The weekend (the two days at the end of the week, not the singer) began with a spontaneous night out. That Friday ecstasy was rolling and I met some friends for a few homemade caipirinhas as the sun set over the highrise in front of us. We headed to my favourite neighbourhood in São Paulo, Vila Madalena, and to my even more favourite burger bar which loudly promotes its 'Cold Fucking Beer' on the hilly, cobbly streets of the bohemian area. We got some burgers - served on fancy wooden trays so tables aren't needed - and some of the local beers which were suggested by a waiter that had taken an interest in our foreignness on a previous trip and even reads this blog (shoutout Victor!).The beauty of Vila Madalena is that every bar offers something different, from live music, unique beers, quirky decoration and just generally positive vibes. The night carried us to a couple more bars, via a mini photo shoot of us four gringos drinking a bar's speciality beer, and led us onto the streets where a group of old geezers were playing some samba. By this point, we were pretty wasted and did not hold back in joining the maturer local audience in dancing along to the samba beats that created a mini Carnival bloco. Unsurprisingly, four foreigners dancing to some local music with some beers on a warm Friday night went down well and we were popular with the crowd of people around us.
Fast forward 24 hours. The scene was different, the people were different, but the essence was identical. I was at a house party that I had been invited to by a guy at work. Me and fellow intern Tom, from Wales, were making the caipirinhas for the Brazilians (how that works I will never know) and once again we were causing a nice stir. As has tended to be throughout this year so far, natives immediately take a shine to you if you oblige with their request to say a word or do a dance move from their cultures. It's an easy way to make some quick mates and it worked a treat at this particular party. A night that I thought was going to be a few chilled beers turned into a 10 hour party, yet I got back home at 6:30am with my real plans still ahead of me. When I was looking into São Paulo and the lights and glamour that awaited me, not much stood out. As I've previously mentioned, the reputation of the metropolis overcame me somewhat and I was lost in images of tall, grey skylines. It wasn't smiling at me let's just say that. That was until I caught the eye of a festival called Lollapalooza. It was everything that people had told me São Paulo wasn't: bright, exciting, fun. As I also mentioned, São Paulo deserved more credit than this paragraph has given it, but initially the Tomorrowland-esq promotion of Lollapalooza was the headline eye-catcher and I was on board.
The hangover was brushed aside with ease, with the prospect of finally seeing The Weeknd - my favourite artist for some time - perform live. I'm not much of a fanboy, but The Weeknd joins the elite club that brings this out in me, alongside the illustrious cast of Eden Hazard, Karl Pilkington and Dwight Shrute (from the US Office). Some call it a weird combination, I call it a bloody good tea party. Anyway, I chucked on a generic, festival Adidas Originals tee-shirt, cracked open the hair-of-the-dog beer and headed to the Interlagos Formula One circuit with my German friend Niclas (couldn't donate to Comic Relief so giving out shout-outs like it's nobodies business*).The setting was unique to any festival I had been to. The Formula One track was used as the skeleton of the venue, so the crowds walked the tarmac that world's best drove on every year. We saw the section where Stevenage boy Lewis Hamilton overtook Timo Glock to win the championship in 2008. A second Hertfordshire boy was about to make their mark. The beers were flowing and we enjoyed music from Borgore and MØ as the sun was setting over the festival. It was just a warm-up for me though as we soon headed over to see The Weeknd - along with about 80,000 other people...
His set exceeded my expectations, with strong production and sound converting even the more average songs into festival bangers. The fanboy-ing increased when he brought a couple of tracks out from his debut album Trilogy - of which I had the album cover as a poster in my uni house - and I was in a very content zone. Selena Gomez even popped on the big screen as she watched her new boyfriend perform - our first public outing together. In situation like this I would've been just as happy if I was in Grimsby as I was in São Paulo, but the Brazilian location added a sweet cherry onto the top of the cake. It was March, traditionally grim and stressful time of year, yet I was on the other side of the World in summer temperatures watching my favourite artist. Having a grand old time I was. 
