Tomsk vs. Rio de Janeiro

My time abroad has sadly come to an end. Siberia and Brazil have given me a sensational, albeit peculiar, year. I´ve managed to squeeze in an array of activities, from television appearances and rides on snowmobiles, to burning on sandy beaches and experiencing World Cup hospitality. Of course, my two destinations couldn´t have been more different. The weather jumps out as the starkest contrast between Tomsk and Rio, but in terms of language, culture, people and more, these two places have almost nothing in common. However, despite all this, I shall attempt to answer the million-dollar question: which did you prefer?

Ipanema Beach vs. The (Frozen) River Tom´

Language

As the year abroad´s primary goal is to increase one´s ability to converse in a foreign language, where better to start than with that most glorious of gifts that has been bestowed upon humankind: language. Firstly, it´s worth saying that Russian and Portuguese are completely different. Cyrillic vs Roman, Slavic vs Romance, guttural vs nasal; they just don´t match. Portuguese in Brazil has a sing-song quality that has grown on me over time and the cariocas love to throw in a lot of slang, which is always fun. I found my appreciation of the language increasing as my fluency grew. But it has nothing on Russian, a language that has enchanted me for years. Its absurd grammatical complexity contrasts with everything making such perfect, logical sense. Simply put, Russian is ruddy brilliant. Tomsk 1-0 Rio

Weather

The climate has probably been the most talked about topic of this year. The temperature swing was about 70 degrees, from -35 to +35, although it wasn´t at those extremes for long. Tomsk actually experienced one of the warmest winters in years, which was a great shame because I had really been looking forward to experiencing exactly how one might live at -40. However, I did discover that taking your clothes off at anything below zero is never a very good idea. In leaving Russia at the end of January and journeying across 11 time zones to Rio, my biggest nemesis was no longer frostbite, but sunburn. I am notoriously susceptible to burning, but just about managed to survive. The warmth was certainly pleasant, but was very frustrating when sitting inside at work. In fact, if it weren´t for having a job, I might well have forgotten what wearing trousers felt like. This one is a tough call, but as Siberia´s climate didn´t meet my high expectations, I have to give it to Brazil. Tomsk 1-1 Rio

The City

It may not be fair to compare these two cities, as one is so much bigger than the other, but here goes. Firstly, Rio´s mountains and beaches make it one of the most beautiful cities in the world, so Tomsk already has a tough task to compete. However, either because of the heat or poor infrastructure, or both, Rio´s streets can sometimes smell a wee bit unpleasant. Tomsk doesn´t have this problem and I like to think it´s because the cold air just kills any bad smells. I will leave out other things like traffic jams and delays, given Rio´s relative enormity, but there is one key point of comparison: snow vs sand. Snow is elegant, graceful and fun. Sand sticks to you, ends up EVERYWHERE in your house and mates don´t take kindly if you hurl it at their faces. That said, Rio´s breathtaking vistas just about take the biscuit. Tomsk 1-2 Rio

Hard to argue with this for a back garden

Culture

This is a big one. If you don´t like the culture of a place, you´re probably not going to have the best of times. Fortunately, Russia and Brazil both suit me just fine. Russia is fantastic and bizarre in equal measure. You need to have an open mind and embrace all traditions, no matter how strange they seem. Whether it´s stripping down naked and being beaten with leaves or pushing the frozen flesh, skin and bones of a herring down your throat, you are guaranteed some crazy experiences. Brazil is more predictable: parties, samba, football to name a few. Drinking at street parties and embarrassing myself while dancing were my personal highlights. While this was all extremely fun, it lacked the fear factor of a Russian social occasion and the hilarity that generally ensues. Tomsk 2-2 Rio

People

There are many myths surrounding Russia, one of which is that the people are unsmiling and cold. This couldn´t be further from the truth. I heard from fellow Russian enthusiasts that a Russian friend is a friend for life. I´m beginning to see why. Loyalty and friendship are key values, and once you´ve earned that, you´re in for the long haul. It is true that the people tend to smile less than South Americans, but I believe that´s only because they don´t waste their smiles on everyone. Conversely, Brazilians tend to be tremendously friendly and open, up for a dance at all hours. This rivals the temperature for the biggest difference between the two and it´s very hard to pick a winner because both sets of people are fantastic, just in completely different ways. But, narrowly, my vote has to go to Russia, for the simple reason that I developed more close relationships with Russians than Brazilians. Tough call. Tomsk 3-2 Rio

Events

Now this one is a no-brainer. National television may have interviewed me at a tree-planting festival in rural Siberia and jumping into an ice pool in mid-January sure was a hoot, but you can´t look further than Carnaval and the World Cup. Carnaval was a week or so of mayhem, drinking horrendous amounts, sleeping little and being out and about for hours on end. The World Cup was, as expected, phenomenal. Going to watch seven games in five different cities was simply outrageous and it has to be up there with one of the best months of my life. Tomsk 3-3 Rio

Extra Time

As if by magic, it would appear that after six categories, the scores are level. Despite my meticulous scoring system, I have somehow been left with the casting vote. Tomsk or Rio, which to choose? So much was so different that they are almost incomparable, but I must decide. Rio´s geographical audacity and everpresent vibrancy have certainly not seen the last of me. My time there has only confirmed that I must return. However, it is Tomsk that wins, not just for providing me with countless, magnificent experiences, but for having that little something that clicked. I´ve said before that there is something about Russia that I love, but can´t quite put my finger on what that is. Something more than the lifestyle, the people, the hilarity and, of course, the language enthralls me. It might not be for everyone, but for me, it´s a perfect fit. Tomsk 4-3 Rio (aet)

It´s official. I love Tomsk. 

Returning to my green and pleasant land after an extraordinary year will be interesting, but it is certainly something I shall aim to enjoy. Sadly, "Ra Ra Mazputin" must also end here. Writing this blog has been delightful and I am very grateful to all those that have taken the time to read it. I intend to travel more, as well as returning to Russia, in the not too distant future, so hopefully I will be able to infiltrate your lives with my musings once more. Over and out.

