Reflections on Rio

I'm about to head to the airport, 8 hours before my flight is due to leave. Apparently during carnival it takes 3 hours to cover what is normally a 30 minute drive. The more I hear about this carnival the less I like the sound of it.

FYI Big Corp is just on the coast, just to the left of Christ the Redeemer's head. So I did get pretty close at least.

As I plan to head out, I note with some regret that I never did make it up to that big Jesus statue. Three times I tried, and three times I was foiled by slowness and shifting schedules. By slowness I mean the 25 minutes it takes to FedEx something (how hard can it be to hand someone an envelope?). By shifting schedules I mean meetings which were due to be over by 5pm, not even beginning till 6.30pm.

I'm afraid I have not been able to explode any regional stereotypes this week. Think Cariocas sit around in budgie smugglers munching on cheesy balls, saying 'ta bom' as their obligations slide away? Well, it's not a million miles from the truth.

For what it's worth I've turned a little Carioca myself. I spent most of my days in the office eating cheesy balls and dreaming of  hitting the beach. Which is odd - and a little frustrating - since I came here in a big hurry for some super urgent and important meetings (which have achieved mythical status in my mind: what would we have talked about? did they ever really exist? will they ever happen?).

But I cannot grumble. For I did get to hit the beach, for a run or a stroll at the very least, most days. While it was a shame not to be in London, since TLOML wasn't there either, I feel okay about putting the flat hunt on hold. And I did get those amazing toucan flips flops.

As I write this, I heard the news that we finally got the visa approved. So it is with a skip in my step that I will, um, sit in 3 hours of traffic... Just a few more days and the real business of settling into London life can begin in earnest.

Cheesy balls

Last time I was in Brazil I think the experience that had the biggest impact on me was the constant munching on pao de queijo. Or, as I named them, little cheesy balls. On that last trip I was in a meeting room solidly from 8am till 7pm and the guy that wheeled in a hostess trolley with a plate of hot cheesy balls, every couple of hours, was a welcome sight. I missed him when I left.

This time I'm all about the bolinhos de bacalhau. Or, as I call them, little fishy balls. When in Rome / Rio, I guess. Not a day has passed without me eating some of these little fried, salty treats. And with just two days left of my trip, I aim to maintain that record.

I haven't abandoned the pao de queijo, though. Only this time I am roaming free in Big Corp, with hardly any meetings, which means no meals-on-wheels. Instead I have to order for myself like a grown up. The girls at the coffee shop in the office don't even attempt to stifle their smirk as I attempt 'pao de queijo'. There's an invisible 'sh' in there that I never quite place at the right point. How I wish I could effect a decent Carioca accent, with all those sshs and qush and hshsh sounds. Or at least, that the girls in the coffee shop spoke sufficient English for me to order 'little cheesy balls' instead.

Undeterred, I have managed to scarf a fair number of these little cheesy balls. Today I had a working lunch and this is how it worked:

Of course, like all enjoyable food experiences, I find myself wondering if I can recreate it at home. There as a many recipes for pao de queijo online as the number of cheesy and fish balls I have eaten this week. That is to say, a lot. Some require overcooked potatoes as a base, others boiling milk and olive oil, and the easiest one looks a bit like a Yorkshire pudding recipe, only with tapioca and cheese instead of flour.

Sadly I think it will be a little while before I get a kitchen of my own to play in. But when I do... well, I'm adding 'making cheesy balls' to my daydream future life, back in the NW5 comfort bubble.

On ruts and routines

The same ex who accused me of 'living in an NW5 comfort bubble' also repeatedly told me I was 'in a rut'. He was right on both counts - and I was proud to concede so.

