truly taken into account with timings etc. They thought that 12.30 was probably a bit on the cautious side but as one of the main speakers had to be at the airport for around 1 o’clock, it made sense to wind things up a little on the early side.

Fast forward to Sunday, the weather had been beautiful, yours truly topped up her tan, doctors were educated about acute myeloid leukemia and it was time to leave. Little and Large duly appeared, looking it has to be said, out of something from the Blue’s Brothers. Dark suits, dark shades - quite ridiculous really but we went with the flow.

We had a different car and so the undercarriage didn’t scrape the ground, but this time, said driver had the seat so far back and so far reclined that he was almost horizontal. I always sit behind the passenger’s seat so poor old Steve had to literally squeeze himself into the tiniest of gaps and sit with legs completely crushed against the back of the seat in front. Not a happy bunny.

Well, whether it was because the Chinese Grand Prix had been on that morning or whether our driver really did have a date at the football match I don’t know, but I can honestly say it was one of the worst journeys I have been on. Speed limits – why bother obeying them, corners – well, let’s see how much we can make the tyres squeal, and as for the passengers, well clearly not of importance. Having taken 35 minutes to get to the hotel on Thursday night with no traffic, the return journey took no more than 25 minutes and that included a small delay for the tiny bit of extra traffic around the stadium.

Now, it is a policy of Steve’s company, that any driver or security detail has to stay at the airport until after the plane has taken off. This might seem a bit over the top but it is the rule. Just in case a flight doesn’t leave, they want to make sure that the passengers have safe and secure transport out of the airport. Well, Little and Large didn’t even wait for us to make it through the airport doors before they rushed off – tyres still squealing. Not very impressive but we were in one piece, Steve was recovering from having been cooped up in the back of the car and the thought of a 4 hour wait, all of a sudden didn’t look so bad.

Needless to say, Marcelo was a very welcome sight when we finally arrived back in Sao Paulo.

In a few weeks’ time, we are heading to Rio for the weekend to do something similar. I have a faint suspicion that Marcelo might be coming too. Watch this space.

Golf. Monday April 11, 2010

2010-04-12T17:16:00.001-07:00

I always maintain that I am the perfect wife for Steve. Just as well really. But my reason for saying this is that I introduced him to the game of golf. Not only did I encourage him to take it up, I never complain when he wants to play, and although my playing days are pretty much over, the money invested in his hobby is money reasonably well spent as far as I am concerned. (Note that I only go so far as to say reasonably well spent).

There is another dimension to this point. I love big sporting occasions and probably with the exception of Tiddlywinks and Poker, could quite happily sit through most games. For example, I could hardly tell you the rules of American Football but love the Super Bowl. Similarly the FA Cup for football and the World Series for Baseball. I just love the idea that there are a bunch of athletes at the top of their game competing for a big prize.

This past weekend was the US Masters Golf from Augusta Georgia. Steve made it a mission to find out where he could watch the play on Saturday and Sunday and discovered that it was showing on TV at the local driving range here in Sao Paulo. You have to remember that we still have no furniture (13 weeks and still counting) so no TV. We did try and upload a proxy service from the UK but a degree in computer engineering is needed to get that gig sorted and the helpdesk is closed on Saturdays. Four hours of trying and several expletives later, Steve gave up.

So it was off to the driving range. We arrived only to discover that we were an hour early. No problem. We were handed the remote control, found the appropriate station and waited. We even had the foresight to check that the station was available. Relief all around.

It is amazing after having seen no TV for 3 months, what absolute drivel is entertaining. We sat through a makeover show with a golf theme and a half hour of John Daly. Very entertaining, but all in Portuguese so most of it was totally lost in translation.

We waited for the start and over the next few hours, happily watched the golf. We had snacks, dinner, and although the chairs were so uncomfortable that they would do a village hall proud, we thoroughly enjoyed our four hours of golf. In the middle of the afternoon we had a phone call from the security company to say that our burglar alarm had gone off. No problem – we sent Marcelo to go and sort it out. It gave him something to do instead of just waiting for us. At the end of it, the waiters got a big tip and even being under the flight path of the local airport didn’t dampen our enthusiasm.

And so to Sunday. Lee Westwood was in the lead and the hopes of the United Kingdom were upon his shoulders. We arrived, settled into our (same) seats and were welcomed like returning heroes by a number of locals that recognized us from the day before. It helped that the same waiter was on duty and so hopeful of another large tip, fussed around us like long lost friends. People even tried to engage us in conversation which I have to say was pretty futile, Firstly because we could barely understand them and secondly, because it interrupted our viewing. We made what we felt were appropriate noises and nods in the right place and they left us to it.

For most of the time I was the only female actually watching the golf and it was pretty obvious who we were supporting. The group swelled as the match reached a climax but the weight of expectation was too great for poor old Lee Westwood and the local favourite Phil Mickleson won.

At least it wasn’t Tiger. That would have been too much for a girl to bear.

Revolting food. Sunday April 4, 2010

2010-04-04T16:16:00.001-07:00

Having raved about how fabulous the food is here, I have finally come across some disgusting Brazilian food, that to my delicate Western pallet it totally inedible.

This weekend was Easter weekend, so a three day holiday. Friday, being Good Friday and a very important day on the Christian calendar saw us getting up late, Steve playing golf, followed by drinks and eats at the golf club with some new acquaintances.

Steve maintains that he worships at the church of the 18 fairways. The rest of the family is more traditionally religious.

The previous day I had been to the supermarket, and there, in the middle of the aisle was a display of salted cod. This, it seems is a traditional Brazilian dish for Good Friday. It must also be a delicacy the rest of the year because it is always available. But on this day in particular, there was a mountain of the stuff.

And, it has to be said, there were literally dozens of people picking over it to
choose the tastiest looking morsel. Well, one look and I definitely passed on the other side. The smell was enough to make me steer well clear.

But back to the golf club. The waiter, with great pride, told us that the “special” of the day was salted cod, served with ………. My Portuguese isn’t that good yet.
I got the salted cod bit, and learned from my host that the remainder comprised lumps of potato with other stuff mashed in. She told me that it was to be avoided – phew. Salad looked good. Lucky escape there.

The following day, Easter Saturday, we decided to go to the beach for lunch. Some (other) new friends had suggested that we head for the nearest resort - 120 kilometers, (75 miles) away. There is a “Leading Hotels of the World” - “Casa Grande” there, which sounded good to us. We had thought about heading out on Easter Sunday but Marcelo heard of our plans and there was no mistaking his angst at the thought of sitting in traffic jams heading back to Sao Paulo late on Sunday afternoon. We heeded his advice and went on Easter Saturday instead.

( I found out today that the average journey time on Easter Sunday was 9 hours to cover the 120 kilometres. Good call Marcelo.)

But back to Casa Grande. Lunch, Brazilian style is very often a buffet and the Casa Grande didn’t disappoint. The salad bar was to die for and the dessert table was laden with goodies for later.

But, in between the salad and the dessert was the “traditional” hot buffet. Well, it is very Brazilian to eat rice and black beans – arroza and feijao preto. I have managed to avoid this so far but on Saturday there was no getting away from it. It was literally all there was in the way of hot food. The chafing dishes were bubbling away with a thick black bean sauce and would, “madam like her black bean and rice with salted pork loin, salted pork ribs, salted jerked pork or salted pigs’ ears, trotters or tail” – ugh. And just in case there wasn’t enough of the black bean and pork, there was deep fried lard. I can feel my arteries clogging at the thought of it. I managed about three mouthfuls of salted pork loin and had to give up.

The salad bar was looking very good.

All over the world there are various delicacies and traditions that really don’t translate for non natives. In the main, I have managed to avoid them. Sometimes, being the only Westerners and "honoured guests" there is no escaping it.

In the Philippines it was balut. Check out the Wikipedia description below. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up so I will let Wikipedia describe it for me.

In Turkey there was the religious celebration of Kurban bayram, and again, Westerners just don’t get it.

In Sweden, Christmas lunch consists of pickled herring. One delicacy being a particularly nasty fermented herring. If you left an open tin in your fridge it would be the end of the fridge. Nothing could get rid of the smell (Again, see the footnote courtesy of Wikipedia.) Glad to say that I never tried that one.

Traditional food in France, is, on the other hand delicious, as long as you like copious amounts of garlic. I never had a problem there, and in the United States as long as you could cope with 5000++ calories on your plate you were fine.

I am sure that Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding sounds bizarre to the uninitiated, but for us Brits it is absolutely delicious.

So, each to their own. Over the years I have become very respectful of traditions and customs in all of the places that we have lived – just as long as I don’t have to observe them.

Surströmming "soured (Baltic) herring" is a northern Swedish dish consisting of fermented Baltic herring. Surströmming is sold in cans, which often bulge during shipping and storage, due to the continued fermentation. When opened, the contents release a strong and sometimes overwhelming odour, which explains why the dish is often eaten outdoors.

A balut is a fertilized duck (or chicken) egg with a nearly-developed embryo inside that is boiled and eaten in the shell.
Popularly believed to be an aphrodisiac and considered a high-protein, hearty snack, balut are mostly sold by street vendors in the regions where they are available. It is commonly sold as street food in the Philippines

Roundabouts. April 1 2010

2010-04-01T13:31:00.000-07:00

We lived in Paris for a little over 18 months, but it took me six months to pluck up the courage to drive into the centre of the city.

We lived in the south west of the city, and in order to get to the centre, it meant that there was no choice other than to drive around the “Etoile”. The Etoile (which translates as Star) is a huge roundabout, in the middle of which, majestically stands the Arc de Triomphe. It has twelve roads leading onto it with such evocative names as Avenue de la Grande Armee, Avenue Foch and of course the Champs Elysee.

Once on, it is hard to tell how many lanes there are because nothing is marked and I can only describe it as a “free for all”. There is a rule that as you enter the roundabout you have priority. It is just as well really because otherwise one wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever getting from one side to the other and then getting off again. But once onto the circuit, all rules are abandoned, other than the fact that you then in turn, have to give way (yield for the Americans reading this) to traffic entering from your right. It is a massive game of chicken.

As I said, there are no lanes – you just make your own. And heaven help you on a day when the police decide to direct traffic. I can only think that the police must get some sort of sadistic or even masochistic pleasure out of trying to direct traffic. I have seldom met a Frenchman that obeys traffic rules.

My way of dealing with this roundabout was very simple. I just imagined “who had more to lose.” In other words, I used to look at the car next to me that was competing for a space and would think to myself, "who is going to come off worse if we crash." It goes without saying that with the children strapped in the back, I was much more cautious than when driving alone.

At that time we had taken over a BMW from a previous ex-pat that had left. This was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because it gave me a great sense of security, safe in the knowledge that a good solid German BMW would most likely come off better than something like a Citroen. But it was a curse in that it was such a great car, and I didn’t want to be the one to damage it. But, I survived, and the remaining year that we were there, I would travel into the centre at least once a week and I am happy to report that I didn’t have any problems.

Now, I have said that for this particular roundabout, priority was given when getting on to it. This is not always the case in France and just to confuse you, you had to be on the lookout for roundabouts where you didn't have priority getting on. There was normally a sign telling you, but it was a bit disconcerting to say the least, to hurtle up to the roundabout only to spot the sign and have to slam on the brakes.

In the States, Americans don’t do roundabouts or at least not in New Jersey. The few that there are, are called “circles” although that may not bear any relation to the actual shape of the layout of the road. It is just a convenient term. Near where we used to live, there were three. One was totally controlled by lights, one partially controlled by lights and the third not at all. I guess the planners were trying to give priority to the most important of the roads, but in reality it just caused chaos. There were though, clear sign posts and you could find yourself having no problem getting onto the circle, only to find that it is much more difficult to get off. Other times the reverse was true. Suffice it to say, there were no set rules, each one was different and had to be treated with respect.

In the UK it is very simple. Roundabouts are everywhere. Why bother with traffic lights when you can have a roundabout. They drive on the left in the UK and the rules are simple. Give way to traffic from the right, but once on the roundabout, you then have priority. Easy unless you are driving in Milton Keynes, which has the record for the most confusing roundabouts ever known to man.

The reason I am blogging about roundabouts is because I have yet to discover what on earth the protocol is for driving around them here in Sao Paulo. I think Marcelo is a great driver but my language skills aren’t yet good enough to ask him how he decides whether to go without stopping, whether to slow down and think about it, or whether to go for it, change his mind and let someone else go ahead. All I know is that there is no way I am going to even bother to get my driver’s license until I have figured this out. I will just let Marcelo figure out who has got the most to lose.

Mould. Tuesday March 30, 2010

2010-03-30T12:13:00.001-07:00

My house smells damp. In fact I could rephrase that along the lines that my house is damp. It has rained here pretty much every day since we arrived. There were a record breaking forty plus consecutive days of rain followed by a few dry days, only to be followed by yet more rain. And when I say rain, what I mean is tropical thunderstorms. The sort that floods everything really quickly, causing power blackouts and localized flooding on the roads.

As a consequence nothing really dries. To give you an example, Steve uses my hairdryer every morning to dry the shirt, socks and underwear that he is about to put on. Boy do I miss my tumble drier and my AGA cooker (check that out on Google)

As Charles commented on his Face Book page whilst he was staying here “I now understand why the British never colonized Brazil – the weather”

We have a laundry room that is adjacent to the kitchen. It has two doors to the outside and both of these let in water every time it rains. So that has meant for most of the past 7 weeks, ever since we moved in, I have had a daily ritual of mopping out the laundry room.

Our landlord (who deserves a blog of his own and one day I will tell you all about him) employs an agent to sort out the problems with the house. She is so useless that I don’t suppose that she can even spell the words “fix it” let alone know how to do it. There have been and still are numerous problems in the house, but by far the most pressing is to fix the rain problem. It is not as though Sao Paulo is unused to wet days. We are living pretty close to the Tropic of Capricorn and you might think the fact that there is the word “Tropic” in the title of the line of latitude, one would have a clue as to the climate.

So Useless ( as we have taken to calling her) has been on several occasions to “look at the problem”. She knows that my Portuguese, (although improving by the day,) is still limited, but she insists on gabbling away in the local tongue. She has tried to fit a rubber phalange on the door to stop the water running under the gap – no success - followed by a 2 inch piece of marble which is intended to create a lip over which the rain water shouldn’t but does run.

It doesn’t help that
a. the doors don’t fit properly
And
b. She doesn’t want to spend anything more than peanuts to fix any of the problems.

So the consequence is that water floods the laundry room most days. Clearly for the Brazilians, this is not unusual, because my (rented) washing machine has feet about 3 inches off the ground. It wouldn’t do to have water mixing with electricity after all.

Useless is supposed to come back this coming Thursday so have another look at the problem. Trouble is my patience is running very thin. I have already been told that the real estate company that listed this house have completely washed their hands of her and are refusing to deal with her. Fine for them to do that but I am the one living in a house that she is managing and I don’t have the ability to say “I refuse to deal with you”.

The final straw came today when I went to get Tessie's (our fox terrier) heartworm tablet that she has to have every month. With hindsight it was stupid to keep her (2 years worth) of supplies in the laundry room but there is a very convenient cupboard there which could have been designed for the purpose.

I open the bag containing Tessie’s worldly goods and the smell was disgusting. Everything in there and I mean everything was covered with greenish grey mould - ugh.

So now, in addition to doing battle with Useless , I now have to set about finding a vet.

Whatever they are paying, today it is clearly not enough.

Fogo de Chao Sunday March 28th 2010

2010-03-28T09:14:00.001-07:00

Fogo de Chão

The children have been on Spring Break with us for the past two weeks. There is a restaurant that we have wanted to take them to, but the trouble is that it is a serious meat restaurant and as Emma is going through a vegetarian phase of life at the moment, we decided that it was a total waste of time to take her to it.

So we waited until she had gone back to the United States before taking Charles and on Friday we went. He leaves tomorrow for the last ten weeks of high school and so it was a good choice to take him to.

It is classified as a “churrascaria” which translates as a Brazilian Barbeque. These are very popular in Brazil and most towns will have a selection of them. When you arrive, they bring “couvert” which at this restaurant, basically consists of baskets of bread, mandioc, chicks’ hearts and sausage. I guess they want you to fill up on carbohydrates and offal before eating the really good stuff. The secret is to avoid the bread, sample the rest and wait for the main event.

Then there is the most amazing salad bar. It is easy to go totally over the top on salad as well, but because it is an all inclusive price, you can go back to the salad bar as often as you want to.

Each person at the table has a disc by their place setting. The disc has red on one side and green on the other. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that green means “yes please” and red means “no thank you”. The minute the waiters see the green disc, they descend upon you, almost like a SWAT team to serve you meat.

Now, the meat is barbequed as I have said, and is served on enormous sword like knives. By your knife and fork are a pair of tongs and the idea is that as soon as they start to carve the meat, so you grasp the cut end with the tongs and then they carve the rest. As the meat falls away, so you have it safely grasped in the teeth of the tongs and so it doesn’t fall onto you and make a mess. You can always spot the newcomers who haven’t quite got the hang of it.

The restaurant is very clever. Somehow, they always manage to serve the cheaper cuts of meat first. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, but they work on the principle that better to fill you up with chicken and pork rather than start with the Filet Mignon. But for the initiated, the secret is to wait because eventually the serious cuts of meat will appear.

This is my third “Fogo de Chão”. For Charles it was an initiation and I think, quite a success. He definitely got his money’s worth but then again he is a teenager with hollow legs. The secret to the success of the evening is to starve yourself all day and vegetarians need not apply.