Colombia's Best Kept Secrets

Colombia: cocaine, coffee, danger. That's the misinformed impression. But, as millions of other travellers will attest to, there is so much more to this fabulous country. Firstly, despite the presence of all three aforementioned 'qualities', their influence on Colombian society has decreased dramatically in the last few years, as the country becomes a much safer place to live. Secondly, this gateway between Central and South America has a relatively rich history and boasts some ridculously diverse geographical phenomena.

My whsitle-stop tour of Colombia began in Guatapé, a few hours outside of Medellin. Home to hundreds of man-made lakes and one very large rock, Guatapé claims to have the best view in the world, which although not true, is an advertising slogan that brings in the tourists. To be fair, it is rather smashing. On a personal level, I sampled the skills a Colombian barber (who also worked part time as a fireman). My decision to start up an in depth conversation about James Rodriguez proved to be my downfall, as the man simply didn't stop cutting, leaving me with a rather brutal trim.

The view from the rock at Guatapé

Medellin, was the next stop, supposedly the drug capital of the country, as well as having South America's biggest wealth disparity. Indeed, affluent areas full of boutique stores and delightful coffee shops contrasted with the numerous homeless people, forraging and scavenging to make a living. This was the only place I found cocaine in any sort of abundance, with dealers targeting 'gringos', many of whom have specifically journeyed to Colombia to sample its devilishly cheap powder. Another distraction in Medellin was the 'feria de las flores', or flower festival. I didn't see many flowers, but there were several street parties and cracking shirts on offer. Medellin also boasts a rather lovely metro system that cuts through the valley in which the city sits. It has been pencilled in as a potential place to live.

Heading into the jungle

If one heads north, the temperature hits the thirties and just wandering around can be a strain on your endurance. Rather handily, numerous spectacular beaches are on offer to cool you down. In Tayrona National Park, there are several deserted beaches and trails through jungle to explore. It was a toss up between Los Naranjos and the nudist beach. Naranjos was more deserted, but a skinny dip in the Caribbean Sea is always going to be fun. The hostel, complete with straw roof, hammocks, communal meals and no artificial lighting, was a sort of paradise. The park, apparently home to thousands of species of wildlife, is a protected area.

Fred on Los Naranjos

The nudist beach

A few hours West lies the city of Cartagena. It was a crucial port in the fight for independence from Spain, but suffered from the numerous wars, which stopped the flow of fresh water into the cities from rivers. As a result, Cartagena suffered a cholera outbreak and fell into decline. You may be familiar with Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novel, 'Love In The Time Of Cholera', which is based upon this period of Cartagena's history. The city has a beautiful old town, wonderfully preserved and great to amble around. It was also where I discovered some of the delights of Colombian cuisine. Beans and rice are staple foods, not dissimilar to what you find in Brazil or the Dominican Republic. But Colombia makes the most of having a Caribbean and Pacific coast by serving up some smashing seafood dishes. The 'cevicheria' was delicious, an orange and lime-based sauce, with onions and seafood all thrown in. I also tried a sumptuous octopus salad. 

If you're feeling particularly bold, you can visit a volcano that spurts mud. We had high hopes on the hour-long journey from Cartagena, but these were dashed when we arrived at the 'volcano', which had a mere 20 steps leading to the top. That said, it was bigger than any volcano I have seen back home. There was a pool of mud in which one could wallow and frolick, whilst being massaged by Colombian men. It was a bizarre, but satisfying sensation of floating weightlessly in the mud. To get clean, you must pay a visit to the nearby lagoon, where women will get all the mud off you. I was commanded to remove all my clothes with the repetition of one word: 'naked'. I duly obliged and found myself sitting in the lagoon, being scrubbed down by a middle-aged Colombian lady. It all sounds a bit silly really... 

Cartagena- the old town

The country also serves up decent beer (far nicer than in Brazil) and rum is very common. After drinking a few Cuba Libres and attempting to dance salsa in Cartagena's 'Havana Club', I felt myself transforming into a laid-back latino. Bogota also served up some fun nightlife, namely the famous 'Andres Carne de Res'. I had heard a lot about it, but 'indescribable' came up a lot. What I found it to be was two things: a lot of fun and absolutely enormous. The music was latino, dancing was everywhere and you could wander through the mazy passages for hours. Bogota itself is a hotbed of museums, none of which I visited, but gazed at from the outside on my one day visit. 

Of course, Colombia can still be a dangerous place, as can any country. The cocaine trade is still massive, but it's different to how it was a decade ago. The drug lords take in less money to draw less attention to themselves and the risk to innocent civilians has dramatically fallen. Coffee is a large part of daily life of course, but there are misconceptions about this country and ever so much that many people aren't aware of. I'm sure you'll agree that there is far more to it than drugs and coffee. I can't recommend it enough and can't wait to be back. 

A Mazformation: Shlids Abroad

The year abroad is coming to a close. Things have changed, one of which is my hair. Being away for longer than a couple of months means that I have had to branch out, follically speaking, from my mother’s marvellous trims and into the uncharted waters of foreign barber shops. Before I reveal some alarming images, I feel I should explain the title of this post. The word ‘mazformation’ is one of my creating. As I’m sure you’ve worked out, I’ve taken the word’ transformation’ and added ‘maz’, a play on my surname. ‘Shlid’ may take more explaining. For those unfamiliar with the term, ‘lid’ can be used to describe a haircut. The addition of ‘sh’ can be read, in this case, as any word beginning with ‘sh’, such as ‘shameful’, ‘shambolic’, or something slightly more uncouth. But anyway, here is a brief look at my foray into the international hair-cutting market, and I’ll let you be the judge…

This what I looked like when I embarked on my year. A chubby, short-haired Wimbledonian, doing my best to fit in with the Tomsk ultras at the football.