Why be ashamed of my lovely comfortable rut? A walk on the Heath every Sunday afternoon, followed by tea and Antiques Roadshow, or a pint. Saturday afternoons rifling through stock in 'The Shop' (so named because the Wonder Twin and I went there so frequently it needed no name). A regular grocery shopping run through the gourmet delights of Kentish Town (B&M Seafood, Phoenicia for baba ganoush and humous, and Earth for all the essentials). A twice weekly walk up to the Ladies Pond in the summer. A monthly pedicure at Tips and Toes. Poker nights, petanque on the Heath, and the occasional cricket match. And so on. This very pleasant, well established rhythm wove its way through a wonderful group of friends and some favourite pubs, parks and cafes, and yes, it was all very cosy.

When TLOML uprooted me to LA it did not take long to establish a new comfortable rut. Our regular run out to Nobu, followed by an ice cream from Malibu Yoghurt. Monday lunches at Coogies, to get out of the maids' hair. A sunset stroll on the beach, and my almost daily forays out on my bike, Doris (for so the Euro has christened her). Gin rummy and whisky on the deck. Pizza nights. Bouillabaisse nights. Our couples workout at the Pepperdine track.

In some ways we never really settled in New York, with our hearts stretched as they were between Malibu and London. But we did manage to get into a lovely comfortable rut there too, fairly quickly. Our regular walk down to Chelsea Market, sprees in the Lobster Place, cocktails at the Tipsy Parson, and coffee at Joe. Detours past Stella or Artichoke on the way home. My new running routine along the river. Nights in with Battlestar Galactica. And, of course, the ritual of bouillabaisse.

Living as I am in limbo, I am without routine. And yet, my ability to create a routine will not be constrained. 10 days in Rio is plenty of time to form a nice comfy rut. I quickly established the same breakfast every day - fruit, cereal and yoghurt, and I don't even look at the 'sausage pie' or the pastry baskets - and a gentle 3 mile jog along the sea front. I've managed to catch E! news every night, and BBC World News 'Hard Talk' every morning, which is a very edifying TV routine. And a highlight of my routine is my expresso duplo in the office, which always comes with a tiny little biscuit on it. The treat for me is guessing what the little biscuit will be.

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Friday

Thursday

Above all, it's just nice to feel at home. Guessing what today's little biscuit will be is a small way of feeling at home.

Still, I am not at home. And I'm dying to get there and get back in my rut. Since I last lived in London some of the parameters have moved: pubs have changed hands, people have had babies and even, gasp!,moved to the country. Still, the foundations of dear friends and excellent pubs remain.

I remain convinced our visa, and therefore TLOML's arrival in London, is imminent. Even though we'll be a little bit nomadic at first, I know it won't take long to establish a new routine. Hopefully one that involves as much as possible of my old routine - expanded and enhanced by TLOML's presence.

Rio bucket list

Most people who know Rio recommend the following bucket list:

1. Chillaxin' on the beaches of Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblon
2. A trip to Christ the Redeemer statue
3. The cable car ride to, and views from, Sugarloaf Mountain
4. A favela tour

Other items, like the Ipanema 'hippie market', visiting Lapa to admire the Santa Teresa aquaduct, and a walk along the shores of the saltwater lagoon which lies at the foot of the mountains behind Ipanema. Oh, and grilled cheese on Ipanema beach.

I'm afraid I didn't do very well.

I tried, really I did. On Friday, I escaped the office early just as the clouds that had hung about all day started to clear. I resolved to go to the Christ the Redeemer statue forthwith. It was 5pm, and all I had to do was drop my FedEx package off at the concierge. So I had plenty of time for the 30 minute cab ride to the station - to catch the last train to the statue, at 6pm.

Dropping the FedEx package required 2 forms, 4 phone calls, and literally took twenty five minutes. But as I hopped into a cab at 5.30pm, I was confident I would still have time to make that last train.

By 5.50pm I had been sitting in traffic, stationery for 15 minutes, watching clouds gather again and rain start to spit. I decided to skip it. The good news is that I'd spent most of my cab ride alongside that lagoon I'd been recommended to visit, so at least I could cross that off my list.

My trip to Christ the Redemer. He's up there on that hill, and this is as close as I got.

Instead of visiting that legendary landmark, I wandered along Ipanema's beach and had a nice early dinner at a lovely restaurant The Euro recommended.

