Escaparse de Nueva York

Like captain Ahab, we all have our particular White Whales we chase.   Mine is an abandoned bridge in Buenos Aires.   I can’t explain it.   You’re either one of the small subset of people who see this and drool at the thought of climbing it, or you’re not.

I first encountered the Puente Avellaneda Antigua during my first trip to Buenos Aires.   It didn’t turn out so great.   I don’t really know when I first got it in my head I  had to climb this thing - maybe because it was the first interesting structure I ran into in Buenos Aires.   As is evidenced from the link above, it’s in a not-so-great part of town, but that’s not why I didn’t want to go at night.   I really wanted the views - the Bombanera (Boca Junior’s stadium) downtown, the port.   It’s also definitely not so structurally sound anymore, but I wasn’t really worried about how to climb it or falling - I was worried about getting arrested.   More specifically, I was worried about getting arrested in a foreign country.

Knowing the local culture is a big, and underrated, part of going interesting places.   In Paris or New York, I wouldn’t have thought twice about climbing the thing.   Not because I wouldn’t get caught, but because I would know what to do it I was.   In Argentina, I had no clue.   Local gossip had it that the police were all lazy and corrupt, but what that meant in practicality I didn’t know.   That they’d just let me go?   That I should try to bribe them?   That they’d haul me down to the station and throw me in jail where I’d quickly be forgotten about?   That I’d end up being hustled for thousands of dollars by various bureaucrats and officials to get out of the situation?   I never felt comfortable enough doing it during my stay in 2005, but I had resolved that one day, I would.   After rolling back into town I had 24 hours to figure it out before I left for Northern Argentina.    An in addition to the bridge, I wanted some good views I hadn’t been able to find last time.   Luckily, I met an adorable Swedish tourist, and we decided to spend some time seeing what rooftops we could get onto.

When in a strange city (or a familiar one for that matter) hotels are almost always your best bet for easily accessible rooftops.   After a couple of false starts, we decided to hit the Sheraton near the Retiro train station north of downtown.   In most non-English speaking countries, no matter how you’re dressed, no matter how fancy the hotel, if you walk in speaking English you’re almost always left alone.   Here was no exception - we made out way out onto the roof with no problems at all.

Now, when you have a evening in Buenos Aires with the company of a lovely lady, you don’t spend it climbing abandoned bridges.   We spent the night dancing the tango in San Telmo, and after my companion had left early the next morning, I resolved to give the bridge one last shot before I had to leave.   Unfortunately, sometimes these adventures are anti-climactic.   Stationed right out front were these guys:   not even cops, naval officers.   I had one small hope though, which was that maybe this town, like Paris, was sufficiently Latin enough to just let me do whatever I wanted.   After all, this is a town where a cabby’s favorite move while stopped at a red light is to pull into the oncoming traffic lane, pull around the cars in front of him, and blow right through the light - cops around or no.  I went right up to the naval officers and told them I was climbing up the bridge to take pictures.   I wasn’t really surprised when, despite my self-assurance, I was met with a resounding “no you aren’t.”

I still kind of regret not just doing it.   Beautiful Swedes, angry naval officers, cultural uncertainly be damned - I’ve got a bridge to climb!   Still, during moments like these - and they come for all of us - it’s always good to remember that the White Whale did end up killing Ahab.

I’d spent a lot of time in Buenos Aires my last trip to South America.  I can’t say I was really that enamored of the city, but there were some things I wanted to do there that I’d missed the first time.   Instead of going straight there from Sao Paulo, I decided to do a kind of herky-jerky trip down the Brazilian Coast.   My original plan was to stop at Florinopolis, Curitiba,  Porto Allegre, and Montevideo  on the way down.   Due to bus schedules and such I ditched Porto Allegre amd Montevideo (which I’d been to before anyway), and only hit Florinopolis and Curitiba for a few hours. Florinopolis is a hilly beach town (although I didn’t get to the beach part of it) probably best known for being the home of tennis player Gustavo Kuerten, and Curitiba is most famous for being an incubator of various progressive urban planning ideas, such as Bus Rapid Transit - a must-see for an Urban Planning student such as myself.