A month or so later, my hair had grown, rather unsurprisingly. Apparently, I took great pleasure in pointing my hair out to the Siberians. Looking back, it seems I was unreasonably proud... 

Before long, the addition of facial hair added a whole new dimension. Admittedly, it took a long while to grow and perhaps wasn't the best choice, but it allowed me to bear more striking resemblance to a Russian policeman.

Sergei was an unforgettable part of my year. He introduced me to lots of Russian cuisine, presented me the opportunity to drive a snowmobile and invited me to sit in his lap. Despite my thinking that this haircut is actually quite decent, I have it on good authority that it isn't.

This photograph scares me. The wet fringe is quintessentially Russian, and the wispy, ginger tufts are an eyesore. I think we can all agree that this one takes the biscuit.

By the time I had moved to Brazil, I was sporting rather more dashing locks. Though far from perfect, it was a hugely necessary improvement.

Before long, I had been convinced to start wearing hats. Whether this was to cover my hair or not, it certainly didn't work as a fashion statement.

Carnaval presented fresh opportunities, namely, wearing green dresses and green wigs. It was popular with the locals; I remain convinced by this look.

Over the next few months not much was to change. However, two days ago, I was attacked by a Colombian barber, armed with clippers and scissors. It is quite amazing that here in Medellin, the home of the mullet, my lid is one of the worst. 

The Brazilian Truth

The World Cup is well and truly over. Brazil is once again shrouded in South American mystery, no more than a country of stereotypes that the World Cup has only enhanced. Despite countless protests brought about by high government spending on the tournament, it would seem that Brazil’s beaches, carnaval culture and football-crazy inhabitants still capture our imagination. Although, on second thoughts, that last one has taken a bit of a beating. Losing 7-1 is bad at the best of times, but in a World Cup semi final, at home, for a nation that unhesitatingly proclaims itself as the greatest of all time, it is an unimaginable embarrassment; the ultimate humiliation.

And yet, just like the rest of the world has turned a blind eye to the social problems engulfing the country, Brazilians have already managed to put that defeat to the back of their minds. Rather than smarting from a fresh and hefty wound, Brazil is moving on in a variety of ways. During and immediately after the game, the tears and anger were well-documented, but in the week following that result, amusement and indifference were the overriding emotions. The attempt to cope with such disappointment has to be respected, but on the other hand, for a country that practically worships football, the people were awfully quick to get over it. This irked me momentarily before I remembered that it is a classic Brazilian trait, one that you’re unlikely to find in the guidebooks.

I touched upon this a few months ago, claiming that Brazilian football fans are fair weather supporters, from the ‘sing when you’re winning’ crop. It turns out that I was wrong. The Brazilian football fan is a delusional nutcase, expecting too much of his team and arrogant to the point of madness. For example, Brazilians present at the group game match between Russia and Belgium were chanting “second division” because they were unimpressed with the standard of play. Now, in a country where Fred, Brazil’s centre forward, looks good in the first division, such claims are simply ridiculous. If you’re struggling to remember Fred, he was that bloke up front in the yellow shirt, doing absolutely nothing.

But what really riled me, particularly during the tender moments following England’s defeat to Uruguay, were the chants of “eliminado” (eliminated) to the losing team’s supporters. I consider myself a passionate fan; winning feels fantastic and losing really, really hurts. That cold afternoon in Sao Paulo was painful on a number of levels: shivering from the cold, smarting from bruised legs sustained during England’s equaliser and Uruguay’s winner, and feeling the lump in my throat that comes with knowing that there’s a four year wait before I can start to dream again. The taunts of unsympathetic Brazilians really did nothing to brighten my outlook on life. It’s something I would never do to opposing fans, especially if my own team wasn’t involved in the fixture! Alas, for Brazilians, just supporting your own team isn’t enough. They won’t be happy unless everyone else is suffering.

Of course, Brazilians’ attitude to football changes when they lose. The arrogance and ‘fanaticism’ disappears, replaced by nothing. It was as if such a monumental event as the World Cup had never happened. Their ability to deal with failure is alarmingly small. For a sporting event, sweeping your problems under the rug may be an adequate solution, but in October, Brazil has its general election. Current president, Dilma Rousseff has endured a relatively unsuccessful term in office, despite everything looking bright when she took over. The Workers’ Party has been in power for 12 years now. The previous man in change, Lula, had very high approval ratings, as the government spearheaded strong economic growth. But his disappearance from the public eye in recent months shows a cowardly lack of support for his party. Perhaps he feels that if he isn’t involved, it isn’t happening, much like a small child will think you have disappeared when it covers its eyes during a jovial game of hide-and-seek.

Economically speaking, I would go so far as to describe Brazil as a teenager. Following a rapid growth spurt, the country is dealing with new problems, but refuses to take responsibility for its actions. Rather than manage the situation in a grown-up way, Brazil is relying on the fact that it is still young and lovable enough to be forgiven. But this won’t last for much longer. Brazil needs some serious action to deal with its enormous disparity in wealth, as well as other basic infrastructure issues that plague the cities in which the vast majority of the population live. My worry is Dilma returning for another term and just not doing what needs to be done. Fortunately, the well-publicised overspending of the World Cup and the harrowing defeat to the Germans may swing the control of the country into a fresh pair of hands.

