Bilingual English

In the world of modern, competitive parenting, not giving your half-Brazilian child his bilingual birthright is seen as a mortal sin. But however Sam's international language skills do develop, I'm already finding it hard not to give him at least two different versions of English.

What a squeam

Sometimes, nesting with a toddler is like living with a drunk: stumbling and crashing all over the place; an excess of extreme emotions; lightning fast mood changes from sunny to psychotic. And back again. Thus it was today - a day on which Sam chose to grace us with his most charming, smiley and all-round adorable self for the entire morning, starting from the very moment he opened his eyes. Presumably he'd had a great night. But with a suddenness that was head-spinning, as he (presumably) decided his lunch was overdue, he pitched headlong into a quite demented and deafening squeaky-scream. Or was it a series of squeaks and screams ? Or perhaps a screamy squeak ? Or a squeam ? How do you define all these baby noises ?

More damn stats

Brazil economy overtakes UK. And on the other hand, this.

Hitchens part deux

Not sure if my previous post said what I wanted it to. I also made the usual mistake of publishing long before I had finished editing (and no doubt will do so again on this post). Anyone who reads this blog soon after posts appear is reading something often quite different from a reader of the same post a while later. Hitchens was praised for his ability to write publication-perfect prose at 100 miles an hour, often after drinking "enough to kill or stun the average mule."

Unreadiness is all

Our hyper-connected age means we often feel closer to strangers than to kith and kin. What is it to be involved with someone we have never met in person, or to feel that their existence / non-existence is deeply affecting our life ? Christopher Hitchens railed against the bogus sentimentalism that swept his native country when "The People's Princess" Diana died. And he said so very publicly not long after her pseudo-state funeral. Now we must do his memory the courtesy of avoiding such misplaced sentimentality and hagiography.

Sporting chance

Last night I played badminton for a second time at the Bethnal Green Technology College, open to the public in the evenings. It's a fairly new gym and pretty decent. As I was leaving, I couldn't help comparing and contrasting it with Clube Hebraica, one of only two badminton venues I found in Sao Paulo.

Play it again, Sam

Well, here it is ... again. Six months (almost to the day) after dad first began trying to secure your exit from Brazil and now at the ripe old age of 14 months, Sam, you've just received your third passport.

Occupy London

Kids and adults. Fathers and sons. The other day Sam amused himself in his usual way by taking the car keys, chewing them and at some mysterious moment, dropping them. The question is where ? Since they never turned up I can only guess it was down the toilet, perhaps as he reached to flush the chain - another new trick.

Like a Virgin

After suffering the nightmare of Telefonica Brazil's broadband - possibly faster than a carrier pigeon but certainly not fast enough to watch video, while at the same time being criminally expensive - I know I should be pathetically grateful for any old broadband back in Blighty. But human nature being what it is, I soon became itchy to test out the competition.

Neighbours

... everybody needs good neighbours. And here's another truism: when it rains, it pours. When it was "raining" in Sao Paulo, which was often - very often - it was amazing how many other things contributed to the soaking I received.

Unreal and unjust

After our violent robbery in June and subsequently being told by local police that I and my son were in danger of kidnapping unless we moved house, all I wanted to do was get back to the UK.

Stable door

There it goes again, slamming wildly long after the horses have bolted. I never thought I'd take such interest in the UKBA but after our experience I might be forgiven for becoming a bit obsessed with it. The vast incompetence and worse now being unearthed just adds to my bitterness about the overzealous, money-grubbing and punitive way we were treated, although hopefully it's all in the past tense now.

Misinformation Age

Coming back from the Stone Age that was life in Brazil has made me appreciate life in the UK a thousand times more. As we settle back into the London flat, the ability to order things online and have them delivered to the door - up four flights of stairs, thank you Amazon, Tesco et al - has been wondrous to behold. I am reborn as an online evangelist.

Now we are one

Yet another anniversary: I've been "hanging out" with you for exactly one year today, Sam, having arrived in Sao Paulo to meet you on October 27, 2010. Feels like a hell of a lot longer to me, and probably like a lifetime to you. 5.44 am. I'm staring at the nearly completed Shard, through my bedroom window, our window, a giant lighthouse on the doorstep. There was a lot less of it, and the beacon less bright, when your journey began here in this cosy corner of a foreign field. January 17, 2010, according to some sources.

Playing the price

A Brazilian woman, mother of one, at a recent playgroup in Oxford: "In Rio we owned our own place and earned more; here we are renting and on lower salaries. But with all the subsidised or free services available to you as a parent, as well as all the other things that make life here so much easier, we feel wealthier living in the UK."

Brazil is calling

So said the huge, wrap-around billboard ad on the Waterloo IMAX cinema, as we strolled in central London today. I turned to P and said: "Don't answer ! Let it ring."

A Job well done

Like many, I feel a sense of loss and sadness today that I can't imagine applying to any other fallen "business leader". With his "Just one more thing" presentations, Steve Jobs always represented the future rather than the past - the cutting edge in technology with a human face.

As someone just posted on Twitter, "Steve Jobs was born out of wedlock, put up for adoption at birth, dropped out of college, then changed the world. What's your excuse?"

I previously mentioned the Apple founder on this blog and also referred to his famous address to graduating students. Jobs may have been very tough as a boss - perhaps even cruel at times - but his humanity and vision is what we all remember as an era finally draws to a close.

RIP Steve.

Update: Interesting obit in the Telegraph, not always flattering.

Update 2: Beautiful tribute from his sister Mona.

Hayom harat olam

... or in English: "Today is the birthday of the world", aka Jewish New Year, aka Rosh Hashana 5772. It's also your first birthday, Sam. The weather here in Oxford was perfect, and so were you. In recent days you've been walking, saying "mama" and charming everyone as usual.

Happy First Birthday, son.

And happy new year for this year and every year to come.

End of the beginning

Three and a half weeks back in Britain and my son now has a British passport to add to his Brazilian one. None of us expected it to come so quickly or easily, such was the confusion and gloom over his status. Now we will try to make a life here and my ten months in Brazil will, I imagine, become just another travel adventure rather than a potential life sentence.

Unpaved memory lane

An article in the current issue of Folha de Sao Paulo talks about this blog's old bugbear: stone-age sidewalks in Sao Paulo.

Keep blogging and carry on

The devil has all the best tunes; paradise is boring. We've been back in Blighty for a fortnight now and my mood and blogging continue to be inversely correlated: unhappy equals more blogging, and vice versa. As I wrote in my recent post, life here feels so much sweeter after the bitterness of Sao Paulo. I'd like to write a national newspaper article telling downbeat Brits that despite all the doom and gloom, "You've never had it so good!" "Bankrupt Britain" is still light years ahead of "Booming Brazil". As a shopper, I'm overwhelmed by choice, quality and value. Where's all this crazy food inflation everyone keeps talking about ? It must have flown south across the Atlantic.

Keep calm and carry on

It seems as if every other Brazilian you meet has joint Italian, Spanish or Portuguese nationality. All they need is a grandparent from one of those countries to qualify. Why do countries, including others such as Poland, offer this generous benefit to people who appear, once they have it, to go and settle in the UK ? I've heard endless stories to this effect, with Britain's famous welfare state rolling out the red carpet to these instant EU "citizens".

Pae in the sky

We climbed into Sam's balloon and sailed off into the night. How is it possible to traverse a great ocean, from south to north as well as east to west, in less than half a day ? Do we really understand what we do when we fly ? Below us is the vast expanse of dark, watery oblivion but we simply sit and count the hours. Ten months ago I travelled in the opposite direction, going "on holiday" for a while. Now I was returning as a pae (father). The past is a foreign country, and so is anywhere that refuses entry to your flesh and blood. As we approached the Alt-neu land, the son began to rise and we mumbled our thanks to the Pae in the sky.

Retail therapy !

God knows, Britain has enough problems right now (time travellers see my next post on immigration). But the law of relativity means that after our first shopping experience back here in Blighty, we are like kids in a candy store, giddy with excitement. When it comes to retail, Britain is still a blessed land. Mothercare, Boots, Tesco and assorted smaller shops - today's brief expedition was a veritable orgy of product, price, quality, design and service.

Retail therapy ?

The other morning, our last in Brazil for now, P wanted to find some tokens of Brazil which we could take as presents to the UK. We walked up and down the local hills but came back empty-handed. No great surprise, since there really isn't much that is distinctive about Brazilian "culture", aside from some nice fruit, football, capoeira, samba, bikinis, flipflops ... urban Brazil simply tries to copy what is available much more widely and cheaply in more grown-up societies.

