Monday 7th June

Public sanitation street art

So here we were, back in São Paulo for four days before we flew home (apart from Bill who was continuing on to Argentina). When the original travel plans had been put together we had been scheduled to stay for another full week after the festival, during which time we would be doing four gigs for an organisation who were providing some of the money for our flights, but I was due to be in Croatia the day after we'd get back (aren't I the jet-setter?) so we'd asked to cut the trip short. We weren't sure if this would be possible or if these sponsorship gigs were a prerequisite for the funding but after a while we were told it would be OK, reducing our performances to two. After arriving in Brazil we heard that one of these had been cancelled and there was now just a single gig planned, on the Wednesday evening, and even this one was clouded with some uncertainty.

Once again it felt like we we weren't being told the full story. We'd assumed that these gigs would be providing much needed sponsorship money to cover some of the expense of bringing us over from the UK but now it was sounding like they weren't that important. We wouldn't be earning much for doing them and given the choice we'd have preferred to head off home soon after the festival had finished (after a day for shopping, of course!). None of us were really looking forward to an extended stay in the centre of a huge city and it was frustrating to think that it might have been possible to have cut it short.

But here we were and we might as well make the most of it. We'd thought about visiting MASP (Museu de Arte de São Paulo, the central art museum) during our first couple of days here but had decided we were probably too jet-lagged to properly appreciate it. Now that we were properly in sync with our circadian rhythms it seemed like an idea who's time had come, so we set off on foot to take an overdue dose of Culture.

Our first walk around the city had been on a clear and fresh Sunday, on a slightly muggy working day and having come straight from a country resort the low air quality was immediately apparent, both as a haze on the horizon and as a developing irritation in the throat and sinuses. Friends here had said that the pollution levels had been reduced enormously in recent years and walking around never became actively unpleasant but there was no question that we were in an intense urban environment.

We arrived at MASP to find it was closed. Sigh. We'd made tentative plans to meet up with one of our Brazilian friends later in the day but couldn't get through to her by phone (another recurring situation) so once again we were left wondering what would be happening. I realised that I was starting to feel 'peopled out' after the festival and although the five of us had coped pretty well with living on top of each other for the past week it would be good to get some personal space for myself, so I set off on my own to wander the city and see what I found.

Stained glass light in the Cathedral de Sé

The first step was back to the hotel - my moby had done its usual trick of going from battery full to recharge now! in a matter of minutes, not helped by some quirk of the international mobile phone network which meant I was receiving dozens of duplicate messages from Renata. As I'd forgotten to bring my camera I was relying on the built-in one in my moby and with the general level of confusion and uncertainty I didn't want to find myself out of contact with the rest. I plugged the recharger in and did a quick check of my email while the phone was recovering, only to find that the hotel's internet connection was broken. Oh well, an incentive to get out and about.

One of the attractions shown on our tourist map was the Cathedral de Sé in the north part of the city - too far to walk so an opportunity to explore the underground Metro system. It was simple and easy to use - one ticket let you into a station, you could then travel as far as you wanted. The stations were spacious and well signposted, the trains were modern, fast and comfortable, and within minutes I was emerging into the palm shaded Praça de Sé in front of the cathedral.

The cathedral was OK but nothing special, despite its imposing architecture and the washes of multicoloured light pouring in through the stained glass windows it felt somehow functional rather than numinous. The people inside gave a similar impression, for each of the kneeling worshippers there was someone else just taking a break, reading the paper or in some other way just using it as a convenient cool space. On one pew I saw someone deep in prayer while his neighbour was animatedly waving his arm as he talked into his mobile phone. Two ways of reaching out to the unseen? I'd been expecting to see more active evidence of Catholicism in Brazil but there were very few churches in the city (at least the parts I visited or drove through) and little of the overt displays of religious alliance that I was used to in European Catholic countries.

The cathedral was hushed but didn't have the sense of stillness and peace that I was searching for. Where would I find such a thing in a crowded and busy city?