Whatever ends up happening, there is one thing that Brazil still feels strongly about: FIFA. This terrible organisation, fuelled by greed and corruption was never welcome in the country. The FIFA flag was booed at every game I attended and the graffiti around all cities will testify that Sepp Blatter and his crooked cronies were not wanted. One would hope that all manner of scandals, ranging from serious corruption allegations, to evidence that ticket touts were doing ‘business’ at FIFA’s hotel on Copacabana beach, might see an end to this tyranny, but it remains unlikely. Perhaps, a new president could publicly denounce FIFA for years to come as a reminder of what the Workers’ Party did. But, of course, all that will probably be forgotten too…

I realise that some of these views are perhaps a tad strong, but I found myself getting fed up of the disillusionment in the last month of my stay. That’s not a dig at Brazil or any of the friends I made there, just at some portions of society and certainly the powers that be. It’s a shame because I found myself having little sympathy for the nation as they succumbed to their semi final defeat, despite the many happy memories it has bestowed on me these past six months. The time has come for me to move on, as the final six weeks of my journey takes me to Canada, Colombia and Argentina before a return to England’s green and pleasant land. The information I have divulged above is fresh in my mind, but in Brazilian style, I may be able to let it slip my mind in the coming months. The memories that will stay are those of the people who made my stay so enjoyable, the strain of working hard in such a beautiful city, the most marvellous World Cup month I could have wished for, and of course, views like this one. I’m sure I’ll be back.

My final sunrise in Rio

My World Cup

What a tournament. The football was attacking, brave, intense and full of goals. Records were broken; the hosts were obliterated in one of the most remarkable games I have ever seen; Costa Rica and Algeria stole the hearts of many; and England failed yet again. On a personal level, I went to seven games, saw 17 goals and England twice. The experience of being here has been completely different to what it is like at home, as you would imagine. Words like atmosphere, mood, vibe (for those of you so inclined) get thrown around and yet they don't do much to really explain what it's like. Your life becomes part of the tournament; you are exposed to so much talk about it; so many adverts, signs and fans from all over the world. In an attempt to explain my personal excitement and a little bit of what the mood was like here, below are my favourite world cup goals.

Neymar vs. Croatia (Brazil 1-1 Croatia)

My seat for the World Cup's opening game was at the Fan Fest in Salvador. I remember being dangerously excited. The moment my life had been leading up to for 3 years had finally arrived; the World Cup had started. And yet my party with thousands of Brazilians was put on hold when Marcelo turned Ivica Olic cross into his own net. Croatia winning was something no one outside of Zagreb had really contemplated, and certainly no Brazilians. Fortunately, Neymar restored parity with a scuffed shot that squeezed its way into the bottom corner. Everyone went mental, it was marvellous.

Sturridge vs. Italy (England 1-1 Italy)

England's first goal of the tournament, when hopes were high and life worth living. After starting brightly, but going a goal down, Rooney whipped a great ball across the box and Sturridge was there to apply the finish. Cue the dancing. I was watching the game with an Italian friend in a small town called Lencois, 6 hours away from Salvador. My jumping and squeals were arguably a little over the top for the small bar, especially when my friend had done little more than clench his fist in celebrating Italy's goal. My punishment for this was a broken flip-flop; my second pair of havianas to have fallen before their time. Serious Rio problems.

Rooney vs. Uruguay (England 1-1 Uruguay)

As I'm English, it was always likely that there would be a couple of England goals on this list. The embarrassing thing is that there were literally only a couple for me to celebrate. I saw our second and final goal of the tournament in the stadium in São Paulo. Still struggling to come to terms with the fact that we were losing again, but not yet fearing the worst, this goal was a mixture of ecstasy and relief. Glen Johnson's only useful contribution presented Rooney with a chance that even he, in his World Cup goal drought form, could not miss. It was sheer mayhem. I was up on the seats roaring at the top of my lungs, casting my eyes over a beer-stained scene, strewn with the hopes of deflated Uruguayans. Alas, we lost just a few minutes later, but I am glad that I got to have my moment of delight at an England game.

Varela vs. USA (Portugal 2-2 USA)

My love for Cristiano Ronaldo is borderline dangerous. No matter what people say, I think he's just fantastic. Any complaints you might have, I can see past them for the simple reason that he is a phenomenal footballer. His talent, development and bravado with the ball make him the world's best player in my opinion. As for the arrogance? Believe the hype, he is as good as he says. A disappointing tournament for him ended prematurely. He received a lot of criticism during games, but I stood by him. His outstanding cross for Portugal's 95th minute equaliser left me screaming and jumping up and down in Rio's Fan Fest, surrounded by Americans, but more importantly, with my Portuguese flatmate. We did not hold back, and although the Portuguese didn't make it through, it was lovely to keep the yanks quiet for a while...

James vs. Uruguay (Colombia 1-0 Uruguay) 

This was the goal of the tournament and I was high up in the Maracanã to see it. Surrounded by Colombians, understandably going bonkers, I must have uttered the phrase ‘what a goal’ about 20 times in the immediate aftermath. It was as if the ball hitting his chest was a trigger to start his body in motion, twisting and turning to allow his left foot to come up and volley a spectacular goal in off the underside of the crossbar. It was footballing poetry; it was marvellous.

The quarter finals onward were a bit of a disappointment if truth be told, in terms of the quality of football. But of course, Brazil’s 7-1 humiliation really was something to behold. Watching it with distraught Brazilians on the beach was certainly an experience: the shock on everyone’s faces will stay with me for a while. And in the end Germany won. Clinical, efficient, ruthless Germany did the job that they’ve been threatening to do for the last 15 years. We should have seen it coming to be honest. 

A Typical World Cup Week

This was due to be one of the best weeks of my life: tickets to my first two England games, in a Brazilian World Cup. Coming off the back a promising opening performance, I was genuinely of the belief that we would qualify. What followed was something that I could never have contemplated.

I arrived in São Paulo nervous, but excited. The beers were flowing, I was interviewed by a couple of Brazilian TV networks and got involved with the first-rate England support. My favourite chant was probably "you're just a s*** Argentina", which amused me, but bemused the Uruguayans, who seemed to believe that we had simply mistaken their nationality. The only downside to the morning was the bitterly cold weather. In my haste, and perhaps my English stubbornness, I had left the house in just shorts and a t-shirt, completely underestimating the 8 degree cold.

in high spirits before kick off

I needn't harp on about the game. Suffice to say, the other team had a cannibalistic, rat-like and unfortunately rather talented striker, that we simply did not. The taunts of unsympathetic Brazilians did nothing to better my mood and it's fair to say that the 6 hour bus journey back to Rio was one of the year abroad's low points: hungover, freezing cold and utterly gutted.

