In the months prior to leaving Brazil I’d written about walking and psychogeography as means of finding new ways to see, explore and understand the complexities and unseen beauty of São Paulo. It was fitting then, that during those final few months I became increasingly aware of a stencilled call to arms which seemed to echo my own advocacy for urban exploration:
‘See the city’
In the context of an iconic SP location like Parque Ibirapuera – where I took the photograph above – ‘ver a cidade’ (see the city) seems to convey a fairly straightforward observation: look how beautiful our city is. Continue Reading
Below is an English translation of my article for the Brasil Post (Huffington Post). Enjoy.
“Não existe amor em SP” (Love doesn’t exist in SP), sings Criolo in that beautiful song of his. I must admit, I was inclined to agree with him when my Paulistano wife and I first moved to São Paulo from London just over two years ago.
During my first few months here the city felt like an impenetrable and ugly concrete jungle whose dense canopy consisted solely of bland high-rises. And, of course, there was the bumper-to-bumper traffic, smelly rivers and turnstiles on buses, which even now still baffle me.
Much of this I recorded on my blog, the book is on the table, which I started after my wife and sister-in-law thought my stereotypically grumpy British observations provided an amusing outsider’s perspective on life in São Paulo. Continue Reading
“Não existe amor em SP”, canta Criolo nessa linda canção. Devo admitir que estava inclinado a concordar com ele quando me mudei de Londres para São Paulo com a minha esposa há pouco mais de dois anos.
Nos primeiros meses na cidade me senti como se estivesse vivendo em uma selva de pedra impenetrável e feia; densa e recheada de arranha-céus sem graça. Além disso, havia o trânsito, os rios fedorentos e as catracas dos ônibus, que me intrigam até hoje.
Grande parte das minhas experiências está no meu blog, o the book is on the table, que comecei a escrever depois que a minha esposa e a minha cunhada disseram que minhas observações meio rabugentas e tipicamente britânicas apresentavam uma perspectiva divertida da vida de um estrangeiro em São Paulo.
Este é meu primeiro blog para o Brasil Post (Huffington Post) em português. Para continuar lendo, por favor clique neste link e vá para o site do Brasil Post.
This is an excerpt from my first post for the Brasil Post (Huffington post). To continue reading follow this link.
Ok, something a little different this week as today’s blog is a guest post by Lidi Albuquerque. Lidi is a Paulistano and translator who currently lives in New York, and having read my blog she invited me to take a look at her post about visiting Sampa after a two year absence. I think you’ll see that she shares many of the frustrations and affections about SP that I’ve often written about myself.
Anyway, without further ado, enjoy…(The original copy in Portuguese can be found at the bottom of the page).
Back to the Pauliceia…
Ticket in hand, bags packed… expectation and anxiety added to my luggage; everything is ready. Here I go, back to Brazil after two years of absence. When the plane begins to unveil my immense São Paulo, a smile starts to form and that “it’s good to be home” feeling starts to grow; a feeling that many exiles know so well. Even though I’ve lived in the US for eight years, five of them in New York, Brazil still is home to me. Continue Reading
Always keen to get my priorities straight, the first thing I sought to discover about Trujillo – once I’d received confirmation of my job here – was the name of the local football team. Fortunately, in São Paulo I had my good friend – and walking encyclopaedia of South American football – Euan Marshall to consult on the matter, and quicker than you can say “R2, fire up the converters,” he informed me that the team you are looking for is Club Deportivo Universidad César Vallejo.
Master Euan then went on to provide an evaluation of César Vallejo’s current squad, although I must admit I lost track when he recited the name of Peruvian goal machine (apparently) Andy Pando. I was distracted, not just because it is unusual to hear of a namesake of mine of South American origin, but because the last thing you expect is to find a Peruvian with kinship links to a puppet from the UK.
Pandy / Pando: separated at birth by a phoneme (and a sky blue stripe).
Upon arriving in Trujillo my next concern, obviously, was to locate Vallejo’s stadium, a problem that was resolved soon enough during my tour of the NGO’s staff house when I spotted the tell-tale sign of floodlights from the terraced roof: