Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

I think the latter, but to make up your own mind get a window seat in the Sattva vegetarian restaurant (Al. Itu. 1564) on a weekend night from 10pm on and watch the show on the street outside.  (The waitress produced the change for the meal out of her bra, by the way.)  The only really multicultural scene I’ve witnessed.  Oh to be 18, or even 25, again.  And Brazilian.

Also, as if to round things off the way they started, a religious procession outside my hotel at dusk (which followed a ‘modern’ crucifixion on the steps of the cathedral).  The stations in the street by candle light with a statue of a dead Christ and a Mary looking over him with a sad expression.  What happened in the East End this Good Friday?

Quick note on accommodation.  Staying at the NH Della Volpe – weekend rate £36.  Best value hotel of the holiday.  The standard rooms are like suites and well worth it.

http://static.flickr.com/52/128867571_2b3b6f97c6.jpg

Interesting that at least 13 people have had a look at this rather obscure link in the 4 hours since I put it on.  Who are you?

Ho hum, nearly time to return.  Here I am in Sao Paulo, which is making a bid to be my new favourite big city.  Visited the Niemeyer-designed park, a superb oasis in the middle of the (pleasant) busyness.  Parts could do with a lick of paint, though.

Earlier, changed my BA seat from battery hen to veal crate.  Still hoping for an upgrade to pig-pen, but unlikely given the level of service to which this once-adequate company has sunk.  Oh for a bit of re-nationalisation…

Last night was a bit of a blast from the past.  Had a wander round the Jardins district of SP, getting a veggie burger for my tea (always a disappointment).  Had planned on a visit to a nearby Oirish pub, but it was full of drunk English boys called Jeremy, so skipped it for a bar I´d spotted on the way.  When I went in they were playing Ai No Corrida.  Unusual, so had a look around.  All the clues were there, with Wizard of Oz memorabilia and a portrait of Liza.  Next song was Into the Groove, so that was final confirmation.  Later they played Copacabana, as if any further detail were required.  Just to make it even more Oliver´s like, a drunk English girl got up on a stool when they started to play that Abba song about men and midnight.  She got down pretty fast when it was pointed out she was in danger of being scalped by the ceiling fan about 1mm from her head.

Anyway, all very friendly and pleasant and I slept well after a couple of well-earned gins.

And soon I´m coming home.  Booked into a posh hotel for my last couple of nights on the continent.  How many beds have I slept in on this journey?  Perhaps we could have a little competition along the lines of how many jellybeans in the jar, so beloved of summer fetes.  Winner could get a useless bit of tat that I´ll no doubt pick up in some mad panic of “Oh God, I haven´t bought any presents” phase, which normally affects me about a minute before I leave for home.  Luckily, this will occur at Easter this time, so all the tat shops will be shut.

And on the home front, we all know where the 22nd will be spent, and I´m fairly clear that next Mon and Tues will be in west London.  But I´m actually back in Chester on the Wednesday.  Anyone up for a pint or two on that or the following night?  I´m assuming Friday will take care of itself.  East Londoners, the fun starts Monday 24th and hopefully doesn´t stop for at least a week.  Please keep your diaries free.

So there we go.  Planning positively for the return.  Actually pretty excited at the thought of seeing you all, even though they´ll be strapping me to the seat of my veal crate as I sob forlorny at the loveliness that is Sao Paulo and everything else on this side of the Atlantic.  Still, PG Wodehouse is keeping my pecker up with his bally good pasting of the English aristocracy.  Trouble is, when that´s finished it´s only worthy books left for the flight.  Still, enough of ramblings, except to say that some of you could take a leaf or two out of Cath´s and Gillian´s books with their erudite comments.

To finish the latest on Niemeyer from Wiki –

“He is currently designing a statue showing a tiger with its mouth open and a man fighting it raising the Cuban flag against the US blockade of Cuba.”  And he´s 98.

Strikes me that no one actually knows where I am.  Well, it’s Curitiba, a rather fine city south of Sao Paulo.  Last night I was presented with one of the best meals I’ve had on this trip – credit goes to Bin 608 on Carlos de Carvalho.  A glass of excellent Argentine chardonnay to accompany, with impeccable service.

Did the tourist thing today by taking a bus that covers the very widespread attractions that Curitiba has to offer.  Chief among them is the Museu Oscar Niemeyer – a fantastic structure, somewhat in the style of Miro, ruined by curators who have filled some of its galleries with unimaginative tat.  And the café wasn’t functioning.  

The (hop-on, hop-off) bus then takes you on a tour of the outlying sights including a variety of memorials to various European immigrants (and one to the locals who were displaced).  At one of these a couple of tourists got on the bus making comnplaints in English to the (Portuguese-speaking) conductor that they had been treated badly in some way and demanding to avoid the turnstile which checks you only make 4 stops per journey.  They got off with me at the next stop – The Wire Opera.  I knew it was closed for repairs because a big sign on the bus proclaimed so, but you could see the structure from outside and there was also a reclaimed amphitheatre there, so it was worth a look.  I got on the next bus with my co-Europeans and they once again made a fuss saying they hadn’t known it was closed.  I, amongst others, pointed out the sign, which they claimed they couldn’t understand, as it wasn’t in English (they were German).  I saw the real problem with a glance at their ticket-book indicating they only had one stop left, and clearly had done so for the past few attempts to avoid giving up a ticket.  They got off at the next stop and the male of this slimy couple had a nasty little smirk on his ugly little face.  Cheap. 