Bikinis. Wednesday March 24, 2010

2010-03-24T03:45:00.000-07:00

This past weekend we went to the beach for the first time. To be precise we went to a resort called Riviera de São Lourenço about 120 kilometers (75 miles) outside of Sao Paulo. It took 3 hours to get there on Friday, which, by all accounts is not uncommon. Twenty five miles per hour is fast by Sao Paulo standards. At least one accident and the usual Friday traffic hampered our progress, but hey, we were in vacation mood so “nao problem”.

We arrived in time for lunch and afterwards set off for the beach. I had been warned that in Brazil, having the bare essentials covered up is de rigueur, but pretty much anything thereafter is fine. The main thing to remember is that less is definitely more. It doesn’t matter what shape or size you are, bikinis are the only thing for the beach. Swim suits and two piece cover ups, (commonly known as Tankinis) are stared at as much to say “what the heck are you wearing?”

Emma (14 going on 21) decided that before she even went to the beach we had to go and buy her a new two piece. We did and it is reasonably modest. I on the other hand, thought to hell with what is expected and donned my safe Lands End two piece, covering up everything.

Well, they don’t call them “dental floss” for nothing. For the body beautiful there is the three triangle variety with the thinnest of straps in order to maximize tan and minimize white lines. For the more modest there are thongs moving up to the four triangle variety and so on. Nappies (diapers for the Americans) complete the picture – go figure.

I can honestly say that it doesn’t matter what shape or size you are, more stares were elicited by not wearing a bikini than by wearing one that is for sure.

Even for the men. Some were wearing shorts, others Speedos. Some even wore both and took off the shorts to reveal the Speedos. Not a pretty sight in most cases.

I remember our first and only trip to a public swimming pool in France and was amazed to find that the men were obliged to wear Speedos rather than shorts. At first I thought it was just the French being, well, French, but then someone explained to me that it was for hygienic reasons – ugh.

In the Philippines, there was a massively Australian influence of the “slip it, slap it slop it”. For the uninitiated, Slip on a shirt, Slop on sunscreen and Slap on a hat. They encouraged swimsuits that were more like mini wet suits, commonly known as solar suits. They were designed to stop as much sun reaching the body as possible. The children wore them and with the fierce Manila sunshine on their then, very young and European skin it seemed a necessary and wise precaution.

But back to Riviera de São Lourenço. My untanned body and Cover Up swimwear was too much. I didn’t like the attention and craved anonymity. I caved and that evening went and bought a two piece. Stretch marks, scars, middle age spread and cellulite, it doesn’t matter. Anything really does go on the beach in Brazil.

Wednesday March 17 2010

2010-03-17T06:24:00.000-07:00

Steve is not a gardener. He claims that it takes too much time and he would rather be playing golf. When we were both working it was easy to justify having someone to cut the lawn and keep things tidy. When we left the UK and went to Manila, no one ever did their own gardens and so the trend has continued to the present day.

We loved our garden in Princeton, I pottered in it, Steve dug the occasional hole and when Charles bumped first his father’s car and then my car into the garage wall and needed to earn money to pay for the damage, he did so by digging lots of holes so that I could plant lots of shrubs.

When we first saw the Princeton house before buying it, there was snow on the ground. I asked the then owner what was in the garden and the reply was “grass and plants”. This was true to a degree but in reality, the grass was coarse, under fertilized and full of weeds. The “plants” were two climbing akebias and a clematis. The “garden” consisted mainly of Brunswick Shale, a dark red stone that is very prevalent in our part of New Jersey, and clay. In very nearly wept when I saw the reality of the situation. Digging was very hard. We had always wanted to have a pool in the garden and but it took 1 year to construct, ran 50 % over budget and took 96 stick of dynamite to blast the hole. You can see the problem. Now though, our garden is beginning to look lovely, and I do love it. Last summer, a friend commented to me that he had “garden envy”. I can’t tell you how much those words meant to me.

But back to the present. Today our new gardener came to cut the grass. Our new house here in Sao Paulo has a patch of grass that is “L” shaped and at most 45 feet by 45 feet, but it took him literally all day to mow the grass. Actually “mowing” isn’t the word I would use. He used a strimmer to go round and cut it. I was amazed that he could be so inefficient when even a small mower would yield quicker results. Then of course the problem was that he had to pick up all the grass clippings. So after strimming, he took some time off for lunch and then spent the best part of the afternoon raking. Now here is where it gets clever. He has to work in tandem with the pool boy because the slightest breeze and these grass clippings blow into the water. I sat and watched in amazement at the two of them making an absolute meal out of doing the grass. They obviously have nothing better to do with their time.

But then I thought about Jesus, who used to cut the grass in Manila. There we had very broad leaf grass that is common in the tropics. He used to use a pair of hand shears. Nothing as mechanical even as a strimmer. In fact, Steve reminded me that sometimes he would even use scissors. Imagine cutting grass with an overgrown pair of scissors.

Of course, in America we had a couple of guys with “sit-on” mowers. In 45 minutes they could cut an acre of grass, strim the edges and blow all the leaves away with one of those petrol driven blowers that they would strap to their backs. $ 45 very well spent thank you.

In Istanbul we lived in an apartment, in Tel Aviv we did have a company that came in every week and in Sweden it was so cold the grass hardly grew at all so about 4 or 5 times during the summer was all we needed. In Paris we had a fabulous guy although Steve was non to impressed when he broke the mower during the first week of service. He got it fixed but for the price of a new mower.

But, as long as it isn’t me or Steve cutting the grass, I don’t mind what method they use or how long they take.

Sunday March 14th 2010

2010-03-14T06:21:00.000-07:00

You might wonder where I have been for the past couple of weeks. After all, in this day and age there is no excuse not to be wireless, enabled, and portable anywhere in the world. The simple answer is that I was having so much fun that there weren’t enough hours in the day to sit down and write. Apologies also to anyone that is awaiting a response to emails.

Two weeks ago, Steve and I went back to the United States. He was on a four day conference with work colleagues but the main reason was so that we could go and get our visas from the Brazilian Consulate in New York. I had to come as well, so it made sense to travel with him, rather than sit here alone and come later.

We arrived early Sunday morning and had been warned that it was freezing with snow still on the ground. Of course all my winter coats are no-where to be seen so I borrowed a coat from someone I have met a total of four times. This is one of the things that I love about the spirit of living away from home. She has also just arrived in Sao Paulo and like me is living without most of her possessions, but saw my need and immediately came to my rescue. She also threw in a pair of seriously good boots and the sort of socks that you absolutely have to have when the temperatures are below freezing. Thank you D.

So we were set for the frozen temperatures of New Jersey. We landed at 5 in the morning, got to the hotel, had breakfast, two hours of sleep, and were ready to face a serious day of retail therapy. As all good American consumers do, I went and downloaded my discount coupons for the stores I knew I would shop in and full armed and primed with credit cards at the ready, proceeded to single handedly rescue the ailing US retail sector of the economy.

Replete with shopping, I spent the next few days catching up with friends, slotting back into life in Princeton and most importantly playing bridge. Not having played since I left in January, I managed to have seven games. Now, here is another interesting observation on life which may seem like stating the obvious but is worth saying anyway. It is comfortable to slot into a routine of life – I know because that is exactly how I was in the United States. Bridge on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes Wednesdays, discussion groups, book clubs and such like. Intersperse that with the school run, dog walks, shopping, cooking etc., and you get the picture.

All of a sudden I am deprived of that routine whilst I build new contacts and routines in Sao Paulo. It is coming and I won’t deny that I am enjoying all the new encounters with lovely people, but it will take time. So thank you everyone in Princeton for welcoming me back with open arms, girly gossip and too many lunches that now need some serious work to get rid of the aftereffects. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing each and every one of you – multiple times.

But the serious business of trip was to collect our visas. This meant a trip to New York and then another trip a week later to collect the passports with the all important newly minted stamps inside.
We also had to do fingerprints for Uncle Sam, to make sure that the people leaving the United States are really the same people that arrived five and a half years ago. Tedious but necessary.

So now we are legally here in Brazil. In the coming week we will have to present ourselves at some office or another to be officially given our tax id numbers. I thought I would never hear myself say this but I am happy to report that we are officially eligible to pay tax in Brazil.

More importantly, we are now able to open bank accounts and finally get our furniture moved from the warehouse somewhere in New York State and onto a ship headed south.

Thursday February 25th 2010

2010-02-25T08:21:00.000-08:00

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.

Sunday February 21st 2010

2010-02-21T05:01:00.001-08:00

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.

Thursday February 18th 2010

2010-02-18T15:51:00.000-08:00

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.

Sunday February 14th 2010

2010-02-14T09:31:00.001-08:00

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.

Thursday February 10th 2010

2010-02-11T10:15:00.000-08:00

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.

Tuesday February 9th 2010

2010-02-09T05:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Monday February 8th 2010

2010-02-08T02:41:00.001-08:00

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.

Thursday Februry 4 , 2010

2010-02-04T15:23:00.000-08:00

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.

Wednesday February 3 2010

2010-02-03T15:11:00.000-08:00

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.

Tuesday February 2nd 2010

2010-02-02T15:09:00.001-08:00

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?

