Welcome

 

My name is Kizzie and I will be living in Ouro Preto, a colonial town in Minas Gerais for two months. My husband is a geologist who has bagged a two-month sabbatical in Brazil and I have come along for the ride. 

This blog aims to describe my experiences as someone who is ‘hanging out’ in a small Brazillian town. I am not taking buses around this huge diverse vast country and laying on beaches drinking cocktails. I am instead staying in a beautiful historic Unesco heritage site called Ouro Preto which is a town where time forgot.

There is limited internet access so this can’t be an every day blog though I have adopted a coffee shop which has wifi as my local which happens to specialise in chocolate so while writing I will be loaded with caffeine and sugar which may mean that my posts won’t be boring – lets hope so anyway. Hope you enjoy it.

NOT the sound of silence

 

On first impressions based on the size of Ouro Preto one would assume that it is a calm laid back gentle place..almost quaint. This  is true to a certain extent, however noise levels seem to be on the higher end of the scale.

Drinking a beer in the main square outside in one of my favourite bars involves being blasted in one ear with a car stereo (which earlier I mistook for a live band as I approached the square) and in the other an actual live acoustic performance in the other (courtesy of bar).

We live in the centre of the city, but if you were to blind fold someone and lead them to our apartment they could be forgiven for thinking we reside on a farm. We have dogs barking all night who seem to end their shift at around 4am which is when the roosters start. This is obviously unique to our apartment, but at eight in the morning we are lucky enough to ‘overhear’ or get rudely awoken by builders who are working on an extension adjacent to our bedroom.

I think I have had about 7 hours sleep in the last three days. Being an experienced insomniac this may be close to a record.

Bird gets ill in Brazil

This was not at all intentional ...we were not on another exciting adventure, although we were discovering new things...in a hospital in Ouro Preto.

I was taken ill a few days before we were due to fly back home...I had intense pain that I tried to delay sorting out until I got home but it became so painful that I couldn’t actually walk. I then decided I had to see a doctor...this led me to casualty and lot of tests. This involved lots of pressing down on my stomach and releasing it quickly (just try it and then imagine it with a stomach ache) and a misdiagnosis of appendicitis. It also included lots of crying on my behalf due to a lack of effective painkillers, a big language barrier and feeling so alone in a hospital far away from my family.

The tests eventually revealed gallstones and I was put on antibiotics and admitted on to the maternity ward due to lack of beds...with another woman who had no baby and a lack of pregnancy. The ward was so much nicer than the small room I was in for 36 hours which was packed tightly of four beds...and a very loud screaming baby. Although at night when the mister and G left me I was left with a feeling of complete isolation as the pain soared and nurses would come and tell me in a language I didn't understand what they were injecting into my body. Luckily G was around during visiting hours and was able to translate and inform me of everything that was happening but out of hours it was a different story.

It was my fault that I didn't learn Portuguese. Being English, I am guilty of laziness, and an ignorance that expects all nations to adhere to the English language as if it was an essential part of everyone's life around the world. I had no idea that Brazil consisted of so few English-speaking people. Some doctors spoke English but very few nurses did and I felt like I was a huge inconvenience for them as I wasn't able to answer any of their questions. I did make their jobs difficult and it resulted in them having to administer drugs through the veins of someone who had no idea what was happening.

After assessing me further, and a slight reduction in pain, which I exaggerated, in order to catch our flight, I was discharged about an hour and a half before we had to leave for the airport, on the condition that I sought treatment in England. We made the flight thanks to the huge kindness of our friends who assisted us in everyway possible including driving us the two-hour distance to Bele Horizonte.

After 14 hours of an extremely uncomfortable flight, we flew into Heathrow. I have never felt so relieved and grateful to see the grey sky and muddy fields beneath us - I don't think I've ever felt grateful for that at all actually.

I start 2014 with no gall bladder and an enormous appreciation of the NHS. I challenge David Cameron to a week in a foreign hospital with a frightening condition where he has to shed out loads of cash...then he may rethink his plans of ruining one of the greatest institutions in the world.