Gastronnovation

Did I just unwittingly innovate in my local paderia (bakery-cum-cafe) ? A rare solo outing, I found myself ordering yet another pao na chapa and cafe com leite. Surely I'm not becoming addicted ? But then, wanting something a little more adventurous, I asked for another old familiar: a pao da queijo, aka little white-bread ball stuffed with semi-baked cheese. Eaten fresh and hot they can be delicious, but stodgy and cold is bad news. So I asked for them "quente" (hot). What I got was this, the aforementioned ball cut in half, squashed flat and grilled just like a pao na chapa. Tasted pretty good, too. But my question is: did a possible misunderstanding by the waitress result in this interesting hybrid or is it just something I've not come across before ? I won't rest until my curiosity's appetite is sated !

PS: That big fat card next to the plate is something many places hand you when you walk in. All purchases are logged on the card's magnetic stripe and tallied up when you pay the cashier on leaving. It's so typical and infuriating of Brazil that when you ask them to give you just one collective card rather than one for each person in your group, thus freeing up precious table space, the underpaid staff look at you incomprehendingly and politely insist that you must have one each. Those are The Rules, and as always in Brazil, The Rules must not be questioned.

Wolves at the door

Another murderous robbery in Sao Paulo, this time on the fashionable street of Oscar Freire, not far from our house. A 53-year-old systems analyst and another male were gunned down in an apartment, apparently after a violent struggle, as there were blood stains all over the place. The owner's car was then stolen. No CCTV cameras on the building so no visual evidence. But one of the night security guards, who has gone missing, is currently a key suspect.

I know what you did last summer

A sobering new chapter in Brazil's political and economic life is underway - and it's a far cry from the summery zeitgeist when I arrived here almost 10 months ago. On the one hand, I'm impressed that President Dilma Rousseff is trying to tackle Brazil's deep-rooted governmental corruption. On the other, if corruption is indeed integral to the country's psyche and foundations, the danger is that by kicking this prop away, the whole edifice will have to come crashing down before it can be rebuilt. With mounting macroeconomic problems, Brazil no longer has such a pleasant climate in which to get its house in order.

Casualty !

The moment had finally come: a dreaded trip to one of Sao Paulo's public hospitals. Sam's increasingly risky attempts to go where no toddler has gone before, especially in a child-unfriendly flat, have kept us permanently on our toes. There have been bumps and bruises but today's tumble in the bathroom, while once again indulging his fatal fascination with the toilet seat, left us both in a state of panic.

Squeaky men & booming babies

I do it myself sometimes. Most men do. Suddenly slip into an emasculating high-pitched squeak. Israeli men are particularly funny in this regard, as they instantly skip several octaves and mutate from from macho to mouse. I suppose it happens when guys are feeling stressed or defensive. Here in Brazil I see far too much squeakiness, and of a more worryngly permanent type. Cabbies, waiters and good ol' boy blue-collar workers, they're all at it.

Singin' in the rain

Well, more of a drizzle actually. But when it began late last night, accompanied by a few small claps of thunder and flashes of lightning, I couldn't have been happier. Roll on, you merry torrents, nature doing what humans won't and cleansing this city of its relentless toxins.

The "Maple Syrup index" revisited

And it's a new world record, ladies 'n gentlemen ! A local deli / supermarket has achieved a fantastic all-time high for maple syrup - 52 reais or £20. The same quantity of Tesco's Finest costs £5.50. It's not as if this Brazilian brand is even very good. I tried going for a poor man's Maple last time, buying a cheap plastic bottle of synthetic goo but it remains almost untouched.

Non-blow-up

Enjoying an epic sushi rodizio lunch today, for 38 reais (£15) a head all in, I ordered the "soufflé" dessert. It turned out to be some ice cream surrounded by small pineapple chunks, covered in the ubiquitous condensed-milk-and-creme-de-leite combo. I said to the waiter: It's not a souffle. He agreed and helpfully added that a "real" souffle "is hot". I agreed. He laughed. I laughed. After I'd eaten the quite pleasant non-souffle he returned and asked if we'd like a coffee. "This time it will definitely be hot!"

And there in that tiny grain of gastro-comic interaction is contained an entire Brazilian world: a parallel universe in which things that might normally lead to conflict are so often deflated by a generous dollop of warmth and good humour.

Geography and destiny

Since reading John Mauldin's report on Brazil the other day, I've been thinking about geography, identity and destiny. To what degree do our physical surroundings define who and what we are ? I suppose it's the old nature-nurture debate, except transposed onto entire countries and cultures rather than single individuals.

A $3 trillion headache

As I sit here, late into the polluted night, still sniffing, sneezing, eye rubbing and throat clearing (sadly not just "I" but "we"), right on cue comes an Economist article showing how LatAm megacities are collapsing under their own unsupported weight. Desperately under-invested, congested, polluted, dangerous, etc. etc., they are a $3 trn collective problem. No surprise that Sao Paulo features prominently. (Just how bad, I wonder, can the even more notorious Mexico City be ?) Before I came here I would never have guessed that the biggest pollution problem happened in winter rather than summer. But if you rely on rain as your main anti-pollution measure, then this driest time of the year is not good. Not good at all.

Brazil in 2014 ?

... after an "embarrassing" World Cup ? Just asking ...

Sky News reports on India's reaction to hunger-striking anti-corruption campaigner Anna Hazare:

Maid in Brasil

As our taxi passed by a swanky shop in Jardim Europa this morning, P noticed the sign outside shouting "Kitchens made in Germany !" Her response was to the effect that Brazil will only hold it's head high when it can boast "Kitchens made in Brazil !"

Take a breath

A couple of hours ago, sitting in an open-window office several storeys above Paulista Avenue, I felt my mouth and throat go dry. Then drier. Then positively arid. Later, pushing my poor son home along the same central Sao Paulo thoroughfare, I felt a runny nose and headache set in, accompanied by a general feeling of unhealthy unease. Once again we were forced to inhale the endless automotive effluent of this city, and by extension of all South America. To think how much people pay to live here, in this fume-choked, particulate-drenched atmosphere ! When having any kind of panic attack, the advice is usually to take big deep breaths and slowly exhale. Perhaps better advice under these circumstances would be simply to hold your breath for as long as humanly possible and pray that the torrential rains return muito rapido. Sao Paulo, I promise never again to curse your biblical flooding and undrained roads !

Muddle class

Here's the latest installment in the long-running soap opera that is Brazil's "emerging middle class". It's in Portuguese but to save you the bother of looking I can sum it up as follows: confused journalist writes confusing article based on recent research into how confused Brazilians see their own social standing, eg AB, C or D class. Seems no-one has a clue what they are. All we can say, as before, is that ex-President Lula's definition of middle class - anyone earning 2200 reais a month - was and is absurdly optimistic.

Tackling World Cup corruption

"How much money is being invested ? Where is this money going ? How much of it is being spent on an arena rather than other things that the city needs ? ... I wish people chased politicians as hard as they chase footballers ... I'd like Sao Paulo to transform itself as Barcelona did in 1992, in terms of airports and safety. But I don't think it will happen."

- Caio Ribeiro, ex-footballer and now commentator for TV Globo, talking about the Brazilian World Cup in 2014. Quoted in Sao Paulo magazine.

Go, rodizio !

Food glorious food. I've said quite a few unappetising things about food in Brazil - how anything that isn't natural tends to be stodgy, fatty, synthetic, over-processed, over-salted, over-sweetened, over-fried, overpriced, etc. But I have also mentioned the rodizios, or fixed-price buffets. Not so many where we used to live but loads round here. What is weird is that food in supermarkets is often prohibitively expensive (try finding decent cheese that doesn't break the bank) and a la carte food in restaurants and cafes is also expensive.

Brazil's most precious resource

Feliz Dia dos Pais ! Happy Brazilian Father's Day !

A geography lesson

Fascinating economic analysis of Brazil by John Mauldin (accessible by email subscription only). We live in an age of air travel, technology and the Internet so it's somewhat sobering to be told that much of what passes for economic activity in the world still centres on geography. For this reason, despite it's vast natural resources, Brazil has always been hampered by major geographic limitations. These are unlikely to disappear anytime soon, so the country has some difficult decisions ahead. Here are some extracts from this long but brilliant analysis:

The insurance road less travelled

The other day I received an email from my UK bank, Coventry Building Society. It was encouraging me to buy their travel insurance product, guaranteeing, among other things, up to £5m of medical cover. That seems par for the course: all such products in the UK offer a multi-million pound cover when it comes to matters of medical life and limb abroad.

More from Jonathan, the ratings winner !