Monday February 1st 2010

2010-02-01T13:30:00.001-08:00

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.

Sunday January 31st 2010

2010-01-31T11:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we experienced firsthand “Brazilian time”. Our relocation agent had arranged for the Internet and Phone service provider to install whatever they needed to in the house. So we arrived at 11.45 having been told that "the phone company will be there between 12 noon and 6 pm." We brought with us 2 cushions to sit on, a packed lunch and various things to read. Well, we stayed until 6.10 and of course no one showed up. Mentioning it to some people that we had supper with last evening they said that it was “normal” for no one to show up and just to reschedule so that we can wait in all day again.

Whilst I was in the house though, I thought I would go around and do a “snagging” list. The house we chose is two years old but has never been lived in. As a consequence it was very dirty and dusty and has never really been finished off.

We chose it because of the location in terms of proximity to Steve’s office, has a small garden for the dog and has an aircraft hangar for a garage. This is really important because the house is about half the size of the house in the United States, and, with the exception of the dining room table, we are bringing ALL our furniture with us. Clearly it is not all going to fit so a lot of it is going to have to be stored in the garage. Either that or Marcelo is going to have the best equipped driver’s room in the entire neighbourhood.

But back to the snagging list. The easy stuff is getting rid of the rubbish that the decorators left, cleaning the place up and polishing the floors. That said, if they start to sand the stone floors the dust is going to be immense.

The more difficult things will be re-hanging the front door so that it actually fits, finding the keys that are missing and finding the locks for the spare keys. We also have sinks that leak, sinks that are blocked, and no water pressure in the hot tap in the kitchen. Our hot water heating is solar and try as I might, I have yet to master the mechanics of it. One day it is scalding and the next day it is tepid.

I will also need to find a plumber to install the tiniest dishwasher that you have ever seen that cost nearly $ 900 and will just about fit 6 cups and a few knives and forks. And before you ask “why bother?” the answer is that I have to have something for the maid’s day off. Now that my nails are beginning to grow again, I don’t want to lose them.

Thursday January 28th 2010

2010-01-28T09:03:00.000-08:00

I made a few observations yesterday that made me think hmmmmmm okay. We were driving into the center of the city on a 4 lane highway which, as usual for that time of day, was very busy and the traffic was going at a pretty slow pace. On the other side of the road was equally heavy traffic, but coming towards us were several motorbikes with red lights flashing and the cars in front of them were pulling over to let the motor cycles come through. About 100 yards or so behind them were another group of several motor cycles doing exactly the same thing and behind them a third group. They were clearly making an empty lane.

There then followed several black cars with blacked out windows and behind them an ambulance. Now, Marcelo started talking away in rapid fire Portuguese, trying to tell us what was going on. Of course we had absolutely no clue. We couldn’t decide whether it was normal for ambulances to be escorted by out-riders like this or whether there was someone really important in the ambulance. I guess I will have to try and find out. But given that I am tending to avoid Portuguese TV I am not sure that I will.

Now, the purpose of this trip, was in fact to take Steve to the local airport for a flight to Brasilia and we were hitting fairly heavy traffic. As I have mentioned before, the Merricks are always early for everything so this trip to the airport had been planned with at least 30 – 40 minutes cushion time just in case. We hadn’t told Marcelo of this extra time so all he knew was that “Sir Steve” was going to catch a flight and it was his job to make sure that he did.

Now, you know sometimes when a police car comes up behind you and decides it wants to pass and gives you the fright of your life by putting on the siren for a second or two. Well, when we hit some particularly bad traffic, Marcelo bent down slightly and hit his “magic button”. I’m not sure who was more taken aback, the car in front or me in the back seat.

It turns out that our car is fitted with some sort of police siren!

All I need now is a red flashing light.

Wednesday January 27, 2010

2010-01-26T12:32:00.001-08:00

I have decided that the Brazilians are a very happy bunch of people, very tolerant and very sociable. Any excuse to have a celebration or a party and they will do so.

Take yesterday afternoon for example. There was a spectacular thunderstorm which resulted in the inevitable flash flooding. As a consequence, once the rush hour started, the roads around the hotel turned into car parks. This is a very common occurrence. In fact, most days from what I can gather, the roads turn into car parks.

Today was a bit worse because of the flooding but next week it will be worse still as the children go back to school after their summer holidays.

But coming back to my initial observation. Outside the hotel is a spectacular bridge. If you Google, "pictures of Sao Paulo city bridge", I can guarantee that this bridge will appear. I marvel at the feat of engineering and although I only did physics for a very short time at high school, the phrase of “equal and opposite pressures” definitely applies.

This bridge, and I have no idea of its name, spans the river in two directions so you have one "A" frame structure supporting two roads carrying traffic north and southbound. I think it is spectacular and at night when it is lit up, even more so.

Well, yesterday, with the traffic at a standstill, people just got out of their cars and started talking to one another. It all looked immensely good humoured. One truck sat there for 45 minutes before moving and the driver just chatted to everyone around him.

Several people decided that they had had enough and simply turned their cars around. Now, given that the traffic is supposed to go only in one direction, this in itself is no mean feat, but the other drivers just pulled over a little bit, enough to let the return drivers through. Even the police just stood by and watch this happen.

So, I hope that when my turn comes to be stuck in such a traffic jam – and I am sure that I will - that my Portuguese will be good enough to join in the fun.

Tuesday January 26th, 2010

2010-01-26T10:27:00.000-08:00

When Steve and I started dating, twenty something years ago, he was in the Royal Navy. In fact he was in the submarine service in HMS Oberon. No jokes please about fairies.
This submarine was what they called a “diesel dog”. It was small, cramped and had a limited supply of water. Neither clothes nor anything else could be washed. In all it was a pretty a disgusting environment and no self respecting woman would ever serve on such a boat.

One thing that amused me greatly was the fact that the submariners couldn’t exercise whilst on board. Although they had the capability of replenishing the air for normal use, that capability didn’t extend to extra oxygen that would be consumed if everyone was breathing rapidly as a result of exercise.
So the submariners had an expression along the lines that “if you want to exercise, go and lie down until the urge to exercise goes way”.

I have followed this mantra fairly rigidly over the years and find that it works very well for me. Walking the dog is about all I do these days. I have tried endless exercise classes but I am always the one three steps behind everyone else, crashing into the person next to me going left as I am going right.

Over the years, walking the dog I have come across some strange sights but none as strange as this morning. In the woods in France there was a man who would hide in the trees and practice tai-chi. I am not sure who gave whom the biggest fright, me, Tessie or this elderly man.
Similarly, in Princeton there was an Asian family that would do something similar but hidden in the bushes of a housing development. They were clearly trying to maintain their privacy whilst doing their exercises

Well, this morning we walked in a small-ish park fairly close to where we are going to be living. In the middle of the park were three middle aged women. Hard to tell precisely how old they were, because they looked as though they had been lifted and separated on numerous occasions. With them were three rather hunky young men, leaning over them whilst they lay on the ground twisting and contorting their bodies into all sorts of shapes. I felt in agony just watching them. There was absolutely no pretence about privacy. There were plenty of less public areas in the park had they chosen to find them. No, they wanted the world to see what they were up to and believe me it looked very painful.

I thought back to the mantra that has sustained me all these years. Time to go and lie down.

Monday January 25th 2010

2010-01-25T05:15:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I saw Marcelo's gun for the first. Up until now all I had seen was a bulge hanging over his waistband but today I saw it for real.

Today is a holiday in Sao Paulo and Steve decided that he is having withdrawal symptoms from not playing golf and booked a game at a local course. Trouble is, we still have no visas and so no bank accounts and no local credit cards. Therefore everything has to be done in cash. So today we had to drive to an ATM to get the aforementioned cash.

In normal, ie "safe" places of the world you line up at the ATM, wait your turn and take out what ever cash you need. I have done it here a couple of times and been surprised to see armed guards hovering in the vicinity. Bullet proof vests and machine guns slung not so casually over an arm. Today, being a weekend, there were no guards, so thank you BMS we have Marcelo.

Steve went into the foyer of the bank and Marcelo followed standing outside, eyes everywhere, muscles bulging and shirt lifted over his belt to let everyone know what he was carrying. Quite scary really but this is the way life is going to be and we just have to get on with it. I sat in the bullet proof car and all was well.

We are trying out all the local parks and after the bank drove to a new one. Being a Sunday on a holiday weekend, the world and his wife were out to play. Now this is where Marcelo really comes into his own. There were no parking spaces to be had, so we were dropped of at the entrance to the park. An hour and a half later, as we wandered back to the entrance, Marcelo had found the absolutely optimum place to park, right by the entrance. After about 3 miles of walking in the heat, Tessie was so thrilled to get into the air conditioned car. Needless to say, so were we.

Our last stop of the day was to supermarket. By now it had started to rain. There are two types of rain in Brazil. The drizzle that is reminiscent of the UK and the heavy tropical downpours more associated with this part of the world.

