So in true Brazilian style I’ve been a bit slack writing my blog recently. It’s not because I haven’t been busy trust, it’s more that I’ve been getting into this Carioca vibe of everything taking time to do. When you’re abroad you realise just how much you take for granted in the UK. I’ve been trying to sort out internet access in my apartment for nearly 3 weeks now but because of Carnival everything shuts down, for weeks… By the time they did get round to it (yesterday) I’d decided it wasn’t worth blowing our limited budget on internet access and I’ve resigned myself to carrying my laptop down to the computer room at least twice a day – good for the old biceps I say!

Sorting out a mobile phone isn’t as easy as you’d think either. It’s not a case of buying a R$20 sim card and putting it in your phone, oh no – you need a code to unbar it, which of course the phone companies can’t help you with out here. What I’d hoped would be a simple job turned into a whole afternoons work. I went from Claro, to Oi, to a little phone shop in Copacabana. When my limited Portuguese wasn’t getting the message across about the problems I was having, the local prostitute, with some understanding of English from her time in Amsterdam, was roped into the discussion. She ended up taking me on a guided tour of the phone shops (local characters and hotels where she entertains) in the area. Suffice to say I’m still using my UK number and the apartment number.

It’s also not easy to find the simplest of things here. Now if you wanted fifty different varieties of shampoo or conditioner, one of the many many pharmacies can help you out. Buying shower gel and face wash is a bit harder. And then there’s the glue. I searched high and low for a bit of Pritt Stick (I need it for my journal ok). When I did find some in a tiny shop on the backstreets I was so happy. You should’ve seen my face though when I went to use it and it was all dried up – I think my bottom lip actually curled over.

On a more positive tip, I do now have an electricity regulator (which you really need out here to save all your batteries as the electricity supply fluctuates constantly) and have done a load of research on equipment prices. Printers and CDRs are about the same price as at home. CDJs are massively more expensive, so if anybody’s got any sitting around not being used, or knows anyone who’d like to donate please do get in touch ;) Letitia and I had a great time walking the rustic streets of Rio for equipment, stopping off for a tasty & cheap lunch with the locals and stumbling across the clothes shops - little summer dresses with wedge heels is my latest new look.

So I’ve obviously been doing a bit of partying as well, checking out the local music scene. I must start with a word of warning, and one that I think is most important and can’t actually believe no-one’s mentioned to me before - they do things a bit differently here in Rio when it comes to clubbing. OK so it might be me being a bit of a dunce / arrogant industry wanka* (*delete as appropriate) but I feel it my duty to report. First let me set the scene. I’ve just stepped off the plane and am a Gringo in a Carioca world. My first night out I’m on the guest list, my second night out I blag VIP entry on the door. My third night out I try the VIP line again; it’s not running this time so Tom & I start to queue. A few minutes later, we’re pulled out of the queue, escorted in through a side door and given a card (a bit like a credit card). We go up to the bar, no-one wants our money and instead all drinks go on the card. A bit of a dance and a few Caipirinhas later Tom & I are having a great time. Around 3am I decide it’s time to call it a night and go home. Thinking we’re all sorted, Tom & I walk out. We’re quickly re-directed by a burly security guard into the kitchen and are joined by four more security. They spend the next 15 minutes talking irately and rifling through Tom’s pockets. I do my best in my broken Portuguese (and a bit of sign language) to calm them down. After a few scary moments thinking “what the hell are we going to do?” I seem to be getting through and they eventually let us leave, having cleared out all the money we had (which incidentally was slightly less than the bill). Please be warned – when you go to a club in Rio, even in a posh area like Leblon, expect to be given a card and expect to pay the amount on the card at the end of the night. Being alone with five security in a kitchen in the middle of the night is not a good look.

(Un)surprisingly, somewhere I felt less threatened was at a Baile Funk party in the favela. Letitia, Tom & I were picked up by MC Gringo, his wife and two DJs from Germany touring South America – Passion & Schowi. After a spot of dinner we headed to Cantalago; a favela sitting between Copacabana & Ipanema. We grabbed a quick beer at a Samba club in the favela and when I say club what I really mean is about 20 people dancing, 10 sitting on plastic chairs, a singer, a drummer, a CD player and 8 speakers stacked on top of each other, all outside in the open night sky. We then hiked the steep climb up into the favela and after about 10 minutes I started to feel the bass hit my stomach.
We turned the corner and there were around 100 faveladors hanging around on the street outside this old warehouse type building. We moved through the crowd and sat on a wall for a few minutes to chill. I was the last person to take a seat and was about to ask this guy next to me, no more than 18 years old, to move along when I checked his AKA47 and a belt of grenades. Ohhkay. I looked around and picked out around 10 young boys all carrying guns of some sort. Although they were prominent and I was wary, I didn’t once feel like something awful was about to happen. The boys – all members of a gang – were there more to police the event than cause trouble and in fact, if you think about it it makes sense. It’s not like you can hire a security firm to work at these favela events and you certainly can’t rely on the police. The gangs don’t want any trouble at events they help to promote, especially if a few foreigners and Rio residents turn up.
Having said that, we moved into the party quite quickly which did feel safer than outside. Inside looked pretty much like any underground UK club – the decks were on a raised platform on one side, there was the usual VIP crew (including us) bubbling behind the decks, the bar was to the left of the decks (where the kiosk where you buy your tickets to buy the drinks also was!), a wall of speakers lay opposite the decks, to the right of them were steps upstairs to a small balcony area (it looked a little bit like Neighbourhood for those who know) and all around people were talking, dancing and getting down. If I’m honest I did feel a bit prang about stepping on someones foot and quickly stopped the brap brap hands in the air dance moves but it didn’t take long for me to really enjoy it. The music was baaaad! The DJ set warmed up the MC nicely, the dance floor was rammed and the vibe was electric. I saw some crazy dance moves, especially from the kids that looked no more than 12 years old and met some really cool people – also bumped into Helen C ex-1Xtra which was random but so good to see her. We bopped, stayed sober and went to bed happy around 5am – it was a great night.

Other than that, Letitia has been poked in her bikini by a Chinese man with a bike in the hotel lift and has been cooking some amazing omelettes. Tom has now gone which means the apartment is tidy, the light stays off in the bathroom (I do have electricity bills you know) and I no longer have hair straighteners to borrow. I’ve also been watching the local news and am no longer walking under buildings because all the awnings in Rio are falling down. We are mostly singing the classic Jungle track “It’s a Warning, warning, warning, warning….”

The last few days I have mostly learnt the words:

Cola – Glue (like what I wanted to buy for my diary)
Arma – Gun (like what I keep seeing everywhere)
Bofetada – Slap (like what Letitia and Tom keep doing to my bum)
Barato – Cheap (as in what I wish the CDJs were)