We´d found an extra friend on the bus, a girl called Katya from Mexico, who had overheard us talking English and approached us. She kind of latched onto us, but her being a single young girl, C & I felt a little responsible for her in the big bad dangerous Sao Paulo (well, Lonely Planet said it was), so we took her under our wing and told her to stick with us.
Sao Paulo is the 3rd biggest city in the world. And with over 20 million inhabitants, twice the size of London. All the books warned caution.
By sheer amazing miracle upon miracle, despite us not giving him an exact ETA and our bus turning up an hour later than expected, Stéphane (my old teaching colleague Ali´s friend), had turned up to meet us and found me about to log onto my internet account to get his number.
He informed us he´d also booked us into a hotel for the night, near where he lived in the area of Paulista (quite a bohemian and arty area)...Katya looked a little worried we´d abandon her, but in the end, we managed to get a room with an extra bed in it and let her share with us, bless her.
It was a SWANKY hotel, all marble and chrome reception, with glossy designer internet terminals and big screen music tv above minimalist leather and chrome sofas. Stéph´d got us a really cheap rate, but I think it´s because it´s not quite finished yet - they were still laying carpet on the stairs up from our floor, I noticed.
Still, what an angel - we´d never even asked him to do this for us! We extended our booking for the next night too, dumped our bags and all headed out for what turned out to be a fantastic meal; meat or fish of choice with more colourful and tasty vegetables than I´d eaten in two months in Posadas (I gorged a little), and headed on for a few drinks.
Whilst looking for some bars closer to our hotel to end the evening, we noticed a lot of pretty boys in twos and a few butch lady-pairs too. Ah! We were staying in the gay part of town! I felt instantly safer, and smiled to myself as I watched C & Stéphane walking ahead of Katya and me, C oblivious to the fact that he was being checked out by quite a lot of the local talent.
We eventually stumbled across some gorgeous little bars in the arty area of town, Paulista (having nearly been guided into a titty bar the other side of town when we were looking for a club called Vegas...I think we got taken to the wrong Vegas...!), so we found one and sat in it talking away for the rest of the evening..
Not an awful lot more to say about the first night, except C & I were glad we´d got two people who had a rudimentary grasp of Portuguese. Katya in fact put us all to shame - early 20s and she speaks fluent Spanish, English, French (she lived there for a while) and gets by in Portuguese. She took the opportunity to speak to Stéphane in his native French (he´s out here for 6 months, just bumming and learning Portuguese, living with two Brazilian brothers), which I did too for a bit, but realised it was making C feel left out, so we mainly stuck to English.
A little embarassing, isn´t it, that everyone defaults to English so us Brits can keep up?!
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Next day we all met up, Katya wanted, for some reason to buy a hooky footy shirt for a mate so there ensued a wild-goose chase which took us all over the city (it was a nice day, so we were walking), but this did mean time was ticking on and C & I were getting bored with not getting anything we´d planned to do, done.
Still, added to the C outside footy stadium collection (2 of a series of 2 now), Estadium Municipal, and failing to find the deep fried cheese-filled pastry pockets an appetising lunch choice at the nearby market, I picked some nectarines, strawberries and cherries out instead. I was so shocked when the man said it was 25 Real (about 6-7 quid, that´s fancy Borough-bleedin´-market prices!!!) that I simply handed the money over. Of course I should have bargained, walked away, whatever, but I was in shock. Plus, it being Portuguese I wasn´t exactly sure he´d said what he did. I consoled myself that they were, at least, tasty as hell and I´d bought enough for a yummy breakfast for C & I the next day.
Wandered round another craft market more centrally in town, bought a few presents for back home, then parted company with Katya and Stéphane as they were still on the hooky top trail.
We opted for a bit of culture, but not before I stopped to eat a very weird street snack, I will call Hot Cheese on a Stick!
We headed to the Oriental quarter and spent a few hours there watching the celebrations; 100 years of the Oriental community settling in Sao Paulo.
I did think it quite funny we´d come to South America to watch a load of Chinese/Japanese celebrations, but there you go, aint the world just a big old meltin´ pot...
Later that night (much later, annoyingly, they were like 1.5 hours late...and I was starving), Katya, Stéph and his flatmate Gabriel, a lawyer, came to pick us up and go to Gabriel´s favourite restaurant which served food typical of the only part of Brazil that doesn´t have a river or sea. Something started to niggle me about that.
I was right; they did no fish dishes! Or any vegetarian ones. So now I was hungry, we were really late (it was nearly 11), I´d not eaten all the yummy food at the Chinese fest as we were going to this great restaurant, and I was stuck with...soup and salad. Whilst the rest of them tucked into a huge fat meat feast. I felt like I was coming down with something too, so I was feeling a bit emotional already and hunger just makes it worse. I tried hard not to cry. My last night in Sao Paulo and this?!?! I glugged at my Capirinha, sipped at my soup and nibbled on a salad, that I then couldn´t finish, when C sneezed on it by mistake. Great.
We wandered round for a bit trying to find a promised Samba club, but in the end, I was feeling a bit ropey, so C & I headed back - we had to be on a bus back to Posadas the next day anyway to get the next bus out of Cordoba and we had not been able to get the swanky hotel to help with bookings (they were a bit rubbish on reception), so we´d have to go early.
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Next day, we found out we couldn´t actually leave Sao Paulo that day, so we´d have to get an 11am the next day. We´d just checked out and paid the hotel 15 Real to look after our luggage! And we couldn´t book a ticket till 2.30 as they were on siesta or something, so we had to hang around the bus station. Tried to go online to blog, but the "24 hour" internet café was inexplicably shut, so took a pic of C next to an amusing chemist´s sign instead (Farto) and had a tiny hot chocolate as I tried to drown out the tuneless tinkly-plonk of a drunken tramp on a piano in the café´s courtyard.
Eventually we managed to purchase our tickets out of town and headed off to find a bit of culture...found a samba band playing tunes on recycled drums, pots and pans...think it was a "Green Week" or something...ended up finding a fascinating Antiques market on the way to the Art gallery, so much so, we didn´t get round to doing the gallery either as we were then too hungry so went for something to eat. We really are crap at being tourists!
That evening, we kept it low key, checked back into the hotel, had a nap, and went out about 11pm to get something for C to eat. I just had a hot chocolate. I really wasn´t feeling great...eventually I think, hanging out with "Sicknote" has finally got to my immune system...oh oh...
Showing posts with label Sao Paulo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sao Paulo. Show all posts
Monday, 21 July 2008
Monday, 7 July 2008
RIO: La la laaa, la la la, la-la-la...
(sing to the tune of The Girl from Ipanema intro)
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Actually...Before we get to Rio: HUGE apologies to my readers (of which I´m discovering, there are more than I thought...thanks, guys!) - I have *not* stopped blogging, it´s just that we are now transient, spending three or so days in a city, trying to pack stuff in, occasionally leaping into internet cafés or shared hotel/hostel computers, and we simply don´t have the luxury of a good couple of hours catching up. Also, I have been spending an inordinate amount of my limited time online, e-networking and sorting out my CV and firing it off to various recruitment agencies.
They are still letting people go at the Telegraph I heard today - and at News International (Times, Sun, News of the World) they are cutting their sales force by a third - or 100 staff. There´s been about 50 gone at the Tele. Seems I got out just before the proverbial sh*t hit the fan...had I waited for redundancy pay-off I would *not* have been one of the ones let go anyway (I´m, rather annoyingly, too good for companies to let go of at these times) - no, I´d be one of those they´d keep on, to do the work of 2 colleagues. A lucky escape, methinks.
Today I have spent 4 rainy hours in a Rosario internet café trying to catch up from Rio...5 cities ago. So deep breath, and you might want to read the next few posts in a few sittings!
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Sunday: Arrived in Rio. We´re staying just off the Copa-(Co!)-Copacabaaaaanaaaaaa beach resort...we decided on a bit of luxury after all our hard work, so we´ve got a proper hotel, with a pool and gym and everything. Get us!
A couple of things I noticed on the way to Rio (Her name is Rio and she dances on the saaaand - there, now I´ve got all the tunes in my head on paper, I can carry on as normal):
1) In the bus station ladies toilets, I was surprised to find 8 urinals to about 6 cubicles. Confusion. Had I walked into the men´s by accident?! Oh no, phew, there was an old dear washing her hands...I was OK. Then it clicked. Rio has a huge transexual/transvestite culture, and these were obviously laid on so they don´t have to share the men´s toilets. How very 21st Century!
2) We noticed Brazilian kids are adorably cute, but couldn´t work out what had happened to the parents (to put it politely). In fact, the only lookers we saw were most definitely gay, and unfortunately they won´t be passing on their genes any time soon.
Anyhoo, Rio. Got there Sunday mid-afternoon, dumped our bags at our hotel, and went for a recce of the beach 2 mins away.
We christened our arrival with a couple of surprisingly violent Capirinhas from a little bar on the beachfront - accompanied by delicious fresh grilled prawns on wooden skewers, then toasted peanuts in a paper cone, from the hawkers that come up to you every 2 minutes - and sat in the setting sun sat contentedly people watching.
