Watercolors Of Brazil VI

"Honey, what time does the Carnival start?"; I asked.

"11."

"In the morning?"; I was hopeful.

"No, night."

"WHAT???? Well, what time does it finish????"

"7am."

"Are you kidding me? I'm never going to survive that. My days of all night raves and such are well and truly over. I think I'm gonna stay in and have a cup of tea instead."

"Ah, no, you won't! You made me buy front row seats at an inflated price so now you will be going to that Carnival come rain or shine. NO cups of tea for you, Madame. Get a move on."; The Husband put his foot down.

 

We arrived at the Sambodromo.

"Here are our superior seats!"; I said and plonked my bottom at the front.

Some Brazilians had other ideas, however. The minute the parade started, and fueled by alcohol, they started pushing, shoving and elbowing their way to the front, generally ignoring the allocated seating and going as far as to stand right in front of my seat completely obscuring my view.

I wasn't having any of it. If they could be rude, hey, I'll give as good as I get: "Yo, yo, yo!!! You can't just barge in and stand in front of me. See this chair? MINE. Space in front of the chair? Also MINE! And, no, you can't stand ON my chair when I momentarily leave it, so jog on, lady!"

Once I took care of the seat jumpers, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Carnival was worth every penny.

And even though I managed to survive until 7am, I didn't manage to outfeather the Brazilians. :D

Watercolors Of Brazil V

The day begun extremely well...I woke up and saw some miniature monkeys playing in the trees outside my window.

"Oooooooohhhhh....monkeys, monkeys......OH MY GOD...there be mini monkeys in them trees there!!!"

"There are NO monkeys in the city, woman!"; The Husband rolled his eyes.

"Babe, I'm telling you...there are monkeys there."

I swiftly grabbed some bananas and hurried downstairs.

"Monkey, monkey!!! Come here. I got some bananas for you!!! Come!"; I called.

Surprisingly, 3 mini monkeys casually came over and started eating banana out of my hand. I was overwhelmed. I wanted to put them in my pocket and run. They would be my babies and I would be their human mom.

The idyllic scene was interrupted by a passer-by: "Do you have monkeys in Spain?"; he asked in all seriousness.

"Spain??? I'm from England, bruv. We have monkeys in a zoo."

"Not on the street?"; he continued.

"NO."

"What about birds?"

"Well, we have birds. But not colourful ones. Just...y'know...pigeons...also known as flying rats."

"Oh."; he said, undoubtedly feeling sorry for the lack of colourful fauna in England, and continued on his merry way.

I then stopped in a neighbourhood cafe.

For a coffee, obvz.

"Would you like some "Crazy Nigga" cake to go with your coffee?"; asked the lady.

I nearly spluttered my coffee all over the coffee shop: "I'm sorry...you wh...you what??? What cake???"

"Crazy Nigga cake!! Freshly made today!"; she was offering me what looked like a chocolate cake covered in chocolate sprinkles, adding helpfully: "It's a traditional Brazilian cake."

"And it's called Crazy Nigga?"; I was incredulous.

"Yes."; she said beaming from ear to ear: "It's delicious!"

"Ummmm....I'll have a slice. Thank you."

Political correctness clearly hasn't made it to Brazil. The cake, indeed, was delicious, but they really should rethink the name.

Straight after my daily coffee and cake fix, I turned to my husband and announced with a serious face: "I need feathers and fruit in my hair."

"You what?????"

"Feathers and fruit!"; I said matter of factly.

"What's wrong with you woman? I'm pretty sure you didn't exhibit any signs of madness when I maried you."

"Well, it's carnival tomorrow, remember? We bought tickets.  And even though I won't be parading around naked covered in strategically placed glitter, I figure I could at least have some feathers and fruit on my head. Also....ummmm...I found this cool shop on internet that sells stuff like that."

"You can pluck the chicken and glue some fruits from supermarket. It'll be the same."; he laughed.

I rolled my eyes and put my foot down: "No!!! I need these accessories. I came ALL THIS WAY and now you want me to be FEATHERLESS for carnival!!!! It's unheard of!!! You're mentally torturing me."

He gave in.

I walked in a small atelier selling wacky headgear and started perusing. 

Straight after me, a breathless Brazilian girl run in shouting: "Have you got anything Carmen Mirandaaaa?????"

She plonked a big plastic fruit basket on her head and admired herself in the mirror.

Not to be outglittered and outfruited by Brazilians, I reached for the nearest plastic, glittery fruit headpiece too.

"Are you taking the piss???"; proclaimed The Husband.

"Erm..."; I dropped the fruit basket and picked up a rose crown a la Frida Kahlo.

"It's still too much. Where on earth are you gonna wear this once the Carnival is over, eh??"; he said.

"Erm...Mexican themed parties...?"; I answered.

"Oh yeah. Because London is full of those, right?"

I bought the crown anyway.

Now if anyone knows any Mexican parties coming up in London, holla!

I wore:

Blouse: Zara (similar here )

Rose crown: Can Can Acessorios

Shorts: French Connection (similar here )

Shoes: Whistles (similar here )

Bracelet: Ottoman Hands (similar here )

Linking up with: Travel Tuesday

Trend Spin, Brilliant Blog Posts & Throwback Thursday 

Watercolors Of Brazil IV

"Let's go to Santos!"; suggested The Husband.

"What do they have there?". I was eyeing him up suspiciously. 