On Saturday I decided it was too cloudy to bother with going up tall places for views. I also decided against the favela tour, having read that the only way to do it without being exploitative is to do a proper one, where the tour company contributes significantly to community projects. But the proper ones take a whole day, and I only have two of those days to burn. Plus I read a few reviews saying things like 'it's fascinating to see how theses slums have working electricity and running water' and decided that just wasn't fascinating enough. I've seen City of God, will that do? I'm making my contribution by relentlessly overtipping anyone who looks like they might live in a favela.

Instead of visiting statues and slums, I slept till 11am, went for a run, and took a cab up to Santa Teresa. Santa Teresa is a sweet, old, hillside neighbourhood where I ate shrimp pasties. I walked down to Lapa, which I had imagined was the Kentish Town of Rio: secretly hip, full of interesting, old, independent shops and places to eat. In fact it was just quite dirty. Still, I bought some cheap fruit and strode towards 'Centro' (downtown) to check out this cool 1970s cathedral:

Twenty minutes of circling this monster, down deserted, graffiti-covered streets, and I gave up. I hopped into the first cab back to Copacabana. There was still plenty of time left in the day for some lying in the (patchy) sunshine.

On Sunday I decided to cut out the middle man: all that 'trying to see stuff' bit. I headed straight for the beach. I took a long walk along Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblon beaches. I wandered into Ipanema and vaguely 'looked' for that hippie market, but when it didn't appear on the couple of blocks I tried, I quickly headed back to the beach.

My Rio sightseeing highlight

All of this is a long winded way of saying that I have been a very bad and lazy tourist. I have ticked Item #1 off that bucket list several times over, and that is all. It's been very nice though. My only regret? I wish I'd managed to find that grilled cheese seller on Ipanema beach.

Happiness-on-sea

I keep seeing women in the Big Corp office wearing halternecks and strappy sundresses. Today I commented, not without a sniff of judgement, that 'Some of these women look as if they're going to the beach'. (For reference, I was wearing a cute faux-Chanel jacket with bracelet sleeves, and a pleated skirt.)

My Brazilian colleague agreed. 'Yes - the beach, or a party,' he laughed, nodding appreciatively. I suppose he didn't mind all that bare tanned skin on show. Funny that.

On reflection, I decided, they probably were. Going to the beach or a party, that is. Or better still, both: a beach party. This is Rio after all.

Living by the beach turns everyone a little scruffy. I rarely got out of soft jersey and battered denim back in Malibu. And that beachy style is not just superficial. Something about the sound of surf, the smell of salt air, and a prospect involving sand and a watery horizon, just forces you to unwind. Being by the sea is just simply, purely, happy-making.

Maybe I'm a bit skewed, because my childhood was spent in a house on a cliff, and even when we moved inland, we were just 4 miles away from the beach. And then, TLOML and I had the happiest of times, living in bliss in our little surf shack in Malibu. For me, by the seaside is my happy place.

So I was trying to develop a theory about how people are happier if they live by the sea. I haven't got far on the mental health benefits, despite rigourous research much Googling. One of the top five 'happiest countries in the world' doesn't even have a coastline (Switzerland, if you're interested).

There's plenty of gubbins about the physical health benefits, though. Fresh air and the outdoor lifestyle that a beach beckons you into, are good for your heart, weight, and so on. That's clearly true - but I'm thinking not of my waistline but of that skip the seaside puts in my step.

What is that haze that lies over Rio? I think it's just the dust caused by the friction of many goodlooking people living by the sea. Happiness dust, I'd call it.

Travel essentials

I'm trying to rein in my spending at the moment. What with all that boring grown up 'saving for the wedding' stuff, it is not a good time to go around whazzing money up the wall on fripperies.

And yet... Rio has forced me to do just that.