Again Marcelo came into his own, dropping us right by the entrance so as not to get wet. When we came out, he literally backed the car into the supermarket entrance. Even the shoppers turned around in disbelief. Another couple of feet and he would have knocked over the display.

Thank you Marcelo.

Sunday 24th January, 2010

2010-01-24T14:20:00.000-08:00

Last night we went out to dinner again. Not sure that my waistline is going to cope with all of these dinners but the scales in the hotel are broken so I guess that I have at least 2 months until the containers arrive and I see the conclusive evidence that I have gained weight.

Anyway, last night in the restaurant, when I went to the bathroom, I noticed that on the doors, there was nothing as boring as Homen (men) and Mulher (women) denoting men and women. Instead they had Flip Flops nailed to the doors. Large blue ones for the men and smaller pink ones for the Ladies. I wouldn't have thought anything of it except that it made me think that the previous evening, in a different restaurant, it had been a pair of stilettos for the ladies and men's shoes for the men.

I then started to think about bathrooms in other countries we have lived in. In the Philippines, they are called Comfort Rooms. If you look around for a sign, chances are it will say CR rather than WC.

In Istanbul we regularly used to go to the SwissHotel for Sunday brunch. A visit to the bathrooms at the SwissHotel was an event in itself. The SwissHotel was ( and maybe still is ) owned by the Japanese and we all know how the Japanese love gadgets. Well, the bathrooms in the SwissHotel were an institution in their own right. Would you like a heated seat, spray, jet or mist of tepid , cool or hot water. And why not have a massage at the same time? No wonder there was always a queue.

Sweden as you can imagine was sterile and functional. A list of do's and don'ts and probably the threat of a fine if you got it wrong.

France, well, we all know the stories of holes in the ground. They have changed over the years to the more respectable, more comfortable style, but a hole in the ground would confront you just when you were most desperate and there were no alternatives.

So I look forward to seeing how many other pairs of shoes I can find in Sao Paulo. Who knows, I might even try them on for size.

Saturday Janaury 23 2010

2010-01-23T13:26:00.000-08:00

Last night we went out to dinner with some people that we had never met. This couple knew a guy in the States that Steve knew, and on hearing that we were headed for Sao Paulo, he had put us in touch with each other.

Forget the 6 degrees of separation. In Princeton there is little more than half a degree of separation and you can barely turn around and sneeze without the entire town knowing about it.

With a population of somewhere around 20 million, I think Sao Paulo will be a little more annonymous.

But I can't tell you the number of times, that in this wacky lifestyle of living all over the world, we run into people that know people that we know.

Sometimes it is even more direct that that.

We have some dear friends in Princeton and one night about 2 years after we had come back to live there for the second time, we were having dinner with them .(We had also invited an Australian family that we had never met. We make a habit of inviting strangers to our house but that is a story for another day)

Annabelle was talking about her best girlfriend in the UK who had lived in Australia and the name sounded very familiar. I asked if the friend had a twin brother called Richard and low and behold - she did.

It turns out that Annabelle and I had a whole slew of mutual friends in London. She had moved in the sister's circle and I had moved in the brother's. We had attended the same parties and I think even a wedding but never formally met.
Fast forward 25 or so years and we lived within 5 miles of one another, sent our children to the same school and vacationed with them.

Needless to say, everyone at supper was in mild disbelief when we descended into girly gossip of what had happened to all of the mutual friends in the intervening years.

So the moral of this tale is be nice to everyone because you never know when, in a future life, someone turns around and says " oh yes I know her". I would like that commment to be followed by something positive. such as "lovely girl"

Friday January 22nd 2010

2010-01-22T11:18:00.000-08:00

I have been following the news about the earthquake in Haiti and my heart goes out to the victims there. I don't think that anyone can see the pictures of what is happening and not be moved.

On August 17th, 1999 at 3 o'clock in the morning an earthquake hit Izmir in Turkey which registered 7.6 on the Richter scale.

Let's put that into perspective. The earthquake that hit Haiti has been registered at 7.00 which is the equivalent of 32 megatonnes. The eathquake that hit Izmir was 7.5 which is the equivalent of 178 megatonnes. Five and a half times as much. But what made them both so devastating was that they struck in very populated areas and because so many people were affected.

I know because I was living in Istanbul at the time.

Charles was 7 at the time and had crawled into bed beside me as Steve was away in the United States on business. The first I knew was when I was awakened by the wardrobe door banging. I knew immediately what was going on. I had experienced a very minor quake in Cebu Philippines in 1996 but nothing compared to Istanbul. I looked out of the window and saw that swathes of the city were in darkness as the power was cut for fear of explosions.

We were living on the 2nd floor of an 8 storey apartment block and all I could think was that there were 6 storeys above me and the thought of it potentially coming down on top of us. I rushed to get Emma - then 4 years old and we hurried outside into the open air. It was cold even though it was summer but better to be cold than crushed under piles of rubble.

I looked around for somewhere to go with the children. I went to the swimming pool area but it was so wet and the pool water was down by about 4 feet. Confused, I thought for a minute and then realised that the sway of the ground had caused the water to swish from one end of the pool to the other and the pool to empty. Imagine the effect of sitting in a bath tub and moving very fast from one end to the other.

So we returned to the apartment complex and sat on the outdoor benches, waiting for the aftershocks to subside and for someone to tell us that it was safe to go inside again.

Now we experienced a surealistic sight. Remember that it was 3 o'clock in the morning and I had rushed out in nightclothes and thought of nothing to bring except the children. About half an hour later, one of my neighbours exited the apartment complex, cell phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, fully clothed, handbag and full make up. This woman had decided that she couldn't possibly leave a swaying building without clothes and make up. Go figure.

Nobody knows how many people died that night in Turkey and I suspect that no one will really know how many people are victims in Haiti. But everytime I hear about an earthquake somewhere in the world I offer up a silent prayer of thanks.

Thursday January 21st

2010-01-21T09:37:00.000-08:00

Steve has an expression - there is Brazilian time and there is "BMS Time." (for the uninitiated, BMS stands for Bristol Myers Squibb which is the company that he works for).

BMS time is "on time" and it is really important to understand the difference between the two. We have arranged to meet some people for supper on Friday evening and had to clarify whether we were talking real time or Brazilian time. The difference can be an hour or two - give and take.

I have come to the conclusion that time is a matter of how hot the country. Colder climes have a greater adherence to punctuality than warmer climes and it is totally understandable. In Sweden you had to have winter tires on your car by the beginning of November. Failure resulted in a big fine. Why ? Because by November 2nd there may be the mother of all snow storms and the last thing the Swedish authorities wanted was accidents caused by unprepared motorists.

Manila on the other hand was very laid back. What didn't get done today could be done tomorrow.

The reason that this is so important to me is two fold.

Firstly I am a very punctual sort of person. I get stressed if I am late for something and more often than not, am early. I can't tell you the number of times we have gone out to dinner and sat in the car until the appropriate time because we are always early. Mind you, having lived in London, the traffic can be so bad that a 20 minute journey can take upwards of two hours round the M25 or the North Circular, as anyone living there will attest.

But secondly, I should have received the keys to the house today. Now for anyone who had lived for any period of time in a hotel will know, this is really important. The novelty of five star living wears off very quickly when you have run out of room service menus. So today was definitely Brazilian time.

Last night we had a major thunderstorm, so this morning there was localised flooding and Marcelo was late. It had taken him 1 and a half hours to drive 5 miles. He was clearly very upset and apologetic. But it make think - how long before we give in and have to go with Brazilian time?

Wednesday January 20th

2010-01-20T14:18:00.000-08:00

It is difficult in a hotel with the dog but she is getting into a routine and I am sure that she is happier here than she would be in a kennel. She is currently sitting by the door so that I couldn't possibly go out without falling over her. Smart dog.

On Sunday we took her to the Sao Paulo equivlaent of Central Park. It is called Parque Ibirapuera and was quite an experience.

For starters, this is Brazilian Fashion Week and the event is being held in one of the pavillions there. There were some serious fashion victims trying to look cool but in reality just looking a bit idiotic and out of place compared to the casualness of everyone else.

The park itself was absolutley crowded. No parking spaces anywhere which luckily for us wasn't a problem - thank you Marcelo.

The lovely thing about the park is that everyone can do anything with tolerance for all. There were cycle paths which the cyclists pretty much kept to. Kids bladed and skate boarded and no one seemed to mind as they weaved in and out. Dogs were everywhere so Tessie had a great day but people really did clean up after their dogs and the place was spotless. Bins were everywhere and people used them.

How different in attitude people in different countries have for children and animals. In France we took Tessie everywhere, restaurants, buses you name it she went. I remember when she was a puppy and we had friends to stay, we took them on a "red bus tour" of the city. She sat patiently on my lap for a couple of hours and when we disembarked, we crossed the Champ's Elysee. Tessie decided that she had to pee right in the middle of the 6 lane road. When we started to cross, the traffic was stopped for pedestrians but by the time she had finished the lights had turned and the traffic was coming towards us. To a car, they all stopped for us so that she could finish and we could get safely to the other side. 6 lanes of traffic waiting for a dog. I can't imagine that happening anywhere else in the world.