"They have Santos football club and Pele museum"; he beamed.

"Erm...how about NO." I wasn't having any of it.

"They also have the beach." He clearly saved his winning card for last.

I perked up: "Beach? Let's go. When are we leaving? I can pack in half an hour flat!!!"

 We arrived to Santos. The city was charming, but the sea was a murky grey colour and fringed with even greyer sand.

"Bleedin Nora, man!!! This is not a beach. It's dirtier than Blackpool beach after 200 hen and stag parties stampede through it." To say I was disappointed was an understatement.

"Erm...they also have a coffee exchange museum and an antique tram that takes you through the city." The Husband was quickly doing some damage limitations.

It worked.

I sampled the coffee (and cake...you always have to have a cake) at the city's coffee exchange and took a delighful little tram ride. We also visited Botanical gardens, saw some massive guinea pigs and spied a few interesting birds.

All that sightseeing made us ravenous so we opted for a pizza.

Brazilians love to big up their pizza saying it's best in the world so naturally I had to sample these delights.

That's not to say I  wasn't sceptical. Everyone knows that the best pizza  comes from Italy. End of. Amen.

I was right. The pizza that arrived was swimming in oil and imitation cheese.

"Good Lord, no! I can't be eating this abomination. I think it's time to get out of here."

With that we made a swift exit from town, just stopping to fill the car with gas.

This being Brazil, of course, you do not leave your car to do anything yourself, oh no.

One of many gas attendants will do everything for you. We were the only car in the gas station and there were about 20 attendants.

I compared that with England where the norm is one...possibly two workers per petrol station.

I could only conclude that Brazil is clearly a country where they love to keep people in employment. Even if those people have fuck all to do. 

I wore:

Sunglasses: Whistles (similar here )

Top: Zara (similar here )

Shorts: French Connection (similar here )

Hat: Accessorize (similar here )

Sandals: Birkenstock (here )

Rings: Dogeared; Kris Nations (similar here )

Bracelets: from Israel; Ottoman Hands (similar here )

Linking up with: Style Sessions , Monday Mingle , Let It Shine  & Visible Monday

Watercolors Of Brazil III

"Oh, look...the world famous Brazilian carnival is on. We obviously need to go and see that. It's in EVERY bucket list you will ever read. We NEED to go!"; I instructed The Husband.

He had no choice but to agree.

In typical Brazilian fashion buying tickets online was not an option with foreign bank cards. We had to physically go and buy them from the venue. Why make it easy for foreign visitors when you can make it difficult? 

The journey involved taking the bus,  underground and finally a mini bus to the other side of town where Sambodromo (stadium built specially for carnival and samba schools parade ) was located. 

The underground was light and airy and somewhat superior in design to the London one. 

Other than regular seats, there were also priority seats....the usual...preggo ladies, disabled people, elderly people and...my favourite, obese people.  Obese people's seat was quite a bit wider than your regular seat and to sit in it you had to have an mbi of at least 40. I wondered who checks if your mbi is just so. I couldn't help thinking the fat seat is a novel idea, but also that maybe, just maybe they can also go easy on them Kentucky Fried Chickens.

Since all the regular seats were taken, I sat in one of the priority seats.

Not for long!

At the next station the door opened, the people started pushing and shoving and a semi-old dude started yelling at me before he even entered the carriage: "Yo, yo, yo.....I want that seat. Can I have it? It's a priority." Like a young, lithe gazelle he swiftly and expertly manoeuvred towards me and I had no choice but to get up. 

I was gonna get up anyway, but I wasn't quite prepared for all the yelling, shoving and demands for the priority seat. I perceived later that this behaviour was the norm in Brazil. So unlike London where, even if you're in later stages of pregnancy, you will stoically stand on your feet, just casually shooting occasional evils towards the person pretending to be asleep in the priority seat. You will never, ever, under no circumstance ask for the aforementioned seat, not even if your life depended on it.

After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to station where Sambodromo was located. 

It was a bustling station teeming with people.

With the corner of my eye I spied some Gringos. 

(Brazilians helpfully call every foreigner gringo. Unless you're Asian. Then they will call you Japa even if you happen to be Chinese or Korean.)

The gringos I spied where miles away, but I could still tell they're foreigners. I don't quite know what it was that set my gringo radar off...maybe their general sweaty disposition in a hot, tropical climate or the shoes that were just a smidgen better than those that the rest of the crowd at the station were sporting. 

"Do I look like a gringo?"; I asked The Husband.

Without hesitation and all a bit too quickly for my liking he said: "Yes!"

"What???? WHY???? I don't want to look like a gringo!!!"

"But you're pale."; he said unflinching.

"What????? But I went to two sunbed sessions prior to coming here. This is me looking TANNED!"

 We continued walking to Sambodromo in silence.

 Tickets for carnival varied in price.

"I'm getting the front row tickets. I don't want regular seats."; I announced.

"Sweetie, I'm sure you can see just as well from the balcony seats. Maybe even better."; The Husband was worried for his wallet. 

Considering that the tickets cost the equivalent of a 2-3 days worth of top festival extravaganza  back in the UK, I could hardly blame him.

Still..."No. I want FRONT ROW seats. This is a once in a lifetime kind of event. I didn't come all this way to sit with Joe Bloggs at the back. Uh-hum. No Sir. Just No."

We bought front row tickets.

This better be worth it.