In journalism people used to say that such and such "makes good copy". Perhaps they still do. The implication is that, irrespective of the truth or importance behind the "story", it will get people reading. And as we were always told in Journalism 101, without readers you might as well pack up and go home. Journalism is "infotainment", information always allied, however slightly, to entertainment. If you want to read something just for the "facts", pick up an instruction manual or a dry academic thesis.

India v Brazil

This just in from my Anglo-Indian friend John:

"For a while I thought India was the same as Brazil. I was wrong. Yes they have the same exclusive shopping malls with tacky global brands but India is more cultural. It has soul and is fiercly proud of being a democracy. Also it's handling growth better.

Judge not

Same old, same old as Brazil "cleans up it's act".

Go to hell, bankrupt Britain

Today I received a short email notification from UK immigration authorities rejecting my son for a second time. They apparently have no interest in allowing him to collect his birthright of British citizenship and they are certainly being impressively prompt in slamming the door in his face. Thank you, UK Plc, for your efficiency. We have already spent thousands of pounds for nothing and now I look forward to spending much more, not including endless man-hours and aggravation, as I try to get my son what is already his by blood. You, faceless, cowardly immigration bureaucrats, don't deny this but because of a piece of deeply unjust red tape concerning his mother's marital status when giving birth, you don't give a damn. BRITISH COMPUTER SAYS NO. Again.

Honest living ?

Update to my post below on insanely low remuneration and dodgy employment practices. The Brazilian-US chap in question has added the following comments, based on his sorry experience with a Brazilian employer up in the North-East. Obviously, this is just his perspective and I'm not saying it's the last word but I think his experience is salutary. Over to you Jonathan:

A second byte

Yesterday Apple became the world's most valuable company, an even more impressive achievement on such a bloody day in the markets. The mighty oil giant Exxon was finally unseated as king of the corporate hill. It was not so very long ago that Apple was being crowned "world's most valuable tech company", having overtaken Microsoft. That was surreal enough. We've travelled a long, long way from Apple's near-demise in 1997, just before founder and current CEO Steve Jobs returned to the helm after years in the wilderness.

A tale of two cities

London's burning. Anarchy in the UK. But this time much more like serious Brazilian anarchy than punk rock in it's prime.

Decades of social corrosion in the UK have led to this. Back in the day, circa 1980, UK riots had a bit of "class". They were "about" something, usually inequality and unemployment, albeit still no excuse for urban warfare. But today there isn't even the pretence of ideology. Just DIY "summer sales" by Blackberry-touting louts, of both sexes, spurred on in their looting by a national religion of cynical, celebrity-led consumerism and the almost complete extinction of personal responsibility.

Allied to New Labour's 13-year misuse and abuse of the benefits system, plus its bureaucratic handicapping of the police and social services, what you are left with is a corresponding sense of entitlement. Never an attractive quality, it now sits particularly awkwardly with bankrupt Britain. If the 1980s was the yuppie decade, swinging to the tune of "work hard, play hard and you can have it all," the last decade and a half has been, simply, "you can have it all ... because it's your right". Or more succinctly, as in the advertising slogan, "Because you're worth it!" No need to work for it; just demand it. Or steal it.

Credit where credit's due

For everything else there's the Post Office. Before I travelled to Brazil last October I was alarmed to hear that my credit cards might not work, such is the country's reputation for fraud. I had a longish, rather pleading phone chat with someone at the Post Office, hoping they could ensure I would not be cut off from my financial lifeline. Still, I feared the worst when I got here, which is why I just wanted to take a moment to thank the PO and / or my lucky stars that the card has proved such a trusty and reliable companion in what has been a money-pit existence here. Sadly, I can't say quite the same for my Nationwide debit card, which temporarily died just when I most needed it (after the robbery) but now seems to have mysteriously sprung back to life.

Salaries in Brazil

Just heard from a friend, joint US-Brazilian nationality, who's been in Brazil for some time trying to settle here after many years living in the US. Well-qualified and experienced, he thought he'd finally landed a job in a legal field. Only problem was the salary: 1000 reais a month, about £400. That should just about cover his Telefonica bill.

Wonderful, wonderful Kopenhagen

There are a few chocolatiers around here. We've tried several but tonight reconfirmed Kopenhagen (corner of Rua Augusta and Rua Tiete) as our undisputed hot chocolate champ. Exquisite and not too expensive either. Just don't be tempted by the bomboms, which at 10 reais (£4) a pop are a temptation too far.

PS: Last time here I said it was a shame another Brazilian chocolatier felt the need to give their brand a European twist. But the staff told me it was actually the family name of the owners, so can't argue with that.

Baby steps

Oh do get over it, Hobert ! So they can't make pavements / sidewalks. So they force you to walk up and down insanely steep streets, pushing a baby buggy, and then they think it's perfectly ok to abandon the pavement altogether and dump some kind of excuse for steps ? Steps which are sometimes so gigantic they can't even be classified as steps, but more like a form of rock climbing ? And you still haven't got used to it, Hobert ? ... Well, no, I'm afraid I haven't and I never will. Apparently this country produces a ton(ne) of engineers. Apparently it has a booming IT industry. But here in one of the poshest parts of town, as everywhere else, they somehow can't find it in themselves to produce the most basic and essential infrastructure for any civilized society. I know that as mere pedestrians we must ipso facto be losers, pathetically reliant on public investment. But still it would be nice to know that someone else in this town gave a damn.

The foolish foreigner's tale

A line from my previous post, about reinforcing prejudices, got me thinking: did I come to Brazil with a desire to see only the bad side ?

It's true, I did arrive in, shall we say, an unusual state of mind. The headline might read: "First-time visitor to Brazil comes to 'take delivery' of his first-born child", whose Brazilian mother had partly decided and partly been forced (by UK visa problems) to give birth in her home country. A home she hadn't seen in over five years.

The haberdasher's tale

Do I go looking for negative comments about Brazil ? You'd be forgiven for thinking so; after all, it's human nature to want to reinforce our prejudices. Perhaps if I relentlessly asked locals what they love and adore about Brazil I might get a rosy-looking picture. But I don't. Take this blog's apparent bias with a pinchful or sackful of salt. I am just one small voice. However, subjective as I am, my intention is to try to reflect, accurately and honestly, what I hear.

The Holy Trinity

Family Guy. The Cleveland Show. American Dad. Seth Macfarlane is the latest Shakespeare. I used to say that of Matt Groening and The Simpsons, to a lesser degree of South Park, King of the Hill and other assorted pieces of animation comedy genius. But evolution is a wonderful thing and somehow the creators of FG, TCS and AD seem that bit closer to the summit of comic-satiric-surrealistic perfection.

Who is rich ?

If a country's wealth is measured by the contents of its collective head and heart rather than its abundance of forests, beaches, fields and mines, then Brazil is not rich.

P has recently made contact with a fellow Brazilian who emigrated from Sao Paulo to northern Israel a few years ago. She and her (Jewish) Brazilian husband now have three children. I found this woman's comments, made off the cuff and without any hidden agenda, equally revealing about her new home and the place she left behind.

City of God

"After five deaths in 25 hours, Sao Paulo Police create a special robbery-murder department," says a headline in today's Estadao. It seems when the victims put up any kind of resistance they were fatally shot, some in front of their children.

Sao Pollution 2

So was it a winter cold I had recently and which has left me with a permanently irritated throat, eyes and sinus, not to mention my son's sneezing more than average of late ? Or was it pollution ? As I suspected, seems to be the latter, according to this article in Veja.

I never thought I'd be wishing for a return of the torrential rains that blight this city for much of the year but the prolonged dry spell of winter has whipped the city's notorious pollution into an even worse state than usual. Seven million cars combined with virtually no anti-pollution policy and substandard building construction mean that pollution is even worse inside apartments than outside, according to the Veja article. Four times higher than the World Health Organisation's recommended maximum.

Beam me up Scotty. I think I've been punished enough.

Injecting debate

Contraception in Brazil, like elsewhere, centres around the pill, implants and injections. If you don't have health insurance and wish to get any of these via a doctor, you will either have to pay for an expensive appointment or take your chances with the dreadful public health system. Unsurprisingly, a popular third alternative is to go to your local chemist and, in classic Brazilian fashion, get the pill or an injection under the counter. Some sort of technical loophole means they can provide these services if you ask for the brand name specifically rather than for what the drug is meant to do.

Double figures

Today Sam turns 10 ... months. And I just turned nine months in Brazil. It's been quite a trip. We're still waiting for our "balloon".

Comfort food

What do you see there on the breakfast table? I see a coffee sitting next to a lightly toasted white roll, spread with butter. The roll tastes as you would expect something so unexciting to taste. And I'll have it if there's nothing better on offer. All too often there isn't. Brazilian bakeries tend to produce incredibly stodgy food, lacking in subtlety, texture and taste. Croissants are generally dreadful. But my point in asking about this particular toasted roll is that for some Brazilians - perhaps many, maybe all - it is much, much more than a bit of bland, nutritionless carbohydrate. It is ... drum roll please ... the legendary "Pao Na Chapa" or, more prosaically, grilled bread. For P it is a scrumptious, tastebud-titillating treat. If my tone sounds sarcastic, I apologise, it's not meant to. Whatever floats your boat, and if it's an inexpensive treat then so much the better. It just got me thinking about comfort food in general and what a peculiar thing it is, reconnecting us with our own peculiar childhood memories and emotions ... and often making absolutely no sense to anyone else. Fish fingers, anyone ?

Jam tomorrow ?

Many people have commented on Brazil's need to add value, to take its God-given natural bounty and transform it into products worthy of a fast-developing country. Instead, it lets European, US and Chinese companies buy low and sell high. Jam, for example, costs a fortune here, and only a bit less if you're prepared to settle for the synthetic, over-sugared goo produced by domestic manufacturers. Yet you often see street vendors hawking fresh strawberries, such as these pictured. I bought them just now for 10 reais, which is about £4, or one pound a pack. Granted, that is cheaper than usual, which might be three for a tenner on the street or five reais each in the shops. I'm thinking of trying to turn them into jam myself, guessing that, if I can make a decent go of it, the economics of fresh home-made jam will be very attractive. I imagine that would not be the case in the UK.

Ashes to ashes

I was surprised to discover, some years ago, that many Jews in the UK are cremated, as was the case today with the late Amy Winehouse. (Always weird using that additional appellation so soon after someone has died. Just a few days ago she may have been "late" for an appointment; now she is forever "Late", by virtue of dying early) She had a Jewish funeral service in a Jewish part of town and her body was despatched by a loyal band of (mainly) Jewish North Londoners. But instead of going into the ground, according to the strictures of traditional Judaism, her corpse made its way into a furnace. There isn't a nicer word for that - and "oven" has all sorts of ugly, historical connotations.

No comment

A perfect example of what I'm talking about in the last-but-one post are the ongoing problems I've been having with people's comments not showing up on this blog. There is no-one at Google prepared to help so you must somehow find your way through the online maze of Googe discussion groups and pray that a kind soul will suggest a solution. And lo and behold someone has just responded to say that I should try clicking a different box, allowing another format for comments. I have now done that ... so, once again, here's hoping.

iMad !

I love my iPad and since using it as my sole computer post-robbery have come to think of it as the main event rather than a supporting act. Except for one thing: this HORRIBLE autocorrect ! Its endless errors (often embarrassing) and interruptions, forcing insane over-use of the delete button can only really be described one way: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggghhhhhhh !!!!!!!!

PS: Yes, I have tried turning it off but that seemed to make it worse. This device needs a reworked keypad and a more intelligent autocorrect feature that actually learns how you write rather than making the same mistakes again and again.

Update: Seems I'm in good company. And there's an entire website devoted to Apple's evil autocorrect.

Beware geeks bearing gifts

I once saw an illustration of how Englishmen viewed the future. A bewigged character from the eighteenth century imagined seeing his spitting image staring serenely back at him; a nineteenth century fat-cat industrialist saw a perfect reflection of himself, only many times bigger. But the twentieth-century Englishman's perplexed inquiry into what was around the corner found only a giant-sized question mark.

Giving with one hand ...

... and taking away with the other. This seems to sum up so much of what passes for philanthropy. You become rich by squeezing people's pockets and then you "give back to society" by handing over a small fraction of what you took. I was thinking of this when reading that the recent cottage cheese boycott in Israel was quietly sparked by a UK venture capital firm, Apax Partners, whose desire to make its Israeli asset "sweat", as they say in the business, was also making the poor Israeli consumer sweat.

With "friends" like that ...

Is having a madman on your side "good for the Jews" and Israel ? Never. If true, this is a deeply depressing revelation that will just increase antisemitic paranoia in Europe.

Life (before and) after death

Some people never live, while others never die.

Who is strong ?

The evil Norwegian mass-murderer quoted John Stuart Mill in claiming that one man with a belief is more powerful than 100,000 men who have only "interests". Poor JSM must be turning in his grave. In fact, the latest slaughterer - a neo-Nazi "Christian" who no doubt looked for other father figures having not seen his own since 1995 - has more in common with Islamic fascist jihadists. No question that many such killers have possessed similar "belief". But as much damage as they do in the short and medium term, which obviously feels like an eternity of grief, in the long run their destructive, monomaniacal obsession always reveals itself to be a weakness, not a strength.

Tel-Aviv

After the Arab spring, the Israeli summer. Granted, a milder social revolution by a factor of about one million. But a revolution nonetheless. Israelis are falling out of love with the particular brand of winner-takes-all capitalism that has swept over the country during the past quarter-century. High-tech Israel has boomed but where once there was an Israeli-flavored socialism holding things together, now it is every man for himself. And too many Israelis, especially the young, are finding themselves priced out of the market. Tel-Aviv in particular has become impossibly expensive, with rents going through the roof. Hence the sudden appearance of Tent City on one of the poshest streets, as protesters stage an open-ended lie-in.

More magic

Yesterday was another minor milestone for Sam. He climbed onto a coffee table and, separately, put his dummy in his mouth (several times). Magic. Although requiring evermore eagle eyes, and fast reactions, from his parents ! Yes I know, I've become a cooing cliche but at least I'm under no illusion that these baby updates are for anyone's benefit but our own - and perhaps one day for Sam himself.

Holy big brother

Walking along Paulista, we were stopped by a camera crew who got P to say some fun but silly soundbites as publicity for a new series of The Farm. It's a Big Brother copycat on Brazil's second most popular TV channel, Rede Record. Although it is even crasser than Globo in its opium-for-the-masses programming, Rede Record is actually owned by "Bishop" Edir Macedo, founder of the evangelical mega-church, The Universal Church of the Kingdom of God.

Wedding blues

As I said, it's the worst possible time to be applying for a UK visa. This catastrophic cock-up by the UKBA must be the wedding equivalent of what those disgraceful Met officers did to poor Jean Charles de Menezes. (Although I don't want to seem facetious, since nothing can compare to the horror of what happened to him. It's a massive blot on British justice for which no-one in the Met has ever been properly held accountable or, better yet, imprisoned. Ian Blair, in charge at the time, only resigned after further, lesser scandals, enjoying a million pound pay-off and a vast pension. Sickening.)

Revolution in the air

... Seemingly everywhere except Brazil.

"We must put together a different social order here, one that will combine economic prosperity with mutual responsibility. But to do this, the strong and the assertive must wake up from the moral coma into which they sank a generation ago." To find out which country, click here.

A law unto themselves

P was just offered a job at a law firm for which she had previously interviewed. A 12-hour shift as PA from 11 to 11 for a monthly salary of 3000 reais (£1185). Pre-tax. Leaving aside childcare headaches, this is a top law firm in the centre of Sao Paulo - specialising in international mergers and acquisitions - whose partners and directors will be on megabucks comparable with London or New York (certainly with this over-strong Real). What kind of bad joke is that ? The equivalent PA role in the UK comes at a much higher price (see ad below), especially for after-hours work. But in old-school hierarchical Brazil, a mere "secretary", like all the other little people, is supposed to be grateful for any scraps thrown from the table. This is the same "fun" and "sexy" Brazil of which tourists are so enamoured.

Divorced from reality

My son's mother was previously married to a fellow Brazilian. They married in the UK and lived there for some years. He returned to Brazil without waiting for the divorce to come through, making the process even harder. P met me while still in the UK, 1.5 years after her previous relationship had ended, and it was in the UK that she became pregnant. But the birth happened in Brazil. And here we sit in paralysis and perplexity: one Brit and two Brazilians. According to the UK Border Agency (UKBA), my son is not my son. He is the son of P and the man to whom she was still legally married when she gave birth.

Gulp !

Just retrieved a small piece of P's computer keyboard from the back of Sam's mouth, moments before it would have been too late. And not before some terrifying choking sounds. Thank God I happened to be close enough to him to see the unfolding horror because most of it happened silently. These days there are head and face bangs at which to grimace and shudder, and now throat action too ? Perhaps it's Sam's form of protest at the gross injustice of his visa situation.

My son the "foreigner"

I always felt like a semi-detached Brit. But that means I was also semi-attached. Now I am struggling to come to terms with the fact that I have produced a completely unattached non-Brit. And until now the only thing I had worried about was the fact that, according to my religion's ancient laws, he was a non-Jew. This religious headache has paled into insignificance compared to the more pressing problem of Sam's being denied entry to a country that I still, just about, call home.

Sao Pollution

Mark, I'm panicking about pollution. Are we being poisoned on days like today ?

Colour me unimpressed

Troubling pollution in recent days has made me think of the relatively Alpine air back in Bom Retiro (btw, it's pronounced Bon, as with all Brazilian m's). Instead of going there we went to an exhibition of Bom Retiro photos in the Jewish Centre.

"Brazilians are a little bit ..."

Comment from the Swiss-French-Indian director of IMD, respected business school in Lausanne, Switzerland. Quoted in current issue of "Voce s/a" ("You Ltd"), as part of an article titled "Globalize yourself now !" Dominique Turpin says:

Finally, a (legal) Brazilian bargain !

Tweezers. Yes, that's right, tiny little tweezers. They're not so cheap in the UK and I assumed they'd cost something like £10 here, maybe more. But we went into a pharmacy and they brought out a cup holding loads of them, going for the minuscule price of 0.7 reais a throw. That's under 30 pence. And decent quality too. So what's the story here: how does Brazil manage to produce this one decent quality product at a great, low price ? Someone please explain to me the peculiar economics of tweezer manufacturing and retailing in Brazil and how it apparently exists in splendid isolation from every other (poor quality, expensive) product here.

Facing the music *

A late-night downloading of Steve Winwood's greatest hits album, "Revolutions". Done in a few minutes. Thank you iTunes for being such a valuable lifeline - for movie rentals too, such as the brave and bleak documentary, "Mugabe and the White African", which we watched the other day. Puts our frustrations into perspective.

Horse play

Went to a fun gathering on a horse farm outside Sao Paulo last night. Thankfully given lifts both ways. Am still struggling to get my head round the long journies people here make as part and parcel of daily life. Our first stop was in Alphaville, where our lovely friends Andrea and Daniela have a family home.

Exile on main street

Having paid a £1200 application fee (not to mention a great deal more in UK legal fees); having suffered through unending bureaucracy; and having pleaded with the British embassy to expedite our efforts to get my son a visa allowing permanent entry into the UK ... today we received a package with all our documents returned. Finally, our luck is turning, I thought, finally my half-British son is officially welcome in the land of his father's birth.

"Refusal of entry clearance," said the cover letter.

Update: Non-contact centres

Having given up, I found myself ringing a "complaint" number for AXA Assistance and stumbling across someone who, shock-horror, actually tried to help ! With the encouraging name of Robert, this chap has been trying to get his company superiors to understand my unusual position, writing memos to this effect and contacting me by email and phone to provide updates. Although I will have to wait more days to hear if AXA / Lloyds will be able to make an exception and extend my policy, I was so impressed by Hobert's attempt to think outside the tick-box that I told him so today. Whereupon he, also surprised to hear positive feedback from a call centre customer, asked me to repeat my praise to his boss. Which I did, when she came on the line. So maybe there's a small flame of hope still flickering for contact centre staff being able to interact as human beings, rather than as cretinous "computers" that like to say no.

Why I love e-books

The other day I read a news article about a British journalist just released from a Singapore jail. He had published a book about that country's judicial and political corruption in regard to the death penalty. Impressed and intrigued, I was able within a few clicks to download a free sample chapter of his e-book. I read it immediately and then decided to buy, which I did with one further click. A final click saw the e-book downloaded into my iPad's ever-expanding Amazon Kindle library. (I also use Apple's own iBooks app).

Brazilian bargains

A lovely engineer called Sergio just came round and fixed our wifi problem so we now have the luxury of two devices connected at the same time. As with almost everyone we come across these days, it wasn't long before the subject of the robbery came up and his opinion was sought. He suspected the nanny had been too free with her gossip. But the thing that gave us a real laugh was when he said that the iPhone would probably have been sold for a piddling 100 reais (£40) and I said I would have given them 200 reais for it, prompting this anecdote: a friend of his had, while being robbed of a Rolex watch, asked the robbers how much they were going to sell it for? They told him 200 reais and he wrote them a cheque for that amount with his phone number on the back. They let him keep the watch. A week later he got a call from them asking if he wanted to buy another Rolex !

Aerial view

Perfect timing

So heart-warming to see yet another survey showing how Sao Paulo has continued climbing up the rankings of the world's most expensive cities (now at number 10). I couldn't have picked a worse time to live here and raise a child, relying on savings in a depreciating foreign currency. London dropped down from 17 to 18. But price doesn't tell the whole story by any means, as this blog has hopefully shown. The quality gap between expensive Sao Paulo and much cheaper cities elsewhere remains almost unbridgeably large - in favour of elsewhere. The quality and price of world cities may once have been somewhat correlated but in the current era of commodities-led globalisation, a worldwide gold-rush, that quaint connection is now completely broken. Number one on the list is Luanda in Angola !

PS: This article in Time magazine adds another note of caution to "booming" Brazil's financial imbalances.

The currency of trust

It always comes back to trust. Can Brazil trust China not to buy up all its land and turn its inhabitants into neo-colonial serfs ? More importantly, can Brazilians ever learn to trust each other ? How many people said to us after the robbery, "You can never trust a nanny here, even if you got her through an agency. The only way is to get someone from personal recommendation, preferably from a family member or a close friend."

Climate change

At the risk of becoming a climate bore, the contrast between our apartment's temperature and that outside, especially where the sun is shining, is just bizarre. We have the electric heater running much of the time yet go outside and you start shedding layers until you might as well be in summer rather than winter. I thought this was a phenomenon of our old, dreary apartment but evidently not. In general, the weather in Sao Paulo has been weird: all that rain, lightning and thunder, humidity in summer and all those mosquitoes which continued well into winter. For some people this is a blessed climate but definitely not for me.

Less is less

Another walk along Paulista took us to Centro Cultural Itau, a "cultural" centre owned by one of the big Brazilian banks. The good news: it's free. The bad news: it's another waste of space. Virtually nothing in it, save for a bit of paint-your-own canvas (if you can be bothered to wait in line long enough) and the usual wannabe multimedia art "installations", ie a couple of monitors and a projector, dull as ditchwater. The same absurdly large number of assistants standing around, talking to each other. Another amateur attempt at "culture" by curators who don't seem to know or care about it. The exhibit that P wanted to see was some kind of robot which apparently quotes Shakespeare. But it was out of action. When will it be back ? "We don't know."

Update: just found some real culture in Sao Paulo: a triple-bill of The Cleveland Show, American Dad and Family Guy on cable TV !

Day the music died

RIP Facundo Cabral, much-loved Argentine singer, shot dead yesterday in Guatemala as his car traveled to the airport following a concert performance on Thursday. Seems a concert promoter traveling with him was the target of an assassination. Guatemala's level of lawlessness makes Brazil look safe.

Cabral had lost his wife and daughter in a plane crash many years ago. In 2008 he said: "I love life so much because it cost me so much to enjoy it. From the cradle to the grave is a school, so if what we call problems are lessons, we see life differently."

Ba-ba-blog update

In the beginning was the Ba. Today the Ba got tantalisingly close to becoming a Ba-Loon. Looks like balloon will be Sam's first word. But what Herculean effort required. Breaking out of a non-verbal world is even harder than breaking into the UK.

The rich pay less

Last night, here in Jardins, we bought this delightful Chicco cot-cum-playpen. Also two Avent dummies and a pair of light shoes to protect Sam's feet from the cold floors in our unheated flat. Of course it all cost a fair bit, maybe £200, but actually less than in other places, including "poorer" areas. You get the feeling that the richer areas often have better prices, perhaps not for coffee and cake, but for quality items like this which savvy shoppers could find elsewhere if necessary. We have bought too many crap quality baby items in this town, which still cost a lot but invariably turn out to be unfit for purpose. I wrote a blog post some time ago called something like "Being poor is expensive in Brazil" and our latest shopping trip seems to confirm that what's really going on here is as much to do with access to information and choice as with the simple rich-poor divide. And since we all now live in an information society, it is this poverty of choice which leaves the lower income households in even greater disadvantage. Snobbery has no place in a modern society, but quality and price are central to a functioning, free market.

Cutting corners

No more lethal right-angles, thanks to a Korean baby shop in Bom Retiro.

Non-contact centres

Once upon a time, in a far-off land called The Past, there were no "contact centres". There was no outsourcing. There were only companies with direct employees. When you needed to get in touch with them you could call a normal landline number and speak to a normal person, by which I mean someone possessing a certain amount of common sense, responsibility, accountability and autonomy. And if they couldn't help personally, they would find a way to escalate your inquiry to higher levels.