So we are trying out all the parks in the area to find one that is near the house and suitable.

Yesterday, when I went out with Tessie, Marcelo proudly told me that he had found a park, very close to the house that was brand new and so wasn't on a map. We found it and Marcelo was so proud of himself for coming up with a perfect solution to my dog walking problem.

Only one issue with the park - dogs not allowed. Obviously not run by normal people.

Oh well, back to Parque Iburapuera it is.

Tuesday January 19th 2010

2010-01-19T08:28:00.000-08:00

My dog-walking friend Sarah once said to me, "there are two types of people in this world - normal people and those who don't like dogs."

Tessie is my fox terrier. She should be a cat really as she has certainly had more than one life. In fact she is probably approaching nine lives by now.

She won the equivalent of the dog - lottery when we picked her out of a litter of two back in July of 2003. We were living in France at the time, in a house with a big fenced garden and a huge wood of several hundred acres within walking distance. We walked every day and life for a dog couldn't get much better.

Then came the day that we were relocated to the United States. Tessie went on ahead whilst we all went to Canada for visas. She arrived safely and I was pleased to hear that she was being "home kennelled" - a much nicer environment for her.

Except that she clearly needed to go and find her family because on the third day she escaped. It was Labor day in the United States and so everything and everyone that could help were closed.

She was home alone in New York.

The frantic handlers were going door to door with hand bills offering $1000 reward for her and in spite of their best efforts nightfall came and she was no-where to be seen. Of course by now we were frantic but couldn't do a thing as we had no visas to enter the USA.

The following morning we arrived at the offices of our lawyers in Toronto and explained the situation. Visas normally take about 30 hours but we pleaded with him to expedite them that day. His first comment on hearing the news was, "I smell a lawsuit", as only a lawyer can.

Visas were issued later that day, clearly by an Embassy staffer who loved dogs and appreciated the situation. We were on a flight to Philadelphia that evening.

After 28 hours Tessie was found. She had made it to the house of an elderly lady who we understand went to the local store to buy dog food and saw the notice pinned up. Did she think "dog vs. $ 1000?" Or was she a dog lover who knew how much this pooch would be missed. I guess I will never know but I am eternally grateful to her for ringing the number on the notice.

Now Tessie is here with us in Sao Paulo. She had a long flight but seems none the worse for it. I have to say that hotel living with a dog is pretty tedious and we are constantly up and down in lifts. People that live in apartments with dogs must truly love them.

But coming back to my opening quote from Sarah. When we heard that we would have to spend several days in a hotel waiting for the house to be ready, we were originally booked into the Hyatt. But, they don't allow dogs so we had to find an alternative.

So thank you Hilton Hotels. How enlightened you are , or maybe it is just that you are run by "normal people".

Monday January 18th

2010-01-18T14:52:00.000-08:00

Buried somewhere in my shipment there is an old school report of Steve's with a comment from his French teacher along the lines, "Stephen's accent is excruciating".

Well, let me tell you that his attempt at Portugese is not much better, but at least he is trying. He gets up early most working days and starts with 1 and a half hours of Portugese lessons. I resume mine next week. But for the moment there is a lot of arm waving, nodding and puzzled looks.

We have had several attempts at learning languages over the years.

In the Philippines, most people, and even those with relatively little education spoke English. But here is a funny thing. When ever you spoke to a maid, driver or shop assistant etc, they automatically replied "Yes Ma'am." We learned the hard way that, "yes ma'am," translates as " I may have heard you but I have absolutely no idea what you are actually saying." So in the Philippines everything you said had to be followed up to ensure that it had been understood and actually happened.

Turkish was very difficult and I soon leaned that the educated classes spoke really good English so it was just a question of communicating with the cleaner. More arm waving, pointing and nodding ensued. A pile of ironing and an ironing board gave a fairly good idea of what was required.

In Sweden, again I gave up, not just because the Swedes learn English almost from birth, but mainly because they make a funny sound that English speakers have great difficulty in replicating. It involves putting your tongue behind your lower front teeth, curling your tongue and whistling through the gap. Try as I might, I never mastered this sound and given that you need it to say the number 7 and my phone number consisted of at least 4 "7's" I figured I was never going to do it and may as well give up.

France was much easier, not least because I have 6 years of high school French under my belt. Even so, communicating with the plumber or the gardener requires a whole different vocabulary than tourist French.

Even in American, there is American English and UK English. To begin with I resisted the American version but quickly realised that we really are "two countries separated by a common language". When I was pulled over for speeding and the traffic cop asked for my driver's license (which I had left in the trunk,) I immediately said, "it's in the boot". He looked at me as if I was mad but then smiled and said how "he was a sucker for an English accent." Needless to say, he let me off the ticket.

So think of me next week as I wrestle with Portugese. Not the prettiest language there is, but for now very practical.

Obrigada

Sunday January 17th 2010

2010-01-17T12:15:00.000-08:00

In Sao Paulo as in Manila we have a driver. Here it is a question of security as much as anything but I am very grateful not to have to face Sao Paulo traffic.

In Manila it was
a. because hiring a driver is very inexpensive and
b. because there is never anywhere to park and
c. because the traffic is also horrendous.

In Manila our driver was called Arnel. He was a very slippery so and so and knew all the tricks. We were completely greeen when we arrived in 1996 and the novelty of having a driver was not lost on us. We had just left the UK where such things are unheard of and we were totally oblivious to the goings on that drivers get up to.

Arnel lasted about a year before we finally fired him and here is a sample of the sort of things that he got up to.

I was never with him when he put gasoline in the car. It was always full and I just handed over 500 pesos and he always gave me a reciept. It was only when we had our new driver Joseph that I discovered that it was physically impossible to get 500 pesos worth of gas into the car. Arnel was clearly pocketing the difference.

In Manila, as I mentioned, the traffic was so bad that the government introduced measures to keep your car off the road for one day a week. It all depended upon the last number on your license plate. Stupid move really because everyone had more than one car. Our "alternate" car was kept at the office and used by a pool of people whenever they needed it. We suspected, but never proved that Arnel was telling the office guards that "Sir needed the other car for the weekend/evening" - whatever. What we suspected was that
a. he was using it to drive himself home from work or
b. he had set himself up as a taxi using the alternate car.

A couple of times we saw the alternate car in places it shouldn't have been. Could we ever prove anything ? - unlikely - but it was his downfall and I suspect that he regretted losing his very lucrative job.

So Marcelo watch out - I am not so green these days.

Saturday January 16th 2010

2010-01-17T05:17:00.000-08:00

Morumbi is a district of Sao Paulo, quite close to the hotel that we are staying in. There is a large-ish shopping mall nearby. Not large by United States standards but large for Sao Paulo where land is at a premium and buildings go up rather than out.

It seems that wandering aimlessly around shopping malls is a family past-time at the weekend in Sao Paulo. There are a few of what I would call "chain stores", the sort of thing that you would find in any shopping center, but by far the largest number are the independent boutique type stores, the sort where the assistants pounce on you the minute you wander through the door. Clearly they are paid on commission which may be quite tricky because from what I can gather, people do not actually buy anything. After a couple of hours wandering around ourselves, all I managed to spend was $ 9.00 buying 25 tea bags - sticker shock continues. By comparison, 80 tea bags in a US grocery store cost around $ 4.00

Now, given that the GDP of Brazil is around $ 8000 per capita and the United States is $ 38,000 how on earth do the average people of Brazil actually afford to shop at "Shopping Morumbi?" Well, clearly they do not. No shopping bags is a bit of a gaveaway.

That said, the food court was fairly full so clearly Brazilians love to eat.

Here is another observation of Brazilians. Their shape is completely different to us Northern Hemisphere dwellers. Steve tried on several jackets and they were all too long in the arms and tight around the middle. The last thing I would say is that Steve is over weight but we could not find anything to fit. Then I tried to buy sneakers and I had the choice of 2 pairs and one of those were men's shoes. Clearly Brazilians have little feet.

Next time I come to the United States I think an empty suitcase is in order.

Friday Janaury 15th 2010

2010-01-15T01:19:00.000-08:00

Today I had my first real experience of exactly how expensive this place is. Last night we went out for dinner to the food court at the shopping mall underneath the hotel. It was a reasonable looking restaurant - lots of meat - fabulous salad bar which I am noticing is almost the norm in every restaurant. But, for a shopping mall dinner the cost was nearly US$ 200. That comprised steak ( me) boar ( Steve ) a few veggies , aforementioned salad bar and a bottle of Brazillian wine. Yikes, how much would it be in a fancy restaurant?

Then this morning the first of my laundry came back - one suit of Steve's dry cleaned and four undershirts for a total of US$ 60. Clearly the princess is going to have to do something about that.