I only spent a few hours in each town though, just enough to get a little overview.   Most of the time was spent on the bus, including a final 18 stretch to Buenos Aires.   I was back.

Nowadays, abandonment is vastly different in different cities. In economically strong cities like the New York, abandonment is generally simply a transitional phase - it’s only a matter of time before the building is either restored or torn down to make way for something new. In cities that have a little shakier economies, but a general sense of optimism, abandonment is an investment. Old buildings are secured until it’s profitable to restore or replace them. In cities with bad economies and population decline, abandonment is simply part of the general urban landscape.

Exploring abandonment in these three types of cities is different. In the first kind, where abandonment is actually fairly active, you’re generally looking for a friendly worker to let you in, or some kind of easy unsecured entrance during inactive times. The second type of abandonment is the toughest. An inactive site leads to none of the many possibilities of entry there are when a site is continually being entered and exited, and structurally changed. However, the fact that it is also perceived as having potential value leads it to generally be heavily secured and sealed (at least by abandoned building standards). Fencing is added and topped with barbed wire, entrances are sealed with cinderblock, occasionally security guards are stationed there. These are the ones that take a little work. In the third type of city, exploring is generally as easy as walking down the street and going the hole in the wall.

These three types of abandonment, however, only really apply to the cities of North America and Western Europe. Today, many, many cities in South America (and I’m sure in other parts of the world I haven’t visited) follow a very different pattern. Despite depressed or only mildly vibrant economies, there is enormous population growth and a huge housing crunch. This leads to a different type of abandonment - one in which the buildings aren’t really abandoned, but populated informally by various communities - squatters, drug users, homeless families. This is the case with the abandoned coffee baron’s mansion that we are going to visit in Sao Paulo - as well as pretty much every other abandoned building of significance.

This type of abandonment was also fairly prevalent in the New York City of yesterday. New York never experienced the heavy depopulation of other large Northeastern and Midwestern cities. At it’s worst, New York’s population was only off about 15% from its peak. Compare this to Detroit, St. Louis, Buffalo, Cleveland, and numerous other cities that are down 50% or more from their peak populations. As a result, there is simply not much of a housing crunch in these cities, as the urban infrastructure greatly outnumbers the population. Sure, you might run into some empty buildings used as shooting galleries or populated by squatters in these towns, but not that much. The reason is simply because there’s a lot more empty buildings than there is need for them. In New York, even at its worst this was never the case. In addition to less depopulation, abandoned (or even occupied) buildings were much more likely to be torched for insurance money, rendering them uninhabitable, even to the homeless.

The abandoned coffee mansion is actually also in the same condition. Water damage has led to the city declaring an emergency evacuation of the squatters. The result is an abandoned building, and a thriving shantytown behind the gates in the yard.

The folks in PreservaSP have been there before, and know some of the inhabitants. They call off the barking dogs (there to keep out drug users, not curious urbanists) and let us in. We bring some presents, and chat for a bit with the residents before heading in.

The most interesting thing I learn from a resident named Nieva is that this is not actually a residence of last resort. Apparently the city has offered them housing virtually for free - the problem being that it’s about three hours away. The residents opted to stay instead - many people had jobs and connections downtown that they had to be near. This demonstrates the enduring problem of the South American megopolis.

Many people in New York complain about the poor getting forced out of neighborhoods with convenient access to Manhattan. While this is somewhat true, it is nothing on the level of South American cities. Lack of affordable housing, lack of transport (Sao Paulo has three subway lines for 20 million people), bad planning leading to heavy traffic, and many times the physical structure of the city (most notably in Rio) all conspire to lead to a horrible commute - especially for those reliant on public transportation. It’s not even an option - who can take 25% of their time in traffic? The folks would rather stay in a shantytown than endure it. A good bit of perspective for those people in New York that complain about being forced to move 2 subway stops further out into Brooklyn.

After chatting a bit we headed into the mansion - as far as abandonment went it was pretty standard. The most interesting thing were some of the murals commemorating the expulsion of the residents of the abandoned building. It reminded me of the murals in the Amtrak Tunnel on the west side of Manhattan commemorating the exodus of the homeless residents there. There were also some designs that I was told were by a graffiti artists who only paints in places he thinks hardly anyone will see.