Copacabana beach is as you´d imagine: perfect golden clean sands, blue oceans, hawkers that hassle you every 2 minutes with a smile, showing off their various wares.
Almost - to C´s disappointment (and my eternal relief) the beaches of Rio are *not* choc-a-bloc with lithe lovelies who look like Gisele, wearing nothing but dental floss. That is a fiction you see on the telly - hurrah!
In fact we saw a lady, in her seventies (I´m guessing) and quite out of shape (large, droopy, if you know what I mean), wearing *only* tight short purple leggings and a very thin strapless boob-tube bikini top. Grim, yes, but that lady obviously has more body-confidence than anyone I know, so on second thoughts, good luck to her!
There is a lot more to see for the girls though. We watched a group of guys playing an energetic game of beach volleyball crossed with football (futebol, as they say here) in front of us. No hands, just head, chest and feet are used. Thinking about my earlier observations though, they´re probably gay too!
Headed back as it got colder, checked Facebook, Leanne and Fin hated Sao Paulo (oh dear, that´s where we´re heading...) and they were in Rio already! I messaged them to say where we were going that night, but figured we might miss them that evening.
C & I hit a Lebanese restaurant that night called Amir. Huge tasty portions and very cheap, a good find. We took a cab as all we read is that Rio is very dangerous and you shouldn´t walk about at night, especially looking lost and flashing your camera about.
There was a raucous street party going on in the park across from the restaurant which we summoned up the courage to venture into, but C didn´t feel comfortable (so how am I meant to!?!), and as I pointed out, he was glow-in-the-dark-white and his fear showed on his face. So we decided blending with the locals was probably not going to happen and made a swift exit.
Went for a drink outside a nearby bar, which we quickly realised was teaming with working girls. C & I ended up having a heated debate about the morality of it all. Don´t get me wrong: I feel these girls are often driven to it out of poverty and desperation: to support their families, pimps or drug habits, or they are tricked or forced into it. They are putting their lives and health at risk on a daily basis - they need society´s help and support to get out, learn a trade, get a job. But my stomach turns at the guys who think that´s an OK way to treat any woman. Let´s just say C´s views on the subject were shockingly flippant which I hadn´t expected from him at all, so our heated debate soon somehow turned into a full-blown row.
We went back to our hotel early, me in a foul mood and not speaking to him.
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Monday: My mood was somewhat lifted by the arrival of Leanne & Fin that morning - yay! I´d Facebooked them to arrange a day hanging with Jesus.
That´s the big Christ the Redeemer statue which looks over the city, 2000m above sea level and about 84m high and apparently one of the new 7 man-made wonders of the world, fact fans.
Not much else to say about it really - we were fleeced for 36 Real each (about a tenner) for a 20 min train ride to the top (admittedly some great views, but after Argentina prices, the fare seemed as steep as the mountain itself), and saw a big stone Jesus. Views of Rio from up there were amazing through - a full 360 view of the city, although it was a little misty, so the pics weren´t great - you´ll just have to take my word for it.
Here´s some hilarious pics of monks giving it the thumbs-up in front of a huge Jesus though. That´s something you don´t see every day.
C, Leanne & Fin, hanging with Jesus. As you do.
And we spotted a woman in the café being served a slice of the biggest watermelon EVER...look!!!
Brazil is way more expensive than the other S.American countries - we´ve gone through 2 days money already (oops!). It´s twice as pricey as Argentina for most things, and only slightly less than London for others: especially the fish - sometimes 3 times as much as the steak - which doesn´t make sense when you´re sat there eating and looking out at the Atlantic Ocean.
Later that evening, we ate at The Girl from Ipanema restaurant, and were amused by our waiter Evandro, who when thanked for the menu, said ¨That´s what friends are for¨, when taking our drinks orders asked ¨To beer, or not to beer? That is the question¨ and as we left, he hugged us, implored us to stay, and said ¨I love you with all my heart¨. I think he´d learnt all his English from song lyrics and films!
I didn´t realise the original sheet music for Ipanema was in the bar till after C mentioned loads of people were having their pic taken behind us (Gaaaaah! Why didn´t he mention it at the time?!?!), but turns out that this is where the famous song was actually written.
Anyway, I´m still a bit sketchy about getting the camera out at all due to all the horror stories in Lonely Planet etc. Apparently Rio is rife with crime.
Tried to find some bars after the meal, but strangely, the beachfront, so lively in the day, was dead as...er, night, at night. Where does everyone go?! We wandered round Copacabana lamely for a while, got accosted by a persistent beggar, so hopped in a cab and pegged it home. In bed by midnight!!!
Tip: don´t stay in Copacabana - it´s as dated as the song, with a smattering of beachfront restaurants that probably had their day in the 50s and 60s, the last time they were decorated.
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Tuesday - Beach day. C was moaning about it from the off as he is white as white can be and burns easily, so he sat in the shade, whilst us three girls lapped up a few rays on Copacabana beach. It´s nice to feel warm after the rain of Posadas!
A funny thing happened when I turned round and C was having his trainers polished (huh?!?!) by a hawker. They were talking football so I left him to it. We girls had to laugh though when C then came over all flustered and asked one of us to give hin a 10 Real note (about 2.50 quid) as the guy was demanding 50 Real (and that´s all C had on him). 50 Real!!! Schoolboy error to not ask the price first, but C said he didn´t get much of a choice. We gave him a 10 and C waved the hawker off, but not before he offered to clean our *flip-flops* for the bargain price of 30 Real a pair...ummm, I´ll just rinse mine under water, thanks!
Evening: met the girls after dinner for drinks, who brought along Amy from Bristol travelling with Alex from Hull (they´d been teaching English in Mexico) and another guy Cedric from Sweden (I think). They were room buddies of Lea and Fin, and a jolly time was had by all, especially after we quit Copacabana and headed to the much livelier Ipanema.
Ipanema´s a lot cooler, but apparently the even swankier places are in further north, Lapa, which, feeling scruffy, we didn´t really feel dressy enough for...!
Regaling our various tales of teaching to our new friends, I have to admit I felt a pang of nostalgia. I´m finding it very weird to just be a tourist. Days of nothing, no purpose, time to fill, money to spend. Also not speaking Portuguese is so disorientating after months of getting by in Spanish. Back to asking for the English menu, it´s sooooo embarrassing!
Portuguese is meant to be similar to Spanish, but a bit French-influenced (the French invaded first, the Spanish booted them out). However they pronounce things very differently and nasally and I really struggle with what they are saying.
You can get by with Spanish some of the time, but most locals don´t understand - or pretend not to. I read that some Brazilians get offended if you launch into Spanish, (I think it´s a case of national pride as they are the only S.American country that speaks Portuguese) but there are 13 countries in S.America and Brazil is bordered by an incredible 11 of them (fact fans) so the influx of Spanish speakers into into this holiday resort must be huge!
Besides, this is how the converstaion would go
Me: "Voce fala Español?"
Them: "No"
Me: "Voce fala Inglés?"
Them: "No"
Me: "Voce fala Francesa?"
Them: "No"
Me: (in Spanish, as I know no Portuguese other than the above phrase and "Obrigada" which means "thank you") "Um...dos biletes por favor..."
Them: "Si..."(and then they respond in perfect Spanish...)
Quite.
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Wed - C not feeling very well (again, I know! He has the constitution of a small, fragile gerbil. I´ve started to call him ¨Sicknote¨). I´d arranged to go to the beach with the girls, but without the convenience of our mobile phones for now (our Argentina chips don´t work in Brazil, I feel so helpless!) I had to go to their hostel to meet them and tell and tell them that I couldn´t meet them (!) as I should spend the day with Sicknote.
They were staying in a strange little hostel; next door to a kindergarten, and opposite a morgue and hospital. Lea says she saw bodies being carried in and out, from her room window. I mean they were carried out of the morgue, not her room window, obviously. Surely that would give the kids nightmares though?!
Anyway, I had a chilled day, used the gym (finally!) and didn´t do much while C slept away. Our leisurely pace meant we managed to royally screw up meeting the girls in Devassa´s restaurant on time, by the time we got there it was 9.15 and we missed them. Went to search the bar they said they´d be in (Shenanigans...classy, eh?!) but I think we went the wrong way down a very long street. Passed lots of bars, one looked gorgeous, really swanky, but I was too embarrassed to ask the doormen outside where Shenanigans was. That´d be like asking the doorman at the Ivy where the Walkabout was.
I shuddered at the thought, and, starving, we decided to cut our losses and head straight back to Devassa´s (which had come recommended) where I had the strangest pasta with mushroom dish. The mushroom sauce was actually mushroom gravy made with what tasted like meat stock - it was the same sauce that was on C´s over-done steak. However, I didn´t have the language or inclination by now to question the origins of my dish so I woofed it down and ordered a dessert to take away the taste of meat fat. Again, I´ve decided it doesn´t count as I didn´t order it and couldn´t help it.