A very small part of the Cemitério de Araçá

When we'd first checked in to out hotel in São Paulo we'd been given a tourist map to help us find our way around in the city. I'd poured over mine looking for green spaces - parks, gardens or the like - and had seen a couple of large cemeteries fairly close to the area we were staying in. There hadn't been time to visit them during our first period in the city but now I had time, space and a mastery of the public transport system so I plunged back into the Metro and set off for the Cemitério de Araçá.

The little green rectangle on the map had not prepared me for the size of the cemetery - it was huge! The (more or less) regular grid structure was softened by the hillside setting and the many mature trees but as I meandered through the stonework it seemed to go on and on, each turning or crest revealing another stretch of tombs and mausoleums.

As in the city beyond the walls space was at a premium. The tombs were packed cheek by jowl with the only greenery provided by the shading trees and the occasional opportunistic weed. Single carriageway 'streets' divided the cemetery into 'blocks' within which small alleyways gave access to individual mausoleums, numbers were painted on the junctions to aid navigation. At the centre was a bright orange church that gave stark contrast to the acres of marble and grey stone.

Cemetery skyline

A couple of hours wandering in this city of the dead let me unload the stress and pressure of the previous week, not just from the work I'd been doing at the festival but the unremitting pressure of having people and noise around me all the time. Here it was quiet, still and timeless, a reminder that all this will pass. The sheer size of the place stopped it becoming morbid and depressing - one grave is a personal tragedy, a sea of them somehow bring acceptance that this is the way of things.

Some unexpected sights:
There were lots of cats in the cemetery, looking well fed and content they eyed me with feline suspicion and would grudgingly wander away if I came too close.
In the middle of these thousands of Christian tombs I came across one solitary Muslim mausoleum, topped with crescent moons and inscribed in Arabic.
Many of the tombs featured statues - mostly of Christ but the Madonna and various cherubic angels were also popular - but there were a remarkable number of duplicate copies of the same design, often right beside each other. It was very odd to see four mausoleums in a row, each with the same stern Jesus or beatific angel on top.

Ironically revitalised by my sojourn in this Other Country I made my way back into the noise and relentless activity of the city and found yet another route to walk back to the hotel. The road layout in the area where we were staying was essentially a regular grid and although I sometimes came across a wider than expected street and had to work my way down it to find a crossing place (I was never going to attempt to traverse a São Paulo road without a zebra crossing, set of traffic lights and reassuring illuminated green man) I never felt lost or disorientated while wandering around.

Back at the hotel I met up with the rest of the band and we headed off for a light supper at our by now familiar breakfast café. I realised that I'd gone without lunch but after a week of Brazilian style big midday meals it felt good to have 'fasted' for a while and I certainly hadn't missed it. Or I thought I hadn't - after clearing my frugal salad plate I was tempted into a burger which turned out to be a giant tower of bread, meat and all the trimmings, with a side order of chips thrown in. I only managed half of it but even so I rolled down the hill to the hotel and from there to bed.

Graveyard cats

A cluster of public telephone 'booths'

A little infantile amusement

Tuesday 8th June

Overshadowed houses on the corner of our block

Tuesday broke with the news that Lucy had come down with something during the night, a salmon omelette had been lined up as the most likely suspect but whether it was this or a virulent bug the end result was the same - she wouldn't be leaving the hotel for a while.

We had a lunchtime meeting with the festival organisers planned with various subjects on the agenda - our city gig the following evening, some money matters, and any leftover stuff from the festival. We piled into a cab and endured the bone and suspension rattling ride across town then, in true Brazilian fashion, immediately went out to lunch.

The meeting went well, with a few days for feelings to calm we were able to talk about what had gone on during the festival without emotions rising and both sides affirmed that overall it had been a positive experience. Eventually. We came up with some ideas for the next night's set list but didn't make any definite choices until we knew how much Lucy would be able to do. The money talk was postponed as there hadn't been time for the organisers to sort their stuff out, but it sounded like things would be sorted out without any unpleasant surprises for us.