Hence song of the day is Sex and Drugs and Rock’n’Roll by that other dead hero Mr Ian Dury.  There’s one line particularly apt. 

Currently reading Brazil, by John Updike.  The action has just moved to Sao Paulo to where I’m headed tomorrow.  Yet again a book has chimed in accurately with my journey (although hopefully not too accurately judging by where the story appears to be heading).  Weather today, a frosty 28 degrees Celsius.

Re the shrine;  The campaign has been going on for some time now, in case you hadn´t noticed.  If I go and pack it up it will lose it´s power.  Just keep chanting, all of you that have it as your wallpaper…

LJP: Thank you.  (I already had a map.  It was in my hand.)  Is there a direct bus to Sao Francisco do Sul?   WITI: Yes.  Where are you from?  

LJP: England.  WITI:  I used to work at Alton Towers.  

LJP: Really?  How interesting.  WITI:  The British are better than the Americans.  They are more quiet, but they help you when you need it.  The americans act friendly. but they don´t help you.  

LJP:  Uh uh.  WITI:  There is a very old tree in the square here.  

LJP:  I must visit it.  About the bus?  WITI:  Have you been to Stafford?  

LJP:  Yes, as a matter of fact I used to work there.  WITI:  Do you know the Shire Hall Library?  

LJP:  No, is it good?  WITI:  I love the Shire Hall Library (writes down ‘Shire Hall Libraray’ on a piece of paper and hands it me).  

LJP:  I must visit it some day.  Er, the bus to…  WITI:  I’ve been to England four times.  I would like to go again, but it is too expensive for us here to go.  

LJP:  Oh, I…  WITI:  You must visit the market.  

LJP:  I will.  The bus to Sao Francisco?  WITI:  Yes, go to that company over there.  

LJP:  Thank you.  WITI:  I’m sorry for eating. 

Of course, the bus did not go direct, as I had to change at Joinville as warned.  Got on bus and as is usual the person in front of me had reclined his seat back as far as it would go.  My seat was right next to the toilet.  The man sitting next to me first cleaned his ears with his fingers and then concentrated on his dentures.  He wiped his fingernails on the curtain when he had run out of orifices.  Despite this the 2 hour journey might have been OK had not it been polluted by a showing of Robinson Crusoe ‘starring’ Pierce Brosnan.   Everyone associated with that film should surely be tortured.  And not in a nice way.  Joinville station OK and bought a ticket to my planned destination.  Sign on front of bus was a place I’d never heard of.  Second person to sit next to me was the local nutter.  I was very pleased I could speak no Portuguese.  However, I may have ruined his day.  Third person to sit next to me was one of a pair of local thugs.  The other had very many recent injuries – some still weeping.  Sao Francisco bus station was camouflaged.  Having passed it, the bus driver let me off at the top of a hill past the station and I walked back down to ask a man where the nearest hotel might be.  20 minutes walk.  OK, but is that a taxi I spy?  Can you take me to the nearest hotel?  I could, but the nice ones are 18km away and I’ve been to Hartlepool and Gravesend.  Really?  Let’s go 18km then.  Of course he had to stop off for a few minutes to do a bit of business and naturally left the clock running.  Obviously, the cab took me to the place indicated on the front of the bus.  There’s £12 I’ll never see again

Despite this being the off-season all hotels are full.  I got in the last one, but only for one night.  It’s a lovely beachfront hotel and I have a room at the back overlooking the road.  It is Rhyl, only hot.  Maradona is in Brazil (he follows me, you know).

Went for a quick walk in the early dusk (nightfall 6pm here) and had a quick pint on the front.  Cesar, the barman, invited me to come back later for some live music and I didn’t see how I could avoid it.     Went out as late as I could for dinner and chose a busyish place.  Picked the second-cheapest fish dish off the menu as price often equals quantity here and I wasn’t that hungry.  It was 3 fish in batter, a platter of chips, a platter of salad and about 4 portions of rice.  Also some general stuff that I can’t describe.  A fiver.  Oh for some beggars.   

As I had finished dinner (ie a quarter of it)too early and they didn’t serve coffee (in Brazil!), I didn’t want to wait for the music.  Hence I’ve let Cesar down.  Fairly sure he was priming the turn for a Beatle’s track, as well, as I’d told him I was from Liverpool/Manchester.  Now back in hotel watching Miss Brazil 2006.  It’s ultra seventies.  My local beauty (Miss Santa Catarina) has just come third.  The winner cried.

Memories?  Wonder what will happen tomorrow.

Song of the day is Sam Cooke a la the title of this post…