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Thursday: C feeling better so we headed to the Maracana football stadium: the biggest in the world. We were going to do the tour, but as we approached there were about 200+ people queueing up in the blistering sun, under a motorway arch that stank of pee to purchase tickets. But for what?!
Everyone looked like locals, so we were convinced that they were in fact buying tickets for Sunday´s match, not a tour. In fact, there were no signs for the tour.
C´s Portuguese is even worse than mine, and having established that no-one spoke Spanish or English, he tried to ask a man in uniform if this was the queue for tickets to the tour (pointing at the Portuguese in our bi-lingual Rio pamphlet) or for ´el partido´ (match). The man nodded agreement for both parts of the question.
We didn´t really fancy what could be an hour or more wait for the wrong tickets, so somewhat dejected, we left the stadium...but I got a pic of C outside it at least...
What an anticlimax! We must be the world´s worst tourists.
Anyway, we went onto the Museo Naçional as it was quite close by. Amazed we found it, again, nothing sign-posted, not even on the stone edifice as we walked through the door, nor as we paid - don´t they realise they might get more visitors if they simply put a sign up?!
Found some funny little pottery men (I love the one on the right) and the pre-cursor to the tanga (aka dental-floss) pants Rio is so famous for. Did you know they were originally made of wood? Ouch - how did they sit down?! Maybe that´s why they kept strolling down the beach...
Later that night - our last in Rio, we went to meet the girls at their new hostel (The Girl in Ipanema hostel - I think a lot of businesses round here trade on that song!), and Alex and Amy who´d also decided to move as their original hostel had managed to cram 3 more bunks to make 18 people in their room, mainly drunken blokes - apparently the smell, snoring and farting had become unbearable. *Shudder*.
Had a fantastic meal in an Oriental fusion restaurant despite the somewhat obtuse waiter who could not or would not answer simple questions such as ¨Is that price for a full bottle or a glass of wine?¨ (Believe me, we tried in English, Spanish and by pointing to the menu...). As Lea & I had the sushi platter, we felt totally justified in having desserts too, but they looked so great, everyone else ordered one after ours had arrived. We considered a club nearby but as it would cost a total of 180 Real to get on for all 6 of us, we figured we´d rather drink that money in a bar down the road which was free to get in and was playing great music (naturally, it turned out to be a gay bar!).
C created quite a stir and attracted a few new male admirers (it´s the shaved head, goatee and skinny hips that do it!) and Alex tried the 700ml of draft wine he´d spotted on the menu, which tasted every bit as disgusting as it sounds. We girls played it safe with the normal bottled stuff! After a great evening, we were finally chucked out, the last to leave, as the staff were pointedly putting chairs up around us.
Alex and his draft wine. Yum.
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Friday - C & I went on a Favela Tour. Now if you´ve seen the movie City of God, those Favelas are dangerous crime-ridden shanty towns - and it´s true no tourist should ever wander alone. But we went with a highly recommended company, www.favelatours.com.br. Although I´ve been surprised to hear since that no one else we´ve met had even dared take the tour!!!
The Favelas of Rio constitute about 20% of Rios 6.2 million inhabitants, but the Goverment only recognises 300,000 of them and one main road running through the largest Favela, Rocinha. The other roads, and therefore homes, people, facilities for these people simply don´t exist.
Although I was really amused and incredibly surprised to find posters everywhere advertising a Ja Rule gig, in Rocinha itself, in July. Bloody hell, he knows his fan base, doesn´t he?! Gangster-land. I´d like to see the security bill on that one.
Actually, our tour guide Martha told us, 90% of Favela-dwellers are honest citizens, and the criminal percentage are about 2% - probably the same as London then - but it´s the drugs lords who run the community.
The Favelas started only this century when the Gov´t started to develop the lower lands nearer the beaches for tourists and the rich. The poorer folk´s homes were razed to the ground, and they were forced to move further and further up the hills to survive. There they have created their own homes in these unforgiving territories, made out of whatever they can salvage - a higgledy-piggledy stack upon stack of wood, corrugated metal, brick and stone constructions, one on top of the other.
Brazilians don´t beg - they are proud people and even though deprived of state support, they will make, sell, trade or buy anything to make a living. We bought a few souvenirs from a market stall of craftspeople and traders, happy to put some money into an economy that gets nothing from the official routes.
The favelas have of course, over time, built their own sub-culture and economy, based on drugs money: marijuana and cocaine.
It´s the drugs lords have the power and the money, and as Martha told us more, it seemed almost Godfather-like. The shoot-outs that occur on a daily basis(erm, now they tell us!?) are solely turf wars between rival dealing factions - but they fiercely look after their own villagers.
We got told of an incident where a mother needed to pay for treatment for her sick child and the drugs lords paid for this. Equally though, a woman who cannot pay her way through an addiction may have to pay with her head shaved, and a man may have a finger chopped off.
Favela streets are actually safer than those of any normal city though - other types of crime - muggings, rapes, burglaries etc are next to non-existent - as long as the drugs lords keep their gun-fighting amongst their own people and keep other crime under control, the police ignore the dealing under their noses.
It´s a self-governing, self-policing, self-supporting community. I marvel at man´s ability to survive whatever life throws at them.
Martha has been doing the favela tours for 7 years, she has the respect of the community, and so we were allowed to take photos - but only from and to very specific points, not *here* or *here* as they were dealing points. Taking photos *there* would risk ALL your group´s cameras being confiscated by the dealers, and as Martha explained, she was not going to negotiate our memory chips back with angry men who have big guns. C & I caught two dodgy-looking youngish guys who were definitely dealers (all in black, *lots* of bum bags, chewing gum on a street corner, doing nothing, but watching everything). They were eyeing our group up, so I pushed my camera further into my pocket, whilst strangely thrilled to be so close to something I´d only read about and seen in movies.
Weird though, to think the Gov´t have nothing to do with these people, and to them they don´t exist. A few companies, phone, gas, electricity, etc, have realised the fiscal potential of 1.2 million people, but as most homes don´t have a recognised address (there is only one street recognised by the Government), people can´t get a job or a bank account or sign up to the services. Ever innivative, they simply connect their own cables to the supplier´s posts and ¨steal¨ the electricity and phone signals...what Martha called "spiderman´s work"...um, safe, or what?!?!
The second Favela had no dealers so we were allowed to take as many pics as we wanted. This seemed more like a pretty village, coloured bunting everywhere, old men playing cards in the street, although the gentle waft of marijuana as we walked through the narrow backstreets reminded you this was no ordinary village.
We were thrilled to hear some of the profits of which actually go to run a school we visited there. All jolly and painted in bright colours, Favela tours were funding a safe place for the kids to flourish in an area the Government doesn´t deem education is important (they´d pulled promised budget a few years previously).
Favela kids only have a 3% chance of making it into higher education - parents want their kids out working asap, and anyway, the richer kids get all the places and opportunites so why bother? With the help of this school though, and an education programme that extends to persuading the parents to think differently about their children´s chances, they´ve managed to get 37 kids through this tiny school so far into higher education - and only failed 3 of them. Amazing, huh?!
At the end of our tour, we tipped Martha and thanked her for a fascinating insight into the other side of Rio, before leaving in the mid-afternoon for Sao Paulo...(7 hours on a bus...)
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Actually...Before we get to Rio: HUGE apologies to my readers (of which I´m discovering, there are more than I thought...thanks, guys!) - I have *not* stopped blogging, it´s just that we are now transient, spending three or so days in a city, trying to pack stuff in, occasionally leaping into internet cafés or shared hotel/hostel computers, and we simply don´t have the luxury of a good couple of hours catching up. Also, I have been spending an inordinate amount of my limited time online, e-networking and sorting out my CV and firing it off to various recruitment agencies.
They are still letting people go at the Telegraph I heard today - and at News International (Times, Sun, News of the World) they are cutting their sales force by a third - or 100 staff. There´s been about 50 gone at the Tele. Seems I got out just before the proverbial sh*t hit the fan...had I waited for redundancy pay-off I would *not* have been one of the ones let go anyway (I´m, rather annoyingly, too good for companies to let go of at these times) - no, I´d be one of those they´d keep on, to do the work of 2 colleagues. A lucky escape, methinks.
Today I have spent 4 rainy hours in a Rosario internet café trying to catch up from Rio...5 cities ago. So deep breath, and you might want to read the next few posts in a few sittings!
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Sunday: Arrived in Rio. We´re staying just off the Copa-(Co!)-Copacabaaaaanaaaaaa beach resort...we decided on a bit of luxury after all our hard work, so we´ve got a proper hotel, with a pool and gym and everything. Get us!
A couple of things I noticed on the way to Rio (Her name is Rio and she dances on the saaaand - there, now I´ve got all the tunes in my head on paper, I can carry on as normal):
1) In the bus station ladies toilets, I was surprised to find 8 urinals to about 6 cubicles. Confusion. Had I walked into the men´s by accident?! Oh no, phew, there was an old dear washing her hands...I was OK. Then it clicked. Rio has a huge transexual/transvestite culture, and these were obviously laid on so they don´t have to share the men´s toilets. How very 21st Century!