Dummies

The other problem with unlit streets is that, try as you might, you just can't find your baby's discarded dummy (pacifier). This happened just now and necessitated a sizable detour as we retraced our steps, but alas no joy. We have had large numbers of these Avent dummies brought over from the UK but they all eventually disappear into the ether. Once, in Bom Retiro, we did manage to find the needle in the haystack, after forensically scrutinising every inch of sidewalk in a two-block radius. But today our luck ran out. Which was doubly problematic since Sam is going through a nightmare patch of teething as, I assume, his incipient upper front teeth begin to emerge and join the two lower ones.

We're on a road to ...

Walked along Avenida Paulista this evening, stopping by a busker who serenaded Sam, and ending up at Casa das Rosas, one of the last remaining original mansions on this street and now a venue for various events. Tonight was one in a series of talks about cycling in the city. We got talking to a young enthusiast who says the trend for two wheels is beginning to get some traction here. I asked if there was a hardcore of urban cycling fans, into fixed-gear and single-gear bikes as as been seen for some years now in London and other big cities. He said there was and noted also the Sunday morning cycle groups, who enjoy specially reserved routes linking Sao Paulo's parks. In terms of workday commuting, the enthusiasts are trying to encourage the use of secondary roads so that cyclists don't feel so threatened by traffic. My concern would be the lack of street lighting. Apparently there are also some limited trials of the kind of bike rental schemes to be found nowadays in London, Paris, Barcelona etc. It was good to see this most civilized, efficient, fun, healthy and economic form of transport becoming more popular in such a traffic-choked city. Adjusting from my two-wheeled life in London to one of taxis and tubes here has been a challenge. Next Wednesday David Byrne of Talking Heads fame will be speaking about his passion for push-bikes. It's got a long way to go but perhaps cycling in Sao Paulo is not on a road to nowhere.

The next stage of globalisation

First, the rich world sought to get richer by milking the emerging markets. Then the emerging markets had their revenge by continuing to boom while the first world failed. But now it seems the pendulum is swinging back yet again. This news story reports that a UK telecom firm has decided to locate it's call centre in the north of England rather than India.

God is a Brazilian bureaucrat

When you fear for your life, as I did recently during the robbery, you emerge with a new philosophy: don't sweat the small stuff, where "small" means anything other than your life and the life of those closest to you. Sadly, being a mere mortal, it didn't take long before I returned to my default modus operandi, namely "God is in the details" so, please, please do sweat the small stuff. That attitude, in Brazil, is asking for trouble. Take today, for example. We went out to do some chores, using the metro, which meant carrying Sam in his push chair up and down several flights of steps at Trianon-MASP tube station, our local. Is there a lift ? We've looked before but can't find one nor anybody to help direct us. Don't sweat the small stuff, even when your back is hurting.

It's in the stars

"What are the chances ?!", you always ask yourself when bumping into someone you have met only once or twice before. It has happened a few times here in Sao Paulo, including today when we ran into a young Orthodox Jewish student, as he emerged from Shabbat services with his parents. (Religious Jews are fond of saying, "There are no coincidences!" although I suspect only if their interlocutor is also Jewish) It was outside a synagogue within walking distance from where we now live. He had, on our first meeting, given us a guided tour around the (quite famous) yeshiva where he studies in Bom Retiro, which happens to be close to our old home. One thing I have always appreciated in Sao Paulo is the ubiquity of Jewish life, at least in neighborhoods such as Bom Retiro, Higienopolis and, now, Jardins. My old home turf in London's SE1 is pretty much judenrein.

Go ahead, Punk

The best of Brazil was on display again today, this time in our local hairdresser, Soho Trianon, whose employees swooped on Sam like a crowd of groupies. One of them, Duran, couldn't resist giving him his first ever styling, on the house of course.

The FT's parallel universe

If I didn't already have personal experience of supermarket chain Pao de Acucar and its shocking prices, I would have read this profile piece in the FT and not winced each time it referred to the company's founder as some kind of consumer champion. Brazil is a country with no consumer champions* ! Why do these articles on Brazil keep glossing over that fact ? Is it because when it comes to juicy emerging markets, FT readers make little distinction between profits and profiteering ?

Through a street, darkly

Went for a walk at 6pm, the streets were dark even though just one block away was the main, well-lit artery avenue of Paulista. Homeward bound workers were streaming out of offices and walking to nearby tube stations. There's plenty of research to show that street lighting goes a long way to reducing street crime, and these days you can get very environmental and energy-efficient alternatives to traditional lamp posts.

But let's face it: it's never going to happen in Brazil or indeed Latin America, is it ? People in this part of the world just don't seem to value this kind of public investment. Much easier to sit in your car with its own headlights and its blacked-out windows and pretend you have no connection to the no-man's land linking bubble to bubble.

Born again

Two days ago I became an eight-month old Brazilian and today, Sam, you become a nine-month old human, which according to some people means you are only now fully born. You spent six of your first nine months swimming in a strange sea in central London. If you'd been born there life would have been easier and your dad would not now be tearing his hair out trying to transform you into a Brit. But easier isn't always better and, whatever my dissatisfactions with life in Brazil, it's certainly been an experience - the experience of your lifetime and therefore perhaps also of mine. Happy "second-birth" day, son.

Prison reform

"Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it." - Thomas Paine. Pretty similar to Thomas Jefferson's "The price of liberty is eternal vigilance." Certainly, the right to bear arms and protect your property were the crude beginnings of this vigilance - after all it was more than 200 years ago - but this most basic of requirements was by no means the end of their lofty ideals.

Polo country

Waiting in line at a local Pao de Acucar supermarket, which seems to enjoy monopolistic pricing, I indulged in another spot of vox pop. Posing as a recently arrived innocent abroad, I asked the man in front of me how Brazilians coped with the cost of living. When asking such questions I always hope for a really interesting, thought-provoking answer but it never arrives. His response was, predictably enough, that this is a wealthy area but when pushed he did add that "there is no medium in Brazil", just very rich or very poor. He obviously hasn't been reading all those articles about the "rise of Brazil's middle class". And he also seemed not to realise that "very simple" areas like our former neighborhood do not enjoy correspondingly "simple" prices. I asked if many people were overstretched financially and he said yes. But as usual there was no sense of perturbation about him; it was business as usual and your frustrated interviewer once again had to admit defeat.

More Livraria Cultura

Finally found free wifi access in beautifully designed central book store

Location:Alameda Santos,Sao Paulo,Brazil

Religion in Brazil: melting pot or meltdown ?

A few random thoughts, let's see if they fit together to make an interesting picture. The annual gay pride parade which took place yesterday is seen as a sign of Brazil's relatively forward-looking society in a part of the world that still creeks under ancient rules and taboos. Yet how do gay rights and the recently introduced civil partnerships square with a continued blanket ban on abortion ? And how, for that matter, does a good Catholic country deem it acceptable to provide relatively cheap birth-control via the pill or monthly injections ? Is it theologically kosher to prevent an egg from being fertilized during the act of sex but not kosher to destroy it once fertilized ? What about Casti Conublii ?

We've got all the time, and money, in the world

In the serviced apartment where we now reside, it costs over 50 reais (£20) to have our clothes washed. And they will be ready by Wednesday, today being Monday. A perfect metaphor for Brazil's infuriating imbalances. I would rather wash my own clothes, having no interest in being Lord of the Manor. (Fond memories of using communal washers and dryers in the basements of New York apartment blocks.) I would also rather it cost me less than a king's ransom and that it was done in real-time rather than slow-motion. Sure, our current accommodation may be a cut above the average. But, still, this place has no running hot water in the kitchen, or toilets which flush paper, or central heating. Give me technologically (cost-)efficient, self-service appliances any day over expensive, sluggish remnants from the bad old days of upstairs-downstairs.

"We are a dishonest people"

So says a polemical opinion piece in today's edition of Estadao newspaper.

The article is headlined "Desonestidade é cultura", dishonesty and culture. The author's main point is that Brazilians like to talk about the shortcomings of their country and compatriots as if they, the ones criticizing, are somehow not included. Yet, says the author, Brazilians have all given a free pass to high-level corruption and criminality. He cites as an example the much-loved politician who is known to have embezzled millions of reais and yet is still widely admired as someone who "gets things done". Likewise, everyone knows how much money is being misused and misdirected under cover of Brazil's World Cup preparations, or lack thereof. In conclusion, he asserts, "we are all accomplices to a crime" and we are all living with a fundamental dishonesty.

