El Blogo

Bloody Nora, I'm in South America! More precisely, I'm in Brazil and I can't understand a bleedin' word anyone is saying. I can't believe what a cliche I'm conforming to as well - I've been conversing through a tried and tested British system of pointing, talking loudly and slowly in English and using the only word I know in Portuguese - obrigado. It's hard work and I feel guilty and unutterably British as I do it, but what else can I do? Actually there is something I do to try and bridge the significant language barrier which involves scraps of paper and me looking like a right pillock. I get the lovely and helpful hostel people to write details like names, places and directions on bits of paper and then take them out with me in order to try and make my way round town. I can't even say anything when I present the scraps to the bemused looking locals - I just kind of squeak and look desperately at them as I slowly draw my finger back and forth beneath the relevant written passage. This has led to some inevitable miscommunications - my favourite of which, so far, has been that I play in the English Premiership. Nonsense, of course, what with my bad knee. I must find a translator soon - this is becoming intolerable.

So winner of El Stupido 2007 must surely go to me for realising when I first got here that I left my proof of yellow fever innoculation back in Canada. That's $140 I'll never see again. Just so you understand the importance - one of the main reasons I came to South America was to do a jungle trek and you can´t even get into the Amazon without one of these cards. To compound matters, at the point of realisation on the airport shuttle bus an old battleaxe riding with me kept repeating over and over that I shouldn't have left it behind while shaking her head and reminding me I can't get into countries here without it. This is all information I was well aware of and to be perpetually reminded of my, granted, stupidity did not help. She was one of those people who, even if you insist upon knowing something, can't help hammering it home. Example:

'Have you bought a ticket back to England?'

'Yes, I've got one.'

´Cos if you haven't, it´s peak season at Christmas and you won't get one.'

'I know - that's why I bought one ages ago. Thanks though.'

'You need to make sure you have one otherwise you won't get one now.'

'I. Fucking. Know.'

Obviously I didn't say the last bit, relying instead on pulling my testes hard and bringing Stabby out of retirement. I think she thought I was a complete idiot after the innoculation card incident (difficult to believe, I know) cos she continued to point out the bleedin' obvious for the rest of the journey. Some of these revelations included:

'Don't get on the subway at rush hour. It's very busy.'
'You should get money out of a bank here.'
'Hide your money when you get it out so people can't see it.'

Some very important tips there, I think you'll agree. I then went on to ask her about the mysterious blue fire that makes rooms go bright, why I didn't fall off the edge of the world when I went to Canada and what they feed the steel beast we were travelling in.

Contrary to what some women will tell you, far from skin-ripping agony, I've found Brazilians to be perfectly charming. Apart from Einstein on the bus, everyone I've met over here has been happy to talk (or read my scraps of conversation) and Sao Paulo is not nearly the terrifying murderer's den I was led to believe it would be. The people are friendly and the city itself is much more modern and cosmopolitan than the guides do it justice for. The beer and food is cheap and the hostel I'm staying in feels like a home from home. There is, of course, one guy here who, just cos he's been in SA for six weeks, thinks he's Marco sodding Polo. It's the nonchalance with which he conducts himself that boils my blood. American, of course - I asked him where he'd been and he answered too loudly and ostentatiously, 'All over the world, my friend.' 'Really? Whereabouts?' I say. 'Not really, I´ve just been in the north-east of Brazil', he grins, looking desperately around for recognition. Oh, ha! Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I get it! You said you'd been somewhere else but actually hadn't! That's fucking hilarious! Don't you see?! He mocks my stupid question (stupid, stupid question) with a fake answer, then seamlessly retorts with the actual answer at the end therefore denouncing me as a inquisitive moron and crowning himself the true king of South America! God, I need him inside me now.

Sorry about the rant, you know how I can get. Right, well, I'm off to Salvador this morning for further adventures. Thanks for the comments Feri (see, wasn´t that hard now, was it) and Guess Who (who are you then and what did that all mean?) See you there.