This is one of the most rewarding things about going exploring - the ability to see things other people don’t, or even can’t. What it is isn’t even that important. Any explorer type who says they don’t get at least a small kick from the exclusiveness of going places you aren’t allowed to is lying. I left happy, saying goodbye to Nieva on the way out - and determined that my next time in Sao Paulo, I was going to find more of those designs somewhere.

On my last day in Sao Paulo I decide to head up one more observation deck, the Edificio Italia downtown. The Edificio Italia was erected by Sao Paulo’s Italian community (hence the name), and has both a restaurant and an observation deck at the top. Contrary to what a lot of guidebooks say, you don’t need to go to the restaurant in order to go to the observation deck if you go at certain times of the day. I head up there for the view, but end up encountering Gabriel, one of my companions from PreservaSP, and his friend Guto.

The Edificio Italia used to be the tallest building in Sao Paulo, but that honor now belongs to the Miranda do Vale a little ways away, which is a residential building. Downtown Sao Paulo is somewhat hilly, and despite being the tallest building it actually ends up being lower than some others due to not being constructed on one of the hills. Still, we decided to see if they’d let us up on the roof.

Sao Paulo is kind of schitzophrenic when it comes to residential security. Middle-class people tend to live in 30-40 story high-rises surrounded by fences, sometime topped with barbed or even electrified wires, and staffed 24-7 by security guards. You might think this would make for difficult access to the roofs of residential buildings. But no, we simply go up to reception and ask, and 5 minutes later a janitor is escorting us up. The elevators have an interesting transport philosophy - they stop halfway between two floors, with either a half-flight walk up or down stairs to get to the floor. This leads to half as many potential stops, and at least theoretically, less transportation time.

We go to the top floor, the janitor unlocks the door, and we head up to the top. This isn’t a normal roof. It’s kind of hard to explain, but imagine a rectangular building where the top five floors don’t exist. Not empty floors, but non-existent floors. No floors, no ceilings, no walls. Just four-foot wide ledges surrounding nothing.

We get up to the roof, half of which is actually a Helicopter Landing pad. The view is spectacular. The janitor hangs out while we go trampsing onto the other half - the aforementioned 4-foot wide ledge. No guardrails, no nothing, with a 50-foot drop on one side, and 500-foot drop on the other. I cannot imagine anywhere in the United States letting us do this - for free no less. If Brazil wasn’t my favorite country before, it certainly was now.

I’ve been frustrated with observation decks in New York for some time now. There’s about a dozen buildings or structures that used to have public observation decks that are now closed, or used for private space. I’ve managed to get up a few of them, but it’s always been of the unofficial variety: going out a window of an abandoned office in the Williamsburg Savings Bank building, climbing what remains of the rusted stairs in the 1964 World’s Fair towers in Flushing, Queens, and (my favorite) spending a romantic night watching the 4th of July fireworks after climbing the scaffolding to the top of the Prison Martyrs Monument in Ft. Greene Park (slated to be re-opened soon - hence the scaffolding).

There’s also been a couple others I’ve been able to head up to during an event or after a friend has gotten me into the building. But trying to just talk your way in cold is pretty much an exercise in futility. It seems like the city is conspiring to keep you off its heights.

In New York City, one of the top tourist destinations in the world, there’s two public observation decks. While the views are great, both cost way too much, and one regularly has hours-long lines. The pattern for them (and for most touristy observation decks I’ve visited) seems to be to jazz stuff up with a lot of bells and whistles, charge a ton of money, and advertise it as an “experience.” (A good tourist rule of thumb is to skip anything that advertises itself as the “so-and-so experience”). That’s what happened with the Rockefeller Center Observation deck, and it’s what’s currently happening with the under-renovation Empire State Building. Of course they didn’t hesitate to take the first step - raising prices exorbitantly - before actually completing any of the renovations.