If only his powerful words could be translated into action. In recent days we've had marches in favour of drug liberalization, saving the rainforest and, today, gay rights. As I intimated the other day, all three should be relegated in importance far below the as yet non-existent marches demanding an end to rampant crime and corruption.

However, I write these words from my new cocooned accommodation, with security way in excess of the requirements for a "normal" middle-class life. But as each day goes by this becomes my new normal. How long before I too am lulled into my own brand of Brazilian complacency / dishonesty and no longer care about the street outside my door ? As long as in my happy bubble I can "get things done".

A genius for gossip

Have been indulging our tastebuds and stomachs in various local buffets, or rodizios, as they call them here. Found a delicious and super-healthy one today, for 30 reais a head (about £12). The food was natural and tasty, which is perhaps why the restaurant was named Natural & Tasty. No doubt every inch of creativity went into the cooking, leaving nothing left over over for the naming.

The street lighting in our neighbourhood is almost non-existent so ironically it may actually be more dangerous than Bom Retiro in the evenings. We've heard from several sources that attacks in this area have increased.

A retreat

So after almost eight months (longer for P) we finally said goodbye to Bom Retiro, whose name means "pleasant retreat". All sorts of ironies there of course. Minimising our luggage, we had hoped to hire a man with a van but, once again, the locals priced themselves out of our market. Instead we booked two large taxis for 7pm but in classic Brazilian style they simply decided not to turn up.

While waiting for alternative taxis, we spoke with a kippa-wearing Jewish chap who has lived more than fifty years in a neighbouring apartment block (the same as your family's, Betti). As we had taken a final stroll around the neighbourhood today, it was sod's law that there seemed to be an unusually high number of charming, neighbourly interactions. P seems to know a great many people in the shops and cafes, some of whom she met while still pregnant.

A brith in Brazil

My son the half-Brit was unable to have a full-brith after his birth. At least, according to traditional Jewish law, which follows matrilineal descent. The word brith (pronounced Brit and also sometimes spelled bris but where's the pun in that?) means "covenant". The full Hebrew phrase is "brith milah" which translates as "covenant of circumcision". My damn iPad autocorrect keeps writing "brith Milan" which would be a covenant of Milan, sounding like a secret society for fashionistas. Anyway, a brith is supposed to be the first step towards actively joining the Jewish people and being bound by the rules of (their? our? everyone's?) God. A covenant is a posher, more poetic-sounding version of a contract. Posher, more poetic and supposedly unbreakable.

Watching the detectives

So the four detectives made a third and I imagine final appearance at our home, this time to speak at length to P. Their conclusion is that we, or rather I, were definitely targeted, since the attack happened so soon after I had returned home. They also said that the "Brazilian problem" meant that although our break-in was common gossip in the neighbourhood, no-one knew anything when questioned by them. Too much fear of reprisals from all-powerful criminals.

Extreme washing up

In marked contrast to most household chores, I've always loved washing up. Even with a dishwasher to hand, there's something just too tempting about rinsing and scrubbing a dirty plate or pan within moments of it's having been used, knowing how much quicker and easier it is to clean before the goo and gunge has a chance to set. In fact I find it therapeutic and even an aid to post-prandial digestion. Of course, like all "experts" I have my tried and tested techniques and my strict prohibitions (don't even think of dumping unrinsed dirty dishes into a sink-full of soapy water, do pre-clean with kitchen roll, make tactical use of the long soak and always think aeration when drainng !).

The hills, the hills !

Walking in central Sao Paulo again today, we found ourselves ascending a hill that I'm sure you could bungee jump off. Before I lived here I had no idea SP included such mountainous terrain, and I'm talking San Francisco steep, perhaps even steeper in places ? But unlike its US counterpart, Sao Paulo manages to combine near-vertical hills with useless infrastructure, such as barely existing sidewalks which suddenly morph into giant, clumsy steps, perhaps with a fat telegraph pole stuck slap-bang in the middle of the pavement. These kind of pedestrian delights make pushing a baby buggy uphill much more of a danger than a workout.

Opium of the people

Yesterday saw a modest-sized march along Paulista Avenue, as the usual cosmopolitan crowd of young trendies banged the drum, literally, for a liberalization of drug laws. (Have to say, it's a subject which bypasses my passions.) Once again Brazilians are nothing if not scrupulous in following the lead set by their Northern hemisphere brethren. Today's march, in the same location, was significantly bigger and called for greater protection of the Brazilian rainforest. Given that there has been an increase in assassinations of environmental activists lately, such demonstrations serve a doubly serious purpose.

ArgenTea

Sitting in a beautifully designed cafe called Tea Connection. It's in the upmarket, central area of Jardins, which may imminently become our new home, at least temporarily. It's the second time we have visited this cafe.

On the first occasion we had a longish chat with one of the Argentine owners, who were making their first move to expand the chain outside of Buenos Aires. It reminded me of some of the tea houses in London - indeed, the logo looks slightly too close for comfort to at least one of them.

The fact that it has free WiFi, hence this live blog post, is in itself cause for wild celebration here in the WiFi desert that is Sao Paulo. But the thing that really stands out is the style. Beautiful Argentine style.

Is it just because Argentina kept much stronger ties to Europe ? I remember on our recent trip to Buenos Aires being blown away by the quality and style in general. Yet when I visited BA many years ago, direct from London, I don't remember being so impressed.

Conclusion: too long in style-and-quality-challenged Brazil tends to make you go a bit giddy when certain living standards are reinstated.

By the way, the tea is a wide range of exotic concoctions but I find the fruit-infused water - subtle, refreshing and low in added sugar - even tastier.

A tale of two employees

Two people left their jobs on Friday. Let us compare and contrast.

Maria, our now former nanny, has become a recent feature on this blog thanks to suspicions swirling around the violent robbery but also because of my forced intimacy with her in my role as house husband.

Maria was better than the first nanny, but that's not saying much. She was a grandmother, while her predecessor was younger and without children. Sadly, both seemed to come with typical Brazilian nanny qualifications, ie a bit of very narrow life experience. They were unable or unwilling to learn and adapt and seemed stubborn as mules in doing things their way, or as they put it, the Brazilian way.

Ignorance isn't about how much you don't know; it's about how much you don't want to know.

Decline and fall

While all the soap-opera melodramas have been going on, a much more subdued but ultimately bigger drama has been rumbling under the surface. Namely, visas, passports, citizenship, identity.

My son could have been born in the UK had his mother decided to stay three more months. Then the vastly-abused benefits system and all the panoply of British citizen rights and human rights would have been at our mercy, despite his mother not being a British citizen. When it comes to birth, as with property, think: location, location, location.

Strangled by superstition

Whoever's writing the script for the drama into which I have stumbled is getting a bit drunk on non-stop thrills. The latest is P now telling me that Maria, the nanny, was woken up at 3am last night by the ghost of our landlady's allegedly murdered husband, who was trying to throttle her (Maria). The nanny hates football but loves religion.

Since P also has a tendency to superstition, like most Brazilians, she was quick to see this as confirmation of her own previous encounter with said unhappy spirit. This was apparently one night when we heard a noise in the adjacent bedroom (now Maria's room). I don't recall the incident as dramatically but probably more as just another example of random noises that all buildings, and especially really crappy semi-derelict ones like this make.

Cops or robbers ?

With plans to return to the UK being sabotaged on an almost hourly basis by endless visa headaches, yesterday was intense. Long chats with lawyers, emails to the embassy ... and then the intercom buzzes.

I feel more and more like an unwitting actor in a thriller. Answer intercom phone and don't understand the voices at other end. Go down to first floor and buzz my one and only neighbour but of course, in true thriller fashion, she's not in. Go tentatively down long corridor to our building's front door and try to make out figures on other side of the frosted glass. Can't.

Up, up and away !

When people talk about a baby's first words, and whether they might be mu-ma or da-da, mae or pae, shouldn't they be equally, or more, excited by the first sign of comprehension ? Just now I think we had clear evidence of Sam the linguist. "Balloon" ... "ba-loon", says I, while holding him a few feet away from the delightful object which we bought in Buenos Aires and which has been a source of (rather violent) fascination for him ever since. And on hearing the word, in marked contrast to the many previous occasions, he turns his head away from my face and towards said object. Gulp. I think we just created our own little piece of history. 8.15am, Tuesday June 14, 2011, 8.5 months after entering the world, Sam now sets sail on a voyage of verbal discovery.

PS: Retried experiment a couple more times and, no question, he associates the word with the object. Eureka !