Fortunately, the weekend provided the perfect pick-me-up, in the form of a night in a 5-star hotel and a trip to the hospitality section of the Maracanã. Under the guise of a Portuguese-Russian translator, it was also the first time my degree combination has actually made any sense. Getting back into the Russian was difficult after a 4 and a half month absence, but I got by just fine and the friendly Muscovites for whom I was working once again served to banish the ludicrous stereotype that Russians can be cold or unfriendly. One of them did look like a bear though...

there are worse free seats...

Before long, it was off to Belo Horizonte for England's first World Cup dead rubber in many a year. Clear blue skies and a burning sun set the scene for one of the worst games of football I've ever sat through. Drab would be a kind adjective to describe it. However, safe in the knowledge that we were already out, the mood with the fans was far more enjoyable that the previous week. Our singing for hours after the game will have taught the Brazilian onlookers what it really means to support your team. Trees were climbed, chairs were broken and locals were deafened as we well and truly made our mark. Tremendous fun.

The other highlight of Belo Horizonte was the chance to experience Brazilian hospitality at its finest. My local friend, Washington, insisted on showing me around the city and his friend, Charles gave myself and a mate a place to stay. It was a very kind gesture and certainly made our short stay in Belo Horizonte worthwhile. Supposedly boasting the most bars per capita in the world, the city certainly had its charm, cracking views and apparently a love of building things. Everywhere we went, new high-rises were under construction, giving the impression that this city is literally on the up.

Belo Horizonte = Beautiful Horizon

I boarded that 6 hour bus in far higher spirits than the previous week. England are gone, sadly. But on the bright side, we are only just coming to the end of the group stages and the best part of the Copa is upon us. If the first half was that good, then I can only dream what the second half will be like...

Kick Off

The games have begun. Madness is upon us. Gringos have descended upon the country, worsening the traffic, but enhancing the party atmosphere. Patriotism is everywhere and Copacabana beach smells far more of sun cream than it ever did when occupied mostly by locals. It has been 10 days since I last wrote, and a phenomenal lot has happened in that time, not least the first week of the world’s greatest sporting event. Here is a brief summary.

My birthday celebrations were lovely. After four hours working in the morning, there was plenty of time for a long-awaited lazy afternoon on the beach with swimming, football and Pimms, something I had been saving for a couple of months. I even overcame a linguistic hurdle in managing to successfully exchange the crate of non-alcoholic lager that I had mistakenly bought in preparation for the festivities, for something slightly more flavoursome. An evening at Pedra do Sal, a street-samba party was the icing on the cake.

The majority of the week was spent up in the northeast of Brazil, in the Bahia region. Its capital, Salvador (incidentally Brazil’s first capital city many years ago), was playing host to several juicy World Cup games that had not escaped my notice when the draw was made last year. But first up was a visit to Salvador’s Fan Fest, a specific place for fans to convene and watch the match together on the big screen, surrounded by the many-headed beast that is FIFA and its sponsors. However, the beers and multitude of people gave it all a ‘carnaval’ feel and Brazil’s victory meant for an enjoyable evening.  

Holland 5-1 Spain

The two games I saw were Spain vs Holland and Germany vs Portugal; four European powerhouses going hammer and tongs; 10 goals in 2 games and a royal spanking for the Iberian Peninsula. Naturally, I was hoping to see the Spaniards lose, but 5-1 was beyond my wildest dreams. The second game was somewhat harder to choose sides as England doesn’t have a particularly good history against either of them, but I chose Portugal partly so that I could join in the chants and pretend to the foreigners that I was Portuguese, but mainly because of Ronaldo. He didn’t play too well, but I was just happy to be 10 metres away from him…

The king. 

In between the two matches, things got a little hectic. With two flatmates and one rogue Italian (he’s actually lovely, I’m just bitter), I rented a car in Salvador and embarked on a long journey that would take me over 1000km in 3 days and into the heart of the Chapada Diamantina national park. Sensational would be an understatement. The scenery was beautiful and being out in the middle of nowhere with a little Fiat ‘Attractive’ made it all the more special. The highlights were the ‘Morro de Pai Inácio’, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the Lion King, and the ‘Poço Azul’, an underground pool of remarkable depth, which was a blue as a smurf’s bottom.

Me on top of the world

Paradise pool

Getting back behind the wheel was also a lot of fun. From Brazilian motorways to dirt tracks, we saw it all, fortunately managing to avoid the major problems of speed bumps the size of horses and 26 metre-long lorries that overtake uphill and around blind corners. However, the journey did make me realise just how massive Brazil is. Relative to its size, we went nowhere. Although of course, the best part was realising that Brazil really has it all. The beaches on the coast to the mountains and rainforests inland; there is an abundance of diversity all over the place, just waiting to be discovered.

 

Capoeira at a waterfall

The Fiat 'Attractive'

All too soon, it was time to go home. After oversleeping, I raced to the airport only for the flight to be delayed, and eventually arrived home after a full day’s travelling. But I suppose you have to look on the bright side. I had seen two cracking games and visited some of Brazil’s finest places. What’s more, I’m off to São Paulo in a few hours for this big one. Uruguay, your move.

It's coming home.

Violence and Favelas: Is It Really That Bad?

Latin America has a bad reputation for violence. Many people consider Brazil a dangerous place. But I wonder whether this label is just. Is Brazil as violent and dangerous as people say?

One question that seems to come up every time I go anywhere in the world is: ‘did you feel safe there?’ It can be difficult to answer because it is often when you let your guard down that bad things can happen. Even the world’s ‘safest’ cities have their dangerous spots, where any number of things can go wrong. I know that’s a bit of a cop out, but it is true. That said, there are a few places that I have felt a little uneasy and I suppose that Rio de Janeiro would make it on this list.