Here’s what people want from an observation deck - to be up high, have an unobstructed view of the city, and be able to snap a few pictures. They don’t want $20 souvenir photos of them superimposed in front of the building. They don’t want talking elevators. They don’t want a tzotzke shop the size of Rhode Island to walk through before getting to the deck. Luckily, all that garbage goes out the window in Sao Paulo.

I made it up to half a dozen rooftops when I was in Sao Paulo, and best of all, never paid a dime. I had been up one of the official ones on my previous trip to Sao Paulo, and hit a couple others (in the Edificio Italia and Banespa building) on this trip. These were all in the old downtown, affording only somewhat different views of the city. Luckily, I also got up to a rooftop bar in the Avenida Paulista area a few miles south, affording a gorgeous view of the row of rooftop antennas that is a Sao Paulo skyline landmark. There’s been talk of removing the antennas (which are located among the skyscrapers on Avenida Paulista because the avenue is geographically the highest point in Sao Paulo), and replacing them with one large antenna, similar to the CN Tower or Seattle Space needle, but I personally hope this doesn’t happen. Even thought the antennas are somewhat outdated and not terrible aesthetic, they are an interesting identifying feature of the skyline and entire city. For a town that doesn’t do a great job marketing itself, some kind of unique identity is always a plus.

But the best rooftop surprise was still yet to come…

He is a well-dressed fellow, tall and somewhat balding. Somewhat nervous, he speaks fluent English with a clipped Portuguese accent. He pretty much resembles a successful Brazilian businessman, which he is, running an import-export shop. He does not look like the type of guy who spends his spare time bribing security guards and making his way through shantytowns in order to explore abandoned buildings in downtown Sao Paulo.

Still, this is what Jorge does with much of his spare time. It’s what we are planning to do the night I arrive in Sao Paulo. However, about an hour after I arrive the rain starts, and does not let up. The abandoned mansion we were planning on going has recently been condemned due to water damage - it’s not safe at all in this kind of weather. We’ll have to wait. Jorge tells me the mansion used to belong to a coffee baron a century ago, when this now-rundown part of downtown Sao Paulo had been the ritzy area, known as the Champ Elysees of the city.

Jorge had introduced me to a couple other people in his exploration/architecture group, PreservaSP, including Gabriel and Jose Rodolpho, who would later show me around the town. We were at a posh function at a museum downtown, where I picked up the latest demographic reports on the neighborhoods of Sao Paulo. Unfortunately they were (obviously) in Portuguese, but I still manage to figure out enough to grasp a reasonable social and demographic picture of the area.

I loved the juxtaposition of being at a fancy event, knowing later we were supposed to be exploring old dilapidated buildings. I’ve always gotten along best with the people that embrace all facets of a city. Jorge’s group was mainly an architectural and preservation group, but were always up for a conversation or exploration on anything that had to do with cities. I felt an immediate professional kinship with them as fellow urbanists.

A lot of people I’ve trampsed around cities with have a certain inability to see or respect anything beyond their particular interests. Explorer types don’t see the point in wandering the streets - indeed some have a rather disdainful view of anything that doesn’t involve trespassing, while more highbrow types seem to think that the guts of what actually make a city run are unimportant next to architectural detailing and landscaped parks. People interested in how a city is structured aren’t interested in actually having a conversation with the people who live there, and people interested in the communities and social aspects of a city don’t understand that the physical structure of the city plays a large role in dictating how these develop.

What frustrates me the most are people who think the only areas in an entire city worth visiting are populated (or about to be populated) by people like themselves, or worse, don’t even really realize that there’s dozens of neighborhoods and millions of people for whom their life and neighborhood is completely irrelevant. I understand that everyone has different abilities and limits of what they feel comfortable with, and that not everyone is going to be able or willing to walk for hours in unfamiliar areas, or climb bridges in the middle of the night, or strike up random conversations with the Ecuadorian guy next to you at the lunch counter. But I’ve always found it hard to respect people that don’t even show an interest in parts of the city that are outside their zone of familiarity, or even worse, think that they have a complete knowledge of the entire city based on the narrow part they do know well.