The Madonna, Snow White, and the Seven
Dwarves at the child care centre

After the meeting we were taken to visit a centre for orphans and children at risk that was supported by the festival organisers - part of the money raised there was donated to the centre and one of the organisers was a regular volunteer there. The place was on the spartan side but was light and cheery, there were a few sad faces but most of the children we met seemed happy and outgoing. There were some tragic stories but the general sense was one of optimism and of making a real and practical difference in these children's lives. I had fun playing with the kids.

When it was time to leave the centre we hit another of those communications breakdowns that seemed to pop up regularly during our time in Brazil. We were left waiting for our guide while she sat in the office, typing away at a computer. Eventually she came out to reveal that she'd been looking for the best route to a shop that sold crystals, something that we'd expressed an interest in during our first time in the city, and that it would take over an hour to get there. If she'd asked us whether we wanted to spend another hour in a car at the outset we'd have said no and moved on to other options, but for some reason this pattern of assuming that a vague whim was an urgent requirement kept coming up, resulting in people doing lots of work over something that we ended up not wanting, leaving both sides feeling unheard or unthanked. A cultural mismatch that I never quite put my finger on.

But eventually we headed off to go shopping. We drove a short way to Vila Madalena, a funky neighbourhood with interesting and unusual shops, galleries and bars. The first couple we went into were really expensive and a bit too arty/pretentious for me but we then found a wonderful place that sold interesting, inexpensive native-made arts and crafts that was government supported and (to some extent) fairtrade so a lot of the money actually got back to the people who made them. We made good use of our local currency.

The time came to head off home so we found a taxi and sat back to be whisked home. Unfortunately the São Paulo traffic had other plans. We crawled through gridlock, taking well over an hour to cover the ground that had taken twenty minutes to do so earlier in the week. We arrived back tired, rattled and having been extensively marinated in exhaust fumes. The boys decided that a beer was the ideal cure and we made tracks for the Best Pizza Parlour in São Paulo which lived up to all expectations.

But where do the hip buy their clothes?

Where there's life...?

Wednesday 9th June

Another São Paulo skyline, this one from SESC Pinheiros

Our last full day in São Paulo! Having tried twice to get to MASP (Museu de Arte de São Paulo) and failed we were determined to make a go of it this time, so after breakfast the five of us (Lucy was back on her feet, although somewhat tentatively) headed off up the hill to Avenue Paulista. The museum was about twenty minute's walk away but we easily doubled this by meandering and wandering in true tourist fashion, partly due to certain Shopping Requirements that were under consideration.

The ticket office was manned by one of the world's most miserable and surly clerks, snapping and muttering when we committed such heinous crimes as paying for a R$15 ticket with a R$100 note. This was quite a contrast with virtually all of the other Brazilian shop assistants and waiting staff I dealt with who, even when faced with weird requests and requirements (black tea with cold milk is a bizarre and unknown concoction in Brazil but a seemingly Essential Requirement of Life for certain Britons) responded with polite helpfulness and humour. Anyway, we made it past Mr. Miserable and entered the museum - via a lift which was unexpected.

In the days since returning to the city we'd all been suffering from sore throats, itchy eyes and other symptoms of Urban Pollution Attack. There were no obvious smells in the air or a feeling that it got worse or better in different areas, I suspect it was just the combined effects of so many thousands of cars filling the streets and endlessly fighting their way from A to B and back again. For whatever reason it was physically relaxing and refreshing to step into the cool, softly-lit space of the art gallery and to feel time slowing down as I stepped into a contemplative and introspective state.

