Let's Have a Moan...

  At the time of starting this article, the time since leaving English soil is 112 days, 23 hours and 14 minutes. I left behind a traditionally frosty gloominess, as the Christmas and New Year celebrations had quickly turned into a new working year. It was grey, drizzly and as British as a Yorkshire Pudding. What awaited me was a different stratosphere; the white sands of Copacabana and the postcard images of Rio de Janeiro in the height of summer. As I went through the routinely processes of Heathrow Airport, I felt like I was trading in a Ford Focus for a Lamborghini.

An initial warning to myself...

  Nearly four months later and I'd find it hard to argue that I was wrong. At times, my time in Brazil has felt like a tour around Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory - not just for the oompa-loompa tans of Rio's beaches - with an array of incredible experiences around every corner, and an infusion of the odd dark surprise to offer a bit of life perspective. I've had the time of my life and there's very little that I can complain about. Then again, I am British... 

  Would I even be a member of our proud (ha.) country if I didn't have a daily gripe or two. An example of this? Well for a start, that Yorkshire Pudding reference earlier would have been wasted on any Latin American readers of this piece. Further over their heads then an expletive fired towards Nigel Farage (there's another one...). I'll go further into my humour based niggle a bit later... 

  I've compiled a list of things that I come across on a daily basis over here in the land of samba and joga bonito. These are the most serious aspects of living abroad. The things that bring a dark cloud of longing to be back on the tarmac of Hitchin. Forget family and friends, it's these things that really pull at those homely heart strings. So, for anyone else currently abroad, get the tissues out, put a bit of James Blunt on and take a gaze at an old £5 note - we're going on a nostalgic ride.... 

Flares, Paint and Ayrton Senna: My Brazilian Easter

  I was stood on the the streets of central São Paulo staring up at a sporting icon. It was the middle of the afternoon, yet I was a number of beers down and grasping at a bottle of catuaba (a.k.a. liquid gold). I knew I was feeling a bit tipsy, yet I started to question just how much so when I realised that I was listening to a Brazilian questioning why this sporting icon was so important. A Brazilian questioning the greatness of Ayrton Senna? Maybe I'd missed the hallucinations warning on the side of this bottle. The motoring legend stared at us, judgingly, from a vibrantly coloured mural that covered the side of a nearby building. What he was witnessing was a group 50+ charity workers wetting the head of another successful project. It was an authentically Good Friday, just as Jesus intended... minus the beer.

  When I was made aware of the upcoming bank holiday - Easter is not naturally engrained in my mental calendar - I envisaged a day of sleep, Netflix and maybe, at a push, a cheeky shower. Oh how wrong I was. Waking up to the sight of 11:00am on my phone quickly morphed into standing, awake, on the metro platform at 6:30am. I gave myself a slap but it was reality alright. Now why the f**k was I awake at such an hour on a bank holiday Friday? Not even a Monday, a FRIDAY. Well, it turns out the spirit of Easter is contagious. Not giving up anything for lent and claiming to be an atheist at any mentioning of religion is not enough to avoid the big man's powers, apparently.

Work Hard, Play Hard(er)

  So when I last left this blog, I was giving it all that about how the fun is over, I was buckling down and that work was the new focus of my life. Technically I wasn't lying... I've worked my shifts, done some decent work and am settling into becoming a productive member of the team. As any one that works a standard weekly job knows, you've got to use your time off well. If you stare at computer screens, documents and emails for too long your mind will slowly wipe itself of any hope. This blog has never claimed to be scientific, but in this case the science of common sense prevails. Anyway, the last week has been the epitome of using my free time to the max, with the aid of some good friends of mine: Neymar and The Weeknd.

  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.