So this morning I went off to the supermarket and bought laundry powder. It is amazing how a jacuzzi tub can double for a washing machine. Not sure what the maid thought about me leaning over the bath tub watching laundry going around. Hopefully I won't have to do much of this . It really doesn't go with the princess image. As I have said before, "Whatever they are paying you it isn't enough"

Thursday January 14th

2010-01-14T11:34:00.000-08:00

Today is my first full day in Sao Paulo and it is raining. How dare it! It is still 80 degrees but from what I can gather, I am going have to get used to this as during the summer months it is a regular occurance. No wonder the place is so lush and green

But here is a funny thing. You know how in Disneyworld/land, the minute it rains, vendors pop out of no-where with bright yellow ponchoes with Mickey Mouse cartoons all over them? Well here they pop out with white towels. On every street corner we drove down today, there were vendors selling towels. I have no idea why they are selling them, maybe it is for the car or maybe for the person. Marcelo's English is about as good as my Portugese so no chance of asking him but I have never seen anything like it.

When we were in Istanbul, vendors popped out with umbrellas. Now that would be useful. In Manila, no-one popped out with anything because the rain was usually so torrential that by the time you had stopped to buy something you would be soaked through. In England it rains all the time so you always have an umbrella. In Israel I don't think it ever rained and in Sweden it was so cold most of the time that the rain was in fact snow.

So, my task is to find out what on earth white towels - white I ask you - are for. When I find out I will let you know.

Wednesday January 13th 2010

2010-01-14T03:55:00.000-08:00

Clearly Brazil is not ready for me. When I arrived at the airport there were no carts for the luggage in thebaggage hall! What is a girl to do? Two large suitcases, wheelie briefcase , handbag, coat & sweater (certainly not needed) cannot be carried.

Fortunately there is a Duty Free shopping area in the baggage hall and on the basis that you absolutely have to stock up with goodies, they had supermarket style shopping carts. Not the same as luggage carts but better than nothing.

Other people seemed to have the same idea as me, but I must have been the trail blazer because as I tried to walk out, so a possee of security guys were clearly trying to tell me that I couldn't take the cart beyond the baggage area.

Well, as none of them spoke English and my Portuguese is limited to hello and thank you at this stage, we just talked over one another, getting louder all the time. Needless to say, they blinked first and gave up. Maybe it had something to do with the dozen or so other people coming behind me with shopping carts ladened with bags.

But as I came into the arrivals area, Marcelo my new best friend and driver was there to take charge and one look from him sent everyone out of the way.

Let me describe Marcelo. Probably around 5'7" with muscles that you wouldn't want to argue with and built like a bull terrier. He doesn't have the earpiece thingy but clearly has everything else. I wouldn't like to meet him on a dark night.

So, I very happily let him transfer said luggage to a regular cart and then he followed me out of arrivals hall and to the car park. I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman where she comes back into the hotel carrying nothing more than a handbag with the bell boy following on behind weighed down with bags.

Now, the only question is am I a princess or duchess?

Tuesday - Wednesday January 12 -13 2010

2010-01-13T14:06:00.000-08:00

Travelling business class is not quite the best way to travel. I can think of better but it is not bad and certainly better than going coach, especially for a ten hour flight.

Sitting beside me was a nice young guy who I can only descride as a "business class virgin". He was travelling on business and clearly someone else was picking up the tab. He kept playing with the seat adjustments, had trouble getting the TV screen out of its special place and when the stewardess gave him his goody bag he was like a kid at Christmas. He watched me replace shoes with flight socks, copied as I got the tray out and generally watched what I was doing before trying it himself.

I remember my first business class experience, nearly 14 years ago. It was a 17 hour trip from London to Manila and we were on our look see visit before moving to the Philippines. Steve had done it several times before and considered himself an old hand, but I was so excited. Now, flying is tedious at the best of times and with everything going on with security in the world, it has long since lost its attraction.

But seeing this guy last night made me remeber the excitement of foreign travel. Part of me also felt like a mother hen and with no children to look after, this guy fulfilled my need to take charge of something.

So thank you annonymous young man. I hope your stay in Sao Paulo goes well and remember what I told you about not keeping your wallet in your back pocket.

Tueday January 12th 2010

2010-01-12T16:22:00.000-08:00

Well, I had difficulty thinking that this day would ever come around, but here I am sitting in the departure lounge waiting to get onto the flight to Sao Paul.

Today was fabulous and I had the most amazing send off with a lot of my bridge buddies. Some were unable to come which was such a shame but the one's that did, more than made up for it. I managed to hold it together without blubbing whilst I was with them, but now in the annonimity of the departure lounge, I started reading the goodbye card that they had all signed and I have to say that it is moments like this that make one feel truly blessed to have such good friends.

I have thoroughly enjoyed playing with each and every one and hope that when I get to Sao Paulo I will be able to find more fun people to play with. Oh better dash - tme to board the plane

Sunday January 10th

2010-01-08T15:37:00.000-08:00

The last three days have been a boring slog of cleaning, painting and more cleaning. Who wants to read a blog about that? Not me so I won't go further

We are staying at the Nassau Inn in Princeton. Their slogan ought to be "We don't try hard because we don't have to." They are situated in the middle of Princeton. It is absolutely prime real estate and they have the monopoly for anyone wanting to stay in town. After all who wants to stay in one of those anonymous hotels chains on the busy Route 1 corridor. Here we can stay in a building that is historically listed, and slap bang in the middle of Princeton. We can walk everywhere and parking included in our daily rate. It sounds idyllic but anyone that has ever stayed here will tell you that the nick name of the "Nausea Inn" is given for a reason. I'm just trying to decide whether to waste my energy and fill in the "customer survey" but I probably won't . As I said , they have a monopoly and so have no need to change.

It reminds me of when we lived in France. We were therefrom February 2003 until August 2004. 18 months is about all we manage in any one place so it will be interesting to see how long we stay in Sao Paulo.

Anyway, the children went to the British International School of Paris. We have had experience of a variety of International schools when the children were younger. The British International School of Paris was very similar to a lot of the others but here is the thing about the similarity with the Nausea Inn - they had a monopoly. There were several international schools and American schools but only one "British" school. Some things were good - some bad. I was on the PTA for a while but it soon became very obvious that their attitude was that you can complain / suggest / encourage etc., all you like, but in the end they didn't have to change a thing because they knew that you would leave before they had to.

I wonder if they still serve "Friday Fish" -ugh

Thursday January 7th 2010

2010-01-07T17:09:00.000-08:00

Today started at 6 am. I would like to say that I bounced out of bed but in reality I didn't. Last night we headed to our local bar at around 8 o clock to drop off a friend's coat and ended up staying until 11 pm. John - coat guy - is one of my bridge pupils. For the past year or so I have been teaching bridge to a couple of guys. (We started with 3 but one dropped out.) What happens is, we drink lots of wine, eat lots of food and play bridge. Steve had taken to calling it "four bottle bridge", because we usually get through four bottles of very decent claret. Pity about the bridge.

But back to the move. The packers didn't finish today. The trouble was that the truck wasn't big enough so although pretty much everything was packed they couldn't load it. So, now it is sitting in the garage and will be finished tomorrow.

The house is looking very sad. I thought I could get away with painting here and there but in reality there is a lot more to be done. Thank you Mohammed - my favourite painter in the whole wide world. He had never let me down and today was no exception. I called him yesterday and let a message to he effect that
a. there will be a lot more painting
and
b. with a day's notice , please come on Friday.

This morning there was a message on my answer phone and a very cheery Mohammed saying "no problem".

So my day was spent following the packers around and as each room was emptied I was going in with vacuum, cleaning products and rubbish bags. The result is that I have absolutely no nails left. Tomorrow I am off to the manicurist. Not sure there will be anything left to paint.

Wednesday January 6th 2010

2010-01-06T14:30:00.000-08:00

You know how things always come in threes. Well, on Friday of last week, we noticed that the awning covering the deck was broken On Monday, the washing machine packed up which wasn't very helpful as I had masses of last minute washing to do. Then today the packers lent boxes against the garage door and when the cleaner came in to pick up some stuff, opened the garage door and it broke. Great I thought - that is the third thing so there won't be any more, and even better the garage door had simply come off its runners and between them, they were able to put it back on.

So there I was later on, minding my own business when the panic alarm went off. Now we have had a large red button by the side of the front door and I have always warned the children not to touch it. I actually thought it was disconnected as we had never paid to activate the burglar alarm. Now it turns out, the alarm was active all along and when one of the packers hit it with a box, all hell broke loose. I have never had a code to disarm the system. I thought about ringing the previous owners to see if they could remember their alarm number but after 4 and a half years thought they probably couldn't. We managed to take the cover off the alarm but no obvious battery or anything to disconnect. So Chris, the lead packer, who was the one to hit the button in the first place, pulled the fuse. Bliss - silence really is golden.