The museum had a small but fascinating collection, a few European artists and lots of Brazilian (or certainly South American) ones, most of whom were unknown to me but several of which I found engaging and (in some cases) engrossing. The layout of the museum was odd, we entered (via the lift) at the second floor and made our way down, ending up two levels below ground. The only real failing was that the shop appeared to be closed and I wasn't able to buy any prints or cards to remember some of the artists' names.

Our one remaining São Paulo gig (of the four that had been originally planned) was in the evening but at this stage of the trip expectations were running very low. We were all tired, Lucy was still well sort of 100%, our experiences along the way had made us wary of what had been promised for us, and all in all this was becoming something to get through rather than be excited about. The organisers had asked us (or rather Lucy, Jacqui & Bill) to sing an acapella piece that they'd never done together before and which needed some work to bring up to performance standard, and for Bill to teach a song for the participants to sing, both of which added an extra bit of pressure. Still, we'd added these and another couple of requests to the set list and had come up with something that should please everybody.

Rory starts warming up for the SESC gig

As with getting about anywhere in the city we needed to set off well in advance to allow for whatever we might find on the roads. In the middle of the afternoon we loaded up the minibus and set off towards Pinheiros.

The drive across town was typical of our Brazilian journeys - careful manoeuvring around the bumps and potholes of the smaller streets then high speed weaving between other drivers on the multi-lane highways. However despite the relentless assertiveness of the vast majority of Brazilian drivers I hardly ever felt that we in danger of collision or imminent violent death (this outlook was not shared by all of the band members), there was a sense that so long as everyone behaved in the same predictable, expected way (regardless of its sanity or legality) then everyone else could act appropriately and move in some strange but effective harmony. In all the time I spent walking or being driven around the city I only saw one 'near miss' that involved the squealing of brakes.

(A quick googling reveals that Brazil has an appalling road traffic death rate and the breakfast TV traffic report always featured pictures of mangled cars with attendant emergency teams but the illusion of safety remained.)

Eventually we pulled up in from of a large, modern building - SESCSP Pinheiros. SESC (Serviço Social do Comércio) is a non-profit organisation that runs several centres providing art, cultural and recreational facilities across Brazil, SP indicated that this was the São Paulo area and Pinheiros was the district we were in. The building was modern, spacious and airy and in our wanderings through it we saw (or smelt) a swimming pool, sports hall and large theatre and the signs indicated that there was a lot more besides. We were led to our dressing room (we had a dressing room!) to unload and freshen up, then Lucy, Jacqui and Bill carried on polishing the new acapella piece while Rory & I went up (the dressing room was four stories below ground level, the performance space was on the fifth floor above) to see the dance space.

My 'backstage pass'

The wonderfully equipped and decorated building had raised expectations so the first view of the room came as quite a shock. It was a huge sports hall with a cavernous arched roof, like an aircraft hanger but without the sense of cosiness and intimacy. The air conditioning, presumably set up to cope with large numbers of sweaty bodies in gymnastic exertion, filled the space with a low, roaring drone. All it needed to complete the picture was a low flying aircraft and within minutes one had appeared - we were under the flight path for Congonhas, São Paulo's domestic airport. There was no sign of the promised PA system either. As a grand finale to our Brazilian tour it was not shaping up very well.

Lucy and Jacqui between verses

Rather than go for a full PA system we'd chosen to just have a couple of microphones for the vocals and play the instruments acoustically, just using their natural sounds. This meant that we could set up in an inward-facing circle at the centre of the space, the way we would for a rehearsal, and have easy eye contact with everyone. The microphone levels were quickly set - it was a little strange to have the vocals come from the speakers set above and around the room but easily adjusted to - and after a couple of soundcheck numbers we were ready to go.

Having a close, intimate set-up made playing much easier and much more enjoyable. When the band is strung out in a line facing the audience it's often hard to make contact with the others, especially when singing or playing acoustic instruments that tie you to the microphones. The behaviour of the monitors (and the people operating them) becomes vitally important and it's not unusual to have a very unbalanced sound mix - I've been in situations where I'm playing on faith even when the dancers are getting a beautifully mixed final result. Freed from all of the technological worries and potential failings we could relax and just play some music together.