Mutant mosquito

I can't believe what has just happened. It's after midnight, baby asleep, me reading, P trying to sleep, the orange light of our electric heater shining brightly from across the room. In the insane microclimate of our flat we are concerned that Sam may have caught a cold. You get the picture, it's unpleasant and wintry, even though outside during the day it still feels at least springlike. Just another weird fact of life here. Anyway, P suddenly says: did you hear that ? She's convinced there is a mosquito. I say, that's impossible, the change of season has ensured an end to that nocturnal nightmare. But I look anyway and see nothing. Assume it can't have been. Sure enough, five minutes later she hears the evil noise once more. This time it's all lights on and a more thorough check. As I'm doing so I realize I've received a nasty bite on my index finger. Can see no mosquito until ... WTF ?! Hiding on the wall next to her pillow is some kind of giant mosquito. Thank heavens its post-prandial agility is not so great, and thank heavens too that my electric tennis racquet thing is still charged up, so that I am able to electrocute the b*stard and ensure he fries. I can't risk him not being dead. I am at my wit's end with this country: HOW do we get a giant mosquito when we have to have a heater burning all night to stay warm ?!

Think global, act louco

The nanny didn't arrive at 9am as she had solemnly promised when she was given early leave on Friday afternoon. Nor did she phone to tell us why she wasn't here. Luckily, P, who is working a long and busy day in a bank, found her number and called, to be told that there was a bus strike (can any local resident confirm this ?) affecting her journey. Apparently it's a massive 3 hour commute to our place, via two buses and the usual insane traffic, hence her preference for sleeping over here Monday to Friday.

Next time I'll be better prepared ...

A local shop supplies the very latest in riot police fashion. To be fair, there is a major police station on Tiradents square. Talking of security, I've been spending too much time in the local branch of HSBC today (more of which in next post) and noted the paranoid defenses. Was kept waiting far too long for someone to open the door marked "disabled" (a very rare concession in SP, which basically means anyone who has to push any kind of wheeled object on these impossibly unfriendly sidewalks and entrances). As ever, there is no sense of urgency. On subsequent return visits, sans push chair, I kept getting stuck in the revolving door, which was having a hard time understanding it's raison d'etre. The security guards floating around had suspicious eyes and wore bullet proof vests. I was reminded of the couple of occasions I have seen armed guards delivering cash to banks in SP. They actually had their guns drawn, looking for all the world like some kind of desperadoes from the Wild West. On second thoughts, that seems an entirely appropriate description of all money men in Sao Paulo.

PS: Oh, how I miss my iPhone camera. The one on this iPad is pretty useless and I feel daft using a great big tablet as a camera.

Not falling for it

Finally made it to MASP, the famous red-and-grey concrete box on stilts in central Sao Paulo. As with museums in general, and Sao Paulo museums in particular, I went reluctantly, more interested in getting to the big fat Bovinus buffet afterwards, located a brisk walk away down Avenida Paulista.

From digital to dark age

How many material losses before you completely lose the plot ? We left our one and only remaining digital device, an iPad, in a taxi last night. Spent much of the night insomniac and with no clue as to the time, since watches also stolen. Local internet cafes closed. Thankgod we still had the telephone, albeit a horrible line. Managed to get sister across the sea to log into my Facebook and provide key phone number, of our hosts Angelica and Mark, leading to contact with taxi driver (thankfully a personal contact of theirs rather than anonymous) and return some hours later of iPad, for a handsome carriage fee. Am writing on it now. Another unwelcome reminder of the thin thread by which our (digital) lives hang.

And for my hundredth post ...

This morning my Nationwide debit card decided not to work, leaving me with 2.2 reais. I needed 2.9 for a one-way tube ticket to Higienopolis to teach my English class and earn 50 reais (c. £20). I considered begging but then tried the metro station ticket office where I hoped they would accept a credit card. They didn't. But to my pleasant surprise, the man took pity on me and my perhaps dubious mugging story and waived the remainder. Enjoy the rest of your stay, he said, thinking I was here for a few days rather than 7.5 months. Did I imagine he had a slightly sorrowful or even ashamed look ?

Power to the people

Today saw the second power cut in two days, albeit much, much longer than yesterday's (hours rather than minutes). Obviously a by-product of the endless rain, thunder and lightning which seem to have resumed after an unaccustomedly long break. If I was a travel writer I might welcome this plunge into darkness as a "colourful" detail of life in "colourful" Brazil (did someone mention "the soft racism of low expectations" again ?). Ditto the latest leak, coming through the strip light in our kitchen. But back in the real world, I / we have a baby to look after, feed, amuse and keep warm. Life in boring old monochrome would be very welcome. ( I noticed, btw, on a walk around our local streets that not all the restaurants and shops had lost power.)

The best kind of Brazilians

Sam's Brazilian grandmother and uncle unexpectedly arrive, worried and angry. She keeps shaking her head and saying, "There's something very strange about it ..." Sam is lucky to have some of the warmest and kindest people you could hope to meet as his Brazilian-side family. And I've been lucky to have them, too.

An inspector calls

Every nook and cranny forensically examined and a series of dazzling, deductive questions fired off ... or not. But they seemed nice enough and I'm sure his quip about Scotland Yard on leaving must have been funny.

Invasion of the booty snatchers

I, my son and his nanny were just held at gun point in our home by two low lifes. Priscila had always said to me, wait until all the "booming Brazil" brigade get violently mugged, then they'll change their tune. Well, after "helping" the invaders with their "shopping" we were tied up, hands and feet and gagged. Thankfully they were satisfied with taking large amounts of cash, iPhones, iPods, net books and other assorted things, which I've yet to itemise. Great that they missed this iPad even though it was sitting in clear view on the table. I thought it might be the end, City of God and all that, and no accounting for drug-crazed sadism.

The child within and without

They say the reason time goes by faster as an adult is because, unlike children, we are too familiar with our surroundings. The way to slow time down is to recreate childhood by opening yourself to new experiences on a daily basis. This phenomenon is most obvious when you travel. I have been "traveling" for some time now, and since I have also experienced life through the eyes of a newborn, witnessing giant leaps in his life in a period of time through which my former self would have sleep-walked, I can confirm that by becoming doubly childlike, this busier life has indeed slowed down. Gives new meaning to "more haste, less speed."

Medium was the message

The rise of TV and mass-media in the '60s prompted this infamous phrase by Marshall McLuhan. Mybe it was childish enthusiasm and neophilia that made him more excited by the genie's bottle than by what came out of it. But the "love of the new" has been with us ever since.

Bionic baby

I have of course been living in at least two new countries simultaneously. The other is first-time fatherhood. In the past two weeks, or maybe three, my eight and a bit month boy has suddenly transformed into a Staffordshire Terrier, phenomenal muscle power where before there was none.

More southern-hemisphere "hay fever"

I last mentioned this strange mirroring phenomenon in April, when I usually get my first intense dose of hay fever in the UK. May, just as in the UK, was quiet, but June so far is a nasal nightmare, with chronic sneezing and runny nose. This can happen at all times of the day but seems especially bad at night and early morning, like right now, at 6am. P tells me that growing up here she would call it autumnal Rhinitis (she also is a bit sneezy now but not on my scale). It seems to me, as a hay fever detective, that there is something going on here which links the two hemispheres - the same kind of pollen or something occurring in spring / summer in the UK and in autumn / winter over here. Whatever it is, my nose needs a break !

Toilet humour

How cheap can you get ? Not as cheap as our damn landlords. They have just replaced the toilet, which took several days because that's how long it takes for a bit of concrete to dry here. Why the hell were they using concrete ? Because it's Brazil where you need a very good reason not to use concrete !

Why did they change the toilet, since doing anything to enhance our existence in this death trap of a flat is like getting blood out of a stone ? Because every time we flushed it caused water problems in their flat below. So they changed the toilet, with great reluctance, but stopped short at providing a toilet seat. That non-essential luxury is apparently to come out of our pocket. Or so I was informed by the not-very-handyman who did the work and whom I had to ask to refrain from taking fag breaks in our bathroom,

Do we want a toilet seat ? I've been wondering whether perhaps we can re-imagine our toilet a bit like trendy cyclists in London re-imagine their bicycles: stripped down to the bare minimum. Perhaps it's even more hygienic not having a seat under which germs collect ? But at least one of the two females in this household would prefer a good old-fashioned toilet seat. The nanny didn't seem bothered when I asked her.

Failing infrastructure but funky uniforms

Parking police. But impressively sporty and colorful workwear also applies to bin men and other municipal workers. Ironically they look much more professional than their counterparts in the UK.

Brasil: where crap clothes cost more

£62 or $101 for this rag. If only it was the exception.