And for the good news, two bits. The first is that the removal co-ordinator thinks that the airfreight will be able to be sent sooner than we originally thought. Not sure why but clearly we don't have the same problem with visas that we do for the sea freight. The second and even better bit of news is that the packers should be finished a day early. Now that really is something. Here's the thing about international moves. Every piece of furniture has to be wrapped in paper - thick wads of paper to protect it in the container. Each piece of crockery and china is wrapped, again. in wads of paper. Boxes are lined with paper and glass is given a specially made wooden crate. It is really not the same as moving 5 miles up the road. So these guys have been fantastic and I give them credit for doing everything so quickly. Of course I take some of the credit for being organised but I think in all of the moves that we have done, we have never done it in 4 days.

Now let's just hope that we can move the painter, cleaners and carpet cleaners up by a day. Now that really will be something.

Tuesday January 5th 2010

2010-01-06T04:33:00.000-08:00

Today 6 packers turned up and really started to blitz the place. One thing that has happened in this move that hasn't happened in previous moves, is that everyday, furniture has been moved out so by the end of the day, we can see real progress and space occuring. Usually the boxes are all pushed into the least inconvenient space and loaded into a container all in one go. This time is different.

Because the visa process in Brazil is so long and tortuous, the shippers won't actually ship the goods until the visa is in hand. It seems that you can't clear the goods until you have the visa and so if the shipment arrives and the necessary paperwork isn't in place then the goods sit on the dockside incurring demurrage charges and the longer it sits, the more chance there is of theft and damage. So here's the thing, I am leaving next week, the visa process is started but won't be finished until probably the beginning of February, which means that the goods won't be loaded and shipped until after then. Now add on a 24 day sea voyage and a clearance process of at least another week or maybe two. Realistically, that means that I won't be seeing anything in that container for about two months at the earliest.

Just think about that. Not having access to anything for over two months. It means that one of the main tasks of my organisation is to make sure that I have absolutely everything I need in the right place. Clothes - well that is easy - just go and buy some more, personal stuff a bit harder but usually manageable but papers! I can't imagine the IRS accepting the excuse, "I'm sorry I can't file my 2009 tax returns because the paperwork is stuck on a ship somewhere between here and Sao Paulo".

Monday January 4th 2010

2010-01-06T04:06:00.000-08:00

Today the move really started to happen. The packers arrived but with the temperature at about 20 degrees and freezing, they couldn't start their truck and were late. Not to worry - 5 days to pack should be enough.

Also today was the day that both children went back to school. Charles has been a day boy at The Pennington School for the past 5 and a bit years. It is a private prep school about 5 miles from where we live and for him it has been fabulous. He only has 5 months to go before he graduates so this will be great preparation for him to get ready for college. We, for which I mean I, had sorted everything out for him to take and Steve took him down but they weren't expecting him until later so everything was locked up. Not to worry, it is only a 10 minute drive . When they got back later, someone had at least pinned a note to his door with his name on and a picture of the Houses of Parliament. When they got inside, however, there was a bed, two desks and nothing else. I guess the other boys had made good use of the chairs, cabinets and other things. Not to worry, another trip home for extra bits remedied the situation. Spartan living, hmmm, now that will make him appreciate home comforts.

Charles is very interested in politics, especially the UK kind. He plans at some stage to study in the UK and work for the Conservative party. He is definitely his mother's son - I joined the Young Conservatives when I was about 17 years old and my first blood was canvassing for Margaret Thatcher in 1979.

Emma on the other hand is nothing like her brother. She goes to a "wacky" Quaker school just outside Philadelphia. Westtown is absolutely perfect for her and it is music to my ears when she says things such as " I can't wait to get back to school". I can't ever remember saying that in my day. Emma hates talking about politics but is very arty and immensely socially liberal.

I have to say that both schools are just perfect for each of my children and for that I am very very grateful

Sunday January 3rd

2010-01-03T16:29:00.000-08:00

Today I reached the peak of the stress levels but, funnily enough, it is all downhill from now on.

You know how it is when there are a million balls in the air and you wonder how you are going to catch them all. Then all of a sudden you turn around and you find that you have caught half of them and the other half are sailing gently down to the ground in a very ordered manner. Well , that was me today. This morning I thought that I was never going to be ready for the packers tomorrow and now here I am , early evening, dinner in the oven for the last time, calm, glass of wine at hand and everything more or less ready. Phew!

This afternoon was the English Speaking Union Christmas party. This morning I thought there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of me attending, but then by 2 o'clock I hit the shower, soaked under the spray for a while and was ready to face the world.

The ESU in Princeton is a bit of an institution and I have loved going to the lectures and being part of the organisation. They are a bunch of seriously interesting people of every conceivable walk of life. One minute one is talking to a preservation architect and the next a composer. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and felt very loved as everyone was saying how much they were going to miss me. That said, there is an ESU in Sao Paulo which I intend to join so I hope that I can transfer my membership.

Our new tenants also came round this afternoon to walk through the house and work out how everything works - did I mention that we are planning on renting out the house ?

They are dear friends of ours and another day I will tell you the funny story of how we met. It was a freaky moment but that is for another day.

For now, it is packing day tomorrow and tonight is the last night in our house before the 4 of us head off in different directions and to our different worlds.

Saturday January 2nd 2010

2010-01-02T16:19:00.000-08:00

Tonight I am exhausted. It is packing day minus 1 and there is still so much to do. It doesn't help that 4 of us plus dog are all doing different things. Charles - our 17 year old - is off to his boarding school on Monday morning. It will be his first experience of boarding and although he has had several months to get used to the idea, he is quite a "home" sort of guy and I think he is quite apprehensive. We had a quiet mother / son moment in the kitchen this evening which I felt was quite telling. We haven't had one of those for about 5 years.

On the other hand, Emma -our 14 year old - is off to her boarding school on Monday evening. She started in September and so considers herself an old hand by now. She doesn't have so much "stuff" to pack up as Charles, as a lot of it is at school already , but it is amazing how much junk a 14 year old girl can accumulate in 2 week's vacation. The landing looks as though the proverbial bomb has hit it, with bags, suitcases, ruck sacks etc absolutely everywhere. But, in two days it will all be gone and with it the children. Not sure how I feel - ask me again in two days.

Today was definitely a "what ever they are paying you isn't enough" sort of day. There hasn't been a minute that hasn't been filled with something going on. The children daren't look for a second as though they aren't busy otherwise I will find them a job. The washing machine hasn't stopped and the dog has been totally neglected apart from a quick walk with Steve this morning.

Talking about the dog, Tessie the Fox Terrier is 6 and a half years old. She was born in France and we bought her when we lived there. She had a very eventful journey from Paris to the USA and another day I will tell you all about it. But for now, she knows that there is something going on. She keeps positioning herself in exactly the right spot for us to fall over her. Fox Terriers are seriously clever dogs but very feisty. We don't call her the "Terriorist" or the "Tesseratersaurous" without good reason.

January 1 2010

2010-01-01T16:02:00.000-08:00

Today is New Year's Day - packing day minus 3.

Steve ( husband) has had a rush of blood to the head and decided to buy up half the local electronic store so that when we arrive in Sao Paulo we will be able to access real TV via the Internet in quadraphonic sound - wireless - remotely et al.

I, on the other hand have been sorting, packing and organising as well as shopping. There is no doubt that between us we are single handedly saving the US economy. I am dreading the credit card bills when they come in later this month.

Also on the agenda for today was to register Charles - our 17 year old for his college. He had applied early and been accepted to American University in Washington DC - yippee. That said, we spent about an hour and a half trying to pay them the registration fee, select accommodation and a meal plan. Note to American - your website is clearly not aimed at middle aged mothers wielding credit cards, By the end, Charles went off in a huff and I managed to select a meal plan that allows 200 meals for the Spring semester of 2010. Fine but he isn't starting until Fall. Oh well, another thing to add to the "to -do " list on Monday.

Emma - our 14 year old announced today that "she can't wait to get back to school". Clearly she is not planning on missing her parents at all. That said she was very happy to be taken shopping to stock up on make up, hair products and various miscellaneous items that she would normally but with her allowance. Clearly mothers wielding credit cards have their uses.

What ever they are paying you it isn't enough

2009-12-31T07:28:00.000-08:00

Thursday December 31 2009

What a day to start a blog. The last of the year and snow on the ground. On Monday the packers will arrive and pack up my home to ship it off to Sao Paulo in Brazil , (just in case you didn't know where it is). This will be my 8th international move in 13 years. I am such an old hand at this that although I have a million and one things to do I am going to make time to write this blog. I have always wanted to write about the experience of all these different countries that we have lived in , and although it sounds glamorous, the reality is that it can be extremely hard work, frustrating and very tough. I am not a writer by profession, in fact I used to be an International Banker in the days when "banker" wasn't such a dirty word. But for the past 13 and a half years I have put my career on the back burner to concentrate on being a Corporate wife, mother, and removal expert . The reason for the name of my blog - that is easy. I can't tell you the number of times things have not gone according to plan and when that happens the words tumble from my mouth " What ever they are paying you it isn't enough"!