2) We noticed Brazilian kids are adorably cute, but couldn´t work out what had happened to the parents (to put it politely). In fact, the only lookers we saw were most definitely gay, and unfortunately they won´t be passing on their genes any time soon.
Anyhoo, Rio. Got there Sunday mid-afternoon, dumped our bags at our hotel, and went for a recce of the beach 2 mins away.
We christened our arrival with a couple of surprisingly violent Capirinhas from a little bar on the beachfront - accompanied by delicious fresh grilled prawns on wooden skewers, then toasted peanuts in a paper cone, from the hawkers that come up to you every 2 minutes - and sat in the setting sun sat contentedly people watching.
Copacabana beach is as you´d imagine: perfect golden clean sands, blue oceans, hawkers that hassle you every 2 minutes with a smile, showing off their various wares.
Almost - to C´s disappointment (and my eternal relief) the beaches of Rio are *not* choc-a-bloc with lithe lovelies who look like Gisele, wearing nothing but dental floss. That is a fiction you see on the telly - hurrah!
In fact we saw a lady, in her seventies (I´m guessing) and quite out of shape (large, droopy, if you know what I mean), wearing *only* tight short purple leggings and a very thin strapless boob-tube bikini top. Grim, yes, but that lady obviously has more body-confidence than anyone I know, so on second thoughts, good luck to her!
There is a lot more to see for the girls though. We watched a group of guys playing an energetic game of beach volleyball crossed with football (futebol, as they say here) in front of us. No hands, just head, chest and feet are used. Thinking about my earlier observations though, they´re probably gay too!
Headed back as it got colder, checked Facebook, Leanne and Fin hated Sao Paulo (oh dear, that´s where we´re heading...) and they were in Rio already! I messaged them to say where we were going that night, but figured we might miss them that evening.
C & I hit a Lebanese restaurant that night called Amir. Huge tasty portions and very cheap, a good find. We took a cab as all we read is that Rio is very dangerous and you shouldn´t walk about at night, especially looking lost and flashing your camera about.
There was a raucous street party going on in the park across from the restaurant which we summoned up the courage to venture into, but C didn´t feel comfortable (so how am I meant to!?!), and as I pointed out, he was glow-in-the-dark-white and his fear showed on his face. So we decided blending with the locals was probably not going to happen and made a swift exit.
Went for a drink outside a nearby bar, which we quickly realised was teaming with working girls. C & I ended up having a heated debate about the morality of it all. Don´t get me wrong: I feel these girls are often driven to it out of poverty and desperation: to support their families, pimps or drug habits, or they are tricked or forced into it. They are putting their lives and health at risk on a daily basis - they need society´s help and support to get out, learn a trade, get a job. But my stomach turns at the guys who think that´s an OK way to treat any woman. Let´s just say C´s views on the subject were shockingly flippant which I hadn´t expected from him at all, so our heated debate soon somehow turned into a full-blown row.
We went back to our hotel early, me in a foul mood and not speaking to him.
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Monday: My mood was somewhat lifted by the arrival of Leanne & Fin that morning - yay! I´d Facebooked them to arrange a day hanging with Jesus.
That´s the big Christ the Redeemer statue which looks over the city, 2000m above sea level and about 84m high and apparently one of the new 7 man-made wonders of the world, fact fans.
Not much else to say about it really - we were fleeced for 36 Real each (about a tenner) for a 20 min train ride to the top (admittedly some great views, but after Argentina prices, the fare seemed as steep as the mountain itself), and saw a big stone Jesus. Views of Rio from up there were amazing through - a full 360 view of the city, although it was a little misty, so the pics weren´t great - you´ll just have to take my word for it.
Here´s some hilarious pics of monks giving it the thumbs-up in front of a huge Jesus though. That´s something you don´t see every day.
C, Leanne & Fin, hanging with Jesus. As you do.
And we spotted a woman in the café being served a slice of the biggest watermelon EVER...look!!!
Brazil is way more expensive than the other S.American countries - we´ve gone through 2 days money already (oops!). It´s twice as pricey as Argentina for most things, and only slightly less than London for others: especially the fish - sometimes 3 times as much as the steak - which doesn´t make sense when you´re sat there eating and looking out at the Atlantic Ocean.
Later that evening, we ate at The Girl from Ipanema restaurant, and were amused by our waiter Evandro, who when thanked for the menu, said ¨That´s what friends are for¨, when taking our drinks orders asked ¨To beer, or not to beer? That is the question¨ and as we left, he hugged us, implored us to stay, and said ¨I love you with all my heart¨. I think he´d learnt all his English from song lyrics and films!
I didn´t realise the original sheet music for Ipanema was in the bar till after C mentioned loads of people were having their pic taken behind us (Gaaaaah! Why didn´t he mention it at the time?!?!), but turns out that this is where the famous song was actually written.
Anyway, I´m still a bit sketchy about getting the camera out at all due to all the horror stories in Lonely Planet etc. Apparently Rio is rife with crime.
Tried to find some bars after the meal, but strangely, the beachfront, so lively in the day, was dead as...er, night, at night. Where does everyone go?! We wandered round Copacabana lamely for a while, got accosted by a persistent beggar, so hopped in a cab and pegged it home. In bed by midnight!!!
Tip: don´t stay in Copacabana - it´s as dated as the song, with a smattering of beachfront restaurants that probably had their day in the 50s and 60s, the last time they were decorated.
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Tuesday - Beach day. C was moaning about it from the off as he is white as white can be and burns easily, so he sat in the shade, whilst us three girls lapped up a few rays on Copacabana beach. It´s nice to feel warm after the rain of Posadas!
A funny thing happened when I turned round and C was having his trainers polished (huh?!?!) by a hawker. They were talking football so I left him to it. We girls had to laugh though when C then came over all flustered and asked one of us to give hin a 10 Real note (about 2.50 quid) as the guy was demanding 50 Real (and that´s all C had on him). 50 Real!!! Schoolboy error to not ask the price first, but C said he didn´t get much of a choice. We gave him a 10 and C waved the hawker off, but not before he offered to clean our *flip-flops* for the bargain price of 30 Real a pair...ummm, I´ll just rinse mine under water, thanks!
Evening: met the girls after dinner for drinks, who brought along Amy from Bristol travelling with Alex from Hull (they´d been teaching English in Mexico) and another guy Cedric from Sweden (I think). They were room buddies of Lea and Fin, and a jolly time was had by all, especially after we quit Copacabana and headed to the much livelier Ipanema.
Ipanema´s a lot cooler, but apparently the even swankier places are in further north, Lapa, which, feeling scruffy, we didn´t really feel dressy enough for...!
Regaling our various tales of teaching to our new friends, I have to admit I felt a pang of nostalgia. I´m finding it very weird to just be a tourist. Days of nothing, no purpose, time to fill, money to spend. Also not speaking Portuguese is so disorientating after months of getting by in Spanish. Back to asking for the English menu, it´s sooooo embarrassing!
Portuguese is meant to be similar to Spanish, but a bit French-influenced (the French invaded first, the Spanish booted them out). However they pronounce things very differently and nasally and I really struggle with what they are saying.
You can get by with Spanish some of the time, but most locals don´t understand - or pretend not to. I read that some Brazilians get offended if you launch into Spanish, (I think it´s a case of national pride as they are the only S.American country that speaks Portuguese) but there are 13 countries in S.America and Brazil is bordered by an incredible 11 of them (fact fans) so the influx of Spanish speakers into into this holiday resort must be huge!
Besides, this is how the converstaion would go
Me: "Voce fala Español?"
Them: "No"
Me: "Voce fala Inglés?"
Them: "No"
Me: "Voce fala Francesa?"
Them: "No"
Me: (in Spanish, as I know no Portuguese other than the above phrase and "Obrigada" which means "thank you") "Um...dos biletes por favor..."
Them: "Si..."(and then they respond in perfect Spanish...)
Quite.
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Wed - C not feeling very well (again, I know! He has the constitution of a small, fragile gerbil. I´ve started to call him ¨Sicknote¨). I´d arranged to go to the beach with the girls, but without the convenience of our mobile phones for now (our Argentina chips don´t work in Brazil, I feel so helpless!) I had to go to their hostel to meet them and tell and tell them that I couldn´t meet them (!) as I should spend the day with Sicknote.
They were staying in a strange little hostel; next door to a kindergarten, and opposite a morgue and hospital. Lea says she saw bodies being carried in and out, from her room window. I mean they were carried out of the morgue, not her room window, obviously. Surely that would give the kids nightmares though?!
Anyway, I had a chilled day, used the gym (finally!) and didn´t do much while C slept away. Our leisurely pace meant we managed to royally screw up meeting the girls in Devassa´s restaurant on time, by the time we got there it was 9.15 and we missed them. Went to search the bar they said they´d be in (Shenanigans...classy, eh?!) but I think we went the wrong way down a very long street. Passed lots of bars, one looked gorgeous, really swanky, but I was too embarrassed to ask the doormen outside where Shenanigans was. That´d be like asking the doorman at the Ivy where the Walkabout was.