The Pizza Incident

We stop for a beer and discuss what we would like to eat. I feel like eating pizza. A nice, simple Margherita pizza. That will be easy to find. There is an advert in a tourist leaflet about an Italian round the corner from a bar we are in and decide to have a look. The district where it is located is in Jardins, which is reportedly one of the more pleasant neighbourhoods in Sao Paulo. We are quite peckish so head towards it, but it takes a lot longer than we expected. When we get there we look at the menu and each pasta dish is at least £30. Thirty quid for Spaghetti Bolognese? You-are-having-a-laugh. We ask if they serve pizza and are told a firm no while we are looked upon as peasants. OK then, there must be somewhere else that services pizza round here – it can’t be that hard to find, one of the most commonly served foods in the whole world…in the third biggest city.

We walk a little further and stop at a bar/restaurant selling a range of things including pizza. At last, a sit down, a drink and some food. We order some steak for the mister and a Margherita pizza for myself. The young waiter who is dressed in a throw back fifties outfit like the guy in the café from Back to the Future (he looks odd because all his colleagues are dressed in normal clothing) takes our order and disappears. Sometime later we get some beer…then we wait..and wait…and wait.

After half an hour we are wondering where are bloody food is and are tittering on the stage of hanger… we enquire where are food might be to another waiter who tells us that they are not serving food anymore and that they don’t serve pizza in the evenings anyway.  What's that sorry? The mister then has a tense conversation with the manager who apologises for the fuck up, shouts at fifties throw back and tells us that we will get the food anyway. I want to go but the Mister has reached desperate hangry mode and needs to stay. 15 minutes later some steak arrives…which me and the mister share because I feel myself resembling a hypoglycemic.  There is no pizza. I want to leave. I am getting really angry now and Mr Manager can see it in my face. He gets down on his knees, as though he is begging for forgiveness and tells me it’s coming for the fifth time in twenty minutes. How long does a fucking pizza take to make in Brazil anyway? Five minutes later the chef comes out and tells me that they don’t have Margherita, despite it being on the menu but I can have it with bacon on it.

WHHHAT? Is this man an actual chef or has he just been dragged off the street? Has he even ever SEEN a pizza? Because, he clearly is unaware that a Margherita pizza consists of cheese, tomato and a bread base – it is the basis for all pizzas. I am so pissed off, I say nothing, scowl, pay for my drinks and walk out.

By 22.00 I still haven’t eaten – we go to a pizza restaurant round the corner from our hotel. The pizza comes within 10 minutes (bit suspect to me, but past caring), which is basically a pizza base with about three inches of mozzarella on it...and about a droplet of tomato sauce.

The next day we leave Sao Paulo. We haven’t taken any photos but find a suitable one at the bus station which sums up the way we feel about the place.

What's wrong with Sao Paulo?

The Mister is going to Sao Paulo University to play on some rock machines and since it’s the third biggest city in the world I figure that I should accompany him on this trip – despite being told it’s a shit hole I would like to see it for myself.

Not feeling too well, I decide to stay in the area where our hotel is on the first day. Close to the University, Pinheiros has a bohemian feel to it - it is nice, I like it. I appreciate seeing a working city in operation and imagine what it might be like to live there. There is graffiti art on the walls, independent boutiques, bars and a shop where you can stay in forever reading English language books and listing to CDs without actually buying anything so I like it. There are not many things that I am desperate to see in Sao Paulo so it is sort of refreshing to just relax somewhere.

Yes, well, the next day we decide to go and see some sights. Since we have no itinerary or 'must sees' we are not expecting a stressful day. Also, Lonely Planet says that the food is great in Sao Paulo and its metro system is one of the best in the world, which is great as the public transport system I have so far seen in Brazil isn’t exactly on top form so this will make a change.

Sao Paulo’s metro turns out to be one of the most annoying transport systems I’ve ever experienced. There doesn’t seem to be any staff on hand to help you, It is really confusing. There seem to be about a million people all trying to get to the same place at once in record time. I think of the London Underground, another metro system which is often complained about. In comparison to this, it is almost a relaxing experience. At least Londoners have certain awareness of personal space – OK, so there isn‘t much to give but when it is there is it often respected. In this place, not the case. There are people walking on the back of my sandals and it's not even rush hour. I’m getting increasingly irritated. I have a word with myself. It’s a busy city, we’ll be off soon.