The gig went wonderfully well. The crowd was small, maybe forty at most, but amongst those were lots of friends from the festival. Both organisers and band were happy with the set list and with a number of inexperienced dancers in the circle easy & fun was the order of the day. Without being tied to a microphone stand or cable I was able to wander around, interact with the dancers and generally lark about - striking guitar hero poses, bopping around with the dancers, and finishing up standing high on a chair for the final chord. My playing may not have been at its most precise but I was in my element and certainly provided entertainment value if not musical virtuosity.

All too soon the gig was over - as it was we ran way over time but nobody seemed too bothered by this. Despite weariness, stress and more Omens Of Doom than you could count we'd ended up on a high note with everybody smiling. There had been tentative plans for a late meal after the dancing but we were all starting to fade and after hugs and goodbyes on the pavement we were soon minibussing our way back to the hotel. The residual adrenaline encouraged Bill and I to go out for a final drink but even we ended up back home after a couple and it was nighty-night all round.

Friends from the festival

A São Paulo shopfront
(I have no idea what they were selling)

Thursday 10th June

A dash of colour amongst the city's glass and concrete

São Paulo would be sad to see us go - the day broke grey and cloudy. We were due to meet with Renata at noon to have a final meeting (primarily to sort out money matters) and go out to lunch together but that gave us the morning free for packing, preparation and last minute shopping.

Jacqui was very keen on the latter, after breakfast she was into a taxi to meet up with Renata for a guided retail therapy session. The rest of us walked up to Avenue Paulista where we separated - Lucy in search of Brazilian football paraphernalia for her sons, the boys to check out the nearby shopping mall. This had come highly recommended by the organisers and other Brazilian friends but it turned out to be quite a disappointment, filled with very conventional upmarket shops with extremely high prices. I'd been mildly tempted by the idea of an official Brazil football shirt but these were going for R$180 (nearly £70) which was way out of my league. After walking the aisles for a few minutes it was clear that there was nothing for any of us here so we each went our own way to while away our remaining couple of hours. I rode the Metro to see another part of the city but soon had to head back again in time for the meeting.

We met in the lobby of the hotel and were soon surrounded by paperwork. Each of us had a form to sign (in duplicate) indicating what we'd been paid and what this was in return for and I had another set for my dance workshops. There was a breakdown of the overall accounts for bringing the band to Brazil and, an unexpected addition, a certificate verifying our participation in the festival (once again I got two for my dual roles). Thanks and appreciations were exchanged and the last of the monies were paid over. The amounts we had originally been promised had all been 'rounded up' to allow for extra expenses and conversion charges (we were all paid in Reais) and this final act of generosity cast a very positive light on our whole experience.

Then it was off to lunch. There were lots of restaurants in São Paulo that provided a self-serve buffet service with either a fixed price or price per kilo (your plate was weighed each time) and Renata took us to an amazing one with an Italian theme - big, log-fired pizza ovens, a dozen types of pasta and an enormous selection of salads, veggies and cold cuts. We ate, drank and made merry with the prospect of a transatlantic flight starting to cast a shadow.

Checking out time at the hotel was at 2pm which was fast approaching. Renata was unfazed by this, suggesting that so long as one or two of us were there on time to start the process there wouldn't be any problems with taking our time to actually move out of the rooms. Bill and Jacqui set off to be there while the rest of us finished off our food, sipped our drinks (mine was pineapple juice with mint, something I developed quite a taste for) and eventually made our way back.

When we got there it was to find most of the cases stacked on a baggage trolley in the lobby. The hotel staff had not been as easygoing as predicted and Jacqui and Bill had done sterling service in moving most of the luggage on their own. The rest of us quickly packed and loaded the rest of our stuff and we were ready to head for the airport.