World Homicide rates (the darker the worse)

The ‘Cidade Maravilhosa’ certainly is a different kettle of fish. There is an immense disparity of wealth. Seeing homeless people sprawled across the pavement, fast asleep, is an everyday sight. On the flip side, Ipanema is home to some of the most expensive real estate on the continent. I’m not insinuating that homeless people are a precursor to violence and danger, just that this vast wealth disparity gives you some idea of the huge differences in society. I think it goes some way to explaining why crime is rife.

Muggings are commonplace. Rio receives millions of visitors a year and they really do stand out. The sunburn is the main giveaway, but if you get close enough to hear what language they’re speaking, you’ve really sussed them out. Naturally, muggers and pickpockets target these people, as they are likely to be less streetwise around the city. I consider myself fairly streetwise, but it didn’t stop me from getting mugged on my third day here. A man appeared with a knife and I had to bid my phone good day.

The trick is trying to be constantly aware. Not carrying too much cash around and flaunting any technological devices are obviously rules of thumb. But I now find myself looking around occasionally, trying to determine if anyone is watching or following me. It’s a shame that I don’t feel completely at ease, especially as, since that day, I have never once felt threatened. It is, of course, better to be safe than sorry and getting complacent as I head into the final stretch of my stay would be foolish.

Pacification of Maré favela (www.zimbio.com)

By far the most irritating thing is that I rarely take my camera out. It is so conspicuous and something that immediately singles me out as a tourist. The fact that the majority of my memories of this city will be just memories, in a world where photos are taken of pretty much everything in life, disappoints me. In the parts of London, Bristol and Tomsk that I regularly frequent, I have almost never felt remotely under threat, and certainly never enough to force me to leave my camera at home.

In my opinion, one of the reasons people associate Rio with violence and danger stems from the favelas, or ‘communities’ as they are officially know. These are the opportunistic neighbourhoods that sprung up on Rio’s hillsides as more and more people flocked to the cities in search of work. Perversely, the best views in the city are almost exclusively found in favelas, by far the poorest parts of the city. In recent years, the city’s government has made steps to register these favelas as official parts of the city, by ‘pacifying’ them. Run by drug lords, the police infamously used to turn a blind eye to the illegality and injustice that reigned inside these communities. But now, tanks and armed soldiers have been thrown in, attempting to seize control and give rise to law-abiding communities with access to all public services. The so-called ‘pacification’ of the Maré favela was well publicised, largely because it was anything but peaceful.

the view from Vidigal favela

 The desire of many inhabitants of favelas is for the dangerous taboo to be removed. In my experience, locals are only too happy for ‘gringos’ to come and see their communities, dispelling the myth that these are out of control war-zones. From a night of jazz music in Catete favela on Friday to a film viewing in Cantagalo favela the week before, there is so much on offer and those experiences that you really can’t get at home are not to be missed. When you speak to residents, you realise that overwhelming majority are just hard working, genuine people, aiming to live a life devoid of violence and crime.

Unfortunately, many of Rio’s other inhabitants, those who live in the more affluent areas, have developed a fear of favelas, which further damages the favelas' reputation. They want nothing to do with them, believing them to be recipes for disaster, accidents waiting to happen and any other cliché of your choosing. As far as I'm concerned, if you flaunt what you’ve got or go wandering down unknown streets, you are asking for trouble, but otherwise you have nothing to worry about. As I said, danger can manifest itself anywhere in the world.

the view from Catete favela (not a great camera in my defence)

The stats may say that Brazil has higher carjacking and homicide rates than most, but I genuinely believe that if you use your common sense, you will be fine. Touch wood. What’s more, I don’t have a car. The main downside of its bad reputation for me personally, is that I am forever on my toes; a small price to pay for my safety. It remains to be seen whether my theory is correct, as millions of tourists pour into the country for the World Cup. Hearing English has already become more of a regular occurrence and the thieves may be licking their lips in anticipation. 

Maz: A Dancing Hazard

Dancing is a wonderful pastime. Whether its exercise, enjoyment, releasing tension or just having a laugh you seek, dancing may well be the answer. Now, I would say I can dance. It may not be a style recognised by many, or one that is particularly easy on the eye, but I believe that I can contort my body into sufficiently noticeable shapes, for it to be considered dancing. True, it may lack the grace and respectability of a waltz, the concentration and poise of ballet, or even the wow-factor of break dancing. But we all dance. That’s a fact.

The Marrows enjoying a dance

In Brazil, being able to dance well is a serious asset, both to your social standing and your chances with the fairer sex. Surprising though it may seem, I am not talking about flailing limbs endangering those around you, or when, in seeking new levels of originality, you end up incorporating a marriage proposal into your routine and end up having to apologise to the girl in question. No, I am talking about the irresistible allure of skilful hip movement, a man who oozes detestable flair, or the downright arrogance of two intertwined bodies moving effortlessly across the room. That is the dancing that is sought after here. Self-deprecation is not a trait admired by many; dedication and genuine talent are far more preferable.

As you can imagine, this has left me in a bit of an awkward situation. Do I take the easy option and continue to prance around like a plonker, or attempt to hone my skills, despite the Brazilians having had a lifetime of a head start? I have, of course, attempted to improve, watching videos and listening to advice from amused onlookers, but it has not been easy. For one thing, there are several different styles. From samba to forró, frevo to carimbo, the list is seemingly endless. All are unique and you have to learn accordingly, although they all seem to involve violent hip and foot movement that should be beyond the capabilities of a lumbering buffoon such as myself. Here are the few Brazilian dances I have come across:

Samba

This is a dance and genre of music that has become synonymous with Brazil. It has become such a recognisable part of the country's identity that you will probably have seen images of flamboyantly dressed samba dancers to do with almost everything Brazilian. Samba first appeared in my life only in musical form, when I used to play in a Brazilian drumming group at school. Becoming accustomed to the infectious beat of the 'surdo', the characteristic call of the 'repinique' and the patter of the 'tamborim', does not take long.