That’s why it was so rewarding to spend time with the folks I met in Sao Paulo. I spent several days conversing, exploring, and debating pretty much all aspects of Sao Paulo. And I also got to do a slight bit of benign trespassing - including the aforementioned Sugar Mansion…

It’s the weekend before carnival. I am standing among thousands of Cariocas jam-packed into this no-name street in a no-name neighborhood. It is pouring rain. I am wearing nothing but a black negligee. I am having the time of my life.

“Oh man. I forgot to tell you. Tomorrow we have to dress up like women.” This is the news from Felipe the night before as we’re sitting enjoying the best black beans in Rio (”crack beans” he calls them, because they’re so addictive) after heading back from a street party in Ipanema.

I was a little bit surprised at that night’s party. It was in the most touristy neighborhood during (almost) the most touristy time of the year. Yet, while there were certainly some tourists (Cariocas are even better than New Yorkers at playing spot the tourist), the vast majority were Brazilians. The music was great, the atmosphere fantastic. My only complaint was the complete lack of bathrooms. The default men’s room turned out to be palm trees on the beach, but I have no idea where the default women’s room might have been - or even if there was one.

As fun as the Ipanema party was, it was just a warm up. The next day we woke up, and Felipe presented me with a piece of black lingerie that I somehow managed to make fit me. After donning a red bra and dress himself, and picking up a few friends, we were off.

Our destination was Felipe’s friend Pedro’s house in Jacarepagua (”alligator harbour” in Portuguese) - a middle-class neighborhood next to the “Cidade de Deus” or City of God. It’s well off the tourist path in the Western Zone of Rio. In true Carioca fashion, we showed up about 2 hours late. Pedro was none too happy at our lateness, but quickly changed into his outfit (as an old woman, complete with cane) and we hit the street.

Now, there is “drag”, and there is “guys wearing dresses.” This was definitely “guys wearing dresses.” No one was bothering to look good or anything. And, if anything, the guys were acting even more boyish and rambunctious than usual. A group of 6 guys dresses as Playboy Bunnies assaulted us with various gestures and chants as soon as we got out of the car, then pointed at my outfit, said something in Portuguese, and completely cracked up. I heard one of my companions say “no, no, Americano” to the guys as we passed.

“Now hey.” I thought. “Don’t be like that. I’m here, I’m cool, I’m going with the flow. Don’t tell them to take it easy on me just because I’m a Gringo.” When I brought the subject up later though, I found out he had a reason. The guys had been calling me “Tony Ramos” - a Brazilian actor somewhat famous for being extremely hairy. For those of you who don’t know me, while I’m not really on Tony Ramos’ level, I’m certainly much hairier than you average Brazilian. My friend had simply been letting the guys know, as an American, I wasn’t going to get the joke. He also informed me that upon learning I was American, they had simply started calling me “Tony Ramos Americano,” and cracking up. The whole thing was a blast. The energy was unbelievable. And I was about to find out how Brazilians really party.

It starts to rain. Everybody cheers. The light, tropical rain turns into a driving thunderstorm. Nobody leaves. We hear thunder, and huge winds threaten to blow down electrical wires. Everybody starts climbing on the roofs of the houses. Then, in unison, still wearing dresses, everybody starts to chant “A! A-Ha! So de Jacarepagua!” If you’re Portuguese isn’t up to snuff, that basically translates as “A! A-Ha! I’m from Jacarepagua!” I didn’t feel out of place chanting along - my friend Felipe said that he was pretty sure I was the only Gringo in attendance, and that was enough of an honorary membership for me for the afternoon. After all, I was standing on the street in the torrent in women’s underwear right along with everyone else.

By this time, the rain had completely soaked through my negligee. Now, I did have something else on. True to Brazilian form, I had slipped on a pair of Speedos underneath. The problem was that they were Felipe’s Speedos. Felipe’s got a good 30-40 pounds on me. I took off the negligee, and ended up in my pair of three-sizes-too-big Speedos, drenched, in the middle of Brazil. Who’d have thunk.

