Experimenting with a Brazilian

‘O Brasil não é para principiantes’ they say, or ‘Brazil is not for beginners.’ Sometime after an incredible Erasmus year in Rome, I decided to go to São Paulo, primarily to visit some friends I had made in my year abroad, but also to have a quick snoop around the place.

São Paulo is gigantic. It is on a scale barely comprehensible to the average Londoner, let alone Englander. Founded by the Portuguese in 1554, the population exploded in the late 19th century, largely thanks to an influx of Italians, and is now home to nearly 20 million people.

There are people and cars everywhere. After we British were initially successful in popularising the railway, the marvellous Luz railway station, or Estação da Luz, was initially assembled in Glasgow, only to be dismantled and rebuilt in its present location in São Paulo in 1901. The Americans then stabbed us in the back by giving Brazil the gun-toting enthusiasm for the automobile, which can be seen as a factor in the vast sprawl of the city. Some roads were built over hills so steep that they could be abseiled down.

The Luz railway station, despite being a fantastic building, is in the northern part of the city centre and it’s a little dodgy. My fellow traveller and I know this well, as we were waiting a while for a friend to arrive, and so we had time to absorb the area’s atmosphere. Little shops full of fake merchandise; small eateries selling food that would  put a blush on Ronald’s face, with accompanying smells that could make even the most anosmic retch; prostitutes that look not too dissimilar from those found on the streets in Grand Theft Auto; and of course their clientele.

I hope that amidst these scenes, we stuck out like a sore thumb. But then again, with our Brits-abroad-esque t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flop combo, we only complemented this scene of debauchery.

Our depravity did not end there, as I think we also bribed someone during our stay. I’m not sure if our host friend had paid his electricity bill, so when the electric suddenly went off and we went outside to find two large electricity men smirking at us, we were told on the phone by our host to give them some money. They seemed pleased at this, and flicked a switch to turn the electric back on. If only it was this easy in England.

During my stay the city was gripped with mayoral elections, and posters with the candidates’ promises and slogans were ubiquitous. This annoyed one of our Brazilian friends no end, as he proudly claimed that thanks to the Clean City Act, all advertising of any kind was banned, and anyone can destroy any advertising they find. So when, on one of our trips to a churrascaria (a Brazilian steakhouse), he found the street littered with mayoral propaganda, he went and gave the nearest stand plastered with a potential mayor’s toothy grin a good kick, ripping the canvas-like poster. At this point I vaguely heard some commotion, but this being São Paulo I thought nothing of it and continued the vigilante vandalism, ripping the politician’s face more. When I looked up, and saw our friend’s red and slightly scared face, I realised that the commotion was being made by a mob of teamsters standing outside this candidate’s headquarters. In a way that would have undoubtedly made Captain Yossarian despair, I later found out that although advertising is illegal,  the destruction of it is also banned.

The metropolis is unfortunately well-known for its gun crime, with a recent spike in the murder rate. You hear that everyone is mugged in São Paulo at some time or another, and one friend relayed that he was mugged twice in one day. Naturally, all this was on my mind. After a couple of days of Brits-abroad suspicion of the locals, I stopped feeling so scared and I began to take pictures, and luckily the Daily Mail headline ‘BRAVE BRITISH BACHELORS BRUTALLY BUTCHERED BY BRAZILIAN BARBARIANS’ is still only fantasy.

The worst thing that happened was when my fellow traveller seemed (as far as our patchy Portuguese could discern) to have been asked if he wanted to swap his camera for some cocaine by a fat boy who was skateboarding, and I was insulted (or offered an excellent recipe for beef bourguignon, I couldn’t tell) by the angry Brazilian equivalent of Bob Marley.

Even though Brazil is not for beginners, I spent a month there and came out alive. One day I hope that I will be able to make it back to brave the intermediate course.