It's not poor planning. I packed the two suitcases I have to live out of till our shipment arrives (some time in March) very carefully. It's hard enough for me to select clothes for a weekend, never mind 6 weeks. I covered all my bases - work, play, snow, spring, exercise - and I even managed to select an outfit for a wedding that was a month away. I would normally select that outfit from a choice of several, the day of the wedding. So it was quite a challenge for my ability to make advance wardrobe decisions and I met it. Accessories and all.

But, clearly, I did not plan to end up in Rio, in the middle of the Brazilian summer.

I did my best to resist the temptation to buy a new holiday wardrobe. I borrowed some basics - shorts, a summery vest, and a skirt - from my Wondertwin. I thought that would suffice.

And yet... and yet... I really, truly, could not spend even one more minute in Copacabana without owning a pair of flipflops with pictures of toucans on them. Obviously.

I wonder if I can claim them on my travel insurance, as an emergency purchase.

Geek Assessments (Oh the Funny Things Foreigners Say)

I'm in Brazil this week. Thanks to Big Corp I flew to Sao Paulo on an overnight flight - 4 hours sleep courtesy of an intentional Dramamine overdose - in an economy seat in the middle of a row. (Damn the United Continental merger! 1k means nothing anymore...) Suffice to say this is not how I imagined visiting Brazil., which has been on my 'to visit' list for a while. I was picturing something more along the lines of a business class lie-flat, and a couple of weeks in Rio.

Still, I'm here now. I'm locked in the Big Corp tower in the heart of Sao Paulo, which is a big 1970s concrete monster of a building, where 4000 Brazilians come to, um, mend computers and stuff.

I'm here as part of a panel of Expert Geeks interviewing dozens of Trainee Geeks, to assess their skills in moving post-its around and writing on a flip chart in different coloured markers. If they meet the grade, they get certified. For your understanding: they really want to get certified. Getting certified is a big deal.

I'm the worst person to be on these geek assessment panels, as I'm such a soft touch. All the Trainee Geeks are so nervous, and anxious to do well. I really just want everyone to pass and get their certificate. I want it so badly that when the Trainee Geek answers the question incorrectly, I ask it again in a different way. And again, in a different way. All the while I'm smiling and nodding enthusiastically like an overeager counsellor.

My fellow panellists roll their eyes and tell me to be a little tougher. We should be hard on these guys, and maintain a high standard for certified Geeks. Well, of course. We don't want just any old Tom, Dick or Harry waving their Big Corp Certified Geek certificate around, do we now?

But not only am I naturally a soft touch, in any Geek assessment panel. There's also the Brazil factor. Specifically:

1.  An attractive man wheels in a trolley with little cheesy choux pastry buns, tiny flower shaped shortcakes and good espresso, every couple of hours.


2. The candidate Brazilian Geeks are all of above average attractiveness. (Sometimes racial stereotypes are rooted in robust observations, okay?)

3. Love is in the air. Or, to put it another way, all my Brazilian Big Corp colleagues kiss and hug each other when they meet in the corridors or lifts. Isn't that a nice way to start your working day? I feel like I'm at a big party, albeit one where everyone is wearing bit business casual.

4. The girl Geeks all have perfect manicures. Which is quite distracting as they gesture towards their presentations. I find myself wondering what shade of burgundy that is, when I should be checking out the standard of their powerpoint.

5. Foreigners say such cute things! And in the most adorable accent, in Brazil's case.
There's been a lot of talk of Helpdesk tickets in these panels, and when our Geeks talk about tickets, they say 'chickets'. 'Ticketing' becomes 'chicketching'. I melt. And pass them all. Even the clumsy English is endearing: one of our candidates yesterday talked about 'preparating' for a workshop. Passed him too.
And the Brazilian who explained 'You know, we have this saying, I don't know if it translates, we say, "Look at the cat! Watch the cat! The cat is by the wall!"', just destroyed me. I didn't have the heart to say it didn't translate. Instead I squashed my giggles, nodded as if I knew exactly what she was talking about, and passed her too.

Copacabana can wait. In my three days in Sao Paulo I am making a lot of geeks very happy.