I shuddered at the thought, and, starving, we decided to cut our losses and head straight back to Devassa´s (which had come recommended) where I had the strangest pasta with mushroom dish. The mushroom sauce was actually mushroom gravy made with what tasted like meat stock - it was the same sauce that was on C´s over-done steak. However, I didn´t have the language or inclination by now to question the origins of my dish so I woofed it down and ordered a dessert to take away the taste of meat fat. Again, I´ve decided it doesn´t count as I didn´t order it and couldn´t help it.
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Thursday: C feeling better so we headed to the Maracana football stadium: the biggest in the world. We were going to do the tour, but as we approached there were about 200+ people queueing up in the blistering sun, under a motorway arch that stank of pee to purchase tickets. But for what?!
Everyone looked like locals, so we were convinced that they were in fact buying tickets for Sunday´s match, not a tour. In fact, there were no signs for the tour.
C´s Portuguese is even worse than mine, and having established that no-one spoke Spanish or English, he tried to ask a man in uniform if this was the queue for tickets to the tour (pointing at the Portuguese in our bi-lingual Rio pamphlet) or for ´el partido´ (match). The man nodded agreement for both parts of the question.
We didn´t really fancy what could be an hour or more wait for the wrong tickets, so somewhat dejected, we left the stadium...but I got a pic of C outside it at least...
What an anticlimax! We must be the world´s worst tourists.
Anyway, we went onto the Museo Naçional as it was quite close by. Amazed we found it, again, nothing sign-posted, not even on the stone edifice as we walked through the door, nor as we paid - don´t they realise they might get more visitors if they simply put a sign up?!
Found some funny little pottery men (I love the one on the right) and the pre-cursor to the tanga (aka dental-floss) pants Rio is so famous for. Did you know they were originally made of wood? Ouch - how did they sit down?! Maybe that´s why they kept strolling down the beach...
Later that night - our last in Rio, we went to meet the girls at their new hostel (The Girl in Ipanema hostel - I think a lot of businesses round here trade on that song!), and Alex and Amy who´d also decided to move as their original hostel had managed to cram 3 more bunks to make 18 people in their room, mainly drunken blokes - apparently the smell, snoring and farting had become unbearable. *Shudder*.
Had a fantastic meal in an Oriental fusion restaurant despite the somewhat obtuse waiter who could not or would not answer simple questions such as ¨Is that price for a full bottle or a glass of wine?¨ (Believe me, we tried in English, Spanish and by pointing to the menu...). As Lea & I had the sushi platter, we felt totally justified in having desserts too, but they looked so great, everyone else ordered one after ours had arrived. We considered a club nearby but as it would cost a total of 180 Real to get on for all 6 of us, we figured we´d rather drink that money in a bar down the road which was free to get in and was playing great music (naturally, it turned out to be a gay bar!).
C created quite a stir and attracted a few new male admirers (it´s the shaved head, goatee and skinny hips that do it!) and Alex tried the 700ml of draft wine he´d spotted on the menu, which tasted every bit as disgusting as it sounds. We girls played it safe with the normal bottled stuff! After a great evening, we were finally chucked out, the last to leave, as the staff were pointedly putting chairs up around us.
Alex and his draft wine. Yum.
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Friday - C & I went on a Favela Tour. Now if you´ve seen the movie City of God, those Favelas are dangerous crime-ridden shanty towns - and it´s true no tourist should ever wander alone. But we went with a highly recommended company, www.favelatours.com.br. Although I´ve been surprised to hear since that no one else we´ve met had even dared take the tour!!!
The Favelas of Rio constitute about 20% of Rios 6.2 million inhabitants, but the Goverment only recognises 300,000 of them and one main road running through the largest Favela, Rocinha. The other roads, and therefore homes, people, facilities for these people simply don´t exist.
Although I was really amused and incredibly surprised to find posters everywhere advertising a Ja Rule gig, in Rocinha itself, in July. Bloody hell, he knows his fan base, doesn´t he?! Gangster-land. I´d like to see the security bill on that one.
Actually, our tour guide Martha told us, 90% of Favela-dwellers are honest citizens, and the criminal percentage are about 2% - probably the same as London then - but it´s the drugs lords who run the community.
The Favelas started only this century when the Gov´t started to develop the lower lands nearer the beaches for tourists and the rich. The poorer folk´s homes were razed to the ground, and they were forced to move further and further up the hills to survive. There they have created their own homes in these unforgiving territories, made out of whatever they can salvage - a higgledy-piggledy stack upon stack of wood, corrugated metal, brick and stone constructions, one on top of the other.
Brazilians don´t beg - they are proud people and even though deprived of state support, they will make, sell, trade or buy anything to make a living. We bought a few souvenirs from a market stall of craftspeople and traders, happy to put some money into an economy that gets nothing from the official routes.
The favelas have of course, over time, built their own sub-culture and economy, based on drugs money: marijuana and cocaine.
It´s the drugs lords have the power and the money, and as Martha told us more, it seemed almost Godfather-like. The shoot-outs that occur on a daily basis(erm, now they tell us!?) are solely turf wars between rival dealing factions - but they fiercely look after their own villagers.
We got told of an incident where a mother needed to pay for treatment for her sick child and the drugs lords paid for this. Equally though, a woman who cannot pay her way through an addiction may have to pay with her head shaved, and a man may have a finger chopped off.
Favela streets are actually safer than those of any normal city though - other types of crime - muggings, rapes, burglaries etc are next to non-existent - as long as the drugs lords keep their gun-fighting amongst their own people and keep other crime under control, the police ignore the dealing under their noses.
It´s a self-governing, self-policing, self-supporting community. I marvel at man´s ability to survive whatever life throws at them.
Martha has been doing the favela tours for 7 years, she has the respect of the community, and so we were allowed to take photos - but only from and to very specific points, not *here* or *here* as they were dealing points. Taking photos *there* would risk ALL your group´s cameras being confiscated by the dealers, and as Martha explained, she was not going to negotiate our memory chips back with angry men who have big guns. C & I caught two dodgy-looking youngish guys who were definitely dealers (all in black, *lots* of bum bags, chewing gum on a street corner, doing nothing, but watching everything). They were eyeing our group up, so I pushed my camera further into my pocket, whilst strangely thrilled to be so close to something I´d only read about and seen in movies.
Weird though, to think the Gov´t have nothing to do with these people, and to them they don´t exist. A few companies, phone, gas, electricity, etc, have realised the fiscal potential of 1.2 million people, but as most homes don´t have a recognised address (there is only one street recognised by the Government), people can´t get a job or a bank account or sign up to the services. Ever innivative, they simply connect their own cables to the supplier´s posts and ¨steal¨ the electricity and phone signals...what Martha called "spiderman´s work"...um, safe, or what?!?!
The second Favela had no dealers so we were allowed to take as many pics as we wanted. This seemed more like a pretty village, coloured bunting everywhere, old men playing cards in the street, although the gentle waft of marijuana as we walked through the narrow backstreets reminded you this was no ordinary village.
We were thrilled to hear some of the profits of which actually go to run a school we visited there. All jolly and painted in bright colours, Favela tours were funding a safe place for the kids to flourish in an area the Government doesn´t deem education is important (they´d pulled promised budget a few years previously).
Favela kids only have a 3% chance of making it into higher education - parents want their kids out working asap, and anyway, the richer kids get all the places and opportunites so why bother? With the help of this school though, and an education programme that extends to persuading the parents to think differently about their children´s chances, they´ve managed to get 37 kids through this tiny school so far into higher education - and only failed 3 of them. Amazing, huh?!
At the end of our tour, we tipped Martha and thanked her for a fascinating insight into the other side of Rio, before leaving in the mid-afternoon for Sao Paulo...(7 hours on a bus...)
Time to say goodbye...and does it count if you don´t chew?!
This feels like the longest goodbye.
If I felt emotional leaving job, family and friends in the UK 2 months ago, it´s more intensified saying goodbye here as chances are we may not return (although we want to).
But before I get to the sad bit, I´ll tell you about the rest of my week in the run up.
Thursday: Went into school (again, a little lie-in, as no 5b; although I did feel bad when they ran in to say goodbye, waving cards and sweets for me on Tuesday at the end of my last class with 5a), this time with Florencia, my house ¨sister¨.
I had to make up a lesson for these kids, all about useful phrases for a basic conversation, as the clever little blighters had finished all my planned work ahead of schedule. I was looking forward to the help and support of a native Spanish speaker in Flor.
In the end, though, this is how it panned out: 6b were the naughtiest they´d ever been (high on sugar and pop, and excited about end of term), and all Flor did was stand in the corner and make notes...!
Bloody psychology students, thinking they know it all!!! If I´d have known I was going to be subject to scrutiny and analysis, and Flor was not going to do anything to help, I´d have said no to her request. It was extra pressure I really didn´t need, and today´s was very unusual behaviour, and a tad embarassing as a result. I half-joked that she should have been in yesterday´s class when they were angels if she´d wanted to simply observe a class.
At one particularly rowdy moment, she looked coolly over her notepad and observed, somewhat needlessly, ¨It appears you are losing control of the class, Sapna¨.
¨So help me calm them down! Don´t just stand there taking notes, *do* something!¨ I hissed.
I handed her a particularly naughty boy to take to the Oficina whilst I dramatically dropped the confiscated 2-litre bottle of cola-style pop he´d been drinking through a straw under cover of his desk, into the bin from a height so the closed bottle fizzed furiously.
I knew how it felt.
With that example made, I reigned the class back in with a very fun game of good old hangman again.
In the last few weeks I´ve been making it more challenging by combining adjectives and objects and adding to their repertoire of new vocab week on week, so they have to search their entire notebooks for help, not just that day´s words (e.g. a green crocodile, four blue shirts, long curly hair) to try and drill home the fact that the order of these two elements are swapped round in English (Spanish would be e.g. un crocodilo verde, cuatros camisas azules, pelo largo y enrulado).
I did therefore find it particularly funny this week when some of the kids who gave me cards had still written that I was a ¨very girl cool¨.
Thursday pm: spent the arvo drawing Felipe...he´s a funny looking thing (a chihuahua) with huge ears (we call him bat-dog) and a face that only a mother could love, but he´s weirdly cute, with a very sweet, bouncy personality.
In the end, I thought that drawing was actually technically more accomplished, but we all had to agree, Cami is the cutest dog ever (I will post these pics, promise!). I put them into clip frames, we wrote ¨Para (names), Gracias por todo, Besos¨ and signed them before I headed into town to get V´s photomontage printed up (3 pics from Marcelo´s party in Sampaka; one of all us voluntarios, bar Ali - John, US Kristen, Fin, Leanne, C, Oz Kirsten, Tom & me; one of V & Marcelo and one of me & C with Norma & Fernando, V´s parents) with the message ¨Los mejores voluntarios en todo el mundo!¨ and our names and then I went to meet US Kristen for a couple of glasses of vino at Alex´s and to rest my weary eyes.
We remaining 6 of the original posse (Tom, John & Ali had long gone...sniff!) had decided to give V this framed pic, signed on the back by us all along with vouchers for a great restaurant in Posadas, Las Cavas, which we´d all been to for Ali´s last night.
That last Thursday night about 24 of us went to the largest and oldest restaurant in Posadas, La Querencia. All us voluntarios leaving (Oz K, US K, Fin, Lea, C & me); Gen (the exasperating one I had to stop blogging about); Meredith from Colorado, a newbie who´d arrived that day who had moved into Pilar´s where Oz K was staying and doing the same conservation project (an excellent, fun girl and irritatingly as stunningly beautiful as she is nice!); plus assorted friends and family; Aida, Silvina and Flor from our house (no Mariana & Cesar unfortunately due to M´s toothache), Laura from Oz K´s house and her mate; Dani, the voluntaria who fell in love with Posadas 2 years ago and stayed and her boy Fernando; and of course, Veronica and Marcelo (no Norma & Fernando as unfortunately for us, they had guests over).
Great meal, great night, Aida actually nearly cried when I gave her the pic of Cami (Flor said no volunteer had ever, or would ever do anything for her which would touch her like that again...sweet!), V also had an emotional moment apparently after we gave her the picture & vouchers.
C & I also decided to get our family´s meals as a thank you, and then I suggested we 6 leavers all pitch in for V & M´s, which was a nice way to go.
If you´re thinking we were being a little splashy with our cashy what with no jobs and all that: what with the gorgeous mains, tonnes of wines and a few coffees and desserts for good measure, the cost per head was 45 pesos - or about 7 quid a head.
I have a fab shot of us all outside the venue, I will post later, again.
A few of us went onto Alex´s to say goodbye and ended up staying out till about 3am drinking ridiculously strong cocktails and knowing I would regret it the next day.
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Friday. Getting out of bed was a chore, I´d left it so late I didn´t have time to wash my hair...but it was my last day, so I obviously had to go. For the first time in 2 months was 10 mins late for class...eek!
4a had obviously been worried I wasn´t coming, because as I rushed into class with a flushed face and a ¨Lo siento¨, they erupted into a huge cheer, clapping their hands, jumping up and down and chanting ¨Sapna! Sapna! Sapna!¨ over and over again at top volume.
My head hurt, but what a reception!
We whizzed though a lesson learning La Comida (food), which I did for both 4a and 4b, along with a few photo opps to get the last classes on my last day in Posadas, especially my two fave boys, Thomas and Johnathan from 4a. Cuuute!
Again, lots of sweets and cards and *massive* long hugs and big kisses (at one point, I had about 15-20 kids all wrapped around me in the biggest group hug of all time...I wished I could have got someone to have a pic, but no one was there and besides, my bag was squashed to my side in the melée!
After lessons, I got called into the Oficina - but not for being naughty!
Graciela and Fabiana gave me a large gift bag with pics of Iguazu on it (so I wouldn´t forget Misiones), and inside, a gift-box of typically Argentinian sweets, a certicate thanking me for my time there, and also, touchingly, a souvenir T-shirt which F said was ¨en tu color favorito¨. I looked down and realised it pretty much matched the one I was wearing, a sludgy army green, which I guess I *do* wear a lot of when travelling! I was touched by the thought that had gone into these presents, returned their tight hugs and kisses and thanks, and tried very very hard not to cry.
In all the emotional goodbyes in the playground, from the kids pouring out of school for lunch, I somehow managed to leave my presents in the office - and when I went back to get them, it was locked up. Bugger! There was only one thing for it: I walked to F´s house, knocked on her door, explained my predicament, and so her son Lucas, 11, grabbed the keys and took Junior, their fluffy mutt to accompany me on the walk back to school.
On the way, Lucas informed me he´d transferred to this school as from today and is now in in my former 6a class (remember he went to a private school and hence had excellent English?). I didn´t ask why the change, but I suspect F simply couldn´t afford it any more. Apparently teachers here earn only 500 (125 quid) per month, and although F is a deputy head, I´m sure it wouldn´t be much more. She supports 5 people and a dog on that. I´m not sure what her husband does, but it appears she´s the main breadwinner.
What a shame about Lucas though, I thought, as the educational levels of those kids were markedly less than his, and his progress is bound to be affected.
Lucas also told me that there had been a big fight (he mimed huge punches) in 5b today. So glad I ditched that class!
Before we headed back to F´s, I popped into La Cueva (the café where I´d often get lunch after school for the last 8 weeks) on request of Roberto, the owner, to say goodbye. He gave me a massive hearty hug and kisses and wished me Mucha Suerte on my travels and hoped he´d see me again in Posadas.
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Once at Fabiana´s again, she unexpectedly asked me to join them for lunch before I left. She´d already dished out a plate of a creamy-looking spaghetti dish, but as a veggie, I was horrified to notice it had *ham cubes* in it.
I tried to get out of it politely, but F was insistent and the whole family were sat there, Lucas, her husband Paulo, her 2 nieces, Yamila and the gorgeous little Macarena, eagerly waiting for me to join them before they could tuck in - in the end, I had no option to say anything but thanks.
As I ate, I gingerly swirled the spaghetti and tasty cheesy sauce round my fork, trying to surreptiously wind my way *round* the ham pieces. It was futile: there were tonnes of the little buggers, and sometimes they got caught in the strands.
There was nothing for it: I couldn´t pick the cubes out without looking really really rude. So I opened wide, gave the spaghetti only a cursory little gentle chew (rather like you do with oysters) to avoid choking on the longer bits, was really careful to avoid biting down on the meat cubes, and swallowed. GULP!
I think F noticed my reticence, because she then casually mentioned to her husband, Paulo, ¨Sapna es vegetariana¨.
But if she *knew* why did she serve me processed ham!?!? I awkwardly confessed, yes I didn´t eat meat, but then relief hit as the truth came out and I realised I could delicately pick my way round the rest.
Before I came out to Argentina, I had been open to the possibly of breaking my 21-year of vegetarianism with perhaps an excellent organic and cruelty-free Argentinian steak if I really had no option. Luckily, Aida´s cooking meant I could keep things meat-free.
I had no idea it would be broken like this with 2 tiny cubes of processed ham!
But then I rationalised, it was two tiny cubes in two mouthfuls, under duress, not out of choice...and if I didn´t chew or taste them, does it actually count?!
I decided it doesn´t.
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As she left to go back for the afternoon session, we said our long goodbye´s again. F said I could always come back and teach English there full-time, (although I´m not sure they could afford me, really).
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After lunch at F´s I walked into town and went later met Oz K and C at Alex´s for one last ¨Submarino¨ (fantastically, chocolate bars which you dunk and stir into a large beaker of hot milk yourself to make into a hot chocolate - and Alex´s were actually submarine-shaped! An excuse to play with your food!), but in the end we decided it was too hot (typical the weather goes great as we´re leaving) so we asked Alex if he could do us milkshakes. So he got his man to create quite the most pretty and fantastic vanilla milkshakes, specially for us as they weren´t on the menu, before again offering C & I jobs at his expanding empire on the Costanera if we were to return.