Probably the sort of thing you've seen before 

However, dancing samba has been considerably more challenging. During carnaval, it was everywhere. As far as I can tell, the aim of samba is to move your hips as fast as you possibly can. I usually end up just shaking my entire body or spasming out of control, which only serves to entertain, or perhaps irritate, the locals. There is foot movement involved, but mastering this art is rendered almost impossible by the flip-flop, sadly my footwear of choice during the festivities. That, alas, is my best excuse.

"Where's the wally?" (Jazzzone Brazilian Bateria)

Forró

Forró is the dance that I have worked hardest at. It is a dance for lovers, which immediately makes it far more awkward than most others. Also, it is male-led, which is a nightmare for me. Leading a dance when you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re doing is rather tricky. Whilst maintaining very close contact, you have to try and let your bodies move seamlessly together across the room, gliding your way effortlessly through the couples. In my experience, there is a lot of bumping into people, treading on my partner’s feet and endless apologising.

Unsuccessful attempt to find a dance partner (note the girl's pitying expression on the right)

There is a great club for dancing forró in Lapa, which I have been to a couple of times. Before going I always have a little stretch, not least because it is often the most exercise I get in the week. My first visit was enjoyable, but I didn’t pluck up the courage to ask a Brazilian to dance. On my second appearance, I went for it and was shot down not once, not twice, but three times. My confidence gone, I stayed with the gringos. After clearly spending a couple of hours doing it wrong, I also went home with a slight pain in my lower back, just to add insult to injury. Although maybe that should be adding injury to insult, giving the embarrassment of my earlier rejections. 

Hunched and concentrated. She must be loving it.

Capoeira

I haven’t actually tried capoeira, a kind of marshal art/ dance, just seen it a couple of times. You may remember a BBC One trail with men dressed in white trousers, performing a slow-motion ‘fight’ on a rooftop. This is capoeira. The aim is not to touch each other, but to present this rather beautiful image of floating bodies. It requires a lot of physical strength to maintain the positions and pull off all the moves. It's probably a good thing that I haven't really had the opportunity to try this one. I would no doubt end up changing this majestic dance into a fully-fledged contact sport. Better left alone. 

Capoeira on the BBC (Look out for the broadcaster saying 'goodnight' twice. It made me chuckle.)

Of course, in regular clubs, I’m back to what I’m used to. No expressions of extreme concentration or moments of awkward stumbling, just me failing to mouth the words to a song, oblivious to pretty much everything around me. But hey, as long as I'm having a good time, right?

P.S If you couldn't find me in the photo the Brazilian drumming group, I'm the moron in the rainbow shirt and the white top hat. 

World Cup Watch: Brazil's Identity Crisis

The World Cup is 18 days away. I am giddy with excitement, exacerbated by successfully picking up my tickets on Friday and the fact that Brazil flags and bunting has started going up in shops and bars all over the city. Finally, the fever is creeping in. But it is far later than normal, I’m told. Usually, the decorations go up over a month before the World Cup’s opening and Brazilians throw themselves exuberantly into everything that it entails: parties, bank holidays and, fairly regularly, watching their country win. But this year has been different. Delays and overspending, two things that seem to happen at every major sporting event, have tarnished the build-up to what should be Brazil’s moment in the sun. But unlike other major sporting events, protests by the local people have overshadowed the preparations even more. I don’t know how much has been heard about them outside of Brazil, but here they are a really big deal.

A happy man with my World Cup tickets

The main reason for the protesting, as far as I’m aware, is that the government have spent billions of reais on the ‘Copa’. This is in a country where social inequality is huge, millions are in poverty and basic infrastructure can be painfully limited. However, you could arguably be forgiven for thinking that the Brazilian public might see past the problems for the reward of hosting the World Cup. I mean, Brazilians spend all day on the beach, watching football or partying, right?

That’s the thing, they don’t. It’s true that football and the beach are big parts of life in Rio de Janeiro, but far less than the British media might have you believe. I find it very interesting to see that all British advertising for the World Cup seems to be exclusively based in Rio, just one of 12 cities to be hosting matches during the tournament. It is true that Rio is the centre of the Brazilian stereotype and its picturesque landscape naturally makes it the most appealing place to visit. But this is a huge country and there is so much more to it, in terms of landscape and culture. In the next month or so I will be visiting other places, but I won’t be scratching the surface of what is on offer.

Someone who did ‘scratch the surface’ is Michael Palin, who wrote a book and made a television show about Brazil. It’s a good read and gives you a taste of the vast diversity in the country, but the picture it paints is very positive, conforming to the stereotype that everyone here is constantly delighted. I met Tim Vickery, the BBC’s South American football correspondent, who said that Palin’s book is now almost irrelevant because so much has changed in the couple of years since he wrote it. He would now have to focus much more on the social unrest, protests against the Copa and the government, as well as showing that not all Brazilians are ecstatic with their current state of affairs.

Palin's Brazilian experience

Vickery stated that there has never been a more fascinating time to be here. The country is changing before our eyes, as the people realise the power their voice can have. The general election takes place at the beginning of October and there is a definite possibility that the World Cup will influence its outcome. I believe there will be protests during the tournament; it will be unavoidable. For that reason, pressure will be on those election candidates to deliver what the people want, especially as the eyes of the world will be on Brazil.