Statue at Guarulhos Airport

We heard about (and experienced) São Paulo's traffic but some of the precautions for dealing with it still took us by surprise. When we were told that we should set off at 2:30 in the afternoon to be sure of catching a flight at 11:40 at night it seemed like a joke but with deadly seriousness a minivan was booked for this time and although checking out and protracted goodbyes delayed our departure we were bouncing around in and out of potholes by 3:00.

Our driver was the same one who'd driven us in from the airport on our first arrival in Brazil and although he'd been given stern instruction that we were delicate and sensitive foreigners who should be cosseted like precious bone china he still drove like a man avoiding gunfire. After half an hour of tailgating, overtaking on whatever carriageway was free, speeding, cutting in and, at one point, yelling directions to the driver of the car beside us (while in motion, I hasten to add) we arrived at the airport. We staggered out, unloaded and waved him away, each praying that we would never travel with (or anywhere near) him ever again.

We were at Guarulhos Airport eight hours before our flight was due to depart. I guess that this wasn't as unusual as it seemed as the TAM Airways staff were happy for us to check in straight away and after the by now predictable discussion about instruments, carry-on and hold baggage we waved adieu to our big bags until Aberdeen and continued on weighed down with just our personal bags, guitar, tambura, saxophone and Bill's accordion which we were ferrying back to Scotland with us. We still used a trolley. After a brief survey of the departures area we camped down around a table that was to be our base for the next six hours.

The time passed remarkably easily and quickly. We sat and chatted, I typed away on this diary, Lucy & Jacqui went through the familiar procedure of trying to explain British tea-making to the Brazilian waiter, and gradually the clock ticked onwards. Bill had come out to the airport with us but he wasn't flying until the next day, going off to Argentina for another week. After hugs and farewells he went in search of the shuttle bus to his overnight hotel - one near the airport so he didn't have to do the drive again. And then there were four. We took turns going off for food, changing money, shopping (I finally gave in and bought a Brazil football shirt) or just for something to do and eventually the time rolled around and we set off for passport control and the departure gates. More queuing and showing of papers ensued but finally we were on the plane and ready to go. A final surprise was two of the cabin crew walking down the aisles and spraying us with something (insecticide?) and then we were lifting off and heading for Europe.

Lucy with the luggage at Aberdeen Airport
- 25 hours gone, 3 to go

The flight was cramped, hot and airless but I managed to sleep for more than half of it and watch a film for a good part of the rest. I remembered to decline all the airline food and had spent my last reais on two bottles of water so I arrived in London only feeling mildly mauled, the best I've come to expect with modern intercontinental economy travel. Heathrow's maze of corridors and signs managed to split us up but we eventually reconvened at Terminal 5 where my airborne fasting was rewarded with a feast at an unexpected branch of Wagamama, one of my favourite restaurants.

At the departure gate for our flight to Aberdeen one of the airline staff looked on in shock at our pile of instruments and bags. Although BA say that you can carry an instrument into the cabin as one of your checked bags (provided that it will fit into an overhead locker) this is still at their discretion and as this flight was fully booked they had decided that we'd have to put some of them into the hold, an eventuality we'd been dreading for the entire trip. They promised that they'd be loaded and unloaded by hand and not have to go on the automated luggage battering system which was some relief but we handed them over as if watching our grannies set off to play rugby.

The flight was quick and easy, continuing the gradual improvement at each stage of the journey. At Aberdeen we found the instruments intact (hooray!) and had all our bags in hand in time to catch the earlier of the two possible busses back to Forres. This final part of the journey seemed to take forever and in a cruel stroke of cosmic humour the bus pulled in to the Elgin depot to fill its petrol tank, just a few minutes but yet another delay with the final goal almost in sight. But eventually we waved Rory off at his stop and finally arrived at Fores where our paths diverged. My dear friend Saille was there to drive me home and with 28 hours gone since setting off I finally found myself back in Curly Flat.

< Festival

Thoughts >