SĆ£o Paulo The pink paper 8 June I arrive at the hostel in Paraiso, it's absolutely adorable! 3 dorms, only sleeps about 40. It feels more like a mates house. It's small enough that you meet everyone pretty quickly, and no one is more lovely than the girls that run it. There's 3 ozzies and 3 Pakistanis. The difference in their attitudes is amazing. Don't get me wrong, I love ozzies and their attitude toward travel, but occasionally you meet some that have come to take it for granted and seem indifferent about many of their destinations. I'm as guilty as any of accidentally saying I've 'done' a country, but they were ademant that they felt they had 'done' Peru in 2 weeks and Bolivia in one.. Then I started meeting Julianas :) one had offered me a place on couchsurfing (but I bottled it at the last minute). Then there was a Chilean Juliana who had come to visit her brother. Now here is something I knew nothing about - apparently in Palestine, footballers and coaches are subject to all sorts of violence and abuse. They are stopped by police, their pitches and homes trashed, equipment confiscated, and there are claims that players have been attacked and even killed. Juliana's brother is a footballer and plays for Palestine, and they had come to Sao Paolo to play a friendly to raise awareness and protest to FIFA. Yet more examples of politics and violence affecting football. Back to the hostel. We had a couple of drinks, and since it was my first night I gave in to the very mainstream suggestion of a pub crawl. 40 Rls would get you free drinks for an hour plus 4 bars and 4 shots. The first place was and empty room with beer and tourists, but each place was better than the last. By the third we were in full swing Latino dancing - even got me some reggaeton! The last place Grazie a Deo was brilliant, live band, a good mix of locals and travellers, and only Brazilian music :) Local Juliana had come to meet us with her boyfriend, it turned out I was also her first and she had also been a bit scared, but we hit it off and soon she was teaching us all the local dances! Now I will embark on my first rant about Brazilian payment systems. I hope by the end of my trip, I will have a better understanding of these. So far I'm guessing security is the concern since places tend to have one payment place and an array of tracking methods. Some places give you a card where they track what you order and you pay on the way out. Others give you a coupon, though they're all the same so I quickly learnt to pay for a vodka (17) and order a Mojito (25!). Grazie a Deo had an infamous pink paper. When I left I paid and decided to come back in. Then on my second time out they insisted without a pink paper I would have to pay 300 real! Not to bore you but a lengthy back and forth with the same guys who winked at me and said of course I could go back in and didn't need a paper wound up settling with 100 of my hard earned reales! Not nice. The next day I woke up to local Juliana who had come to wake me up. She had adorably made an itinerary for the two days I had left! We walked around the business centre of paulista, checked out some amazing markets. Some parts of the city remind me a lot of Berlin. There is art everywhere. Even construction sites are painted with ironic cartoons of lazy builders! One of my favourites was a tunnel to cross the road, the type that are usually very dodgy in any country. The entrance said: "There is no metro here, but we will take you for a break with art and knowledge". The walls are covered in pictures of old film stars and in the tunnel there is a makeshift gallery and library (see pics). I had worn my Colombia tshirt out and was in no way prepared for the tonne of Colombia shouts I got walking down Paulista! No more than a minute would go by before I heard another whoop! 16 years is a long time to wait, and Brazil's proximity has created the perfect storm of Colombian supporters. I met a bunch that were driving to all the matches! I think that'll be over 50 hours on the road with 4 people on the back seat! It just goes to show that Colombian passion and how proud we are to finally be receiving some well deserved positive publicity. They were being filmed by the national TV channel, so I wound up on TV! Not bad for day two :) For lunch I was finally able to try the famous feijoada. We went to Seu Domingo in Vila Magdalena. My heart sank as we'd been there the night before, where in my ignorance I'd opted for the cheapest sandwich which was exceptionally average (20R). The ozzies had paid 24R for a portion of chips and I had suffered through a scarring Caipirina (though that's totally on me, when will I learn that I hate Cachasa!). It's amazing how different your experience of the same place can be. On Saturday I went with locals, ordered the local food and drink and listened to the best local samba (sung by some less local Japanese legends!). The feijoada had 4 types of meat! A black bean and pork hotpot served with crackling, rice, veg and ahi. Originally created by slaves, they would take all the leftovers and cook them with beans hence the many types of pork. Once I'd stuffed myself silly I was more than ready for a nap. Chilean Juliana had had the same idea and we woke up at 10pm and didn't make it out till midnight. By now two Colombians had arrived, training wheels and all! I'd say they were about 20, but acted about 17. We headed to Augusta, which I had been told was where you would see all types of people partying and drinking on the street, hippes, emos, scaterboys, travellers and LGBT. Unfortunately this is still somewhat rare in South American countries, especially the heavily Catholic ones like Colombia. I have to say I was quite embarrassed at my fellow Colombian chaps who pointed and giggled like kindergarteners, I did give them a good bollocking. We jumped out of the taxi early because of the traffic, but this turned out to be the best part. Walking down around hundreds of young people of all backgrounds and styles was amazing. It was a proper mess. Locals sold 'shots' for 7R, this was a 3/4 filled plastic cup! There were people on the floor, blasting car speakers, queuing with shots and spilling out of clubs for a solid 20 blocks. When we finally got to Lab I wanted to be back out on the street. Upstairs was rock and downstairs was the pit of RnB, we couldn't last more than a couple of songs at a time but the atmosphere was awesome. A few hours and customary hotdog later we were ready for bed. JTH