Looking specifically at the World Cup protests, it is easy to see why people are so annoyed. The stadia have taken the brunt of the abuse. The enormous delays in construction as well as the deaths of several workers have attracted attention. And perhaps most irritatingly, these are all things that the government could have avoided. FIFA suggested 8-10 stadia for the tournament, but the Brazilian organisers decided to have 12 host cities, in order to spread the tournament around the country. Several cities, Manaus and Brasilia, for example, have no good club teams and it is unlikely that these will ever reach full capacity again, except perhaps if Brazil were to play a friendly there. As a result, no private companies have taken an interest in funding the projects, meaning that all of the money has come from the government and, therefore, the taxpayer’s pocket. Quite how FIFA agreed to this is beyond me.

A protestor burns a World Cup sticker book

Secondly, politicians and Ronaldo, the World Cup’s all-time top goal scorer and a member of the 2014 World Cup team, have been talking about “o jeitinho brasileiro”, which would translate as “the Brazilian way”. This refers to the act of getting things done, but in a far more relaxed manner and ‘leaving everything to the last minute’ kind of way. Holding “o jeitinho brasileiro” responsible for your arriving late to a party might be just about acceptable, but for the construction of 12 stadia, not to mention drastically improving public transport, airports, roads, hotels, public services and security, it is ludicrous, quite frankly.

If anything, what the situation has demonstrated to me is that England should be hosting another World Cup very soon. FIFA’s attempts to spread the World Cup to Asia and Africa are all well and good, but Japan, South Korea and South Africa are all dealing with the problem of stadia becoming ‘white elephants’. Brazil, even with its well-documented footballing traditions will probably face the same problems. The decision to award Qatar the 2022 World Cup was a disgrace, but the one saving grace is that the Qataris have enough money to throw at it, without feeling the wrath of the people. FIFA needs to give the tournament to countries with footballing tradition that are capable of managing it.

For Brazil, it remains to be seen how the Copa will pan out. Stadia should be full and the public will get behind it, but I am certain the ramifications of the protests will be felt. The country could even begin to show the world that life here it is not just a samba-fuelled, football, 24-hour beach party. Gone are the days where a World Cup win might make everyone forget about the social problems. Whatever happens, the tournament should throw up a few shocks.

Nights Out And Caipirinhas

Rio de Janeiro is famed as being one of the world’s party capitals. This is no lie. Party-happy Brazilians occupy the city’s bars every night of the week, spilling out onto the streets. Meanwhile, millions of tourists come every year to wreak havoc in clubs, beaches and pretty much anywhere else they can find. It is a city that attracts people with its splendours: year-round sun, beaches and a phenomenal variety of fruit that almost rivals its cultural diversity. As a result, it is certainly a happening place and this translates to a lively nightlife scene.

The first thing to mention is the caipirinha, Brazil’s favourite cocktail, made from cachaça (a sugarcane based spirit), ice, lots of crushed lime and alarming amounts of sugar. My first few weeks here were spent revelling in the brilliance of this drink. Refreshingly zingy, the strength of the pure alcohol masked by a sweet, citrus layer, it is a drink that will bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses of the recipient. In other words, it will get you drunk quicker than you realise, such that you’ll have already bought your fourth one before it’s too late. However, about a month into this cachaça-fuelled existence, its supposed wonder had faded and the caipirinha became nothing more to me than a sticky, sickly addition to the hangover. From time to time, I still indulge.

a typical lapa street stall

Indeed, when consumed sparingly, the caipirinha is superb. On the beach it serves as an antidote to the heat and your dehydration, while on the streets of Lapa, Rio’s weekend haven of crowds and dangerously cheap beverages, it will give you enough confidence to try that samba move, or approach that stunning girl. Lapa is synonymous with partying. A large square under an imposing aqueduct becomes home to street stalls, selling caipirinhas of every flavour imaginable and some marvellous food. The local haunt is one stall that sells a litre of caipirinha for a mere 6 reais (about £1.50). Having overdosed on the original lime variant during carnaval, I have since moved onto several other flavours, settling on mango or strawberry as a favourite, only after a harrowing encounter with a passion fruit.

Aside from cheap drinks and sumptuous snacks, Lapa houses street performers, jazz bars and clubs, with music ranging from samba and Brazilian funk to the painful depths of remixed Pitbull. On the weekend these places will be heaving with punters and there’s rarely a dull moment, not least because of a peculiar approach to paying. In almost every drink-serving establishment, you will be given a card, which will list everything you have consumed. This card will be paper or electronic, depending, I suppose, upon the sophistication of the establishment. You may not leave until the debt has been paid. The electronic cards are particularly dangerous because there is no way of knowing how many drinks you have ordered until you hand it over to the cashier upon leaving; it is, undoubtedly, one of life’s tensest moments. I did once see a rather unfortunate, and let’s face it, simple girl, who found herself without enough money to pay for the countless drinks she had happily imbibed, believing everything to be free. Well, she might have said ‘countless’, but the card knew. It always knows.

lapa's arches by day

Despite the abundance of venues, finding the perfect place to while away the evening has proved to be somewhat challenging. I have found myself at a ‘gringo’ party far too often for my liking, where the people and music are very similar to what I might find at home. My pursuit of a more authentic Brazilian night has been to ask locals (who have been surprisingly unhelpful) and just wing it (which rarely produces successful results). Of course, I have been to my fair share of Brazilian-themed affairs, particularly during carnaval, but also on the odd night where you come up trumps and find yourself dancing to an unknown music style, surrounded by exuberant cariocas. The most spectacular night was arguably spent in Vidigal, a favela that overlooks Ipanema beach and the Lagoa. Ironically, the main demographic present was of a similarly ‘gringo’ persuasion. What a pity.

this happens in lapa 

But, of course, the sheer brilliance of Rio’s nightlife lies in its unpredictability. No evening is the same. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but on the flip side, sometimes it can be incredible. And it embodies the Brazilian attitude of taking it easy and just seeing what happens. My initial incredulity at the inefficiency of many things here was not an opinion shared by many, and certainly by very few Brazilians. But gradually, I have become accustomed to the fact that although some things may seem ridiculous, it really has little bearing on my life. And let’s face it, if you can’t have a good time here, then where can you?