We finally made it home, where hot showers (and dry men’s clothes) were extremely welcome. I’d managed to make it without flashing half of Rio, but just barely. Of course, Rio is pretty much the only city in the world where I wouldn’t really even feel uncomfortable wearing nothing but a pair of falling-down Speedos just walking down the street. Got to love that town.

From La Paz, it was over to Lake Titicaca and Peru. I met up with my brother, blitzed the Inca Trail, and since that wasn’t enough, climbed a almost 20,000 foot mountain. Bungee Jumped in Peru, Paraglided in Chile, and made my way over to Santiago and Valparaiso. Flew to Mexico City, met up with a friend, decided two days wasn’t enough so I changed my ticket and will be back April 3rd, and that’ll be a wrap. Call me then!

I was going to skip Rio de Janeiro. I’d been there before, seen the town. I couldn’t get ahold of my friend or my professor who both live there. It wasn’t on the way to where I was going. I had a whole host of reasons. What could I have been thinking?

In my book, anyone who doesn’t want to see Rio every chance they get needs to have their head examined. I haven’t been everywhere, but I’ve seen a lot of towns, and Rio is far and away the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. I won’t go into it again - read the above linked entry for the specifics. Another first-time take on the city can be found here (point by point refutation to come) on Travelvice - a pretty amusing travelog I ran into. Anyone who tells you how to sneak into Machu Piccu is OK in my book.

Anyway, I finally managed to get ahold of my Carioca (as natives of Rio are called) friend. A medical student, it turned out about his only free weekend of the year happened to be the one coming up. 12 hours later I was on a plane to the Marvelous City.

For anyone traveling to Brazil, my advice is this: you’ll probably fly into Sao Paulo’s international airport. Stay two or three days in Sao Paulo, and then fly to Rio. If you fly directly to Rio, or if you transfer from Sao Paulo’s international airport to Rio, you’ll end up flying into Galeao airport, north of the city. However, if you go from Sao Paulo’s domestic airport, you’ll be rewarded with one of the most spectacular flight decents in the world. The ascent from Sao Paulo isn’t bad either - you get to see just how vast the city really is.

Sao Paulo-Rio is the second-most traveled flight pattern in the world (Madrid-Barcelona is number one). Don’t worry about reservations - flights leave at least once an hour. There’s even a dedicated ticket desk for “buy & fly” purchases -which shouldn’t cost you more than $100 US.

Now, don’t get on the next plane - at least not if you can’t get a window (that’s the whole point). Wait until the one after- you should pretty much have your pick of seats. Although both sides actually have great views, my advice is to sit on the left-hand side window. Rio’s domestic airport (Santos Dumont) is a little two-runway job right next to downtown. This isn’t the difference between flying into JFK and LaGuardia - flying into Santos Dumont is basically the equivalent of flying into the Wall Street Heliport. Not only are the views astounding, but you can grab your stuff and walk right into the middle of Rio. The subway - which will take you as far south as Copacabana - is only about a 15 minute walk through downtown.

As for myself, my buddy picked me up from the airport for a great long weekend. I wish I could say I had adventures and saw all sides of Rio. I had taken an entire class on Favelas (which are actually more a result of geography than anything else) the past semester and the professor, who had grown up in one, was in Rio but I couldn’t get ahold of him. But I wasn’t that disappointed. I had had enough nuttiness in the last month (and was looking forward to more in Sao Paulo) to afford me a short vacation. I was pretty exited just to see an old friend and lie on the beach for the weekend.

Oh, and also party. Did I mention it was the weekend before Carnival?

Time moves on. Cities change. As they change, people tend to get nostalgic for what used to be. Today, nostalgia for the “bad old days” of the NYC of the 1970s, 80s, and early 90s has almost reached the level of kitsch, it’s so prevalent. Luckily, your solution is only measured in distance, instead of time. Just hop on a flight to Sao Paulo.

I always describe Sao Paulo as New York in Portuguese in 1982 (and without the great public subway system I suppose). First of all, the town is huge - one of the five biggest cities in the world kind of huge. No city that isn’t at least a few million people can rightfully be compared to New York. Before anything else, the defining characteristic of the city is “big - really big.”

