Brazil, and não falo Portuguese

PORTO ALEGRE, RIO GRANDE DO SUL, BRAZIL - 4th February 2010

It's never a comfortable experience to have one's passport taken away from you, but what with not being able to speak a word of the language and the general nodding faces of all the bus company's staff around me, it seemed I had little choice when checking into my intercity coach from Montevideo up to Porto Alegre last night.

Even before this stage it had been a pretty grim journey - after a cheap but nice, albeit fairly rushed dinner with Oli and Becca I had to take on an absolute deluge of rain getting back to my hostel, and had just enough time to ram random pieces of clothing into my bag before running back downstairs to grab my taxi. Except that downstairs in the pouring rain, no taxi awaited. Figuring it was a total waste of time to head all the way back upstairs with bags and all, I just took on the downpour for a few more minutes and eventually got hold of a new cab... and once again got charged a handsome "gringo" excess rate for what should have been a US$2.50 journey.

My first experience of proper intercity bus travel in South America was, however, a resounding success - the seats are big, spacious recliners with legs rests that fold out, and the journey includes a plate of dinner with sandwiches, fruit juice, yoghurt and dessert. Given the crap I managed to sleep in in Australia, I was out like a log as soon as the grub was down my throat.

I woke briefly at some ungodly hour when, much to my confusion, I was handed back my passport to find SALIDAR - URUGUAY and ENTRADA-BRASIL stamps lodged inside. No face-to-face, no nothing. But at that stage I was off with the fairies so didn't give it a second thought.

Heading out of Montevideo at breakneck pace is not, thankfully, part of some aimless travel plans, but the second stage of a surprisingly well planned trip up through south-eastern Brazil to get to Rio de Janiero by about the 12th February, both to meet up with Anna, and of course for Carnaval. Porto Alegre, as well as being perfectly located en route, was chosen for a stop thanks to a generous offer from Paulo, one of my Dad's colleagues at CVCI and son of the town, to stay at his parents' place. With both an address and a phoenetic Portuguese description of how to say "two blocks on from the Encol Park", the taxi ride wasn't too big an issue - but it was an amusing development to discover that neither of Paulo's parents spoke English! I can honestly say that my Portuguese is infinitely worse than my Spanish... and I do not speak Spanish...

I've often wondered, particularly at many of the indigenous exhibhits over in Australia and New Zealand, about what efforts both natives and colonists like Captain Cook must have gone to in order to understand one another when they met out of the blue. But when you throw yourself into a situation where neither you nor the person you are talking to understand what each other is saying, it is amazing how easily you can manage to communicate. Things like my Spanish phrase book were useful, but in general a combination of arm signals and particular buzz words meant that we had a great time - clothes were put in the washing machine, breakfast was enjoyed with fresh hot coffee and a selection of delicious home-made jams (including an excellent fig one and something that was similar to, but apparently not, orange), and lunch featured an excellent meat-and-sauce dish that I believe is traditional to the Rio Grande do Sul southern Brazilian area, although for obvious language-related reasons I can't be sure!

The federal state of Rio Grande do Sul is fairly marked in its cultural identity - plenty of what I have read suggests the state's relationship with Brazil can draw many parallels with Scotland's relationship with the United Kingdom and Westminster. Geographically situated at the very foot of the vast Brazilian landmass, the area's history is one of guachos (cowboys) that arguably has more in common with its Argentine and Uruguayan neighbours than its Portuguese Brazilian brothers. As such, the region has had elements of separatism in the political sphere, but at the very least maintains a proudly independent culture.

I will be lucky enough to sample the cuisinery elements of this culture this evening, as Paulo's sister and her son will be joining us out for a traditional gaucho-style Brazilian barbecue - an awesome affair involving every kind of meat under the sun, served fresh at your table, with limitless supply. It goes without saying that I am exceedingly excited.

In the meanwhile, however, Urbes (Paulo's father) took me into town for a bit of tour - though not before a thoroughly entertaining trip to the bus station to try and book a ticket to Florianópolis tomorrow afternoon. From the internet, I knew exactly what bus I wanted, its number, departure time - the works... but I couldn't express any part of this in Portuguese, resulting in a ridiculous exchange involving pointing at watches, exasperated eye rolling, and eventually just writing it down on a piece of paper. With the ticket printed and all the details correct, all's well that ends well!




Porto Alegre, as the state capital, houses Rio Grande do Sul's government and legislative offices, most of which are around Praça da Matriz - a sort of central piazza. Dominating the southern façade of the square, however, stands the Catedral Metropolitana, whose stunning frontal architecture complete with frescoes (above) is only topped by the beauty of its interior. I don't really like taking photos inside churches, but there are some good ones you can see on the cathedral website and on the Portuguese Wikipedia. From there, we went into the legislative building next door and had a wander around - an absolute highlight being on the second floor, where a group of dressed up dancing girls were strutting their stuff while a quartet of guitarists and drummers jammed some tunes. Right in the middle of the corridor between the offices of the Finance Minister and the State President! Somehow, I can never see it catching on in Westminster...

Spending most of the day inside with the air conditioning, it was immediately obvious that today was a scorcher when we stepped outside. However, it was only when we got back in the car that we realised quite how hot it was... the dashboard tells a fitting story - especially when you note the time (even if the date is wrong!)...