We head to the city centre. For a city known for its stressed out workers, it has a nice atmosphere but everyone looks a bit miserable. We go into the cathedral which reminds me of the dozens of cathedrals I’ve seen in the UK so it doesn’t excite me very much.  In the coffee shop the waiter looks like we have personally insulted him when we ask for a coffee in Portuguese. "YES” he snaps. We leave behind our guidebook in the art museum and are dismissed when we ask for it back because they are closing. They think we want to buy one. We then have to explain with a dictionary that we have left it behind which is when we are actually listened to and a minute later they hand it over. Everything seems like a huge effort with not a lot of reward.

We realise that this city is crap at dealing with foreigners – useless in fact. The metro has announcements in English which makes you think it is a bilingual city but nobody actually speaks the language. It is disappointing. Our friends in Ouro Preto were right – it is a bit of a shit hole. They are going to have to step up somewhat when they host the world cup next year we think. We decide to go off for some food which is when we experience the Pizza Incident which makes us rename Sao Paulo as Sour Poo-hole.

Brazil does like a good party...

Even the kids parades are brilliant.

I was lucky enough to be invited to a puppet festival with G and the family in a beautiful town called Mariana which is like a light version of Ouro Preto (a much smaller quieter colonial town about 10 miles away).

The day was centered around kids who tend to be more interested in puppets than adults although I think that is a myth, unless you count a puppet show in Portuguese which isn't so enjoyable if you only speak English and don't have any offspring.

Here is some footage of the day - the highlight was the parade.*

I don't claim to be any good at filming or uploading videos. I did some anyway for your pleasure (or pain).

* For any puppet fascists out there - I am fully aware that this may not adhere to the strict guidelines of what the definition of a puppet is, for you are welcome to think of it as a costume parade.

Loving the churches

When in a foreign country I like to seek out churches because they make me feel comfortable, which is odd since religion generally doesn’t.

It is the effect of being dragged round them when I was young on family holidays – every chance they would get, my parents would enter a religious building - not to attend a service but gawp at the interior which admittedly was more often than not, beautiful. My brother and I had no choice but to sit in these large spaces and I gradually begun to appreciate the surroundings.

Ouro Preto has 23 18th Century churches in a town of only 65,000 people. Because of the colonial influence, they remind me very much of those in Europe I was taken to as a child. They provide  the best way of navigating around the town – in New York it might be the Chrysler building, in Ouro Preto it is whatever church is in which area -  should you get lost, just look up, you can recognise whatever tower is above you. It is a small town anyway so I don’t have to do this anymore but it was helpful when I first arrived – after taking time to learn which ones were which.

Churches provide a space of peace (unless you have wandered into a makeshift evangelical church which is often not so special anyway), you don’t get hassled in a church – you get to enjoy the intricate detailed art all around you without being pushed out the way (most of the time) sold anything or have your safety threatened. You also get a free or very cheap shelter from the rain and you can stay in there for as long as you like. Also the added bonus of being somewhere where you don’t speak the language, you don’t get to understand the creepy lyrics that you may

hear from any hymns playing – which for me just adds to a soothing atmosphere.

The most famous church in Ouro Preto is `igreja de Sao Francisco de Assis ‘.While not so peaceful from the amount of school kids outside, it is utterly stunning, with the ceiling reminding me somewhat of the Sistine chapel, a much small version without the 100s of tourists using flashy cameras they have been told not to.

I love the decoration – so over the top and so kitch (apart from the freaky looking dolls admittedly) – in the Pilar church down the road from Sao Francisco, Mary and baby Jesus stand at the top what looks like a massive wedding cake covered in gold and silver. Whoever designed these structures really pushed the boat out when it came to providing a house of worship for his holiness – if you can’t go crazy when building a sanctuary for the creator then when can you?

Unfortunately for us, in Brazil many of these spaces are deemed too sacred to document with cameras (tut bloody religion - I am a tourist for gods sake) so I have some pictures taken from the outside instead.