My first Brazilian festival ended with a feel-good set from Flume. When I first started listening to the downtempo, electronic DJ, I was revising for my summer exams last year and daydreaming about moments like this when I would be free to travel the world and enjoy myself. Whilst work is very much a responsibility now, I would proofread thousands of documents for moments like this; it beats coursework and essays any day. Yet nothing lasts forever and, as Monday morning arrived, my three day bender came to an end. Despite little sleep, the prospect of the week ahead didn't phase me giving that, believe it or not, I still had my most prized event waiting in the wings.Having survived a numbing, hungover Monday, the excitement began to crank up again. The reason? The Brazilian National Team (the Seleção) were coming to town to face Paraguay in a World Cup qualifier and guess who had a ticket. That's right, yours truly. I was excited as it was, but after watching Neymar lead Barcelona's mind-blowing comeback against PSG a few weeks back, the prospect of seeing the Brazilian's star play live was extra mouth watering. Having been to see some more average players recently (sorry Jô) in Brazilian club football, the whole Seleção squad felt like a luxury. I also saw Jake Livermore selected for the England squad and subsequently felt no qualms about going to support another national team. Jake. Livermore. Jesus Christ.
I was joined by partner in crime Niclas once more and we headed to the Arena Corinthians with the sea of green and yellow looking more gringo than we had so far. As it was rush hour I didn't want to drape my flag over me just yet, but was exposed when a toddler pulled it out of my back pocket and I had to semi-wrestle it off her. This I am not proud of but you have to win your battles. We entered the stadium with ease - which is rare here - and took up our places behind the goal. I would say took our seats but there were none. It was an old school standing area in a brand new stadium and I liked it. Just like watching Hitchin Town FC...I had a bet on Philippe Coutinho and Neymar to both score, which was about the 35th bet on my current losing streak. So you can imagine my giddiness when the Liverpool magician curled a beauty into the bottom corner in the first half. Of course my happiness was shared by those around me and the stadium erupted into a party atmosphere. Players like Neymar, Coutinho and Marcelo revelled under this kind of atmosphere and they were taunting the opposition with circus like tricks.
I needed Neymar to score though, not tit about. Early in the second half he missed an open goal, as he slid balls-first into the back post and missed the ball and goal completely. Wince. Then those football gods looked down on me again as he danced through the Paraguayan defence before getting taken out and winning a penalty - right in front of me. Great chance for him to both win my bet and get me a nice video for social media. He missed though, didn't he. Tit.The difference, though, between the world-class players and the average is their reaction to something like this. Ten minutes later he turned a defender well inside his own half, on the touchline, sped past another on halfway and accelerated towards goal. He took on one more challenge and finished it via the aid of a deflection. Bedlam ensued. The goal that turned my modest £2 into a mighty £7.50. Rags to riches.
Here's Neymar bottling a penalty...
I am done now, I promise. Pretty nice week though, right? Friends were made, beers were drank and dreams were lived. I would be lamenting the fact that all my exciting plans fell on one weekend, but my Brazilian Visa runs out on Tuesday and I'm yet to face the bureaucratic Everest that is the extension process here. Deportation come at me. Fortunately that doesn't come until you max out the fine system of about £2 per day overstayed, so I'll be good for now. Anyway, after my gambling I'm balling and that alone can pay for an extra 3.75 days in Brazil. That is until you see my mugshot in the Daily Mail in a few weeks time. If this is the end, I hope you've enjoyed the blog and I can't think of an article I'd rather finish on. It's been a ride, hopefully the Brazilian officers will let me on the prison PCs and I can update you - that's how it works right...?
Thanks for reading.
*This may seem unsavoury and uncharitable to some but, considering I was cornered by two teenage girls on the street last week and led down a fast-paced Portuguese verbal alley that ended in me donating £7.50 a month to some favela kids that lost a window, I have my right.
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