Second of all, like New York, Sao Paulo is an immigrant city. It has the biggest Japanese population outside of Japan, the biggest Lebanese population outside of Lebanon and (believe it or not, New Yorkers), the biggest Italian population outside of Italy. Like New York, anyone can walk the streets and not feel out of place. That is, of course, if you know how to walk like a Brazilian. The immigrant situation in Sao Paulo is different from New York in a very significant way. Sao Paulo is an old immigrant city. While 100 years ago it had a similar immigration story as New York, today it doesn’t attract substantial numbers at all. The Korean, Chinese, and Bolivian populations have all increased somewhat in recent years, but they’re the only newer groups of significance.

It’s similar to the early 80s in New York, when the old immigrant groups had already long since assimilated, but new immigrant groups had yet to arrive in large numbers. It’s as easy to tell a Japanese-Brazilian and a Japanese tourist apart as it is to tell a Italian-American and an Italian tourist apart for us. There is such a universal Brazilian identity and culture (the same as there’s a universal American culture I suppose) that despite the myriad kinds of different ethnicities, I noticed that people were Brazilian first, and only after if they were Afro-Brazilian, or Japanese-Brazilian, or whatever else.

I tried to wander around the town as much as I could, and see the different neighborhoods and populations. But there’s a problems - sizewise, Sao Paulo is ridiculously big, and doesn’t really have much of a subway system. There’s about 4 or 5 main business districts (they keep moving further and further south), which can be miles apart. I stuck mostly to the old downtown and surrounding neighborhoods. One, Bom Retiro, was the old Jewish neighborhood. Similarly to the Lower East Side of the 80s, it seems to be developing into the cosmopolitan neighborhood of the town, with old Jews, Bolivians, Koreans, Chinese, and Yuppies all living there today. The locals I talked to said generally said it was their favorite neighborhood.

Also like New York City in the 1980s, Sao Paulo has a somewhat overstated reputation for being extremely dirty and dangerous. Dirty? Sure - it’s a city. I wouldn’t say it’s any dirtier that any comparable city. Dangerous? Well, that’s always subjective. Generally speaking, if someone runs into trouble in any particular city they’ll say it’s dangerous, and if they don’t, they won’t. I felt perfectly comfortable there - maybe more comfortable than in any city outside of the United States. And I never ran into any trouble, or even felt that I was close to doing so. Still, it’s a far cry from the New York of today, and from talking to most of the locals I gathered it’s reputation for danger was somewhat undeserved - but not THAT undeserved.

Another thing the locals agreed upon was that the city was getting a little better every year. This is why I call it New York in 1982. There was a small period, post 1970s fiscal crisis, yet pre Crack and Aids, where New York - led by a still enormously popular Ed Koch - seemed to be on the upswing. Sao Paulo is better than yesterday - but still has yet to undergo the dramatic transformation that would let it take it’s rightful place as a world city.

Sao Paulo is the financial, and arguably cultural, capital of an entire continent. It’s by far the largest city in South America, and also happens to be one of the leading 4 or 5 fashion cities in the world. It’s cosmopolitan, has great nightlife, amazing restaurants, and every other service an international traveller could want. Yet it has an almost nonexistent tourist infrastructure. And needless to say, Sao Paulo is not exactly the first place off the lips of people when asked where they want to vacation.

Still, I’m betting on the town. Sao Paulo has, for lack of a better term, a certain coolness factor to it. Language is a barrier (who speaks Portuguese?), as is the perceived chaotic and dangerous nature of the city. But there is a certain energy in the town that’s an indescribable draw - an energy all too familiar to the inhabitants of New York City. In many ways, Berlin is the city I’ve been to that is most like New York. But in terms of sheer feeling, Sao Paulo is really the only place that comes close. Give the city 10 or 20 years - if it has a second great immigrant wave (a wave which saved New York City in the 80s and 90s), cleans up a bit, and manages to develop an easily recognized positive identity and character (I’m betting on supermodel paradise), I won’t be that surprised to hear the international jet set talk about it as a destination of choice - much like New York. I wonder though, if it will retain the same edge - if people will pine for the “bad old days” of Sao Paulo like they do for New York.