I think you can probably tell how I feel from the shape of my handwriting.
In fact, I haven’t picked up a fountain pen in some time. Most of (all of) the writing I’ve been doing has been for the newspaper - a daily habit I’ve managed to maintain even throughout the process of moving to Brazil. Something, I think, I should be proud of, but in fact I feel much more mellow about the whole thing. I feel much more mellow about a number of things, actually, and a forty-something waitress has just set down the mystery coffee I ordered. That might actually be one of the things I still feel I’m getting a kick out of: ordering coffee. And here, the coffee is great. This cup tastes like hot oil and chocolate with no aftertaste. It’s nice, it’s good.
Let’s begin with the most obvious of changes in my life recently: location. I flew halfway across Europe and then halfway across the planet in the space of one day. The flights were good; enjoyable in the sense that I hadn’t had reason to be on a plane for a while, and being part of that hushed, humming environment I find oddly soothing. But the speed of the journey did take something away. I once knew a man, much older than myself, who had to sail for several weeks to get here. I’m not romanticising; I’m sure his boat didn’t come with TV entertainment. But in between a single sunrise and a single sunset I went from a London bus to a Brazilian Uber, and bought some bread from a corner shop that didn’t have self-service checkouts. So I guess there are some differences.
I would love for the fact that I have travelled to somehow make me feel interesting. Judging by how everyone else talks about this trip (not in any malicious way), I should feel interesting, or excited or what-have-you. But I don’t, not really. The first thing I did on my first full day was go to the Brazilian equivalent of Edinburgh Bargain Stores to buy some electrical adapters - the ones I had bought in London just thirty-six hours previously were the right shape but the wrong size. And then I went to the bank. I don’t feel too bad about doing these ordinary things here because that’s what everybody else is doing. I need to spend a bit - okay, a lot - more time in the sun before I can blend in properly, but until then I’m giving it my best go.
Belo Horizonte is a city I really like. I’ve landed slap-bang in the middle of spring, and trees in blossom hang above the roads, covered in lush, purple flowers. Very different to the now-brown edges of the A1. The city is laid out in a block system, which means I’ve had some success getting to know the place (I’ve walked a lot), and can navigate a small portion of the city with a good amount of confidence. Maybe I got it from my dad, but I’m in a luxurious enough position right now where opening Google maps feels like a small defeat. I am yet to get lost - but then again most of the time I haven’t been going anywhere. There’s a lot going on wherever I look.
I do feel, for the first time in a while, like I’m in a city. Edinburgh is a city but the buildings are so small and the views are so frequent that you feel you are not inside a city, but inside of an oil painting. I think the last time I felt like this was in Porto - a much smaller place, but with far fewer trees than here. Here there are trees but the buildings are huge. They go up a long way. It’s weird.
I’m sitting now on a street that chops between two blocks (duh), a pedestrianised road that cuts off one of the city’s main junctions. People here drive like people in the UK do, if people in the UK had more confidence and less of an overwhelming desire to be polite. In fact, I have found that politeness isn’t really a commodity here, and if it is, it’s rare. Watch me now - return of the civilised, white coloniser! Not at all. Instead of politeness here, they’ve got joy. I have seen wider smiles here in the past three days than I have in the past three months. For me, it’s a strangely homely feeling. There is a lot of joy; politeness is sort of bypassed. But of course, joy is a very natural thing, and as such is very closely tethered to its opposite. Politeness is a man-made construct, probably devised for the exact purpose of distracting oneself from the natural fluctuation of human emotion. So here there is also a certain tension, that back at home people keep more concealed. I’m not sure which I prefer; at home, people box themselves up to keep things going, here, people get things going by maintaining a no-nonsense kind of openness. I will say, though, people here do smile more.
But back to where I am sitting. Did you know, the pigeons here are identical to the ones in Edinburgh? This weirds me out, because go to Spain, and the pigeons are different. Go to France, and the pigeons are different. S**t, go to London, and the pigeons are different. But here they are identical. The same colour patterns, the same twisted feet, the same curious glances. Only here they poke their heads up from thick, tropical shrubbery, and look decidedly more like dinosaurs. They have that same, healthy weight about them that I thought, in Scotland, was the pigeon equivalent of a winter coat. But they really do look fine. Who knows how they do it. They must be eating acai.
I’m waking up earlier than I should, judging purely by the shadows beneath my eyes. I think I’m fooling myself by doing so much physical activity everyday, but my legs feel alright. Good, even. They call Edinburgh “the city of seven hills”, and true as that may be, I’m willing to bet they have never walked about Belo Horizonte. I can’t tell what’s more up-and-down here: the streets or people’s emotions. (I’m joking… sort of.) I think I have in total climbed several small mountains. I’d like to take a moment here to thank my legs. No real other point to this paragraph than to do that. My right one is still working and my left one is still walking. They’ve had a bit of use, these past few days, dealing with the endless (sometimes annoying) curiosity of my eyes and ears, but then again there has been plenty enough to see. So I guess on the whole I am satisfied.
I’m leaving tonight, taking a night bus to Brasilia, where I’ll have my own place and can make a bit more of a start. I’ve settled into this city and am hoping that this trial period means I can transition smoothly enough. Although, out of the several Brazilian families I’ve spoken to, the moment I mention the capital, they say the word “politicians” and emphatically shake their heads. I’m not sure what this means: either it’s the usual dislike for politicians (which I would find fair enough) or a reflexive kind of pity for anyone involved in the nation’s capital (which I would find more alarming). But the only thing is to go and see. It’s still sunny there, so it can’t be that bad.
An ambulance has just arrived to help with a middle-aged man who has been lying unconscious on a piece of cardboard for the entire time I’ve been sitting here. In front of the city trees, and fountains, people in medical overalls are lifting him onto a stretcher. There’s a McDonald’s just over there, and the cafe I’m sitting outside is playing pop hits from the early 10’s. Right now it’s one of those Coldplay tunes I can never remember the name of. I only know the song “Yellow.” They slide the man into the rear of the ambulance and pull away, revealing once again the passing traffic and high-rise tower blocks. I look over and am surprised, in a warm sort of way, to find that they have taken his cardboard with them.
The views expressed in this publication do not reflect the views of the author. The stories themselves are based on imagined events. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is fictitious and should not be taken as representative.
That closing cardboard phrase is just brilliant. Perfectly Packaged 📦 i
Tam, the cafe told me you were off on adventure/travels soon! Glad to see you have skimmed across the pond and arrived safely. Keep on writing but do not be afraid of taking on any thing to help you keep a roof over your head and food in your belly. Even if it means sweeping the courtyard etc if you get what I mean! Enjoy what you see round about you and enjoy your time etc---Roy.
A fella I used to play rugby with, younger than I went to Brazil many years ago, sure he is still alive and he was doing sport with the 'street kids' a number of years ago----ADAM REID---if you have a chance say hello to him for me!