Then we said by to Oz K, and C & I left to get a cab and go back to El Hogar refugio to await the 3pm delivery of the furniture we´d ordered that previous weekend. Amazingly they turned up about 3.15, which C said was not bad for Argentina-time, but I observed was bloody brilliant for anywhere, considering all you get in England is an AM or PM delivery time, so you take the day off to make sure you´re home for noon and they still don´t turn up till 5.30pm.
You may remember they had a broken table-top (split down the middle) and too few seats which meant mealtimes, some of the kids had to eat standing up or sat on the filthy floor.
We signed the table tops ¨Buena Suerte, Paul y Sapna x¨ and ¨Con Amor, Paul y Sapna x¨, helped the bigger kids set them up on their trestle-legs, and took pictures of the kids that were there sat at their new table. The kids and lady who ran the orphanage (first time I´ve seen her!) thanked us wholeheartedly with hugs and kisses.
As we left the kids for the last time, we both had tears in our eyes, soppy things that we are. And as I said to C...we *have* made a lasting difference, and every time they have a meal, they´ll hopefully think a little bit of us.
On a further soppy note: I was sorry to not have had the chance to say goodbye to little Augustin & his sisters Diaina and Romina, but it was for a good reason, their mum had taken them home for the weekend. C had said he´d managed to see him earlier that day, Augustin had looked really cute in his little white shirt, dressing up to see his mummy, and C had lovingly straightened his little collars, before saying goodbye.
_______
Then we went back ¨home¨, met the new voluntaria (a very softly spoken and slightly naive 19 year old called Emily...oh my god I thought, her & Gen in ¨Hogar¨ will get eaten alive!), tried to prepare her with the help of C´s photos, then bobbed over to Norma and Fernando´s to give them the picture of Felipé. Fernando, the soppy old goat was welling up as he hugged us goodbye, and Norma was holding the tears back too and said they would miss us greatly as we were such nice people.
Backatacha, Norma.
Then, C & I went out to get two photos printed out for the boys in Samapaka of the night they´d put the party on for us. They´d asked for us to email those pics, but I suggested to C we could go one better and give them the prints themselves.
Even the man in the design shop, who I´d only met the previous day, was keen to wish us suerte for our travels...everyone´s so lovely here!
So after a lovely farewell/hello (for Emily) dinner in which Aida cooked some of our favourite foods (yes, including C´s sausages) and we drank lots of wine and tried not to get too emotional about (hard, when Aida insisted on dining with my drawing of Camila on the table beside her!), C & I headed at about 11.30 to Sampaka to say goodbye to the boys.
Unfortunately, the gorgeous Mario wasn´t there, but Carlos was, with a few mates, playing cards, and he leapt up to greet us warmly as ever and pulled up two chairs for us and grabbed some beers.
We still had to pack, so we´d deliberately left our money at home, but Carlos was having none of it and said ¨No importante¨. Drinks on the house! C said it´d be rude not to.
We gave Carlos our presents - the photos and C´s England footy top, which Carlos asked us to sign - and then were surprised when their DJ ran off and got us two promotional scarves (quite nice black ones actually, that´ll be handy in wintry B.A. when we get there) and CDs of his mixes. Cool!
As we said one more emotional goodbye, Carlos said that we would have jobs any time if we were to come back as these boys had plans for Sampakas 2, 3 and 4. (Although I´m not quite sure how these boys are funding the expansion, the bar is always pretty empty when we go in (location, location, location), I´m more and more inclined to go with Oz K´s theory that it´s a front for something else.)
Anyway, that´s 3 more job offers than I have in London. There´s nada at the Telegraph post-cull, and, sat at an internat café today in Rio, having check my email, I hear from a recruitment consultant that media in general is going through a slump. I´m really not sure I want to go back at all.
We left at about 1.30 and didn´t get packed for Rio till 3am.
I think we were both not wanting the day to end as we really didn´t want our experience in Posadas to come to an end.
We´ve fallen in love with the place and the people, and have vowed we will go back (just as soon as we have jobs to fund it!)
If I felt emotional leaving job, family and friends in the UK 2 months ago, it´s more intensified saying goodbye here as chances are we may not return (although we want to).
But before I get to the sad bit, I´ll tell you about the rest of my week in the run up.
Thursday: Went into school (again, a little lie-in, as no 5b; although I did feel bad when they ran in to say goodbye, waving cards and sweets for me on Tuesday at the end of my last class with 5a), this time with Florencia, my house ¨sister¨.
I had to make up a lesson for these kids, all about useful phrases for a basic conversation, as the clever little blighters had finished all my planned work ahead of schedule. I was looking forward to the help and support of a native Spanish speaker in Flor.
In the end, though, this is how it panned out: 6b were the naughtiest they´d ever been (high on sugar and pop, and excited about end of term), and all Flor did was stand in the corner and make notes...!
Bloody psychology students, thinking they know it all!!! If I´d have known I was going to be subject to scrutiny and analysis, and Flor was not going to do anything to help, I´d have said no to her request. It was extra pressure I really didn´t need, and today´s was very unusual behaviour, and a tad embarassing as a result. I half-joked that she should have been in yesterday´s class when they were angels if she´d wanted to simply observe a class.
At one particularly rowdy moment, she looked coolly over her notepad and observed, somewhat needlessly, ¨It appears you are losing control of the class, Sapna¨.
¨So help me calm them down! Don´t just stand there taking notes, *do* something!¨ I hissed.
I handed her a particularly naughty boy to take to the Oficina whilst I dramatically dropped the confiscated 2-litre bottle of cola-style pop he´d been drinking through a straw under cover of his desk, into the bin from a height so the closed bottle fizzed furiously.
I knew how it felt.
With that example made, I reigned the class back in with a very fun game of good old hangman again.
In the last few weeks I´ve been making it more challenging by combining adjectives and objects and adding to their repertoire of new vocab week on week, so they have to search their entire notebooks for help, not just that day´s words (e.g. a green crocodile, four blue shirts, long curly hair) to try and drill home the fact that the order of these two elements are swapped round in English (Spanish would be e.g. un crocodilo verde, cuatros camisas azules, pelo largo y enrulado).
I did therefore find it particularly funny this week when some of the kids who gave me cards had still written that I was a ¨very girl cool¨.
Thursday pm: spent the arvo drawing Felipe...he´s a funny looking thing (a chihuahua) with huge ears (we call him bat-dog) and a face that only a mother could love, but he´s weirdly cute, with a very sweet, bouncy personality.
In the end, I thought that drawing was actually technically more accomplished, but we all had to agree, Cami is the cutest dog ever (I will post these pics, promise!). I put them into clip frames, we wrote ¨Para (names), Gracias por todo, Besos¨ and signed them before I headed into town to get V´s photomontage printed up (3 pics from Marcelo´s party in Sampaka; one of all us voluntarios, bar Ali - John, US Kristen, Fin, Leanne, C, Oz Kirsten, Tom & me; one of V & Marcelo and one of me & C with Norma & Fernando, V´s parents) with the message ¨Los mejores voluntarios en todo el mundo!¨ and our names and then I went to meet US Kristen for a couple of glasses of vino at Alex´s and to rest my weary eyes.
We remaining 6 of the original posse (Tom, John & Ali had long gone...sniff!) had decided to give V this framed pic, signed on the back by us all along with vouchers for a great restaurant in Posadas, Las Cavas, which we´d all been to for Ali´s last night.
That last Thursday night about 24 of us went to the largest and oldest restaurant in Posadas, La Querencia. All us voluntarios leaving (Oz K, US K, Fin, Lea, C & me); Gen (the exasperating one I had to stop blogging about); Meredith from Colorado, a newbie who´d arrived that day who had moved into Pilar´s where Oz K was staying and doing the same conservation project (an excellent, fun girl and irritatingly as stunningly beautiful as she is nice!); plus assorted friends and family; Aida, Silvina and Flor from our house (no Mariana & Cesar unfortunately due to M´s toothache), Laura from Oz K´s house and her mate; Dani, the voluntaria who fell in love with Posadas 2 years ago and stayed and her boy Fernando; and of course, Veronica and Marcelo (no Norma & Fernando as unfortunately for us, they had guests over).
Great meal, great night, Aida actually nearly cried when I gave her the pic of Cami (Flor said no volunteer had ever, or would ever do anything for her which would touch her like that again...sweet!), V also had an emotional moment apparently after we gave her the picture & vouchers.
C & I also decided to get our family´s meals as a thank you, and then I suggested we 6 leavers all pitch in for V & M´s, which was a nice way to go.
If you´re thinking we were being a little splashy with our cashy what with no jobs and all that: what with the gorgeous mains, tonnes of wines and a few coffees and desserts for good measure, the cost per head was 45 pesos - or about 7 quid a head.
I have a fab shot of us all outside the venue, I will post later, again.
A few of us went onto Alex´s to say goodbye and ended up staying out till about 3am drinking ridiculously strong cocktails and knowing I would regret it the next day.
_______
Friday. Getting out of bed was a chore, I´d left it so late I didn´t have time to wash my hair...but it was my last day, so I obviously had to go. For the first time in 2 months was 10 mins late for class...eek!
4a had obviously been worried I wasn´t coming, because as I rushed into class with a flushed face and a ¨Lo siento¨, they erupted into a huge cheer, clapping their hands, jumping up and down and chanting ¨Sapna! Sapna! Sapna!¨ over and over again at top volume.
My head hurt, but what a reception!
We whizzed though a lesson learning La Comida (food), which I did for both 4a and 4b, along with a few photo opps to get the last classes on my last day in Posadas, especially my two fave boys, Thomas and Johnathan from 4a. Cuuute!
Again, lots of sweets and cards and *massive* long hugs and big kisses (at one point, I had about 15-20 kids all wrapped around me in the biggest group hug of all time...I wished I could have got someone to have a pic, but no one was there and besides, my bag was squashed to my side in the melée!
After lessons, I got called into the Oficina - but not for being naughty!
Graciela and Fabiana gave me a large gift bag with pics of Iguazu on it (so I wouldn´t forget Misiones), and inside, a gift-box of typically Argentinian sweets, a certicate thanking me for my time there, and also, touchingly, a souvenir T-shirt which F said was ¨en tu color favorito¨. I looked down and realised it pretty much matched the one I was wearing, a sludgy army green, which I guess I *do* wear a lot of when travelling! I was touched by the thought that had gone into these presents, returned their tight hugs and kisses and thanks, and tried very very hard not to cry.
In all the emotional goodbyes in the playground, from the kids pouring out of school for lunch, I somehow managed to leave my presents in the office - and when I went back to get them, it was locked up. Bugger! There was only one thing for it: I walked to F´s house, knocked on her door, explained my predicament, and so her son Lucas, 11, grabbed the keys and took Junior, their fluffy mutt to accompany me on the walk back to school.
On the way, Lucas informed me he´d transferred to this school as from today and is now in in my former 6a class (remember he went to a private school and hence had excellent English?). I didn´t ask why the change, but I suspect F simply couldn´t afford it any more. Apparently teachers here earn only 500 (125 quid) per month, and although F is a deputy head, I´m sure it wouldn´t be much more. She supports 5 people and a dog on that. I´m not sure what her husband does, but it appears she´s the main breadwinner.
What a shame about Lucas though, I thought, as the educational levels of those kids were markedly less than his, and his progress is bound to be affected.
Lucas also told me that there had been a big fight (he mimed huge punches) in 5b today. So glad I ditched that class!
Before we headed back to F´s, I popped into La Cueva (the café where I´d often get lunch after school for the last 8 weeks) on request of Roberto, the owner, to say goodbye. He gave me a massive hearty hug and kisses and wished me Mucha Suerte on my travels and hoped he´d see me again in Posadas.
_____
Once at Fabiana´s again, she unexpectedly asked me to join them for lunch before I left. She´d already dished out a plate of a creamy-looking spaghetti dish, but as a veggie, I was horrified to notice it had *ham cubes* in it.
I tried to get out of it politely, but F was insistent and the whole family were sat there, Lucas, her husband Paulo, her 2 nieces, Yamila and the gorgeous little Macarena, eagerly waiting for me to join them before they could tuck in - in the end, I had no option to say anything but thanks.
As I ate, I gingerly swirled the spaghetti and tasty cheesy sauce round my fork, trying to surreptiously wind my way *round* the ham pieces. It was futile: there were tonnes of the little buggers, and sometimes they got caught in the strands.
There was nothing for it: I couldn´t pick the cubes out without looking really really rude. So I opened wide, gave the spaghetti only a cursory little gentle chew (rather like you do with oysters) to avoid choking on the longer bits, was really careful to avoid biting down on the meat cubes, and swallowed. GULP!
I think F noticed my reticence, because she then casually mentioned to her husband, Paulo, ¨Sapna es vegetariana¨.
But if she *knew* why did she serve me processed ham!?!? I awkwardly confessed, yes I didn´t eat meat, but then relief hit as the truth came out and I realised I could delicately pick my way round the rest.
Before I came out to Argentina, I had been open to the possibly of breaking my 21-year of vegetarianism with perhaps an excellent organic and cruelty-free Argentinian steak if I really had no option. Luckily, Aida´s cooking meant I could keep things meat-free.
I had no idea it would be broken like this with 2 tiny cubes of processed ham!
But then I rationalised, it was two tiny cubes in two mouthfuls, under duress, not out of choice...and if I didn´t chew or taste them, does it actually count?!
I decided it doesn´t.
_____
As she left to go back for the afternoon session, we said our long goodbye´s again. F said I could always come back and teach English there full-time, (although I´m not sure they could afford me, really).
____
After lunch at F´s I walked into town and went later met Oz K and C at Alex´s for one last ¨Submarino¨ (fantastically, chocolate bars which you dunk and stir into a large beaker of hot milk yourself to make into a hot chocolate - and Alex´s were actually submarine-shaped! An excuse to play with your food!), but in the end we decided it was too hot (typical the weather goes great as we´re leaving) so we asked Alex if he could do us milkshakes. So he got his man to create quite the most pretty and fantastic vanilla milkshakes, specially for us as they weren´t on the menu, before again offering C & I jobs at his expanding empire on the Costanera if we were to return.
Then we said by to Oz K, and C & I left to get a cab and go back to El Hogar refugio to await the 3pm delivery of the furniture we´d ordered that previous weekend. Amazingly they turned up about 3.15, which C said was not bad for Argentina-time, but I observed was bloody brilliant for anywhere, considering all you get in England is an AM or PM delivery time, so you take the day off to make sure you´re home for noon and they still don´t turn up till 5.30pm.
You may remember they had a broken table-top (split down the middle) and too few seats which meant mealtimes, some of the kids had to eat standing up or sat on the filthy floor.
We signed the table tops ¨Buena Suerte, Paul y Sapna x¨ and ¨Con Amor, Paul y Sapna x¨, helped the bigger kids set them up on their trestle-legs, and took pictures of the kids that were there sat at their new table. The kids and lady who ran the orphanage (first time I´ve seen her!) thanked us wholeheartedly with hugs and kisses.
As we left the kids for the last time, we both had tears in our eyes, soppy things that we are. And as I said to C...we *have* made a lasting difference, and every time they have a meal, they´ll hopefully think a little bit of us.
On a further soppy note: I was sorry to not have had the chance to say goodbye to little Augustin & his sisters Diaina and Romina, but it was for a good reason, their mum had taken them home for the weekend. C had said he´d managed to see him earlier that day, Augustin had looked really cute in his little white shirt, dressing up to see his mummy, and C had lovingly straightened his little collars, before saying goodbye.
_______
Then we went back ¨home¨, met the new voluntaria (a very softly spoken and slightly naive 19 year old called Emily...oh my god I thought, her & Gen in ¨Hogar¨ will get eaten alive!), tried to prepare her with the help of C´s photos, then bobbed over to Norma and Fernando´s to give them the picture of Felipé. Fernando, the soppy old goat was welling up as he hugged us goodbye, and Norma was holding the tears back too and said they would miss us greatly as we were such nice people.
Backatacha, Norma.
Then, C & I went out to get two photos printed out for the boys in Samapaka of the night they´d put the party on for us. They´d asked for us to email those pics, but I suggested to C we could go one better and give them the prints themselves.
Even the man in the design shop, who I´d only met the previous day, was keen to wish us suerte for our travels...everyone´s so lovely here!
So after a lovely farewell/hello (for Emily) dinner in which Aida cooked some of our favourite foods (yes, including C´s sausages) and we drank lots of wine and tried not to get too emotional about (hard, when Aida insisted on dining with my drawing of Camila on the table beside her!), C & I headed at about 11.30 to Sampaka to say goodbye to the boys.
Unfortunately, the gorgeous Mario wasn´t there, but Carlos was, with a few mates, playing cards, and he leapt up to greet us warmly as ever and pulled up two chairs for us and grabbed some beers.
We still had to pack, so we´d deliberately left our money at home, but Carlos was having none of it and said ¨No importante¨. Drinks on the house! C said it´d be rude not to.
We gave Carlos our presents - the photos and C´s England footy top, which Carlos asked us to sign - and then were surprised when their DJ ran off and got us two promotional scarves (quite nice black ones actually, that´ll be handy in wintry B.A. when we get there) and CDs of his mixes. Cool!
As we said one more emotional goodbye, Carlos said that we would have jobs any time if we were to come back as these boys had plans for Sampakas 2, 3 and 4. (Although I´m not quite sure how these boys are funding the expansion, the bar is always pretty empty when we go in (location, location, location), I´m more and more inclined to go with Oz K´s theory that it´s a front for something else.)
Anyway, that´s 3 more job offers than I have in London. There´s nada at the Telegraph post-cull, and, sat at an internat café today in Rio, having check my email, I hear from a recruitment consultant that media in general is going through a slump. I´m really not sure I want to go back at all.
We left at about 1.30 and didn´t get packed for Rio till 3am.
I think we were both not wanting the day to end as we really didn´t want our experience in Posadas to come to an end.
We´ve fallen in love with the place and the people, and have vowed we will go back (just as soon as we have jobs to fund it!)
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